Selling a place that had meant so much to his aunt didn’t make him particularly happy. Geraldine had probably hoped that he’d cherish the estate as she had. But he couldn’t imagine flying more than twelve hours each way and dealing with an eight-hour time difference on a regular basis.
Logically, he had no choice but to unload what could become an albatross around his neck. The proceeds would bolster the MacDowell coffers, and after years of his father’s financial neglect and Duncan’s carefree lifestyle, the coffers could use some bolstering.
The rapid beat of helicopter blades vibrated the crystal chandelier over Luna Reynaud’s head and sent music and rainbows dancing through the entry hall. Tension coiled in her stomach. This Scottish laird had the power to ruin everything for her and the rest of the staff if he refused to consider her plan.
But he would consider it. He had to. She’d finally found a place where she belonged. Not only was she living among Weres for the first time in her life, but she was part of a close-knit community. She wasn’t about to give that up without a fight. The loss of Geraldine had been a cruel blow, and she grieved along with the rest of the staff. If, on top of that, she lost this precious haven, too…
Well, she wouldn’t. No doubt Colin would arrive planning to sell the island. Although Geraldine had lovingly recounted tales from the five summers he’d spent here, he hadn’t been back since, so how much did he really care about it?
It was impractical as a second home, or in his case, second castle. Geraldine had called it a house, but no mere house had four towers, sixteen turrets, fourteen bedrooms, ten fireplaces, and twenty giant tapestries.
But if Luna could convince Colin that this old pile, as Geraldine used to call it, would make a fabulous Were vacation spot, half the battle was won. If he’d trust her to manage it for him, then voila, an income stream for him and jobs for her and the staff. Most important of all, she wouldn’t have to leave a place that felt like home and people who had become her family.
She planned to appeal to his business sense, but she hoped he had a sentimental streak, too. Repeating the stories Geraldine had told her might stir his nostalgic memories and make him reluctant to sell.
She wouldn’t start her campaign right away, though. First she’d let him settle in and recover from his long journey. To help him do that, she’d provide him with every comfort Whittier House had to offer.
Preparations for his stay had begun the moment she’d been told of his arrival. When Geraldine was alive, Luna had managed the household while Dulcie and Sybil cleaned, Janet cooked, and Hector took care of the grounds with the help of some local teenaged Weres. But so much hinged on Colin’s visit that Luna had spent the past few days working side by side with Dulcie and Sybil.
She’d oiled woodwork, polished silver, and scrubbed the pink marble floor in the entry hall until she could see her face in it. This morning she’d wielded a duster on an extension pole to clean the magnificent chandelier that greeted visitors when they first walked through the carved front door. Then she’d switched it on to make sure that every facet sparkled.
But now late-afternoon sunlight streamed through a window set above the massive door, a window placed there specifically to fill the entry hall with rainbows on sunny days. Luna turned off the artificial light. No point in letting Colin think she wasted resources. He was a Scot, after all, and they were supposed to be frugal.
Although she’d spent the first twelve years of her life in New Orleans, the city that proudly suggested “Let the good times roll,” she could be frugal, too. Thriftiness was one of the virtues that she intended to mention when she proposed her concept. Self-reliance was another.
She’d never known her father, and her mother had died when she was eight. She’d fled her grandmother’s house at fourteen and had been on her own ever since. She’d survived just fine.
Pulling her phone from the pocket of her tailored slacks, she called Dulcie. “Time for y’all to line up.”
“I heard the helicopter. I’ll get Sybil.” Dulcie’s voice was breathless. No doubt she was anxious about this moment, too, because she knew that they had to impress their visitor or risk leaving the island forever.
“Get Janet, too.”
“She’ll be watching her soap.”
“I know.” Janet’s skills rivaled those of Emeril, but she was also addicted to soap operas and had a flat screen in the kitchen. “Tell her to TiVo it and march herself out here. We want him to fall in love with Whittier House all over again, so fawning is in order.”
