pave the garden.’ He eyed her, assessing and guessing her weakness. ‘You would like to get this path finished.’
‘I would,’ she admitted, and bit her lip.
‘Then I’m happy to pay landscape gardening hourly rates. Think about it,’ he said—and went right back to digging. Leaving her to think about it.
Which slightly discomposed her. She’d expected more…argument?
Staying on here was dumb, she thought. More than dumb. She looked at Hamish’s broad, bare back and she thought that staying could be unsettling. Would be unsettling. She hadn’t looked at another man since Rory had died and, of course, she never would, but there was that about Hamish which made her very solid foundations seem just a little shaky round the edges.
She didn’t want her foundations shaken. Her world had been shaken quite enough for one lifetime.
So she should go. Immediately.
But then…
She and Rose had lived here for over a year. She’d started packing after Angus had died, but her efforts had been desultory to say the least. She needed to get organised. Today’s deadline might not be actually feasible.
She thought about it for a bit more. She watched Hamish dig some more. He’d have blisters, she decided, seeing him almost inconspicuously shift the spade in his hands. She knew what he was doing. She’d done it herself often and often. He was finding unblistered skin to work with.
He was strong and willing but he wasn’t accustomed to this sort of work. He was a Manhattan money-maker.
The locals would hate the idea of the new laird being such a man.
But that started more ideas forming. Hamish was asking a favour of her. Maybe she could ask one of him. Angus’s death had left such a void. Maybe they could have a laird one last time, she thought. Maybe…
‘I’ll do it, but not for payment,’ she called out, and he looked up, surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to see her still to be there.
‘You’ll stay?’
‘Yes.’ She grinned. ‘I’ll even cook.’
‘More fries?’
‘I can do toast, too. And porridge if you’re game.’
He smiled at that, and she thought, Yep, there it was again. The Douglas chuckle and the Douglas smile in a body that wasn’t a Douglas body at all. It was a body she knew nothing about and wanted to know nothing about.
She had to get those foundations steady.
‘I look forward to meeting your toast, but not your porridge, Mrs Douglas,’ he told her formally, and she managed to smile back and then thought maybe smiling wasn’t such a good idea. He didn’t have enough clothes on. She didn’t have enough clothes on. It was too early in the morning.
He was a Douglas!
‘Tomorrow’s the Dolphin Bay Harvest Thanksgiving fête,’ she told him as he started digging again. ‘We need a laird.’
‘Pardon?’ He bent to separate some worms and then dug a couple more spadefuls.
‘The laird opens the fête. It’s traditional. No one’s doing it tomorrow because everyone’s still mourning Angus. But not having anyone there will be awful. Maybe we should do it in stages. Maybe we could use you tomorrow as the last of the Douglases.’
His spade paused in mid air—and then kept digging. ‘You know, I might not be the last of the Douglases,’ he said cautiously. ‘The Douglas clan appear to be quite prolific. In fact, if I give you the phone book you might find almost as many Douglases as Smiths, Greens and Nguyens.’
‘No, but as far as I know you’re the only Lord Douglas in this neck of the woods.’
‘Which leaves me…where?’
‘Opening the fête tomorrow.’
Another pause in the digging. Another resumption. ‘Which involves what exactly?’
‘Saying a few words. Just “I now declare this fête open”. After the bagpipes stop.’
‘Bagpipes,’ he said, even more cautiously, and Susie thought the man wasn’t as silly as he looked. Actually, he didn’t look the least bit silly.
And he’d guessed where she was headed. She could see the suspicion growing and she almost giggled.
‘It’s a very nice kilt,’ she said.
He set down his spade and turned to her in all seriousness.
‘Don’t ask it of me, Susie. I have knobbly knees.’
She did giggle then. ‘I can see them from here. They’re very nice knees.’
‘I only show them to other Douglases.’
‘Me, you mean.’
‘You and my mother.’
‘Not…Marcia?’
‘Marcia has the sense not to look,’ he told her. ‘I’d never have exposed them to you but you woke unreasonably early. Normally I have huge signs out. CAUTION: EXPOSED KNEES. So that lets me out of fête opening.’
‘Then I’m off to pack.’
‘Susie, this is a business trip,’ he said, and there was suddenly more than a trace of desperation in his voice. ‘I’m not an earl. I’m not Lord Douglas. In this day and age it doesn’t make any sense. I won’t use the title. I’ll sell the castle and I’ll get back to my ordinary life.’
‘You sound afraid,’ she said, and he cast her a look that said she wasn’t far off the mark.
‘That’s dumb. Why would I be afraid?’
‘It’s not so scary, standing in a kilt and saying a few words.’
‘People will expect—’
‘They’ll expect nothing,’ she said softly. ‘The people here loved Uncle Angus. He was their laird. You won’t know the story but this castle saved the town. After the war the men depended on the schools of couta to make their living—great long fish you catch by trawling in relatively shallow water. But some disease—worms, actually—hit the couta, and the men didn’t have boats big enough for deep-sea fishing. Everyone was starting to leave. It was either leave or starve. But then along came Angus. He saw this place, fell in love with it and realised the only thing that could keep it going was another industry. So he persuaded the guardians of his family trust—your family trust—to let him rebuild his castle here. The men worked on the castle while they gradually rebuilt the fishing fleet. The people here loved Angus to bits and his death has caused real heartache. You wearing a kilt tomorrow—no, it won’t bring Angus back, but maybe it’ll fill a void that for many may seem unbearable.’
Конец
