“Sutherland is touring the facilities tomorrow, because he thinks the place will be deserted. He can sermonize at me by the hour, find fault with everything, and pretend to take notes on all the mistakes I’ve made.”
“That’s bollocks,” Fergus said. “You run that site like a surgical operating theater, with everything in its place. We even have a roster for who’s supposed to sweep up in the great hall at the end of every day.”
“Tomorrow, I want noise. I want hammers pounding so relentlessly the castle shakes. I want jackhammers, blow torches, constant yelling, anything loud. Get our Welsh glaziers going with their rugby songs, and don’t let up.”
“You’re repelling a siege,” Jeannie said. “I like that.”
“The less time I have to waste with Sutherland, the more likely I am to make my flight, and the less time he’ll have to get into mischief.”
Hugh drew a finger down Henry’s cheek. “Your investor is up to no good, then?”
“No good at all, but then, Jeannie asked Dinty to introduce Sutherland to the worst single malt ever to leak out of a rotten barrel. Granny MacPhee will likely help, and my hardworking crews will all be on hand tomorrow when Sutherland thinks the castle will be silent.”
“Dinty isn’t the merciful sort when he’s riled,” Fergus said. “I’ve always admired that about him. Shall we meet you at the project office?”
Max had hoped for Jeannie’s support. He hadn’t expected loyalty from anybody else.
“I’d appreciate the assistance. Tell those who can show up tomorrow that they get next Friday off, provided I’m still around to sign off on time sheets.”
“You’ll be around,” Fergus said. “I’m not about to break in another Yank when I have this one almost trained. Come along, Hugh, my lad. We have sandwiches to order.”
Hugh threw an arm around Fergus’s shoulders and broke into a lovely baritone rendition of Parcel o’ Rogues.
“I am that surprised,” Jeannie said, shifting a sleeping Henry to the other hip. “I had no idea they were besotted.”
Good word. “There were some clues.”
“Such as?”
A certain desperate gleam in Fergus’s eye that Max saw every morning in the mirror. Hugh haunting the solar more effectively than any ghost could.
“They bickered constantly, but if I so much as hinted that Fergus wasn’t the best site manager in Scotland, Hugh was glaring daggers at me. If I asked where Hugh had got off to, Fergus was in my face about how a man’s entitled to take a break every so often and carpentry being harder work than most people realize.”
The diaper bag was digging into Max’s shoulder, which was good, because standing in the moonlight with Jeannie conjured impossible wishes.
“You noticed they were growing attached. You regard workplace romances as inappropriate, and yet, you said nothing to either of them. Interesting.” She sashayed off in the direction of the Hall.
“Hugh doesn’t report to Fergus.”
“But I do. Not to you, to Fergus. No prohibition against a workplace romance exists under law or in any of the corporate documents I pawed through. You’re simply gun-shy, expecting me to treat you the way your fiancée did.”
“She was never my fiancée.” A source of relief, now that Max thought about it. “Are we having an argument?”
They turned down the lane that led to the Hall. “We’re having a discussion. When you’ve had a chance to think about what a fool you’re being, then we might have a small disagreement.”
“Jeannie, I’m getting on a plane tomorrow. I will keep getting on planes until this project is over, and then I’ll get on one more plane.”
“Is that what you want to do? Leave here and never come back?”
The lane wound between tree-lined pastures, and the moonlight wasn’t enough to illuminate Jeannie’s expression. Her question held pain, though, and bewilderment.
“No, I don’t want to leave. The temperature’s dropping. Let me fish you out a blanket to wrap around Henry.”
They stopped walking and got Henry swaddled. Jeannie stayed where she was, while Max hefted the diaper bag onto his other shoulder.
“I love you,” Jeannie said. “Because you think of Henry, because you noticed our Fergus was falling in love with Hugh. I love you because you have a vision for Brodie Castle that Elias could never have brought to fruition. I love you, because you are trying to protect me from that idiot Sutherland, who will fire me in the same breath he fires you.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
“He will, Jeannie, and he’ll leverage your job security against me any way he can. Same goes for Fergus, Hugh, Dinty… To spite me, Sutherland will sabotage this whole job. I’ll go down fighting, if I go down at all, but you’ve seen what he is.”
