Dr. Jameson searched her face. “I will. You’ll be okay?”
She nodded and offered a tight smile.
Dennison set the briefcase on the receptionist’s desk, popped the latches, and opened the case. Different-colored folders were neatly arranged in the body, various writing implements in the pockets along with a calculator and a stapler.
“Your hair looks terrible, Claire.” Her mother rubbed the ends between her fingers.
Claire jerked her head away from her mother’s touch. “I’m growing it out.”
“As soon as we get home, I’ll make you an appointment with Glennis.”
Claire’s hand went to her nape before she could stop herself. Ten minutes with her parents and she was already a mass of insecurities. She walked up to Lachlan. “What vote were you and Father referring to?”
Lachlan ran a hand through his hair. “If you checked your email, you would know.”
“Well, I haven’t, and as you’re standing right here, how about giving me the short version?”
“A vote on whether to take Glennallen public.” Lachlan’s jaw clenched. It was obvious from his defensive posture that he stood against the plan.
“After I inherit my shares, you need my vote to ensure the company doesn’t go public?”
“Actually, I just need you not to give your vote to him.” Lachlan gestured toward her father. “I’ve got enough support to hold the company private. For now.”
“That’s why you came all this way?”
“I couldn’t risk they would get your signature on any proxy papers. I left for the airport without a stitch of luggage as soon as I heard they were on their way. I’ve been traveling for twelve hours.”
Her father paced in front of the desk, his hands clasped behind his back. On his pinkie finger, a gold ring with the Glennallen crest winked at her hypnotically on every turn. “Claire, darling, the last years of estrangement have been difficult for your mother and me, but despite everything, you’ve shown a resiliency that’s admirable. Honestly, I expected you to crawl home after being on your own for a summer—after all, you have no skills whatsoever—but you persevered.”
Her father had almost given her a compliment. If only he hadn’t wrapped it so thoroughly in an insult. “Thank you. I guess.”
Her mother took Claire’s hands. Claire looked down, unable to stop herself from comparing her mother and Ms. Meadows. Her mother’s touch was cool, her skin was unmarked, but signs of aging crept closer. Her knuckles were knobbier and veins were prominent along the backs.
“We want you home for more than a vote, darling. I regret our estrangement more than you know.” The sincerity reflected in her mother’s voice and face seemed genuine, and Claire fought an age-old longing to connect.
“If I don’t return to Scotland to work for Glennallen Whisky, what would happen?” She directed the question at Dennison, but it was her father who spoke.
“You would betray your family name. You would shame your ancestors. You would forfeit your inheritance. No one would be daft enough to walk away from that much money.” Her father propped his hands on his hips, his suit jacket flared back over his arms.
A dog from the back barked.
Claire blinked with a sudden realization. Her father was a dog trying to intimidate. Except Claire had seen too much and had learned to deal with all kinds of people on the road. She wasn’t easily intimidated. Not anymore.
She turned again to Dennison. “Is he correct?”
Dennison’s calm voice was like a balm to the anger crackling around her father. “If you choose not to accept your inheritance, the percentage of Glennallen Whisky you were set to inherit will be put into a trust to be split equally among all owners in five years.”
“I wouldn’t receive any money at all.” She wasn’t surprised to hear his soft but emphatic, “None, at all.”
“Has any heir refused their inheritance?”
“None have been brave enough to forge their own path.” Dennison’s brows rose over his glasses as if posing a question he did not ask.
The information cracked a door open. She wasn’t sure she should or would walk through, but for the first time since seeing her parents and Lachlan in the middle of Highland, she could take a deep breath.
Lachlan stepped between her and Dennison. Instead of trying to intimidate her like her father, he gave her puppy-dog eyes. “Claire, I need you.”
“Do you?” She wasn’t asking to annoy him. She was genuinely curious why Lachlan needed her.
