"Spit it out," Kirsty told her as she handed over the Tunnock's Tea Cakes.
"Well..." Caroline hesitated enough to let Kirsty know that she was picking and choosing her words carefully. "There's a lot of talk about him wanting to be the only lingerie shop in town."
She bit into her biscuit. Kirsty waited her out. Caroline would tell her the rest in her own good time. It took a whole biscuit and several gulps of tea before she started talking again.
"It seems that there are rather a lot of women who think you should..." She cleared her throat as her cheeks went luminous pink. "Ahem, 'jump his bones' was the phrase most often used."
Kirsty's jaw fell open.
"People are saying I should sleep with Lake?"
"I don't think sleep was implied," Caroline said. "Mainly they meant, ah..."
"I know what they meant," Kirsty told her, and watched her sigh with relief. "What I don't know is why they would say that. He's English, he's annoying and he wants to ruin me. Why on earth would anyone want me to sleep with the man?"
"Mrs Cameron said it would do you good," Caroline offered to be helpful, but Kirsty could see that her friend was as mystified as she was. "Mrs Kennedy said that he brings out your passionate streak."
"He brings out my homicidal maniac streak, more like!"
"I'm only telling you what I heard. You know how much I hate doing that, so don't kill the messenger, okay?"
"I know, sweetie." Kirsty was well aware that Caroline would rather die than gossip.
"I'm not going to sleep with the man." She felt she had to say it out loud.
Caroline sat up straight and pushed her shoulders back.
"I never thought you would."
Although Kirsty had to admit there were thoughts and images creeping into her mind that she really didn't want to be there. All because of that infuriating man.
"He's playing with my mind. He's trying to undermine my thought process so that I can't fight properly. It's a tactic to win the war. It has to be." Her eyes narrowed. "I need to do some research," she said. "Find out what kind of war he's running here."
"Funny you should mention that." Caroline rummaged around in her huge handbag and came out with a large hardback book. "After all the talk in the library, I thought you might need this."
She plonked the book on the counter. Tactics of War, the cover said. Kirsty had to laugh.
"Brilliant," she said. "I'll have a read tonight." She hesitated. "There is something else you could help me with."
"Oh, oh, I don't like the sound of that."
Kirsty took a deep breath as her friend's lips pursed with suspicion.
"I want to have a fashion show during the Christmas Market."
"No."
"Come on, Caroline—I need the publicity and I sure as heck need the business. I promise it will be tasteful."
Caroline folded her arms over her grey suit jacket. Kirsty had often wondered where she found all these grey skirt suits that she wore, as Kirsty had yet to see her shop.
"It's not going to happen," Caroline said. "The Christmas Market is about tradition, about family. I don't think a lingerie show fits in with that."
"We can have it after dark, adult time. I promise it won't be titillating in any way, shape or form."
"I don't even like that word. It sounds rude. It won't work Kirsty. Unless..." Kirsty could see from the anxiety in Caroline's eyes that she wanted to help. "Unless it's indoors somewhere and we sell tickets to adults only."
Kirsty shook her head.
"That will make it seem dirty. I don't want people to start thinking that nice underwear is something akin to a sex toy. It's just fashion. Heck, it's only knickers. Come on, Caroline. You know how much I need this."
She watched as her friend's shoulders dropped slightly. She was softening.
"What were you thinking exactly?" she said.
Kirsty grinned.
"I envision a runway down on the main road by the loch, lots of Christmas lights, cool music and a great show. I can give away prizes." She was really getting into it now. "We can have it in the evening, get the food stalls going, make it a real party. What do you think?"
"I think as chairwoman of the Christmas Market I'm going to regret this," Caroline muttered. She pointed at Kirsty. "You promise, on your life, that there won't be anything smutty about the whole thing?"
Kirsty fought the excitement building inside of her as she worked at looking solemn.
"I promise."
"And you promise that you won't do anything that will embarrass me, or this town?"
"Promise."
"And you promise that you will run every tiny idea past me before you do it and that you won't spring anything on me at the last minute?"
"I'll even give it all to you in nicely typed reports, in proper folders with Post-Its stuck to the most important parts."
Caroline fought a smile.
"In duplicate?"
"Of course."
Her shoulders slumped entirely.
"Fine, you can do it."
Kirsty whooped and tugged her friend into a tight hug.
"You are amazing," she said.
"I'm insane," Caroline said. "I'm the only woman in Europe planning a family-friendly Christmas market with a lingerie fashion show."
"Think of the publicity."
"Think of the weirdoes it will attract."
"Think of the money it will generate for the town."
"Think of all the complaints I'll get from parents."
They paused as they read each other's minds.
"Morag McKay," they said together.
Kirsty started to laugh. It bubbled up inside of her until she was bent double with it.
"What's so funny?" Caroline demanded.
"This, you." Kirsty wiped the tears from her eyes. "Who would have thought that Caroline Patterson would ever get into trouble from Morag and her morality society. It's hysterical."
Caroline put her hands on her hips and glared at Kirsty.
