Page 10 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“We’ll collect on that pint later.” Lachlan wiped his brow with the back of his arm.

“Or you can name a gin after me,” I suggested.

Common Gin had quickly become a household name in Scotland, and Munroe’s determination to keep it local, accessible, and a favorite of the people was what made it so beloved. His decision to build a distilleryin Loren Brae would not only bring a significant volume of tourism back to the town but was also part of what had made me consider coming home and opening a shop here.

That, and my father needing more of my help.

It had been an easy enough solution, returning to Loren Brae and establishing a new shop, and one that had allowed my father little in the way of protest. If I had told him that I was coming home to help him, he would have discouraged that decision.

Even though some days he had trouble remembering which of his sons were speaking to him.

A recent stroke had impaired my robust father, causing him both neurological and physical damage, and his recovery had been slower than he hoped. The day we received the call to say he’d collapsed had been an enormous shock, but to see him struggle with basic, daily tasks had been grim.How can someone so strong seem so feeble?My mother, the calm saint that she was, carried on easily, never asking for help and weathering my father’s frustrated outbursts with an equanimity that I could only envy. It was only through her that I knew how annoyed my brother was that I had returned to Loren Brae, putting me near our parents, and thus earning the “favorite one” title that he apparently so desired.

I gave zero shits what Andrew thought. As far as I was concerned, I had no brother.

“You have to do a lot more than lift a bit of wood to get a gin named after you,” Munroe said.

“Isn’t that what Lia did to get a gin named after her?”

I threw my hands up to block Munroe’s punch, laughing as I ducked out of the way.

“Och, never talk about a man’s bride-to-be, Ramsay,” Lachlan chided as I held up my hands in defeat.

“Apologies, mate. It was too good of an opening to leave hanging.”

“Fair play,” Munroe said, lifting his chin at the castle behind me. Turning, we saw a car come up the drive.

“Sophie’s back.” Lachlan, as though he was a dog answering his master’s whistle, took off toward the castle, the rain having abated the minute we finished unloading the lorry.

“Does he do this every time she comes back from the shops?” I asked Munroe, following at a more sedate pace.

“Any time she enters a room, really.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t dragged her to the altar yet.”

“Oh, he’s planning to. But she’s insisting on running MacAlpine Castle for a full year before she considers any relationship advancement. Something about proving herself and there was a spreadsheet with a timeline involved, I think.”

“Ah yes, the spreadsheet approach to love. Very logical.”

“And your favored way is…?” Munroe slid a glance at me, and I grinned.

“To love ’em and leave ’em, naturally. I’m not really into relationships. I like my space.”

“I get that. More time to play board games.”

“There’s that.” Munroe was a bit of a board game freak, so that must have made sense to him. Being a touch competitive, I was typically down for any game, so long as it didn’t require hours of my time to learn. Which, I’m told, separated me from the true board game lovers.

Like I had an entire day to waste learning the rules ofSir Toadfrog the Fairy King or whatever.

Sophie wasn’t wrong, I really did need to hire an assistant. Not particularly to run the shop, but I needed more help to run my business as a whole. My business manager, a steely-eyed lass by the name of Elaine, who had whipped my entire company into shape, had recently moved to the States, and I was left with more paperwork than I knew what to do with. That, coupled with my father’s health issues, and the recent opening of my Loren Brae shop, had left me gasping for a moment to myself.

The sound of barking had me turning, a smile at my lips. Sir Buster, a snarly little chihuahua who vacillated between charm and hate, rounded the corner of the castle with a stately dame of Corgi mix following on his heels at a more leisurely pace. Lady Lola, the only one who could tolerate Sir Buster regularly, had been a welcome addition to the castle.

Sir Buster skidded to a stop at my feet, shivering in the cold, and growled.

“Aye, wee man. It’s a blustery one today,” I agreed.

Lady Lola, as charming as could be, bumped her head against my leg, and I bent down to give her a proper hello.

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