Lucky 7 Brazen Bachelors Contemporary Romance Boxed Set

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “Bollocks. She’ll do no such thing. What is your name, lass?” Laird Hunter’s shrewd eyes penetrated Evie’s as he waited for her answer.

  “Evangeline Parker,” Evie said, extending her hand. She winced at his bone-crushing grip. For an old man, he sure was strong. “Pleased to meet you,” she lied.

  Laird Hunter harrumphed loudly and opened the door. Clearly he wasn’t too pleased to make her acquaintance. “Come in,” he said curtly.

  They entered an enormous, wood-paneled library lined with books from floor to ceiling on all four sides. Sitting in the center of the room on an antique chair before a large mahogany desk was none other than Cameron’s mother, twitching and nervously wringing her pale hands. The poor woman had a compress over her head and a pained expression on her face.

  “Mum! What are you doing here?” Cameron demanded. “I told you to stay home and rest.”

  “I had no choice,” Mrs. Hunter replied, casting a reproachful look at Cameron’s grandfather. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hands trembled as she smoothed the sides of her olive green tunic. Evie noticed she wore skinny, dark brown pants tucked into espresso brown riding boots. With her hair secured in a low ponytail and no make-up, Mrs. Hunter looked younger and more vulnerable than she did last night in her wedding finery.

  “Sit.” James waved his cane to two empty chairs on either side of Mrs. Hunter. When Cameron and Evie promptly complied, he gave a satisfied grunt and laid his weathered cane against the polished desk before he took a seat in the high-backed leather armchair behind the desk. He took out a yellowed stack of papers from a side drawer and placed it on the desk beside an open newspaper with last night’s damning tabloid headline and picture.

  Taking his time, he methodically cleaned his reading glasses with a microfiber cloth, the only modern item in the traditionally decorated room. He filled his pipe and drew a long puff before his eyes flickered to the newspaper and lifted to stare at Evie. Squinting suspiciously, he perused her from head to toe as Evie worried her lower lip.

  “Take off your sunglasses so I can get a good look at your face, lass,” he said in a voice that expected to be obeyed instantly.

  She reluctantly removed them and held her breath. Mrs. Hunter gasped and clutched her hands together in startled alarm. Tense minutes ticked by as Laird Hunter smoked his pipe. He made tsking noises between his and shook his head in disapproval. Evie was ready to scream with frustration. He might have all the time in the world, but she didn’t. She was on vacation, yet she felt like a prisoner, detained by a silent, ominous laird.

  She peeked at Cameron from the corner of her eye and had to curb the sudden urge to laugh at the picture he made in the red hoodie and white uniform pants, something the hotshot wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing. With his unruly hair and five o’clock shadow, Cameron looked like what the Scots referred to as a NED, a non-educated delinquent.

  Who was she to mock him? Evie thought, glancing down at her attire. With her matching outfit and bruised, swollen eye, she and Cameron looked like a wannabe rap duo.

  Laird Hunter cleared his throat forcefully and his chilling gaze zeroed in on Evie. “So you were the cause of this commotion, I gather.”

  Evie nodded. She opened her mouth to explain last night’s events and shut it promptly when he raised a hand to silence her.

  “You needn’t say a word, lass. The evidence is here,” he said, pointing to the newspaper.

  “Granddad, I—” Cameron said.

  “Silence,” James bellowed. He thumped his pipe on the desk and skewered Cameron with a severe look. “You will listen to everything I have to say before you utter a word. Ye ken?”

  “Aye, sir,” Cameron said respectfully.

  Evie couldn’t get over how subdued the usually brazen Cameron appeared.

  “This is the last time you shame the Hunter name, lad. You have dishonored your late father and me with your transgressions. Dinna forget you are a Keeper of the Quaich and Hunter Whisky’s reputation depends on you.” Laird Hunter’s face was mottled crimson and his body shook. “You have neglected your duties toward your mum as well. Look how low she has sunk!” He opened the newspaper to a page with a picture of Cameron carrying his passed out mum.

  Mrs. Hunter moaned and pressed a tissue to her red nose. “Indeed, I am ashamed of what happened last night. Please don’t get agitated, it’s not good for you.”

  Laird Hunter cast a baleful glance at her.

