Chapter 5
5
Keyanna
Rhona and my grandpa were asleep by the time Brodie and I got back from the pub, and I can’t be sure if I was disappointed or grateful for it. Rhona has made it no secret how she feels about me being here, and even with Finlay’s bright enthusiasm—it’s hard not to let that get to me.
I spent a fitful night tossing and turning in the room Rhona set me up in; the bed there has to be older than I am, if not more, and by the time I wake up the next morning to the smell of bacon and coffee, I feel like my back has just as many lumps in it as the mattress. Fitting, really, considering how bumpy a start I’ve had here.
I crawl out of bed and stretch to try and get the crick out of my neck, tucking my feet into my wool slippers with little mushrooms smattered across them as I reach for my robe. The aroma of cooking food is enticing, and it’s enough to give me strength to weather whatever might be waiting for me downstairs. If nothing else, at least Finlay can act as a buffer, since he seems to actually like the fact that I’m here.
I find my three other temporary housemates puttering around in the kitchen downstairs—Rhona at the oven and Finlay squinting at a newspaper while Brodie sips at a mug of what smells like very strong coffee on the opposite side of the table. They both look up when they see me, Brodie giving me a tired-looking nod and Finlay offering up a wide smile.
“Morning,” he calls brightly, folding the newspaper and setting it on the table. “Och, you look right tired, love. Did you sleep well?”
I don’t want to be the one to tell them that their guest mattress is long past its day and due for a good burn, so I force a smile instead. “I slept fine. I think it’s just the time change. Jet lag, you know.”
“Oh, aye, that makes sense.” He nods. “What time would it be in New York?”
I glance at the clock on the wall, which reads just after eight. “Three in the morning.”
“That’ll do it,” Finlay chuckles. He pats the seat next to him. “Come, come. Sit.”
I settle into the chair next to him, running my fingers through my wild curls to try and push them out of my eyes. “It smells good in here.”
“That’ll be your granny,” Finlay says. “Best cook in all of Scotland.”
Rhona makes a tutting sound from the oven without even looking our way. “Flattery will not get you more bacon,” she hmphs. “You know what the doctor said.”
“That man is full of shite,” Finlay scoffs. He thumps his chest. “I’m healthy as an ox.”
Rhona turns then with a steaming plate, setting it in front of her husband. “Stubborn as one too.” She finally takes the time to look at me then, her eyes cool as her mouth thins. “You hungry?”
“I—” The iciness of her stare threatens to make me buckle, and I have to force myself a little straighter to answer her, determined not to let her standoffishness deter me. “Yeah, I am. Please.”
Rhona nods once, turning back to the oven. “Any particular way you want your eggs?”
“Whatever you’re doing for everyone else is fine,” I tell her. “Do you need any help?”
She glances at me over her shoulder with slightly narrowed eyes. “You don’t think I know my way around my own kitchen?”
“No,” I say immediately. “I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, hush, Rhonnie,” Finlay grouses. “You know she was just being polite.”
Her eyes dart to Finlay for only a moment, and then with a small sound that sounds suspiciously like a snort, she goes back to what she was doing.
“So how did you find the pub?” Finlay reaches for the thermos at the center of the table, grabbing a mug and offering it to me. “Coffee?”
I take it, letting him pour me a cup before answering. “It was interesting. The owners are…something.”
“Oh, aye,” Finlay laughs. “The twins are a hoot. I hope they weren’t too ornery with you.”
I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I’m opening my mouth to ask about the museum they recommended, but something stops me. I glance at Brodie, remembering what the twins said about bringing him along. It seems unfair, their assessment of him, but still. I think this might be something I want to experience myself.
“My car should be ready today,” I say instead. “Leo said he would drop it off here this morning.”
“Good man,” Finlay says. “I hope Brodie didn’t let him charge you tourist prices.”
Brodie rolls his eyes, looking sluggish, as if he didn’t sleep well either. “He charged her a normal rate.”
“Good, good,” Finlay says. “Can’t have him taking advantage of my granddaughter.” He makes a face just after he says it, his lip quivering as his eyes start to shine. “Och, look at me. Sorry, hen. It’s just that I never thought I’d be able to say that. Not while you were sitting right there like you are.”
I’m gathering that Finlay is an…emotional sort. He wipes a stray tear forming at his eye, and I pat his shoulder awkwardly. “I’m really glad to be here,” I tell him.
“We’re glad to have you,” he says. He looks back at Rhona. “Aren’t we, Rhonnie?”
