2
2
Juniper
The Macabe brother rule book (according to Juniper Ross):
1.
Don’t look at a Macabe brother.
2. Don’t talk to a Macabe brother.
3. Don’t even think about a Macabe brother.
“I swear, I’ve never gone through this many lint rollers in my entire life.” I cast a look from my shirt, saturated with a coat of thankfully black hair, to Shakespeare.
The deceivingly elegant black cat currently taking up the centre of my bed.
She yawned and stretched onto her back, spreading more fur across the bedsheets.
“Your grand plans for the day?”
Narrow eyes met mine.
Tempted by her soft little cat belly, I extended a finger then immediately snapped it back when the action won me a fresh welt across my forearm.
“Remind me why I adopted you again?” Circling the island that separated the kitchen from the bedroom in my small, open-plan cottage, I ran the scratch under cold water and pulled my sleeve down to cover it.
“You’ve been a pain in my arse from the moment I brought you home. I should have made you into a hat.”
A pain in my arse was an understatement.
While gorgeous to look at, the cat was a fucking menace who hated me.
With every passing day, it became more and more obvious that Kelly, Kinleith’s sweet-as-pie veterinary nurse, had played me.
She’d flat out begged me to take the ‘ misunderstood sweetheart ’ home.
A month and too many wounds to count, I’d come to realise Kelly simply wanted her to be someone else’s problem.
Pouring kibble into the hellion’s bowl for her to ignore, I called, “Don’t wait up.” And stepped out the door before the sun had even risen, not bothering to lock it behind me.
One of the limited benefits of living a hundred metres from your place of work.
I’d moved into the small, stone-wall cottage six years ago, upon my return to Kinleith.
Sitting on the very tip of the wildflower garden, it offered a little more privacy than the family apartments covering the top floor of Ivy House Inn.
Slipping through the back, I cringed at the creak in the old door, tracing my finger along the aged tartan wallpaper that decorated the walls of the old servants’ entrance.
Built in the late 1860s, the sprawling house, with its uneven floors, slate roof and ivy-coated walls, had once served as the “Old Manse”, or vicarage, until the village church was decommissioned in the 1950s.
Cue my grandfather, or adoptive grandfather, I should say, who bought the property and turned it into Kinleith’s first guest house.
This was my favourite time of day at Ivy House, in the morning silence, the guests still sleeping.
When the well-worn floorboards told the story of my home, rather than someone else’s destination.
In the quiet kitchen, the smell of garlic and rosemary hit me first. Ducking beneath hanging copper pans and dried herbs, I flicked on the oven and coffee machine in preparation for the breakfast service.
All the while smirking at the thought of Hank, our curmudgeonly chef, grousing when he realised I’d gotten here first.
Brushing hands down my jeans, I left the way I came, refusing to so much as glance at the neighbouring property as I climbed into my car and drove the five minutes into Kinleith village.
That would be a direct violation of rule one of the Macabe brother rule book.
“Morning, Jess.” I greeted Jessica Brown, the owner of Brown’s Coffee & Cakes, with a bright smile I reserved only for her.
“Juniper, how are ye, lass?” Her pale skin practically shone beneath the fluorescent lights as she set both hands on the counter, taking the weight from her legs.
After her double hip replacement last year, she’d remained obstinate in her refusal to follow doctor’s orders and take it easy.
So a plush stool now sat behind the ancient till – a compromise I’d yet to witness her make use of.
“Good. Not so busy at the inn now the tourist season is winding down. It’s nice to have a little breather after the long summer.” We’d been booked solid for the months of June, July and August, even with the perpetually leaking showers Fiona refused to replace.
We’d been forced to cancel a few bookings in late July when a toilet backed up and put two rooms out of commission for a full week.
And I now held the conviction I could strip and remake an entire bed with my eyes closed.
“How’s that mother of yers? Still off on that trip?” Jess gave a toss of her short, blue-rinsed hair with a derisive little snort.
“In my day, we couldn’t go gallivanting all over the world to meet men. We stayed here and made do wi’ what we had.”
