Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (14 page)

"Wha' changed?"

Reith's shoulders moved in
a semblance of a shrug. "I discovered I love ma wife."

A laugh escaped Lachlan
before he could stop it. He sobered and frowned at Reith. "You
didna love her afore?"

"No. Twas an arranged
marriage and I resented her. To say I was cruel to her would be
softenin’ the truth o' it."

"So...now you love her, but
she doesna love you?"

Reith smiled sadly. "She
loves me. Mair'n she should."

"I'm confused."

"Aye, sir, I'm sure ye are.
Tis a tangled mess, for sure, but I know in ma heart she'll come
‘round."

"And if she
doesna?"

The blue eyes earnestly
searched Lachlan's face. "I willna accept a future wi’ou' her. If
need be, I'll storm our home and make her see reason, but only
efter she's had time to miss me."

Lachlan's eyebrows arched
dubiously. "Weel, if she has half the temper o' ma Beth, laddie, I
suggest you don armor."

Reith laughed softly. "I
dinna think armor will spare me much."

"Aye, tis the wounds to the
heart tha' hurt the maist."

Reith nodded.

"Tha' aside, take the money
and go into town this morn. If this weather is the same around ten,
I'll ask Roan or Winston to drive you."

"I dinna mind walkin’. Have
you thought where I'm to start on the grounds?"

"Settle in for a few days,"
said Lachlan. "No' much you can do wi' the rain."

"It doesna bother me. The
rhododendron hedge has quite a few bro-ked branches. Should I start
prunin’ them?"

Lachlan chuckled. The young
man even said the word broken—bro-ked—like did Deliah:
Bro-ked
"As you will.
We're no' slave drivers. I know you'll do yer work. You dinna have
to prove yerself to me or Roan. We want you to be
comfortable."

"I am, but I need to work,
sir. There also be a section o' the northeast field tha' needs a
bit o' trenchin’ to keep the rains from poolin’. It wouldna take
much to route the water to the hedges. They take a good measure o'
waterin’, and trench work would be useful in the summer, especially
if I can rig a pump to the old weel ou' there."

"There's a pump in the
loft," said Lachlan, glancing upward. "I dinna know how weel it
works."

"I'll make do." A frown
marred Reith's brow. "Sir, did ye say no one else was up in the
house?"

"Aye, why?"

"There was a womon at the
back o' the house, earlier. I didna approach her. Didna think it
was ma place."

"Wha' did she look
like?"

Reith sighed. "She had an
umbrella. I couldna see her face, but she was wearin’ a long red
coat and black boots." He paused and arched one eyebrow. "I take it
she isna a member o' the household."

"No. Ou' back, you
say?"

"Tha' was a while ago. She
went around the far side o' the house...abou' a half hour afore ye
came."

Lachlan stood. "I'm goin’
to check the grounds. She could be anither reporter. For her sake,
I hope no'."

"I'll go wi'
ye."

"Stay here and finish yer
coffee. Yer clothes are already damp. I dinna want you catchin’ yer
daith."

"Sir—" Reith fell silent
when Lachlan placed his cup on the tray then stormed out the back
door.

Lachlan's blood was
simmering as he walked through the strip of yard between the back
of the house and the woods. At one point he could see the field
clearly, but didn't spy anyone traipsing around the area. His
narrowed gaze searched the woods. There weren't many trees with
wide trunks, especially trees large enough to conceal a long red
coat. It irked him that a reporter could be still snooping
around.

Who else could she
be?

He wasn't in the mood to
deal with any more questions or accusations, but he was less
inclined to permit a stranger to trespass on his land.

Coming to the covered
stoop, he stopped short and scowled at two large black suitcases.
An inward chill passed beneath his skin as he questioned the
relevance of someone leaving them behind. Many of the reporters had
been from out of the area—from out of the country.

Had one of them decided to
pry into the lives of the Baird House residents one more time
before moving on?

Gritting his teeth so hard
a muscle ticked along his jawline, he lit into a run to the far end
of the house. Just as he rounded the corner he glimpsed a flash of
bright red material disappear around the next corner. Without
thought as to what would happen once he caught up with the woman,
he ran after her.

He came around to the front
of the house and staggered to a stop. She was no more than seven
feet away. All he could see of her beneath the rim of the black
umbrella was the coat and boots. She didn't appear to be in a rush
but rather was taking her time, as though lost. He knew she wasn't
though. She was glancing through the windows to see what she could
beyond the panes. She stopped at each of the three dining room
windows, peering in then moving on.

Lachlan's nostrils flared,
and he breathed heavily to combat the anger knotting inside
him.

Was she so brazen because
she was a woman and didn't fear coming face-to-face with one of the
occupants?

Next he knew, Lachlan
yanked the umbrella from her grasp and tossed it aside. He ignored
her gasp of alarm and pinned her to the bricks between two of the
windows, one forearm planted across her covered collarbones to keep
her secured.

"Where the bloody hell do
you think ye're goin’?" he asked harshly, his face inches from her
own. All he could see was eyes widened with fear amidst an ashen
face.

Her mouth opened then
closed. Lachlan stepped back, dropping his arm as if contact with
her sickened him. His gaze raked over her contemptuously. She was
tall for a woman, at least five-foot ten. Her hair was hidden
beneath the hood of her coat, and she clutched an oversized purse
against her chest, as if expecting him to snatch it from her grasp.
She was around Beth's age, he guesstimated, her pale skin almost
translucent.

