Page 11 of Scotch on the Rocks

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, oradoptivegrandfather, 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 thansomeone 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 realisedI’dgotten 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?” Jessgave 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 ofhisannoyance 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 theCallum Macaberules. 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.”

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