Page 8 of Some Like It Scot
Home.
And even if it meant navigating a houseful of play actors trying to relive the past, I’d swallow up the frustration in order to keep it. I had to. We’d only had enough money to restore part of the house for the Lennoxes’ costume drama, and that left half of the house with needs my family couldn’t afford.
“So the guests are beginning to arrive?”
“Aye.” I looked back at Mum. “Only one today. The charade doesn’t start in earnest until later in the week, praise be.”
“We want this to succeed, son.” Mum approached, a smile on her face and a tiffin in hand. “In the long run, it will prove a good choice.”
“Aye.” I grumbled out the word again and turned toward her, taking a chocolaty biscuit from her fingers with a begrudging nod. I’d nearly keeled over at the amount Dad received from the Lennoxes to lease the house for six months. Up-front money. Enough to finish necessary repairs for Lennox to plan her venture, at least. Then they’d have to earn more through the rent to continue the restoration process. A long-term plan to turn the house into a wedding venue and inn, featuring local woodcrafts, artistry, and history.
But that was years in the making.
“I heard it’s been an exciting day up at the big house.”
Calum entered the kitchen in the same way he usually entered any room, as if waiting for applause. His dark hair, similar to mine, waved down to almost touch his shoulders. A grin always accompanied his defense of the length, followed by the comment “I’m an author,” as if it explained everything.
He sauntered past the counter and snatched up a biscuit from the plate before sitting down in a chair by the small table between them. “Eileen from down at the pub said her sister told her of the great adventures of Merlin, an American, and a broken stair railing.”
I stifled the grin edging for release at my brother’s succinct and comical unraveling of the day’s events. But Mum released a full laugh, which knocked my smile completely loose.
She had a great laugh.
One not as frequently in use over the past two years.
“Eileen said the American was some famous travel writer who has even won a few awards for her documentaries.” Calum crossed his legs and took another bite of the biscuit. “I’d wager travel writing and novel writing have a great many differences, but it’s always nice to share ideas with other writers.”
Travel writer? And a famous one at that? No wonder she didn’t so much as thank me for creating a buffer between her and the three-hundred-year-old oak floors.
I should have known she’d be trouble as soon as her dark red hair flew into my face. It smelled as fresh as yellow bedstraw by the sea—a combination of warm honey and cool coastal brine. Wild and unwieldy.
The vision of her hinged in place despite my best efforts. I’d never met a woman so tall. And those eyes of hers—as deep and dark as the loch. The fact she failed to back down to my, admittedly, poor manners only needled my annoyance at her return to my mind even further.
I nearly growled all over again.
“I suspect there’ll be quite a few Americans since Mr. Lennox works in the hospitality business there and will use his connections.” Mum returned to the sink. “For this first ‘run-through,’ as his wife called it, for the media outlets, she’ll likely draw upon people who will speak highly of the experience.”
“Well, I must stay out of the way to keep my air of mystery.” Calum waved a biscuit toward me. “Part of my brand as an up-and-coming fantasy author is that no one knows the real face behind C.J. Cunningham, and my publicist thinks it’s a boon for my growing popularity.”
How could I let the opportunity pass me by?
“You mean the truth would frighten all the readers away, do ye?”
“No.” Calum’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m afraid for all the poor hens’ hearts I’ll break at having to turn them down.”
Mum’s chuckle warmed the air, and I rolled my eyes, fighting my own grin. “Ah, you’re haverin’ now, are ye? What woman would want a pure dafty like you?”
That worked to remove Calum’s satisfied smile and resulted in him sending the other half of his biscuit toward me. I caught it and tossed it in my mouth with a satisfied shrug.
“That’s enough, lads.” Mum shook her head and returned to her dishes. “We already know you’ll keep your distance from the guests, Calum. And with Peter at uni, it will be up to me, Graeme, and your dad to smooth anything over.”
“Does that mean you’ll put on the historic breeches and neckerchiefs too, brother?” Calum snatched another biscuit from the plate on the table, tossing me a wink. “I’d pay a few quid to see that.”
The heat left my face at the idea. I’d agreed to help with any problems that arose. Emergencies, if necessary. But that didn’t include Mrs. Lennox’s little dress-up party.
The only time I justified some similar tomfoolery was at the Highland games.
Or wearing my kilt for special occasions.
