Surprises on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #1)

Chapter 8

When Calan saw Tara Shaw in the doll’s house studio, his instinct had been to turn tail and run. But knowing that he would have to deal with her at some point, he kept his feet firmly glued to the floor.

At the sight of her, confused and uncertain as she dealt with an awkward situation and a woman who had initially seemed to be off her trolley, his heart had fluttered, before giving an almighty thump as it tried to catch up with itself. Thankfully he’d entered the studio behind three other people and had managed to keep them between him and Tara.

When they left, he’d already positioned himself with his back to the counter and the woman he’d once loved with all his heart. He had loved her so deeply and so totally that he’d been devastated when he’d had to let her go.

She was the one who had got away – and he was the one who had let her.

He hadn’t wanted to end it, but at the time he’d felt he had little choice. His dad’s breakdown and his mum’s insistence that it was kept quiet, on top of Cal finishing his degree and being offered a job near his hometown, had made it incredibly difficult to carry on seeing her.

At first, he’d tried to keep his relationship with her going, but not being able to leave Dad to visit her in Glasgow (his mum had been terrified that Dad would harm himself) and not being able to invite Tara to visit him in Inverness, had inevitably put a strain on their relationship. After one particularly fraught phone call, where Tara had accused him of not loving her any more, Cal had made the heartbreaking decision to set her free. It wasn’t fair on her.

He might have tried to hang on to her, but there was no knowing how long his dad’s poor mental health would continue, and with him being sworn to secrecy there’d been nothing he could say to make her understand. So he’d told her that they were too young for such a serious relationship and it couldn’t possibly last, that his parents kept telling him they were too young to settle down, that she was in Glasgow with another year of her course to complete and he had a job in Inverness and everyone knew that long-distance relationships never worked, and that she should be enjoying university life. He had told her everything but the truth and had ended it there and then.

And had spent the rest of his life regretting it.

Not for the first time he wondered whether things would have been different if he had confided in her, if he’d broken his promise to his mum and had told Tara what his dad was going through. He mightn’t have been able to visit her often, nor she him, but at least she would have understood. Their relationship mightn’t have survived anyway, but that was something he’d never know.

Cal wondered what had brought her to Skye. Then he remembered that Mhairi had called her Tara McTaigh and the knowledge that she was married gave him an unexpected pang. He wondered whether she was happy, and hoped with all his heart that she was.

Did she even remember him? Ten years was a long time, and so much had happened.

A whole decade had passed, but as Cal glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, it felt like no time at all.

Then, before he was ready, he found himself on his own in the studio with nowhere to hide, and she was speaking to him and he had no choice other than to turn around.

‘Hello, Tara.’

He watched the blood drain from her face and her eyes widen in shock, and he wished he’d done something to prepare her. But he hadn’t expected her to react like this, and even if he had guessed she might, what could he have done?

‘What the—?’ she began, then stopped, her eyes narrowing. ‘ Cal? ’

His mouth twisted in an attempt at a smile.

Her lips became a thin line and her jaw tensed, before realisation dawned on her face. ‘ You’re Mhairi’s Cal.’ It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

He shrugged, almost an apology but not quite, as though it was his fault she’d turned up in Coorie Castle, when it was she who was the interloper, not he. This was his home, not hers.

Her mouth dropped open. ‘And Bonnie is your daughter.’ Again, not a question.

‘Yes.’

Tara swallowed, and his gaze was drawn to her throat. The same throat he had kissed countless times. Abruptly, he looked away.

‘She’s lovely.’ Her words sounded forced, as though she was trying to be polite. But surely she couldn’t still be upset with him? Not after all this time.

‘She is.’ His voice was warm, reflecting the pride he had in his daughter.

‘She wants to attend a workshop if I hold one,’ Tara said, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

‘She told me.’

‘Good… good.’

‘I said she could.’

‘If I hold one,’ Tara repeated.

‘Yes, if you hold one.’

‘It’s just… I haven’t decided yet. I only moved in last week.’

‘I know.’

Her laugh was nervous and sharp. ‘Of course you do. I, er—’ She hesitated. ‘I didn’t realise… If I’d known, I would never…’

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and the familiar habit hit him in the solar plexus. Memories rushed back, surging through his mind like a fast-flowing tide, washing away the years and filling the empty spaces in his head with long-forgotten images of her. Had he truly forgotten? Or had he deliberately not allowed himself to remember?

A silence stretched between them, tense and painful.

Cal broke it. ‘Where are you living? In Duncoorie?’ The thought of her living so near made his heart constrict.