“What a sad time. You’d have cleaned out in a big city, Jess.”
She cackled, batting a hand my way.
“Yer a daftie for encouraging her, she’ll come home wi’ one of those diseases they’re always warning about.”
I smothered my grin.
“What kind of diseases are we talking about, exactly?”
“Did that fancy city education teach yer nothing, girl? Sex diseases!”
The door jingled then opened.
Awareness prickled the back of my scalp.
Damn it. I knew I was cutting it close.
“What’s this about sex diseases?” Callum Macabe stopped behind me, so close his chest grazed my back.
My nostrils flared.
Don’t look at a Macabe brother.
Don’t talk to a Macabe brother.
Don’t even think about a Macabe brother.
I broke that last rule too frequently, but I let Callum take the blame.
The results of his annoyance shouldn’t lie at my door.
The rules didn’t really apply to Mal, either.
Especially since he’d started dating April over the summer.
I hadn’t seen Alistair in the six years since he’d stomped my heart into a thousand pieces, so it was truly the Callum Macabe rules.
But even in the privacy of my own head it felt dangerous to single him out.
“Your favourite kind,” I quipped.
Breaking rule two almost immediately.
“Does a person have a favourite kind of disease? Though if I had to pick … it would be necrotising fasciitis, a rare and interesting flesh-eating disease.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Returning to pretending he didn’t exist, I said to Jess, “It’s about time she had a little fun, and it’s not a sex trip. Though that does sound preferable to spending a month with my Aunt Sylvia. She’s going on a singles’ cruise to relax and if she happens to meet a man, then, good for her.”
“Fun,” Jess tutted again.
I wondered if you reached a certain age where tutting just became second nature.
“You youngins all want the fun, fun, fun, without the hard work.”
“I don’t know, Jess, sex should take a little hard work if you’re doing it right.”
I snorted.
I couldn’t help it. Callum’s attention singed my skin like a branding iron.
I hoped to hell my hair looked good from the back.
“You consider sex, work ? I pity the women unfortunate enough to wind up in your bed.”
He stepped around me, his smile …
luminous. Strike that.
Irritating . The same smile he wore every time he managed to get a rise out of me.
Damn it . What happened to “don’t even look at a Macabe brother”?
“Have you imagined me in your bed, harpy? Does it warm those cold loins at night?”
Our attention met and I said with saccharine sweetness, “Only when I’m struggling to sleep, I picture you and—” I snapped my fingers.
“I’m out like a light.” He smirked again and I knew I’d lost this battle.
“Speaking of work, I need to get going.”
“Running late for a seance?”
“A cursing, actually. I’m short of a few ingredients.”
“What might those be?”
“Five eyelashes and a pint of blood. Yours would probably suffice.”
His lips twitched, revealing the lone dimple that lived between his scruff of facial hair and cheekbone.
“I’m flattered, harpy. Truly. Unfortunately, I prefer to keep my blood where it belongs.”
“A pity.” I scratched my cheek with my middle finger, a total primary school move that made him snicker.
He won’t be laughing in a moment .
“I’ll take twelve oat and raisin cookies please, Jess.”
Callum drew in a sharp breath and Jess’s thin eyebrows rose.
“All twelve?” she asked.
“You can’t buy them all!”
I let one side of my mouth curl.
“And why not? Is there a new cookie policy I’m not aware of?” Jess’s gaze pinged between us.
It had been a few months since we’d had a show-down in Brown’s – or anywhere, I usually aborted before it got that far – but yesterday, he’d crossed a line with those water guns.
My blood demanded retribution.
“Well … no ,” Jess said.
“Excellent. The same box is perfect, we have a guest who requested them.”
Smelling the lie, Callum gritted his teeth, hands on his hips while he watched Jess pack away every one of the freshly baked biscuits.
Jess kept the cookie selection on a daily rotation.
Monday being oat and raisin day.
And who just happened to love oat and raisin cookies, you ask?
“Oh, did you want one?” Box securely in hand, I turned to Callum, feigning a guileless smile as I flipped the lid.
“I’m sure my guest won’t mind sharing … if you ask me nicely, of course.”
