What Lies Between

by Miller, Charlena

  Why was I surprised that news about the MacIvers’ investment traveled faster than the internet in this small community?

  “I look forward to working with you. Let’s set up a time this week to meet up.”

  “As I said, I’ll be going back down to my sister’s in Galloway at the end of the week. If you can spare the time tomorrow, I can take you out to the river where we would be hosting fishing parties. We can talk along the way. I’m out on the estate about half six each morning.”

  Of course, an early riser; more than likely the work demanded it. My night owl lifestyle might have to permanently change around here. “Tomorrow morning, then.” I beamed him a bright smile. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  “That will do fine, Ms. Jameson.”

  “It’s Ellie.”

  He nodded, then headed to the food table and began filling up a plate.

  A man who looked a bit older than me, closer to Ben’s age, which I guessed to be in the mid-thirties, approached with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. Stubble was the norm everywhere these days, making his clean-shaven look stand out. His clothes were casual but meticulous, sharp-pressed lines extending down the center of his twill trousers. I offered my hand and he pulled out one of his, giving mine a hearty shake that belied his demeanor.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Jameson; I’m Henry Mitchell. I have a croft not too far from here. I’ve been helping manage Glenbroch’s flock of sheep and few head of cattle, and the chickens and cockerel, which you probably hear every morning.”

  “I don’t mind his wake-up call. It’s nice to meet you, Henry. Please don’t be formal. Ellie will do.”

  His body visibly relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak. A slender woman with doll-white skin, black hair down to her waist, and perfectly round blue eyes stepped up from behind him. Before Henry could utter a sound, she nudged him to the side and took my hand, shaking it with far too much energy. Her look was striking, if not a bit odd, but most notable was the coldness in her eyes.

  “Ellie—I heard you say that’s what you like to be called—it’s nice to meet you. Bethanne Ferguson. I tend the gardens here at the estate and help with the books.”

  She tried to hide her once-over, but I caught the hostility before she assumed a frozen smile. Bethanne emitted a vibe as frosty as Ryan and Carolyn’s had been warm. Different from Shayne’s standard protocol appraisal, Bethanne’s seemed personal.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I glanced apologetically at Henry. “The gardens look great. I can’t wait to see what the chef we bring on will do with all the vegetables.”

  Bethanne’s unbecoming frown indicated she wasn’t pleased with the idea of me hiring a chef. There was clearly more I should know. “How long have you been working here?” I asked.

  “I did odd jobs here during secondary school. I had a knack for it and Angus and Helen took me on full-time. Money was scarce. It wasn’t until Gerard got a loan that things could be improved to the level you see now. I’ve been the main person for the gardens for a long time. I also do office work for the estate . . . I guess we’ll see a fair lot of each other.” Her laugh was strained. “Most of us can’t do one thing around here to make a living.”

  I wasn’t sure what I had walked into—resentment?—but it would be best if I could win her over. “Well, I’m glad we have you on board. You’ve clearly been doing a good job. Thank you.”

  “Of course, I love working here.”

  “And we love having you here,” a male voice said from behind me.

  My body jerked in response and my face tightened into a scowl. I caught Bethanne’s opposite reaction—eyes softened, smile widened; she swung her hair back and tilted her face upward.

  I wheeled on Ben, caught the broad smile he tossed at Bethanne, grabbed his arm, and dragged him through an open door into the mudroom.

  “What are you doing here?” The words shot from my mouth. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Well, I changed my mind.”

  “What’s going on?” Bethanne chirped, having followed us.

  “Nothing,” Ben and I said in unison, not breaking our stare.

  “I’m done here,” I said.

  Turning toward a door that would take me into the steading’s tiny kitchen, I spotted Henry staring. Ben’s hand snaked around my arm, preventing my getaway before I could make two full steps toward the kitchen.

  “Wait, Ellie. Please, we need to talk.”

  Everyone was watching now.

  “No need. I understand everything perfectly. And”—I wrenched my arm free—“don’t touch me.”

