She frowned at him. “I’m fine. I’m not wearing an evening gown. But why exactly aren’t the deliverymen doing this for you?”
“This is Skye, love. I am the deliveryman. I swung by the distillery this morning to pick up our order.”
“Then I’m glad to help.” She put on a sweet smile, beneath which he figured she was cursing his parentage and his very existence on the planet.
“I need to do a couple of things first. Think you can keep yourself occupied in the meantime?”
“I’ll just shadow you. You can show me the ropes.”
Make sure he met her standards, more like. But he only nodded and kept his sharp comments to himself. Irritating or not, this woman held his livelihood in her hands. And as much as he hated to admit it, this was the only decent-paying job he’d found since moving back to Skye. He couldn’t afford to lose it. Pride, as important as it was to him, wasn’t enough to pay the bills.
In the next hour he checked out four guests—without managing to erase anything vitally important—then started the task of cleaning the two rooms that would be occupied later that night. They did have housekeepers, one who worked weekdays and the other who worked weekends, but the weekday maid had called in sick just before he came to reception that morning. He grinned as he thrust a pile of dirty linens into Serena’s arms, expecting her to suddenly remember an urgent appointment elsewhere. Instead, she helped gamely, not a single complaint escaping her lips, even when he directed her to scrub the sink and toilet. She might be a princess, but she was a stubborn princess.
Once the rooms were turned over, he led her out to the car park, where his black Ford hatchback waited, the paint splashed with mud from the recent rains. He usually only stocked the bar on Sundays when it was closed, but last night’s unexpected turnout to their live-music event had left them low on local spirits. No point in waiting on the deliverymen he’d pretended they didn’t have when the distillery was just a few minutes’ drive up the island.
“Grab a box,” he said, “if it’s not too heavy for you.”
Serena shot him a challenging look and hefted a case of a dozen bottles from the boot, if not easily, then with far less effort than he would have expected from her. He picked up one as well and preceded her inside, nodding toward the polished bar. She was so short that she couldn’t lift the box high enough to get it over the edge. She set it on one of the barstools. He fought a smile.
“Why are you laughing? You’re not the only one who works out.”
His grin broke free. She’d been checking him out all right. His snobbish princess of a new boss had been noticing him as much as he’d noticed her. Even if she didn’t remember him.
That’s the real issue, isn’t it? She made an impression on you when you last met, but you’re too far beneath her for her to remember your face. If he were smart, he’d abandon all the ridiculous thoughts that had plagued him since she walked through the door. But he wasn’t that smart or that disciplined, which meant his best bet was to stick to the original plan and send her on her way as quickly as possible, out of the realm of temptation.
As soon as they had carried all the boxes in from his car, she leaned against the mahogany bar top. “Would you show me the storeroom and your inventory methods now?”
He nodded, even though he had to clamp his teeth down on a smart response before he did. By the time he was finished, he’d also shown Serena the point-of-sale system and cash drawer, the menu, and pretty much every minute detail she could think to ask about.
With each new question, his ability to keep his cool faltered. She might be fit, but she was most definitely a micromanager.
“You know, James and Ian seemed perfectly content to let me run the place,” he said finally. “Why don’t you just come out and say what concerns you?”
“Nothing concerns me. But if you’ve not noticed, James and Ian are rarely here, which is exactly why I bought back my share. It’s a pretty poor business strategy to back away and let someone else make all the decisions.”
“The help, you mean.”
“Someone without a vested interest in the success of the venture.” She drew herself up as if she could add inches to her tiny frame out of sheer will.
“You don’t think I have a vested interest? If I don’t do well, I don’t get paid. I imagine that makes me more invested than you.”
“Considering this property has been in my family for generations, I very much doubt that.”
He flinched. Of course she was going to pull rank. She was an owner; he was just the hired help. And if he were smart, he would surgically remove his foot from his mouth and apologize. But the I’m sorry froze on his lips. He wasn’t sorry at all. Instead, he cleared his throat. “What’s the verdict then?”
She lifted her chin, and for the first time she looked uncomfortable. “I think you’re doing a fine job.”
“What?”
“You have everything under control. Your inventory methods are probably more stringent than necessary considering the size of the bar, but I appreciate the precautions you’ve made in locking down the stock. You clearly have a better grasp of the computer system than I do—” a faint self-deprecating smile surfaced on her lips—“and judging from the reviews of the hotel online, guests are perfectly satisfied with the service.”
“Then why all the questions, if not because you thought I wasn’t doing my job?”
“Because you’re only one man, and from what I can tell, the hotel is understaffed. If I’m to properly assess personnel needs, I need to know every detail of the hotel operations. Unless, of course, you enjoy changing bed linens and scrubbing bathrooms?”
The hint of humor in her tone and the subtle lift of her eyebrows began to thaw his attitude toward her until he realized she’d played on his fear of being sacked to put him through the wringer today. He kept his own expression impassive. “I will defer to your judgment on that matter.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll get out of your way and let you finish your work then. I wouldn’t want to be the one interfering with your ability to do your job.”
“It was a pleasure, Mrs. Stewart.”
“I highly doubt that, Mr. Blake.”