"There's nothing funny about this at all, Kirsty Campbell. You stop laughing right now."
Kirsty sank to the floor she was laughing so hard.
There was no water for coffee. There was no water for a shower. There was no water to brush his teeth. If Lake had been more awake, if he'd been able to get his hands on a mug of coffee, he might have smelled a rat a lot sooner than the hour and forty minutes it actually took him. He was going soft. In all his years in the army, he'd never needed coffee to get going in the morning.
He pulled on his faded blue jeans and his paint-splattered grey work T-shirt and went in search of the mains valve. It was mangled beyond repair. He didn't need to look in his meagre toolbox to know that he lacked the gear to fix it. Back in the shop, he dug out the dust-covered phonebook and called the first plumber on the list. Before he even gave his name, he knew what the answer would be—and he was right. There were now no available plumbers in Invertary. The message he kept getting, almost word for word, was that he should try Fort William—or even better, Glasgow. Lake hung up the phone and stared at the wall. He smiled with amusement. It'd take a lot more than this to win a war against Lake Benson. He'd spent years living in hostile territory. As he kept telling the gorgeous Miss Campbell, he knew war.
"I'm going out," he shouted to Betty.
There was silence. He hoped that meant she was napping. He'd left her in the office to go through the four hundred years of paperwork she'd accumulated. He'd given her strict instructions to be tough with herself and only keep the important stuff. Then he'd spent the last hour listening to a running commentary about each treasure she'd unearthed. The silence was a blessing.
He pulled on his denim jacket and wandered out into a perfect Scottish autumn day. He took a good, deep lungful of clean air and headed up the street to the hardware store. The street was coated with the fallen leaves, a carpet in orange and red. The blue sky was crystal clear and the rows of little white houses were picturesque agai
nst the rolling green hills behind them. It felt like he was walking through a photo of Scottish perfection.
"Hi, Lake," a group of girls called to him.
He nodded and they giggled. Lake almost rolled his eyes. That newspaper article was annoying him more than helping him. Now half the women in town wanted him to charm them out of their underwear, and the other half were scared he would try! He had to do something to sort the problem soon or he'd go insane. Which, come to think of it, would mean he'd fit right in here.
After he'd given a huge chunk of what money he had left to the guy in the hardware store, Lake had an idea. The shop was painted. The lingerie and fittings were en route through Glasgow. All he needed was a plan to get the women of Invertary onside. The best way to do that was to give them what they wanted. And he had just the thing. He'd run a self-defence class.
Lake felt quite cheery as he set about undoing the shoddy sabotage job in the alley beside his store. He was fixing the trashed valve when he spotted someone out of the corner of his eye. Lake took off his protective goggles to find Kirsty staring at him. Today she was wearing a pale grey figure-hugging dress, which had her signature high neck. And, be still his heart, it looked like she wore thigh-high black boots under the dress. His mouth began to water.
"Thought you might need this," she said.
From behind her back she produced a two-litre bottle of Highland Spring water.
Lake almost smiled.
"I didn't think you'd own up," he said as he took the water.
It was sparkling, not his favourite. He unscrewed the lid and had a long, slow drink, keeping one eye on Kirsty as he did so. Kirsty cleared her throat. Suddenly the old brick wall was fascinating to her.
"I'm not responsible," she said. "But I do know what happened."
Lake capped the bottle and used it to point at the pipe.
"And you came to gloat?"
"Damn right I came to gloat."
Lake grinned at her.
"You can gloat at me any time, Kirsty Campbell," he told her. "Want some?" He held out the bottle.
"No." She folded her arms across her chest.
He was pretty sure the action was supposed to be a barrier to him; instead it made him step closer. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Are you going to give up now?" she said.
Lake grinned widely.
"You thought a morning without water would make me surrender?"
Her eyes flicked away in uncertainty. That was exactly what she'd thought.
"That's cute," he told her.
She frowned as she took a step away from him.
"This is only the beginning," she said.
"How do you know that if you aren't responsible?"
"I hear things."
"Voices in your head? You need to see a doctor about that."
Lake took another step towards her. She swallowed hard and took a step away from him. Her back was against the wall.
"Tell me, Kirsty." He placed a hand on the wall beside her head. "Have you been thinking about me? Thinking about us?"
A flash of panic, followed closely by amusement, crossed her face.
"Don't be daft."
"I think that's a bare-faced lie."
She stood up straighter.
"I'll have you know that I have many more important things to think about than you, Lake Benson."
"Uh-huh, I bet you do."
He leaned in towards her. She smelled exactly like warm vanilla custard. She licked her full bottom lip as her breath hitched. Her body language made her out to be a liar. He leaned in to whisper in her ear.
"Do you want to know what I've been thinking? I can tell you if you like."
He heard her heart pound loudly. He could feel the heat coming from her skin. One tiny movement to the right and his lips would be touching that fabulous, creamy skin of hers.
"I don't care what you think," she said, but her voice was a croak and her words were strained.
"I know," he whispered before he leaned in and gently nipped the skin high on her neck beneath her ear.