  Bethanne’s expression—dark frown, eyes and brows scrunched tight with displeasure—again got my attention.

  Great start with the staff.

  Calum appeared in the steading’s doorway. “Ellie, can I borrow you for a moment . . . at the main house?” he asked, disrupting the escalating tension between Ben and me.

  “Certainly.”

  I clambered up the slope, frustrated that I couldn’t make a more dramatic exit; instead, I slipped and slid on the wet hillside, feeling like an idiot. Calum caught up and followed me in silence until we made it to my sitting room and had settled into opposite chairs.

  “This has been a tough day for you, Ellie. Are you sure you want to join the staff at the pub tonight? You can do it later this week.”

  “It’s probably not such a good idea tonight.” Bethanne was acting weird and I couldn’t deal with Ben right now.

  “I’ll talk to them and tell them a night out will be arranged for another time. How about heading over to the pub for a drink, you and me, and we can talk there,” he suggested. “But I must say, I don’t have much more to tell you than what I have already said. I’m from Inverness, not this area. I don’t know what happened years ago or much about the folk here.”

  “Getting away from here sounds good in any event,” I said, my smile sincere. No use ripping on him. Calum was an ally. And I needed all the allies I could find.

  Calum left to go back and talk to the staff, and I jumped on my laptop to check my inbox and send Kami the email I’d promised with my impressions of Scotland. I wrote and rewrote it, filtering out my anger with each draft and leaving in only the descriptions of the Highlands and the way this land had run away with my heart. No reason to taint her enthusiasm.

  Calum held the door for me as I entered the pub that was housed in the inn at the end of the loch. The interior was full of dark wood, aged by time and at least two centuries of visitors. Nailhead-trimmed leather booths lined the long wall of the main room, anchored at one end by a fireplace, which was crowned by a thick, hand-cut mantle. My kind of place.

  We took a booth near the fire, and I was immediately swathed in the melodic discord of Highland accents, the snap and pop of flames consuming crisp hunks of wood, the thunk of a pint glass on the wood bar top amid passionate exclamations over a rugby match on the television. The distrust and anger consuming me began to lose momentum in the pub’s sensory mishmash. I watched my fingers trace the length of a scar in the old wood table again and again until the rest of me quieted.

  Calum placed a glass in front of me. His good-natured manners helped soothe my resentment. Staring at the whisky’s golden light, nearly alive with the fire dancing through the glass, I couldn’t hear the noise of the pub.

  My thoughts drifted back to the night sixteen years earlier when, after the investigator contacted him, Gerard had called me. He was drunk—and still drinking, the clink of ice in his glass audible through the phone. He had wanted to come over, talk. It was one in the morning. I wished I’d let him come to my house even though he had been drinking. We might have talked until the sun rose. We might have said what was easier to say in the dark of the night with drink in the veins.

  Even though words were exchanged the next day at his house that one and only time we met, we never talked honestly in the bright midday light. How could I have known that we would never spea
k again?

  I tilted the glass toward Calum in a silent toast.

  “If you like it, I’ll tell you what it is and get you another,” Calum said.

  The soft, burnished elixir slid over my tongue into my throat, and a memory of another night rushed back . . . a night that seemed to belong to a different life. But that night had only been two sleeps ago.

  I know this whisky.

  Ben’s face followed unbidden, his touch searing my skin, his mouth melting into mine. I tossed down the rest of the contents of the glass and set it gently on the table. “Old Pulteney 17 with a touch of water,” I said quietly.

  Calum sat back against the booth in surprise. “Right you are! You know your whisky.”

  “No, Calum, I know this whisky.”

  Focusing my attention on the glass, I rolled it between my hands, not wanting him to see the angry tears that had decided they could afford to fall. “Would you get me another?” I asked without looking up.

  “Sure. How about some food? You didn’t eat much at the staff meeting.”

  “Sounds good. Anything, whatever you think.”

