“Did that. Now, go to Edinburgh. And while you’re there find a handsome, smooth-talking Scotsman and have fun.”
“I haven’t had time for fun in two years. Besides, there’s an event to plan.” And a lump in my breast.
Meredith dropped the phone into the console. Maybe after she completed the genealogy research at the Archives in Edinburgh and drafted the Montgomery family history, she’d relax for a few hours and drive up to the Highlands. If she didn’t get the material to the printer by deadline, the brochure would print without the winery’s history. The 160th celebration deserved the best from her, even if she did have cancer.
She fished a rumpled to-do list from her pocket. The Springsteen contract and addendum were numbers one through five. As soon as she boarded the plane, she’d send the agent an email reminder to return the original signed documents. Panic could easily top her tension if she thought about all that could go wrong. The event had to be perfect in every detail.
Cailean wouldn’t have a second chance to make a great first impression.
Chapter Three
Teterboro Airport, New Jersey – December 22
THE CHAUFFEUR DROVE the Lincoln Town Car onto the tarmac at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey and parked alongside MacKlenna Farm’s Gulfstream. The driver stepped from the vehicle and opened the rear passenger door just as a cell phone beeped. Elliott connected the Bluetooth and answered, “Fraser.”
“Galahad’s still not on the ground,” Harrison Roberts, the Thoroughbred farm’s chief financial officer, declared in the nasal voice of one mired in the throes of a winter cold.
Elliott checked the time. “Where the hell’s the plane? That stallion’s been in the air over eighteen hours.”
“I talked to the equine transportation manager at Prestige International. Air traffic control rerouted the plane due to weather.”
Elliott’s heart rate shot up as if he’d been sprinting. “To where? The South Pole? If the horse stays on that plane much longer, he’ll get dehydrated.”
“Galahad’s made the trip before without side effects,” Harrison said.
“New South Wales is too far to shuttle him.” The harder Elliott’s heart pumped the louder he spoke. “I don’t give a damn if those bastards at Hazy Mountain Stud have Galahad covering a full book of mares. This is the last trip.”
“There will be a battle over that.” Harrison sneezed into the phone before continuing. “If you want the horse to be commercial, the stallion has to ship to the southern hemisphere.”
The limo driver handed Elliott a pair of crutches. With a grimace, he put his left foot down on the rain-soaked tarmac and stood, bringing the right leg around slowly. Six narrow steps leading to the cabin door presented a challenge. The rain had stopped, thank God. Negotiating the stairs on crutches was difficult. The slippery surface made it even more so.
“We’ll deal with the travel issue at the next shareholders’ meeting. For now, keep heat on the people at Prestige. They’re agents for both the Breeder’s Cup and the Dubai World Cup. If anything happens to Galahad, I’ll see that the company loses both contracts. If the pilot doesn’t land that plane, we’ll own shares in a sick horse or a dead one.”
Elliott climbed the first step with his left foot, held the injured leg steady, and gave more than a little groan when pain lanced through his right side from toe to hip.
“You okay?” Another sneeze punctuated Harrison’s question. “Sounds like those New York doctors are cutting you open without anesthesia,” he laughed. “Should have stayed in Kentucky.”
“Hell no, I’m not okay. I’m trying to get up the stairs. And I would have stayed if my doctor hadn’t refused to operate again.”
“Maybe you’ll listen to your medical team this time.”
“Shush.” Elliott halted on the third step to readjust the crutches. The release instructions from New York-Presbyterian Hospital, folded up in his pocket, said to keep the leg immobile for four weeks. He hadn’t lasted forty minutes. “Call Jim Manning. Tell him what’s happening. I haven’t reviewed Prestige’s contract in a year. Get his opinion. I want to be clear on liability.”
Harrison blew his nose. “Get on the plane. I’ll call back after I talk to him.”
Elliott ended the call, wondering if he should spray the device with a disinfectant.
His personal assistant/paramedic/flight attendant stood poised at the cabin door. “You need help, Boss?”