“I’ll get her.”
“Thanks. I estimate we have less than five minutes before Hector meets him at the helipad and brings him in.” She mentally crossed her fingers. She didn’t worry so much about the behavior of the two housekeepers and the cook, who all understood the gravity of the situation.
Hector was a different story. He’d been working for Geraldine and Henry ever since their marriage forty-five years ago. He considered himself part of the family rather than an employee. At sixty-eight, he was probably ready to retire now that they were both gone. He had nothing to lose and didn’t take kindly to direction.
When she’d suggested using the electric cart to transport Colin and his luggage to the house, Hector had rolled his eyes. “It’s just Colin, for crying out loud. He knows the place backward and forward. He doesn’t expect that kind of mollycoddling.”
“He might now that he’s a laird.” Luna wasn’t clear on exactly what being a laird entailed, but the title sounded elegant to her. Certainly worthy of being met with an electric cart.
“It’s no more than a hundred yards,” Hector had said. “Ferrying a perfectly healthy Were from the helipad to the front door is plain ridiculous, and Colin would think I’d gone senile if I tried it. Most folks have wheels on their suitcases. If he doesn’t, I’ll help carry. That’s plenty hospitable, if you ask me.”
Luna had known better than to argue with Hector. Short of driving the cart herself, which she didn’t intend to do because she wanted to be waiting in the entry hall with the staff lined up like they did in the movies, she was stuck with letting Colin walk and drag his suitcase along the curved and somewhat bumpy path from the helipad to the front door.
Sybil, who was in her mid-forties, arrived in the entry hall ahead of Dulcie and Janet. Short, dark-haired, and plump, Sybil had given up on finding a mate and now spent her free time making decorative items from driftwood. Dulcie, a curvaceous, fiftyish redhead with traces of gray in her curly hair, showed up next. She’d been widowed young and still dreamed of finding someone to share her golden years.
That wasn’t the case with Janet, a buxom blonde in her late forties who had no interest in another mate. She’d adored her late husband and couldn’t imagine anyone else measuring up. Janet entered the hallway last. She wore a bib apron over her T-shirt and jeans.
Luna recognized the cook’s shirt because it was one of Janet’s favorites. It spelled out YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS! in bright red letters across her ample chest. Fortunately the apron covered most of the message. Geraldine had never required uniforms of her staff, so they all dressed for comfort and as an expression of their personal style.
Sybil favored sweats and loose cotton blouses that disguised her ample figure, while Dulcie liked capris and sparkly T-shirts that highlighted her shape. Luna wondered now if Colin would be expecting uniforms. The three female Weres looked more like girlfriends who’d met for coffee than a trained staff of professionals. But it was too late to do anything about it now.
Besides, with Geraldine gone, Luna wasn’t sure how much authority she had to make changes. Probably none, and besides, she didn’t want to alienate anyone by implying that their clothing wasn’t appropriate. They’d approved of her plan for saving their jobs, but that didn’t mean she was in charge of the entire operation. At least not yet.
In fact, she was technically the junior member of the group since she was the last one hired. Nobody deferred to her. In fact, all
three affectionately teased her about her Southern accent and her celibate existence, which was admittedly unusual for a female Were of twenty-seven.
Luna didn’t mind the teasing, but she wasn’t ready to explain that she was a virgin who’d never dared to have a relationship with a Were or a human. Her human mother had died without telling her that she’d been fathered by a Were. On a stormy night soon after her fourteenth birthday, she’d had her first period, which she’d expected, followed by her first shift, which she hadn’t.
She’d run away, convinced that she was a monster who would be hunted and killed. Although she eventually figured out she wasn’t the only Were in the world, she also knew that she was a half-breed. She assumed that wasn’t a good thing and could mean rejection if any Were found out.
