by Ava Miles
“Trevor, stop playing with Buttercup and come here!”
Playing with—
Of all the ideas. He felt that wet nose touch his neck again as he strode off toward the cottage. Dammit! It was following him. Even though he knew it was stupid, he started to run. The alpaca’s hooves pounded the ground right behind him. The animal might be ugly, but it had speed. It pulled even with him, and again, he swore it was smiling at him. He dug his heels in and sprinted, huffing and puffing, and for a man who considered himself in good shape, it was embarrassing. Buttercup wasn’t the least bit winded.
Uncle Arthur had joined Aunt Clara outside the cottage, and they were both laughing like loons. Terrific. He was never going to live this down. He ducked through the door without stopping to greet them. Let them deal with Buttercup.
“Clara, my dear,” his uncle called out, “we can go home now. It appears Trevor won’t need our matchmaking efforts. She’s a little hairier than I imagined, but I’m sure you two will be very happy.”
“Haha,” he said dryly.
“I can’t wait to tell J.T. about this,” Uncle Arthur said, hooting and wiping tears from his eyes.
This story was going to live on in infamy. Trevor knew it. He eyed the alpaca standing in the doorway. It gave a loud hum and then Aunt Clara closed the door awkwardly, which was when he noticed she was holding something in her hand as she continued laughing. A sleek smartphone.
“You were recording me?” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Of course, I was taping you! You were being serenaded by an alpaca, and then you ran off like a fraidy-cat.” She gave another hearty laugh, and Uncle Arthur joined in. His frown didn’t stop either of them.
“Ever since I discovered this smartphone, I keep it handy all the time now to capture such moments.”
He crossed his arms. “I need you to delete that.”
She slipped the phone inside her navy blouse. Oh, God! Was she sticking it in her bra like he’d seen some older women do in airports? Jesus, could this day get any worse?
“Not on your life,” she said. “Now come and kiss your aunt.”
“Seriously, Aunt Clara, what do you want?” He’d beg if he had to.
“Clara, take that contraption out of your underwear, for God’s sake. When I touch you, I don’t want to be touching technology.”
She laughed as she crossed to her handbag, perched jauntily on a hardwood side table, and dropped the phone into it. “I have a passcode, so don’t even think about trying anything. Also, I have it backed up on that cloud thing.”
“She really does,” his uncle said, pulling him into a man hug. “Snap out of it. We all have undignified moments in life.”
He shot Uncle Arthur a look as he stepped back. “You haven’t.”
The man only shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a special kind of breed. By the way, why aren’t you staying here? This place is wonderful.”
He wouldn’t feel guilty. They were enjoying themselves, weren’t they? “Like I said, I like being closer to the pub, and I wanted to give you two some time alone. It is your honeymoon, after all.”
“It’s our second,” he said, “and for a man who just turned eighty, I don’t care if that’s boasting.”
Aunt Clara came over and hugged Trevor warmly. “He’s not boasting. Seriously though, you should stay here. Hargreaves is in the main house, and it sounded like there was plenty of room. Trust me, when Arthur and I want to be alone, you’ll know it.”
“Yeah, we’ll simply leave you,” the man said with a laugh. “We can talk to Becca about it when we go to dinner.”
He acted like it was decided, but Trevor was hoping he’d get to talk to Becca alone first. It wouldn’t go well if she revealed the ruse to his aunt and uncle. Of course, for all he knew, he’d be kicked out the moment he stepped foot in the restaurant. Aileen would have alerted Becca of his presence by now. His body tightened at the mere thought.
“I like being in town. More women, you know.” Too bad the only one who seemed to interest him was right here at the inn.
“But you won’t need another now that you’ve found Buttercup,” Uncle Arthur said.
“Your true love,” Aunt Clara said, batting her eyelashes in a frighteningly good impersonation of that damn alpaca.
“Of course, people will balk when they first see the two of you going around town,” Uncle Arthur continued, “but when you love someone…”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” he said.
“Not even close,” Aunt Clara said. “Personally, I’m curious how you consummated your relationship. Oh, wait. Arthur, perhaps we should move out of the cottage for Trevor and his love. They’ll need plenty of space.”