Elliott reached the last step. “Move aside.” Kevin made room in the passageway but still hovered. “Tell the captain I’m ready to depart.” Elliott negotiated the narrow aisle toward the sofa where he sat back and elevated his leg.
The limo driver handed up a laptop case that Kevin stowed before giving a wave to the ground crew. He then secured the cabin door. “Want coffee?”
Elliott nodded, powered down the Bluetooth, and slipped the device into his shirt pocket. “What’s the flight time?”
“We’ll be in Edinburgh in eight hours.” Kevin set a cup on the table next to the sofa. “This is the good stuff. Not like that weak hospital brew you’ve been drinking.”
Elliott slipped his fingers around a mug sporting the new MacKlenna logo that incorporated Galahad’s features. “You’ve made the last five days bearable.”
“After four surgeries, I know the routine.”
“Five.” Elliott sipped the coffee. “If you think I’m a bastard now, you should’ve been around for the first one.”
Kevin laughed. “I heard about the catheter incident.”
“Whatever you heard was not true.”
“The story I got was that you woke up to find a twenty-year-old nurse about to insert a tube into your dick and you pissed yourself.”
Elliott groaned. “That bloody hospital is an incubator for rumors.”
Kevin headed toward the front of the plane to secure the aircraft for takeoff. “My source is reliable, Boss.”
To be twenty-eight again. Although at fifty, Elliott kept a very active social life, but the stress of running a multi-million dollar Thoroughbred breeding operation was hell on his blood pressure. His satellite phone rang, yanking him from his reverie. “Fraser.”
“Manning’s in court,” Harrison said. “I left a message with his paralegal.”
“If I need to return to Lexington, tell me now.” Elliott didn’t want to be in town for the holidays and the first anniversary of the deaths of Sean and Mary MacKlenna. They were not only the owners of the Thoroughbred farm, but Sean had been a life-long friend.
“No reason to come back. There’s nothing you can do to get your horse on the ground any sooner,” Harrison said.
“What’s the weather doing there?”
“They’re predicting ice storms from Texas to Maine. If Kentucky’s in the bull’s-eye, our airport could close.”
“Damn.” Elliott glanced out the window. The plane was pushing back from the gate. “Call me as soon as you learn anything.” His gut told him to go home. The CFO was a jerk and overly critical with the staff. He’d made two costly mistakes recently. Leaving him in charge inspired Elliott with little to no confidence. Unfortunately, Harrison still had the support of the board of directors. Until that changed he’d keep the position.
Elliott tapped his fist on the sofa arm. If anything happened to his twenty-five million dollar Thoroughbred that insurance didn’t cover, the farm could end up on the auction block.
Kevin picked up the half-empty coffee cup. “We’re next in line. You’ll need to buckle up.” Elliott pulled the belt tight across his lap, and ten minutes after boarding, the plane lifted off. When the aircraft reached cruising altitude, Kevin returned with another cup of hot coffee and Elliott’s briefcase. “Do you want to finish the syndication agreement we were working on in the hospital?”
“Why don’t you finish it? You know as much about it as I do,” Elliott said. The lad was an equestrian and the son of an equine lawyer. He had an aptitude for grasping legal issues that on oc
casion surpassed Elliott’s.
“The lawyers added stipulations that weren’t in the last draft. I’ve marked them for your review.”
Elliott blew out a long breath. There weren’t enough hours in his day to get the work done even with a top-notch staff working their asses off. He opened the briefcase. Beneath the agreement was his goddaughter’s journal. His fingertips brushed the smooth, brown leather binding. She had left it for him to read, but he hadn’t and wasn’t sure he ever would.
“You know, Boss, you should spend more time in the ICU. You get a break from work.”
“But the work doesn’t go away, and I detest hospitals.” The ICU smells permeated his skin, and he couldn’t rid himself of the fear of a tube stuck in his dick. He withdrew the agreement then snapped the briefcase closed and handed it back to Kevin. “Stash this in a closet.” Elliott turned to page four of the contract.
