Page 30 of Lochlan

The bottle of tonic swishes when I twist the top, then I pour the watery bubbles into a glass. It's too early to start drinking in front of her. Besides, I need a clear head to work. I sink into one of the two comfortable chairs at the window to wait. Much of my time is spent in front of this massive window when I need to think.

The weather reminds me of the gray Scotland days that warn winter is upon us. The site outside is a blustery gust of rain that's working its way through the vines. It's cold, but it will never be as abrasive as Edinburgh. A text comes through. I reach for it, thinking Kenzie is announcing her arrival, or maybe she's delayed. I squint at the screen to make sure I'm not dreaming. It's Fiona's face, and I curse myself for not deleting her contact information.

Hello, Lochlan. Your granda and I are here in San Pacitas. We have rooms at the Fairmont overlooking downtown. You should see the lights from my room. I think you would enjoy the sight; it's beautiful. I didn't text you to go on about my accommodations. We have business to attend to before the Wine Association meeting, but I was hoping you would find the time away from your granda to talk. Yours, Fiona.

My finger wavers over the delete button. In the past, I've not thought things through, and for that I've reacted badly. I take no action and place the phone back on the table. What would it be like to see her after all these years? Has she changed? Fiona represents my old life and a time I can't return to.

My thoughts wander to the bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. I'm rethinking my rule of no drinking when there's a knock.

“Enter,” I say, expecting Kenzie to come in with the rain. Instead, it's Geordie striding through the door, pulling off his coat and hanging it on a peg. “They told me you've decided to take yourself away from the business today. Either you're sick or hiding. Which is it?”

“I'm working on the Catriona project today.”

“I can see you're working hard, cousin. What are you drinking?”

“Tonic,” I say and hold the glass up for him to see.

Geordie pivots to the kitchen. “Where's your whiskey? I don't see it in the usual place.”

“It's in the wee cupboard beside my bed.”

His red brows shoot up, but he says nothing. He pulls a glass from the kitchen and heads for my bedside.

“I received word Granda is here.”

“I've already been informed of his arrival. Fiona sent me a text where they're staying.”

He eases himself into the chair next to me. “It will only be for a few days. When he sees you've begun the process, he'll be back on the next plane to Scotland.”

“There's more at stake. He didn't say it, but I think Fiona and I are competing for the same job to manage Catriona. He's had a soft spot for her since we were kids together in school, when she expressed an interest in MacTavish. You know how he took her under his wing.”

“We all thought he wanted a daughter,” Geordie says, twisting open the bottle and splashing some in his glass. “A lovely, soft creature instead of raising three wild boys. It must have been a handful alone. An adoring girl might have seemed like heaven at the time.”

“That's part of it, and I don't doubt he welcomed the contrast, but he wanted a child who is as ruthless as he is. Someone he could train to have a hand in the business. Think about each of us, Harris included, and you can see all three of us have some form of his personality. Harris the sly salesman, me the builder, and you tempered with practicality. He uses all these traits to wield his power, and Fiona is the closest to possessing all his attributes. Unfortunately for her, being a woman, she'll never be allowed to manage all the MacTavish interests, so he uses her like an effective tool in parts of the business that need...I don't know…extra help.”

Geordie sips from his glass, then sighs. “I guess from his viewpoint he hoped to see himself in one of us. That must have been a disappointment. Do you think he's already made a decision?”

“Maybe, but he likes to watch us claw our way to whatever goal we choose. It's a rite of passage that the MacTavish have favored for centuries.”

Geordie examines his glass, weighing his words. “You haven't been the happiest here. Are you planning to let Fiona take over and leave me at the mercy of that scheming witch?”

“Not while I have breath in my body. We built MacTavish Cellars and we will do the same for Catriona. Once I have a commitment from some of the larger wineries, we can move forward.”

“I'm sure if anyone can pull that rabbit out of a hat, cousin, it's you.”

“There's something else I've been meaning to ask you. Did you meet with Connell?”

“I did, and it was a sound suggestion. His diagnosis of the issue was the same as the consultant’s. I thanked him and sent him back to the tasting room.”

I set my glass down and twist my attention to Geordie. “I think you need an assistant. With Patricia back, we're not so shorthanded, and I think his talents would be better managed by you. Connell out of the tasting room would be a win for both of us. I wouldn't need to see him hungrily staring at Kenzie and watch death arrows thrown at me for taking her away from him.”

“I'll think about it,” he says.

“There is no thinking about it. I've decided as the manager to move Connell under your department. You have an assistant starting tomorrow.”

Before Geordie can level an objection about how this is his decision, a tentative knock stops the conversation. I'm on my feet before Geordie can ask if I'm expecting someone. I open the door to a woman whose dark hair is whipped by the wind; the fur-lined hood of her white jacket seats neatly on her shoulders. Her lips and cheeks are crimson from the cold. I'm presented with a young Beira, Queen of the Winter, a wild, ethereal beauty lamented in ancient stories.

She shifts her weight while slipping one gloved hand in the pocket of a white Sherpa coat. The long garment passes over the tops of her coffee-colored boots. Her heels almost make her eye level with me. She's clutching a laptop to her chest, her pleading eyes wide with irritation. “What the hell, Lochlan, are you going to make me beg for permission to come inside?”

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