The Great Scot (3 page)

He sighed and positioned the wrench back around the offending fitting. But when he bent his will back to the job at hand, it was exactly those khaki clad hips that refused to leave his thoughts. And then there was the way her mouth kicked up at the corners, as if she was in on some amusing bit of news of which he was the last to know.

Frustrated by his inability to shut the Yank from his thoughts, he vented his ire a bit too heavily and snapped the corroded section clean in two, sending a spatter of rusty gunk spraying across his face and neck, and a stream of foul language spewing from his mouth.

“My, my. Have a bar of soap handy? Looks like your face and mouth could both use a good swipe.”

Dylan squeezed his eyes shut and worked mightily to keep his tongue under control as well. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Hallo, Mrs. Dalrymple. I didnae hear you come in. My apologies. These pipes are proving a wee bit of a test.”

“So, I see. I rang, but with all the clanging and swearing going on, 'tisn't a wonder you didn't hear me. I didnae want to drag ye away from your work, so I thought I'd let myself in.”

I just bet you did
, he thought unkindly, not particularly sorry for the sour sentiment. Letitia Dalrymple ran the bakery in the village with her daughter, Sally. Letitia and her good friend, Doris, who, along with her husband ran the butcher shop just off the square, were two of the busiest bodies in Glenbuie. They'd formed a knitting club some time ago with several other women of their generation—more of a gossip club if you asked him—and no one in Glenbuie had had a moment's peace since. He'd only had to deal with it for the past two years, and that with the added buffer of living way out here. Through a miracle of patience, Brodie and Reese handled the lot of them without much concern and he'd as soon leave them to it.

But with all three of his brothers either newly married or about to become so, Letty and her cackling horde had set their sights on him. The
puir
widower Chisholm. Naturally Reese, Brodie, and Tristan found this highly amusing and did their best to assist the women in their endeavors whenever possible.

Letty scooped a rag from his tool chest and dangled it over his head. He forced a tight smile as he took it and wiped it over his face and neck. “Thank you.” He shoved himself out from under the sink. At this point he'd have to tear the whole damn thing out, which he'd been afraid of, the cost of which he'd been hoping to avert with a few replacement parts. Why he'd thought anything he might do around here would actually save a few pounds, rather than cost him a whole pocketful more of them, he had no idea. It never seemed to work that way. Now he was out valuable time as well as money.

He rolled to his feet and wiped his hands off on his pants. “What brings you out this way?”
Other than just having to stick your nose into everybody else's business, namely mine
.

Standing as she was in the hall, she cast her gaze through the open door opposite the loo and took a look about. There were two large dormer-style rooms up here on the third floor of the central section of the house. One dormer was ready for guests, but naturally the room Letty was examining still needed some finishing work. He hadn't been planning on getting that one completed in time for the opening, but had to get the WC functioning as he had a party of four booked into the finished dormer.

“It's quite the mission you've undertaken here, Dylan.”

“Aye, that it is.”

“More than a man alone could hope to complete, but I see you've put yourself fully to the task.” She shifted her gaze back to him, and that dreaded look of affectionate concern clouded her expression. If there was one thing he hated more than the villagers poking their nose into his business, it was their collective concern over his bachelor status. Her bottom lip pursed as she tilted her head slightly and said, “I would imagine all the hard physical labor you've put into this place since your return has been somewhat therapeutic for you.”

Here we go.
“I suppose it has been,” he responded honestly, knowing his return home had been both therapeutic and cathartic for him. Just not for the exact reasons Mrs. Dalrymple assumed. “Is there anything specific I can do for ye?” he asked, striving to sound patient. He gestured to the broken pipe. “As you can see, I have my hands full, and with less than a fortnight until my first guests arrive, I—”

“What did you think of that nice Erin MacGregor? Wasn't she a breath of fresh air?”

Dylan swallowed a groan, and perhaps a few more swear words as well. It was a vain wish indeed that the villagers would leave him alone. “She seemed very pleasant, but I—”

“Pleasant? Why she seemed a wee bit more than simply pleasant, wouldn't you agree?” She gestured to his face. “Ye've a bit of something still on your cheek there.”

