Chapter 3
3
Keyanna
I hadn’t necessarily expected a warm welcome when I met my grandmother for the first time, but I can admit that I definitely hadn’t anticipated outright hostility. The look in Rhonda MacKay’s eyes is cold, the bright emerald color throwing me off guard, given that it’s the exact same shade as mine, as my dad’s, even.
“I know I probably should have reached out before coming—”
Rhona shakes her head, cutting me off as she holds up her hand to stop me. “Aye, you should have, because I’d have saved you the trip.”
Frustration bubbles up in my chest, and I can feel a warm flood of anger creeping under my skin. Surely she can sympathize that I came a long fucking way to be here. And we are family, after all.
“Look, I know that you and my dad parted on bad terms, but that has nothing to do with me,” I point out.
“You’re right,” Rhona says. “It has nothing to do with you, but still you came.”
Anger gives way to rejection, maybe even something that slightly resembles hurt, because with Dad gone, I have no one else. Maybe that’s why I reach for her hand.
“Rhona,” I stress. “Don’t you…” I swallow, a thick lump in my throat. “Don’t you want to know me at all?”
Her eyes soften, her mouth dipping into a frown as she studies me. I watch her gaze dart down to my hand that’s clutching hers, and for a moment I think that maybe she’ll jerk it out of my grip, but to my surprise, she just sighs.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t want to know you, but…” She glances up at me, and I notice the weariness in her eyes now, the shimmer of sadness that I know all too well. Her thumb moves minutely to brush against the back of my hand, pausing before it gets too far, as if she forces herself to stop. Her eyes find mine again, holding them as she studies my face. “You look so much like him,” she murmurs. “Your da leaving left scars, hen. This auld girl has a hard time forgiving, and I see him when I look at you. I cannot promise that you’ll find what you’re looking for here.”
“I get it,” I tell her, fully aware that my pant legs are beginning to soak through from the splashing of rain hitting the ground all around us, but I’m standing firm all the same. “I really do, and I can appreciate how much of a shock this must be, but I…” I’m acutely aware of the lumbering presence still looming beside me, Lachlan’s towering form making my heartfelt confession even harder to get out, but I refuse to be embarrassed. “I don’t have anyone else, Rhona. I just…I want to know the parts of my dad that he kept from me. I want to know you , if you’ll let me.”
Rhona stares at me as if considering, and I think to myself that we must make a ridiculous picture—me and two strangers hovering outside a small covered porch while rain beats down all around us. I hold my breath as I watch her expression change, sensing she’s come to a decision, and I tell myself that no matter what she decides, I can live with the outcome. That no matter what, I can say that I tried my best.
“All right, then,” Rhona says with a weary tone. “You can stay.” She pulls her hand from my grip, pointing a finger at me. “But you’ll not laze about. You want to stay at the MacKay farm, you’ll pull your weight.”
“I can do that,” I promise, knowing full well I don’t know the first thing about helping around a farm. The closest I’ve ever come to farm life is a petting zoo Dad took me to two decades ago, but I can wing it, I tell myself. “I’ll do whatever I need to do.”
“Well, come in, then,” she sighs, pulling back finally and opening the door wider to invite me in. “Get out of the rain.” She turns her attention to Lachlan. “You coming?”
I finally let myself look at him, turning my head to find him already studying me. His crystalline eyes give no insight to his thoughts, but the slight furrow in his brow makes me think he isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of me staying. Not that I care. I’m not thrilled to be apparently living at the same place as the hot asshole that shooed me off his property.
“I have to meet Hamish at Leo’s garage,” he tells her.
Her brow lifts. “Your car having troubles?”
“Not mine,” he answers, smirking in my direction.
My jaw clenches. “You don’t have to do anything. I can handle it.”
“Oh?” He sets my bag on the porch and crosses his arms, and I can’t help but notice the way it stretches his thin sweater under his jacket, making his already-broad chest seem wider. I don’t let myself linger on this. “Were you going to go after it on foot, then?”
I scowl. “It’s an option.”
“This would be the part where one might say thank you .”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” I huff.
