Scotland to the Max

by Grace Burrowes

  Max left Fergus with a simple task: take the information on the time sheets and, using a pencil, correct the printout of the spreadsheet from three weeks ago. Keeping Fergus away from data entry seemed prudent, lest he overwrite another document and create an even bigger mess.

  Henry had been left to supervise Fergus, another reason to keep the proceedings well away from the project laptop.

  “The view up here is beautiful,” Jeannie said, leading the way along the parapets. “I can see why the ghosts like this perspective.”

  Brenna, the first Countess of Brodie, had walked these heights while waiting for her Michael to come home from years at war. The third countess, also named Brenna, had been the first to mention seeing ancestral shades embracing on a lovely summer evening.

  Max had read that bit of Brodie family lore one night the previous week, when he should have been tearing up Fergus’s so-called reports. Birds strutted around on the rooftops and towers below the parapets, and one gargoyle sported an enormous nest on its head.

  All of which had nothing to do with anything. “Jeannie, Fergus hasn’t even made backups of his mess. Not a thumb drive, not a backup cloud service, not hard copy…” The enormity of the disaster had grown as Fergus had walked Max and Jeannie through his version of a recovery plan.

  Nothing—not the labor-hour documentation, receivables, schedules, receipts, bills of lading, or contracts—was unscathed.

  “I kept backups,” Jeannie said. “Until three weeks ago, the materials side of the project was in good order.”

  The chaos swirling inside Max receded behind a breeze of incredulity. “You kept backups?”

  “Aye. Elias hadn’t anybody else minding the till, so I took it upon myself to put the information in his online files. I can download it all if you like.”

  She hadn’t offered to come on board, hadn’t suggested Max could hire her even temporarily, and he didn’t want to. He wanted—twenty-twenty hindsight—to be her lover, her friend, her whatever, for as long as circumstances allowed.

  She wasn’t offering much encouragement in that regard either, but then, what fool had been handing out public service announcements by the dozen only yesterday?

  Max joined her at the parapets. “I’d appreciate…” The pennant luffing in the breeze caught his attention, as if somebody had towel-snapped him in the face. An eagle was lazing through the sky on thermals rising from the valley floor, not a care in the world. The day was beautiful, the view was beautiful, and Jeannie was lovelier than the weather and the scenery combined.

  Damn the luck.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Max asked.

  Her smile was puzzled, as if she’d expected a different question. “I’ve enjoyed myself since I got Henry unbuckled from his car seat yesterday, Max. You?”

  He rested his elbows on the stone wall. The sun had warmed the granite, the tree canopy made a green quilt right down to the village, and the River Dee wound placidly through fields and pastures. The Baron’s Hall rose partway down the hill to the east, much closer than the winding paths suggested.

  What a marvelous place this would be to propose marriage. The thought whispered through Max’s mind, useless, but nonetheless true.

  “Where can I buy more condoms without half the village knowing what size and flavor I purchased?”

  Jeannie’s smile was snatched away with the freshening breeze. “You brought me up here to ask about your supply of jimmy hats?”

  “I wasn’t going to ask in front of Henry—or Fergus—and you started to get that, ‘I’ll just be going now’ look in your eye. I want to see you again, Jeannie.”

  Ah, the smile was making another hesitant appearance. “But you said… and I said. We said we hadn’t any designs on each other.”

  “I have it on good authority that I talk a lot.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Maura is honest, sometimes to a fault, and she’s the reason I meant what I said yesterday, Jeannie. I might learn to love it here—part of me already does—but in Maryland, Maura has everything from heart specialists, to speech and language therapists, occupational therapists, friends… Finding friends who are at a comparable developmental level is almost impossible for her. Her world is in Maryland.”

  “And you are the guardian of that world. I would no more ask you to abandon your sister than you’d ask me to leave Henry with Harry’s mum.”

  At least Jeannie sounded sad to make that declaration. “Would Henry’s grandmother want custody of him?”