Sighing, Dylan shifted to look in the mirror, ignoring the rather frightful sight of himself as he dutifully cleaned off the rest of the splattered gunk. But it was hard to ignore the weary fatigue etched on his face. It was no wonder his sudden appearance had startled Ms. MacGregor so badly. Och, but he needed to rid himself of her image, and of the busybody, Letitia Dalrymple, and get back to the task at hand. “I appreciate you stopping by,” he said, turning toward the stairs, hoping she'd take the not-so-subtle hint.

“Why didnae ye take her up on her offer? A man out here alone, under such an immense burden, and here she was, bright and lovely as a spring day, offering you a solution to your woes.”

Dylan's gaze narrowed, but he refrained from asking her just exactly what woes she was referring to. “I appreciate your concern, but the bed and breakfast will open as projected and we'll do just fine without her offer.”

Letty was not so easily swayed. “She was such a bright young thing, don't you think? With all the younger generation heading off to Edinburgh or Inverness, it was refreshing to have a lovely new face in town.”

Dylan tried not to grind his teeth as he forced a smile. “Be that as it may, as you can see, I'm quite busy with the demands here. I've no time to have my head turned.”

“Darling lad, every man has the time for that. You can't lock yourself up in this monstrosity forever.” Letty placed a hand on his arm. “I know how difficult it must be, starting over. Why I was just telling Doris the other day how hard it must have been for you to come back here and start over all alone, having had such an exciting and fulfilling life end with such tragedy.” She patted his sleeve. “But move on we must. You canno' pour all your heart into this place, Dylan. She's a demanding mistress, aye, but she canno' keep ye warm on the long winter nights. Dinnae close yourself off so. We're all here to help, ye ken. We've only your best interests at heart.”

Dylan briefly covered her hand on his arm, then gently freed himself from her grasp, trying to remind himself that she really did mean well. He just didn't understand why it was that everyone assumed he needed a woman in his life in order to be happy once again. Not that he minded the concept. Someday. But when the time came, he'd like to think he could handle that particular endeavor on his own. Not as some kind of pathetic village project.

“I appreciate the care and concern, I do, but rest assured that I'm quite content dealing with my concerns here.” He gently ushered her towards the stairs. “Thank you for stopping by,” he went on, following her down the stairs. “Please give my best to Doris and the rest.”

Not one to be steamrolled, Letty halted their progress in the grand foyer. “Perhaps you should come into town. As a businessman now, not to mention our chief, it wouldnae hurt you any to be seen more about the village.”

It was a gentle rebuke, but one he took to heart. Because she was right. He should be a more visible leader, even if the position of clan chief was largely figurative at this point. From a business standpoint alone, it behooved him to be on friendly terms with the villagers. His guests would be spending time in the village shops, and he'd be wise to encourage the shop owners to talk up the bed and breakfast to other passers-through as well. “I'll do my best.”

Her smile softened and she patted his arm again. “We all want ye tae succeed, Dylan. We know how hard all four of ye work, maintaining Glenshire and all that the Chisholms have worked so hard for. Glenbuie prospers because of your efforts. And it's with that in mind that I want you to listen to what I have to say about this offer ye've so hastily turned down.”

Just when he'd thought this particular skirmish was over. He reined in his impatience, and forced a smile onto his face. “Have yer say then.”

“Only that we'd all benefit from your agreeing to it. In fact, I've never seen the town quite so excited about any prospect. It was rather unifying.”

When hadn't the villagers been a unified lot, Dylan wanted to know, but wisely didn't give voice to the question. Letty was on a roll now, and obviously on a mission as well. Best to let her say her piece, if he had any hope of getting more work done this day.

“Letting Miss Erin move her television show into Glenshire would be a great boon to us all. Think of the economic boost we'd all receive from such publicity.”