His uncle gave a wicked chuckle.
“I’m going to leave,” Trevor protested.
“You and Buttercup need a honeymoon!” Aunt Clara said, laughing again so hard she clutched her waist.
His uncle joined in, and soon they were holding each other up, they were laughing so hard.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked, sitting down on the sofa in the parlor. “I’ll read the paper until you get it out of your system.”
Aunt Clara giggled one last time, and Uncle Arthur patted her waist as they dialed it back a touch. “Oh, don’t be so cross. If you can’t laugh at yourself, what’s the good of it? How about a drink to remove that sourpuss look?”
“Whiskey. Neat. And no more alpaca jokes.”
Uncle Arthur strode over to a side bar and poured a couple of whiskeys. Then he made a martini for Aunt Clara, who continued to giggle.
“My dear, you’ve lost all control,” Arthur said as he handed her the drink.
“I can’t seem to help myself,” she replied.
Trevor grabbed a tumbler from his uncle and took a healthy swallow of the good Irish whiskey.
“All right, let’s start again,” Aunt Clara said. “It’s good to see you, my boy. J.T. seems to be missing you something awful even though he and Caroline are in their own newlywed bliss.”
He knew the feeling. He’d spent the last couple of years fighting for J.T., helping him move on from his disastrous first marriage to a woman who’d rather ruin him than let him leave her. It had been hard to leave his twin behind in Dare Valley, even though he knew his brother was happy and in love.
“You’ll have to visit Dare Valley soon,” his uncle was saying. “Of course, everyone will be delighted to meet Buttercup.”
And so the jokes continued as they told him about their trip to the Grand Canyon. This time he was the one who laughed when his uncle bitched to high heaven about burning his legs on the leather seats in his new convertible courtesy of the hot Southwest sun. He asked for another drink, and although he wouldn’t admit it if pressed, he knew he wanted to delay another potential meeting with Buttercup.
After two drinks, Aunt Clara was bouncing on the sofa next to her new husband, gushing about how lucky they were to have reconnected. Uncle Arthur didn’t make a joke. In fact, he got downright misty-eyed.
“Everyone is so happy for you both,” Trevor said, finishing his drink.
“Let’s move along to dinner,” Uncle Arthur said. “Back home, I’d be in bed by now.”
Trevor laughed. He knew a bald-faced lie when he heard one. It was only seven thirty. “I can take Aunt Clara to dinner if you’d prefer.”
Uncle Arthur grumbled the whole way as he stood up and held his hand out to Aunt Clara. “Nope. If she’s not with me, I miss her. She’s turned me into a sap.”
“You’ve turned me into an even bigger one,” Aunt Clara said, taking his hand and laughing as he pulled her off the sofa. “Does this mean I can embroider our bathroom towels back home?”
This time his uncle snorted. “Not on your life. Come on, Hargreaves is probably prostrate with loneliness.”
“Tell the truth,” his aunt said as she grabbed her purse. “You miss having him around.”
“Bah,” was the o
nly response she received.
His uncle cracked the door open and peeked out. “No sign of the missus.”
“Funny,” Trevor said. “Let’s go.”
They stepped out of the cottage, and Trevor stopped for a moment, awed by the view. Pinks and golds streaked the sky, and he caught the first star winking overhead. By God, it was beautiful.
“Takes your breath away,” Uncle Arthur said.
“I’ve totally fallen in love with this place,” Aunt Clara said, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder. “We’ll have to come here again someday.”
If the Merriams took it over, that would be impossible, and Trevor was saddened by the thought.
Uncle Arthur patted her hand. “Let’s focus on today, my dear. You never know what may come.”
Trevor’s thoughts shot to his cousin, Corey, who’d died in the prime of his life, leaving behind a beautiful wife and two kids. As they walked to the house, he firmed his resolve. He didn’t care how beautiful the sky looked. He couldn’t. He had to help his brother and do his job.
Becca O’Neill had to sell this land to him.