  “I suspect she would. She recently warned me that my love life will be subject to her approval for the rest of Henry’s life.”

  Max slid an arm around Jeannie’s waist, which was stupid of him. Anybody could glance through the trees and spy them up here.

  “I hope you told her to go to hell?”

  “I haven’t that luxury, Max, though it’s tempting.”

  The feel of Jeannie next to him, the warm sunshine beaming down, the valley stretching out below to green hills against a perfect blue sky… This was a moment to savor, and yet, a part of Max didn’t dare. Savoring could lead to kissing, and kissing could lead to distractions, and Fergus was likely to appear with a wet, squalling Henry at any moment.

  “On the site maps, the Baron’s Hall looks much closer to the castle than it seems when you have to hike between the buildings.”

  Jeannie brushed a twig away from the wall, sending it cascading down to the forest below. “You are thinking about site maps?”

  “Trying to. The architects proposed a number of ways to connect the buildings, all of them expensive. Parking will have to be down at the level of the Baron’s Hall, but the most impressive entrance to the facilities is right through the castle’s main gates. I don’t mind that the options are expensive—my guys have money—but I mind that they all destroy the castle’s profile. The solutions proposed aren’t aesthetically acceptable. Sooner or later, my brilliant investors need to have an answer to the riddle of the site plan.”

  Jeannie turned in his embrace, and Max’s arms came around her. “I can help you with your project, Max. I can get the materials straightened out, check inventory against bills of lading—I suspect nobody has—do the data entry to correct the labor-hour reports, and otherwise get the recordkeeping on solid ground.”

  I can help you… How often had anybody said those words to Max? How often had they said the words and meant them?

  Max wallowed in the pleasure of holding Jeannie for the length of three heartbeats. “If you save this project, then you get paid for your efforts.” He stroked a hand over her hair, hating his job, hating Scotland, and resenting his homeland. The wealthiest nation in the history of nations didn’t think Maura—the sweetest, most loving, stubborn, miraculous, delightful person ever to beat all the odds—was worth providing for.

  “I need the money,” Jeannie said. “I’m too Scottish not to make you pay for hard work, because it will be hard work.”

  Which she, being Jeannie, sounded downright cheery about.

  Max stepped back, because his next words might result in an attempt to pitch him over the parapets.

  “I don’t sleep with my co-workers, Jeannie. I tried it once, and that ended badly. I’d offer to spot you some cash while you keep job-hunting, but I suspect you’re too proud to take it, and neither one of us likes the implications of money changing hands after intimacies.”

  The breeze whipped a strand of her hair across her mouth. Max jammed his hands in his pockets rather than tuck that lock of hair behind her ear. Far down the hill, a pair of masons were tidying up the drystone wall that ran between the village and the river. They looked like an industrious, happy pair, while Max felt as if he’d just found his own personal rain cloud to drag with him everywhere.

  Jeannie shaded her eyes to watch the eagle frolicking. “You’re saying I have to choose between having you for a boss and having you for a lover?”

  At least she wasn’t ranting. “I have a fi
duciary duty to this project, Jeannie. I owe the damned castle my loyalty, in other words, and if there’s a relationship between us, somebody could claim I have a conflict of interest—I put you in charge of the books for my own convenience, not because you are the only person who can possibly rescue me from Fergus’s mess.”

  She folded her arms school-marm fashion. “I see. Now you’re withholding your favors as a kindness to me? Preserving me from nasty talk?”

  Max knew better than to say that. “Preserving us both from the kind of gossip that can get me booted from the project. I need this job, Jeannie. I need the revenue it will generate for years to come.”

  She again faced the wide green valley below. “Because you are the sole support of a woman who will never be able to look out for herself. You’re a good brother, Max Maitland.”

  The eagle enjoying the summer winds caught an updraft and flew straight at the castle. Its shadow passed over Max as the bird alighted upon the only tower to stand higher than the crenellations.

