by Kam McKellar
Liam took a drink and tried not to get his hopes too high. He wanted his brother back. Ross no longer seemed to find joy in anything, and Liam was bloody tired of trying to help and getting pushed away.
Harper was going to shake up Ross' life in a way Liam had never been able to do.
And that thought put him in a fine mood indeed as he navigated up the steep incline to Malcolm's crumbling pile of stones.
Liam parked and stepped out of the truck. As expected, Malcolm's pack came rushing around the side of the house, all five hounds with tongues lolling. Like a herd of deer they loped toward him on long gray legs. Liam braced himself as they crashed into him, bumping him back into the truck and surrounding him, demanding his attention.
“Aye, you crazy mutts. Cousin Liam is here.” He took turns rubbing and patting each massive Deerhound and then pushed through them to follow their path of origination around the stone wall, figuring if they were outside then the almighty Great & Terrible must be too.
The hounds stayed close, bumping his legs and trying to get their bony heads under his hands.
If he thought Ross was bad, Malcolm took the prize.
He'd been living on the small estate adjoining Balmorie, alone, in a crumbling pile of stone with his unruly hounds for company. Malcolm had effectively retired from social life and was a prime example of what Liam didn't want his brother becoming. Rarely did Mal show his face. And the only times he graced the family with his presence in the last year had been for a funeral, Ian's wedding—just the service, not the reception—and he'd gone to see Piper, Devin and Kate's baby girl. His rare visits to the village were always brief and, if he could, he had things delivered rather than leave the house. The only other time the village and the folks around Balmorie saw him was when he graced their local games with his big, burly, victorious presence.
Malcolm and the pile of stones that loomed over Liam as he walked had seen better days. His uncle was restoring a ruined abbey from the fifteenth century. Small by abbey standards, but large by any other. When it was finished, it'd be as large as a country manor. It was a huge undertaking, but Liam guessed it was Malcolm's way of working through issues concerning the death of his older brother. Whatever the reason, it was good to see the place being revived, but it did leave Liam wondering, at the end of the restoration, if Malcolm would at last find the peace he sought.
Malcolm was on the east side of the abbey. Tools and wood littered the stone floor, the area having been turned into a construction zone for the work going on inside. With his back to Liam, Malcolm sat on the crumbled stone wall with a window frame in his lap, sanding the wood. His shoulders were broad and his hair was to his shoulders. At six feet five, Malcolm was a force with a warrior's soul and a gruff exterior. He might be burly and anti-social, but he'd always been fair, so Liam hoped he'd at least hear the offer before refusing it outright.
As Liam stepped into the work area, he brought the wave of dogs with him. They bumped into a pile of lumber, sent an electric saw crashing to the ground, and turned over a box of nails.
“FREEZE!”
The dogs froze at Malcolm's deep command.
Liam froze, too, and grinned. Malcolm pointed and they trotted off the patio with their heads hung low, casting sad glances at Malcolm.
“Now ye can clean up the mess,” he told Liam as he went back to work.
Liam rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. As he knelt to scoop the nails back into the box, he said, “Yer as chipper as ever, ye auld sod,” he said, matching his uncle's thick brogue. “What's all that growing on yer face? Been watching Lord of the Rings again, have ye?”
As the youngest, Liam had always been able to get away with a lot more than anyone else. By his way of thinking, that made him honor bound to take advantage of it. Malcolm shot him a glare and the middle finger.
“Suppose ye are getting up there in age,” Liam continued, “and verra soon that beard will turn as white as Gandalf's.” He knew very well that Malcolm wasn't yet forty, and there wasn't a strand of gray in the man's beard; it'd stand out if there was since Malcom's hair was nearly black. In the shade, that is. In the sun, however, Malcolm's hair was the darkest shade of red Liam ever seen.
“What do ye want, ye wee bairn?” Malcolm growled and went back to sanding.
As Liam went around and fixed the things the dogs had destroyed, he told Malcolm about Ian's plans. “You have two empty cottages along the border with Balmorie that Dev and I can restore without too much cost.”
“Aye and who's about footin' that bill because it willna be me.”
“Ian will take care of everything. The restoration costs, the maintenance, and the rentals. You dinna have to do anything except grant permission and share in the profits.”
Malcolm grunted and continued sanding. Liam knew the man didn't want anyone on his property, much less tourists, but he also knew that restoring something as big as the abbey cost more money than Malcolm had.
“Just the two, ye say?”
Liam wanted to answer in the affirmative, but he'd come with Ian's request and he wasn't going to change it. He cleared his throat. “Aye, and the crofter's cottage on the west brae.”
Malcolm went still, lifted his head slowly, and pierced Liam with a black look. “No.”
And even though Liam knew the reason why, he also knew it was long past due his uncle moved on. “Tis empty and in need of repair.”