She’d buried that secret deep and kept on the move, trusting neither humans nor Weres. She hadn’t felt safe until she’d set foot on Le Floret and had met Geraldine. For the first time, she’d remained in one place long enough to bond with Were females. Maybe someday she’d work up the courage to confide her half-breed ancestry to her new friends, if they all managed to stay here under Colin’s ownership.
She’d lived on the island less than a year, replacing a Were who’d made the mistake of patronizing Geraldine as if age had left her mentally incapable. Luna was grateful for that departed Were’s tactless behavior, because it had allowed Luna to live in a place that had felt like home from the moment she’d arrived.
Janet took off her apron and glanced around, as if searching for a place to put it. Now, every word on her shirt stood out as if written in flashing neon.
“I think wearing the apron is better,” Luna said. “That way he knows immediately that you’re the chef. He’ll be tired from all that traveling, and he’s dealing with grief just like the rest of us. He might have trouble remembering who we are and what each of us does.”
Sybil grinned. “Personally, I think he’ll remember that T-shirt, no problem.”
“My T-shirt?” Janet glanced down at her chest and groaned. “I completely forgot I was wearing this one.” She quickly donned the apron again. “I’m not used to having a male around.”
“Hector’s a male,” Dulcie pointed out.
“I mean a male, as in broad shoulders, narrow hips, nice tush. In other words, not Hector.”
“I hadn’t even thought about whether he’d be good-looking or not,” Sybil said. “Does anybody know?”
“Geraldine showed me a picture of him when he was seventeen,” Luna said. “He was tall and skinny, with big hands and feet.” And a beautiful smile, but she decided not to mention that. They’d accuse her of being interested, which she wasn’t.
Dulcie threw back her shoulders and tugged down the hem of her rhinestone-studded shirt. “You know what they say about big hands and big feet. And he’ll probably sound like Sean Connery. I’d love me some Scottish brogue.”
“Geraldine said he was privately tutored to minimize his accent,” Luna said.
“Even better.” Dulcie smiled. “A cultured Scottish brogue.”
Janet elbowed her. “Cool it, Dulcie. He’s thirty-two, so he’s young enough to be your kid.”
“Just barely! I may be a wolf, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a cougar, too.”
“Plus he’s probably pledged to some high-placed Were back in Scotland,” Sybil added. “Someone to fill the slot as the next lairdess.”
“Lairdess ?” Janet frowned. “I don’t know beans about Scottish titles, but that can’t be right.”
Sybil started to giggle. “Yeah, that has to be wrong. Can you imagine being called Your Lairdess ?”
“Especially if she has some junk in the trunk.” Dulcie got the giggles, too.
Janet began prancing around with her fanny sticking out. “Make way for Her Royal Lairdess! Her Royal Lairdess is coming through!” She was in midprance, with everyone laughing, including Luna, when the front door opened.
She swung around to face the door. So much for the dignified greeting she’d planned. Then she looked into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and forgot every blessed preparation she’d made for this moment.
Colin MacDowell was, hands down, the most beautiful creature in the universe.
Chapter 2
Apparently Luna had expected someone who looked like the seventeen-year-old in the picture she’d seen. But that gangly teenager had been replaced by an adult Were who took her breath away.
His features had matured into crisp, classic lines—strong nose, deep-set eyes, chiseled jaw. If pressed to name the color of his collar-length hair, she’d call it brown. But that wouldn’t begin to explain the strands of gold, bronze, and caramel highlighted by the sunlight pouring through the front door.
He wore slacks, a dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and a sport coat. On anyone else, the clothes would be ordinary, but Colin, backlit as he was, looked like a god, or perhaps an angel. And not one of those gauzy, delicate angels, either. Colin radiated power.
She drew in a breath and the sweet scent of him filled her with a kind of hunger she’d never felt before. His scent was familiar, as if she knew him from somewhere, and yet that was impossible.
