There was a long pause. After an age, he stuck his hand out and gripped Zoe’s.
Jesus! thought Zoe, as he gave her a death grip. Despite the pain, as he attempted to crush every bone in her hand, she smiled at him and pumped vigorously up and down, squeezing right back as hard as she could.
‘So wonderful to meet you, can you bring a load up this afternoon? Do you need directions?’
Rory dropped her hand as if she had leprosy. ‘I’m out of wood right now.’
Morag hooted. ‘Mrs McCreedie told me you’ve got more trees up there than you can shake a stick at. I’m sure you can spare a bit for our Zoe?’ She continued processing his letters, oblivious to the thunder rolling off him in waves.
The dog left his side again to make amends and Zoe dropped to her knees. ‘You are so beautiful! What’s your name?’
Rory cleared his throat. ‘His name is Bandit.’
‘Well, I think you’re the most gorgeous male I’ve met since arriving in Kinloch.’
‘What about our Jamie?’ interjected Morag.
Zoe grinned and looked up at her. ‘Okay, Bandit’s the second most gorgeous male in Kinloch.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve always wanted a pet.’ She looked at Bandit. ‘Fancy a new home? Want to come live with me?’
Bandit barked his approval and Rory stood in front of him. ‘He’s not for sale.’
Zoe glanced at Rory’s boots. A couple of tiny pieces of hay were stuck behind the laces. She frowned. Surely not? She straightened up and looked at him. An unwanted jolt of awareness shot through her. She stuck on a vacuous smile.
‘Oh, I don’t need a pet any more, I’ve got about thirty. Although I’m sending them off to market this afternoon. Possession being nine tenths of the law. Finders keepers and all that. I’ll make enough to fix the cabin up good and proper. Might even put a hot tub on the deck.’
‘Eh? What are you talking about love?’ asked Morag.
Zoe’s attention was all on Rory. His eyes widened and his jaw tightened. He pushed past her to the door, whistling for Bandit and walked out. ‘See you later!’ she called after him.
The only response was the tinkling of the bell as the door shut. Zoe turned back to Morag. ‘Oh, I was just being silly. A load of cows got onto my land this morning but I walked them back up the road so they’re safely home.’
‘Well, that’s good, love. Now, Jamie says it’s not as bad as we all feared. Come and tell me all about it.’
Morag led the way out to the sitting room at the back, calling through as she went, ‘Fi love, Zoe’s here!’
* * *
Zoe spent the morning between Morag’s and the library, making more plans for the cabin and juggling her budget. She may not have been paying rent any more, but the cabin was going to be a financial black hole if she wasn’t careful. Even though she hadn’t planned on doing any accountancy, Fiona was a mobile hairdresser and insisted Zoe do her books. The money wasn’t going to stretch far and Zoe had a sinking feeling that sooner or later she’d have to get in her car every day and go to Inverness or further afield to find work.
It was drizzling by the time she drove up the track, making it slippery under the wheels of the truck. Thank god she had traded in Siena. The rain came down heavier as she ran for the cabin and she saw with dismay how churned up the ground was from the cattle earlier.
The Rayburn was running low so she fed it more logs. If she was going to keep this going through the winter, she couldn’t leave it unattended during the day. She couldn’t work in an office an hour’s drive away. God, it just ate wood.
She felt a splash on her head. Looking up dubiously, she saw the roof was not as secure as she had led everyone to believe.
‘Bollocks!’ She dragged out some pots and pans, placing them below the drips and potential weak spots. The roof had to get fixed before winter set in. Jamie was coming around later with the sheep’s wool for insulation. She would ask his advice.
Rory sat in the truck, drumming his fingers impatiently on his rock-solid thighs in time with the rain on the roof. He was parked next to a field that contained thirty Highland cattle. Cattle that should still be at the cabin. How had they got back? And shut the gate behind them? Zoe couldn’t have brought them here on her own. She didn’t even know where they had come from. He brought out his phone to ring the tenant farmer, then paused and looked at Bandit.