“Aye, but it's too close to the abbey.” He started sanding the wood again. “Last bloody thing I need ta see from my window is some family of tourists wanderin' about.”
“Ever hear of curtains?”
Malcolm's green eyes flashed, but it didn't bother Liam in the least. He did enjoy rousing the beast every once in a while. “That crofter will bring in double of the other two. Think about it. From the looks of all that ancient wiring I saw out front, you can use the funds to rewire the place.”
“Can use funds now if ye got any ta spare,” he replied dryly. “Rewiring is done, ye brat. So's the plumbin'.”
Liam leaned against the pile of lumber. “When do you think this auld place will be finished?”
Mal glanced up at the high stone walls and the tall arched windows, his chest rising and falling with a deep sigh. “Sometimes it feels like never,” he said honestly.
As gruff and dangerous as Malcolm appeared, Liam saw the weight and weariness in the man's eyes. “I can lend a hand if that'd suit.” He wanted to help, but he also saw the silver lining. The more he stayed busy, the less he'd run into Abbie or think about her.
Malcolm frowned and stared at him with a suspicious eye. “Dinna get many offers of the like, lad,” he said slowly. “I canna pay.”
“Aye. I can see that.” He rolled his eyes. “You're family. Mum's favorite the way she told it.”
A rare half smile appeared through the dark beard. “Yer mum said that about each of us,” he said, referring to him and his elder brother. Even after all these years it still pained Liam to think about the circumstances of Robbie's death and the effect it had on the entire family. But no one more so than Malcolm.
Robbie and Malcolm's young wife had engaged in an affair. Cathy had felt so guilty and was so horrified when Malcolm caught them that a week later, she'd tried to kill herself. Robbie had found her just in time to lunge for the gun. In the struggle, he'd been shot in the stomach. Robert MacLaren had died on the way to the hospital. In the span of a week, Malcolm had been betrayed in the worst way possible by his brother and his wife. And then he'd lost his brother.
“Send Ian up with the agreements, and I'll let the two cottages on the border. The other...I'll think on.”
“Sounds good enough to me.”
Liam pushed off the lumber pile.
“Have ye eaten yet, lad?”
Liam stopped, stunned by the question. Malcolm wasn't known for inviting anyone to spend time with him. Quickly, he shook the astonishment away and said no even though he'd had a huge breakfast in Fran's kitc
hen just before driving to the abbey.
Malcolm rose, setting the frame down and then walking into the restored part of the abbey.
Liam smiled and shook his head before following his uncle inside.
CHAPTER 10
A few days had passed since Abbie dropped to her knees in front of Liam MacLaren and done something she hadn't done in four years. Every time she thought about it, her cheeks went hot. The man had totally upended her good sense. Her modesty. Her focus. Her purpose. Everything. She hadn't flown all the way to Scotland to give out blow jobs, for God's sake.
A groan escaped her. She removed her eyeglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
What a nightmare. And, honestly, he wasn't to blame. Her actions were all her own. Her rational mind said one thing, but her body and emotions refused to behave.
The words on her laptop blurred. With a heavy breath, she leaned back in the kitchen chair.
After her little porn show in the woods, she'd holed up in the cottage and had begun writing furiously, intent on blotting out all images, memories, and emotions having to do with the sexy Scot. Her tale had begun with her main character arriving in Scotland for a conference and finding tales of murder and ghosts in the small Victorian manor house she'd booked for the week. Of course, as her heroine investigated the old tales, events in present day began to mirror those of the past. It seemed murder and mayhem at fictional Blackwich Manor had awakened once again...
The words were flowing.
In a weird way, she had Liam to thank for that. Shaking her head, she pushed the chair back and went for another cup of coffee. She was tired, her head hurt, and her eyes were no doubt bloodshot. Silly of her maybe, but she was pushing herself to exhaustion so that when her head hit the pillow, she'd actually sleep instead of thinking about Liam—because every time she did think about him, she found herself trying to find ways to make a relationship possible.
Only it wasn't possible.
A glance in the wall mirror told her what she already knew. Eyes bloodshot. Hair had seen better days. Shadows under her eyes. She took a long drink from her cup, eyeing her reflection before scolding herself. “Get your act together.” Mooning over something she couldn't have wasn't going to make things better. She was meeting with Riley and the girls in a little while—a goodbye dinner since Mia and Blake were flying home in the morning—and the last thing Abbie wanted was their instincts and discerning eyes to see the truth.
Continuing with the internal pep talk, she downed the rest of her coffee and headed upstairs for eye drops and makeup.
* * *
On the patio at Balmorie Castle, Liam sat on the lounge chair with Hamish while Fran and Lucy hovered in concern. Their attention was fixed on Harper Dean, sitting on the companion lounge facing them with a whisky glass dangling from her fingers and heartbreak in her eyes.