Rhona turns with two plates in hand, sliding one in front of Brodie and then holding the other out for me. Her face says anything but her agreement of what Finlay has said, her mouth turned down in a slight frown as her eyes rake over my disheveled state. “Little notice might have been nice.”
“Rhonnie!”
I shake my head, keeping my expression passive. “No, no, she’s right.” I’m determined to win this woman over if it kills me. “I’m really sorry about that. I guess I was just nervous. I went back and forth a hundred times over whether or not I was actually going to come.”
“You don’t have anyone waiting on you back in America?” Brodie asks as he tucks into his food.
I shake my head. “Not really. My old boss was always really kind to me, and he was very understanding while Dad was—” I swallow thickly, finding it hard to go down that road with Rhona staring at me like she is from her place across the table where she’s settled. “Anyway. My friends kind of fell to the wayside with everything. Hard to keep up with people when you’re caring for someone around the clock.”
“And you had to do it all by yourself,” Finlay says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Poor lass.”
“Might have had help if we’d known,” Rhona mutters, stabbing her fork into her eggs.
I nod, still determined to keep my cool. “I wish you had known,” I tell her, honestly meaning it. The help would have been nice. “I’m sorry that you didn’t.”
Rhona stares at me for a beat, then ducks her head to take a bite of her eggs. “S’pose it’s not your fault.”
There’s a ringing silence that hangs in the air after, one that I’m not sure how to pierce.
Thankfully, Finlay does it for me. “Now, I promised you a tour after breakfast, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I say with a grin. “I’d love to see the farm.”
“Well, eat up, my girl,” he chuckles. “Because there’s a lot of it.”
My girl. It makes my cheeks heat, but in a good way.
I don’t have to ask if Rhona will be joining our little adventure.
I don’t know if that’s a disappointment or a relief.
“—and over there is the auld barn; it’s been there since we first built on this land!” Finlay exclaims with excitement.
We’ve been walking for over an hour; I didn’t anticipate just how much there is to the MacKay farm. Rolling hills and creek beds and cow after cow after cow —which I am perfectly content to stay far away from—there almost seems to be no end to the place.
The structure he’s gesturing to is a massive barn that seems to lean a bit to the left; there is a base of stacked stones that gives way to aged lumber that has seen better days, and yeah, looking at it…I can believe it’s been there as long as he says it has.
“Now, my great-great-grandpa had to do some restoring, see,” Finlay goes on. “But the stone is original.”
“That’s really cool,” I say, meaning it.
It’s amazing to think that those same stones have been here for almost a thousand years, to hear Finlay tell it. It makes you think about what sort of place this was that long ago. The people who lived here. The history . It’s almost overwhelming, going from having only my dad for my entire life to suddenly having so much connection .
I press my hand to the weathered wood of the barn, my fingers tingling against the surface, no doubt a precursor to the goose bumps that start to pebble down my arms. It’s strange; there’s that same feeling of humming life that seems to permeate the very air around me, almost like I can feel the vibration of its current. I rub my thumb over the rusted end of a nail, feeling a sudden zap of static shock.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Finlay rushes to my side. “You all right, lass?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just static.” I gesture to my hair, which has started to frizz. “I’m used to it.”
Finlay laughs. “Your da had the same problem. Curls for days, he had.”
I watch his smile falter as he no doubt falls into some memory of my father, and I reach to squeeze his shoulder, wanting to distract him from it. He’s been so happy showing me around the place.
“Show me the inside?”
“Aye, that I can do,” he says, discreetly wiping his eye. He peeks up at the sun, which has started to climb much higher in the sky, squinting. “Should be about time to be putting out some hay soon. I imagine that—”
There is a sudden rumbling that sounds from inside the barn, a deafening series of cranking noises before an engine turns over.
“Ah,” Finlay says. “Right on time.”
My brow furrows as I wonder what he could mean, but before I have time to ask, a faded red tractor starts to putter out of the barn, a bale of hay speared on the end by some sort of attachment. None of this keeps my attention for very long, though, because sitting in the seat of that tractor is the last person I’d like to see while trying to connect with my long-lost family—especially given the fact that said person is, for whatever reason, shirtless .
I am momentarily rendered mute by glistening muscles that are bronzed from the sun—large hands covered in gloves gripping the wide steering wheel of the tractor as Lachlan maneuvers it out of the barn.
“Oi!” Finlay calls, waving his hand. “Lachlan!”
Shit, don’t call him over while I’m openly ogling him.