  “I don’t know what came over me.” Mrs. Hunter sniffled. “I guess I got carried away showing Divina the delights of Hunter Whisky. I don’t have a drinking problem. You must believe me,” she implored leaning forward as both hands clutched the armrests.

  “I believe you, but I’m shocked by your association with that cheeky Italian hussy,” Laird Hunter chastised with high umbrage. “It is bad enough that Cameron chooses to air his dirty linen in public…but you!” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Must my daughter-in-law shame me as well? Bad form, Aileen. Bad form indeed.”

  Mrs. Hunter helplessly collapsed against the back of the chair with a mournful sigh.

  Laird Hunter turned to Cameron, his face dark with fury. “I have made a decision, and you will do as I say if you don’t want to be disinherited,” he said enunciating the last words of his threat slowly and clearly.

  Cameron’s gray-green eyes glittered dangerously.

  Laird Hunter’s white-whiskered jowls quivered as he rose from the desk and stabbed the air with his cane. “Get up, lad. We’re going for a walk. What I want to say to you must be said in private.”

  Heart Hunter: Chapter Eight

  Anger ripped through Cameron like an electrical current. He tore off the hoodie and tossed it on the chair before joining Granddad at the door. “I have made a decision, and you will do as I say if you don’t want to be disinherited.” God only knew what the old tyrant had come up with now. He was bloody sick of Granddad’s shameless emotional blackmail, and all the past schemes he’d cooked up to manipulate Cameron into doing things his way.

  “Evangeline, stay here with Mrs. Hunter,” Granddad said when Evie stood up. She sat back down with an audible sigh. “Lucy will bring you a cuppa shortly.”

  “Thank you, I’d like that,” she said. Hopefully, the tea would calm Evie. She looked so spooked it was a wonder she didn’t bolt from the room.

  “I’d quite like a cuppa too,” Mrs. Hunter chimed in.

  Granddad nodded and walked to the door aided by the cane clutched in his knobby hand. Cameron accompanied him down the hall and out the door, glad to see his proud grandfather was finally using the cane. Mum had been worried sick since Granddad had taken a fall last spring. Luckily he hadn’t broken anything, but he’d ended up with a contusion on his forehead and badly bruised. With persistence and help from his doctor, they managed to convince the stubborn man to use the cane to avoid another fall.

  Halfway down the stone path, Granddad stumbled and Cameron’s hand shot out to steady him. The moment his hand closed over his grandfather’s, a pang of nostalgia brought bittersweet memories. He’d gone on many hikes as a bairn with his grandfather’s big, sturdy hand wrapped around his smaller one as they explored the woodlands. Granddad’s hands were gnarled with arthritis now, yet still strong enough to grasp him firmly.

  The passage of time had made Granddad irascible, especially after Grannie Maeve’s death. He’d been fiercely devoted to his dear Maeve, and they’d had two children together, Brenda, Cameron’s aunt, and Duncan, his dad. When Grannie Maeve passed away, the light left Granddad’s eyes. The final blow occurred last year when he lost his son, Duncan. Since then, he seemed more short-tempered than ever. He often said he wished he’d died instead of his beloved son.

  He rarely went into town anymore. During past visits, Cameron had noticed he seemed lonely in spite of having household help that included Lucy, the cook; Bertrice, the housekeeper; Thomas, the grounds keeper and Angus, the stableman who tended his prized Arabian hor
ses.

  Cameron propped his hands on his hips and stood beside Granddad, surveying the vast, untamed beauty of the land…Hunter land. He inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with the clean, sea salt air as he gazed at the rocky cliffs rising above the blue green sea. Sadness and regret jabbed at him as he reflected on how he’d caused Granddad public embarrassment. This is the last time you shame the Hunter name, lad. You have dishonored your late father and me with your transgressions.

  Cameron’s insides clenched. He was being judged by last night’s debacle rather than by his success as CEO of Hunter Whisky. He’d grown up with the smoky scent of peat in his nostrils, and he’d come of age with single malt whisky coursing through his veins. He’d worked his bum off, traveling globally and expanding the Hunter Whisky reach worldwide. He was the youngest Keeper of the Quaich, an honor given by the industry in recognition of exceptional contribution to Scotch whisky.

