Chapter 5
“You… made them an Instagram account?”
In the face of Malcolm’s disbelief, Charlotte propped one hand on her hip. “Well, of course I did. They’re adorable, and the world needs to see that. Here. Look at all the people being made happy by seeing these three going all boing boing.” She opened the app on her phone and showed him the dozens-deep thread of comments on the latest video she’d posted of the triplets losing their wooly little minds over a bubble machine, bouncing around as if they had springs for legs.
One corner of his mouth twitched, which was practically a full-on grin in Malcolm-speak. When he caught her looking, the twitch disappeared, and he handed back her phone. But it was too late. Charlotte had seen his amusement and wouldn’t forget it.
“We need to get the painting finished so we can get to furnishing the place.”
She picked up a brush and cup of paint and moved to cut in around the new bathroom wall that had been built in the couple of weeks since their detente. “It’s not that simple. We need a cohesive look.”
He poured paint into a tray and began to load a roller. “What’s not simple? It needs beds, a sofa, some chairs. The sooner we get this one done, the sooner they can start taking bookings, and we can move on to the next.”
Unable to gesticulate as she wanted because of the paintbrush in her hand, Charlotte settled for a massive roll of her eyes. “You know nothing. Nothing. This is not like one of those little hiker shelter bothy things that just provides protection from the elements. We are charging a premium for occupancy and therefore need to offer a premium product. In this case, that product is an experience. People are coming here to experience the Highlands. To taste a little piece of history with the bonus elements of modern conveniences. That means more than simply chucking in a random bed, couch, and chairs.”
She couldn’t decide if the noise he made was intentionally derisive or not, but felt compelled to make him see it.
“Picture it: You’re taking a vacation to some part of the world you’ve never been to. You want to get away from it all. You arrive at the cozy cottage you booked online to find that it’s even better than the pictures, with a wood-burning stove in the corner, a plush sofa that’s just made for napping, and a beautiful old rug that’s clearly full of stories. The kitchen is adorable—small, but well appointed, with the kettle and coffeemaker you expect, along with a basket of warm beverage fixin’s. There’s a beautiful wrought-iron tree for mugs?—”
“A wrought-iron tree? Like a literal tree?”
“Yes. It’s fanciful and fun, while still being practical.”
“Where are you going to find something like that?”
“I mentioned it at the last big group dinner you missed. Connor said he might have a line on something for me. Anyway, pay attention. Dinnerware is stacked neatly on open shelves that climb the wall above the counter... Actually, that’s a good idea. We should build some, both here and in the bathroom.” She scribbled a note on the pad she kept in her back pocket. “Oh, and along that strip of wall between the bedrooms.”
“Why are people who are just staying for a weekend gonna need that many shelves?”
“First, people might stay for longer than a weekend, and they need somewhere to put their toiletries and such. Second, we can kit out the cottages with games and artwork and decorative pieces that add to the ambiance. We should get some of Kyla’s photographs framed and hang them in each of the cottages, too. It adds to the warmth of the place. Makes it feel like a home away from home.”
“Ambiance.” This time, he did snort. “What qualifies you as the decision maker about this?”
“The fact that I have more personalization in my flat after two months than you do after God knows how many years. And the years I spent working my way up the ranks in a luxury hotel empire in Texas.”
He blinked. “You were in the hospitality industry?”
“Yeah, for fifteen years.”
“I… had no idea.”
“I don’t talk about it much. I took a leave of absence when Lily got sick. And then I elected not to go back when my time was up so that I could stick around for Raleigh.”
“Do you ever regret not going back?”
Charlotte hesitated, not because she had to think about her answer, but because she could count on one hand the number of actual real conversations she’d had with this man. He wasn’t the sort to ask get-to-know-you questions, so why was he asking now?
“Not most of the time. I started when I was eighteen, while I was in college, and just kept on climbing that ladder, making the jump from management to corporate. The higher I got, the more distance there was from the actual people we were serving. If I’d stayed in, I’d have kept rising, and it would have taken me away from the parts I actually liked about the job.”
“What were those?”
“I like taking care of people. Feeding them. Making them comfortable. Anticipating their needs. It’s incredibly gratifying to provide someone with a thing they didn’t even realize they wanted. Seeing that stress everybody carries around all the time just slide off for a little while.”
With a grunt, he bent to refill the paint roller, and Charlotte assumed he was all talked out.
Well, it was a good run. The longest sober conversation they’d had since the day he’d gifted her with the triplets.
“I guess that’s why you want to open the B B at Lochmara.”
Surprised, she stopped painting to look at him. “Well, it’s why Raleigh gave me the option of opening the BB. That was actually his idea.” And it was no secret that Malcolm absolutely despised the concept.
“It was?”
“Yeah. He knows my strengths. Knows what I like to do. And it’s not a terrible idea. The house is perfect for that sort of setup. But I don’t know that I want to do it.”
“Really?”
“Managing a bed-and-breakfast basically means I’d never be off. That’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed about working as I have. I may not have made a lot of money, but I had time for myself, for relationships that mattered to me. I appreciate that Raleigh’s looking for some kind of payback for all those years I gave to him, but I don’t need that.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Right now, I’m putting all my focus on getting all these cottages finished and ready to see guests. I think, if it’s done well and properly, I can make them profitable enough that managing them and handling all the bookings can be my job. Which would still leave me time and energy to explore other things.”