Her eyes flickered to the door and back to him. ‘In the boathouse.’

‘In the—?’ Damn Yvaine and her bloody boyfriend. If she hadn’t decided to move in with Lenn, Bonnie wouldn’t have been upset at school and Cal wouldn’t have had to leave his meeting with Mhairi before she’d had a chance to tell him who was renting the cottage by the loch. ‘I see,’ he said.

‘That’s OK, isn’t it? Mhairi offered it to me until my house in Edinburgh is sold.’

‘Mhairi is the boss. It’s her boathouse to do with as she sees fit.’ He sounded churlish, but for pity’s sake, Tara was living only a stone’s throw away from him.

Tara flinched. ‘Hopefully it won’t take long, then I can be out of your hair.’

‘It’s fine,’ he lied. Then to try to make up for his appalling lack of manners, he said, ‘How do you like Coorie Castle?’

Her expression cleared, the wariness lifting a little. ‘It’s lovely. The craft centre is fabulous, and everyone is so friendly.’ She ground to a halt and Cal could easily guess what she was thinking – everyone except him .

He deserved that. ‘We’re like one big happy family.’

‘So everyone keeps telling me.’

Another awkwardly long and uncomfortable silence followed as Cal scrabbled around for something to say. Tara appeared to be equally at a loss.

Eventually he said, ‘OK, then, I’d better get on. I just thought I’d introduce myself.’ He turned to leave, feeling flustered and embarrassed, and after the briefest of hesitations, he added, ‘I hope you’ll be happy here, Tara.’

Her muttered, ‘I doubt it,’ followed him outside.

Tara held herself rigid until Cal was out of sight, then she slumped against the counter and buried her face in her hands. She was shaking, her heart raced, and she badly needed a sit down and a shot of something alcoholic.

She hadn’t expected to see Calan Fraser ever again. She hadn’t wanted to. Yet here he was, slap bang in the middle of the new life she hoped to forge.

Pulling herself together, she hurried around the counter and locked the door, switching the lights off as she did so, before flipping the sign hanging in the window from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. The craft centre didn’t shut until five p.m., but no crafter was in their studio all day every day, she’d discovered, so she had no qualms about closing early.

She simply couldn’t face seeing anyone, and neither was she in the right frame of mind to do any more work today. The frame of mind she was in involved a bottle of wine and time to think. She needed to get her head around seeing Calan again, so she returned to the boathouse.

The wine was nicely chilled, but as Tara took it out of the fridge she wouldn’t have cared if it was as warm as a hot bath. She wasn’t going to drink it for enjoyment. She was hoping the alcohol would stop her hands shaking.

She briefly considered curling up on the sofa with the wine and staring out of the window, but the boathouse felt claustrophobic, and honestly, what was the point of staring at the view through glass when she could go outside and stare at it without any barrier?

She would have liked to sit on the edge of the jetty but felt she would be too exposed (the last thing she wanted was for Cal to spot her there) so she took her wine and a glass further along the shoreline until she was out of sight of the lane, and hunkered down amongst the rocks, leaning against one.

It was warm on her back, and the sun was still high in the sky. She tilted her head back to stare at the expanse of blue over her head, tears prickling.

Angrily she brushed them away. She refused to cry over that man again. She’d shed too many for him already, and he hadn’t deserved a single one. Shock vied with pain and anger. Tara didn’t know what she felt or how to deal with seeing him again, and as she sat there the memories that she’d tried so hard to keep down resurfaced in all their technicolour misery.

Calan Fraser had broken her heart. He’d been her first love (maybe her only love), and he’d almost destroyed her. He was the reason she hadn’t been able to complete the final year of her degree. It hadn’t seemed important any more. Nothing had. She’d never felt more alive, more in tune with her art, the city and the universe, than during the year of loving Cal.

After he’d broken up with her, it was as though her world had lost all colour, and she no longer felt alive. How could she when she was dead inside?

But the world hadn’t stopped turning and Tara’d had to do something. When she saw a ‘Staff Wanted’ notice in the window of a scruffy shop that was an Aladdin’s cave of tiny houses and every conceivable thing to go in them, she’d walked in off the street with no CV and little hope of getting the job.

No one had been more surprised than Tara when she’d found herself starting work there the very next day. She’d been even more surprised to discover how much she enjoyed it and, fascinated by the tiny items of furniture, she’d wanted to have a go at making her own miniatures for the inside of her first house. So, she’d taught herself – with loads of help from online videos and lots of trial and error. Discovering she had a talent for it had sealed her fate. Tara had been bitten by the doll’s house bug, but as a creator, not a collector.