  “We’ll walk a wee bit further and sit there.” Granddad already sounded winded and Cameron wondered if they should venture where Granddad was pointing—to two Adirondack bear chairs on the cliff facing the sea.

  The sound of rushing water accompanied them as they slowly ambled toward the red cedar, deep-seated chairs. The trees were beginning to sprout fresh spring leaves and a riot of wildflowers bordered the path down to the chairs. They watched a pair of black eagles soar above in perfect unison.

  Once seated, Granddad took a few moments to catch his breath as he lit his pipe. His silence unnerved Cameron. He’d always been able to talk to his grandfather, but after the boating accident things had changed. He’d laid a guilt trip on Cameron, urging him to marry and settle down, but Cameron hadn’t listened. He didn’t take kindly to interference in his personal life.

  “I’m sorry about last night, Granddad. I never meant to upset you,” Cameron said, meeting his grandfather’s gaze with sincerity.

  “Was that wee lass worth fighting for then?” he asked, searching Cameron’s face with keen eyes.

  “It didn’t start because of Evie. Spenser insulted Mum with foul words. I couldn’t stand by and allow it.”

  Granddad’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You knocked the snot out of him because he insulted Aileen? Then why was the wee widow playing referee in the picture?” he asked, between puffs on his pipe. “She took quite a shiner because of you.”

  Cameron drew in a sharp breath and expelled it slowly. “How do you know Evie is a widow?”

  “I might be old, but I’m not slow-witted. A few phone calls and I had all her history at my fingertips.” He pensively stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “A widow with a squeaky clean image who is successful in the cutthroat fashion world. How did you go from a devilish Italian fortune hunter to an angel?”

  “She is an angel.” Cameron enjoyed an appealing image of Evie’s wide violet blue eyes, pink baby soft cheeks and rosebud mouth. He recalled how she smelled of fresh flowers and her creamy skin was as soft as petals. By the time he’d finished telling him how they met and what had transpired leading to the brawl, he noticed a vague smile tugging at Granddad’s lips.

  “You find it amusing?” Cameron asked, perplexed by his reaction.

  Granddad shrugged. “No, but I’ve noticed how you look at her. You’re smitten, eh?”

  “Aye, but she believes the bad press about me. To her I’m Heartbreak Hunter. I’d like to change her mind, but she’s a stubborn one …” he trailed off, thinking what he really wanted was to shag her sweet body until she couldn’t think or walk straight.

  Granddad waved an impatient hand. “Wheesht. Don’t waste your time on Evangeline. She won’t do,” he said banging his cane on the ground. “I don’t like her for you.”

  Cameron shook his head, stunned. “You don’t know her at all. I like her and that’s all that matters,” he retorted, taken aback by his grandfather’s volatile change of tune. First he’d referred to Evie as an angel and now he was telling him not to waste his time on her. Granddad had always been mentally sharp as a tack. Was his mind going?

  “When I met your granny, my dear wee hen was only sixteen. I knew from the moment I saw her bonny face that she would be mine. It was a lucky thing too, because we married to unite the Hunter clan with the MacKinnon clan.”

  “What does that have to do with Evie?” No question about it, Granddad was getting dotty.

  “The lass isn’t suitable. She is a widow who is childless. Most likely barren. She’s too skinny, too short and not very feminine. Her hair makes her look like a young boy.” Granddad shook his head in disapproval. “She looked like a hooligan in those baggy clothes and the black eye.”

  “Evie does not look like a young boy or a hooligan!” Cameron retorted indignantly. Hot blood rose from his neck and spread over his clenched jaws. “She is the sexiest, most exquisite creature I’ve laid eyes on.”

  Granddad gave a derisive snort. “Bah. She is American and owns a successful business there. I doubt she would want to move to Scotland.”

  “We’re not living in the turn of the century, for God’s sake,” Cameron sputtered, incensed by his rude dismissal and unflattering portrayal of Evie. He drew in a harsh breath and expelled it as he reined in his temper. “What is the point of this conversation? I’m not getting married any time soon.”

  “Aye, you are.” Granddad’s shrewd eyes narrowed on him like sharp lasers. “By the end of this week you will marry,” he proclaimed authoritatively.

  Cameron thrust an impatient hand through his hair and stared at his grandfather, wondering if he’d indeed lost his marbles. “What are you saying?”