Now, where was I?
Chapter Four
Louise’s B&B, Edinburgh, Scotland – December 22
HOURS LATER, as the aircraft neared Edinburgh, Kevin interrupted Elliott. “We’re forty-five minutes from landing. You want a drink?”
“No. Pain meds,” Elliott said.
“Pull down your pants.” A needle filled with pain medication appeared in Kevin’s hand.
Elliott hissed as the needle punctured the skin. “You always know what’s needed.”
Kevin shrugged. “You pay me to know.” He disposed of the needle. “You’ve got just enough time to wash up. A shaving kit and a change of clothes are in the lavatory, and a shower sleeve for your leg is hanging on a hook by the door.”
Elliott scratched his whiskers. “Definitely need a wee shave.”
“Buzz if you need help.”
He hobbled to the lavatory at the rear of the plane for a hot shower and shave. Thirty minutes later, he dressed in a kilt and a navy cashmere v-neck sweater. There were pressed khakis hanging in the closet. Several had the right leg cut off to accommodate his post-surgery boot. But when he was home, like other Highlanders, he preferred to wear a kilt, regardless of the occasion.
As he clipped the iPhone on the waistband, he noticed an addition to the photomontage hanging on the wall—a glossy eight-by-ten of Wynonna Judd and his goddaughter, Kit MacKlenna. The photographer had snapped the picture during last year’s Kentucky Derby breakfast held at the mansion. The day had been stellar, especially the eleventh race when the farm’s three-year-old, Regal Now, won the first jewel of the Triple Crown.
God, he missed them—Kit, her parents Sean and Mary, and his da. Elliott’s shoulders sagged a wee bit, then he stiffened. Seasons of grief don’t conform to expectations and automatically end after a certain length of time. How many times had he heard his father say something similar? Too many to count.
“Want a whiskey?” Kevin asked as Elliott exited the lavatory.
He shook his head. “Will you get a bottle of the Bussiador from the cabinet? I want to give the wine to Louise.”
Kevin lifted his eyebrow, slow and easy, shaking his head. “She loves that chardonnay. If she ever decides to branch out, I’d recommend a Montgomery wine from Napa or a Barolo wine from Northern Italy.”
Elliott ran his tongue across his bottom lip in anticipation of opening the 1951 bottle of Macallan waiting for him in Louise’s library. His father had paid an exorbitant amount for the bottle in 2010. Earlier in the year, he had given the whiskey to Louise and asked her to save it for Elliott’s fiftieth birthday. With Christmas three days away, it seemed appropriate to break the seal now.
“Louise will never accept that single malt, not wine, is created by God’s kiss,” he said.
“That’s an argument you’ll never win with her,” Kevin agreed.
“I’ve never won that argument with any woman. If I ever find one who loves Scotland, horses, and a wee half when she’s thirsty, I’ll rearrange a corner of my life and squeeze her in.” Elliott’s phone rang, wiping the anticipated taste of whiskey from his lips. “Fraser.”
“It’s Allie.”
He heard a smile in his executive assistant’s voice, and he breathed easy.
“Galahad’s at the quarantine facility at LAX. Doc talked to the groom who traveled with him. He said Galahad passed manure and drank plenty of water during the flight. And he appeared fine when he got off the plane.”
Relief welled inside of Elliott. “Good. I’ll send Doc an email.” Elliott blew out a long thankful breath. “Call Tex’s Charters to transport Galahad to Kentucky when he’s released.”
“That’s the next call. I’ll send a text as soon as he’s home.”
Elliott disconnected and stared out into the clear night sky. The flight path took the plane low over the Firth of Forth. Edinburgh stretched out from the northwest coast at Leith all the way to the castle in the City Center and south of the city beyond. Scattered lights twinkled on the ground. The familiar punch of excitement hit low and deep and warmed his heart. Home and the offer of sweet refreshment lay ahead. Over the years, he’d flown into capital cities all around the world, but none compared to the beauty of the small capital of Scotland. Now that Galahad was safe, Elliott could put the stress of high-stakes Thoroughbred breeding and racing aside for a few days and relax. Aye, I’m home.
