What Lies Between (19 page)

“Probably that he wouldn’t die when he did and it would never kick in before the first year of operations.”

“Right.” She nodded and let out a sigh. “Well, first things first, we need a marketing plan to attract bookings. I have a firm in Aberdeen that I use; they can help. I’ll rustle up recommendations for a chef. You need one who has big ideas and high energy.”

“I agree.” I tried to strip the slight suspicion I felt from my eyes. “This is a ton of work for you, Maggie.”

“I’m not bothered if you’re wondering about my motives for offering help. You can’t be expected to trust straightaway. You have no idea what someone here may want from you. I have my reasons to want to see the MacIvers lose.”

She didn’t look up, avoiding my thoughtful gaze.

“John must have messed you up pretty good,” I ventured.

After swallowing a large gulp of tea, she leaned in, her voice low. “Old as I am, I would like to say I was over it. Always thought it would just take time. I’ve made a good life, sure. And if anything, John MacIver is more sour than ever these past few years. All that talk of regret and revenge. Pay no mind to me; the snake swallowed me a long time ago.”

I stared at her, realizing I might end up the same way.

“Right, back to work,” Maggie said, grabbing a pen and sticky pad and scribbling a note to send an email to her marketing firm and introduce me to its owner and founder, Ian Holmes. She pasted the note onto the first large sheet of white paper.

Two hours later, three of the large sheets were filled with sticky notes and a six-page document was stored in my laptop.

“Let’s meet up in a week,” Maggie suggested. “We should have a fair bit of progress by then.”

“Sounds good. Same time Sunday?”

“See you then.” She clasped my forearm, her calloused and hard-worn hand rough on my skin, and kissed each of my cheeks.

Maggie MacGregor was no stranger to challenges, heartbreak, and loss. We made a perfect pair.

The next morning, I arrived at the designated meeting spot, an old cottage, to begin learning livestock management with Henry. According to the brief property history Calum supplied, the Glenbroch estate, in its prime, had owned four cottages as well as the main house. Three had been sold off in the early 1900s in a land deal and only this derelict cottage remained. It would be an interesting renovation but I had no funds and no time to deal with it at the moment.

Henry was late, giving me time to follow my curiosity and pick my way through the tall weeds to the back of the tiny house. I ran my hand over its white surface, surprised how little of the paint had peeled.

“That’s a harled surface there, done a long time ago, I’d say. The original stone would be underneath. Probably needs repair if you were inclined.”

I turned to greet Henry. “Good morning.”

We shook hands, his grip firm and sure this time, his brown eyes smiling—or were they green?

“Morning. Harling is used on lots of old buildings, including a few of our castles here.”

“I think I prefer the stone exteriors of the main house and the steading.”

“Original stonework is lovely, but it is trickier to maintain overall.” His smile still looked shy or uncomfortable.

Henry turned and led the way through a cluster of trees.

“Are there snakes here?” I asked, not sure why this came to mind—perhaps Maggie’s talk of snakes, or because in high weeds like this back in Oklahoma I’d be certain to meet up with a few. I hadn’t read up sufficiently on all the local fauna here. It would be good to know what scurried around in the fields and forests.

“Not likely you’ll run across any. We have adders up here but they aren’t seen much, and they won’t hurt you in any case.”

“We have tons of rattlesnakes in Oklahoma. When I lived in the country, if I was walking in the dark, I’d always carry a heavy rock and keep my ears tuned to hear the warning rattle. One night, I was outside with one of the other kids cracking jokes and laughing, and heard the rattle nearly too late. She flashed the light around and spotted it as it uncoiled. I slammed the rock down where its head should be. Luckily nailed it. Jacked up on adrenaline, I stoned it to death. Cut off its rattle and put it in a jar back at the house . . .” I shook my head, embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No, I would have done the same thing. People can’t help what they do when they’re in danger. I’m going ahead of you here. If we run into any scary creatures, I’ll take care of them.”

“What kind of wild animals do you have here?”

“The most exciting thing you might come across is a wildcat. If you do, don’t stone it to death,” he teased. “They’re nearly extinct, and you’ll get into a heap of trouble if you hurt one.”