  “Don’t look at me that way. I have never been more serious or clear about anything. I’m through waiting for you and Spenser to act like grown men and settle down. Mind what I say now.” He waved his pipe at Cameron. “Whichever of you marries first, inherits everything.”

  Resentment inside Cameron sparked at Granddad’s nerve. If he blithely thought he could rule Cameron’s life with a ludicrous decree, he was being delusional. “That’s preposterous!”

  Granddad’s chin extended forward and the corners of his mouth turned downward. “Preposterous or not, you’ll marry by week’s end if you don’t want Spenser to—”

  “Impossible,” Cameron cut in. “Even if I wanted to, it can’t be done so soon.”

  “Bollocks. You can at Gretna Greene,” Granddad countered smugly.

  “Not anymore. They require a two week advance notice.”

  Granddad eyed him distrustfully. “How do you know that?”

  “Everybody knows that. Things are not how they used to be. People don’t have to succumb to forced marriages.”

  “Two weeks, eh? That long?” Looking unhappy that his plan had been thwarted, Granddad drew more puffs from his pipe. “Well then, you will have your marriage commitment papers ready by month’s end.” He leveled a determined look at Cameron. “Or my whole fortune will go to your cousin Spenser.”

  Hot blood surged to Cameron’s face with swift fierceness, flaming his face and neck. “Spenser? What a joke! He has no interest in Hunter Whisky, other than slugging it down.”

  Granddad drew himself up. “Spenser is Brenda’s son and my grandson.” He pointed his pipe at Cameron. “You carry the Hunter name. I would rather you inherit everything, but if you don’t agree, it will go to Spenser. He has assured me that he will do anything to make up for the debacle at Alec’s wedding. We had a serious discussion by phone before you arrived.”

  “I’ll bet.” Cameron’s temples thundered with fresh outrage. “Extortion, Granddad? I can’t say that I’m surprised, but I am bloody disappointed.”

  “You have disappointed me.” Granddad’s jaw was set in obstinate lines as he looked straight ahead, not meeting Cameron’s gaze.

  His grave words pained Cameron. He didn’t want to disappoint Granddad as he had disappointed Dad, but the sly old fox was imposing his iron will with the one thing he knew meant the world to Cameron – Hunter Whisky and
Hunter land. Granddad’s heavy-handed mandate left a bitter taste in Cameron’s mouth. This wasn’t the first time he’d dangled Spenser before him. He wanted to rail at him, but he couldn’t, not when Granddad’s once strong neck looked stooped and frail. Despite his stern countenance, his advanced age made him vulnerable…but that didn’t excuse his emotional blackmail. Bloody hell. Cameron had much to reflect on.

  “I have a new business idea I’d like to discuss.” They were at an impasse and a change of subject was in order. “It’s a small world now with social media, technology and such,” he said levelly.

  Granddad’s eyes flashed with exasperation beneath his bushy gray brows. “I don’t care about technology. What does that have to do with marriage?” he groused. “It’s time for you to produce heirs. The Hunter legacy depends on you. But do not choose the American widow. Marry a good Scottish lassie like your granny.”

  His staggering command made Cameron see red and his temper spiked even higher. What the bloody hell was wrong with choosing Evie as his wife? Not that he planned on it, but blimey, Granddad’s reasons were ridiculous and insulting! “If and when I choose a wife, she will be of my choosing, not yours,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Granddad made a low humming noise between his teeth. “Whoever gets married first will inherit my fortune,” he repeated, ignoring Cameron’s avowal. “Don’t doubt it for a minute, lad. I am deadly serious.”

  A knot of fury twisted in Cameron’s gut as he found himself between a rock and a hard place.

  Granddad sighed raggedly and looked out to sea. “At my age it could be any day.”

  The harsh realization of his statement festered in Cameron’s heart. Granddad was right. At 94, time was running out for him to get his last wish—one that weighed heavily on Cameron’s shoulders.

  Heart Hunter: Chapter Nine

  The tall, apple-cheeked young cook placed a silver tray with two dainty teacups and saucers, a tea service set and a plate of buttery biscuits on the small claw footed table between Evie and Mrs. Hunter. She stood by, shifting from one foot to the other, looking eager to say something.