Champagne and Lemon Drops: A Blueberry Springs Chick Lit Contemporary Romance

by Jean Oram

  With her makeup and hair done, Cat slipped on her dark boot-legged jeans and cashmere sweater, the robin's egg blue of her top playing against her dark mahogany locks. Casual, but put together.

  With the address plugged into the GPS in her car, it wasn't long before she found herself at her destination and pulling down a long gravel drive. The home could have graced any postcard or travel brochure, quintessentially Scottish with its stone walls and embattlements, harkening to a time long gone.

  She climbed the granite steps of the manor to its front door, letting the heavy knocker drop against the brass plate. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she waited, but it didn't take long for someone to answer. An older gentleman stood before her, his blue eyes keen and a giant scruffy dog at his side.

  "You must be Ms.—pardon me, Dr. Ross. Callum MacCraigh, and this here is Duncan." He tilted his head towards the grey beast. "Come in, come in."

  "Thank you. And please, call me Catriona—or Cat." She shook his hand with a smile, and followed behind him.

  Excitement sparked as she took in the home, her thoughts running amock as she imagined hidden clues and secret treasures. Tapestries hung on the walls, as did paintings hundreds of years old. The place felt grand and well-loved, no signs of neglect despite the age.

  "I can't thank you enough for agreeing to speak with me."

  "The pleasure's all mine, my dear. We seldom get visitors, and certainly no one who'd be interested in hearing any of the stories I have to tell." Callum shrugged, not looking too worried that he didn't normally have an audience.

  Callum led her into the great room, the ceilings high and the wooden beams exposed to add a rustic charm. However, her focus immediately went to the stone fireplace which traveled the height of the entire wall, a roaring fire nestled within. He showed her to a seat close enough to feel the heat of the flames and ward off the damp.

  "It gets cold this time of year, and it can be hard to keep this big drafty place warm. I hope you won't get chilled."

  "This is perfect. Thank you." When the dog nudged her leg, she gave his head a long scratch. The dog's ears then perked up and he dashed across the room, taking the corner so fast his legs skidded out from under him on the hardwood floors.

  "That'll be my son, Iain. I told him you were coming, since he's studied our family's history and could be of use to yer research. He's actually the one you should be talking to and will be happy to help ye in any way he can." Callum got to his feet. "Iain, come here, lad."

  She stood and turned to face him, when her smile faded and a furious heat rushed to her face. "You've got to be kidding me."

  He squinted as he took her in, and then let out a scoff. "Ah! You clean up well, I'll give you that. Barely recognized ye."

  "Ye've met?" His father looked at the two of them in question, confusion and humor lining his face.

  "Aye, Da. But only for a moment and at the time I didn't realize I had the pleasure of speaking to the esteemed Dr. Ross." A smug smile tugged at his lips, his blue eyes alight with amusement. He reached out and took her hand. "It's a pleasure to put a name to the face, since we weren't properly introduced earlier."

  "The pleasure's mine." Cat tried to erase the sarcasm from her voice, but wasn't sure she was entirely successful. She couldn't risk jeopardizing everything over a stupid incident.

  And then it occurred to her why the bastard looked vaguely familiar. She'd been looking at the MacCraigh clan, but not once had she thought to associate them with the Iain MacCraigh—Scotland's most eligible bachelor, businessman and playboy extraordinaire. That would teach her to ignore the tabloids. Her mind never put the two together.

  "I'll fetch us a cup of tea." Iain didn't bother waiting for anyone's response, but spun around and headed back out the way he came.

  Callum sat back down, and she followed suit. "He'd be my oldest. There's another son, Malcolm, but he lives in Edinburgh. Comes to visit often enough. And then there's Moira. She's away in Paris, though I keep hoping she'll someday return. Can't really blame her. There's not much for the young folk around here, and I'm sure if it weren't for me and this place, Iain would've also left long ago."