Chapter 6
“I’ve been looking high and low for you,” Aileen said, bursting into Becca’s office where she sat knitting on the side sofa.
Becca was a bit miffed at first—she’d lost count of her stitches. But all thoughts of the sweater fled when the older woman continued. “Trevor Merriam is the nephew joining Arthur and Clara for dinner tonight.”
Her eyes popped clear open, and she dropped her knitting onto the cushion. “I am in me wick.” Hadn’t he come to mind a time or two while she was knitting?
“No, I caught him on the way to the cottage,” Aileen said. “And I’ll tell you something else, love. Buttercup is sweet on him.”
“What?” she asked, doing a double take. “But she doesn’t like anyone. Not even the other alpacas.” Hence the animal’s predilection for leaving her pen. She’d figured out how to lift the latch on the gate, and Cian hadn’t yet discovered a way to keep her inside. Becca had known alpacas were smart, but this was something different.
“I know it!” Aileen said, pulling on her apron for emphasis. “I told that Merriam fellow that animals know the true measure of a person. He insists he’s a businessman through and through, but I suspect he has a soft heart. Becca, I think we should change tactics now that his relations are staying with us.”
Becca narrowed her eyes. He was putting her in a horrible position, wasn’t he? They didn’t want a holy show of things. Refusing him a room privately was one thing, but she couldn’t very well throw him out of the dining room, especially since Arthur and Clara were so lovely. Good heavens, the sweater she’d started knitting today was for Arthur.
But, oh, to see him again—those big broad shoulders and long limbs, that intense, perceptive gaze. She wanted to touch him and banter with him. Her heart turned over in her chest.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked.
“I say we let him come around all he wants,” Aileen said. “You’ll tempt more flies with honey. Perhaps even invite him to stay at the inn. His aunt and uncle love this place, and when he sees for himself how grand it is, he’ll stop pressuring you to sell. I’m convinced of it.”
He should stop pressuring her because she’d told him no, but Aileen had a point. Plus, she didn’t want to risk offending or upsetting Arthur and Clara. “I can see your way of things.” Plus, she’d get to see him every day…
“Cian won’t like it at first,” Aileen said, “but I’ll work on him, don’t you worry.”
How many times had she heard her friend say that? “All right, I’ll talk to Trevor and see if he’s amenable.”
“Oh, he’ll be amenable, love,” Aileen said. “The staff at The Stag’s Head have been giving him a right hard time out of loyalty to you. Heck, I hear tell they haven’t made his bed, and they’ve served him runny eggs and scones hard as bricks with his full Irish.”
Normally, she’d have felt a little guilty, but the townspeople’s defense cheered her.
“Now, let’s go look in on him,” Aileen said.
They’d almost made it to the dining room when Cian came storming out of it. His ears were red, and he looked in a right state.
“That Merriam lad is sitting in the dining room with Arthur and Clara like he’s the king of England,” he blurted out. “He’s their nephew! I almost punched him in the face when they introduced him to me.”
Aileen dragged him away from the dining room lest he give in to temptation. “You’ll keep your head, Cian O’Shea. Becca and I have a downright good plan brewing, and that would only ruin it. Becca, you go out now and mingle with the guests. I’ll speak with Cian and come straightaway.”
Cian didn’t look any too pleased, but he knew better than to protest. Becca nodded and made her way into the dining room. Sure enough, Trevor was seated in the corner of the room with his back to the wall, bold as brass. Well, he wasn’t hiding his association to Arthur and Clara none. A lesser man might have put his back to the room, hoping to go unseen, not like that could happen at her place.
And goodness, he looked fine in his blue suit.
“Arthur, Clara,” Becca called out. “I see you brought your nephew with you. And Hargreaves. How good to see you.” Was Mr. Merriam going to pretend they hadn’t met? She waited for his eyes to meets hers.
Trevor Merriam jerked his chin. “It’s good to see you again, Becca. Thank you for making my aunt and uncle’s stay so wonderful. I just knew they’d love the honeymoon cottage when I came by to look at the property the other day.”
So this was the way of it. “Indeed. How are you liking your stay so far?”
