Serena parked in front of the converted Victorian mansion that housed Highlands Academy and stared at the brownstone edifice for a long moment. Between teaching art, volunteering, and serving on several committees, she spent a good chunk of her life here. It was hard to accept that it was coming to an end.
“Mummy, my hands are sticky.”
She twisted in her seat to see Max holding out his chocolate-covered palms, just before he gave one of them a lick. “Hold up, monkey.” She rummaged in her handbag for some hand wipes and reached back to clean away the last traces of his snack. “Are you ready to go now? Can you be a good lad while Mummy has her meeting?”
Max grinned, an expression that meant either agreement or that he was hatching a plan decidedly incompatible with being a good lad. She chuckled. Her son possessed equal measures of mischief and charm, which made it difficult to discipline him as she ought.
Serena marched Max up the front steps, holding one of his hands while clutching the strap of her shoulder bag with the other. She proceeded straight to the wood-paneled office on the right, what would have been the house’s parlor.
Ada Douglass, the school secretary, sat at a massive wood desk, the phone pressed to her ear. She held up a finger, but Serena thought she saw something akin to sympathy light in her eyes. When she put down the phone, she said, “Thank you for coming so promptly. You can go on through. Dr. Clark is waiting for you in his office.”
“No need. I’m here.” Dr. Eliot Clark smiled at Serena as he crossed the room, his hand outstretched. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long. Please, let’s speak in my office.”
Sixtysomething with a full head of neatly combed white hair, the school’s headmaster possessed a stern air that always made Serena nervous, even when he was being welcoming. She led Max into the small room with its glass-paned door and took a seat in the wingback chair before another massive mahogany desk. Her son immediately climbed onto her lap and began playing with his stuffed giraffe.
“Mrs. Stewart, I know you’re familiar with the problems that Emmy has been having at school.”
Serena blinked. They were here to talk about Em’s behavior, not about Serena’s teaching position? “I know there was an altercation with another girl earlier this year, but I was led to believe that it was resolved.”
“So was I.” Dr. Clark sighed and folded his hands. “We’ve been patient with Emmy because of all she’s been through. It’s not easy losing a parent, but I’m afraid we can’t overlook physical violence.”
“Violence? Em? I don’t believe it.”
“There were several witnesses, Mrs. Stewart, including her teacher. Emmy clearly struck another student and yanked her hair.”
Serena just stared. That didn’t sound like Em, the least violent child she’d ever met. Bookish, quiet, endured her younger brother’s annoyances with admirable patience. “Who started it?”
Dr. Clark shifted uncomfortably.
“Right,” Serena said. “Em claims that the other girl did, but you don’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid neither of them has been forthcoming about the situation. But regardless, this is an offense that would normally lead to expulsion.”
Expulsion. Her eight-year-old daughter kicked out of school for fighting. Serena felt as if the chair had collapsed beneath her. She held more tightly to Max, who was squirming on her lap, and focused on the single word she had initially overlooked. “Normally?”
Another sigh, this one with a resigned smile. “Typically we would take disciplinary action. But we are not without sympathy for your situation. Out of respect for you and your late husband, we think it would be better that you have the opportunity to withdraw your daughter from Highlands Academy.”
“And do what? Put her in another school for the last four months of the year?”
“Frankly, Mrs. Stewart, that’s your concern now. But she will not be admitted back for the new term.”
Serena swallowed hard. When they said out of respect for her husband, they meant out of respect for the massive donations that Edward and his company had made to the school. Sunspring Energy was the reason Highlands Academy even existed: it had been formed expressly for the families of executives who didn’t want to send their children to Edinburgh or Glasgow for a proper prep-school education. She supposed she should be grateful for the consideration, but right now she merely felt numb.
“I’m very sorry there isn’t more I can do. Emmy is a delightful child, but we simply can’t be seen to allow this kind of behavior. I’m sure you understand.”
“What I understand is that neither girl is owning up to what happened, and yet you’ve singled my daughter out for punishment.” Serena rose, hoisting Max with her. “Send Em down and we’ll be going.”
“There’s some paperwork that needs to be—”
“I’ll post it back to you.”
Dr. Clark cleared his throat. “Then there’s the issue of your classes.”
Serena fixed him with a hard look, and whatever he saw there made him drop the subject. Whether he was going to fire her or say he expected her to stay on, she wouldn’t be setting foot in this school again. She hiked her handbag over her shoulder and gave him a sharp nod. “Good-bye, Dr. Clark.”
She carried Max from the office into the high-ceilinged foyer, assuming that the staff was hurrying Em down. When her daughter finally did arrive, dressed in her tartan pinafore and navy-blue cardigan, she wore a hangdog look that said she was expecting a tirade. “Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Serena put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Em let out a long breath. “What happens now?”
They broke out the front doors, where the sun was struggling to cut through the gray clouds. Serena inhaled the frigid air, and all her excuses to Jamie, all the reasons she’d given for staying in Nairn, fell away.
“I think,” Serena said slowly, “we’re going to Skye.”