Too late, Lachlan turns his head to spot us just outside the barn, his worn cap casting shade over his eyes, but not enough to miss the way they narrow slightly when he sees me.
Well, fuck you too , I think, followed immediately by, Actually, don’t go there, brain.
Lachlan looks like he’d rather do anything else but turn the tractor off to chat, but Finlay, being the sunshine of a human he seems to be, is not deterred. He clods across the grass to meet Lachlan at the barn entrance, his broad smile plastered to his face.
Lachlan shuts off the tractor, taking a moment to reach above his head and remove his cap so he can wipe the sweat from his brow. The action makes his biceps bulge and his pectoral muscles pull taut, and if he hadn’t already proven himself to be a royal jerk, I might not be able to control my drooling.
We do not lust after assholes, damnit.
“Lachlan,” Finlay says when the tractor has been shut off. “Everything all right this morning?”
Lachlan’s face remains mostly expressionless as he replaces his cap on his head, and it’s almost comforting to know that it’s not just me he seems to be frosty toward.
“All right,” he answers. “Had a heifer get out over on the south pasture, but I found her wandering around the creek that way on Hamish’s land.”
“Was it Girdie? I think she’s nearly ready to drop soon. She tends to wander when it’s time.”
Lachlan shrugs. “It’s number two hundred and sixteen.”
“Aye, that be Girdie,” Finlay says with a nod. “Might want to pen her this evening. Just in case.”
“I can do that,” Lachlan answers. He glances at me, arching a brow. “Getting the lay of the land, are you?”
“Well, no one has chased me off of it yet,” I reply coolly.
I think I notice one corner of his mouth twitching, but I could be imagining it. “Tends not to happen when you don’t wander where you’re not supposed to.”
“Ass,” I mutter under my breath, trying not to notice the way his abdomen flexes when he leans over the steering wheel. “What are you doing anyway?”
“Feeding the cows,” he says.
My nose scrunches. “They eat that much every day?”
“More or less,” Finlay chuckles. “They’re big puppies, really.”
“Big puppies with massive horns,” I point out.
Lachlan’s mouth does curl then. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the cows now, are you, princess?”
“I’m not afraid,” I grumble. “And stop calling me that.”
One corner of his mouth hitches up farther. “We’ll see.”
“All right, all right,” Finlay huffs. “Enough with your flirting. There are cows to feed.”
“I was not flirting,” I say, just as Lachlan bites out the same sentiment.
Finlay just laughs. “Aye, aye, of course not. Will we see you for supper, Lachlan?”
Lachlan stiffens, eyeing my grandpa warily. I’ve noticed that he appears standoffish with my family—me included—and I can only wonder why he would choose to work here in the first place if he doesn’t care for his employers.
“Can’t,” Lachlan says in a clipped tone. “Appreciate the offer.”
Finlay shakes his head. “One of these days you’ll say yes.”
Lachlan technically says nothing, but in his silence he says plenty. I don’t think he has any plans of cozying up to my grandparents anytime soon.
My eyes wander to his chest without my consent, and I can’t pretend that the sight of glistening sweat sliding over his taut nipples doesn’t make my stomach flutter. Unfortunately, Lachlan doesn’t seem to miss me looking.
“See something you like?”
I scowl. “Not even a little.”
“Mhm.” He smirks infuriatingly, reaching for the ignition to the tractor as he glances toward Finlay. “I’ll have this wrapped up in a bit, then I’ll find Girdie and get her penned.”
“Good lad,” Finlay says with a grin.
Lachlan only nods, a short, clipped gesture before he cranks up the tractor and starts to idle away. I have to will myself not to watch his back muscles as he goes—because there are a lot of them—reminding myself once again that we do not lust after assholes.
It’s admittedly a hard mantra to cling to when the asshole in question looks like that .
“Still want to see the inside of the barn?”
I blink, my head swiveling to meet Finlay’s eyes, which are glinting with humor, no doubt having caught me ogling the farmhand.
“Is he always so rude to you?”
Finlay waves me off. “Och, he’s just a bit stiff is all. He’ll warm up eventually. He’s been through it, that one.”
I’m dying to ask what he means by that, but I know that doing so will only prove that I’m interested, which I am most certainly not . So instead, I gesture toward the entrance of the barn.
“Show me inside?”
Finlay’s face lights up, and I feel the warmth of it bleeding into my chest, filling me with an urge to bury myself in it and steal some of his brightness. The good feeling is chased away by the pang of disappointment that Rhona hasn’t taken to me as much as Finlay has, but there’s still time. She’ll come around eventually.
Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself.