Chapter 6
WESTON
“Good morning,” I called, lifting my hand to greet Callum, the groundskeeper—a gruff, no-nonsense, no-chit-chat kind of man. He was shorter than me by about a head, with a broad, stocky build, and wore a tweed flat cap over his curling red hair.
Milo bounded ahead to greet Callum, tongue lolling, clearly having the most perfect day of his entire life, same as every day.
“Mornin’,” Callum responded, hardly raising his eyes from the water trough he was refilling for the Highland cattle.
“Bit chilly, eh?”
“Not once that sun comes up over the ridge,” he said, raising his hand to the hills. “Then you’ll be sweating like a sheep on shearing day.” He turned to take me in, one bushy red eyebrow arching in question.
I’d dressed for a day of surveying the estate in the moody morning mist: rugged field trousers, a dark brown waxed jacket and sturdy hiking boots.
Honestly, it felt like I was about to go bagging a Munro.
But it had been a long time since I’d been outdoors like this.
Too long, in fact. My still-clean boots said as much, and I knew Callum had noticed.
“How’re the cattle keeping?” I asked.
“They’re out grazing.”
“Oh, already?”
“Don’t wait around for board meetings to end, now do they?” He inclined his head toward the barn and set off without a word, Milo trotting at his heels, tail wagging. As Callum surged ahead, I got the distinct impression the laconic Scot didn’t think much of me.
Inside the barn, I was overwhelmed by the smell of damp straw and the pungent earthiness of the cattle.
But beyond that, the air was fragrant with something that stirred my memory.
It was the softly sweet, almost herbal scent of the heather that filled the hills.
It always reminded me of the specialty teas Gran used to steep for herself at the end of the night, when all of the staff had finished for the evening.
“Cattle are here in the big shed,” Callum said. “Hasn’t changed much since you were last here. The little shed is where the sheep are.”
“Grandad said it took some damage in the last big storm you guys had?”
Callum nodded. “He refitted the entire thing. It’d take an act of God to take the roof now.”
He carried on through the building, and I followed closely, coming out the other side.
My breath caught as I got my first real view of the property after years.
I’d missed those misty glens and the knee-high thistles that grew in bunches along the fenceline.
Missed being outside without a coffee shop or even a hint of traffic in sight.
I could be at the top of the tallest building in Houston, and the view would pale in comparison to this. The Highlands were truly magical.
“Here’s the lay of it,” Callum said, pointing across the property. “Sheep are over that ridge. The cattle prefer that pasture there in the summer. That field over there floods if you look at it wrong.”
I laughed a bit, catching Callum’s eye. “When Grandad still ran his Highland Adventure Camp,” I started to explain, “if we ended up with a particularly rainy week, all the boys were down there in our wellies, throwing mud pies at each other.”
Callum regarded me with an unreadable expression. “You planning to stay long?”
“Was only going to stay long enough for the funeral and to settle the will. Now it looks like I’ve gotten roped into helping with the summer festival.”
Callum grunted, entirely unimpressed. He set off again. “Well, keep up. This isn’t one of your golf courses.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his jabs. As we walked, Callum pointed out the west pasture, where the cattle and sheep were rotated in the autumn, the feed sheds, the upper fields, and the greenhouse which mostly grew veg for the kitchen.
“Is the old trail still through there leading down to the coast?” I asked, hoping to take a look to make sure it was accessible before I got the surveyors out here for the wind farm.
“Aye, that’s it,” Callum said, pointing out the signpost. “It’s not used very often, so it’ll be overgrown. I’ll get the scythe out of the shed and take care of it. Otherwise, you’ll have no hope of getting past the bloody brambles. Thistles’ll be a pain in the arse too.”
“Got a second scythe?” I asked.
His eyebrows hit his hairline. “For what?”
“It’ll go faster with both of us, won’t it?”
His eyes dropped to my boots again, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. Lazy, big-city billionaire. What the hell did I know about manual labor?
“Hate for you to ruin those boots stepping in shite and boggy water,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m not concerned about my boots,” I insisted. “I’ll give you a hand.”
Callum shook his head, staring at me like I’d lost the plot. “This isn’t one of your executive office suites,” he muttered. “The trail will be rough. Wouldn’t want you to trip and hurt yourself.”
