Find a smooth-talking Scotsman.
“Oh, Cate. This isn’t the time or place.”
Meredith kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the thick, wool carpet, grounding herself in something tangible.
Even though she had to confess Elliott was hot, she knew a confirmed bachelor when she saw one. Handsome, sexy, emotionally unavailable. A trail of broken hearts probably extended from Scotland to New York and beyond. She didn’t intend to add her heart to a trail of tears. Not even if a distraction was what she needed.
FROM THE MOMENT Meredith had entered the library, Elliott’s eyes stayed fixed on her, and he had to touch her. First her hand, then her hair. He had lied about the leaf. With horses, he could touch and pat and rub when he met them, but with women, he had to be more casual, non-threatening. And she had responded with a breathy voice.
The skinny black jeans stretched over slim, toned legs and ass had turned him on. Bet she’s a runner. The contours of sculpted arms and shoulders were visible beneath a white fitted sweater. She was a classical beauty with a ring on her left hand that spoke in a blurry whisper, “Married.” It didn’t stop him from looking though.
Small breasts didn’t appeal to him, but her other assets—he whistled—particularly her full, glossy lips, held him spellbound. His hands twitched, feeling an urge to run his fingers deeper into the silky strands of black hair that fell in waves to just below her collarbone. He was a sucker for long, silky hair and shapely legs.
Elliott leaned on his crutches, swallowed the last of his drink. Silky hair, shapely legs.
He set the crystal on the mantel next to Meredith’s glass. With his index finger, he rubbed the rim where her glossy mouth had touched. Lip balm was a staple carried with runner’s gear to keep lips soft and moist. Kissable lips. The taste of honey was his favorite.
Now that his heart rate resumed its normal rhythm, he reflected on Doc’s text message.
“If Galahad’s blood work comes back negative,” the vet had said, “he’ll be released from quarantine and allowed to go home.”
Home was where the horse belonged. Elliott couldn’t relax until the Thoroughbred stood in his stall on the farm.
He grabbed the shovel from the fireside tools and buried the flame beneath a heavy layer of ashes. A shovelful of the fire’s residue dampened the flames, but left a sexual spark for a leggy Californian with eyes the color of Scotland’s deep blue water at sunrise. It might be worth delaying his departure from Edinburgh a day or two to squeeze in a bit of romance.
“Aye, a bit of romance.” He turned out the lights and hobbled down the hallway, quoting Robbie as he shuffled, “O my Luve’s like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June . . .”
Chapter Six
Edinburgh, Scotland – December 23
ELLIOTT’S CELL PHONE RANG, sending the god-awful Brady Bunch ringtone throughout the darkened guest room. He knew every inch of the Fraser Clan Room. Louise had decorated the suite to resemble his red, blue, and green tartan, and he had never slept in any of the other B&B guest rooms. When she remodeled, she had updated the furniture but kept the same color scheme; otherwise, he wouldn’t have come back. He didn’t like change.
On the second ring, he shook the damn phone as if that would restore its original programming, but the nauseating sound couldn’t be blamed on the device. The fault fell solely on his goddaughter’s dry sense of humor.
The illuminated hands on his wristwatch pointed to seven o’clock. When he rolled over, he put pressure on his wound. A rush of air hissed through his front teeth. “Damn.” He jabbed the answer button on the phone. “Fraser.”
A gasp, and then: “This is Alice.”
Elliott scratched his head, hoping that would peel away the confusion and pain. Why the hell is she calling me now? The Highlands housekeeper never called unless there was a bloody problem. He sat straight up in the king-sized bed. Another hot stream of pain surged through his leg.
“I’m sorry to bother you. Yer email didn’t tell me what time ye’ planned to leave for Fraser House. The water pipe we fixed in the fall sprung another leak,” she continued without pausing for a breath. “The plumber’s on his way. I wanted you to know before ye’ left Edinburgh.”
The throbbing in his leg jumped to his head with the vigor of a damn flea. “What kind of damage are you talking about?”