He rolls his eyes, shooting Rhona a look. “She’s definitely yours.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Rhona says with an innocent smile.
Lachlan shakes his head, shooting me one last look before he darts back into the rain toward his older Rover. He’s tucked inside and backing down the drive in a matter of seconds, and Rhona’s impatient tone pulls me out of watching him go.
“Come on, then,” she says. “Get inside.”
I scrabble for the bag Lachlan dropped and carry my things inside after her, pausing in the entryway to take in my surroundings with mild shock. The space just inside the door spills into a much larger one that seems to be the living room—heavy leather furniture centered around a weathered-looking wood stove that is tucked inside an alcove set in a wall of floor-to-ceiling sandstone that gives me the feeling of going back in time.
“Wow,” I murmur.
Rhona points at my shoes. “You can leave those at the door. I just mopped this morning, and I don’t want you clodding through the house with your muddy bits.”
“Right,” I stammer, already toeing out of my shoes. “Of course.”
“There’s room for you upstairs,” she tells me. “Put your things in the second bedroom from the right, and then come back down here so I can introduce you to everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Aye,” she says. “They’re playing cards in the sunroom.”
“And they are…?”
“Well, I suppose he would be your…grandpa,” she says, struggling a bit with the last word, as if taking herself by surprise. It’s good to know I’m not the only one feeling awkward. “And then there’s his nephew, Brodie. He’s staying with us for the moment. You’ve already met Lachlan, so I can spare you that, at least.”
“Um, yeah…he lives here?”
“Not here ,” Rhona corrects. “He’s in the guest cottage out back. Just a short walk down the path.”
“Am I related to him too?”
Rhona actually snorts with her laugh, but I can’t say what’s so funny. “Certainly not,” she huffs. “He works here. Does the odd job, takes care of the cows, things like—”
“There are cows?”
“Of course there are cows,” she says with bewilderment, as if it’s a ridiculous question. “What do you think we’re raising here?”
“Well, I’ve become well acquainted with the sheep population today.”
“Ah, right. Lachlan did mention Hamish. Well, there aren’t any sheep on the MacKay farm, but we do have a couple of pigs. They’re pets, though, mainly. Finlay would be beside himself if we ate them.”
“Finlay?”
“My husband,” she says. “Your…grandpa.”
I can tell that she’s really going to struggle with that one. Hell, until this moment, I really hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of more family outside of Rhona and Finlay. Logically, I knew there most likely would be, but I’ve been so wrapped up with getting here, so nervous about this bonkers plan of mine, that I hadn’t actually taken the time to consider it fully.
“We don’t have to do the whole grandma and grandpa thing,” I assure her. “I realize how weird this must be.”
She eyes me thoughtfully, her lips pressing together in a frown, finally turning as if I haven’t said anything as she tosses over her shoulder, “Second bedroom to the right, mind you. Then you can meet them.”
I watch her disappear down a long hallway toward a painted red door that creaks when she opens it, taking that as instruction on where to go next after I’ve dropped off my bags. I eye the narrow staircase in front of me, which is covered in a thin, aged carpet, blowing out a breath as I heave my larger bag up onto my shoulder and steel myself for what will probably be the most awkward family reunion ever. If I can even call it that. There hasn’t exactly been any union to re-, really.
This is what you wanted , I remind myself . You’re here. That’s half the battle.
I repeat that mantra in my head with every step up the old stairs.
There are voices that carry into the house as I approach the door I saw Rhona disappear through before I went to put my bags away—a deep rumble that follows a sharp bark of laughter as commotion ensues. I linger outside the door for a moment as I listen to the muffled voices on the other side, trying to calm the nerves in my belly as I realize I’m most likely going to be subjected to the same cold welcome that Rhona gave me all over again.
I take a deep breath and let it out, reaching for the handle and straightening my spine. I refuse to let these people get to me. I’m going to go in there with my head held high, because I have done nothing wrong.
Right. Yes. That’s what I’m going to do.
I turn the knob and step through the door, immediately hit with a loud shout of, “Gin!”
