Can’t Stop the Feeling
The Sinclair Sisters Trilogy
Book 2
Janet Elizabeth Henderson
About Can’t Stop the Feeling
The local branch of the Scottish Women’s Institute want to use Kintyre Mansion to hold their annual fundraising ball. There’s only one problem—its owner.
Duncan Stewart is a young widower, still reeling from grief two years after losing his wife, and making the town suffer while he does it. The artist doesn’t paint anymore—he’s become a bad-tempered recluse. The only person he can tolerate for any length of time is his housekeeper—whom he feels overly protective toward, in a professional sort of way…mostly. It seems his grief is coming to an end, and the only woman who interests him in the slightest is the one who’s off limits. The one who works for him. And, the one who’s very much up to something…
Donna Sinclair, the mansion’s housekeeper, is well known for her three weaknesses: being a sucker for a good sob story, an injured animal and a lost soul. And there are days when her boss is all three—and it makes him a little cranky. Which is why she hasn’t told him that she’s given the Women’s Institute permission to hold their fundraising ball at the mansion. Now all she needs to do is get him out of the building for the weekend of the party. There’s only one problem with her plan—Duncan is practically a hermit and has barely set foot out of the mansion since his wife died.
But Donna has a secret weapon on her side—her crazy sisters who would do just about anything to help her out!
A note to my readers
Dear Reader,
First in 2014, and then to an even greater degree in 2018, the Mackintosh building of The Glasgow School of Art was gutted by fire. It no longer stands on the spot it occupied for over a hundred years, leaving the artists who honed their crafts within its walls heartbroken at its loss. I know, because I am one of them.
For four years, I was fortunate enough to walk the halls of the Mac. I sat in its lecture theatre, on seats that were so hard your bum was numb for hours afterwards. I showed my work in exhibitions held in the studios and corridors. I spent hours in the library, daydreaming under the Art Nouveau detailing and napping in the soft afternoon light that flooded the room. Most importantly, I worked in the studios, knowing that generations of artists had done so before me.
The Glasgow School of Art’s Mackintosh building wasn’t just a place to study—it was loved. It had its own personality—from the recurring Rennie Mackintosh motifs throughout the building to the worn stone steps that wound up to the studios above. That is why in this book, the art school can still be found in pristine condition. In the world inside my head, the building is still in one piece, and a new generation of artists walks it halls dreaming of fame.
So, please forgive me for taking poetic licence with history, but to me, the Mac still lives on, and I couldn’t bear to write of a world where it doesn’t.
With much love,
Janet x
Prologue
Eighteen months earlier, Kintyre Mansion, Scotland
The sound of breaking glass woke Donna Sinclair from a deep sleep. She lay as still as possible, straining to hear what had caused the noise. As usual, the mansion was eerily quiet. In the three months she’d been living in the housekeeper’s accommodation at the top of the building, she’d become accustomed to the creaks and echoing noises in the old house. Although, she still didn’t feel comfortable in the place, or in her role as housekeeper—a job she hadn’t applied for but had been given because she happened to turn up on the day her boss fired the last one.
She sighed at the thought of her invisible boss. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Duncan Stewart since the day he’d hired her—even though they both lived in the same building. Since his young wife died the year before, Duncan had retreated from the world, leaving his housekeeper to deal with it for him. His grief was a spectre hanging over the mansion. Although, some days she thought it might be the lingering spirit of Fiona Stewart.
Aren’t you going to investigate? Donna wasn’t surprised by the voice only she could hear. She looked over to find a life-size drawing of Hermione Granger standing beside her dresser. You are the housekeeper after all.
“Go away,” Donna said. “You’re a kid. What do you know?” She paused as something else occurred to her. “And you aren’t real.” She probably should have led with the last part.
Hermione was undeterred. Isn’t it your job to take care of the mansion?
“It isn’t part of my job description to put myself in danger.” And yes, she was aware she was talking to an imaginary person. It happened a lot more often than she would ever admit. She had a tendency to sketch in the pages of the books she read, and those sketches had a habit of coming to life when she least wanted them to.
Stop being such a coward, Hermione said. You’re giving girls everywhere a bad name.
She should never have started re-reading Harry Potter before she fell asleep. If she’d been reading Lord of the Rings, Frodo would have appeared and told her to stay under her bed until the problem passed.
Another smash drew her attention to the front of the house. It didn’t sound like a window breaking, more like dishes being thrown against a wall. Part of her, the cowardly part, hoped Duncan would deal with the situation but considering his hermit nature, it seemed unlikely.
Donna! Someone could be breaking in. You need to deal with it.
“Fine,” she grumbled.
After climbing out of bed and tugging on her old terry cotton robe, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand next to her bed and hurried for the door.
Don’t worry, Hermione said. I have my wand. I’ll back you up.
“What a relief,” Donna muttered as she hurried down the stairs into the empty building beneath her. “Go away. I can’t deal with you right now.”