Then her eyes registered in
his fevered brain. They were overly enhanced with thick black
mascara, black liner, and gray and moss-green shadow. He recognized
those eyes. Their shrewd, pale amber depths had unabashedly watched
him during the media onslaught the previous night. There was an
edge of hardness in her features that rankled him. She was a
beautiful woman, but he sensed she lacked the emotional attributes
he most loved in women. There was nothing kind or patient in her
character. The porcelain skin and classical bone structure of her
face was but a mask to conceal a devious, cunning mind.

"Who are you?" he bit
out.

She swallowed so hard that
he could hear it. Lowering the purse until it hung from the thick
strap draped on her right shoulder, she unzipped the top
compartment and began to anxiously rummage through the
contents.

"Dinna bother showin’ me a
press badge," he clipped, placing his balled hands on his hips. "It
doesna give you license to invade our privacy."

She snorted a disgruntled
sound and hastily removed a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from her
purse, and a blue lighter.

Lachlan scowled as he
watched her place a cigarette between her lips, light the end, and
inhale deeply before returning the items to the purse and zippering
it closed. She took another drag and released it slowly while
staring into his eyes. Her fear of him had passed and was replaced
with an air of haughty tolerance.

"I'm surprised you
recognize me," she said, smiling in a manner that was wholly
mocking. "I must say, you were a good deal more passive last
night."

"You
are
a bloody reporter," he
accused.

"I wasn't here last
night—or now—in that capacity. If you recall, I didn't ask
questions, and I didn't have a mike or a recorder with me. I'm only
guilty of bad timing."

Her accent made him
grimace. It held a bastardized hint of the Queen's English to it,
but he was relatively sure she wasn't British.

He caught a whiff of the
smoke her pursed lips emitted, and wrinkled his nose disdainfully
as he eyed the cigarette. He had never seen a woman smoke. It
certainly contributed to her less feminine mannerisms.

"Sir, is everythin’ all
right here?"

Lachlan turned his head to
see Reith approaching to his right. The young man's gaze was on the
woman. It was obvious he was displeased to see her, also not
impressed by her somewhat garish appearance. Lachlan glanced at her
in time to see her red-colored mouth twist in a parody of a
grin.

"Nothing lacking with the
males around here," she chuckled unpleasantly. "At least with the
packaging." She cocked a penciled eyebrow and looked Lachlan up and
down. "You're definitely the brooding type, but real easy on the
eyes." Taking another drag of the cigarette, she scandalously
perused Reith. "And you, honey, are sweet looking enough to
eat."

Reith's face turned
beet-red with embarrassment, while Lachlan's reddened with
indignation. "Laddie, go on. I'll take care o' her."

Reith hesitated then turned
and hastened in the direction of the carriage house.

The woman laughed, her
singsong tone falling short of sounding sincere. "Even his ass is
cute!"

"Is tha' yer luggage on the
back stoop?" Lachlan asked curtly, too repulsed by her to hide the
fact.

Her disconcerting eyes
regarded him for a time. She took another deep drag, dropped the
cigarette and crushed it beneath the toe of a boot. She sighed with
regal impatience when she again met his gaze. "If you
are
planning to co-host
the grand opening of this place, I suggest you work on your
attitude. Growl at prospective tourists the way you've been
growling at me, and you'll have children, women and men alike
pissing in their pants as they run for the nearest
exit."

Lachlan winced. "I'll
escort you to yer luggage and off the property. I suggest you go on
yer way and dinna ever return."

She released a nasty little
chuckle. "You may look like the former laird, but you don't have
any say around here." She reached out and patted his cheek with a
cold hand. "You have to be careful you don't take the role-playing
too seriously." She stepped closer, planting her mouth mere inches
from his, her eyes lit with a challenge for him to abandon his
ground. "Besides, from what I know of that bastard, a dirk in the
heart was the least he deserved."

Lachlan stiffened. A breath
lodged in his throat and his heart hammered at his
chest.

With an isolated index
finger the woman traced his lower lip. He wanted to distance
himself from her, but he refused to cow to her seductively
intimidating ploy to unnerve him.

"Did you know that your
ancestor got off playing to the media?" She chuckled. "Never to me
personally, I regret, although I don't think I would have been too
impressed by his antics. Men will be boys, even in death, and the
late, great Lachlan Baird was a mischievous little devil, wasn't
he?"

When Lachlan remained
silent, she grinned knowingly and cupped her hands around the
curvature of his shoulders. "Cat got your tongue?" Her gaze flitted
across the breadth of his chest and shoulders before returning to
stare deeply into his eyes.

"I wonder if the inglorious
ex-laird had your build. I've seen pictures of his portrait, and
you do look like him. But was he as tall and as broad-shouldered as
you? Is that why poor Viola Cooke had the hots for him, and Miss
Stables was willing to come here and die to remain with
him?"

She seemed to gauge
Lachlan's silence for a moment then asked, "Was he a good lover in
death? Are you a good lover in the flesh?"

She arched her eyebrows at
his continued silence. "I don't know, big guy. I think I would bed
you even if you were the worst lover on the continent. Especially
if you wore a kilt, without trews, of course." She sighed
wistfully. "I'm a pushover when it comes to big shoulders, and
yours are...
big,
Horatio. Big and solid."

Before Lachlan could react
to the repulsion he felt at her words, she clapped her hands to
each side of his face and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. He
gripped her arms and finally shoved her away, his face dark and
stormy, his brain floating in a sea of fire. But before he could
give her a piece of his mind, he noticed two small faces pressed in
the center window. Alby and Kevin’s eyes were wide and their mouths
agape. To his further chagrin, the woman glanced over her shoulder
at the boys and clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, this is too precious!"
she laughed. "I certainly hope you're not married, Horatio. I
wouldn't want the little woman—"

"To what?" interrupted a
husky voice from Lachlan's left. "Pull your hair out by the
roots?"