  Big bastard, and the look he gave Max suggested fricassee of project manager might be on the dinner menu—or maybe that was a she-eagle.

  “I may or may not be a good brother,” Max said. “I suspect right now, Maura doesn’t think I’m much of a brother at all, but I’m all she has. If anything happens to me, she could well end up homeless, or worse.”

  “We understand taking care of our own in Scotland, Max.”

  He’d never had any claim on Jeannie—they’d had the proverbial hookup, nothing more—and yet, Max felt as if something precious and irreplaceable was being sacrificed to a castle he didn’t even own.

  “You’ll take the job?”

  “What does it pay?”

  They dickered for a few minutes, finally settling at a decent wage—to Max’s relief, Jeannie knew damned well what she was worth—as well as accommodations in the earl’s apartment for the duration of the effort. Jeannie fussed about that, but Max reminded her that Elias would kill him for charging her anything like rent, and she backed down.

  “What do we tell Elias?” Jeannie asked.

  “I’ll tell him the truth. The project documentation is a mess, and you have kindly offered to take over the thankless task of keeping the books, at least until the chaos has been spun into order. We keep Fergus’s name out of that discussion, because he tried his best and was stranded in a quagmire by the last earl’s death.”

  “Why not fire Fergus and replace him with an American?” Jeannie asked.

  “The investors would likely try to do just that, but I would have rebellion on my hands before sundown the same day.”

  Jeannie pushed away from the wall, and Max’s guts twisted. She was the loveliest woman he’d crossed paths with, she was rescuing his project, and he’d just parted with the privilege of holding her, much less sleeping with her, for the foreseeable future.

  Because he needed the money, to be blunt.

  “I’ll take the job,” Jeannie said. “I commend you for being such a good brother, but Max?”

  She was being gracious, and that cut Max to the bone. “Yes?”

  Jeannie cupped his jaw against her palm. “You are a loyal, hardworking, commendable brother and a highly conscientious and skilled project manager.”

  “And now for the but?”

  “There is an and. And you are a sumptuous lover.” She kissed him on the cheek, then disappeared down the winding stairs that led to the solar.

  Max remained by the wall, wondering if he’d just lost the best thing that had ever almost-happened to him, made the only prudent choice, or both.

  On the tower roof above, the eagle was strutting around, glowering at Max like the Wrath of Deeside.

  “I’m leaving,” Max said. “I’m leaving right now, and sooner or later, I’ll be leaving Scotland.”

  The eagle squawked and flapped—its wingspan had to be six feet across—and pecked at the roof, sending some pebbles cascading down the slate shingles.

  Max took one last look at the gorgeous view—a view that would bring in a lot of money, if all went well—and headed for the steps. Before he ducked into the winding stairway, a pebble rolling down the roof beaned him on the top of his head. The weight was nothing, but the impact stung like he—like heck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jeannie loved the work. Loved the detail, the sheer volume of numbers, the relevance. When bricks were delivered, she calculated the number on each pallet and checked the total against what had been ordered. She verified that any mortar sent to the site contained the type of cement specified by the head mason and then counted the sacks as they were off-loaded.

  The job required as much moving around as sitting, which appealed to Henry. He peered at the world over Jeannie’s shoulder when she had to track down Fergus or one of the crew chiefs for a signature, and he kept her company at the project office as she chipped away at the labor-hours records.

  Fergus, Hugh, Dinty—everybody—made an excuse to stop by the project office, and half of them played with Henry. The welders made Henry a tiny hard hat, though it certainly wouldn’t meet any safety standards, and Hugh’s carpenters carved Henry an entire barnyard full of animals.

  “How’s the boss?” Max asked, filling a paper cup with water from the cooler.

  “He’s having the time of his life,” Jeannie said. “These past two weeks have been Henry’s idea of how life ought to go on, with everybody paying him some attention.”

  Max set the cup on Jeannie’s desk. “I meant, how are you?”