I love you too. God, do I love you too.
Jeannie braced herself on Max’s shoulder and leaned in, not to kiss him, but to rest her forehead against his chest.
“You’ll fight for the castle, for the crews, for the potential you see in this project. You’ll fight for a paycheck I badly need and a job I was born to do, but will you fight for us, Maxwell Maitland? Will you even try to fight for us?”
She slipped away and was lost in the moon shadows before Max could scrounge up an answer less fraught than, All I know is that I love you too.
Friday nights were supposed to be fun, because the next day was Saturday. No chores, no church, no work, no school—a day completely off.
Maura had plans for her Saturday, plans she’d kept to herself.
Max was not on an airplane. He was not on his way home to Maryland. He said he’d come on Sunday, but Maura knew better. On Sunday, he’d say the planes weren’t flying, or he’d caught a cold—you weren’t supposed to fly if you were sick—or he had a report to do.
Max did a lot of reports.
On Sunday, Maura would be on her way to Scotland. She had her money card, and because she worked in the office in the winter and with the grounds crew in summer, that card was worth a lot. She also had $77.47 in real money. Between her card and her cash, she had enough to get her to Scotland.
“Maura, are you going to eat that fruit-and-nut bar or stare at it all night?” Alex’s shift had just started. He hadn’t even set up his laptop on the kitchen table.
Maura didn’t want to answer him, because his question was nosy and dumb. “You stare at your computer for hours. Why can’t I stare at my fruit-and-nut bar for a few minutes?”
He got a power cord out of his backpack. “Valid point. How was school today?”
Change the subject. Staff did that when they’d said something they shouldn’t have. Changing the subject was called redirection.
“It’s summer, Alex, and I’m too old for school. I work.” Enough to earn a lot of money.
“Then how was work?”
Maura hoped they had gardens in Scotland, because flowers never said the wrong thing. They never asked stupid questions. They never expected you to wait until next week or next month or forever before they’d smell good or look pretty. Tomatoes got ripe whether there was a report to do or a plane to catch.
“I weeded. I like to weed. You yank out the weeds and say nice things to the flowers and vegetables. Then you take a break in the shade, and you can tell where you pulled out the weeds and where you still have more work to do.”
The laptop came out next. “Watch that you don’t get a sunburn. Too much sun can be a problem.”
Alex really wasn’t very bright. Spending time with him was more work than pulling out weeds or shredding paper all morning.
“Alex, the sun is where we get vitamin D, and I wear sunscreen and a hat. I spray my hat with bug spray, and I always, always, always keep an eye out for poison ivy.”
He hooked up this and that, powered up, and sat down. “You live an adventurous life, Maura Maitland. Looks like we’ll have a pretty sunset.”
Oh, that was subtle. Go outside a
nd watch the sunset, Maura. Don’t bother me, Maura. Even Max had found something else to do besides spend time with his sister.
“I’ll be on the back porch.”
“M’kay.”
He was tapping away at his keyboard before Maura had left the kitchen. She stashed her fruit-and-nut bar in her backpack along with the six others she’d collected. Her backpack also held her phone charger, clean undies, a windbreaker, and a folding umbrella with cats on it. For emergencies, she’d bought a jar of peanut butter and some crackers at the convenience store and two bottles of water.
She could go to the bathroom at any Starbucks or McDonald’s, but some clean socks might also come in handy.
She did not live an adventurous life, but that was about to change.
The reports sparkled, Fergus and Hugh sparkled, albeit tiredly to Jeannie’s eyes. While Fergus, Max, and Jeannie had completed a marathon data-entry session, Hugh had taught Henry how to crawl through a tunnel of steepled couch pillows.
Henry now slept soundly in the portable playpen in the break room next door.