The couple beamed, and Clara reached for Arthur’s hand. “It’s pure magic here, Becca. Everything we’ve come across is top-notch.”
“Hear, hear,” Hargreaves added.
“We’re especially fond of your alpaca, Buttercup,” Arthur said, biting his lip to keep from laughing. “Trevor has taken a shine to the animal. Haven’t you, Trev?”
She still couldn’t imagine Buttercup taking a shine to anyone, least of all Trevor, but part of her hoped she would see the lovesick interest Aileen had described. “We also have rabbits, Mr. Merriam. How do you feel about them?”
His beautiful mouth worked like he was fighting a smile, and she wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. “Rabbits make me hungry. How’s the rabbit on the menu tonight?”
“We don’t eat the rabbits on the property. Or the sheep.”
“What about alpacas?” he asked, lifting his whiskey and taking a healthy sip. “Just kidding. Ms. O’Neill, may I have a word? You lovebirds need a surprise, and I’m sure Ms. O’Neill here will be happy to help the cause of true love. Excuse me.”
He rose and patted his Aunt Clara with affection—that, at least, seemed real—and proceeded to follow Becca out of the dining room. She was aware of the veiled glares the staff was giving him, and she made sure to smile. As much as she appreciated their support, there was no need for anyone to be rude.
“I was hoping to speak with you as well,” she said, gesturing to her office down the hallway. “Imagine my surprise upon learning you were related to these fine people.”
“They were coming to visit me in Dublin, but I was here calling on you,” he said. “They were eager to join me when I told them about your picturesque establishment.”
She wanted to kick him, but she had a new plan to enact. “How are you liking The Stag’s Head?” she asked, trying not to smirk.
“It’s a real kip of a place,” he said, not batting an eye.
So he’d picked up some slang while living in Dublin. “I’m sorry you find it inadequate. Perhaps you’d prefer to stay with us. Your uncle and aunt are here, after all, and they’re some of the loveliest people we’ve ever had. We want to make their stay as enjoyable as possible. Surely they’ve asked why you’re staying elsewhere.”
“They might have mentioned
it.” He regarded her with narrowed eyes. Goodness, it was a shame for him to squint like that. His green eyes were alluring.
“It must have been terrible,” she said, almost snorting. “Did you feel no remorse, lying to them?” For she knew they couldn’t be part of his scheme. Both displayed a charming lack of artifice.
“I did, actually, and they’re still in the dark, this being their honeymoon and all.” He tilted his head to the side. “How did you know they weren’t in on it?”
She looked down her nose at him. “Because they’re good and kind people, honest as the day is long. I can always tell. Clearly, such values have skipped you and your brother’s generation.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “You’re singing a different tune today, Ms. O’Neill.”
“They can’t help being related to you.”
“True enough.” His mirth continued. “That’s better. For a moment, I thought someone had taken possession of you. If I stay here, do you promise you’ll serve me those award-winning scones of yours? I won’t move from The Stag’s Head if you’re planning on luring me here only so you can give me the same abominable treatment.”
Ah, now they were talking. She liked to negotiate. “Abominable? How very queer. But to answer your question, yes, you will receive the full five-star treatment. On two conditions. One, you promise not to pressure me into selling while they stay here. And two, you leave when they do. In the same car, if possible.”
He rocked back on his heels, a sly smile cresting over his full mouth. “Now we’re talking. I won’t pressure you while I’m a guest, but you’ll hear my final offer before I leave, along with all the reasons it’s in your best interest to sell your land. You could still sell me a parcel. A hundred acres would leave you plenty for your new animals and such.”
“Not even one acre.” Pigs would fly. “I’ll hear you out, Mr. Merriam, if only out of courtesy, but I won’t change my mind. For the entire lot or a parcel.”
Oh, she was getting worked up, but not only because of their banter.
“We’ll see,” he said with the same bravado he’d displayed in the dining room. “There’s an offer for everyone, Ms. O’Neill, and trust me, after staying here, I’ll know enough about you and this place to make an offer that will give you everything you could ever want.”
