Five Days in Skye

by Carla Laureano

  “Something wrong?” Andrea asked.

  “Not at all.” James released his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. He got out of the car and circled to open her door for her. “This was the house I was raised in.”

  Andrea lingered by the car to take in the panoramic view of the water, the brisk wind whipping her hair into her face. “It looks like a lovely place to grow up.”

  “It was. Peaceful. Of course, to a young boy, peaceful means boring.”

  She huddled deeper into her coat. “Small-town girl, remember?”

  “Right. Come. Let’s get out of the cold.” He gestured for her to follow him up the path to the front door. The door was unlocked as usual. He opened it and stepped aside for her to enter, then followed her into the wood-paneled reception room.

  Old-fashioned oak furniture mingled with floral upholstery, and diaphanous lace curtains filtered light from the windows. An upright piano cluttered with family pictures dominated one wall, some turning pink or yellow with age. In his thirty-five years, those photos were the only thing that had ever changed.

  Andrea turned toward him. “It’s sweet. It reminds me a little of my grandparents’ house in Indiana.”

  “A bit of a time capsule, I realize.” He raised his voice. “Auntie? Serena? I’m here.”

  A blur of pink streaked through the doorway and launched itself at him. “Uncle Jamie!”

  “Oof.” James caught the exuberant six-year-old before she could knock him into the piano bench. “Who’s this? I only have one niece, and she’s just a little thing!”

  The little girl giggled, showing the gap in her smile. “It’s me, Emmy!”

  “Minus a couple of teeth.” James crushed her to him in a bear hug and threw her over his shoulder. She squealed as he jostled her around and pretended to drop her. “Where’s your mum? Where’s Auntie? Quick, before I have to shake it out of you!”

  “I’m here.” Serena appeared in the doorway, his one-year-old nephew propped on one hip. She looked as pretty and put-together as usual, but the cropped pixie hairdo was new, as were the dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked between him and Andrea, and a questioning smile formed on her lips.

  James jumped in before she could voice her assumptions. “Serena, this is Andrea Sullivan, our hospitality consultant. Andrea, this is my sister, Serena.”

  Serena juggled the baby onto her other hip in order to thrust out a hand. “Andrea, pleased to meet you. Welcome to Skye. What do you think?”

  Andrea shook Serena’s hand. “It’s stunning. James wouldn’t tell me why he chose Skye for the hotel, but I understand now that I see it with my own eyes.”

  “I miss it,” Serena said wistfully. “But at least I have a good excuse to visit, and the kids love it. Well, Emmy does. Max’s too young to notice yet.”

  “Your children are beautiful.” Andrea’s voice wavered, and her forehead creased slightly. James frowned as well. What had he missed? He might not know her well, but that was not a woman’s usual reaction when faced with a baby.

  “Jamie.”

  James’s muscles seized for a moment, and his blood pressure spiked. He kept his expression neutral as he turned to the man in the doorway. “Ian. I didn’t realize we had a wake to attend.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Not likely. Ian had never begged anyone’s pardon. Told James what he should be sorry for, maybe, but never apologized on his own. James’s reply came out tighter, harder than he intended. “The only thing that can get you to Scotland is a funeral. I’d assumed someone had died.”

  Ian didn’t even flicker an eyelash at the jab. James shouldn’t have expected anything less. Ian never betrayed weakness, always remained in control. Even his perfectly pressed chinos wouldn’t dare wrinkle on his body.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Jamie. I’m just here to attend to our investment.”

  “Right. Investment.” James glanced at Andrea. “As you’ve no doubt guessed, this is my brother, Ian MacDonald. Ian, Andrea Sullivan.”

  “Welcome, Andrea.” Ian strode toward her, hand outstretched, and shook her hand. “Thank you for making the trip from London at the last minute.”

  “It’s my pleasure, truly.” Andrea smiled at Ian, and James felt the slightest pang of . . . irritation. Surely it couldn’t be jealousy.