  I didn’t want food to dull the drunken state I was determined to bring on, but ordering it would take Calum time and give me space to pull myself together. Calum disappeared through the crowd, and I took the opportunity to find the restroom that was thankfully empty, lock myself in a stall, and bury my face in a clutch of toilet paper. My body turned itself inside out. The heaving sobs stretched my ribs, leaving them tender and aching, the sorrow barreling from some dank, subterranean place. It had festered there for far longer than a few days, and now rushed through my body with the rage of a forest fire sparked in a drought-plagued summer. This much pain and anger had to be pre-MacIver, but they had thrown a heap of gasoline on it all the same.

  I cleaned up my face and headed to the bar, determined to down another drink before I went back to my table. “Could I have a double of Old Pult—”

  “I ken what you’re drinking,” the barmaid interrupted. She poured the single malt, splashed it with water, and set it in front of me.

  “I’ll put it on Calum’s tab. Ellie Jameson, from Glenbroch, eh?” Her tone sounded put out, bothered.

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  Does she have a problem with me or is this how she is with everyone?

  I didn’t need another person in my life who nursed some half-hidden grudge.

  “This isn’t exactly London or New York. Word gets around, especially here at the pub.” She stuck out her hand to shake mine, a slight smile gracing her face. “Maggie MacGregor. Nice to meet you. You’ve a big job on your hands over there.”

  I returned the smile. “You’re not kidding. Today I met the MacIvers.”

  She might be tight with the MacIvers or be related, given the size of this community. I chose my words carefully but needn’t have worried.

  Maggie leaned in, spoke in a low tone. “You would be right there. Mind you, no love lost between me and them.”

  She motioned to the end of the bar, away from the others. I followed and met her at the curve in the bar top. “Angus and Helen MacKinnon were well known around these parts, and I knew Gerard from school before he left for university. Never had any trouble with him. Anyway, John MacIver is always cooking up one scheme or another to get his way over things around here. Caused me plenty of trouble over some land, and then there was . . . well, no never mind. Ended up getting my land from me. I don’t want to see John take anything else in this community.” She looked at me, sized up my skeptical expression. “What I’m saying is you can count on me to help you beat those MacIver blokes.”

  Good news for a change. “I’m sorry to hear you lost land to them, but having met John MacIver it’s no surprise. I don’t know exactly what help I need yet, but it’s good to know someone here sees the MacIvers for what they are. I appreciate it.”

  Proceed with caution.

  Anyone with a grudge ran their own agenda. I didn’t need her revenge messing up mine.

  “Why don’t you come to my house tomorrow after lunch and we can talk?” She scribbled down directions and handed me the scrap of paper.

  “I can be there by three.”

  “That would be fine. Nice to meet you, Ellie. The community will do well having you over at Glenbroch.”

  “I hope there are others who feel like you do.”

  “There will be some who are willing to stand up to the MacIvers. Others see people moving into the area as evidence the Highlands are being lost to outsiders and will side with any Scot born and raised here. But your property has been in the MacKinnon family for a long time. You’re no an outsider, Ellie. You’ve come back home, that’s all.”

  Her words felt like the dose of reassurance I needed.

  I am home. The MacIvers won’t be taking it from me.

  The warning of a brewing storm bristled the hairs on my arms and neck. Maybe fate existed, was determined to play out its hand, and what would happen here could not be avoided.

  10

  The early morning mist clung to my skin as I made my way to the steading to meet up with Jim. I didn’t mind the damp cold; I was just glad I was awake and on time. Dangling the keys to the Beast as I approached, I said, “I’ll drive if you give me some off-road pointers.”

  “Will do,” Jim swung his rangy body into the passenger’s seat. “Head off to the right on the main road and we’ll turn up the hill where you’ll see a gate.”

  Ten minutes later, I pulled up in front of the gate and Jim jumped out, opening it for me to drive through and then closing it after I passed.

  Once he’d climbed back in, I said, “Tell me the opportunities you see for Glenbroch on the sporting side, and then let’s talk food.”

