his forehead. ‘I’m sorry—it’s been a long day.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Cormac Buchanan.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Cormac—officially this time.’ She stretched her hand to his.
For a dizzy moment she lost herself in the golden light of his irises. She felt the warm dryness of his palm against hers, a pinprick of static. She released his hand quickly.
‘Buchanan? You’re the owner of the estate?’
He shook his head. ‘One day, maybe. For now I’m running errands.’
She couldn’t resist a little mischief. ‘Well, I suppose it’s like any job. You have to start at the bottom and work up.’
A smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth and then it faded away. She felt her brow wrinkling. Did Cormac Buchanan not have a sense of humour? Maybe she was being too familiar, overstepping some invisible mark unique to estate owners. She couldn’t work out what she was doing wrong.
She was about to ask him if she could just have the key, when she saw his gaze shifting to the four-by-four.
‘I see you got your wheel fixed.’
‘Yes, the man at the garage was able to do it right away.’
‘That’s good.’ He glanced at her and reached into his pocket. ‘Right. I’ll open up and help you in with your stuff, then I’ll show you the ropes.’
He pulled out a key and motioned for her to walk with him to the bothy door.
Milla frowned as she fell in beside him. She could never have accused Cormac Buchanan of being impolite, but she had the distinct feeling that he was keeping her at arm’s length, and for some reason it felt like a personal slight.
She caught herself shifting into that defensive gear which seemed to have become her default setting since Dan had dropped his bombshell, and she only just managed to keep a sliver of sarcasm out of her voice. ‘Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
He unlocked the bothy door and stood back for her to enter. ‘It’s no trouble at all. It’s why I’m here.’
Milla stepped past him into the bothy and instantly her mood lifted. The interior space felt warm and comfortable and completely connected to the outside. It wasn’t just that the floor-to-ceiling windows let the outside in; the colours and textures of the interior had also clearly been chosen to echo the view.
This sanctuary was to be her home for the next two weeks and already she felt its gentle embrace soothing her shrunken soul.
For a moment she dropped her guard and turned around, smiling. ‘It’s stunning. Absolutely perfect. It’s been so well done—I can’t believe it—these colours and the textures—it’s just... Wow!’
His expression softened, and for a moment he looked hesitant. ‘My sister’s an interior designer. She’s good. She did the whole place—natural materials to blend with the setting.’
There was obvious pride in his voice. It was clear that his sister meant a lot to him and the small revelation made him seem more approachable.
Milla’s eyes followed his as they roamed around the room.
‘This is the main living area, obviously. Have you used a wood burner before?’
‘Yes, I have. We had one at home.’
She turned and crossed to the compact stove with its gleaming glass door. It looked state-of-the-art, not like her family’s old stove. She tried the handle, pulling it open while he continued speaking.
‘There’s a log store against the outside wall of the bothy, and it’s well stocked, so if you feel cold just set a fire. You’ll find firelighters and matches in that metal box on the hearth. It doesn’t take long to heat the whole place.’
Without the distraction of his face, she tuned in to the husky timbre of his voice and found a gentleness in it which took her by surprise. She closed the stove and stood up.
‘As you can see, the kitchen’s over there—it’s well equipped as far as it goes. There’s all the usual stuff. The plates and cups are in the cupboards over the counter. I’m afraid there isn’t a dishwasher—’
His earnest tone made her laugh. ‘I don’t mind washing dishes—but there won’t be many. I don’t really cook much when I’m working. I tend to forget and then I’ll eat a whole stupid box of cornflakes or something.’
Did she imagine amusement in his eyes or was it disdain? She looked away quickly, flushing with embarrassment. What had possessed her to come out with that anyway? Nerves, most probably—that must be it—from the way he seemed to take up all the space in the room just by standing there.
‘The bathroom’s down that short corridor. It’s a shower, not a bath, but you probably guessed that already, and the bedroom’s up there...’
She looked up to the mezzanine, then turned to meet his gaze. ‘I know—’ She was blushing again. ‘What I mean is that I saw it through the window before you arrived.’ Why did his eyes unsettle her so much?
She forced herself to look away, to find a distraction.
‘What a great idea to frame an Ordnance Survey map! I just bought one in the shop. If only I’d known there was one on the wall—’
She heard him clear his throat. ‘The studio’s through the door under the stairs, if you want to have a look. I’ll start bringing in your things.’
He nodded briefly, then disappeared through the door.
Milla squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a long breath. She knew she’d been talking nonsense about the map, but she’d only been trying to fill the silence between them, and now, yet again, she was sparring with herself, trying to convince herself that he hadn’t interrupted her to cause offence. It was understandable that he’d want to unload her vehicle and finish showing her ‘the ropes’, as he’d put it, but his cool detachment had hurt her all the same. He might be a laird-in-waiting, or whatever it was called, but he really needed to work on his social skills.
She forced Cormac Buchanan out of her head and focused on her surroundings. In the kitchen a wide timber plank had been repurposed as a counter, and she trailed her fingers along it, letting its smoothness steady her until she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be looking at the studio.
When she pushed open the door she gasped. The studio was bigger than she’d imagined—as large again as the main living area. Daylight flooded in through the opaque roof panels and the resulting light had a luminous quality which was perfect.
When Cormac appeared with her easel and an armful of blank canvases, she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. ‘I love this space. The light’s exquisite.’
He propped the easel and canvases against the wall and turned around. ‘Yes. It’s been well thought out.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Most of your stuff’s in now. I put your holdall upstairs. There’s just a couple of boxes left to bring.’
For a moment, he held her in his gaze, and she felt a strange shifting