Tucking his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his jacket, he released the handle of his rolling bag and stepped toward her. His smile was a ghost of the one she’d seen in his teenaged picture. Carefree innocence had been replaced with a polite gesture tinged by weariness. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and give whatever comfort she could.
“Hello.” He held out a large hand to her. “I’m Colin MacDowell, Geraldine’s nephew.” A slight accent that sounded almost British flavored his speech.
“I know.” Her words were more an expression of awe than a comment. That rich baritone of his would charm a female regardless of the accent. She took his very warm hand and held on as she gazed at him with rapture.
His eyebrows lifted in a subtle but unspoken question.
That silent signal brought her back to reality and her plan. She let go of his hand and cleared her throat. “We are so pleased to welcome y’all to Whittier House.”
“Y’all ?” He looked puzzled. “You’re not from the Trevelyan pack, are you?”
“I’m not from Seattle, Your… ” Grace? Highness? Lairdness? She should have researched his title and figured out what to call him. She’d been so busy scrubbing and polishing that she hadn’t thought of it. “Your, um, Sirness.” She winced. That wasn’t right, either. Behind her she heard a snort from someone, probably Janet.
Colin ducked his head, obviously hiding a smile. Great. Now he was laughing at her.
When he looked up again, his face was composed but some of the weariness had left his expression. “Colin’s fine. Where are you from?”
“New Orleans, Louisiana, sir.”
“Colin,” he prompted again.
“Colin.” Saying his name felt like a privilege. She’d have to get over this hero-worship, though, if she expected to convince him that he could leave Whittier House in her capable hands.
“I didn’t know any Weres lived that far south.”
She gave him the story she’d used with everyone. “My parents were loners, and after they died, I came up here to be with other Weres.” It was a partial truth. She’d come in search of her father, not knowing he’d died before she was born.
“And your name is… ?”
“Oh!” Her face grew hot. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Luna Reynaud. I was your aunt’s personal assistant for about ten months, and I managed the household for her.”
“I’ll bet she also taught you to mix a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred.”
“As a matter of fact, she did.” She paused, thinking that might be a subtle hint that he could use a drink. “I can fix one in about two minutes if you’d like a—”
“I don’t need it yet. But her instructions for scattering her, uh… ashes… ” He looked down and swallowed. “Hers and H
enry’s, that is. She wants me to toast the… the occasion with her favorite beverage.”
His barely disguised grief tugged at her heart. “On Happy Hour Beach.”
He raised his head and sorrow clouded his blue eyes. “Yes.”
“Bless your heart.” Luna’s throat tightened. She might have guessed that Geraldine would want her ashes scattered there along with her husband’s. The two urns sat waiting on the mantel of Geraldine’s sitting room fireplace, but as Luna wasn’t next of kin, the lawyer hadn’t revealed Geraldine’s instructions for those ashes.
Behind her someone sniffed. Luna suspected it was Sybil, the most tenderhearted of the staff. Another couple of seconds spent on the topic, and everyone would be crying, which wouldn’t help Colin get through this.
Luna injected brisk efficiency into her voice. “I’ll help with that, then.”
“The martini or the scattering?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Then I’d like help with both.”
“Absolutely.” The urge to wrap her arms around him swamped her again and she tamped it down. “Now, let me introduce the rest of the staff.” She turned to discover that Janet, Dulcie, and Sybil had lined up as they’d originally practiced. Each of them seemed to be working hard to hold it together, which she appreciated.
A warm rush of loyalty and sense of family made her more determined than ever to save everyone’s job. She gestured to each one in turn. “Janet is our chef, and she’s amazing. She can make most anything in the world.”
He stepped forward and shook Janet’s hand. “Can you make haggis, then?”
To Janet’s credit, she didn’t blink. “Maybe not on short notice, but given a little time to research, I can.”
“Not necessary. I think haggis is dreadful stuff. If you can make salmon the way I remember, then I’ll be overjoyed. I think there was a plank involved.”
Werewolf in Seattle: A Wild About You Novel Page 2