  "Is it just the two of you then?" She suspected it might be the case. No one else had poked their head in, and the house had a bit of an empty feel to it.

  "Aye, it is. My wife passed a few years back. It's an awfully big house for just the two of us, but I'm hoping Iain will eventually settle down. It'd be nice to see new life brought into this old place." He gave her a kind smile. "Enough about me. You came here for a reason, and I doubt it was to hear me rambling 'bout nothing at all. What is it I can help you with?"

  Cat couldn't tell him the real reason for her research—not yet anyway—though she could skirt the truth. Telling anyone of her plans now would only make it more difficult to keep treasure hunters and other researchers at bay. It was a lesson she'd learned the hard way, and was still furious that her ex had taken all the credit for a past research project when she had done most of the work. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice, especially not with a find as important as the Highlander's Hope.

  "My research has led me to believe that your clan may have played more of a role during the Jacobite uprising than most know. I'd like to find definitive proof, but would need access to your clan's documents and estate."

  The old man's eye's brightened with enthusiasm. "Now that's exciting news, lass. Whatever it is ye need, ye can have full access to it. And like I said, Iain will be happy to help ye any way he can."

  Cat somehow doubted that.

  As if the mere mention of his name was enough to summon the devil, Iain walked in with a tray of tea and set it down on the table between them, sitting by his father's side with Duncan at their feet.

  Callum turned to his son to give him the good news. "Dr. Ross thinks she's found evidence of our clan playing a more important role during Culloden than originally believed."

  He looked at her with no love or enthusiasm. "Is that so?"

  "It is." She tried not to be curt with him, but the man seemed to bring out the worse in her. How they'd manage to work together was beyond her. "I'm looking into the history of the Jacobites and, in particular, how funding was raised amongst the clans prior to the arrival of Prince Charles Edward Stewart."

  "I don't know why ye'd think our clan any different to the others. The majority of the clans this far into the highlands supported the uprising any way they could, despite the little most had to live on." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Given all yer fancy degrees, I'd think ye'd already know that."

  "Well, yes, my doctorate on Scottish history did require me to actually learn a little about Scottish history—but I assure you the circumstances are a little different when it comes to your clan. I wouldn't be here otherwise." It was impossible to keep the annoyance from her voice.

  "Don't mind him, lass. He's always had a sharp tongue in that head of his and not enough common sense or manners." Callum gave his son a sideways glance that spoke volumes.

  "My apologies. I meant no offense." Except that his tone told her he didn't mean a word he'd just spoken. Iain poured the tea, even though his wary gaze was on her rather than on the cups before him. "So do ye have any proof of this importance and why our clan's so different?"

  She couldn't risk telling him the true reason, and yet she had no doubt he'd see through any lies. Iain seemed far too intelligent and distrustful a man, and she was sure he'd miss nothing. Best to skirt the truth then, and see if it would be enough to gain her the access she needed.

  "I've found some information regarding the movement of funds leading up to the revolution and think your clan may have played a significant role in the transfer. It's that role that I want to investigate—and the route of the monies. It could be of considerable historic importance and your clan would have been key."

  Iain sat back in his chair, his legs stretched out before him as he sipped his tea. "Ye'll pardon my saying so, but I'm not buying i
t, lass. The war was centuries ago, and I'd imagine historians have looked at every aspect of the war, a dozen times over. So if ye have new information, I'd like to know what it is."

  She couldn't tell him. There was still too little to go on. Not enough clues. "Honestly, I would love to tell you, but first I need to know that I'm on the right track."

  Iain let out a scoff and shook his head, but she pressed on, hoping to convince him. "Truth be told, I can't do this without your help. Everything leads to your clan—to this home and this land. I can't take the next step without more information. But I swear, once I'm a bit more certain of what I've found, I'll tell you everything I know."

  It was as honest as she could be for now. She just hoped it would be enough.