He eyed the still-warm treats and his lips parted.
Tempted. Yes! I mentally fist pumped.
Bloody willing his begging into existence.
Then just as I thought he was about to break down and tear the box from my hands, he slumped back.
“You take them. In fact.” He pulled his wallet from the pocket of blue scrubs, and I refused to acknowledge how delightfully they stretched across his wide chest. “Allow me to pay and send your guest my best wishes.”
Fuck.
“Great.” I flashed my teeth in a semblance of a grin.
“Just a coffee for ye, Callum?” Jess asked as I fell out of the line.
“We have chocolate muffins too.”
“No thanks, Jess, just the coffee is fine.” He flipped his wallet open, and I aimed for the exit, waving my goodbye to Jess while she was distracted.
Flying through the door, I was met with a surprised oof .
My elbow brushed flesh.
“Oh, I’m sorry—”
“Watch where you’re going—” Somewhat harried, Jill Mortimer blew a perfect blonde curl out of her eyes.
“You almost knocked me over.”
Bloody wonderful .
The woman and her little posse of friends hated me.
It was all very juvenile of course and it gave me one more reason to stay out of the village.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, edging around her on the cobbled path.
“I didn’t see you.” Her eyes ran over me, taking in my hair, my clothes and settled on my septum piercing.
Her lips pulled down.
“You’re a little old to still be playing the hapless high schooler, aren’t you Juniper?”
The tinkling of Brown’s bell saved me from answering.
Callum came into view and Jill transformed from shrew to siren in a heartbeat.
“Callum Macabe.” Her voice went all breathy.
Not “just finished a 5k breathy” like mine would have surely sounded, but “mid-sex breathy”.
My teeth ground as his face lit up, offering her the “Community Ken” smile he never gave me.
“Fancy running into you here.”
With less than three hundred residents in Kinleith and one main shopping street, the odds of running into Callum three doors down from his veterinarian practice were pretty substantial.
Instead of pointing that out and incriminating myself with my own deductions, I used the moment to slip away unnoticed.
I made it all the way to the car park before he caught up with me.
“Well played, harpy,” he called with a wink.
“I hope you know what you’ve started.”
Parking outside Ivy House, I found my mum, Fiona locked in a battle with her overloaded suitcase.
“Let me get that.” Gravel crunched under my feet.
Setting the box of cookies on a large planter, I hoisted the case into my arms.
“Careful now, June bug. Don’t pull your back.”
I rolled my eyes only once my back was turned.
“I’m not going to hurt myself lifting a suitcase. Who would look after this place?”
“Better not to test the theory.” Her attempt to wrestle the suitcase back fell flat when I set it down on the gravel.
The wheels instantly sank deep into the little stones.
“What the hell did you pack?”
“Only a month’s worth of clothes.” Despite the cool September wind, she wore a large floppy sun hat.
“You know the ship has a laundry service, right?”
“What if I get bored with my clothing options?”
“Touché.” I might have been adopted, but in that regard, I was truly my mother’s daughter.
Though different in style, we were just as finicky about our fashion choices.
Shivering, she pulled her cardigan more tightly over her floral sundress.
She’d be half frozen long before arriving at Glasgow airport, but I didn’t say a word as I watched her fight against the wind tearing the brim of her hat.
Relieved she’d finally accepted my Aunt Sylvia’s invitation at all.
Fiona never took holidays.
Days off were few and far between.
Shaking off the thought, I urged her toward the waiting car.
Neil, the only taxi driver based out of Kinleith, idled between the few visitor vehicles in our compact car park, an open book in his hand.
“You won’t be late for the breakfast service, will you?” Fiona asked me.
“I still have thirty minutes and Hank is already well prepared.” Hank had been in charge of the breakfast service long before I arrived as a frightened, gangly seven-year-old.
He was basically part of the furniture.
If the furniture had mutton chops and swore like a sailor.
“What if someone has an allergy?”
“Then I’ll give them the allergy menu.” I set the case down beside the car, offering Neil a small wave and nodding to the boot.