  “Here, let me take your coat.” Ian moved smoothly behind Andrea and slipped his hands beneath the lapels to ease it off her shoulders.

  No, James was most definitely annoyed now. Leave it to his brother to make him feel thoughtless and ungracious thirty seconds after he walked into a room.

  “Jamie, dear.”

  James nearly sighed in relief at his aunt’s timely arrival. He crossed the room and kissed her on both cheeks. “Hello, Aunt Muriel. You look beautiful.” He’d never seen her anything but impeccably turned out, today in a pair of pressed trousers and a lightweight jumper.

  Muriel chuckled, put her arms around him, and squeezed. “Dear boy, finally. When Ian said you’d be coming early, I’d hoped you were going to be here for church yesterday. Who is this lovely young lady?”

  “Andrea Sullivan, ma’am.” Andrea stepped forward and offered her hand. “I’m a consultant. I’m here to look at the hotel with James.”

  “Welcome, Andrea.” Muriel turned her stern gaze on her two nephews. “I hope you two can manage to get along for a few days. I won’t have you bickering.”

  James thrust his hands into his pockets. “No bickering.” Ian raised an eyebrow, clearly challenging him.

  Muriel’s iron tone brooked no further discussion. “It’s high time you two began acting like adults.”

  This was exactly what James had hoped to avoid. He was all too aware of Andrea watching the exchange. “I’m sure Ian and I can put our differences aside for a couple of days.”

  Muriel frowned, apparently not pleased with the implication that hostilities would resume immediately after. She turned to Andrea. “Do you like Italian food?”

  “Of course,” Andrea said. “I love Italian.”

  “Good. We picked up everything on your list this morning, Jamie. It’s waiting in the kitchen.”

  He could take a hint. “I should get started, then. Andrea, fancy being my sous-chef for the evening?”

  “As long as I don’t have to do anything more complicated than boil water.”

  “That means it’s just you and me, Em.” Ian knelt down and turned his back to the little girl. “Hop on. We’ll go find something to do outside until your uncle calls us for dinner.”

  Emmy wrapped her arms and legs around Ian, and he headed for the door. He smiled warmly at Andrea as he passed. “Back in a bit.”

  Andrea returned the smile, and the knot in James’s gut tightened another degree. He’d always gone to great lengths not to compete directly with his brother. Not in school. Not in sports. Certainly not with women. He’d be daft to think Ian hadn’t already guessed his interest in Andrea and decided to show him up as a matter of principle. These things just never ended well. If he won, Ian could never let it go. If he lost, he’d never let James forget it. Just more proof his older brother had rotten timing.

  This time James wasn’t in the mood to back down.

  Chapter Seven

  Being in the same room with the MacDonald men was like standing in a demilitarized zone. It seemed safe and cordial until someone got trigger-happy and started sniping. Even with Ian’s departure, the tension in the living room remained so thick Andrea thought she might trip over it on the way to the kitchen.

  Ian MacDonald was not what she had expected, either as James’s brother or as his chief operations officer. For one thing he looked more like an athlete than a lawyer, lean and broad shouldered, dressed casually in a cabled sweater and khakis. And he was nearly as good-looking as his younger brother, which was saying something. Taken with their ethereally pretty sister, it was obvious the MacDonald children had gotten more than their fair share of looks from the family g
ene pool.

  The enmity between the two men, however, took her by surprise. What on earth had happened that they couldn’t even stay in the same room together? And why did Ian remain an officer of James’s company if they’d had such a drastic falling-out?

  She followed James through the attached dining room into a small kitchen. “May I ask what that was all about?”

  James grimaced. “Old, ugly business. He didn’t tell me he was coming because he assumed I wouldn’t put in an appearance if he did.”

  “Would you have?”

  “Probably not.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at her and gave her a crooked grin. “Then again, that was before I laid eyes on his consultant.”