“Ye’ might need a new floor in the kitchen.”
He puffed up his cheeks then let his breath out in a burst of frustration.
“That’s all I can tell ye’ until the workmen get here.”
“You didn’t mention the wine cellar.” The value of the priceless wine collection could exceed the cost of repairing the entire six-hundred-year-old estate. He shuddered, feeling his da rolling over in his urn.
“We found the leak before it damaged those old dusty bottles.”
The din of money slipping through his fingers quieted. A chain of unrelated events crept along the edges of his foul mood threatening to destroy his holiday. First Galahad. Now the castle. “Do what has to be done.” He grumbled as if he were a Scrooge-like, miserly hoarder who hated to spend a pence to save a pound. The grumbling sounded like his father. The pain in his leg inched up into his chest, sharp and heavy. “I’ll drive up later.”
Exasperated, he slumped against the headboard, considering his options. How in hell could he have a peaceful holiday with a rattling jackhammer digging up the floor? Visions of horses, construction workers, and leggy researchers jogged around the track in his brain. A wee bit of romance might be more conducive to healing than dealing with those bastard contractors Alice usually hired at a rate more than they were worth for the services they performed.
Decision made, he called Kevin. “We’re staying.”
“What? Where?” Kevin asked, groggy with sleep.
“Bring my bags to the B&B. I’ll explain.”
A muffled female voice said, “You don’t have to leave?”
Elliott held the phone away from his ear and glared at the instrument—the enemy, the bearer of bad news. He tossed it across the bed.
AFTER CHECKING EMAIL and showering, Elliott went in search of Louise. He entered the Sinclair Clan Dining Room, calling her name, “Louise, where are you? Louise.”
Meredith poked her head up over the end of a long table dominating the green and light blue room. “She’s in the kitchen.”
He stretched his neck, glancing beyond the tabletop and the tacky orange and white chairs. “Do you need help?”
“I dropped my notebook and the clips came undone.” Her voice held a steely thread of tension. “I’m trying to pick up the pages so they stay in order.” Dozens of documents in plastic sleeves spread across the Oriental rug like fully extended accordion bellows. “Shoot.” She swept the loose pages into the notebook and slammed it shut. “He’s changed the slicks anyway.”
Her cell phone rang, and she yanked the phone off the table. With the notebook in one hand and the phone in the other, she hurried into the front sitting room. Her voice trailed behind her. “I want to review them now, Gregory, not in a half hour. I don’t care that they’re not the final slicks. I want to see the artistic direction. Email them now.”
Elliott eavesdropped as he poured a cup of coffee from the silver service on the buffet. Although he still drank tea, Lou always had coffee ready. While Meredith’s call continued, he glanced at the front page of The Edinburgh Evening News spread open on the table. Hogmanay tickets? Attending the Concert in the Gardens would be a nice diversion, and maybe even The Keilidh events. He’d see what plans Louise had made.
Meredith returned to the dining room with her cheeks wearing a lovely shade of pink. “I’m sorry. That was rude.” She glanced at her phone as if considering whether she needed to make another apology. “I’m usually onsite when there’s a big project in the development stage.”
“I hope the problem’s resolved.”
“Not yet.” She returned to her seat, took a sip
of coffee. “What do you do, Elliott?”
He placed the coffee cup on the table, sat across from her. “Manage a Thoroughbred operation in Lexington, Kentucky.”
She tilted her head, scrunched her eyebrows. “I thought you were from New York.”
“No, I flew in from New York.”
She lined up the phone, pen, ChapStick, and highlighter in height order on top of the binder.
Elliott pinched his lips together, intrigued by her idiosyncrasies.
“Lexington claims to be the horse capital of the world. The city must have more horses than people,” she said.
“The claim’s based on economic impact of the industry, not on horse population.”
She regarded him while she fiddled with a spoon. Something glimmered behind her carefully veiled eyes. “Do you race your horses?”
“Yes.”
“Do you win?”
