coffee before placing the mug on the counter.
Her cheeks felt on fire. âNo, that wasnât an offer.â But Ramsay flustered her in ways he shouldnât. âIâm only concerned for your well-being.â
âIâm right as rain,â he said. âBe ready to leave in five minutes.â
She was ready in three but Ramsay was already waiting for her. On the road, she studied her list of potential bachelors. She wondered how she was going to make up for yesterdayâs strikeout and the fact that Art MacKay wouldnât be back in time for Deydieâs deadline for the mandated quilt retreat and Kitâs mixer. Six women would be coming to Scotland, and time was running out. Kit peeked over at Ramsay. Should she ask him to be one of her bachelors? She shook her head.
Ramsay glanced at her and then his gaze went back to the road. âWhatâs going on in that pretty little head of yours?â
â
Now
you give me a compliment,â she deflected.
âSpill it, lass.â
âIâm going to have to set up more appointments.â
âBut why were you shaking your head at me?â he said.
âNo reason.â She turned back to her window. She wasnât desperate. Not yet. Ramsay wouldnât do at all for any of her clients. He was too obstinate. Too arrogant. And perhaps,
too observant
.
The rest of the trip to their first stop was made in silence as she studied the printout on Davey McBain, the successful whisky-maker and owner of the familyâs distillery. When they arrived at the compound, it wasnât at all what sheâd imagined. Sheâd thought thereâd be a large sterile-looking building, but instead there was a group of massive stone cottages, some with beautiful arched windows, others with tall steeples.
âWell, this is impressive.â
Ramsay only grunted.
As he parked the SUV, Davey came out to meet them. Kit recognized him from an article in
Forbes
magazine. Sheâd scored big just getting Davey to meet with her. Looking at him, she couldnât imagine why he was thirty and still unattached. He was nearly as tall as Ramsay with basically the same build. For a moment her thoughts streaked back to Ramsay lying under the sheet with his essentials barely covered.
Good grief!
She needed to focus.
She put her sights back on Davey, cataloging him. He was sporting jeans, a tailored navy shirtâcasually untuckedâand a pair of dimples to die for.
When she introduced herself, Ramsay stood close, as if Davey might accost her. In truth, the famous distiller did look at her with interest, which was always flattering from an influential man. But he just didnât do it for her.
Ramsay grumbled his greeting.
âIâve blocked out the rest of the morning and the afternoon for you, Ms. Woodhouse.â Davey glanced down at the wellies in her hand. âI donât think youâll need those, but you can bring them along if you like.â
She was still processing that he would give her so much of his time.
Time that she didnât have
. Well, if theyleft in the early afternoon, sheâd still get in one more appointment todayâmaybe.
Ramsay nudged her to answer.
Kit looked at her feet. âYes. I was worried Iâd ruin my shoes.â
Davey gave her his dimpled grin. âNo worries. Come this way.â He put his hand to her back and guided her to the closest building.
His touch felt too intimate, but what could she say?
Kit turned to make sure Ramsay was following. What she saw was her chauffeur glowering at Daveyâs hand. Ramsay immediately schooled his features into an expression of indifference.
Davey was talking and sheâd missed part of what he was saying. âEven though I grew up here with whisky making in my bloodâmy family has been making it for two hundred yearsâI rarely, if ever, drink it.â
âWhy?â she asked without thinking first.
Davey stopped