The aircraft shuddered as the pilot extended the landing gear and it locked in place.
“When are you driving up to Fraser House?” Elliott asked Kevin.
“Since you don’t need me tonight, I’ll stay at the hotel with the rest of the crew and drive up tomorrow. But I’d like to return for the Hogmanay events.”
“That’s a New Year’s celebration not to be missed. We’ll work it out.”
Wheels bumped against the runway. The engines roared as the captain reversed thrust and applied the brakes, slowing the plane. Then, the pilot taxied the aircraft to a private hangar.
Kevin gazed out the window. “There’s David’s limo. He’s got someone with him.”
“His sister?”
“I’ve never met his sisters.” Kevin’s voice carried a note of disappointment. “I heard what David did in Afghanistan. He’s a hero.”
“Aye, but don’t tell him.” Elliott unbuckled the seatbelt and glanced out the window. “That’s the customs officer in the car.” Elliott stuck his head into the flight deck. “Merry Christmas, lads.”
“Merry Christmas, Dr. Fraser,” the captain said. “The crew is staying in Edinburgh. We can leave within an hour or two if you need to change plans.”
“Let’s hope there’s no emergency. See you on the first.”
Elliott cleared customs and thirty minutes later, David drove the limo under the porte-cochere of Louise’s B&B. Elliott smiled when he spotted her at the door. “Did you call Lou? She’s usually not up this late.”
“She wanted to know when the plane landed,” David said.
Elliott crossed the cobbled drive, gritting his teeth with each swing of the crutches. He tightened his grip as he approached the three steps leading to the door. Thank God the house had a lift or he’d never make it to his second floor suite.
Louise welcomed him with a big smile and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a handsome devil, Elliott Fraser.” She held him at arms-length and gave him a once-over. “The boot looks fetching with a kilt. Maybe your tailor will make a cover using the Fraser tartan.”
David entered the house with luggage under each arm. “You got him in the same room, Louise?”
“Aye, and the door’s unlatched.” She glanced outside. “Where’s Kevin?”
“Staying at the hotel with the crew,” Elliott said.
David disappeared up the wide, sweeping stairs instead of taking the elevator and returned a couple of minutes later. “If you need me, send a text. I’m staying at my sister’s.”
Elliott patted his mate on the shoulder. “You’ve got one in every city in Scotland.”
David slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and glanced at his messages. “My sister
in Edinburgh is wondering where I am.” He put away his phone and donned his cap. “What time do you want to leave for Inverness tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know in the morning. I think Kevin is renting a car. He’s going sightseeing. You’d think he’d never been across the pond before.”
David’s square-jawed face tightened; a telling gesture from a man who rarely telegraphed feelings through body language. “While you were meeting with the customs inspector, the lad told me he was going for a pint with the university lassie he met last time he was on holiday.”
Elliott shook his head, sighing. “Watch over him.”
“If you don’t,” Louise said, poking David in the arm with her finger, “he’ll get lifted by the police again.”
David kissed Louise’s cheek. “I’ll go to the pub from here, m’lovely. But don’t be surprised if I have to box his ears.”
Her pinched brow showed concern. “Don’t hurt his face.”
David opened the door and stepped out, saying over his shoulder, “It’d take more than a boxing to hurt Kevin.”
Louise closed the door, but left it unlocked. “Come with me. The fire’s blazing, your malt is waiting, and Handel is playing on our new home theater system.”
“What? You weren’t supposed to open my present until after I arrived.”
If she had a smidgeon of remorse, she hid it behind a bulging grin. “Have you ever known me to wait?”
“No, but I was hoping the Do Not Open Until Christmas label on the box might act as a deterrent.”
“Yer joking.”
Elliott grimaced. She’d ruined his one and only Christmas surprise. “Do I look like I am?”
The Last MacKlenna Page 2