“I’ve a mind to see the valley by moonlight from the parapets,” Hugh said, tossing the last of the sandwich rubbish in the trash. “Once Maitland is through with this place, that view will cost a pretty penny to see.”
Max pulled off his glasses—wire-framed, professorial, and somehow sexy—and rubbed his eyes.
“Nah. We’ll put a gift shop up there, so people will have a way to see it for free, and that view will make them want to hold their weddings here, their class reunions, their directors’ meetings. Besides, the first earl and his countess like to canoodle on the parapets, and I don’t think they’d appreciate me putting a price tag on their lovers’ walk.”
Max was learning, for which Jeannie also loved him. She loved him for the way he’d casually passed Henry over to Hugh then tucked the blanket around the baby while Hugh nuzzled Henry’s cheek.
“Come along, Fergus,” Hugh said. “We’ll be up and about early tomorrow, hammers swinging.”
“My idea of fun,” Fergus said, luxuriating in a yawn and a stretch. “We’ll leave you two to plot more strategy—or something.”
He winked at Jeannie. Hugh kissed her cheek.
“Enjoy the view,” Max said. “Or something.”
Fergus’s smile was bashful, Hugh’s naughty, and then, but for a sleeping baby in the next room, Jeannie was alone in the middle of the night with Max Maitland.
No place was more silent than an ancient stone building at two a.m. in high summer. The scent of lavender wafted in through the open windows, and some daft bird was already anticipating the dawn two hours away.
“I can get the car if you don’t want to walk down the hill in the dark with Henry,” Max said.
He had a leased car now, which Jeannie resented with an irrational passion. “You still plan to fly out tomorrow night?”
“Then back again about twelve hours later. It’s the best I can do.”
And Max Maitland would always do his best.
“I don’t think you should give Sutherland the reports tomorrow. Give him the latest summaries, but fob him off with some excuse about my being off duty, and the reports being my responsibility, and Scottish pride.”
Max led her to the couch—an extravagance, to have a new couch in the project office, but so comfortable Jeannie had stolen more than one nap on it. She suspected Max had approved the purchase with her sleep schedule in mind.
“I agree with you,” he said, “which makes me doubly worried. Sutherland thinks of himself as bold, decisive, smarter than his buddies. He’s greedier for sure and just convincing enough that he often gets his way. I haven’t figured out his game yet, and withholding information seems like a good way to slow down his agenda.”
Even sitting beside Max felt good. He was warm, slightly rumpled, and up close he still bore his signature scent—more spice than woods at this hour.
“I could simply forget to send him the supporting data,” Jeannie suggested. “I trust you’ve been sending him weekly summaries all along.”
Max ranged an arm along the back of the sofa. “I learned not to do that. I send a narrative report: The carpenters are at 17 percent complete, while their budget has been 16 percent expended. The glaziers experienced a weather delay, using up 5 percent of their allotted weather-delay days. Masons are hiring two more laborers to fill vacancies created by two resignations—that sort of thing. I don’t provide backup unless requested, because I don’t want to be micromanaged.”
Smart. “But they’re entitled to it upon request?”
Max’s arm settled around Jeannie’s shoulders, and she rested her head against his chest.
“They are entitled to my soul, according to them. I won’t blame your faulty memory for me withholding information. Sutherland will use that against you. I’ll come up with another idea.”
Jeannie’s body was coming up with other ideas. She bundled closer, and Max’s other arm made an embrace out of a snuggle.
“Jeannie…” Misgiving, regret, longing, a little amusement. Never had her name held so much emotional cargo or so much tenderness.
“You are getting on a plane tomorrow, Sutherland could fire the lot of us on Monday, and Henry’s for once sound asleep. Make love with me.”
Max’s embrace changed, becoming fierce, though no less cherishing. “I’ve thought about what you said.”
“I say a lot.”
“All I want for Fergus and Hugh is their happiness. They’re professionals. Their relationship won’t intrude on the project, unless it’s to improve morale. I’m not horse’s ass enough to lecture them about the obvious. Two of the Welsh glaziers are married to each other. I caught a pair of the mason’s apprentices enjoying the view from the parapets while naked from the waist down last Tuesday night.”
