Chapter 5 Alec
FIVE
ALEC
We all watch Summer flit out of the kitchen, her skin-tight leggings clinging to the soft curves of her behind.
“Well, she seems sweet,” Fraser says brightly.
“Seems like a spoiled city kid who’s never worked a day in her life,” Cameron mutters.
Fraser throws a chunk of scone at him. “You barely know her. You’re such a grumpy git, my God.”
I turn to the pile of today’s post as Fraser and Cameron keep bickering, slicing open the first envelope. It’s a receipt for our latest sheep feed purchase. I set it aside.
“She came to the Highlands wearing a pair of heels and a miniskirt,” Cameron points out flatly. “I had to carry her into the cabin yesterday, because she couldn’t walk in them.”
Fraser snorts. “You’re just in a bad mood because she’s so bonny.”
“She’s fine,” Cameron mutters.
“She’s gorgeous. Sweet too. Right wee ray of sunshine.”
I rub my gritty eyes, stacking up three more bills and an order form from an equipment supplier.
Fraser’s right. When I stumbled into the kitchen, Summer had been perfectly positioned in the sunlight, her long blonde hair all lit up gold. I haven’t slept more than three hours a night for weeks, and for a second, I thought an angel was sitting at my dining table.
I shove down the thought and open another letter. How she looks is irrelevant. We have work to do. “You shouldn’t have brought her here,” I tell Fraser. “She’s a distraction.”
He huffs. “She needed help. Since when do we not let hikers use the Wi-Fi?”
“She’s not a hiker,” Cameron mutters. “She’s a damn liar. She writes a travel blog?”
Fraser laughs loudly. “Aye, well, I agree with you there. A travel blogger would probably pack some trainers. But I reckon it’s okay to lie to a bunch of strange men you’re stranded with, don’t you?
She’s probably scared.” He loops an arm around Cameron’s shoulders.
“I lie to you all the time, and we’ve been best mates forever. ”
Cameron shoves him off.
I reach the last letter in the pile. My stomach sinks when I spot the government stamp on the envelope. It’s from the local council. I peel it open.
SURVEY NOTICE is stamped in red ink across the top of the letter. Already annoyed, I scan the contents.
Dear Mr A Gray,
Following our previous correspondence, we are writing to inform you of our intent to survey zones E1 to E14 of your land to assess its suitability for our tourism development plan.
We will be visiting on the 20th. Please ensure all livestock is safely contained and that the relevant areas are accessible to our team.
Thank you for your cooperation.
I crumple the letter as anger surges through me.
The council have been pestering me for almost a year now.
They’ve decided to boost local tourism and want to build luxury resorts down by Loch Thara.
Unfortunately for them, I own a massive swathe of the land they want to build on.
I’ve told them Lochview’s land isn’t for sale more times than I can count. They don’t seem to be getting it.
“Council?” Fraser asks.
I nod shortly. “They’ve invited themselves over to assess our eastern quadrant,” I mutter.
“I don’t know what they’re thinking. What kind of tourist comes all the way up here?
” The Highlands are beautiful, but they’re utterly remote.
There’s nothing luxury about being miles away from the nearest Tesco.
Fraser rubs his chin. “Loads recently. There’s that new spa place on the other side of the village, and a bunch more popping up.”
I stare at him. “What? Why?”
“Christ, you’d know all this if you ever came down to the pub with us. It’s all anyone has talked about in months. Tourists keep posting pictures up here and going viral. Probably ’cause the scenery’s so stunning.”
“The council wants to buy out a two-hundred-year-old agricultural business,” I say slowly, “because of social media trends?”
Fraser shrugs. “Seems like it.”
“What are you going to do?” Cameron asks, eyes fixed on me.
I check the clock on the wall. It’s ten past six. We’re ten minutes behind schedule. I feel pressure start to rise in my chest.
I inherited Lochview Farm from my father five years ago.
My family has been farming sheep and goats for their wool for eight generations now, selecting rare breeds and selling their fibre to the cities to be made into tartan and other clothing.
Lochview is one of Scotland’s oldest surviving fibre farms.
It’s a heavy burden. Running a farm is relentless hard work. I’m up at four a.m. most days, and I don’t usually finish until midnight. Every sick animal, every broken fence, every bit of paperwork that needs to be filled out—it all falls on me.
But I keep going, because I have to. Lochview is my family’s legacy. I can’t be the one who fails. It can’t all end with me.
And with an entire farm, thousands of sheep, and Fraser and Cameron to worry about, I can’t afford to get distracted. Ever.
Bad things happen when I do.
“I’m not letting a surveyor onto the property,” I say. “Lochview is mine. They’re not getting an acre.” The minute hand on the clock ticks over. 6:11. I rap my knuckles on the table. “We need to allocate tasks.”
Fraser salutes. “Aight, boss.”
I open up my laptop and divvy out the day’s tasks. As per usual, I keep the majority for myself. Fraser and Cameron are my main help here on the farm, but we’ve also been best friends since we were children. I don’t want to overwork them.
Eventually, I reach the end of my list. “How’s Viola’s littlest doing?” I ask Fraser. Viola was the last of our ewes to lamb this year. She just gave birth last night to two healthy boys and one runt girl.
Fraser grimaces. “Not good. I’ve been bottle-feeding her, but the poor thing is so tiny. Don’t think she’s gonna make it through the week.”
I take off my glasses and rub at the headache forming between my eyes. My father’s voice echoes in my head. What? Are you gonna cry over losing livestock? Animals die. It’s part of the business.
“Right,” I say. “I’ll check in on her later.”
“Aye,” Fraser says, faux-casually. “Hey, so…wanna come for a swim later? We haven’t all three of us been down to the loch in forever.”
“I don’t have time,” I say automatically. “You do it without me.”
“Then let us help,” Cameron says, heading over to the sink to wash his mug out. I watch his movements. Is he limping more than usual?
Fraser nods. “He’s right, Alec. You haven’t taken a night off in months.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “We miss hanging out with you, mate.”
For a second, I remember how things used to be. Lochview didn’t use to feel like this. Like some grey, relentless machine I was stuck in, day after day. It used to be a place where things grew. Where people were happy.
Since my dad died, it mostly just feels haunted.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s my farm. My responsibility.” My eyes track Cameron. He’s leaning against the counter. Shit, his leg is hurting. Guilt makes my stomach turn.
Your fault.
“I’ll fix the gate,” I tell him. “I don’t want you to aggravate your leg.” I mentally add it to my list.
There’s a long pause. Then Cameron turns off the tap and storms out of the kitchen. The door slams shut behind him like a thunderclap.
I close my laptop slowly. The jagged scars that cross my palms itch. For a second, I swear I can feel the shadow of cold rain against my skin.
God, I need some sleep.
Fraser leans closer. “Seriously,” he says, making me flinch out of the memory. “You don’t have to do all of this on your own. We want to help you.”
I glance at the clock again. 6:36. I was meant to start today’s paperwork six minutes ago.
If you can’t manage your time, how in the hell are you going to manage a farm? my father’s voice whispers in my ear.
“I have to go,” I say, ignoring Fraser’s sigh. As I head out of the kitchen, I pass by the window overlooking the garden. Summer’s outside, sitting on the wall.
She looks…upset. Concern tugs at me. I force myself to keep walking. I can’t afford the distraction.
I have work to do.
I always have work to do.