CHAPTER TWO
A MONTH LATER SERENA STOOD on the shore of the Sound of Sleat beneath a steel-gray sky, the wind pulling tendrils from her plait and working its way beneath the hem of her field jacket. Somehow when she’d made the dramatic pronouncement on the steps of Highlands Academy, she’d thought their departure would happen more quickly. But the massive sheaf of paperwork involved in liquidating her investments and repurchasing her share of the hotel paled in comparison to the effort of extracting Em from school and enrolling her on Skye for the summer term, not to mention pausing activities and gym memberships and all the trappings of a life that she’d taken for granted in Nairn.
Now she watched the gentle lap of waves on the shore and breathed in the cold salt air, feeling the first measure of peace in weeks settle over her. The children were still up the road at Aunt Muriel’s, sleeping off their late arrival and giving Serena a few unaccustomed moments alone. She’d been back to Skye frequently in the past few years, but this felt different—like a homecoming. Even with the changes to the hotel, the landscape was as familiar as her own features: the swaying grasses and scrubby brush from which the whitewashed buildings of Isleornsay’s village sprang; the slim white lighthouse in the sound; the mysterious cover of fog that hovered over the water and reflected abstract patterns onto its dark, glassy surface. She inhaled the smell of the sea and damp foliage for a moment longer, then turned away from the water.
She cut through a field that was just beginning to show the first bits of green, its usual wildflowers delayed by the unseasonably cold weather; then she circled around the front entrance of the MacDonald Guest House. Even with the addition that had expanded and modernized the function of the hotel, it retained the old-fashioned charm inherent in the original whitewashed stone and mullioned windows. Andrea and Jamie had done a wonderful job transforming it from a modest regional guesthouse into an international holiday destination.
Serena stepped inside the hotel, where already the smell of food and the clatter from the kitche
n spoke of breakfast being prepared, and the low hum of voices from the dining room to her left told her at least a few guests had found their way downstairs this early. The reception desk sat empty. From the looks of the car park, the hotel was full, and guests often checked out early in order to make afternoon flights from Inverness. Didn’t they have a receptionist? Where was the hotel manager Jamie had hired?
While she was standing baffled in the foyer, a young couple appeared, dressed too warmly for a day of sightseeing, even considering the chilly temperatures outside. They brightened when they saw Serena.
“Do you work here?” the woman asked. “We’ve just arrived, and we don’t want to miss anything.”
Her pronounced Spanish accent explained the puffy down coats. Guests from southern Europe always regarded Scotland as one step below the Arctic Circle.
“I’d be happy to make some suggestions.” Serena rounded the desk and found a paper tourist map of the island in one of the drawers. She highlighted a driving route in bright-yellow marker. “Since you’re already equipped for the cold, you must do a little stargazing. We have more Dark Sky sites than anywhere else in Europe.”
The couple exchanged looks, clearly intrigued by the idea.
“Why don’t I print out another map and some star charts for you and leave them here at the desk? You can pick them up when you get back.”
“Gracias,” the man said. “Thank you for your help.”
“Of course. I hope you enjoy your holiday on Skye.” As soon as the couple left, Serena did as she’d promised, looking up several star charts and printing them out. Then she took out a fresh copy of the map and highlighted the locations of the nearest Dark Sky Discovery Sites. This hadn’t exactly been her intention in coming to the hotel, but at least she could do something useful while she was here.
The dull thump of feet on the stairs made her turn to the wooden staircase, where a couple, dressed for a day of hiking, carried down their trolley cases.
“Checking out?” Serena asked politely.
The young woman flipped her ginger ponytail. “We are. We’re hiking the Quiraing today before we head back to Manchester.”
“Ah, you picked a good day for it. We’ve a lot of fog today, but there’s rain forecast the rest of the week.”
The man fished his room key from his pocket and handed it to Serena. She hesitated, momentarily at a loss. Clearly she couldn’t just take the key and send them on their way, but she had no idea whether or not they’d been given a bill when they checked in or if it had been slipped under the door. She sat down at the padded chair in front of the computer and quickly keyed in Muriel’s password, blessing her aunt for suggesting she take it with her. The number on the door key helped her pull up the reservation, and she quickly printed the receipt for the account, which appeared to be paid in full. She handed the paper across the desk to them with a smile. “Thank you for staying with us. We hope to see you again.”
“Cheers,” the girl said brightly, and then they were out the front door into the gravel lot.
Serena turned back to the booking system and frowned. She could have sworn she had just checked them out of the room, but it still showed it occupied. Had she missed a step? She pressed a key, and the computer beeped obnoxiously at her. She tried again and earned another beep for her efforts.
“What are you doing?”
Serena swiveled in the chair, awash in guilt before she could remind herself that she had nothing to feel guilty about. “I was just . . .”
The rest of her sentence faded as she took in the man standing behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. He was taller than she—though who wasn’t?—with the broad, muscular build of a rugby player and the scowl to match. Sandy-blond hair, dark eyes, a couple of days’ growth on his face that suggested he couldn’t be bothered to shave, rather than a legitimate attempt at a beard. A tickle of memory at the back of her suddenly sluggish mind told her this must be the new manager, even if his jeans and battered leather jacket read more nightclub bouncer than sophisticated hotel supervisor.