He beat me there, slipping easily from the seat, and with a cheerful “Good morning” he stored it away.
Fiona wrung her hands together.
“Remember the leaky shower in room five, don’t put a guest in there unless you absolutely have to.”
“I remember.” I squeezed her shoulder, understanding that this separation couldn’t be easy for her.
Ivy House had been her baby long before I came along, even more so after Alexander’s death.
“You deserve this break. Let me hold the reins for a little while, yeah? You can trust me.”
Her hand went to my cheek, stroking lovingly as always.
And as always, I fought the urge to draw away.
“Of course I can, my darling girl, you know how I worry about you.”
I held in my millionth rendition of my “ I’m a grown woman … ” speech and instead nudged her toward the back seat.
“You’ll phone me if anything goes wrong.” It wasn’t a question.
“Cross my heart.”
“And you have all the emergency phone numbers?”
I almost deflated with my sigh.
She claimed to trust me and yet it was becoming clearer by the second that she didn’t.
“ Yes , they’re laminated and taped to the front desk. Exactly where I put them two years ago.”
“Of course.” She gnawed at her lip and I felt like the worst daughter in the world.
“Go and have fun. Get drunk every night and sleep with a sexy, too young waiter.” She laughed but pain, clear and acute, dulled her eyes.
A pain so ingrained in her features I wasn’t sure I’d recognise her without it.
Years filled with heartache and Ivy House were all she had to show for it.
And me.
Though I wasn’t sure I counted.
I flicked the brim of her hat.
“Hold onto this thing on the ferry.”
“I love you.”
I love you too .
I didn’t say it, pulling her into a quick hug I hoped sufficed.
“Make sure someone helps her with her case at the other end, will you, Neil? It’s too heavy for her to lift alone.”
“You got it, June.” He winked in the mirror.
“How about a drink later?”
“In your dreams.” He knew good and well I no longer dated men from Skye.
I gave Fiona a final wave goodbye, listening to the crunch of the tyres as the taxi manoeuvred down the narrow lane that would take her through Kinleith village to the ferry port in Armadale.
The second the car slipped out of sight, I raced back to the inn.
Peeling off my jacket and tossing it along with the box of forgotten cookies onto the reception desk, I cut down the hallway, past the kitchen and guest dining room, to the back door.
Gordon Murray already waited on the porch, his two grandsons in tow.
“You’re on time.” A first time for everything .
Old man Murray grunted his greeting and brushed past me.
“I dinnae like being ushered through the back o’ house. I feel like I’m daein’ something wrong.”
“It’s a surprise for Mum, I mentioned that on the phone.”
“I still dinnae like it.”
“This way,” was all I said.
Hank glowered from the kitchen as we passed and I stuck my tongue out.
He didn’t need to utter a single word for me to know he fucking strongly disapproved.
He’d said as much every day for the past two weeks.
I already regretted my decision to hire Gordon Murray – a well-known complainer.
But he was one of only three plumbers on the island and the other two were booked right through to November.
That regret was starting to hold a little more weight when he halted and cursed halfway up the staircase.
“My knees won’t thank me fae this.”
I’d issued the plumbing work to begin on the second floor, room five, where the leak was the worst, having put away money for over a year without Fiona’s knowledge.
She’d be pissed when she realized.
Yet, this was my only chance to truly make Ivy House special.
More than a relic of the life she was holding onto while the building crumbled around our ears.
Fiona argued city life had made me too ambitious, that you didn’t need fancy gadgets and sleek interiors to compete in the hotel market.
And I agreed. But adequate plumbing was where I drew the line.
Slipping the heavy key in my pocket, I flicked on the bathroom light in room five.
“A skip will arrive tomorrow to collect the old parts. And remember to be careful with the black and white tiles on the shower walls, I want to keep those.” Alexander had fitted those himself.
Another reason Fiona was so reluctant to update.
“Right you are, lass.” Pushing his thick-framed glasses up his nose, Murray ushered me out the way.
I retreated, worry churning in my gut as I watched them get to work.
It will be fine , I assured myself.
It took only three days to dissuade me of that notion.