  “Right. Well, I brought in a contract stalker, Kenneth Taylor, a few years ago and he manages the annual cull of the deer. He also works for another estate and is over there this week. Bringing him in has freed up my time a wee bit. I can focus more on river keeping and general estate projects like the renovation. Working with Ryan will be the first thing I pass on to you. Do you have a meeting set up with him?”

  “Yes, tomorrow. I meet with Maggie this afternoon to discuss marketing and I’ll do chores with Henry in the morning. Things are moving, but there’s so much to learn, to do. If not for Calum’s organization and your capable running of the estate, I would feel utterly overwhelmed.”

  “Not to worry. We will keep doing what we do, and you slip right in as you learn. Henry has managed the livestock for the past few years now and will be passing the management to you with my support. No need to worry; he’s staying on through the first season. Take your time. You have plenty to be thinking about in the meantime.”

  “Can we talk about food for a bit?”

  “Aye, but you want to take this road to your left and go round the corrie.”

  Calling it a road was generous, but at least it wasn’t steep; that was a plus. It kept us on the top of a scooped valley that looked as if a giant had taken a melon baller to the earth. I could scarcely believe I lived here and I wanted people to come and experience this part of the world. It was too wonderful to keep to myself.

  “I think we should emphasize homegrown beef and lamb, fresh vegetables and herbs from the garden, and local sourcing for the rest. With a gifted, creative chef who shares those values, I think we can make Glenbroch a dining destination as well as a guesthouse.”

  “Glenbroch’s cattle and sheep are hill raised and we could probably produce enough meat for the dining room. We can also offer venison and grouse sometimes, I reckon.” He glanced over at me. “Kenneth and I see deer stalking the same way—we only cull and don’t offer any trophy hunting. That was in line with Helen and Angus, and Gerard. How do you see it?”

  “We’re on the same page. No matter what financial issues we face in the future, I have no desire to bring trophy hunters here.”

  Jim nodded his head in approval. “I’d like to
lead some walked-up grouse shooting now that you’re here to take over the general estate management. I want to focus more on land and river, and sporting activities of course, and leave the running of things to you. Take your time, though. I’m not wanting to rush you.”

  “I understand that you’ve had more than your share of duties with my father’s unexpected death.”

  “Aye, and I’m glad you’re here. You’ll do fine. When it comes to veg, Bethanne’s kept the gardens in good nick but you will need to discuss with her what you’re thinking of growing. She’ll ken what’s possible, what needs to be grown in polytunnels to produce a supply through the winter and so forth.”

  “What are your thoughts on fruit and dairy, things we’re not producing?” I asked.

  “Henry has a growing chicken and egg operation over on his croft; he would be a handy supplier. You have some fruit growers over on the Black Isle. There are some good dairy producers—one is not too far, near Kyle of Lochalsh. Supply shouldn’t be a problem. Bethanne can get you sorted.”

  Studying Jim’s face, looking for reassurance, I couldn’t decide if I should say what was on my mind. But I needed someone to confide in. “I don’t get the idea Bethanne is glad I’m here,” I said, slowing the Beast as the road brought us to the base of a hill. The road wound around the side but the incline was steep enough to intimidate me.

  “Change down now and keep climbing steady like. She’ll take the hill with no bother.”

  The Beast didn’t strike me as a she. I bit my tongue, decided not to correct Jim by informing him the Beast was a “he,” and followed his instructions, focusing on the steep climb.

  Jim remained silent as the vehicle bounced and ground up the steep slope. As we neared the top, he spoke. “Well, I don’t suppose Bethanne would be. Never was keen about Gerard coming back here. Helen and Angus treated her almost like a daughter. After Angus died, Bethanne spent more of her time on the estate helping Helen when her health began to fail. Gerard came back and started changing things. His cancer made him look at food differently, mind. Bethanne wasn’t keen on converting to organic gardening, and they had several rows about it. He came near to sacking her, but she has a contract that she’d had Helen sign, and Gerard didn’t want to deal with breaking it. It runs for another year, if I’m not mistaken.”