Chapter 26
twenty-six
CLAIRE
‘Urgh,’ I groaned, rolling over and finding Owen’s side of the bed empty.
Our impromptu sleepover had kept us up far later than planned. Hitting my phone, I spotted eleven forty-five on the screen.
Good god.
I’d slept half of the day away.
Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I sent Owen a flirty text.
OWEN: Behave you. I’ve got another tour, then I’ll come back and make you some lunch.
ME: Can I use your bath?
OWEN: You don’t need to ask. Towels are in the linen closet. There are toiletries on the windowsill, but plenty of others in the cupboard under the sink if you need anything else.
ME: You’re actually amazing. If I didn’t fancy the pants off of you already, I’d be falling for you big time.
Competency was so fucking hot.
I’d stumbled into the right barn that night, for sure.
After thirty minutes soaking in the massive tub, with an obscene amount of bubbles, I towelled myself off and dressed. Owen had offered to make lunch, but I could whip something up and surprise him.
I took the stairs two at a time, practically floating on air. Rounding the corner and nearly colliding with Jim.
Jim stood half-collapsed in the doorway between the hall and the sitting room, one hand fisted against his shirt, and the other tight on the doorframe.
‘Jim?’ I dashed over and looped a hand around his waist. ‘Jim, can you hear me?’
‘Just… winded,’ he lied. An ashen hue clung to his face, and his lips were bluer than they should be.
I manhandled my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over the nine key.
‘Don’t,’ Jim’s voice cracked. Indecision warred in me, Jim heavy against my side. I hit redial instead; Owen’s name flashed up on the screen.
‘Claire?’ he answered on the first ring, breathy with work. The excited bubble of his tour group in the background. ‘You all right?’
‘It’s your dad,’ I said. ‘He’s not well. I think it’s his chest.’
‘I’m fine,’ Jim argued, before bursting into a rattling cough.
‘On my way. Stay with him. I’m bringing Isla.’
I set the phone on speaker and helped Jim to the armchair, positioning a cushion behind him to keep him upright. ‘Breathe with me, Jim. In and out. Nice and slow. There’s not a hope in hell I’m letting you stop on my watch.’
Not when I want your son to love me forever.
Calm down, Claire. It’s too soon for love, and you have bigger issues.
‘Don’t fuss,’ he gasped, and gave a pained smile that was convincing no one.
‘Too late. You wait until your kids get here—you’ll be wishing for my level of fuss.’
His breaths remained shallow, worrying scraps, and I stayed crouched beside him.
‘You’re good… for Owen…’ Jim wheezed.
‘Shh, save your breath.’
He squeezed my hands, his eyes moistening. ‘I need you to know that I approve. You make…him…happy.’
‘Mr Harris, I promise you can tell me all of this later.’ If I weren’t concerned that he might keel over, I’d have been squirming with glee at the approval.
The front door banged open. Owen hit the living room in a whirl of wild hair, an expression of concern I’d never seen etched into his face. He went straight to his knees, fingers seeking Jim’s pulse.
‘Hey, Dad. It’s Owen. We’re here. What happened?’
‘I’m out of breath…not blind…Owen.’
Isla’s hands shook as she dialled her phone.
‘Mum,’ she said the second the line connected. ‘Come now. It’s Dad. No, don’t drive like a maniac. Just come.’
’Should I call the ambulance?’ I asked Owen, reassured by having him by my side.
‘Don’t you… dare. Call Doctor…Fraser.’ Jim gripped Owen’s wrist and set him with a dad glare.
‘I’ve got it,’ Isla said, tapping through her phone. ‘Dad’s had a funny turn, he wants Dr Fraser to come. No, he’s refusing an ambulance. Please? Harris House. Chest pain, breathless. He’s conscious and talking.’
Owen led Jim’s breathing pace with a calm that settled me, too. ‘In… two… three. Out… two… three.’