  "Son, I probably should've asked ye first, but I've already promised the lass our help, and truth is I want to help her. I'd like to know what role our clan played in the uprising."

  Iain reached out and put a hand on his father's arm with a sigh, his words still holding onto a hint of his annoyance. "Very well then, if it'll make you happy."

  Chapter Two

  Iain wondered what Cat was truly up to. Clearly, she was being less than honest with them, and yet his father seemed smitten, even inviting her to dine with them for the evening.

  At any other time, he wouldn't have minded helping her, but his brother had gotten himself into a world of trouble and the last thing he needed was a snooping historian. If the tabloids found out the trouble his family was in, they'd have a field day. Though his reputation as a shrewd businessman was never harmed by the string of models he dated, his brother's troubles could have a real impact on his business dealings.

  Looking across the table at his father and Cat chatting like old friends made him want to curse. He couldn't deny the old man the pleasure, for there was little to make him happy as of late. It just meant he'd have to keep a sharp eye on her, and try to make the most of it—for his father's sake.

  With dinner over, he got to his feet to clear the table.

  "Here, let me give you a hand." Cat gathered the dirty dishes from their meal and followed him to the kitchen, but not before throwing a smile in his father's direction.

  Curses.

  "I appreciate the help." Iain put the dishes in the sink, and then took the ones she was carrying. "Listen, about earlier today—on the road. I'm sorry, aye? I'd have been happy to change your flat."

  She shrugged, tucking a dark curl behind her ear, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't really give you the chance."

  "I nearly killed ye. It left me shaken." By the gods, he'd played it in his head over and over in an endless loop since it happened. Despite not wanting her around, nearly hitting her had left him mortified. "I hope ye'll be more careful next time. You can't go parking around blind turns like that."

  She may have avoided looking at him earlier, but he now had her full attention, her green eyes locked on his, fire raging within them.

  "Really? You want to have that conversation again?" Her cheeks flushed as she cocked her head to the side in question. "I can't believe you're still trying to pin this whole thing on me. Maybe if you weren't driving like a maniac, you'd have seen me."

  He took a deep breath to keep from yelling and did his best to ignore the throbbing vein at his temple. "I've driven down that road a million times and could do it blind—but only if there's no one in the middle of the road. Anyone with a wee bit of common sense would know you don't park around a turn where ye'll not be seen. Even with a flat, you certainly could have driven it another ten feet down the road."

  "So now I have no common sense and it was all my fault? You really are an arrogant jerk." With hands on curvy hips and her eyes ablaze, she looked ready to unleash her wrath.

  So why was it his lips could do nothing but quirk into a smile?

  "What are you grinning at? Do you think this is funny? It took me hours to soak the cold and mud from my skin."

  The girl was furious with him, and yet he could not help himself. Something about her made him want to push her buttons—all of them. "I wouldn't think ye'd have a hard time heating up with that temper. Yer cheeks have gone so red, yer freckles have gone into hiding."

  She swore under her breath and then spun on her heels, stalking out of the room. With a quick jaunt, he caught up to her, gently grabbing her arm to stop her, not quite ready to have his fun come to an end. "It'd be a pity to go before you find what ye're looking for. But please, don't let me stop ye. I'm sure ye have other ways of finding what ye're after."

  "I may need your help for my research, but if you think I'm going to beg and plead, or kiss your wee Scottish arse, then you're going to be waiting a long time."

  A laugh escaped him, despite it all. "I'm sorry. I was just teasing ye. It's absolutely true—I'm a total arse."

  He saw the internal debate going on inside that pretty head of hers. She was still furious with him, and yet there was her research to consider. Or was there more to it? She was putting up with an awful lot.

  His gut told him she was up to something, but what? Maybe it'd be best to string her along until he could get more information. So he tried again to get her to stay and to avoid the tongue lashing he'd get from his father for upsetting a guest, no matter that he was a grown man.