“Yes. With your vote guaranteed, I could enact my plans and—”
Claire held up her hand. “I can’t promise to blindly support every initiative you put forth, Lachlan.”
Claire’s father poorly muffled a chortle.
Claire swung to look at her father. “I wouldn’t ever support taking Glennallen Whisky public. The short-term gains aren’t worth it.”
With her father on one side of her and Lachlan on the other, Claire had a vision of her future. She would be the pawn in a constant tug-of-war. All they saw when they looked at her were her shares and what those shares could do for them.
They didn’t know her heart and dreams and fears. And they wouldn’t try to get to know her, not when she possessed something more valuable—a vote. She could use her vote to manipulate her father, maybe even wrest her own piece of power. Or she could do something good with the money and power she’d inherit. She could become a benefactress like her mother.
Claire studied her mother. Was she happy? “I’d like to talk to Mother alone.”
Because the two men were trying to make her happy, they obliged, stepping outside. Dennison joined them. Music drifted through the open door before it closed again. The haunting sound of Iain singing “My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose.” It was her song to sing and she was missing it.
“Do you have any advice for me, Mother?” Claire slid onto one of the waiting room chairs.
After a moment, her mother perched on the edge of the chair next to Claire. “Of course you should return and support your father.”
It was a regurgitated line. Claire shifted until her knees bumped her mother’s legs. “Have you been happy? No regrets?”
Her mother’s throat worked and her jaw clenched as if holding back a flood. Finally, she broke. “I was happy at first, but as the years have gone by, I realize money isn’t everything. Lewis loves Glennallen Whisky more than he ever loved me. I see the same single-minded obsession in Lachlan. I don’t want that for you, Claire.”
Claire’s breath caught. “You think I should walk away?”
Her mother cast her the briefest of glances. “I dreamed of being a dancer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“When you decided not to go to university, a small part of me was glad for you. You were doing something I wasn’t brave enough to do. I convinced Lewis to let you be. To let you come to us if you needed help. I hoped you would forge your own path. And you have.” Her mother graced her with a real smile that warmed her eyes.
There was that word again. Brave. People kept wanting to pin it on her like a medal she didn’t deserve. “I haven’t forged my own path. I’m currently lost in the brambles if you want to know the truth.”
“There’s someone special in Highland, isn’t there?”
She didn’t even question her mother’s sudden perceptiveness. “Actually, there are many special someones in Highland, but if you’re asking specifically about a man, then yes, there is.”
“Do you love him?”
Her earlier confession to Holt was still tender and raw, but she was done lying. “I do.”
“Does he love you?”
“I … don’t know. I hope so.”
“Shouldn’t you stay to find out?” A challenge lilted in her mother’s voice.
“Father will be angry.”
Her mother’s lips mashed together in a tense line. “Yes, but he’ll get over it. The balance of power between him and Lachlan
will remain the same. If you returned, they would make your life hell.”
“I’d already come to that conclusion.” Claire scrubbed a hand through her hair.
“I do regret not being able to let Glennis at your hair, though.” Her mother tsked, and Claire found herself laughing instead of getting angry.
“Where are you and Father and Dennison staying?”
“A charming little bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of Highland called Rose House. Apparently, there is a dearth of suitable hotels in the area.” Her parents had a talent for combining compliments and insults until one didn’t know whether to thank them or take offense.
“Could you and Father stay on a few days? I’d like to introduce you to my friends. And to Holt.” First, she had to tell him she was staying. How would he react? What if he’d only wanted a fling? And Ms. Meadows planned to move into the assisted living facility. She would have no job and nowhere to live. Was taking the leap brave or foolish?
“Yes, we will. Let me handle your father and Lachlan. I’ll send Dennison back in so the two of you can handle the necessary paperwork.” Her mother walked briskly to the door.
Dennison and her mother spoke outside for a few seconds before he slipped back into the clinic. Her father’s voice had risen to pitch and volume, and Lachlan cast a look that could cut glass through the door to her. She turned her back to the maelstrom outside and smiled at Dennison.