There is an older man with thinning gray hair looking pleased with himself as he gestures to a row of cards in front of him, practically bouncing in his wicker chair as he taps a finger on the glass top of the table. Another man on the other side who looks closer to my age, if not a little older, frowns at his own cards, his pale complexion turning pink as he runs a hand through his strawberry blond hair.
“You cheated, Finn, I swear it.”
The old man shakes his head. “Och, don’t be a sore loser, Brodie. I did no such thing.”
“S’not possible to win every hand,” the other man—Brodie—grumbles.
The older man—Finn—shrugs as he begins picking up the cards. “Seems I can.”
Rhona is sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, working a pair of knitting needles, and she clears her throat, drawing the attention of the two men as they both finally notice me, their eyes landing on me at the same time.
Brodie’s mouth tilts into a frown, but Finn’s lips part as his eyes go wide, his hand coming up to press his palm to his chest. “Losh! Would you look at that?” He turns to Rhona, waving a hand in my direction. “She looks just like you did when we met, Rhonnie.”
Rhona doesn’t confirm this, just purses her lips and continues working her needles. Finn pushes up from his wicker chair with a grunt, shuffling over to me as fast as his short legs can carry him. He’s shorter than me by a good four inches or so, but his shoulders are wide and his chest is barreled, giving the impression that, despite his height, he was once an imposing man.
“Michty me,” he murmurs, reaching up to cup my chin. “Haven’t seen you since you were not but a wean. Didn’t we, Rhonnie? Not since Duncan’s last letter.”
I can’t help the question that tumbles out of my mouth. “He sent letters?”
“Aye, for a bit,” Finn says softly. “Until he realized he wouldn’t get an answer out of these auld fools.”
His voice drips with regret, and his expression looks pained as he stares at my face.
“You’ve grown into a bonnie thing, haven’t you?” he says. “So tall! Must get that from your mother. Certainly didn’t get that from us.”
“My dad was tall,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush under Finn’s scrutiny.
“Aye,” Finn chuckles. “Used to tease my Rhonnie that she must have had a tryst with one of the giants from town.”
“That’s enough, Finlay,” Rhona chides him from the corner. “Don’t overwhelm the girl.”
“Aye, aye.” Finn steps back, pulling his hand away from my face, but his eyes never stop taking me in. “Forgive me, lass. It’s like seeing my Duncan come back to me.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “For barging in on you all like this. I know I should have called first, but I thought—”
Finn waves me off. “Nonsense. Enough of that. You’re family. We’re happy to have you. Aren’t we, Rhonnie?”
Rhona doesn’t look as enthused about Finn’s sentiment as he does, quietly watching this exchange take place without saying anything.
“I appreciate that, Finlay,” I tell him. “Or Finn? I don’t know what you’d prefer.”
“Wheesht with that now,” he scoffs. “You’ll call me Grandpa or nothing at all, girl.”
“Oh, I…” My eyes dart from his to Rhona’s, but she gives me nothing except a cocked brow and a cool expression. “Sure. Grandpa. I can do that.”
“Och,” he rumbles, his voice sounding rougher. “I dinnae ken this day would ever come.”
His accent thickens with the emotion in his tone, and when he opens his arms and approaches me, I can’t find it in me to refuse him. I let him embrace me, and the comforting warmth he emanates is admittedly welcome, familiar even. It’s enough to make my chest feel tight.
“Aye, but I’m keeping you all to myself,” Grandpa says, sniffling slightly as he pulls back. “You’ve met your granny, but this”—he turns to gesture to the man still hunched in one of the wicker chairs, eyeing me curiously—“is your cousin Brodie. He’s not much aulder than you would be, I think?”
Brodie’s mouth tightens and relaxes so quickly I wonder if I imagined it altogether, and then he’s pushing up from his chair and closing the distance between us to offer me his hand. “Welcome,” he says. “Nice to make your acquaintance. Sorry, Rhona didn’t give your name.”
“Keyanna,” I tell him. “But everyone calls me Key.”
“Oh, Rhona’s great-granny was named Keyanna,” Grandpa blubbers, fully crying now. He gestures to his wet eyes. “Forgive this auld boy. Never could hold it in.”
