Page 7 of Lochlan

“Now that we got that squared away, why do you need an introduction to MacTavish Cellars?”

“You're always telling me to have an interest outside of sports. I thought I'd apply for a part-time job to meet new people.”

“Humm, is wine a new interest, or does it have something to do with Lochlan MacTavish?”

I close my laptop as if I'm hiding my research from him. “Why would you say that? I don't know who he is.”

“My contact says he's young and one of the heirs to the MacTavish Distilleries. Old family, lots of money. Don't get me wrong, I'd be happy to have a Scottish son-in-law, but I've heard rumors from the oats and haggis network about Lochlan.”

“Dad, I'm looking for a part-time job, not hunting for a husband.” The information sounds unsettling, but now I'm curious, so against my better judgment I ask anyway, “What have you heard about him?”

“That he was sent to America for some indiscretion that no one's talking about. Some say he's had too many dalliances that embarrassed the family. There are rumors that whatever he did, women had to be paid to keep silent.”

Now the air of distaste makes sense. I thought he didn't like doing publicity or the reporter was more interested in him than the winery. “If he's part owner of the wine business, I'm sure I won't have much contact with him if I'm working in the tasting room.” Now that I think of it, it's probably not a good way to meet him. I should tell their personnel I'm interested in working in the office; more than likely I can meet him there.

“Honey, I want you to be careful with this guy. Don't do anything that you're not comfortable with. If you need backup, I'm only a plane ride away.”

“I'm not a teenager,” I chuckle into the phone. “What makes you think he'll give me a sideways glance?”

“Because my beautiful daughter looks like her mother. You're both rare beauties, inside and out.”

“Tapadh leat, athair.” Using the Gaelic to saythank you, father,causes my voice to choke with emotion. He's the only parent who's been a constant presence from childhood through the teen years. It was hard when I went away to college, but I had to try to make my way in the world.

“Your Gaelic is still very good. Do you have someone to practice with?”

“No, but I still remember what you and Mom taught me.” It's what we spoke when we were living together as a family. Mom speaks an untold number of languages. She's a linguistics professor and a researcher working to preserve obscure languages. She's traveled to some interesting places just to learn and record languages that only a handful of people still speak. It's sad when she tells me of a project that she's recording the last person to speak a language.

“Have you spoken to Mom?”

“Yes, just yesterday. I'm planning to fly to Edinburgh next month. She has a few weeks off before she takes up another project. Do you want to join me?”

“I would, but it's a critical time for me with my training and games. Besides, you don't need me around spoiling your reunion.”

“You spoil nothing. It's great to spend time as a family.”

“I promise to do the next major holiday, or it would be nice if Mom came here.”

He sighs. “That would be nice.”

Those sighs have become more recent in the last year. I wonder if he's thinking it's time to move on from his marriage. He would tell me if I asked, but I think there are some things that a daughter shouldn't know about her father.

“It's getting late,” he says. “I'll let you go. I want to know how it turns out at MacTavish Cellars, and I especially want to know if you meet the infamous Lochlan MacTavish. Promise to call me next week.”

“I promise,” I say, trying not to yawn into the phone. “Tha gràdh agam ort.”

“I love you too, pet, be safe.”

* * *

My interview with Layla,the head of HR at MacTavish Cellars, is scheduled for 2:30 today. I got an email from her while eating breakfast. It's amazing how fast Dad's contacts respond from the network.

The winery is a large estate. I'm driving past some of their vineyards on my way to the main buildings. I stop a guy on a forklift to ask where the office is located. He directs me to the stone structures with flower-covered vines reaching up to the top. I did more research for my interview. This winery was established a little over three years ago in America. There's a separate operation in New Zealand that opened ten years ago.

“Kenzie, it's good to meet you,” says a tall, no-nonsense woman, her hand outstretched. She has short-cropped gray hair and lively gray eyes that match her hair. Her glasses rest on her chest attached by a silver chain. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Layla,” I say, grasping her hand to engage in a firm handshake.

“Call me Layla, although you get points for using Ms.” She smiles. “Come in through here and don't mind the mess in my office, it's the sign of a healthy mind. Can I get you something to drink? We have tea, coffee, and soda in our staff lounge.”

“I'm fine.”

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