Would she have found her calling – because that’s what she believed it to be – if she’d gone on to do the final year of her Fine Art course?

Probably not. But the knowledge didn’t change how she felt about Calan.

The love and adoration she’d felt for him had turned to bitterness and anger. If it hadn’t been for a photograph, Tara might have understood, although not accepted, his reasons for breaking up with her. Yes, they had been young – at twenty she’d been so naive and unworldly, despite believing she knew it all. Yes, it would have been difficult to continue their relationship with her in Glasgow and him an assistant manager on some godforsaken private estate north of Inverness. But he hadn’t even tried, despite her pleading with him to give it a go. He’d been adamant he wanted a clean break, and Tara hadn’t been able to do or say anything to change his mind.

She’d soon discovered the reason why, after compulsively stalking his sister on social media and seeing some photos of him at a wedding a mere seven months after he’d told Tara they were over.

The wedding had been his own.

Mhairi was poring over her accounts when Cal found her, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she squinted at the computer screen, pen in hand to scribble numbers on a pad, a big-buttoned calculator sitting next to it.

She scowled when she saw him. ‘Whoever invented spreadsheets deserves to burn in hell.’

He dropped into a chair, feeling drained.

‘It’s not been a good first day back for you, has it?’ she observed.

‘Eh?’ How could she possibly know about him and Tara?

She asked, ‘Is Bonnie feeling any better?’

Cal blew out a long breath as he realised she wasn’t referring to Tara at all. ‘I don’t believe my daughter was as unwell as she made out.’

Mhairi gave him a knowing look. ‘She told me about Yvaine and the move to Portree.’

‘I’m sorry. When the school called, I didn’t realise she was putting it on.’

‘She probably wasn’t. Emotional distress can cause physical distress, too.’

Wasn’t that the truth , Cal thought. He remembered how ill his father had been. And Cal was feeling quite sick himself right now.

‘She’ll be OK,’ Mhairi continued. ‘She’s young, she’ll adapt. But you’re thinking you might not.’

‘Are you a mind reader?’ He managed a small smile.

‘No, I just know you. You’re worried.’

He was, and not just about Bonnie. ‘I didn’t realise the empty studio’s new tenant is living in the old boathouse. I hope you’re charging her rent.’

The comment earned him a stern look. ‘Tara McTaigh? Of course I am.’

‘What do you know about her?’

‘Not much.’ Mhairi put her pen down. ‘She’s thirty or thereabouts, getting a divorce and selling her house in Edinburgh, and she makes the most exquisite doll’s houses and will be a good addition to the craft centre. Did you go say hello?’

Divorce? His heart went out to her. ‘I did,’ he said grimly.

‘Oh, Cal, I hope you didn’t scare her. You can be rather dour, you know.’

Calan debated whether to keep it to himself that he knew Tara from years ago but decided against it. It would come out sooner or later, and if he didn’t mention it now, Mhairi would wonder why he hadn’t said anything.

‘I didn’t scare her,’ he protested. ‘Actually, I know her from uni.’

Mhairi’s eyebrows rose. ‘If that’s true, why did you ask me what I know about her? Is there something I should be aware of? She is legitimate, isn’t she?’ The old lady’s expression became worried.

‘Nothing like that,’ he hastened to assure her. ‘We had a thing.’

‘A thing?’

‘Yeah, we dated.’

Mairi studied him silently.

‘For a while,’ he added.

‘How long is a while?’

‘A year. My last year in uni, her second.’

‘Was it serious?’

‘We were little more than kids.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘I thought it was.’

‘Oh, Cal, I’m sorry. If I had known… Did she break your heart?’

‘I broke it myself when I ended it.’

‘Why, if you don’t mind me asking?’

Cal gave her the sanitised version, the one he had given Tara at the time. ‘She was too young and had another year in uni to go. I’d just been offered a good job and my parents thought I was too young to settle down.’ He snorted at the irony. Just seven months later he was married to Yvaine and was about to become a father. And all because he’d stupidly wanted to ease the pain of losing Tara.

Mhairi knew all about his marriage and his subsequent divorce. She could also do the maths. ‘You don’t get over a broken heart that quickly.’ Her expression and her voice were full of sympathy and understanding.

‘No, you don’t,’ he agreed. The problem was, he didn’t think ten years was long enough to get over a broken heart either, even if it was self-inflicted.

Calan had a suspicion he might never get over it.

And an even worse suspicion that he might still be in love with her.