Serena swallowed hard and dragged her eyes from the way his T-shirt stretched over his chest, cursing the flutter of attraction that started low in her stomach. Instead, she rose and stuck out her hand. “Malcolm Blake, I presume. I’m Serena Stewart.”
He made no move to shake her hand. “I know who you are. We met last summer. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, manning the front desk, which was conspicuously empty when our guests wanted to check out.”
“Our guests?”
“Yes, our guests.”
He stared at her, unblinking, and a little chill ran down her spine, not altogether unpleasant. “And why is that?”
“As of this week, I am once more part owner of the MacDonald Guest House.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Jamie sold me back my share.”
“Why?”
His hard tone finally loosened the logjam in her brain, and she drew herself up straighter. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
He wiped a hand over his face. “What I mean is, James and Ian have been perfectly content to check in with me via phone and e-mail, and up until this point, they seemed satisfied with the way I run the hotel. Why, now, are you here, Mrs. Stewart?”
Somehow, on his lips, the title seemed dismissive, as if the fact she was a married—or formerly married—woman with children meant she had no business overseeing the health of her investment. “I imagine you know, Mr. Blake. I would appreciate if you could find some time in your busy schedule to take me through the inner workings of the hotel.” She held up a hand. “Just so I understand everything that’s being done here.”
He gave her a bare, closemouthed smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted. Perhaps the first lesson should be on the proper way of using the booking system?” He nodded toward the computer. “Since you seem to be about to change one of my custom scripts?”
She turned her head back to the error message, behind which was a window filled with unreadable code. A slow flush heated her cheeks. She could hardly be angry with his tone when she had indeed been about to do that. Somehow. “Yes. I think perhaps that would be a good idea.”
He gave her a suspicious look, obviously not buying her cooperative attitude, then leaned past her to the computer. The scent of a clean, outdoorsy cologne wafted around her, mixing with the scent of leather. Another unaccustomed pulse of heat slugged her in the stomach, choking the breath in her lungs. She leaned away from him while he closed the windows with a few keystrokes.
“May I?” he asked.
She practically leaped out of the chair. “Of course.”
He barely looked at her as he plopped into the seat, his fingers flying over the keyboard with surprising accuracy. “Let’s start with your own user account. Is ‘sstewart’ okay with you?”
“Fine,” she murmured.
A few more clicks and keystrokes, and he stood again, gesturing back to the chair. “There you go. You’re logged in.”
“My password?”
“Safezone, lowercase, all one word.”
“Oh?”
A slight smile tipped up the corner of his mouth. No, not a smile. A smirk. “I gave you the safest level of user privileges. There’s no way you can delete anything important. As the new owner, I’m sure you realize how disruptive it would be if I had to take time out from my other duties to fix the booking module again.”
He was laughing at her, and it made her want to smack that look off his handsome face. No matter what she might think of his manners, he was good-looking. “Yes, quite disruptive. And since you’re so busy, I’m sure you won’t mind an extra pair of hands around the hotel. You can show me every last detail of what it is you do here all day.”
His smile faded. “Whatever you want, Mrs. Stewart, I’m happy to comply.”
“Yes,” she said, enjoying for a single moment the shift of power in her favor. “I’m sure you
are.”
Malcolm Blake knew when he was stuck, and by the satisfied little smile on Serena Stewart’s face, he figured he’d have a better chance of prying a bear trap from his leg than shaking his new boss off his tail. Rotten timing too. The guesthouse was packed, and he hadn’t even begun to address the two dozen issues that had met him the minute he walked in the door. No, the quickest way to get rid of her was to indulge her sudden urge to play innkeeper until she got bored and moved on to something else. With any luck, he could impress her with his work ethic and send her on her way by lunch. No matter what she might think of him, he took pride in his work. He wasn’t going to let some snap judgment from the new owner negate everything he’d accomplished since he’d been hired.
“You might want to change first,” he said finally.
“What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
Absolutely nothing, he wanted to say, but he wouldn’t be able to keep the note of appreciation from his voice. Not to mention the fact it summoned his attention back to the very things he’d been trying to ignore. A man would have to be blind—or dead—not to notice how the fuzzy lavender sweater accentuated her lush curves or how the tight dark jeans hugged slim legs down to where they disappeared into the tops of her brown riding boots. He jerked his eyes back to her face, but that didn’t help much, considering his enduring weakness for the contrast of pale skin and dark hair. Especially when it was paired with blue eyes the exact color of the sound outside.
He blew out his breath and hoped it could be passed off as irritation. Serena Stewart didn’t seem the type to endure being ogled by the help, even if he could have sworn she’d been staring at his pecs. “Suit yourself. I’ve got to bring in a few cases of liquor to the bar later, and I’d hate for your nice clothes to get damaged.” Especially considering those riding boots probably cost more than his car.
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