“What?” She glanced over at him.
His attention remained fixed on the horizon, as if he were looking for answers. “Maybe I hesitated to come back here because I knew I wasn’t following her advice.”
“How is that?”
He sipped his martini. “If I stop to evaluate my choices since my seventeenth summer, they’ve all been based on what my family wanted, what my pack needed. Never on what I needed.”
She went very still, afraid to do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, and ruin this moment. She doubted he confided that sort of thing very often, if ever. Perhaps he was lulled into this reflective mood by the private beach, the martini, and the reminder that life could end at any time.
He glanced over at her. “Did she give you the same advice?”
“Yes.” Geraldine had been the first person in years who Luna had allowed close enough to give her advice.
He drank more of his martini. “And what do you want, Luna Reynaud?”
She could tell him, but it seemed too soon, and a business discussion wasn’t appropriate tonight. She drew circles in the sand with her toes. “What everyone wants, I suppose. Fulfillment, joy, a feeling of security.” She looked up. “How about y’all?”
“The same, perhaps, although a need for security can end up weighing a person down.” He studied her as he sipped his martini. “You do realize I’m planning to sell this place?”
“I assumed so.”
“If you have to leave Le Floret as a result, what will you do?”
She met his gaze. “I’ll be fine.” She didn’t want him to think she had no alternative to staying on here. That would look like desperation, not a solid business plan.
“Financially you will be fine, because I’ll give you a great recommendation and a generous severance package. But you seem to be without strong pack ties, and so I can see how the island…”
“Works for me the way it worked for Henry and Geraldine?”
“Essentially, yes. Those who choose to stay here don’t care to be closely involved with a pack. That’s not a common Were profile.”
“No, it isn’t.” She held his gaze. “I’m a little different.” Another half-truth that she hoped would satisfy him.
“And that’s why you fit in with Geraldine and the others,” he said, his voice gentle. “And they may be able to keep their jobs under new ownership, because Whittier House needs a staff, but chances are slim there will be a place here for you. A personal assistant is a more specialized position.” He sounded genuinely worried about her future plans.
Unexpectedly, her eyes misted and a lump rose to her throat. Damn. This was no time to get emotional just because he was being considerate. For years she’d kept a sturdy wall around herself that had prevented anyone from getting close enough to worry about her.
Geraldine had partially penetrated that wall, leaving Luna more vulnerable than she’d been since losing her mother nineteen years ago. But she couldn’t expect Colin to trust her with his legacy if she got teary at the slightest hint of kindness. She needed to project an air of calm control and competency.
Clearing her throat, she looked him straight in the eye. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been on my own for most of my life. I can take care of myself.”
Chapter Four
Taken aback by her sudden switch in mood, Colin stared at Luna. A second ago she’d been leaning toward him, her expression soft and vulnerable, her eyes damp. She’d looked in need of comfort, and he’d considered putting down his drink and drawing her into his arms.
But this new Luna wouldn’t welcome that gesture. She sat ramrod straight on the driftwood, her chin firm and her eyes clear. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she’d armored herself against him.
Far be it for him to force unwanted concern on anyone. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t take care of yourself,” he said in his best laird of Glenbarra manner.
She gasped. “I was rude, wasn’t I? I’m sorry. Y’all were only trying to be nice.”
“And apparently I insulted you in the process.” He drained the rest of his martini.
“Not at all.” She sighed. “I just don’t want to appear helpless and…without resources.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” He must have hit one of her sore points, and if she’d been on her own for a long time, her ability to take care of herself would be a source of pride. Yet she’d allowed him a glimpse of her vulnerability, and she probably regretted that.
Colin thought of Duncan’s favorite slogan—When in doubt, have another round. He raised his martini glass. “I’m going to have another one of these, after all.” Flipping back the soft lid of the carrier, he pulled out the shaker. “Can I top off yours?”
“Um, yes, please.” She held out her glass. “And I apologize. Nothing’s gone quite as I planned.”
“Planned?” He tried to make sense of that statement as he filled their glasses. “What sort of plan did you have?”
“Maybe I should lay all my cards on the table and be done with it.”
That got his full attention. Quickly tucking the shaker back in the carrier, he faced her, all his senses alert. “Please do.”
“I intended to give you a chance to rest up first, but here we are drinking martinis and having a conversation about my future. I didn’t expect that. It’s thrown me off.”
“Go on.” His drink forgotten, he gazed at her with new understanding. She hadn’t survived on her own all these years without being resourceful. Geraldine’s death had created a problem for her, and she’d obviously come up with a scheme to solve it. Apparently the scheme involved him.
She clutched her martini glass in both hands as she focused those green eyes on him with the intensity of twin lasers. “I have a proposition for y’all.”
For one wild moment he thought she might mean a sexual proposition, and his pulse leaped. But she had an air of innocence about her that didn’t jibe with that scenario. “I suspected as much.”
“Instead of selling Whittier House and Le Floret, turn it into a premiere Were vacation spot.”
He was aghast. “And have strangers running all over the island?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he realized how idiotic they sounded. He planned to sell to strangers, and they could allow anyone they chose to run all over it.