  Ah, different question. Jeannie didn’t dare answer honestly. “Catching up. Another two weeks, and we should be out of the woods. Any word from your investors?”

  “Suspiciously quiet—all of them—which means they’re doubtless plotting among themselves. Maguire is somewhere in the British Isles, but then, he’s Irish so he’s allowed to be here. You really think it will take two weeks to finish with those spreadsheets?”

  This was how Max did much of his project management. He wandered through the castle, poked around in the Hall. Chatted up the apprentices, asked a few questions. The question Jeannie heard him ask most often was, “Do you need anything to stay on schedule?”

  Before he wandered away to the next group, she often heard, “Keep up the good work. We’re off to a great start.”

  Small, perfunctory words, but as far as renovation of the castle was concerned, the project truly was off to a great start.

  And now, Max was managing her. “If you would kindly stop all project activity, I could have the records straightened out in a week, provided Henry doesn’t recommence teething, or give up his remaining daily nap. Because the project is ongoing, I have to keep up with the new time sheets, the new deliveries, the outgoing purchase orders, and so forth, or we’ll always be behind.”

  “Sensible,” Max said, taking the guest chair opposite Jeannie’s desk. “Elias forwarded me an email he got from Maguire last week.”

  And for at least five days, Max had been roosting on whatever problem that email contained. He was pleasant to everybody, but Jeannie detected a distracted quality in his replies and in his gaze.

  “You’ve been brooding. Are you in a general brown study or pondering a specific problem?”

  Max might as well have been a ghost in the Hall, he was so careful to leave Jeannie her privacy. She’d run into him once near midnight in the main kitchen, and the urge to hug him—simply to hug him—had nearly overwhelmed her. He was up at the castle shortly after dawn and often the last one down the hill at the end of the day.

  Who thanked Max for his good work? Who reassured him that the project was off to a great start?

  “Maguire raised the issue of how to link the two buildings, and if he spotted that problem, I can’t expect the other investors not to eventually stumble upon it.”

  “This worries you.” Perhaps it was a metaphor for bringing the whole project team together, from the apprentices, to the crew chiefs, to the local merchants, and t
he American investors.

  Max rose and picked up Henry, who’d been sitting in a playpen batting at the fish mobile strung across the middle.

  “When I presented the project to the investors, I made it plain we have a problem to solve in terms of connecting the Hall and the castle. I did not include a budget for that solution in my project estimates.”

  He raised Henry slowly over his head, and the baby grinned and waved his arms and legs. Henry was a more confident child than he’d been even two weeks ago, and that was wonderful.

  “How could you budget for a solution that hadn’t been chosen yet?”

  Max brought Henry against his chest and dipped a discreet finger down Henry’s diaper. “Time for a wardrobe change.” He grabbed the diaper bag from beside Jeannie’s desk and laid Henry on the cloth diaper spread on one end of the credenza.

  “I can do that, Max.”

  “Henry and I haven’t had our guy time lately, and this won’t take but a minute.” After he’d untaped the damp diaper, he held it curled loosely over Henry’s belly, while Henry peed again, one of his more recent games.

  “Next, you’ll be writing your name in the snow,” Max muttered. “Try to have some dignity, little dude. There’s a lady present.”

  “Bah!”

  The clean diaper went on smoothly, despite much waving and kicking on Henry’s part. Jeannie powered down the laptop, just for something to do instead of watching Max tickle Henry’s belly.

  They liked each other. Not such a profound thing, for a man and a baby to get on well, but because Max took Henry in stride, everybody on the work site did as well, and Jeannie could make a good wage without having to pay for child care.

  “What will you do about the puzzle of connecting the castle and Hall?” she asked.

  “I’ll keep puzzling. My estimates clearly state that additional expense will be incurred to create a unified venue out of the two buildings. Pete Sutherland is not one for reading fine print, though, and when he ought to be nagging me every seventy-two hours for a status report, he’s gone to ground. I do believe this boy has grown just in the short time I’ve known him.”