The little phone felt like a brick in her hand.

Leith’s voice streamed out from the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen, despite what has happened here today, these talented athletes are at your disposal. The throwing events will go on.”

Enthusiastic applause followed. Some people who had started to fold up their blankets now snapped them out again. The light tone to Leith’s voice was bittersweet, because his excitement was the people’s, and even though he’d soon be gone from Gleann, the town would carry on without him. It would carry on without her, too.

She was exceedingly proud of what she’d done here—despite the cow disaster. It had started out as a favor—a bit of a concession, done out of a sense of responsibility and the desire to pay people back who deserved it. But it had since turned into much, much more—a large, warm presence in her heart, and she wasn’t even talking about Leith. She couldn’t give it a name, didn’t know where it fit into her bigger life, but she knew she wasn’t quite ready to walk out on it yet.

There had to be a way for her to straighten things out with Rollins remotely and stay in Gleann for the afternoon.

“Jen?” Tim demanded.

Her head dropped, her eyes closing tightly. On the back of her eyelids was imprinted the image of her mom throwing her college applications in the trash and dumping coffee grounds over them. Telling her there was no way she could afford to send Jen to college, not knowing how much Jen had secretly saved herself. Sneering as Jen lugged her sole suitcase out the front door for the last time. Saying to her, You’ll be back. You’re just wasting your time. The world is made so people like us fail. You’ll see. You think you’re different, but you’re not. You’ll end up right where I am someday.

Jen was so close to snatching the gold ring. She could not fail. She would not get fired. That was something that happened to her mother, not her. If she stayed in Gleann and got knocked back a notch in her upward climb, what would that say about her? Would that put her on the path to failure? Would staying here, in the very place she’d left ten years ago in order to begin that climb, start the transformation into someone who settled for the small instead of going for the big?

She broke out in an icy sweat. Oh, God, she felt sick. So conflicted. So unsure.

“Jen. Are you there?”

There was so much more she needed to do here. But her future—the big, bright one she’d been striving for—glowed from a city six hours to the south.

“Will I see you later today?” Tim was starting to get angry, and disappointment from her mentor felt like coffee grounds dumped over her dreams.

If she went back to New York, she’d let down Aimee and Sue and—oh God—Leith. She’d be leaving right in the middle of a crisis. But if she stayed, she’d be right back where she started, and that scared her more than anything.

She swallowed around a throat laced with needles. Pushing off the car, she gazed up at the games. At the mess.

“Apparently I am in demand as a stand-up,” came Leith’s chuckle over the PA, and Jen heard rousing, masculine shouts spring up from the athletes, “so here you go . . .”

She refused to crumple. This was a new beginning between her and Leith, she reminded herself. She’d agreed to give them another shot, and that would be relatively easy, what with him moving to Connecticut and her in the city. Look how well they’d done in their brief time in the city last week. They could exist outside of Gleann. Their magic wasn’t limited to this little valley. It had broken free from the links of the past.

But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be pissed off that she was abandoning the one thing she’d come here purposely to do. She just had to believe he’d understand.

“Yes,” she told Tim, her voice dying. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

Sue had wandered over to Shea and stood frowning at the mess, her arms folded under those giant boobs wrapped in today’s T-shirt that proclaimed her love for the Isle of Skye. Tomorrow it would be back to the wide range of Syracuse wear, Jen thought numbly. Sue’s back was to her, so Jen skirted around, not ready to face her yet. Instead she headed for Aimee and Ainsley, who were helping the heritage people restack their books and rehang the kilts and scarves and such on the few unbroken racks. T and Lacey were also there, lending a hand.

“Check it out,” Ainsley said with a toothy grin as Jen came up. “Clan Hamilton. Wasn’t that who your Aunt Bev married?”

The Hamilton tartan was similar to MacDougall: lots of red, but a bit more blue and white.

“That’s great, McGee.” Jen’s mind was too thin to think of a witty descriptor.

Aimee stood up, brushing her hands free of dirt and grass. She eyed Jen perceptively. “What’s up?”

“Um . . .”

She idly noticed Leith and the guys had managed to get the fence posts into new holes, but the things were still listing.

“What is it?” Aimee’s voice crossed over into worry.

A buzzing and jangling from Jen’s pocket. The phone had become a fifth limb to her over the years, so why the feel and sound of it surprised her now was more than disconcerting.

Giving Aimee an apologetic look, she saw on the phone screen that it wasn’t her tent contact or Tim again. An unfamiliar number.

Oh God, what? she wanted to scream into it. “Yes?”

“Is this Jen Haverhurst?”

“It is.”

“This is Valley Transportation. I’m calling to tell you the bus you rented to bring in a—what is this? Oh, a bagpipe and drum band—from Mount Caleb has broken down on Route 6. The driver didn’t have your number.”

Great. Wonderful. Perfect. Exactly what today needed.

The pipe band from across the state should have been arriving right about now. She thought the grounds had been a little too quiet between the panic of a loose cow, a barking herding dog, and collapsing tents.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Jen demanded into the phone.

“Uh, well, all my other buses of that size are taken today, but a tow truck is on its way.”

Shit shit shit. “Unless a tow truck is going to tow that thing and everyone inside all the way to Gleann, that doesn’t do me or my musicians any good.”

She ended the call with numb fingers, then turned back around to see that Owen and Melissa had arrived, each shouldering two folding lawn chairs. They and Aimee were staring at Jen.

“What happened?” Aimee asked. Jen told them about the broken-down bus.

Even if she couldn’t stay, she could try to fix this one last thing. A Highland Games needed a pipe and drum band, damn it. “Owen, do you have a big car? Maybe a work truck?” The plumber nodded. “And friends who possibly own similar trucks?”

Owen slid his chairs to the ground. “I hear you and I’m on it. We’ll bring them in, then figure out how the hell to get them back later.”

“I’ll take the Suburban,” Melissa added, and the two of them marched back to the parking lot, phones at their ears.

Jen watched them go with a dull sense of satisfaction. The pipe band would get here, disjointed and very late, throwing off the whole day’s schedule, but what the hell, it wasn’t like the games she’d slaved over during the past two weeks hadn’t already been thrown into a lidless blender and spun on puree.

Aimee narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “That’s not why you came over here. I know you. What’s going on?”

Jen braced herself, opened her mouth. She’d never told Aimee about the potential promotion because she hadn’t wanted her sister to feel like she was pulling Jen away from anything. She’d wanted Aimee, and Gleann, to feel important—because they were—but she had to bring it out now. She knew full well how it was going to sound, that she was dragging out an excuse to take off. To abandon Aimee for work again, at the worst possible time, when things between them were just starting to get better.