Malcolm bit back his automatic response and gave her the most courteous nod he could summon. She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and strode from the bar without a backward glance. He rubbed both hands through his hair with a groan.
He’d made a complete mess of that. He might be good with guests, but he was rubbish with authority. And like it or not, the new owner, Serena Stewart, had made it abundantly clear that she was in charge.
CHAPTER THREE
SERENA DROVE BACK to her aunt’s house, a cold kernel of disquiet forming in the pit of her stomach. That hadn’t gone at all as she’d hoped. She’d thought coming back to Skye to oversee the continued growth of the MacDonald Guest House would be a way to utilize her long-buried business skills, as well as a pleasant diversion from days that would otherwise be spent with household chores.
And yet she’d barely set foot in the hotel before Malcolm Blake had taken a dislike to her, greeting her with distrust if not outright hostility. What had she done to earn such a harsh reception?
The familiar sick feeling of worry washed over her as she began to catalog their interactions before she cut it off. No, this was not her fault. She had made a mistake with the booking system, but she’d done nothing to incite the level of ire he’d shown. The problem wasn’t her; it was him.
And that problem was a big one. His surliness immediately put her back into a frame of mind she’d worked hard to break out of. Not to mention the little fact of her physical reaction to him. Even remembering how he’d inadvertently pressed up against her sent another shiver of anticipation through her.
Malcolm Blake might despise her, but she’d noticed him looking her over with far more interest than was proper to show toward one’s boss. And she’d brought it on herself, simply because of her involu
ntary response to the scent of masculine cologne mixed with leather.
Nice one, Serena. The fact that he’s good-looking and smells amazing doesn’t mitigate the fact that he’s a miserable git.
She pulled up in front of her aunt’s house, a simple clapboard structure painted in soothing tones of white and gray, and slammed the gear lever into first before she turned off the car. The front door opened, and Max raced out at full tilt. She jumped from the car and caught him just as he sprang at her, then hoisted him onto her hip. He wrapped his arms and legs around her and smacked a wet kiss on her cheek. “Hi, Mummy.”
“Hi, monkey! Did you have a good day with Auntie?”
“Mmm-hmm. We had shape sandwiches.”
She shifted her son as she retrieved her handbag from the car, then nudged the door shut with her leg. Max was only three, but he was getting heavy. Adjusting her grip again, she trudged up the macadam walkway to the front door. “Shape sandwiches, huh? With cookie cutters?”
“Yes. I had a dinosaur. Em did hearts.”
“Very nice. Auntie is a fun babysitter, isn’t she?”
“Mmm-hmm. She gave us caramels too.”
Serena chuckled and planted a kiss on top of his messy hair before she let him down on the front stoop. When she pushed the door open, the delicious smell of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. She inhaled deeply. No matter how infrequently they came back to Serena’s childhood residence, it always felt like home: the floral upholstery, the antique lace curtains, the scent of cooking food. It was as though time never passed in Muriel’s presence.
“Mum, you’re back!” Em looked from her spot on the sofa, where she was curled up with a thick book. “How’s the hotel?”
“Fine.” Serena perched on the edge of the sofa and gave her daughter a sideways hug. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yeah, Auntie let us collect sea glass and shells down by the water until it got too cold. And then Max and I helped with dinner.”
“It smells delicious. I can’t wait. Where is she?”
“I’m in here, dear,” Muriel called from the kitchen. She appeared at the doorway, wearing trousers and a silky blouse, her silvery hair as perfectly coiffed as ever. She wiped her hands on a tea towel and accepted Serena’s kiss on the cheek.
“Were the children good for you?” Serena asked, casting a mock-warning look at her kids, who donned Who, me? expressions in response.
“They were perfect angels.” Muriel winked in their direction, and they grinned as if they were getting away with something. Serena’s heart swelled. She’d hoped that the warm, homey atmosphere on Skye would be good for them, but she’d forgotten how much she herself had missed Muriel. Impulsively she reached out and hugged her.
“What was that for, dear?”
“I missed you, and I’m really happy to be back.”
Muriel suppressed a smile. “Well. It’s nice to have you back too. I could use some help in the kitchen. Come, child.”
Serena’s brow furrowed, but she followed obediently. Muriel never needed help in the kitchen. In fact, she was the one who had taught Jamie to cook as a boy, and she was almost as good as he was, which was why she normally waved everyone out of her way into other parts of the house. Clearly there was something on her mind.
“I had a little talk with Em today.” Muriel retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and poured already-brewed tea into both of them. “Why didn’t you tell me she was expelled?”
Serena deflated. She should have told Muriel the real reason they’d decided to come to Skye for summer term, but she’d not known how to broach the subject. It felt like something that was best addressed in person. “She wasn’t expelled. I withdrew her because it was a hostile environment in which to learn.”
Muriel’s expression said she didn’t make the distinction. “She told me she pulled a girl’s hair because, in her words, ‘Sophie is a stroppy cow.’”
Serena smothered a laugh. Em had told her the same thing, even though she had refused to elaborate further. “In my opinion, she’s absolutely right. I have no doubt that Sophie began whatever caused Em to act out, but Sophie’s father happens to be the one who took Edward’s position after he died.”