‘But what if she did bring them back?’
Bandit rested his head on his front paws. Rory banged his head back against the seat in frustration, then drove back into Kinloch. He needed to load the truck with wood for the interloper, then go to Inverness for a conversation with the estate’s bank manager and its solicitors. But before all that, he needed to confront the most frightening part of his new job: paperwork.
5
The Kinloch estate office was ancient, and a mess. Big leather-bound volumes filled shelves that reached to the ceiling. The dust was thick, the paint was peeling, and cobwebs hung in every corner. It was a room where paper came to breed and die. Rory sat slumped behind a desk obscured by piles of the stuff, raked his hands through his hair and brooded.
On the table in front of him were letters from the bank. He had put off opening them until a call had come through that morning from the bank manager reminding him of his obligations. Obligations. His least favourite word. He’d spent most of his adult life running away from his particular ones, but now his father was dead and he had no choice but to face up to them. He knew he should have offloaded these tasks to someone far more competent than himself, but there just wasn’t enough money to pay anyone. So, he ignored letters and emails, put off opening them, stupidly hoping they might disappear, or a solution might magically present itself.
Give him a tree to cut down, a fence to fix, a tangible and practical problem to solve and he was the man for the job. Give him a balance sheet and he’d rather take a bullet. So now his problem chickens were coming home to roost, and it wasn’t just him who would suffer, it would be his mother. After the death of his father, she relied on him completely. If he couldn’t make the estate profitable then he would lose his job. What would happen to her then? He thought of them both resorting to stacking shelves in a supermarket and his head went from hurting to pounding.
* * *
By the time he arrived at the offices of the Kinloch estate lawyers, his brain was bursting out of his skull. Despite the sale of the estate’s townhouse in the capital, the debt continued to mount and the castle continued to deteriorate. The bank manager hadn’t sugar coated the situation. She’d told him there were limits to how big overdrafts could be and how long loans could last without repayment. Apparently, it was no longer acceptable that the ones for the Kinloch estate and the MacGinley family had begun in the time of Robert the Bruce and were due to be paid off when humans colonised Mars.
He now sat in a quiet room of MacLennan and McCarthy, the estate’s solicitors, his socks sinking into the thick, pale blue carpet, his battered waxed jacket hung outside to dry. The staff had insisted he didn’t need to remove his boots, but Rory could insist harder. His life was enough of a muddy, dishevelled mess without inflicting it on others.
He sat across from the latest McCarthy; acres of leather inlaid desk between them. The desk was polished, with a fountain pen stand, blotter pad and a brass desk calendar. In one corner was a crystal decanter of whisky and a couple of glasses. The old man’s fingers had instinctively drifted towards it when they both sat down, but after an imperceptible shake of Rory’s head, he called his assistant to bring them both a glass of Highland spring water instead.
Alastair McCarthy was of indeterminate age but clearly very old. His body had got to a point it was happy with, then stayed there, slowly desiccating. He was extremely thin, with sunken eyes, a shining skull, and a veneer of papery skin shrink-wrapped over his emaciated frame. He presented a visible anatomy lesson, and a study in stillness. It was only his habit of preceding every proclamation with a vigorous throat clearing
exercise that reminded Rory he was, against all the odds, still alive.
Following enquiries after his mother, he placed a sheaf of papers in a brown folder down in front of him.
‘Ahem. The papers you enquired about, containing the legal arrangement for the croft. The lease did not expire with the death of William Laing, so he was free to pass it on to whomever he chose. Here’s the estate’s copy you can take with you so you can see for yourself.’
Rory leafed through the papers, scowling at the name: Stuart MacGinley, Earl of Kinloch.
‘The lease also includes access to the main road via the track, and it is recorded as having a dwelling, so the lady is, ahem, within her rights to reside there.’
‘But he never paid the estate any money for it!’