How rude! Hermione disappeared. Thankfully.
The sound of something else smashing made her trip on the stairs, and as she reached for the bannister to steady herself, she heard a voice—an angry, pain-filled wail that echoed through the mansion.
“Damn you to hell for leaving me, Fiona!”
Duncan.
She flew down the stairs. Rushing towards the sound of a man losing control. Donna didn’t spare a thought for the danger involved in confronting him while he was enraged, all she could think of was getting to him. Of helping him. Somehow.
“Forever!” Another crash punctuated his roar. “You promised forever.”
She rushed through the corridors to the main entrance, wishing she wasn’t the only staff member who lived on-site. Wishing someone was there to help her calm Duncan and save him from himself.
“You lied!” he bellowed. “Forever didn’t happen.”
She ran across the marble entryway and yanked the front door open. A missile flew at her head. She ducked—just in time—and a half-full bottle of whisky smashed on the marble floor behind her.
Duncan stood in the middle of the driveway, at the bottom of the steps leading up to the mansion. His rumpled blue plaid shirt was buttoned up crookedly, his jeans had stains and his feet were bare. An overgrown beard hid his jaw, and tangled hair fell into his eyes. He looked more like a man who’d been living on the streets for months than the owner of Kintyre’s mansion house.
“Liar!” He roared as he lifted his fists to the sky. “Liar!”
Agony came off him with such force that Donna half expected to find a storm raging overhead. There should have been lightning and an answe
ring roar of thunder, but instead, all she could see were the stars.
He staggered back a step before bending over to reach for another bottle. It seemed that in the weeks since she’d last seen him, her boss had been working his way through the liquor cabinet.
A spear of guilt made her stomach clench. She should have checked on him. She’d been selfish, thinking only of her own comfort, when he’d been suffering alone. As far as she could see, there was no one else around to keep an eye on him. Three months and there had been no visits to the mansion. No calls from family. Nothing. She wasn’t sure if he’d driven everyone away, or if his life had revolved around his wife to such an extent that there’d been no room for anyone else. It didn’t matter what caused his isolation. Right now, there was no one to step in and stop the man from killing himself with his grief.
No one but her.
“Duncan!” She raced towards him, down the stone steps and into the night. Aware that it probably wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. He was massive, enraged and blind drunk. But he was also in pain, and she couldn’t bear it. “Stop, Duncan, please,” she called.
What she planned to do once she got to him, she didn’t know. But, to her surprise, he froze. The intensity of his dark gaze made her stumble. He blinked. Once. Twice. And then frowned.
“Fiona?” The confused whisper broke her heart.
“Oh, Duncan, no.” She approached him slowly, her hand out, as though he were a savage beast.
“Fiona!” It was a desperate cry.
He staggered the distance between them and fell to his knees on the harsh gravel. Strong arms snaked around her hips as he rubbed his face against her stomach.
“You came back.” The wonder and love in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me. You said forever. You promised. And you always keep your promises.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her stomach. “Ah, Fiona, I’ve missed you, lass.
A tear slid down Donna’s cheek, and she found it difficult to get the words out through her tightening throat. “Duncan, Fiona’s gone,” she said gently. “I’m Donna, your housekeeper.”
He was buried too deep in his drunken delusion to hear her. “I can’t do this without you.” He pressed his forehead to her. “Don’t leave me again. I cannae bear it.”
Another tear escaped, and she found herself reaching out with trembling hands to stroke the hair of the broken man who clung to her. To offer what little comfort she could when words were lost to him.
His breathing hitched at her touch. “How I love you. There’s only you for me. Only you.”
Her heart clenched, and she desperately wished that she had the power to bring his wife back for him. She wanted to reach through time and undo the injustices of the past. She wanted to give him hope. But there was none to give.
“Shh,” she whispered as she stroked his unruly hair. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“They want me to lecture,” he whispered. “To stand up in front of all those students and talk about my work. I can’t do it. I can’t talk about it, and I can’t paint again. It would be better if everybody forgot about me. I’m washed up, lass. There are no more ideas for paintings in my head. And why would there be? What would I paint without you? Everything is so damn hard without you. Don’t leave me again. Never again. You promised.”
He let out a sigh of pure longing. “I think I’ve missed your lips most of all.” He leaned back to look up at her with eyes that saw another. His fingers traced the curve of her mouth. “I’ve missed the way they look when you smile at me, and the way they purse in anger when I annoy you—which is often. I’ve missed the feel of them, satin against my skin. And the colour, a ripe peach in summer. I’ve just missed you, Fi. All of you.”
He pressed his forehead against her. “I want to be with you so bad it’s agony. Why did you leave me behind? And why didn’t I have the guts to follow when I should have?”
“Hush now,” she cooed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “it’s going to be okay.”
He took a shuddering breath. “I can’t smile without you, Fi. I’ve forgotten how.”