“You think that might have had something to do with it?”
“I don’t know. But since Sunspring Energy is the reason the school even exists, you know they don’t want to do anything to offend their biggest patrons.”
“Same old story.” Muriel looked at her sympathetically. “So she’s going to be attending Sleat Primary.”
“She starts next week. I decided to enroll her in the Gaelic Medium course.”
“Even though she doesn’t speak Gaelic?”
Muriel didn’t mean the words as criticism, but they pierced all the same. Serena took a long swallow of her tea before she answered. “She speaks some. We’ve been working on it at home, and the head teacher assured me Em can be brought up to proficiency. She’s so ahead of her class in academics, it won’t have any long-term effects on her education. Besides, it’s only one term, and then she’ll be back to school in Nairn in the autumn.”
“You know, Serena, you have nothing to feel guilty about. Skye is part of your heritage. It was unfair for Edward to make you give it up. Even though you abided by his wishes while he was alive, you have the right to make different choices now that he’s gone.”
“Who says I feel guilty?” Serena said sharply. Muriel just smiled in that kind, knowing way that made Serena feel bad for her response, and she moved on uncomfortably. “In any case, they’ve allowed me to enroll Max in the Gaelic nursery class, even though he’s starting late. Then I won’t need to rely on you to babysit him while I’m at the hotel.”
“And how did that go?”
“Fine.” Even to her own ears, her tone wasn’t entirely convincing. “Mr. Blake seems to have things well in hand, even if he is somewhat . . . surly.”
“Had a bit of a run-in, did you?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I merely asked him to show me around the hotel, and he acted like it was a huge inconvenience. He assumes just because I want to know how the whole thing works that I’m questioning his judgment.”
“Well, dear, you do like to be in charge.”
“Aunt Muriel! Are you calling me bossy?”
Muriel shrugged, but there was a glint of mischief in her pale eyes. “I’m just saying that when you have two people who like to do things their own way, sometimes sparks are going to fly.”
An involuntary flush crept up Serena’s neck into her cheeks. “I would say mild irritation, not sparks. Sparks implies something else entirely. Besides, as far as the hotel’s concerned, I am in charge.”
“Of course. My mistake.” Muriel sipped her own tea. “I certainly hope you two can come to an understanding, considering you’re likely to be in close proximity to each other.”
“Trust me, I plan to have as little contact with him as possible. He can stick to his regular management duties, and I’ll work on marketing and guest satisfaction. There’s no reason for us to have much contact at all.”
“Whatever you say, dear.” Muriel’s tone was perfectly innocent, but something in her expression told Serena that the subject was far from dropped.
CHAPTER FOUR
BEING THE YOUNGEST IN THE FAMILY might have gotten Malcolm his way more often than not, but leave it to his sister, Nicola, to win in the end, even from the afterlife.
In fact, he imagined her looking down from heaven at him with a big “I told you so” grin as he pulled into her old house with its rutted, gravel-strewn drive. After all the ways she’d tried to get him to return to Skye, after all his excuses about it not being the right time, he’d never thought the words legal guardian would be the ones that finally dragged him back.
It wasn’t that Skye wasn’t beautiful—he could admit he enjoyed its expansive, ever-changing sky, the wildness of untouched grasses and deep-blue water. The landscape was one of the few things that c
ould make someone like him wax poetic, even in his own mind. But with every stunning vista came a dozen bad memories, things he’d rather leave in his past.
Malcolm parked behind the red Volkswagen Polo already in the driveway and made his way to the front door of the two-story croft house in the fading light, noting the peeling paint on the shutters and the sinking patches in the stone pathway. He’d need to address those when the weather turned. Forcing his key into the sticky lock, he broke through to the dark-paneled mudroom, where he hung his jacket on a peg. The tiny space was meant to act as a buffer between the cold outside air and the inside warmth, but mostly it acted as a tripping hazard, cluttered with shoes and coats and rucksacks. He took a moment to straighten the pile of footwear before continuing into the hallway.
The entry was dark. From his vantage point in front of the stairs, he could see both the living room, with its scattered toss pillows, and the dining room table still covered with the morning paper, but there was no sign of his niece. “Kylee? Are you home?”
In response, a frantic scratching accompanied by jingling came from the kitchen as a fluff ball of a dog bounded into the hallway, its silly face twisted in an expression of ecstasy. Malcolm bent down and scooped up Kylee’s Cavalier King Charles spaniel, and within seconds its pink tongue was slobbering all over his face.
“Don’t lick, Ainsley,” Malcolm said sternly, but he didn’t have the heart to do much more. The silly thing barely even qualified as a dog, but the spaniel had decided to immediately adore him, going so far as to split his nights between Malcolm’s bed and Kylee’s.
He set Ainsley down, and the animal danced around for a moment, then cocked his head as if waiting for instructions.
“Where’s our girl?”
Malcolm glanced at his watch, then realized it was Wednesday. Kylee’s best friend, Lane, always picked her up before their practice for the high school’s Gaelic choir. Kylee had chosen the activity less out of a desire to connect with her cultural heritage than because it was the closest she could get to a proper voice coach on the island.
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