Isla stood misty-eyed at the window, picking at her lip nervously, hardly daring to look at her father.
Jean arrived minutes later, all brash business to deflect from falling apart.
‘Mum,’ Isla said, catching her by the elbows. ‘He’s breathing. The doctor’s coming.’
Jean knelt on the other side of the chair, resting her hand over Jim’s heart. ‘Oh, love. You daft bugger. You should have let them phone an ambulance.’
Footsteps crunched the fallen leaves outside soon after. Dr Fraser, who was much younger and more attractive than I had expected, arrived, gripping a leather bag. He nodded at Owen and Jean, then took Jim’s wrist and counted. Next came the stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff.
We all waited on bated breath, and I slid my hand into Owen’s, squeezing it tightly.
‘Right, Jim,’ he said, ‘You’re all right for now, although I’m going to book you an appointment with the cardiologist just to check on everything.’
‘In Edinburgh?’ Jim coughed.
‘Yes. You’ve been running yourself too thin. You need to slow down. I mean really slow down. Like full retirement slow.’
‘I’m not going to the bloody city,’ Jim said.
Jean’s jaw clenched. ‘Yes, you bloody well will.’
Jean turned from a sweet older lady to something to fear at the drop of a hat. She wasn’t messing when it came to her husband’s health.
‘A day or two of bed rest, and he’ll be right as rain. Then no lifting. No working. Short, easy walks only. If you experience pain again that’s worse or lasts longer, call 999. Understood?’ Doctor Fraser stood, and Jim at least had the gall to look somewhat kowtowed.
Jim gave the slightest nod. ‘Understood.’
Jean followed the doctor outside, whispering to him.
Grabbing one of the tartan blankets from the basket, I settled it over Jim’s knee, while Owen fetched him a cup of tea, the universal fix for everything.
His colour flushed back into his face as the minutes passed.
When his eyes fluttered closed, I lifted the tea mug from his hands.
Jean sat beside him and patted his hand while Isla went to get her car to give them a lift home.
‘Keep him out of the distillery, Owen. For real this time.’
Owen nodded once. ‘Aye, I will.’
‘I’ll get printing some banned posters to put up,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood.
Neither laughed, but Jean reached out and squeezed my hand.
Later, I found Owen by the back step, his hands braced on the doorframe like he was using the house’s weight to keep him grounded. Dusk settled down around the distillery, and I stepped forward to wrap my arms around his waist, cuddling him in from behind.
‘I’ve known for a while that Dad had to step all the way back, but I wasn’t ready to face the weight of the distillery fully on my shoulders.’ His words were heavy. ‘Tours. Accounts. Repairs. Staff. The bloody salesmen. Our name. If I drop any of it—’
His breath stuttered, like his life had splintered through it. ‘I don’t want to fail him. All of them.’
I slid a hand up to his chest, feeling the way his heart thumped. ‘Maybe…it doesn’t all have to be on your shoulders.’
He huffed out a sound that was half-laugh and half-sob. ‘It’s is all on me. Isla does so much, but if it fails, I fail.’
‘We’re not living in the nineteen hundreds.’ I turned him around and placed my hands on either side of his face. ‘And Isla is fucking amazing. Split it down the middle. Let her share the weight. She loves the business. And she loves you.’
His green eyes softened as he looked down at me. ‘Dad wants me to be like him.’
‘Look at your dad. Has he ever taken a day off? It’s like whisky flows through his veins. I’ve been there, well, less whisky and more calming client-based storms. But drowning in the heaviness of it all. It’s okay to share the load, Owen. It’s more than okay. It’s how we survive. How to thrive.’
Owen exhaled and set his hands over mine. A hundred arguments queued behind those deep eyes, and I saw the moment he discarded them.
‘I’ll ask her,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
‘Good boy.’
A flicker of laughter made his eyes glint.
‘We’ll keep him out of the distillery, and then figure the rest.’
‘Together.’ I grazed my lips over his.