  "I really am sorry. I take full responsibility for the incident. I was in a hurry, and being familiar with the road, I wasn't paying as much attention as I should've been. Truce?"

  She let out a weary sigh. "Truce."

  ***

  Iain stared at his laptop screen, cursing his brother for making such a mess of things. His email back to Malcolm was harsh, but he'd not mince words when the fool had just put their entire estate in jeopardy. Things were a mess, and it was Malcolm's fault—and his father's for being gullible enough to believe whatever lies Malcolm fed him. Neither their father nor sister knew that things now verged on the brink of disaster. He'd try to spare them as long as possible, and with luck, he'd manage to turn things around before anyone found out.

  Cat. It was as if the gods had decided to play a cruel joke on him. She could be trouble—in more ways than one. And though she could prove a pleasant enough distraction from his troubles, she brought out the worst in him. The only other woman he'd ever antagonized like that was his sister when they were still children. Yet tonight, he'd barely been able to resist such games, even though he knew better than to let his guard down.

  He knew there was more to her visit than she was telling him, and with the mess his brother was in, he couldn't afford to have it leak to the media. His business rivals would pounce, and his clients would second guess his abilities—as if it wasn't bad enough that he now had to find the funds to bail his brother out of his troubles. It didn't sound like the men Malcolm had involved himself with were the patient and understanding sort.

  As for Cat's research... he gave it some thought. His clan had always been small in number, even before Culloden further diminished their numbers. Yet despite their clan size, they'd yielded a fair amount of influence in the highlands, and Iain had studied their history enough to suspect what Cat might be after. She'd mentioned the funds destined for the revolution, and that was enough to tell him she was looking for the jewels.

  Well, best of luck to her. There was no reason to think his family was connected to the jewels, and others had certainly gone looking amongst the highland clans, only to come up empty-handed.

  Finding any information on the necklace would be a long shot, but if she did find it, it might turn out to be the lifeline he needed. If found on their lands, the jewels would belong to his clan, even if it was her find.

  A knock at his office door had him looking up. "Da. Are you off to bed then?"

  "Aye, in just a bit." He came in and sat down. "Will you be meeting with the lass again?"

  Iain spun his chair around to face his father. "She's going to come by in the morning to review any information we have from before and after the time of Culloden."

&
nbsp; His father pinned him with a stern look. "I hope ye'll be nicer to her this time around. If I hear ye've gone and chased her off, I won't be happy, Iain. Yer Ma wouldn't have tolerated you disrespecting any guest of this house, and I won't put up with it either. Ye hear?"

  "Don't go worrying yerself, Da. I promise I'll try to be on my best behavior and not antagonize her." Iain gave his father a reassuring smile.

  Callum had clearly enjoyed Cat's company. Too often it was just the two of them knocking about the empty house, and Iain was usually busy with work to be of any real company. Luckily, he could get most of his business conducted from home, even if he did have to travel from time to time.

  Not yet done, Callum pulled him from his thoughts for another scolding. "I hadn't realized ye'd already met—and by all accounts you weren't much nicer to her then, either."

  Iain had to laugh, recalling the state of her covered in mud and dripping wet. "Now that wasn't entirely my fault, though ye're right. I could have been nicer."

  Giving her a bit more thought, Iain continued. "When she spoke to ye... did she say what she was looking for?"

  "Nae. Nothing more than what she said tonight. Why? What are ye thinking, lad?"

  Iain shrugged. "Nothing. I was just curious is all."

  Callum got to his feet. "Just make sure ye keep yer curiosity honorable, aye? I may be old, and ye may have been rude, but I'm not blind. There's heat between the two of ye, so be sure to behave yerself."

  "She's pretty, but definitely not my type. Far too uptight and... scholarly." Iain waved away his father's concerns, thinking of the proper sweater, her hair tamed up and out of the way with some fancy twist when it was desperate to escape and go wild. All she needed was a pair of glasses and a string of pearls, and she could pass for a librarian.