He threw her a crooked grin. “I always intend to. Occasionally, I don’t, but that doesn’t happen often. What about you?” He nodded toward her binder. “Do you usually win?”
“Like you, I always intend to.”
Charlie’s Welcome blared from his phone. He pulled the device from his shirt pocket. “My goddaughter and I accidentally switched phones a few months ago. She downloaded ringtones for several of my contacts. The music is always a surprise.”
“Teenagers love those, don’t they?”
“Teenagers, yes, but Kit’s twenty-five. Excuse me. I need to take this call.” He pushed the answer button, “Fraser.” After telling the caller to hold, he tucked the crutches under his arm and hobbled into the front sitting room where he closed the door behind him. Experience told him that having a short conversation with his father’s solicitor was impossible.
Thirty minutes later, sitting in front of the narrow window overlooking Great Kings Street, he stared off into the distance, seeing nothing in particular. He circled his finger in the air. The lawyer couldn’t see Elliott give the wrap-up signal and, even if he had, he’d continue to drone on. That was the kind of man he was, and he flunked Elliott’s patience test.
Since his father’s heart attack a few months earlier, Elliott had learned all he needed to know about probate in Scotland. He was his father’s only child, only heir. Bottom line: at its end, a man’s life should amount to more than a catalog of assets.
He barged in on the man’s soliloquy. “I’ll be there at two o’clock to review the documents.” He disconnected before the long-winded solicitor had a chance to take a breath. With that stomach-churning business disposed of, Elliott returned to the dining room to find Meredith gone.
“Damn.”
Louise’s familiar clogs clomped across the hallway’s marble floor. “I heard that.” She kissed his cheek. “So what’s put you in such a dreadful mood?”
“Da’s solicitor.”
“Egads. If that’s how yer morning started, ye’ better go back to bed. The day won’t get any better.”
“It had a God-awful start, then a delightful reprieve.”
She patted his belly. “You need breakfast. An empty stomach makes you grumpy.”
“If anything can improve my day, breakfast carries the best odds.”
“Sit. I’ll get yer plate.” She hurried into the kitchen. “Did you talk to Meredith earlier?”
He braced the crutches against the wall and returned to the chair he’d vacated. “Did you see her go out?”
“Which time? When she went for a run before dawn, or when she left to go to the National Archives?”
He grimaced, rubbing his thigh. “I figured her for a runner.” He’d run several marathons, and he’d even done an Ironman while in his thirties. Now he only competed in his dreams, or—more appropriately—nightmares. He gave his thigh a final squeeze, then reached for the coffee cup.
“What’d you say?” Louise asked.
“Nothing,” he said in a voice that had lost its power. After a few sips of coffee, he asked, “Why do you think a beautiful woman would spend the holidays alone in a foreign country?”
Louise set a fresh pot of coffee and a plate loaded with bacon, sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried eggs, homemade scones, and haggis on the table. “Ask her.”
He shook his head. “I might not like the answer.”
Louise sat and poured a cup of tea. “What’s the matter? You’re distracted.”
He pushed food around the plate. “It’s just the holidays.”
Her discerning eyes studied him over the rim of her cup. “You want to escape. That’s not easy for ye’. You’d have to find a way through those impenetrable walls you constructed. Ye’ sure as hell can’t go over them. You’re stuck, old boy. You can’t get out any easier than ye’ can let someone in.”
He rubbed his chest, pretending to nurse his wounds. “If you weren’t a lesbian, I’d ask you to marry me. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about any damn walls.”
She stuck a fork into his eggs and snatched a bite from his plate. “If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t put up with your black moods.”
“You have to. You’re sleeping with my sister.”
“Evelyn’s not yer sister.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Stepsister. And where the hell is she? I thought she was coming in from London this morning.”
“She’s delayed until late afternoon. She’ll be sick she missed you.”
He drilled into the sausage. “I decided to stay through Christmas.”
Louise pointed toward Meredith’s empty plate.