“See, I knew it! This place is special to you!”
“Of course it is.” He took a gulp of his martini. “But I have to put sentimentality aside, because selling is the only reasonable course of action.”
“Not necessarily.” She took a careful sip of her drink and glanced up at him. “I’ve worked in hotels all my life. Not to brag on myself, but I’ve learned every aspect of the business, and I’m good at it. I started out cleaning rooms, but then I moved up into management. I understand basic bookkeeping and I know how to turn a profit.”
“You want to make Whittier House into a hotel.” He couldn’t imagine such a thing. “But it’s filled with valuable antiques and tapestries. Strangers could ruin—”
“Were y’all planning to take those things back to Scotland?”
She had him, there. He sighed and shook his head. “MacDowell House is already stuffed with antiques. I’d love to convince my mother and father to sell at least half of them so we could walk through rooms without bumping into things.”
“So these would stay with the house or be sold, then?”
He swallowed another mouthful of his drink. “Yes.” And the thought of selling Aunt Geraldine’s things tore at his heart, but turning the place into a hotel didn’t make him very happy, either.
“It would be an exclusive inn,” Luna said. “Booking a room would require references. I’d make sure the guests behaved themselves.”
He gazed at her and tried to imagine how a sweet creature with a voice that sounded like warm honey could possibly control a pack of rowdy Weres. But he’d already gotten into trouble suggesting that she wasn’t capable of taking care of hers
elf, so he said nothing.
“Y’all don’t believe I could keep the peace, right?”
He couldn’t help smiling at a mental picture of her standing in the middle of the drawing room cradling a shotgun as she demanded proper behavior from her guests. “I don’t know. Could you?”
“Absolutely. I would set the tone right from the start. Coming to Whittier House would be a privilege, not a chance to act up.”
“A privilege they’d pay for.”
“Of course, and pay handsomely, too.” Matching his smile, she lifted her glass to her lips and drank.
He loved looking at her mouth. Her pink lipstick had left a print on her glass, and he found that sexy. “I must be getting peshed on gin, because I’m starting to consider this daft concept of yours.”
Luna’s gaze softened. “Geraldine sometimes said she was peshed. Or blootered.”
He waited for a pang of longing to subside before he spoke again. “I wish I’d given myself the chance to get peshed with Geraldine.” He polished off the last of his martini. “And speaking of the old girl, we have a job to do.”
Pushing the base of her half-full martini glass into the sand, Luna stood. “I’m ready.”
“So am I.” Colin secured his glass in the sand, too, although he didn’t have to worry if it tipped over because it was empty. He’d also eaten both olives.
He thought Geraldine would have relished the idea of having her ashes scattered by a couple of slightly peshed Weres. There was a little more martini mix in the shaker, and once they’d dealt with the ashes, Colin planned to suggest they drain the shaker’s contents.
He crouched down next to the simple urns, each with a Scottish thistle pattern embossed on one side. “Her instructions said to dump hers in with his, but I don’t know which is which.”
“His is the bronze finish and hers is the silver. She picked them out years ago.”
“Then here goes.” He took the top off each urn and picked up the silver one. As part of a large clan, he’d taken part in many such ceremonies, and he knew some of the ash would be powdery enough to fly around if he didn’t move slowly. So he stood up to pour, leaned over and emptied the silver urn gradually into the bronze one.
“You look like you’re a pro at dealing with ashes.” Her voice was subdued.
“It’s part of a pack leader’s job to know.” He finished pouring, set the silver urn in the sand, and replaced the top on the bronze one. When he picked it up, he discovered that the combined ashes plus the weight of the urn made for a hefty burden. He’d never dealt with two sets of ashes at once.
“So we scatter them, now?”
“Not yet.” Colin braced his bare feet in the sand. “She wants them shaken, not stirred.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, lass, I’m not.” He held the urn like a giant cocktail shaker.
She clapped a hand over her mouth and her green eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.
Looking at her, he couldn’t help grinning, himself. “I can see this won’t be a particularly solemn occasion.”
She took her hand away from her mouth to reveal her smile. “Geraldine wouldn’t want solemn.”
“You’re right. I certainly hope I can do this without falling down, though. Celebration is one thing. A comedy routine is another.” He began to shake the urn. It wasn’t easy, especially considering the two martinis he’d consumed on an empty stomach. He staggered once, bringing a gasp of alarm from Luna.
“Don’t panic.” He regained his balance. “I’ve got it.”
“You’ve probably shaken them enough. She wouldn’t want y’all to rupture a disc.”
“That would be bad.” He paused to catch his breath. “All right, then. Time to scatter.”
“Where, exactly?”
“She didn’t get that specific. Just in the sand. Is the tide coming in or going out?”
“Let me think for a minute.” She paused. “It’s coming in.”
“Then if we go down near the water line, the waves will eventually cover the ashes and gradually draw them out to sea. I think Geraldine would have liked that idea.”
“So do I, but as she’s not here to offer advice, we have to use our best judgment.”