The corners of Alastair’s eyes softened. ‘Ahem. He gave a lifetime of service essentially for free. Regardless, even if the land was still currently part of the estate, the sale of a new lease would make little difference to the present situation. Unless circumstances change, then the only course of action is to—’
‘No.’
‘Or fully embrace Colquhoun Asset Management’s plans?’
‘No,’ replied Rory more forcefully.
‘Have you spoken recently with the bank?’
‘Just now.’
Alastair’s shoulders sagged a little and he leaned against the back of his chair. ‘Ahem. So you appreciate where we find ourselves…’
Rory’s head sunk. This was all on him. The estate would go under and he had no one to blame but himself.
* * *
Walking back through the centre of Inverness, Bandit at his side, Rory fixated on the cabin. If only he was living there instead of this woman, he would have the headspace he needed to find the solution to an impossible problem. Alastair McCarthy’s inference they should sell off more assets was the sign of ultimate failure. After the sale of the townhouse, the castle was about the only thing left of value, but still nobody wanted it. And as for the plans Colquhoun Asset Management had put forward? To develop the castle into a conference centre? He wanted that to be the last resort before repossession. His train of thought was interrupted by Bandit who had stopped outside a shop and was barking excitedly at the window.
Bandit had only been to Inverness a few times, but had decided that The Time is MEOW! was his favourite shop. He would pace up and down, tail wagging, barking hellos at all the pets on display. Rory didn’t know whether his interest was friendship or food, and didn’t want to take the risk of finding out, so outside the window was as far as he had ever got. He thought back to his encounter with Zoe that morning in the post office and his fingers curled possessively in Bandit’s fur. She may have always wanted a pet, but she wasn’t getting his. He zeroed in on a small cage in the window. He wanted her out of the cabin and she wanted a pet. Time to kill two birds with one stone.
* * *
A few miles back down the road towards Kinloch, Rory realised he had made a terrible mistake. Bandit, usually the best-behaved dog in the world, was taking an unhealthy and overly excited interest in the cardboard box on the back seat. Rory was strong, but it was taking all his strength to keep the dog from leaping into the back. He drove with one hand gripping Bandit’s collar and the other on the wheel to keep the truck on the road. Traffic was getting heavier and there was nowhere to stop and turn around.
What was I thinking? First the cows and now this? What the fuck is wrong with me? He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He had just about enough time to get to the cabin, unload the logs currently filling the boot, put the box in their place away from Bandit, and drive back to the pet shop to return it. It would be tight, but if he was quick dumping the wood he could do it.
By the time he reached the track to the cabin he was sweating, and Bandit was beside himself with excitement. It was pouring with rain, and as he rounded the bend he saw how much the land had been churned up by the cows. God, I’m an arsehole. But that stopped here and now. He reversed the truck to get as close to the porch as possible and leapt out, dragging Bandit after him and dropping the tailgate. He then walked back and shut the driver’s door before releasing his hold on Bandit’s collar.
‘Bandit, stay!’
But Bandit was having none of it, and careered around outside the truck, barking and whining. Exasperated, Rory threw the logs out of the back of the truck towards the porch. He didn’t have time to carry them up, this would have to do.
Zoe rushed out of the cabin, pulling on her wellies. ‘Hey, hey! What are you doing?’ She ran down the steps into the rain. ‘You can’t do that, they’ll get soaked!’
He kept throwing. Some of the logs thudded against the outside wall of the cabin, some hit her makeshift door, and most bounced back off the porch onto the muddy ground.
‘Why are you being such a tool? What have I ever done to you?’
Bandit was now trying to get under the cabin, barking crazily. What was wrong with him? ‘Bandit! Heel!’ he yelled.
Bandit continued to ignore him. Now Zoe did too, grabbing the wet and muddy logs and throwing them onto the relative shelter of the decking. It became a race. Rory, with determination and urgency throwing the logs to the ground, and Zoe with fury and rage throwing them up onto the porch.