He wiggled his left hand ring finger. “Didn’t you notice what she was wearing?”
Louise waved him off. “She’s not yer type.”
“This should be good. What’s my type? I want to hear this.”
She rattled off: “Petite, blue-eyed, blonde-haired women with larger bust measurements than IQs.” Then she elbowed him in the arm. “Tall, skinny, small-busted women have never turned you on, and ye’ know it.”
He stopped eating and considered her observation before announcing, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve dated tall brunettes, even a couple of redheads.”
Louse stuck out her chest and shimmied. “And they’ve all had big boobs.”
He rolled his eyes then tucked into his breakfast again. “I’m not going to apologize for enjoying well-endowed women.”
Louise’s schoolgirl laughter twittered through the room. “Why aren’t you leaving today?”
“Last night you told me to spend the holidays with family.”
“I didn’t think you were listening.” Her eyes brightened. “That means you’ll be here for the Hogmanay? Kevin will be here, too. He can have the room on the other side of you. If I’d known, he could have had the adjoining room instead of Meredith.”
Elliott wagged his brow. Louise swatted his hand with the backs of her fingers. “The door’s double bolted.”
“I’m bogged down with misfortune, and you don’t care.”
“Care?” she squeaked. “Here’s a dose of reality. Meredith is married. That makes her off limits. And you can’t even talk to your father’s solicitor without tearing up. How the hell do you think you can stay at Fraser House over the holidays?”
“Kevin’s with me.”
“He’s your mini-me. He’ll be crying in his whiskey right along with ye’.”
Elliott took the last bite of haggis and pushed the plate away. “The lad’s gone back to wine.”
She threw up her hands. “Finish your breakfast and go to work.”
“What time does Evelyn get back? Do you want to go to Number One for dinner?”
“How can ye’ think of dinner after eating enough calories for an entire week?”
He tossed his napkin onto the table. “I was in the hospital for five days. I don’t eat that food.”
“Because Kevin brings you gourmet meals. If yer buying, I’d love to go to dinner.”
He scowled. “Don’t I always?”
Louise pulled h
er phone out of her pocket. “I’ll text Evelyn and call Gary at the restaurant. What time? Seven?”
“Whenever he can seat us.”
“I’ll make a reservation for four. Meredith might join us.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’d find two lesbians and a broken down old Highlander very entertaining.”
Louise shot to her feet, grabbing a dirty dish in each hand. “The next time you refer to yer age, I’m going to smack ye’. Now get out of here so I can clean up.”
Elliott pushed away from the table. “I’ll be working in the library.”
She clopped into the kitchen. “Whatever makes ye’ happy.”
Chapter Seven
Solicitor’s Office, Edinburgh, Scotland – December 23
ELLIOTT MET WITH the solicitor in his law office on Dublin Street. The fixtures and furnishings in the stuffy, dark office dated back to the beginning of the twentieth century. Stacks of books and legal documents covered every dusty surface in the cluttered two-room office suite. The dust made Elliott sneeze. The obtuse lawyer continued his earlier probate recitation and never once inquired about Elliott’s health. Not that Elliott cared, but the lack of social graces confirmed for Elliott that his father had hired the solicitor because of a low hourly rate and not for legal competence or social skills.
During the two-hour conference, Elliott missed a dose of pain medication that soured an already bitter mood.
He had loved his tight-fisted father, but after reading through the estate documents, years of built up resentment settled in Elliott’s gut. He had known the extensive wine collection that dated back two hundred years was worth a few million, but he hadn’t known the extent of his father’s stock portfolio. The man had been a multi-millionaire several times over yet had lived a pauper’s life. Elliott had had dozens of arguments with the old man trying to convince him to sell a few bottles of wine to pay for the annual upkeep on the castle, but his father always refused, saying it wasn’t his wine to sell. He had inherited and added to the collection, and the cellar would remain intact for the next generation. Now that Elliott owned the wine, he’d sell off every last bottle.
The Last MacKlenna Page 4