“It’s fine,” I say, feeling awkward as I shuffle from one foot to the other.
Brodie shoves his hands into his pockets. “So how long do we have you, Key? A nice long visit?”
“I…” I glance at Rhona, who might as well be Fort Knox, with what she’s giving me. I clear my throat. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to be in the way.”
“Nonsense,” Grandpa scoffs, wiping his eyes. “You’ll stay as long as you want. It’s so good to have you, isn’t that right, Rhonnie?”
Rhona seems to realize she’s expected to answer this time, pausing her knitting to give a clipped nod. “Of course.”
Yeah, right , I think.
“Can’t show you much of the place in this weather,” Finn sighs, “but I can show you around the house, aye?”
“That would be great,” I tell him. “But…Sorry. Is there any way I could call the shop Hamish took my car to? Do you have the number? I was hoping to try and find a store where I could grab a few things that I forgot.” Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I sort of left in a hurry.”
“Leo doesn’t have a phone,” Grandpa says. “Thinks someone could track him with it. Maybe Brodie could take you by?”
“Lachlan went to check on it,” Rhona tells him.
“Ah, well,” Grandpa answers with a clap of his hands. “That’s settled, then, isn’t it? Oh, but you needed a shop, aye?”
“I can take her,” Brodie says. “We can check in on the car too.”
I fidget. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, aye,” Brodie says with a laugh. “We’re family, after all.”
Grandpa makes a disgruntled noise. “But what about supper? Rhonnie makes a mean shepherd’s pie.”
I glance at the woman in question, noticing that she doesn’t even look up from her knitting. There might as well be frost hanging off her needles, with the icy demeanor emanating from her.
“That’s okay,” I tell him. I pat my belly. “My stomach is still a little upset from the long plane ride.”
Maybe that’s not quite the truth, but I can sense Rhona is going to need a bit more time to get used to the idea of me being here.
“Do you need something for it? We’ve got medicines around here somewhere—oh! Maybe we could get you a warm water bottle. When I was a lad, that always—”
“Leave her be, Finlay,” Rhona tuts. “Don’t bombard the poor girl with too much at once. She’s just arrived.”
Finlay looks from Rhona to me, his expression sheepish. “Sorry, hen. Got a wee bit excited is all.”
“No, no,” I assure him. “It’s fine. Really. I’d love a rain check, maybe? Breakfast tomorrow?”
His entire face lights up, and I can see a bit of my dad in his features. It makes my chest feel tight. “Aye, breakfast. That we can do.” He reaches to squeeze my shoulder. “Your granny and I turn in pretty early,” Grandpa tells me, “so if we’re asleep when you get home, I’ll expect you for the tour right after breakfast in the morning, aye?”
“That sounds great,” I tell him, still feeling slightly overwhelmed.
“Good lass,” he says with a grin. He pats my shoulder, squeezing it again for a long moment. “It really is so good to have you, love.”
I force a smile. “Thank you.”
He wipes his eyes again as he turns to cross the room to where Rhona is sitting, leaning into her space to murmur in her ear. I feel Brodie’s hand on my elbow then, turning to give him my attention. He’s about my height and just as stocky as Finn, his smile friendly and his eyes a soft hazel that makes him appear kind.
“Come on, then, cousin,” he chuckles. “We’ll get your things, and maybe we’ll stop at the pub, aye? I expect after today, you’ll be needing a pint or two.”
I blow out a breath, flashing Brodie a more authentic smile as the tension in my shoulders bleeds out. “Or two.”
“I’ve got just the place,” he tells me, patting my arm before turning toward the door.
Rhona is still eyeing me warily as I follow after him, but I tell myself not to be too bothered by it. She’ll warm up to me eventually. Probably.
I could definitely use that drink.
“So,” Brodie says after a long, stilted silence of driving away from the farm. “This must be pretty overwhelming.”
I scoff lightly. “Which part? My dad dying? Or my grandma hating me?”
“Both, I imagine,” he says with a chuckle. He glances at me with a sympathetic expression. “Although I am sorry to hear about your da.”
“Did you know him?”