He said nothing for a long time, but for once she understood he was thinking over what she’d said. He was a man who took time to consider things, which she appreciated when he wasn’t leaping to wrong conclusions. It was nice having him ask about her rather than making assumptions about who she was as a person.
“Well, I guess if it means guests won’t be on my doorstep, I can build the bloody shelves.”
Considering it a major win, she smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you.”
* * *
Malcolm pulledup to the cottage, a loaded trailer in tow. He’d grabbed whatever he could carry on his own, leaving the bigger pieces, like mattresses and beds and the sofa, until he could pin down Connor or Raleigh to help with the heavy lifting. He and Charlotte had busted their asses to get this place ready. He’d built the shelves she’d requested, and now they were finally to the furnishing portion of the plan. When he’d left an hour ago, Charlotte had been surrounded by boxes of supplies. Judging by the curl of smoke from the chimney, she’d gotten the wood stove lit. Fair enough. Temperatures had dropped as they rolled into November. Even he had deigned to add a fleece jacket to his usual uniform of kilt and a t-shirt.
He expected to find her fiddling with the placement of some kind of pretty dust catcher, or maybe arranging the books he doubted any of the future guests would read. Instead, he walked in to a mountain of empty boxes and no sign of Charlotte. Maybe she was in the bathroom?
“Oh good, you’re back. Come, hold the faucet so it doesn’t spin on me.”
Malcolm followed the sound of her muffled voice to the tiny kitchen, where he found her wedged beneath the sink.
“What are you doing?”
“Changing the faucet out. What does it look like?”
His gaze dropped to check for water and snagged on the midriff bared by her position. That strip of dusky skin between her sweater and the top of her jeans had his mouth going dry. That same sweater was pulled taut across her full breasts, making it very clear that each was a perfect one of his handfuls, and he itched to test the fit.
Get a grip.
As his brain helpfully supplied an image of him doing exactly that, his cock began to stir.
Not what I meant!
Clearing his throat, he rasped, “I was gonna get to that when I got back.”
“But I can do it, so now you don’t have to. Just hold the faucet.”
Mentally reviewing rugby plays to try to get himself back under control, he did as she asked, clamping the new faucet in place while she tightened the hardware from below with quick efficiency.
“There. Test it.”
“You sure you want to be under there when I do?”
“Oh, ye of little faith.”
Taking her at her word, Malcolm turned on the water, testing the hot and cold sides and finding everything exactly as it should be. He had to appreciate a competent woman. “Seems to be working.”
“I told you.” Charlotte edged out from beneath the sink, color streaking across her cheeks as she came eye level with the hem of his kilt.
Before she could say another word—or elect to check what was under said kilt—Malcolm offered her a hand up. The hand she slid into his was tiny but strong, much as the woman herself. She rose easily when he tugged, stumbling a little as she gained her feet. He slid a hand under her other elbow to steady her, which brought her close enough to brush what remained of his erection.
He hastily released her and stepped back, lest it take that as encouragement. “Where did you learn to do this kind of stuff?”
“My daddy and uncle were contractors. I picked up a lot growing up. I know my way around an engine, too, courtesy of another uncle. We didn’t have a lot of money, so we learned to take care and repair. No matter who needed help with what, there was always an aunt or uncle or cousin who could lend a hand.”
He couldn’t imagine. “Your family was close?”
She tossed the wrench back into the toolbox. “Still is. What about you?”
Malcolm had no inclination to talk about where he came from, but he’d been asking lots of questions about her. Telling her something about himself was the expected quid pro quo in this kind of exchange. It was why he usually avoided people.
“Grew up in a council flat in Glasgow. Mum left when I was a wee lad. Da was nothing to write home about. I got out as soon as I was old enough.”
“That had to be terrifying. Being on your own like that.”
“No’ as much as staying.” He tensed his shoulders, as if that could shake off the memories. “I scraped by. When Miranda came along, we wanted better for her than scraping by, so we got the hell out of the city.”
“We?”
“Robyn. My wife. Ex-wife,” he corrected. “We split after…” The words clogged up in his throat. He couldn’t even get them out sober. “After.”
Charlotte’s hand settled on his arm, a warm anchor against memories that wanted to drag him away like the darkest of undertows. “You never get over something like that. You just get through it, surviving one day at a time.”
Her eyes were full of so much kindness and understanding. How the hell could he have ever believed she was needy and opportunistic? Was his life so devoid of good that he didn’t recognize true empathy when it stared him in the face? She stood close enough he could feel the heat of her. It crossed his mind that he could kiss her. Just haul her to her toes and taste those full lips he couldn’t get out of his mind. He didn’t think she’d push him away.
But then what? She sure as hell deserved better than the likes of him. A surly, broken, recovering alcoholic.
“I need to unload.”
Her hand fell away as he moved toward the door, but she trailed right behind. God, he hoped she wouldn’t ask more questions. He needed time to rebuild his walls so that he didn’t feel tempted to answer them.