There was nothing else she could say. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours until Donna was shivering from the cold nipping at her bones. She couldn’t let go of him. She knew she was a poor substitute for the woman he longed for, but in that moment, she was all he had to hold on to.
At last, Duncan’s vice-like hold relaxed, and with one long, contented sigh, he slid to the ground in front of her. For a second, she feared he’d given up on life entirely, but his pulse was steady and strong. It was only the whisky and the emotion catching up with him.
There was no way Donna would leave him lying in the driveway. Even if her nature could allow it, the early morning temperature could still slip below zero. The calendar might tell them it was late summer, but Scotland hadn’t received the memo. There was only one thing she could do, she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her phone.
“Agnes,” she said when her sister answered. “I need help.”
“He snapped, didn’t he?” Aggie said. “I knew it was only a matter of time. Hide the weapons. I’ll call the cops.”
“He hasn’t snapped.” Well, not in the way Aggie meant anyway. “He drank too much, and he’s passed out in the driveway.”
“Oh.” Her sister almost sounded disappointed.
“I need you to get hold of Keir and his brother. I’ll have to carry him into the house, and I can’t do it on my own.”
“You should leave him there to teach him a lesson.” Aggie might be telling her off, but Donna could hear the rustling as she got dressed, ready to come to her aid.
“He’s had enough hard lessons these past few months. He’s grieving, not partying. He’s been trying to drown his sorrows.” For months, by the looks—and the smell—of it.
Agnes sighed. “I’ll get the boys. We’ll be there soon.”
Grateful, Donna hung up and waited for them, spending the time clearing up the broken bottles and mopping the whisky from the reception hall floor. She would have liked to have been dressed in more than her robe when help arrived, but she didn’t dare leave Duncan alone in case he drowned in his vomit. Not that there was any sign of him waking up enough to empty his stomach. He was still out cold, lying on the frozen ground, beside the overgrown rose bushes that lined the drive.
Headlights announced the arrival of her helpers, and a minute later, Mairi’s ex-boyfriend climbed out of his truck. Keir had recently returned to town and bought the building that housed Arness’ only garage. It also held the flat where Mairi and Agnes lived. The purchase had been a calculated move on his part. Keir had come home to win Mairi back—so far, it wasn’t going well.
“So, this is the famous artist.” Keir crouched down to get a look at Duncan. “Poor bastard.”
“Thanks for coming out.”
He smiled up at her. “You can thank me by telling your stubborn sister how awesome I am.”
Donna winced, grateful Mairi was spending the night with Isobel and the kids, and hadn’t been there when she’d called Agnes. Mairi would have lost her mind if she’d known Keir had been roped in to help. “I’m not sure that would do you any good.”
“No, knowing Mairi, I don’t think it would. Never mind. What do you need us to do?”
“I need to get him inside and into his bed. I can’t leave him here.”
He looked over his shoulder at his brother, who’d climbed out of the truck with Agnes. “Get his legs, Sean.”
Together, the four of them managed to get Duncan into the house, up the stairs and onto his bed.
“This place stinks,” Agnes said as she picked up empty beer bottles and plates of half-eaten food. “We need rubbish bags, heavy duty cleaning solution and a vacuum cleaner.” She stared at the carpet in disgust. “Although, maybe we should just set fire to the room and be done with it.”
“The cleaning stuff is in the cupboard off
the kitchen,” Donna said. “It’s marked scullery.”
“Of course it is.” Rubbish in hand, Agnes turned towards the door.
“I’ll help you.” Sean followed her.
“He can’t go on like this. You know that, right?” Keir said, his eyes on her fingers as they brushed Duncan’s hair from his forehead.
She made a mental note to make a barber’s appointment for him, then wondered how she’d get him there once she’d booked him in.
“I know, I should have checked up on him before now. Don’t worry, I won’t leave him alone again.”
She’d been so busy settling into the mansion, and getting to grips with her job, that she hadn’t spared a thought for her grieving boss. All communication about her duties as housekeeper had come from his lawyer. Now, she wished she’d taken the time to find out what Duncan had been doing while she settled in.
Keir’s face softened as he looked at her. “You’ve always had the biggest heart out of you and your sisters, but he isn’t some stray animal you can rescue and nurse back to health. He’s a full-grown man who’s had his heart ripped out. The chances of you getting hurt are pretty bloody high.”
She’d already figured that out all on her own. “I’ll be careful.”
“No, you won’t. You’re too damn soft.” He gave her a knowing smile. “If you need help, shout out. If he scares you, get out of here. You can always call in the professionals to deal with him. Okay?”
Duncan would hate dealing with a stranger. He might be a mess, but he was a proud mess.
“Promise me,” Keir said when she didn’t answer. “Mairi might hate my guts right now, but I still care about her, and her sisters. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I promise. If I can’t help him, I’ll call someone who can.”
On the bed, her boss stirred, and his hand snapped out to curl around her wrist. Keir took a step forwards to intervene, but Donna shook her head to stop him.
Can't Stop the Feeling: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 2) Page 1