“I’m afraid I’ve thrown everything into chaos,” she said.
“The status quo will be maintained. Don’t discount the merits of stability when it comes to running a business.” He riffled through the folders in his briefcase and pulled out a black one. “You’re sure you wish to renounce? You don’t want to sleep on the decision?”
If she waited, she would have a safety net before she talked to Holt. She didn’t want to live her life with a safety net another second. She would take the leap and trust Holt to catch her.
“I’m ready to sign.” Claire sat behind the desk and signed her life away. No, she was gaining her life. She was signing her burdens away.
Chapter Eighteen
Claire pushed the door open and faced her father and Lachlan. The night had turned crisp and the scent of woodsmoke hung in the air. “I’m sorry, Lachlan. I know I’m breaking the promise I made years ago, but I can’t sacrifice my happiness so you can control Glennallen Whisky.”
Lachlan threw his hands up, but most of the rancor was absent from his voice. “Bloody hell, I can’t believe I came all this way for nothing.”
“There is a festival going on. I recommend Big Eddie’s barbecue truck. Go enjoy yourself.”
Lachlan gave her a dirty look. “Don’t misunderstand, I’m fashed, but shoot me an email every once in a while and let me know how you’re managing, yeah?” When she nodded, he leaned in for a half hug before stalking off toward the festival.
Next, she turned to the harder nut to crack, her father. “I know I’ve disappointed you, but I’m still your daughter. Just because I’m not part of the business doesn’t mean we can’t have a relationship. In fact, it might be simpler now that my shares aren’t coloring our interactions.”
“I feel as if I don’t even know you,” her father murmured. A hint of admiration had snuck into the disparagement.
“Then get to know me. The person I am now, not the one you remember. I would like that.” Claire smiled at her mother, who returned the sentiment with a decisive nod. “Stay in Highland for Christmas. I’d like to show you around and introduce you to my friends. Please?”
When her father didn’t answer, she handed him a piece of paper with Ms. Meadows’s phone number. “Think about it and call me, okay?”
Her mother plucked the number from her husband’s hand and tucked it into her purse. “We’ll call in the morning after emotions have a chance to settle.”
With all the awkwardness of hugging a porcupine, Claire leaned in to embrace her father. Her mother’s hug was only slightly less awkward. It would take time to build something new. Perhaps they would never kindle the warmth of typical families, but it was a start.
Claire took one last look at her parents and then walked away. Her walk turned into a jog back to the Burns Night festival. Main Street was packed. The festival looked to be a great success. She stood on tiptoe to try to spot anyone she knew.
Iain stood like a lighthouse on the other side of the sidewalk, several inches taller than anyone around him. She pushed through the crowd until she reached him. Dr. Jameson was in conversation with him, but they broke off as she approached.
“I thought you’d be long gone by now,” Dr. Jameson said.
Claire ignored him. “Where’s Holt and Ms. Meadows?”
“Gone. You missed them by naught more than fifteen minutes,” Iain said. “What’s going on? Holt looked like someone kicked his favorite pup.”
“He doesn’t have a pup. He has a bloodthirsty barn cat named Vlad.” Her smile was tremulous. “It’s a long story, but I need to talk to him. Why did he leave so early?”
Dr. Jameson made a wincing noise that drew both her and Iain’s attention. “I think that might have been my fault.”
“What did you tell him?” Claire asked.
“What you told me. That you weren’t staying in Highland.” Dr. Jameson held his hands out in supplication. “Are you not leaving us, then?”
“No. I’m not,” she said firmly. “I need a ride out to Holt’s place.”
“I’d take you, but I’ve got to help Anna once the festival wraps up,” Iain said.
“I’d be happy to take you wherever you need to go,” Dr. Jameson said. “My truck’s behind the clinic.”
