Jen Haverhurst swerved onto the gravel shoulder of Route 6 and braked the rental car with a jolt. Just out the passenger window, on the other side of a fence that didn’t quite look sturdy enough to contain them, Loughlin’s Highland cattle swung their giant horns and orange, hairy heads toward her. It seemed as though they remembered her and weren’t exactly happy she’d returned.

She’d had the whole drive up to New Hampshire from New York City to come to grips with the fact she was going back to Gleann, but it didn’t really hit her until the last stretch of empty rural route spun her around the mountains, spit her into the familiar green valley, and she came face to face with those damned beasts.

Beyond their gently rolling field, across a cracked, weed-filled parking lot, rose the sparkling silver and vacant Hemmertex headquarters, which had just started construction her last summer in Gleann and now stood like a scar among the trees.

Directly ahead, tucked into the last bend in the road before the town proper, sat a familiar, tilted produce stand.

That’s where Leith had parked his dad’s boat of a 1969 Cadillac convertible that summer night ten years ago. The moon had been a sliver, the stars each their own atmosphere. And Leith had given her the first orgasm that wasn’t from her own hand.

Jen punched up the weak air conditioner on that hot early-June day and whipped out her phone, pressing the single button to connect her to her office. She needed a dose of her real world. Fast.

Her assistant picked up. “Gretchen, it’s me.”

“Oh, good. You’re alive. Didn’t get eaten by a bear or anything?”

“No bear. A cow, maybe.” One of the Highland cattle had wandered closer to the fence and eyed her, warning her off its turf. “But yeah, I’m here.”

And here she was. Back in Gleann, New Hampshire, after all this time.

Jen stuck the Bluetooth earpiece into place and slowly pulled back onto Route 6, following its curve down the hill and into town. “What’d I miss today?”

Gretchen started talking, but Jen inadvertently drifted off, her mind following the narrow, meandering town streets she’d gotten to know so well after spending nearly every summer here growing up. Though it was clear Hemmertex had been gone for a while, no one had replaced the sign welcoming people into the small downtown: Gleann, a wee bit of Scotland in America. Home to Hemmertex Corporation. Sad.

Once upon a time, the Scottish immigrants who’d settled the valley knew how to pronounce Gleann with a proper brogue, but the name had since been American-bastardized to “Gleen.” As an eight-year-old new to town, Jen had needed a good month to get used to it.

She instinctively knew the way to the Thistle, the Tudor-style B&B once owned by Aunt Bev. Jen parked in front of it, under the low, heavy branches of a tree, but couldn’t bring herself to get out of the car.

Down the block, past the playground, she glimpsed the stumpy Stone Pub with its gorgeous thatched roof, its faded sign still swinging out over the sidewalk. She and Leith had waited tables there during her last summer here. He’d purposely brushed up against her one shift, sparking a quick transition from old friends to sneaky, desperate teenaged lovers.

Gretchen let out a singsong whistle. “Yoo-hoo. Jen.”

Jen shook her head. “Sorry. What was that?”

“I asked if I can switch a few things around for the Umberto Rollins cocktail party. The table pattern doesn’t quite work, I don’t think. And I question some of the menu choices for the type of attendee.”

Work snapped Jen away from the past and back into the present. “No, no. Don’t change a thing. Everything is all taken care of. This is the same annual party they throw for their employees, and I had to make do with a drastically reduced budget this year. They’ve approved everything. All you have to do is see it through and take care of hiccups.”

“All right. If you say so.” But Jen could hear the reluctance in her assistant’s voice.

“Gretchen, I’m serious. They’re very particular and traditional. They trust me, they trust Bauer Events. Just follow my directions for Rollins and then we’ll tackle the Fashion Week party when I’m back in the office in two weeks.”

“I thought it was three.”

“Nah.” She peered out the side window, at the ivy creeping up the side of the B&B she’d once considered home. “This should be a piece of cake. In and out.”

“Tim is okay with you taking vacation now?”

“Vacation time is stacked up and Rollins is set. It’s all good.”

At least that’s what her boss, Tim Bauer, had told her two days ago when she’d proposed her last-minute leave. She’d worked her ass off for him for six years, almost single-handedly tripled his client list, and snagged a prestigious fashion house account.