Dropping the ramp of the trailer, he moved inside, dragging a rug off the top of the pile and hefting it atop one shoulder. “Mind your head.”
As soon as he cleared the trailer, she went in herself, picking up a side table.
“I’ll get it,” he insisted.
“I’m not a weakling, Malcolm.” Ignoring his protest, she breezed on by him with the table in hand.
Stubborn woman. Stubborn and strong and capable. She wasn’t a woman afraid to get her hands dirty and do real work. Damn it, he didn’t need more reasons to find Charlotte Vasquez appealing.
Once the trailer was unloaded and the pieces he’d brought had been put in place to her specifications, he turned a circle to take it in. Evidently, she’d finished unpacking everything onto the shelves while he’d been gone, and he was forced to admit she’d been right. Even without the sofa and some of the other big pieces, he got a sense of the inviting vibe she’d been going for.
“It looks nice.”
She popped him on the arm with the back of her hand. “See? I told you. Cozy.” Her sunshiny smile hit him right in the solar plexus, and he felt the corner of his mouth lifting in response.
Because he was struck by the urge to kiss her again, he began to gather broken-down boxes to throw in the back of the 4x4. “We should go get another load.” He’d have preferred to wait for Connor or Raleigh, but he knew Charlotte was going to argue. They’d figure it out.
“Can we swing by number eight on the way? I want to see what kind of shape it’s in, so I can start making notes about supplies and figuring out the plan for renovation.”
“Aye.”
They finished loading the trash, then Charlotte locked up and climbed into the passenger seat for the short drive to the next cottage on their list.
Malcolm could tell right off, there was more roof work to be done. A tree branch had fallen on one end at some point, breaking quite a few of the slate tiles. There’d likely be water damage inside. The rest of the stone exterior seemed like it was in decent shape at first glance. Grabbing a torch, he headed for the door. It wasn’t locked. There was nothing worth stealing in any of these places. The hinges squeaked as he shoved it open.
Charlotte peered around him. “If this were a horror movie, bats would be flying out the door.”
“It’s no’ outside the realm of possible. We’ve not disturbed anything yet.”
“Seriously?” She leapt forward, hunching against his back, so his body was a shield between her and the door.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to shake her hands off his waist as he eased inside. Panning the light around the ceiling, he quickly confirmed they were alone. “No wee flying beasties.”
“But maybe a two-legged one. Are those signs of a recent fire?” Not waiting for his reply, she skirted past him.
Malcolm swung the light over to what she’d picked out with her cell phone flashlight. A small pile of partly burned wood lay beneath the hole in the roof. There was evidence of smoke on the timbers above. “Someone’s been here for certain.”
They split apart, exploring the rest of the cottage. And in the back bedroom, they found a bundled sleeping bag.
“Someone’s been staying here.” Charlotte squatted to pick up something with a metallic gleam from the floor. “Energy bar wrappers. Same kind I found at the cottage we’re finishing now.”
“What? When?”
“Several weeks ago, the day I demoed the original bathroom wall. I didn’t think anything of it. I figure you or someone else had dropped it when you were last working on the place.”
On a day she’d been working alone. Malcolm didn’t like it.
She straightened. “Do you think it’s a hillwalker? Like the one Raleigh found this summer, who thought these cabins were bothies?”
“I dinna think so. Finding evidence of one, maybe. But two? Seems more likely we’ve got a squatter.”
“What do we do about it? Call the police?”
“We can make a report, but they’re going to need more evidence before they can do anything. It’s no’ like we have a suspect we can point them to.”
“What if we could get them evidence?” Her tone made it very clear she had an idea.
“What do you have in mind?”
“We had an issue on the ranch several years back with some cattle thieves. The property was too big to install full security camera coverage everywhere, so we ended up putting out game cameras. You know, the kind that only turns on when there’s motion detected? It wasn’t fancy, but it did the trick, and they caught the guys who were behind it. Seems like something along those lines would be easy to set up here.”
Malcolm nodded. “It’s a good idea. I’ve got a few back at my flat that I use to monitor some of the wildlife from time to time.”
“Then let’s go get them. The sooner we get them set up, the more likely we are to catch whoever it is. He’ll probably be back for his sleeping bag.”
“It’s a solid plan. I don’t want you working on any of the cottages by yourself until this is resolved.”
The voice that had been so warm and easy with him all afternoon chilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“We dinna ken who’s behind this. No’ what they want or why they’re here.”
She crossed her arms, her jaw taking on a stubborn cast. “Malcolm, nobody is out to get me. I’ve been working on these cottages for months now with no problem. We’ve got too much to do for me to be hamstrung on work now, and you’ve got too many other responsibilities to babysit me.”
Struggling to find some calm when his own temper was roused, Malcolm managed to keep his voice even. “I dinna expect it’ll take too long to get an answer. Until then, I’m asking you to humor me. Please. I want you safe. Promise me, Charlotte.”
The belligerent set to her jaw eased a fraction at his use of her name. She heaved a massive sigh. “Fine. I promise. For now.”
Recognizing that was as good as it was going to get, he gestured toward the door. “Then let’s go get those cameras.”