Liam held the letter in his hands.
The letter, which Harper never received, had been written over a decade ago by his brother. In it, a teenage Ross admitted his love for Harper and told her to meet him, that he didn't want to leave America without her. Of course, Liam knew some of the past events firsthand. Their mother and Whitney Dean had split suddenly and, in one night, she'd packed up everything and taken them away the following morning. Liam had never gotten to say goodbye. And, according to Harper, one day Ross was telling her he loved her and the next, he was gone without so much as a goodbye. She'd felt used and tossed aside.
And Ross had felt the same.
But the letter changed all that. And his brother needed to know the truth.
“Harper?” Fran said.
Lost in thought, Harper jerked. “Sorry?”
“Are ye going ta tell him, dear?” Fran asked.
“I'll go with you if you want,” he offered.
“I think this is something they'd probably want to do alone,” Lucy said knowingly and then stood. “When you're ready, of course. How about I make everyone something to eat?”
Fran joined her, telling Harper, “Aye. Ye just rest a while and we'll bring everything here to the patio.”
“Thanks.” Harper smiled and watched them retreat into the castle with a sad expression.
“Ye dinna have much family back home?” Hamish noted at length, watching Harper as she looked longingly after the women.
“Not anymore, no.”
Hamish gave her a warm smile.”Ye'll always have a place here, lass, ye ken?” He patted her knee and then stood, his knees making a popping sound.
Liam watched Hamish go, feeling touched by the man's kindness. “He hits me and comforts you. Doesn't seem fair.”
“Oh, please.” Harper laid back on the lounge. “I doubt you need much comforting.”
“Hey. Deep down, I'm a sensitive guy.” At the sound of laughter, Liam glanced behind him and saw Riley, Mia, Blake and Abbie heading out to the dock. No doubt on another trip to the village. Abbie's hair was down and she wore tight jeans, boots, and a snug tee shirt over breasts he now knew were the most brilliant things he'd ever almost seen. Or felt. Or touched.
“Let me guess. Trouble with the ladies,” Harper broke into his degenerate thoughts.
He scratched his head and couldn't help but smile. Trouble, indeed.
“You're such a player.”
His gaze went to the women once more. “So I've been told.”
Harper turned toward him, sitting up. “Okay. Let's hear it. Lay it on on me.”
“What?”
“Your woman troubles. Come on. It'll make me feel better.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“Isn't it? Now come on. Tell me.”
With a deep sigh, Liam reclined on the lounge, crossed his ankles, and tucked his hands behind his head. With a deep exhale, he said, “Tis nothing a little focus and determination canna fix.” He gave Harper a suggestive look. “What you call trouble, I call a challenge.”
No. God, what was he saying? There was no challenge for Chrissake. He had to leave well enough alone. He couldn't fix the fact that Abbie lived an ocean away.
“Right,” Harper was saying with a chuckle. “Good luck with that.”
Liam remained quiet, confused by his sudden change of heart and trying to get back to the place he'd been before. Irritated with himself, he leaned over, grabbed Harper's whisky bottle and took a drink for himself.
After Harper left to join the others, Liam stayed on the lounge, sitting on the low piece of furniture with his arms over his knees, staring at the loch.
Harper and Ross would work things out, he was certain. And the relief he felt at knowing his brother would find happiness was a weight he hadn't realized he'd carried so heavily. Harper was a lot like Abbie. Honest, forthright, and stubborn. Harper would fight for Ross. And if his brother messed things up, Liam would have to beat some bloody sense into him.
His thoughts led him right back to Abbie.
He wanted to know her, and the thought of her leaving before he could get the chance gave him the worst kind of heart burn. He'd always shied away from involvement because of his mother's divorce, his brother's divorce, and what had happened to Malcolm. To him, relationships always seemed to end in grief.
His cousins had found love. And now Harper and Ross would find their way.
Due to events beyond their control, they'd both lived so long without ever getting a chance at happiness. Abbie, however, was within Liam's grasp right now, and he was beginning to see that letting her walk away might just put him on the same miserable track that Malcolm and Ross had been on for the last several years.
The only question was, were his feelings real?
Since he'd never really felt the like before, he wasn't sure. But he did know it was different than anything in his past and whatever it was had grabbed hold of him with a tight fist and wouldn't let go.
He ran a hand over his head and then rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't the kind of man who let life and opportunity pass him by. If he let Abbie go, he'd be let
ting go of a chance and a life he realized he wanted.
Hell, maybe he should just tell her how he felt and see what happened.
He snorted and took another drink straight from the bottle. She'd think him stark raving mad. A practical stranger standing on her doorstep asking to give them a chance. Yeah, he could picture the horror on Abbie face quite clearly. And then the door slamming in his face.