He’d strongly hinted that he was considering her for a partnership in his company. As her mentor he’d given her opportunities she’d always dreamed of having. There was a chance he’d even send her to London to be a part of his branch over there, and if that’s what it took to get to the top, she would volunteer to swim across the Atlantic.

She deserved a partnership. She needed it.

Once it was hers, she could finally kill the heel-biting fear of mediocrity that had chased her all the way from Iowa.

“I still can’t believe you left the city to go watch guys in skirts throw heavy stuff around.”

Jen suppressed a laugh. “They’re called the Highland Games. Gleann needs them.”

And Gleann, her life’s savior, needed Jen.

Someone, a familiar shape, moved behind the curtain in the front room of the B&B. “Listen,” Jen told Gretchen, “I gotta go, but call me if you need me. For anything. I’ll check in from time to time.”

“You’re on vacation.”

“Oh, honey. In this business, you’re never really on vacation. Nor do I ever want to be.”

She disconnected and stared out at the hushed, empty streets of Gleann. Reaching over to the passenger seat, she lugged her giant purse across the center console. It hit the car horn hard, sending a loud and nasal blast echoing up and down the curving streets. In New York, a single horn meant nothing. Here, it was a day’s excitement.

So much for a quiet arrival.

The front door to the Thistle flew open and Aimee Haverhurst bounded out, her hair, as dark as Jen’s but much longer, streaming behind her. Jen stepped out of the car, hoisted her bag higher onto her shoulder, and headed for the taller and eleven-month-older sister she hadn’t seen in three years.

Jen’s foot struck something and she toppled forward, all balance and grace and professionalism gone.

Aimee lunged, catching Jen and hauling her to her feet. “Whoa. You okay there?”

Jen righted herself and frowned at the slab of cracked concrete poking up from the sidewalk. “That wasn’t there before.”

Aimee gave a little laugh, but there was familiar strain in the sound. Her sister looked incredibly different without all the makeup of her youth. She looked . . . grown up.

That wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Jen eyed the tree in the bed and breakfast’s fenced front yard, the one whose boughs now hung over the street. “That thing’s enormous now.”

Aimee winced. “Did you expect the place to stay the same? Waiting for you to show up again after ten years?”

Maybe not to that extreme, but the distance between northern New Hampshire and New York City had stopped time in Jen’s mind.

Unexpectedly, Aimee pulled her into the tightest hug they’d ever exchanged. Or maybe that was just distance and time again, pushing them together instead of pulling them apart, as had been happening between them for so long.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Aimee said into her hair, in that serious, pleading way Jen remembered well. The one that usually preceded Jen scraping Aimee out of one of her messes. Only this time, the mess Jen had been called in to fix wasn’t Aimee’s. “Thank you. Thank you for helping us.”

Jen awkwardly patted her sister’s back then stepped away. “I said I’d try. Even I can’t guarantee how it’ll all turn out.”

Aimee nodded. “I know.” But there was hurt and worry behind her green eyes, the same shade as Jen’s. They had different fathers, but both physically took after their mom.

If Jen didn’t succeed here, if she couldn’t fix and put on the local Highland Games, and keep the Scottish Society from dissolving all support, there was a chance Aimee could lose the B&B. The town could lose a lot more. The games were pretty much all it had left.

Jen glanced at the Thistle. “Where’s Ainsley?”

Aimee rolled her eyes as she smiled. “A friend’s. Who’s a boy. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“She’s what? Ten?”

“Oh, God. Nine. Please don’t make her older than she already is.”

When Jen had been ten, she’d been great friends with a certain boy. It had been wonderful—and then not so wonderful—but she wouldn’t bring that up to Aimee now.

Her twenty-nine-year-old sister had a nine-year-old daughter. Wow. There went time again, churning up dust as it zoomed past.

“Come on.” Aimee took her arm with a small smile. “I’ll show you your room.”

It was a small guest room in the front of the B&B. Not the room Jen had slept in all those summers ago, from age eight to eighteen, but she remembered it well: frilly and soft and pale. She dropped her bags outside the connected bathroom, took a few minutes to run her hands over the pillows and curtains that screamed of Aunt Bev’s influence, and went back downstairs. She could hear Aimee clanking around in the kitchen.