“I’ll stay clear and won’t carry any stones.”

“Might be a good idea,” he agreed, then stopped and squared around to face me. “You’re not what I thought, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“And what did you think?”

“Well, it may sound a bit unfair, but when I heard the owner was an American woman, I was thinking you’d be all posh with long nails and a wee handbag dog.”

The stereotype surprised me, but I appreciated Henry’s honesty. “Wow, that’s more than a bit unfair, wouldn’t you say?”

“I get some of my ideas from television and magazines at the shop.” The shy smile I was getting used to flickered, then disappeared. “I’m saying you seem all right.”

“Well, thanks. You seem okay yourself.”

Following Henry around the rest of the morning trying to memorize all the things I needed to know about livestock—about everything—left me feeling overwhelmed. Regret tumbled through me. Had I made a mistake coming here? And why
had
I come here?

A surge of panic welled up, squeezing my chest. I was back in the depths of the ocean again, caught in the recurring nightmare that had plagued me for too many years. I never could find my way to the tiny light at the surface. Couldn’t rise fast enough, couldn’t hold my breath. Water rushing into my mouth. Sinking. Falling. And then I’d wake up.

I’d get back to sleep and the dream would come again, starting my struggle all over. The whole night I’d try to find a way to the light at the water’s surface. But I’d always sink back down until everything was dark again. And then I knew I had died.

Breathing deeply to regain focus, I leaned against the old stone wall, a concern I might be having a panic attack again flitting through my mind. No, this was normal. Anyone would be in over their head.

One bird at a time.

Maggie’s words returned to encourage me. And I was here with Henry. I had help. I was not alone. I hated that I always returned to survival mode by default, was always thinking of how to handle problems by myself. Remembering I was with someone who knew what he was doing helped calm my gloomy thoughts and focus my attention back on what Henry was trying to teach me.

What were the things to look for to determine if ewes were doing poorly? How were the newly weaned lambs faring on their own? Were the cows’ pregnancies going well? What were signs of trouble?

Among all the things I didn’t know, one thing was certain: it would be a good while until I could handle the livestock on my own. Henry’s patient, gentle instructions and reminders to take my time getting up to speed helped me relax.

He explained that because Glenbroch’s livestock were primarily hill raised, environmental conditions had to be closely monitored. Were the cattle and sheep getting enough nutrients from grazing? He and Jim had to put out food, not only for the livestock, but also for the deer the winter before last. That year a large number of sheep were lost in a record series of snowstorms that had hit the Highlands.

Here’s hoping my first winter is mild and uneventful.

11

After my rough start working with the livestock, going over the renovation plans with Ryan proved encouraging. It filled me with relief to learn he had the project well under control. Even with delays over the winter due to the inevitable bad weather, the final touches would be complete by early February, well in advance of the official April 1 opening of the season, as defined in the agreement with the MacIvers. The budget was tight, but if no major problems arose, Ryan could bring it in without overages—one part of the agreement I wouldn’t have to worry about. All I needed to do was stay out of his way, let him do his job, and focus on my end of things.

Besides meeting with Ryan, and working with Henry or Jim, I had spent the three days since the staff meeting on business planning and marketing in Glenbroch’s library, which I’d commandeered as my office. Maggie’s contact, Ian, would bring key people from his Aberdeen marketing firm out to meet me in a few days. Punching
Send
on my email to him with answers to the list of discovery questions he’d sent over gave me a welcome feeling of accomplishment. His team’s support would be in place soon, getting things rolling on the marketing end.

At a rap on the library’s open door, I looked up from the sticky notes, tourism articles, and the map of Scotland spread across the desk. Bethanne entered, pulling off her work gloves. I felt the familiar flash of discomfort I experienced every time she was around.

“I got a call about a broken gate from a stalker who was heading through to the next estate. Since Jim and Henry are away, I thought you would be keen to deal with it.”

Although I had no idea what to do or the tools needed, I didn’t want to look inept, especially in front of this particular employee. “Where is the gate located on the property?”