Apparently the villagers were no more immune to the Yank's charm than he'd been. Fortunately he was the one making the decision here. “Ye canno' honestly wish to have them descend upon us like a pack of jackals, turning our lives inside out, and all to broadcast us on some crass American—”

“Och, now ye sound like the city snob we all feared ye'd become from too many years spent falutin' about with all your posh friends. I know better, Dylan. You just want to hide out here and lick yer wounds.” She lifted a hand. “I'm no' meaning any insensitivity, I've only your well-being in mind when I say this, but perhaps it's time to think on a grander scale, and put the needs of the town, your villagers, your clansmen, before your own.” She squeezed his arm. “More important, though, I think throwing your doors open to Erin's crew might do you a world of good, yourself.” She finally released him and stepped through the front door he was presently holding open for her. Just outside, she paused and looked back, a soft smile on her face, and a steely glint in her eyes. “She'll be in town until morning. Do the right thing. For us. And for yourself.”

“N
o, I haven't given up, Tommy. Yes, I know minutes are money. Yes, this place is worth the extra twelve hours, I promise. I'll have it sewn up by tomorrow.”
Please don't make a liar out of me, Dylan Chisholm
.

Erin disconnected the call with her boss and tossed her phone on the bed, then went to stand in front of the window of her hotel room. From the top floor, she had a lovely view across the village square. The sun had finally set an hour ago but between calls to her assistant and the one from her boss, Erin had missed it. She raked her fingers through her hair and massaged her temples as she watched the people below. So many of them, out enjoying the early summer evening as the moon climbed higher in the starry night sky, strolling hand in hand, pausing now and again to chat with others out enjoying the evening as well. She wondered what it would be like, living in such a place. No pressure, no traffic, no harried phone calls and pre-production lists of demands. It was a Tuesday night and no one appeared to have anything better to do than amble about and make small talk.

“Must be nice,” she muttered, then turned away and dug a fresh shirt out of her luggage. She unrolled it, shook it out, debated on the relative merits of tracking down an iron, but that would mean actually using one, so she tugged it on as is, smoothed it as best as she could, then grabbed her satchel and headed for the door. Her plan for the evening was to head over to Hagg's, but it wasn't a social call. She was on a mission to chat up the locals some more. The pub seemed to be the social center of the small village and given how open and encouraging everyone had been earlier today in the lunch crowd, her hope was they'd be even more amenable this evening, their work day over.

Of course, there was the little matter of Brodie and his failure to call his brother about her business proposition. She didn't think he'd just been humoring her, nor did she think that of the locals, either. He'd probably just gotten busy and hadn't gotten to it before she'd arrived. She'd stopped by the local sandwich shop to grab a bite on her way back into town and the few people she'd come across had all asked her how her meeting with Dylan had gone. And here she thought L.A. had a good gossip loop. They'd each seemed sincerely disappointed when she couldn't report that an agreement had been reached.

She hoped that buzz had spread. Maybe if she was really lucky, by the time she reached Hagg's, they'd have already formed some kind of plan, or committee or something. She took the elevator down and found herself slowing down her usual pace a little, sauntering a bit as she crossed the square to the pub. She took a few precious seconds to enjoy the warm breeze and the relaxed vibe of the town. If she ever took a vacation, this place would be perfect, she found herself thinking, then smiled at the thought. She loved her job. It took her all over the world. She didn't need a vacation.

She reached Hagg's and pushed open the heavy oak door to the pub and quickly apologized when the door bumped into someone on the other side. The older gentleman shifted quickly out of the way and sketched a light bow as he held the door open for her. “Come on in.”

“Wow,” she said, squeezing herself into the place. It was jam packed. On a Tuesday. “Busy place.”

“We've a bit of entertainment tonight.”

“Ah.” She realized everyone was facing the rear of the bar, so she raised up on her tiptoes trying to see over their heads. “Music?” she asked, thinking it would be nice to see one of the local
ceilidhs
she'd heard about. Once she landed Glenshire, she'd have to scout additional locations for Greg's dates. On her list was possibly incorporating the traditional Scottish folk music and dance into one of those dates.

“Not tonight,” the older man said. “Not yet anyway.” He faced her and stuck out his hand. “I'm Alastair, by the way,” he said. “I run the repair shop across the way with my daughter. Brodie, here, is my son-in-law.”