She made a little whimpering sound. Lake followed it to her mouth and gently kissed the sound right out of her. For a second she melted against him as he felt his heart beat faster. He ran his hands up her arms, and as he reached her shoulders he felt her stiffen. She pushed him away.
"Stop it. I don't do that any more."
For the first time that he could recall, he felt genuinely shocked.
"You don't do what? Let men kiss you in alleyways?"
Her face turned a deep shade of red.
"That and more—especially with you."
Lake was genuinely stumped. Kirsty pointed at the mangled pipe.
"This is just the beginning, unless you give up this stupid war."
"I'm not giving up," he told her. "On anything."
There was a flash of panic in her eyes.
"Well, you're more of a fool than I thought you were."
With that, she turned and stalked across the road.
Kirsty slammed the door to her flat behind her. The space was closing in on her. The colours that normally soothed her were over-bright. Her palms began to tingle as she felt her throat tighten. Deep breaths, she told herself. Long, slow, deep breaths. She stood in the middle of her living room and closed her eyes. That infuriatingly stupid man. She'd been a year free of any sort of anxiety attack. Now thanks to him and his stupid war—and his stupid mouth—she was heading right back to where she started. She wouldn't have it.
As she counted her breathing and felt the tightness in her throat subside, she remembered what the doctor had told her after the accident—have a plan, a way to cope for when the attacks hit. She opened her eyes and the room was back to normal. Shaking her hands to get rid of the pins and needles that remained, she headed to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. She needed a coping mechanism. What? She sipped the water as her heartbeat slowed. What she really wanted to do was lock Lake in a box and forget all about him. She stilled with the glass halfway to her mouth. That was it. She smacked the glass down on the counter, making the contents spill.
She grabbed the board marker off the whiteboard next to the fridge and opened the cupboard under the sink. The cupboard no one ever went into. On the inside of the door she wrote a list of all the things she needed to get out of her head—Lake, money worries, war and marketing the business. Done. With a smile of satisfaction, she stood, kicked the door shut and felt slightly better. She'd just keep it all in the cupboard and not in her head. As she walked away, she felt only marginally worried that her coping mechanism might be a sign that she'd totally lost the plot.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rainne slipped out of the back of Betty's Knicker Emporium. She'd had a belly full of both Lake and his sidekick. War. It made her feel ill thinking about it. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure that no one was there to call her back, she headed in the direction of the loch. The water glimmered in the early morning sun. Ripples of blue, grey and green swayed lazily. Just looking at it made her feel lighter than she had in weeks. She filled her lungs with crisp autumn air. You could almost smell winter it was so close.
Rainne skirted to the right of the loch, climbed over the wall to the narrow beach and ducked out of sight of the town. Apart from the occasional car passing on the road nearby, all she could hear was the lapping water. Bliss. She wandered along the thin strip of beach, tripping over rocks and tree branches. Behind the thick bushes at the edge of town was a spot that was usually neglected. There wasn't much demand in Invertary, after summer, for space by the water. Rainne found a good place and plopped down on a water-worn tree stump. Before she could stop herself, the tears began to fall. Better at the loch than in the shop. She knew Lake thought tears were a sign of weakness. But then, that's what she was—weak.
"This place is far too pretty to sob in." A voice startled her.
Rainne jumped to her feet. She didn't know what to do with herself. She wiped h
er face with the sleeve of her velvet jacket.
"And you're far to pretty to be the one sobbing," Alastair said as he came into view from behind the clump of bushes.
"Are you following me?" Rainne said.
"Yes," he said solemnly before holding up a fishing rod and tackle box. "Practice. Trying out some new weights and flies before they go on sale."
"Does it have to be here?" She waved around her. "I was hoping for some alone time."
He put his box down beside her.
"That's fine, you can have your alone time with me."
"That isn't how alone time works."
"I'll be quiet. In fact, you're the one making all the noise. You're going to scare the fish away. Sit down and enjoy the view."
Rainne did as she was told, only to have Alastair stand right in front of her at the water's edge.
"How am I supposed to enjoy the view when you're in the way?"
He looked over his shoulder and grinned that cheeky grin of his as his brown eyes crinkled with mischief.
"There's all sorts of views to enjoy here, Rainne."
And he didn't move. Rainne blew her nose on a tissue she found in her pocket and wondered how she was supposed to focus on the rippling waters of the loch with his backside in the way. Although, it was a nice backside—cupped in butter-soft jeans that had faded close to grey. Her eyes narrowed. He was doing it again.
"You're trying to make me flirt with you, aren't you?" she said.
Alastair didn't say a word. He just flicked back the fishing rod and let the weight sail through the air into the water. His shoulder muscles flexed as he guided the rod through the air. Rainne found her eyes following the ripples of the muscles across his shoulders, down his back and straight to that fantastic behind. She shook her head.
"I'm not doing it. You're too young for me."
"You really need to get over that age prejudice thing you've got going, Rainbow. It doesn't suit you."
"Stop calling me Rainbow. Only my parents call me that."
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