Iain leaned in to kiss her cheek and whisper, “I’m glad Highland is gaining another Scot,” before slipping away.
Dr. Jameson took her elbow and led her through the crowd and past the police barrier back toward his clinic. Claire tensed. She didn’t want to see her parents again until she’d worked things out with Holt one way or another, but the parking area was deserted.
They were on the road in seconds, but traffic made the going slower than Claire would like. Of course, nothing less than light speed would have satisfied her.
The lights of a Christmas tree lot came into view. A compulsion came over Claire, and she grabbed the dash and yelled, “Stop!”
Startled, Dr. Jameson pulled over into the graveled parking area. “What’s the matter?”
“I must have a tree.” She didn’t wait for Dr. Jameson to respond, but hopped out of the truck.
The trees had been picked over this close to Christmas. She stuck her hand in her pocket and counted her money. Less than five dollars. She went straight to the woman wearing an apron in the back and held the money out in her palm. “What can I get for this? Anything?”
The woman looked from the money to Claire’s face and back again, finally taking it and counting it out on the top of a register. “Normally it wouldn’t buy anything, but there’s a tree over here I could let go for that. Come on.”
A single tree leaned against a wooden sawhorse, forlorn and scraggly. Claire stood it upright. It was four feet tall and its crooked branches left gaps, but it was green and its needles sweetly scented. It was perfect.
“I’ll take it. Thank you and merry Christmas.” Without even thinking, Claire leaned in to give the lady a half hug before loading tree into the bed of Dr. Jameson’s truck.
The lady smiled and waved her off. “Merry Christmas!”
After Claire was settled back into the passenger seat, Dr. Jameson smiled and shook his head. “Never pegged you for a romantic, Miss Claire.”
“I wasn’t one until I came to Highland.” She grinned back. “Can we stop at Ms. Meadows’s house first? Taking care of her is still my job.”
Dr. Jameson nodded. “I like your attitude. Come down to the clinic if you’re ever looking for a job. I can use someone reliable at the front desk.”
Claire stared out the windscreen and blink
ed in surprise. A job offered in the most unlikely of circumstances. She was knitting together her own safety net. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
When they pulled up to Ms. Meadows’s house, Holt’s truck wasn’t there, but a minivan was out front. “I’ll wait out here. Take your time,” Dr. Jameson said.
Claire was at the front door in two giant leaps up the steps. The entwined laugher of two women, one recognizably Ms. Meadows, beckoned her to the den. Ms. Meadows was in her favorite chair. All the lights except the twinkling Christmas tree lights were off. As Claire had guessed, the tree was magical at night.
Ms. Coburn, the gray-haired librarian, was half reclined on the couch with a glass of whisky in her hand.
“Ms. Meadows.” Claire’s voice was croaky.
Ms. Meadows shifted around, her mouth in an O of surprise. “Why, girl! I thought you’d run off with your parents.”
“I would never leave you like that.” Claire bent over and hugged Ms. Meadows tight. The old woman patted her on the back.
When they broke apart, Ms. Meadows gestured toward the woman on the couch. “Janice, this is my … friend, Claire Glennallen. Janice goes to my church. She’s staying the night.”
“Actually, we met at the library.” Claire exchanged smiles with Ms. Coburn. “I should stay and—”
“You should talk to Holt. That boy is heartbroken.” Ms. Meadows took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“I’m staying for good. You don’t have to move to the assisted living unless you really want to.”
Ms. Meadows looked around and smiled. “No, it’s time. This has been the best Christmas season I’ve spent here in too long. Anyway, the Piersons came up with the money to buy my house. They’ll probably knock it down, but ashes to ashes and all that. It’s time.”
Claire’s lungs tightened and her breaths grew short with the possibility Ms. Meadows’s house would be leveled. It didn’t bear thinking about or else she might cry.
“Janice and I are having a fine time. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ms. Meadows asked.
“Yes. Tomorrow.” Claire nodded.
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