There was no mistaking the pride in his lovely blue eyes and Erin found herself smiling and shaking his hand with sincere pleasure. “I've heard nice things about them both, all well deserved, I'm sure. I'm Erin—”

“MacGregor, aye,” he finished for her.

Erin lifted a brow, but his smile only brightened.

“Small villages have big ears. The whole place is buzzing with news of your visit to Hagg's and Glenshire.”

Erin smiled. She couldn't have hoped for better. And it looked like she might have Alastair on her side. Someone with an actual direct tie to the family, who was also a business owner, and didn't appear at all put out by her presence in town. If anyone could get to Dylan, make him understand what a great opportunity he was passing up, it was quite possibly this man. She cranked up her smile, and hopefully her charm, and said, “Is it good buzz, or bad buzz?”

“Quite good.” His eyes twinkled. “But then, it's no' often we get a fetching lass from across the pond visiting our modest little village.”

So, she thought, he was seduced by the whole Hollywood thing, too. Because fetching she was not. Whatever worked. “So you know why I'm here, then. Could I buy you an ale, perhaps? Bend your ear? I have some questions I was hoping to get answered and I think you're just the man to help me.”

Alastair's laugh was rich and infectious. “The man with the answers? I dinnae know so much as all that, but I'll never turn down an offer of an ale.” He began to expertly weave his way through the standing-room-only crowd. “Follow me, stay close.”

“What's the hubbub all about?” she asked as she steered behind him, raising her voice to be heard over the sudden cheer that went up, starting somewhere in the back of the pub.

“Dart contest.”

“Ah. I'm guessing you take that pretty seriously then.”

“Of course. My daughter is the reigning champion, you know.” He shuffled them around the side of the bar and miraculously wrangled her a stool. But then, most everyone was standing and craning their necks to watch the dart contest. He gestured her to take the seat.

“I didn't know that. That's great. Oh, thanks, but I can stand.”

He waved her to sit. “You're buying, I'll stand.”

She laughed with him and began to relax a little. Maybe it was all the bubbling energy inside the small pub, or being bodily swallowed up in the easy camaraderie of the crowd, but her anxiety about getting the job done was easing a bit. She waved at Marta who was working behind the bar and signaled for two ales. Earlier today Marta had been working back in the kitchen, preparing some of the best beef stew Erin had ever tasted. But she didn't see Brodie anywhere tonight, so perhaps Marta was pulling double duty.

Another cheer went up, and she shifted around on her stool to see what was going on now. The cheer was followed by hoots and catcalls. She turned back to Alastair, his smile rueful now.

“Och, but the lad should have known better than to tangle with my Kat. She doesn't play to lose.” He shook his head. “Even when it might be in all of our best interests if she did.”

Marta slid two ales onto the bar in front of them and Erin picked hers up and took a sip. “Who? Brodie?” She thought it was rather sweet that Brodie's wife came to the pub after work and played darts with him. Even more charming that the entire village enjoyed the apparently heated battle between the newlyweds.

Alastair shook his head. “Dylan.”

Erin almost sprayed her sip of ale. She surreptitiously wiped her chin with her sleeve and tried to adopt a casual mien. “Really? I thought I heard earlier today that he wasn't much of a joiner when it came to village activities. In fact, the locals made it seem as if he never came down off the mountain.”

Alastair enjoyed a long sip of his ale, then nodded. “Aye, 'tis true. Why do you think this place is packed on a Tuesday night?”

She didn't know what to make of that. Coincidence? “So, he suddenly decided to come down and play darts?”

Alastair shrugged. “Apparently. But he might never again if Kat doesn't play nice.” He sighed again, but Erin wasn't paying attention.

What were the chances Dylan had suddenly come to town the same day she'd shown up on his doorstep, talking about leasing his place? Had Brodie talked to him after all? She'd hoped to bend Brodie's ear this evening, but with the crowd, she doubted she'd have the chance. Of course, with the Great Scot himself on the premises, she could just go directly to the source. First, she needed a plan. She pictured those enigmatic eyes of his, the set angle of his jaw as he'd turned her down flat and took another sip of ale. A little fortification couldn't hurt, either.