I scowled at him, irritation pulsing in my temple. “I assure you, I’ll be fine.”
Callum grunted. “I don’t have time to babysit soft hands.”
I gritted my teeth, biting down on my frustration.
I was more than capable of clearing a trail.
Besides, I wanted to do right by the property that meant so much to Grandad.
He was the one I’d always been able to count on.
The adult I trusted when I couldn’t rely on my parents after their divorce.
I wanted to be worthy of the land he’d left me.
I wanted to prove I could take care of it.
“I’m not going to debate this with you. I’ll come give you a hand. ”
“Suit yourself,” he said, gesturing to the house. “Why don’t you stop by the kitchen and fuel up while I get the tools? It’s a big job. Agnes’ll never let me hear the end of it if I have to drag you back here, half-dead from exhaustion.”
“Fine,” I muttered, stalking off inside as Milo trotted after Callum, as merry as could be.
I pushed through a side door, still pulsing with annoyance. The narrow hallway led into the back of the kitchen. I slipped off my boots so Agnes didn’t get on my case for tracking in mud, pausing as I heard dishes rattle.
“Agnes?” I called, coming around the corner, assuming the woman was faffing around with breakfast. Instead, I found Lena. “You’re awake?”
She stared at me, blinked, cocked her head to the side, then blinked again, like she was seeing me for the very first time in her life.
“Why do you look surprised?” I asked, walking over to the counter and slipping off my waxed jacket, leaving me in my fitted thermal, grimacing at the way it stuck to my skin, already damp with sweat from the walk around the property.
“It’s nothing,” she said, the tops of her cheeks pinking as her gaze slid over me where my shirt was clinging, dropping briefly to my dark green trousers.
“You startled me. I didn’t expect you to appear from around the corner.
Are there, like, secret passages hidden behind the bookshelves?
Is this really a dishwasher or a tunnel to the dungeons? ”
“If there are secret passages, I certainly haven’t found any. And not for lack of trying.”
She shook her head, moving through the kitchen like she’d been doing it all her life. “Agnes made up some breakfast for you. She left it in that pan on the stovetop and said if you didn’t eat it, she’d give you nothing but black pudding for the next week.”
I wrinkled my nose. I hated the stuff. “Have you been getting an education in making a Scottish fry-up?”
Lena hummed as she pulled two mugs out of the cupboard. The ones with the thistle pattern Grandad had always favored. My chest clenched. “She told me you like a good tattie scone for breakfast when you’re here.”
“Can’t beat them. That or a sausage butty in the morning.
” I picked one of the fluffy potato cakes and a slice of bacon from the pan and took a bite as I climbed onto a stool at the island and shoved my sleeves up.
“I really didn’t expect you to already run on Highland time. At least not this soon.”
Lena’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she looked at me again. For a moment, the redness in her cheeks darkened. Then she glanced away. “I always get to the office an hour ahead of you. Early mornings are nothing new for me.”
“We’ll see how you fare later with the jetlag. I bet you’ll be crashing out before dinner.”
She avoided looking at me as she hummed in response.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she insisted, shoving a mug of coffee across the counter. “Here.”
It was fixed just how I liked it. One sugar and a splash of milk.
She’d handed me my morning coffee more times than I could count over the years, but something about her handing me that mug, from the pair Gran had bought for Grandad during one of their trips to the Isle of Skye, felt strangely intimate. “Thanks.”
My eyes flicked over her, my thoughts spinning as an unfamiliar sensation shot through me. The closeness felt odd. Scotland with Lena felt…odd. I’d spent almost every day with this woman for years, but as I blinked at her now, she seemed like a different person.
Maybe that was just because she was standing there in jeans and a sweater instead of the business casual attire I was used to.
Or maybe I was just overwhelmed with memories, here in this place that made me feel vulnerable in ways Houston never could.
Whatever the reason, it wasn’t a bad feeling. Different. New. But oddly…nice.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked.
“Your hair.”
She touched the back of her head. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” I assured her. It was pulled back, though not in the same way she usually wore it for work.
There were a few loose, curling strands that hung down by her cheeks.
She frowned at me, and I took a long sip of my coffee to mask the awkwardness that suddenly crept across the room.
The sweetened coffee hit my tongue, and I groaned.
“God, this is excellent brew. Thank you, again.”