“Right. Near the waterline it is, then.” Colin hoisted the urn to his shoulder as he started toward the water. He’d never thought of this as a physically taxing ceremony, but he was working up a sweat.
It was a wee crescent beach, not even half a kilometer from one rocky promontory to the other. Colin made for the north tip, figuring he would need the entire length in order to empty the urn. A breeze off the water meant he’d need to face the shore as he moved along or risk being covered in ashes.
When he reached the farthest end of the beach, he set the urn in the damp sand and caught his breath.
Luna came up beside him. “Are we going to scoop out handfuls?” She didn’t sound eager to do that.
“No. I’ll just walk along and pour the ashes as I go.”
“Should we say something, first?”
“Yes. Yes, we certainly should.” It was a measure of his exhausted and peshed state that he’d been about to dump Geraldine and Henry on the sand without a single blessing. He glanced at Luna. “Will you take hold of my hand, then?”
“Of course.” She offered her hand without hesitation. Her skin was soft, but her grip was firm.
Gratitude rushed through him for this human contact at such a time—but gratitude wasn’t all he felt. He became aware of her in a way that wasn’t appropriate during a funeral ceremony.
He glanced toward the water as they stood in silence. He should be thinking of what he was going to say, but instead he simply absorbed the wonder of her touch. The smell of salt water and sand blended with her female scent, and the combination was more intoxicating than any drink invented. He’d never realized how inherently sexy beaches were.
Perhaps he should release her hand. He did not.
Her fingers tightened around his. “May I say something first?”
“Aye.”
She drew in a breath and spoke in a steady voice. “Geraldine, thank y’all for being a friend and mentor to this wandering Were. I will never forget your kindness. Rest in peace with your beloved Henry.”
“Beautiful, lass.” He glanced at her. “Well done.”
She met his gaze, and her eyes were moist. “Your turn,” she said softly.
“I’m lucky to have you with me for this, Luna.”
“Bless your heart, I feel lucky to be here. Now, say your piece. She would want some Scottish parts in there, I think.”
He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that.” Turning back to the shimmering water, he kept a firm grip on Luna’s hand. He wanted to do a proper job, and holding onto her helped him focus.
“Maybe a bit like this.” He cleared his throat. “Geraldine and Henry, we come to this wee beach you loved so well to honor the beauty in thy character, the harmony in thy home, and the love in thy hearts.”
“Very nice.”
He squeezed her hand. “Not done yet.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“And may thy martinis in the afterlife be shaken, and not stirred. Blessed be.” From the corner of his eye he saw her smile. “Okay, then?”
“Yes.”
Reluctantly he let go of her hand. “Then it’s time I start the pouring.” He knew in advance it would be an aerobic task, so he unzipped his sweatshirt and pulled it off. He sighed in relief as cool air penetrated his sweat-dampened T-shirt.
“Too warm?”
He caught her quick glance of appraisal, even though she immediately looked away again. “I didn’t realize it would be such a physical job.” So she was aware of him in that way, too.
He’d file the information away for later. Now was not the time to be getting romantic notions. “Could you please hang onto this for me?” He held the sweatshirt toward her.
“Be happy to.” She folded the sweatshirt over
her arm.
“You might want to stand back.” Facing away from the water, he picked up the urn. “Some of the ashes will probably blow toward you.”
“Then I’ll walk along ahead of y’all and pick up anything that might be a tripping hazard, like pieces of driftwood.”
“Brilliant.” He hadn’t thought of that. He’d be concentrating on pouring ashes, and not watching for obstacles in his path. Tripping could have unfortunate consequences for everyone, including the deceased. “Then let’s get started.” He started to tip the urn.
“Wait.”
“Wait?” He paused in mid-tip.
“We should sing as we go along. And I know just the song. Amazing Grace.”
“You’re right again, lass. Geraldine loved that song, especially played on the pipes. If I’d been thinking, I would have brought along a portable player of some kind.”
“But we can sing.”
“Aye.”
Luna positioned herself about three steps in front of his planned path. “We’ll start on three. One, two, three.” She began to sing. Off-key.
Colin joined in with gusto in hopes that his voice would coax hers into some sort of compliance. But no. She sang with greater enthusiasm, to be sure, but not greater tunefulness.
Ah, well. It was the thought that counted. Pouring ashes and singing along with Luna’s tone-deaf rendition of Amazing Grace, he realized that Geraldine would have loved this scene. She wouldn’t have cared whether the tune was performed well. She would have been delighted that it was performed at all, and with love, at that.
Gauging how much to pour as they moved down the beach took most of his concentration, but he was aware of Luna clearing his path of debris. Miraculously, everything came out even—the length of beach, the amount of ashes, and the last words of the song.
The sun had not set, but it hung low on the horizon and had begun to turn a rich shade of gold. A pair of gulls wheeled overhead, their cries mingling with the soft lap of the waves moving steadily up the beach.
Colin emptied the urn and set it on the sand with a sigh of accomplishment. He’d done it. No, they had done it. The ceremony wouldn’t have been as perfectly imperfect without Luna.
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