He nods. “When I was a lad. My mum and dad came down for a spell during the summers when I was younger to visit with Finn and Rhona. He was always kind to me.” He chuckles. “And his stories were good.”
“His stories?”
“Well, yeah. Most people know about Duncan’s tussle with the loch monster.”
“They do?”
Brodie lets out another soft laugh. “From what I’ve been told, he didn’t really try too hard to keep it a secret.”
“Oh.” I avert my gaze to my hands, which are clasped in my lap. “He used to tell me that story all the time.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I…don’t know.” When I look up, I notice Brodie’s full attention is on me, seeming actually curious. “I think I used to when I was little. But as I got aulder, well…I mean, it’s sort of impossible, right?”
His eyes linger on the side of my face for another moment, finally flicking back to the road, where his car is creeping along. “Aye, probably. Who knows, though. Living here…you hear all sorts of stories.”
“Rhona said you were staying with them,” I point out, trying to make conversation. “Did you grow up in Greerloch?”
He shakes his head. “Inverness. My mum and dad are still there.”
“So are you just visiting, then?”
His lips quirk as if I’ve said something funny. “Something like that.”
“Not cryptic at all,” I chuckle.
His fingers drum on the steering wheel, his brow furrowing as he considers. “I’m on a bit of a…sabbatical from my job. Needed some time away.”
“Where do you work?”
“The Inverness Historical Society.”
“Wow. That actually sounds really cool.”
He shrugs. “It can be, sure. There’s a lot of paperwork and red tape at times.”
“I guess I could see that,” I say, bobbing my head. “Is that why you’re taking a break?”
“Something like that.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that your catchphrase or something?”
“Maybe,” he laughs, shrugging again. “I just needed some time away from it all. My family is…” His mouth turns down in a frown. “Let’s just say they’ve never been quite thrilled with my choice of career.”
“What? Why?”
“My da owns a fishing business,” he tells me. “One of the largest on the coast. When my brothers were auld enough—”
“You have brothers?”
He nods. “Two. Both good, dutiful sons following in my da’s footsteps.”
“Ah.” I’m starting to get a picture here. “That’s tough.”
“My da is a hard man. He expects obedience and loyalty above all else. In his eyes…I haven’t been very good at either.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, meaning it. I can’t imagine not growing up with the support I did. “For what it’s worth, I think your job sounds really cool.”
His lips turn up in a grin. “Appreciate that.”
There’s another lingering silence that only just begins to feel awkward, and I can’t pretend the questions aren’t bubbling up inside me.
“Okay, but have you ever found any cool stuff? Old family scandals or something?”
“And what sort of scandals would I be finding, pray tell?”
“I don’t know! Do you have some sort of secret proof lying around that the Loch Ness Monster actually exists? Like…are you the Scottish equivalent of the FBI guys covering up Area 51?”
A laugh spills out of him. “You have a wild imagination, cousin.”
“Sounds pretty evasive, if you ask me,” I answer slyly.
“I’ve found some interesting things,” he admits. “Nothing so fantastic as that, unfortunately.”
“Bummer.”
“Aye, it is.”
With every lull in the conversation, the nerves creep back in, the gravity of this day weighing down on me like a tangible thing. I twist my hands in my lap, biting my lip to try and stop the question that’s rolling around inside, but it’s useless really. I can’t help myself.
“Do you think Rhona hates me?”
Brodie lets out a sigh, seeming to consider the question. “Rhona is…She can be hard sometimes. Even when I was a lad, she was always sort of…stern. My mum used to say she just missed her boy. I imagine it’s hard seeing you after she lost him.” He nods to himself. “But I don’t think she hates you. I just think she’s coming to terms with things.”
“That’s…good? I can live with that. Hopefully.”
“You’ll be all right, mate,” Brodie assures me. He flashes me a smile. “Even better after that drink, aye?”
I laugh despite the uneasiness still lingering in my stomach. “Yeah. Definitely.”
I do let the silence linger then, contenting myself with staring out the window as we creep across the green countryside toward town. I roll Brodie’s words around in my head, weighing them, hoping that he’s right.
Especially since the alternative is that one of the only real connections I have left to my dad might always hate my guts.