  And back to business as usual. “Nice change of subject.”

  “I thought so.”

  “What can I do, then?” Andrea leaned against the counter and watched him gather ingredients from various cabinets.

  “You can pour.” James opened the pantry and came out with a bottle of red wine, followed by four glasses and a corkscrew. He popped the cork and set the bottle back on the counter, then frowned. “Serena! You raided my wine cellar again!”

  Serena ducked into the room and gave James an exasperated look. “Do you mind? I just put Max down. And yes, I raided your wine collection in the cottage. You’ve been holding out on us.”

  “That’s because you don’t know Syrah from Chianti,” he said, his tone affectionate. He glanced at Andrea. “Or so she claims. She managed to find my best bottle of reserve Cabernet, which I am very sure I hid in the back.”

  “I know how you think. You’re not just going to stock your cupboard with a collection of ten-quid Chablis. They had to be decoys.”

  Andrea picked up the bottle and filled the four glasses with a flourish. Then she raised her own. “To a sister who isn’t fooled by the decoys, then.”

  “Well said, Andrea.” Serena grinned and clinked her glass against Andrea’s. “Now I’m going to go enjoy the quiet. Give a shout if you need me.”

  Andrea turned to James as Serena exited the kitchen. “What else can I help with?”

  “Since you already boasted about your water-boiling skills, you can fill the stockpot under the sink.”

  Andrea chuckled and found an enameled stockpot in the cupboard, then filled it with hot water and carried it to the stove. “This cooking thing is easier than I thought.”

  “You’re a natural. I can do the rest, though. Have a seat and enjoy your wine.”

  Andrea slid onto a barstool at the island, shrugged off her suit jacket, and placed it neatly on the stool beside her. They’d strayed far enough from business matters for one day. Time to get back on point. “Tell me about the dining room you’ll have in the hotel.”

  “The concept will be similar to my other restaurants in Scotland.” James doused the pan on the burner with a healthy dose of olive oil and then began dicing an onion across the island from her. “Locally sourced, heavy on the seafood, some grass-fed beef and lamb. A limited menu and no more than ten tables, I think.”

  Andrea watched his expert movements with the knife, fascinated. She’d probably chop off a finger if she tried to work that fast, but he’d done it so often he didn’t seem to give it a thought. The tension melted from him as he performed the familiar movements, the lines of his face softening.

  “You want visitors to have a taste of the real Skye,” she said. “Do you expect mostly tourists?”

  “In the summer, yes, though the restaurant will probably draw as many locals as hotel guests. There are a number of excellent restaurants on Sleat, but they tend toward traditional. I want to do something a little fresher.” He scraped the diced onion from the cutting board into the pan. Immediately the kitchen filled with a heavenly aroma.

  Andrea inhaled appreciatively and leaned forward onto her elbows while she watched him score and scald tomatoes for the sauce. She’d wondered more than once how someone made the leap from chef to celebrity, but now she understood. Handsome, masculine, and capable was a lethal combination. Add in the appealing Scottish accent, and it was no wonder women fell at James’s feet.

  She watched him for a few more seconds, reluctant to broach the subject they really needed to discuss. “It would be helpful for me to understand the situation with you and Ian. As it relates to the hotel, of course.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he nodded. “When our father died, he left this house to Aunt Muriel and the hotel to the three of us.”

  “Then Serena’s an equal partner?”

  “She was. She said she couldn’t be as involved in the renovations as Ian and me, but I really think she didn’t want to play peacemaker the whole time. I bought out her share last year.”

  “So why is Ian here if he doesn’t have a controlling share? It seems to me you could do whatever you wanted.”

  James turned, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “I could, but I wouldn’t. He may be a sorry git at times, but he’s still my brother.”

  “So both you and Ian need to sign off on this proposal? He wouldn’t refuse out of spite, would he?”

  “Of course not. Regardless of how we may feel about each other, his business sense is sound. I wouldn’t have kept him on as an officer of the company if I didn’t believe he’d make the right decisions.”