“It’s across Glen Ellyn. The Land Rover can get you there. On second thought, I should get Ben to take care of it. I’m sure he could handle it without a problem.” The smirk in her voice and on her face challenged my ability to be diplomatic.

“No, I’ll handle it,” I said evenly.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, glancing around the room before turning to leave.

Bethanne was barely professional with me and it wasn’t simply her prickly nature; she was not happy that I was here.

Regardless, I needed to gather myself and drive out to repair a gate on the far side of the estate. The last thing I wanted was Ben stepping in to handle estate issues.

Jim answered my call from his sister’s and maintained that the gate repair could wait until he returned. When I refused to agree, he grudgingly listed the tools I’d need. After taking far too much time rounding them up, I threw everything in the back of the Beast . . . but the engine wouldn’t turn over. The gauge on the gas tank read empty. My gut rumbled a warning—I was sure there had been plenty of gas—but I needed to deal with the gate first and figure out the Beast’s problem later.

My gaze drifted over to the four-wheeler—Calum had called it a quad. The first and last time I had driven a quad was when I lived on the farm those couple years with my foster parents. The neighbor kid had been over and we were riding the four-wheelers. He revved his engine and ran into me. Startled, I accelerated by accident and the bike whipped out from under me, tipping back and trapping my leg. The incident left me with a long souvenir on the inside of my calf and a healthy respect for the dangerous power of four-wheelers, especially in the hands of a novice.

I tied the tools and materials to the quad’s rear rack, took a deep breath, and fired it up. The machine’s power vibrated through me. My foot jostled with the gear as I struggled to remember how to drive one of these things. The bike got off to a jerky start, but as I accelerated toward the path that would take me over the hill and through the neighboring glen, my memory and the vehicle smoothed out.

Pulling to a stop at the peak, I looked back at the tiny buildings of Glenbroch and the miles of valley stretching out before me. Part of me regretted dismissing Bethanne’s suggestion to have Ben fix the gate. Another part suspected she had achieved exactly what she wanted—I was out here on this bike, alone, with no idea what I was doing.

I loathed the streak in me that rose to the bait whenever anyone challenged my self-reliance. It was a weakness, made me easy to snag, but even knowing this about myself didn’t stop me from getting caught up in situations I had no business in.

If I didn’t make it back by tea—dinner, Bethanne explained, with an impatient roll of the eyes—she would send Ben after me.

Not a chance I’ll give her a reason to call Ben.

Descending the slope of the glen was trickier than climbing uphill. Recurring images flashed of the machine flipping over and landing on top of me. Tension knotted my muscles and left my stomach churning—I was worn out and hadn’t yet covered half the distance to the gate.

Making it to the bottom of the glen without incident marked an accomplishment, but the grass here was tall and the ground boggy. My wheels churned and slid through the mess, splattering chunks of mud on me and the quad. I dubbed her Dixie right then, reasoning if we were on a first-name basis, she might not sink in the mire or flip on me.

“Come on, Dixie, let’s get across this burn in one piece.” I patted her dark green fender and accelerated into the fast-moving stream. Dixie grabbed, spun, and climbed over the rocks, rocking wildly and shooting spasms of fear through my gut. The water swirled halfway up my wellies.

Leave it to my pride to get me in a situation like this.

Digging into the rocky mud of the shore, Dixie pulled us from the water. I stopped for a good five minutes to catch my breath and absorb the fact that we had made it across. All was well.

I wished I didn’t always expect bad things to happen. It would be nice to enjoy life more and not waste the good moments thinking about all the things that were sure to fall apart. Dixie had surprised me.

“Good girl.” I smiled at the affection stirring for this machine. Trust came easier with things than with people.

The path leveled off as it paralleled an old stone wall topped with drooping lines of barbed wire. Ten minutes later I arrived at the gate, expecting to see a wind-torn break or a missing board due to loose, rusty nails, not half of the gate missing. The cut ends of the remaining portion looked smooth, neat, and tidy. The missing section wasn’t on the ground nearby and must have been taken away, leaving a gap large enough to allow livestock to escape.