Free A Love for Rebecca by Mayte Uceda Page A

atypically demure. Rebecca’s dress, a moss green that matched her eyes, was trimmed with sparkling gold bands of ribbon at the waist and neckline. Her hair was down, cascading in pretty waves over her shoulders. Her bronze complexion set off her large green eyes, and her dark hair was woven with subtle natural highlights.
    But Rebecca was not comfortable; she thought the plunging neckline bordered on indecent.
    “Stop your complaining,” Lola said as she watched her friend tugging on the fabric in a vain attempt to cover the exposed cleavage. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
    “You don’t understand; you aren’t as big and your dress isn’t as tight. But it looks like my—” She stopped herself. “They’re going to fall out.”
    “Say it. Tits! You can say ‘tits.’ It’s not a dirty word.”
    Rebecca glowered at her and continued tugging on the fabric. “You’re the dirty one. Besides, I wasn’t going to say that.”
    Lola smoothed her dress. “What were you going to say, then? Breasts? Boobs? Melons?” She looked at Rebecca, waiting for an answer. When she didn’t get one, she continued: “Jugs? Knockers? Hooters? The girls?”
    “Stop it, Lola! You’re as dumb as a lobotomized mosquito.”
    “OK, that was funny,” Berta relented.
    “And if you really want to know,” Rebecca said with a mischievous grin, “I was going to say ‘tatas’  . . . or maybe ‘ lolas.’ ”
    Lola put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I’m the boob?”
    Her exaggerated manner of taking offense made all three girls erupt in laughter. Mrs. Munro had missed the conversation but got the gist, judging by Rebecca’s attempts to cover what nature had given her.
    “Rebecca has a point,” Mrs. Munro said. “There’s not a man around who isn’t going to notice  . . . Well, love, you do have a beautiful bosom. But if you don’t want to be the center of attention, I don’t think that’s the dress for you. Keep in mind, I think of you as if you were my own daughter, even though I’ve had only sons.”
    Mrs. Munro’s words left Rebecca feeling even more uncomfortable.
    “Will you trade with me?” she asked Lola.
    “No way. I like this color.”
    “Come on. Don’t be like that. Yours isn’t as low cut.”
    “Of course it’s higher; my ‘lolas’ are smaller.”
    Rebecca stuck out her tongue.
    “If your hair were longer, you could use it to cover  . . . ” Berta paused as her voice grew hoarse from her cold.
    The sound of Rory’s horn cut them off, and they quickly finished getting ready.
    “Have fun, my dears,” Mrs. Munro said as she walked them to the door.
    Berta sent them off with a loud sneeze.

THE CELTIC FESTIVAL
    Leaning on his red Ford, Rory waited for them dressed in traditional Scottish attire. Lola’s eyes grew wide and she hurried over to him, lifting the hem of her dress so she wouldn’t trip. Rory wondered if there wasn’t some sort of genetic imprint in women that allowed them to wear such clothing so naturally.
    “You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear as she embraced him.
    She stepped back to check him out. He was wearing a plain kilt, predominantly blue and crossed with fine red and thick black lines. A white shirt, neatly tucked into the kilt, lent a contemporary note, and a wide belt around his hips and over-the-calf navy blue socks completed the ensemble.
    Rebecca was checking him out too, causing Rory to blush.
    “You both look wonderful,” he said, hoping to deflect their attention.
    His eyes couldn’t help pausing on Rebecca’s cleavage, disturbingly full and sexy. He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the whole night fending off inebriated men enamored of her anatomy.

    Rory drove them to the festival site. Traffic was heavy; nobody wanted to miss the festival. This was a big event for small-town Beauly. He parked the car in a large meadow being put to that use. A large sign welcomed them to the festival in Gaelic and English.
    “It’s a shame Berta