  Andrea couldn’t even begin to understand the dynamic between them. Brothers who couldn’t stand the sight of one another yet still maintained enough trust to remain in business? Apparently James compartmentalized as well as he claimed. She doubted she could stay so objective. What in the world could have driven such a wedge into their relationship?

  But that wasn’t her concern. She hopped off the stool. “I’m going to go sit down out there. Call me if you need your sous-chef back.”

  “I will,” he said. “You boil water brilliantly.”

  “Glad to be of service.”

  His laugh followed her out, and she took a gulp of her wine to control her own lingering smile.

  The living room was empty except for Serena, who stretched out lengthwise on the rose-patterned sofa, her feet propped up on the arm and her eyes closed. Andrea halted in the doorway. The woman looked exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb her few moments of peace.

  Serena opened her eyes and turned her head just as Andrea was planning her hasty retreat. “Come, have a seat. I was just resting my eyes.” She swung her legs to the floor and patted the cushion next to her.

  “Are you sure? With a little one, you could probably do with some alone time.”

  “I’d really rather have some adult conversation. And don’t say I can get that from my brothers, because as you can see, they turn into little boys in each other’s presence.”

  Andrea navigated around a scatter of blocks to sit on the sofa. “I’d noticed. Are they always like that?”

  “To some degree.” Serena reached for her wineglass, which rested on a side table. “I’ve never seen two people so completely opposite in temperament. And when you consider they didn’t really grow up together . . .”

  “What do you mean?” Andrea asked before she could think better of it. She really shouldn’t be asking such personal questions. It wasn’t as if this were a social visit. But Serena was so welcoming, and she seemed genuinely eager to talk.

  “There’s almost five years between Ian and James. When our parents divorced, Ian was already headed off to Eton. James was barely eight. That was the last time any of us really lived under the same roof.”

  Interesting. Ian had attended the most exclusive boys’ school in the UK, but James had refused to follow in his footsteps and had attended school in Scotland instead.

  Andrea tried to steer the conversation to lighter topics. “You seem close to them both, though.”

  “They’re good uncles, and Emmy especially adores them. She needs that now.” Serena threw her a bare smile. “My husband died over a year ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” This was definitely treading o
n topics Andrea didn’t want to discuss with a complete stranger, but Serena wanted to talk. She forced herself to ask, “What happened?”

  “Heart attack. He was on a business trip when it happened. He was only forty-two.”

  “I’m so sorry.” What else could she say? No wonder Serena looked so exhausted. She would have been pregnant with Max when her husband died, leaving her to raise the children alone. The thought shuddered through Andrea, twisting her stomach. That might have been her if things had turned out differently.

  Andrea took a drink of her wine and thought about how to turn the direction of the conversation. She was saved when the front door banged open, followed by a rush of cold air and a rosy-cheeked girl.

  “Look, Mum. See what we found!” Emmy rushed over to the sofa and opened her hand to reveal a clutch of tiny, sandy seashells.

  Andrea moved her expensive shoes out of reach of the girl’s damp sneakers just as Emmy turned to her. “Did you see, Andrea?”

  “Ms. Sullivan,” Serena corrected immediately, but Andrea shook her head.

  “Andrea’s fine. And they’re lovely. What are you going to do with them?”

  “Put them in a jar with some sand so I can take the beach home,” Emmy said.

  “Not your typical business trip, is it?”

  Andrea looked up from Emmy’s treasures as Ian seated himself in an armchair on the other side of the coffee table, one long leg crossed ankle to knee over the other. “No, not so far.”

  “That’s Skye for you.” The wry twist of his mouth brought to mind his brother. “A family welcome whether you want it or not.”

  “Ian,” Serena said reprovingly.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I just meant the situation’s more informal than Ms. Sullivan probably expected.”

  “Call her Andrea, Uncle Ian,” Emmy said.