As soon as the back of the truck was empty, he ran to the cab to get the cardboard box to put it safely out of Bandit’s reach. As he lifted it off the passenger seat, a trail of sawdust floated down. He saw with horror that a hole had been eaten into the side. He threw back the lid to confirm the worst had happened. The creature had escaped. Frantically he searched the cab. Nothing.
He ran back to the cabin, scanning the ground, calling for Bandit.
Zoe stomped up to him. ‘What is your problem?’ she yelled. Her wet T-shirt was clinging to her heaving chest. The rain had turned her hair into a river of red curls. She angrily swiped a long, wet strand from her face, smudging her flushed cheek with mud. Her eyes, framed by wet lashes, were glistening.
Rory’s mind went blank, then his mouth unfortunately moved for him. ‘That’ll be one hundred pounds.’
Zoe’s jaw dropped. ‘Whaatttt? I’m not paying a hundred quid for sub-standard merchandise and shoddy service!’
Rory felt split in two. The better half of him was imprisoned inside someone who just shrugged in response.
She ran up the steps to the porch, kicking off her wellies and striding into the cabin. When she returned, she thrust three twenty-pound notes and a tenner towards him. ‘That’s all I’ve got,’ she said quietly. Bandit called off his search and ran to her. She stroked him with her free hand. Rory took the money. ‘I don’t understand why you’re being such an arse.’ She held his gaze.
Rory turned away, whistling for Bandit, and got in his truck. As he drove down the track, he saw her walk back to the cabin, wiping her eyes with her sodden sleeve.
* * *
I don’t understand why you’re being such an arse. The words went around his head as he drove along the road. What have I ever done to you?
He banged his fists on the steering wheel. ‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccckkkkkkkkkkk!’ The truck swerved and he pulled to the side of the road, killing the engine. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuucccccckkkk!’ Each word was punctuated by another bang of his fists against the wheel. Bandit began to whine, and he put his hand out to calm him.
He didn’t recognise the person who had just behaved so badly. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that; no one did. Zoe was right. He was an arse. He was an arsehole of the highest order. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it away from his scalp to relieve the tension. He relived the flash of pain that shot across her face as he asked for the money, her unshed tears glistening.
He dropped his hands and slumped back in the seat, resting against the headrest. He let out a sigh. It was quiet now. The only sound the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windscreen and roof. What could he do? How could he make amends without fessing up to eve
rything he had done?
In his mind he saw her deep dark eyes, her cascading curls of red hair, her luminous pale skin with its sprinkling of freckles. He saw her tall lithe frame, her perfect breasts revealed by the rain. God, she was beautiful.
He realised he had been holding his breath, tension thrumming through him. He let out another sigh, and stared out through the windscreen blurred with rain. He needed to stay away, leave her alone. Even if he hadn’t just burned his bridges in a pyrotechnic display of stupidity, he’d never lay his heart on the line again. There was no space for romance in his life, and definitely no room for love. His mother and saving the estate had to come first.
Zoe stacked the logs against the side wall of the cabin, her emotions radiating so much heat her clothes were beginning to dry. What was his problem? Even the worst of her London dates hadn’t treated her with such harsh indifference. And to add insult to injury, why did he have to be so freaking gorgeous?
A shiver of goosebumps breezed over her skin. His cheeks were the same burnished bronze as yesterday. Water droplets had gathered in his hair like jewels. His eyes burned like silver stars. She had wanted to kiss him whilst simultaneously punching him in the face. Her heart thudded in her chest, hammering in a nail of frustration and anguish. He was a man of stone. Rock hard body and granite heart.
By the time Jamie rolled up the track, Zoe was sweeping the deck. Jamie gave her a wave and pulled a bale of wool tied together with orange twine out of the boot of his car.
Highland Games: sparkling, sexy and utterly unputdownable - the romantic comedy of the year! (The Kinloch Series) Page 5