Another whoop went up and Alastair excused himself. “I suppose I should go make sure she doesn't single-handedly destroy the goodwill we've spent the past year or two establishing with the poor lad. Bad enough Letty and her gaggle spend all their estimable free time planning his future, complete with new wife and, if they have their way, probably a half dozen wee Chisholms to boot. Let his brothers take on the task of creating heirs, I told them, be happy he's back home. Do they listen to me?” He motioned Marta to top off his ale, then hefted the glass and squeezed past Erin. “Knowing Kat, we'll be lucky if he's no' packed up and heading back to Edinburgh by morning.” He patted her shoulder. “Back in a blink.”

Erin was still trying to absorb that latest tidbit of information. New wife? Meaning there had been an old one. She'd sort of suspected as much, given the meaningful looks shared between the locals when referring to Dylan, as if he'd come home under less than fortunate circumstances. She was still trying to figure out how to use that to her advantage when Brodie suddenly burst through the wall of people and bodily lifted her off the stool with a big hand on her arm.

“There ye are!” he boomed, his jovial smile in place as always. “Come, lass, we need help settlin' a sporting question and you're the only one who's qualified to judge.”

Erin wasted a precious second or two juggling her glass of ale, trying not to dump it on herself or anyone else, and lost her window of opportunity to stop him. By the time she got her wits about her, she'd been tugged into the small, cleared area in the back of the pub where the dartboard was located.
Think fast, think fast
. She wasn't prepared to see Dylan quite yet.

And then there he was, large as life. Larger, really. Great Scot indeed. In a room filled with people, he dominated the space easily. Big and broad at the shoulder, with all that hair and hard jawline. But it was more than his physical presence that commanded attention, it was that ever present enigmatic demeanor of his, still every bit as tightly held, she noted, even though he was supposedly surrounded by family and friends.

Or maybe he'd been smiling and relaxed until she'd been dragged into the picture. Hard to tell. But he didn't seem thrilled to see her, that much was clear.

Then Brodie was tugging her forward again and their locked gaze was abruptly disconnected as he turned her to face the dartboard. “Okay, here's the thing. My wife's dart.” He motioned to a gorgeous, antique, hand-carved wooden dart flocked with what appeared to be real feathers. “My brother's dart.” He motioned to the other dart, also handsomely made, if not as spectacularly as the first, wedged into the very same hole. “What say you?”

“I'm not sure I'm the one who should—”

“Nay, you're the only one in the room who can be impartial.”

Erin noticed the room had fallen completely silent as everyone waited for her to make her pronouncement. She dared to scan the sea of faces crowding the dartboard area, but couldn't read the lay of the land. She only had Alastair's comment on the village wanting to court the goodwill of their apparently recalcitrant chief…and the knowledge that the other contestant was the wife of the man who owned the establishment. Lovely. The trick was going to be how not to piss off anyone and still have a chance in hell of getting what she wanted. What she had to have. And from the looks of things, she had about five seconds to figure it out.

She chanced a quick glance at Alastair, hoping maybe he could signal her somehow, but he had his head bent toward a fresh-faced, younger woman dressed in dungarees and a pub T-shirt—Kat Chisholm, she could only presume—and didn't see Erin's silent plea for a rescue. She'd have to suck it up and go for it.

Turning away from the crowd and very purposefully not looking at Dylan, she turned the brightest smile she could conjure at Brodie. “I don't know the rules, but it looks like a tie to me. Can't you have a do-over?”

The crowd erupted in raucous cheering and debate and Erin wasn't sure, but it appeared that by trying to be as fair and impartial as possible, she'd pissed everyone off. How had she so thoroughly lost control of her only mission? Then Brodie was stalking to the dartboard and plucking out the darts, proclaiming, “You heard the lass, we'll have a ‘do-over'.”

Then Kat was stepping forward and motioning to Erin. “Come here, then.”

Erin had been thinking she'd slink back into the crowd and make a mad dash for the exit, but Kat was motioning her to come over to where she and Dylan stood, and before she could decide for herself, the crowd nudged her forward. “Yes?” she said, spying Dylan in her peripheral vision and deciding now was really not a good time for her nipples to go painfully hard, but there they were, right at attention. What was it about that man anyway?