“The castle has a romantic past, and there’s a legend—” Jeannie kissed him. Bother the legend. “What were you trying to say?”
“I don’t know. I had a little speech, about how I’m the project manager, fiduciary something or other, and your job security. If Sutherland succeeds in getting rid of me, it won’t matter a bucket of mud how we spend the next hour. He’ll wreak havoc as he pleases. Hold still so I can kiss—”
Jeannie did not hold still. She straddled Max’s lap, scooting back far enough to unbuckle his belt.
“You wore a dress.” His tone was pleased and a little befuddled, as if his engineer’s mind had just now realized the possibilities when a lady wore a dress.
“For dancing, a woman often does. I also wore underclothes.” Though not too many. Jeannie hopped off Max’s lap long enough to toss her panties onto the desk.
Then she settled in for some kissing.
Max was a thorough kisser—a thorough lover. He pressed his mouth to Jeannie’s throat, then worked his way to her ear, her temple, her brows. Her closed eyes—one, then the other—down her nose, and finally, finally to her lips.
She was mad for him. Had spent the past two weeks craving who and what she could not have, and yet, Max was all tender restraint.
“Dammit, Max.”
He smiled against her mouth. “Not in front of the baby.”
Henry was in the other room, dreaming his baby dreams, the door cracked only a few inches. “This dress has to go, your shirt has to go. Now.”
He peeled his T-shirt off—the flannel shirt had been an early casualty—and Jeannie took a moment simply to behold him bare-chested. He was a fortress of a man, roped in muscle, built for strength and endurance both. His proportions were those of a warrior who’d taken good care of the gifts bestowed on him—long bones, strong geometries, a keen mind.
“The dress,” he murmured, sliding his hands past Jeannie’s knees. “You said the dress…”
“Do that again.” His warm palms caressed her knees—her knees—and desire leaped from a simmer to a boil. “Keep doing that.”
Jeannie got the dress over her head, then arched forwar
d so Max could undo her bra. His breath against her chest was another torment, and then his mouth… oh, his mouth.
Jeannie hung on as he used his lips on her breasts, and his fingers went exploring between her legs. He put his opposable thumb to the use that probably accounted for its evolution, and Jeannie went off like fireworks over the parapets.
“Not enough,” she said when she could speak again. “A mere appetizer before I devour you.”
“I wish, I pray, and I long for you to devour me, but Jeannie Cromarty, I don’t have a condom with me.”
His chagrin was as palpable as his frustration. The man with a plan for everything, he who spouted contingent arrangements and safety precautions, had been caught with his pants down and nowhere to go.
“You don’t have a condom?” Jeannie said, caressing his arousal. “You’re sure you don’t have a condom?”
“Jeannie Cromarty.” Her name came out half an octave lower than the last time he’d spoken it. “I can’t… You shouldn’t… Don’t stop.”
She leaned close enough to whisper in his ear. “You don’t have a condom, but I do. What will you give me for the use of it?”
A voice in the back of Max’s mind whispered warnings: You should not be doing this. Don’t send mixed messages. What in tarnation is Sutherland up to this time? Jeannie needs her sleep.
He mentally tossed those unhelpful admonitions down the trash chute, because other warnings were more urgent: Don’t blow this. If you lose Jeannie Cromarty, there will never be anyone else for you. This could be the last time…
Max would have savored and lingered over the silky soft texture of her breasts, over the particular fragrance that gathered at the base of her throat.
Jeannie was having none of that. She unrolled the condom and resumed straddling Max’s lap.
“Don’t let me yell,” she said, taking Max in her hand. “Don’t let me wake that baby, or Sutherland will be the least of your troubles.”
Henry was exhausted from tunneling though Hugh’s pillow-sided A-frames, touring the laundry with Hugh, Fergus, and Max by turns, stargazing, and gnawing crackers.
Scotland to the Max Page 22
