Summer at the Scottish Castle, page 26
‘I see the way Arran dotes on you. They care about you. They like having you around – and so does Mac. That means he doesn’t want alone time with Arran. He wants both of you. He wouldn’t let you into their life at all if he didn’t.’
It took her aback, even with the warning, and she had to fight back the tears threatening to well in her eyes. That even somebody who didn’t like her much saw how important Mac and Arran were to her … It meant the world. Made her feel like she truly did belong. Like all along, she had just been wandering until now. She’d slotted herself into a little corner of the puzzle and made it complete.
‘Oh, bloody hell. Don’t get all weepy on me or I’ll walk away,’ Gem warned.
‘I won’t,’ Jess promised, sniffling all the same. ‘But thank you, Gem. I know I’ve made mistakes – still making them, actually – but I swear I really do care about Mac and Arran. And I hope one day we might even be friends.’
‘That’s a step too far,’ Gem deadpanned. And then: ‘Does that mean you’re planning to stick around permanently?’
Wistfully, Jess sucked in a deep breath and twirled in a slow circle. She hadn’t been sold on Scotland at first, what with all the hills and the Hamishes – well, just the one Hamish, but that was more than enough. Still, her heart was buried somewhere in this village, or maybe it had been planted with Mac’s flowers. She was certain that this was where she would bloom, too.
As long as your flowers bloom here, so will our love. Rosemire’s words etched on the bench in the secret garden had stuck with her, and she understood them now, better than ever. She wasn’t prepared to uproot herself again. Not when she had found a place where it was easier to breathe. A place that made her eager to get out of bed in the morning. She’d been searching for it for too long to give it up.
This was her home. This was what she wanted.
‘It does.’ Jess smiled, more confident in her decision than any she’d made before.
Gem contemplated her for a moment and then snatched the clipboard from Jess’s arms. ‘All right, then. You go and entertain Mac for the day and I’ll take over things here.’
‘But … what if you need me?’
‘I’ll consult this creepily organised wad of paperwork. Or I’ll use those thingies we all communicate with.’ She shook her phone in the air then flipped through the pages of the clipboard, which had, admittedly, been colour-coded and filed in order of priority. Emails, receipts, contracts, to-do lists … It was all there, with the time each merchant or entertainer would arrive to set up between today and tomorrow morning. Jess supposed other than greeting them and helping with the decorating, there wasn’t much more to do. Nothing Petra couldn’t cover for her.
‘All right,’ she surrendered. ‘Petra is over there eating all of Wendy’s blueberry muffins. She’s helped me with most of the planning and will know the answer to any questions you might have. And she has my number.’
‘Yep, OK … Ba-bye.’ Gem batted her away, still fixed on the notes.
Jess was just grateful for the help, and she stopped on her way towards Mac’s parents’ across the fields to make sure she knew it. ‘Thank you, Gem. I really do mean it.’
‘I know.’ Gem tilted her head. ‘When are you going to tell him, Jess? Really, I mean?’
Jess smoothed down her dress, her palms growing clammy at the thought. But she’d made her decision. She was ready to tell Mac everything, from her title to her divorce scandal. She wouldn’t lie to him anymore, and if that meant he didn’t want her … well, it didn’t change her love for Fort Aileen or the friends she’d made. It didn’t change her feelings for him, and she’d do everything in her power to fix what she was bound to break. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life here, proving she was more than just a lying countess and a selfish Byron. Proving she was more than the things Robert and the Splendour journalist and her mother made her out to be.
‘After the festival,’ she answered steadily. ‘I just … I want to do one last thing for him before it’s all ruined. Before he knows the truth.’
Jess could have sworn a sliver of sympathy shone in Gem’s eyes. But then she shielded them from the sun. ‘For what it’s worth, I hope he forgives you.’
She forced an appreciative smile and a wave. In her head, though, she could only think: so do I.
Arran had been glowing ever since the adoption process had begun, and that meant Mac glowed too as he sipped his tea and chewed on his slightly burnt toast. Summer was creeping in, the kitchen awash in June sunlight, and even with the cottage still drying out, things finally felt right.
‘So. What do you fancy doing today?’ he asked. ‘We could go to the bookshop or—’
‘Oh, no, don’t go into the village today,’ Mum interrupted as though it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. ‘You don’t want to get under everyone’s feet while they set up for the festival.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he deadpanned. ‘I was thinking of helping Jess out, actually. She’s been pretty busy with it this week and I feel bad I haven’t had time to do my part—’
A knock broke his train of thought.
‘I’ll get it!’ Arran sprinted to the door without waiting to be asked, something they’d usually drag their feet about. They’d been different, lighter, ever since Mac had told them he wanted to adopt them. No more running off to the loch or shutting themselves in their room. Like a different child altogether. Like the child they deserved to be – safe and secure and no longer needing to act out as a way of testing Mac’s permanence. They knew now that there was nothing they could do to chase him away.
Awed, Mac gazed at their retreating figure and murmured, ‘Who is this child and what have they done with Arran?’
Mum smiled, patting Mac’s cheek lovingly with soft hands. ‘They’re happy, Mac. It’s wonderful. Enjoy it before the teen tantrums start. Which reminds me … have you heard back from Linda about the …’ she cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered, ‘… adoption, yet?’
‘You don’t have to whisper, Mum. They already know.’
‘Yes but’ – she slid her hands into her pockets and shrugged – ‘they’re probably very nervous. They might not want to talk about it until a decision is made.’
‘It could take months,’ he muttered. He’d already submitted all the forms to be considered, but now he needed character references; and after those, interviews and background checks, and social services weren’t exactly the quickest at processing these things. So far, he hadn’t been told no, so he supposed that was a good sign. ‘But no. I chatted with Linda over the phone and she sounded surprisingly optimistic.’
‘Of course she is,’ Mum replied. ‘You’re the best father there could ever be. None of the other stuff matters.’
‘I hope they see it that way.’
Mum nodded. She knew as well as Mac did how tough the adoption process was, of course. She and Dad had tried a handful of times before they were finally considered, and they were the perfect couple on paper.
‘It’ll happen, love.’ She squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’m certain. It wouldn’t feel so right otherwise.’
‘You think?’ He needed the reassurance. Needed his mum to tell him it would be OK, even if it might not be true.
‘I know.’ She smiled, smoothing down his hair the way she used to when he was a kid getting ready for school. He didn’t mind, even if he was an adult now. He’d never outgrow the little ways she showed she loved him. ‘Arran is your child.’ She patted his chest. ‘There’s no way that big old heart of yours isn’t meant for them.’
He put his hand over hers, so full of love he couldn’t breathe for a moment. It was all he needed; someone to tell him that he was a father, that he could do this.
‘It’s Jess!’ Arran skipped back into the kitchen, breaking the conversation. Mac turned around, surprised to find Jess following with a timid wave. He felt as giddy as Arran looked at the unexpected visit, palms instantly going clammy.
‘Hello, love. Wasn’t expecting to see you this morning. Thought you’d be swamped with festival duties today.’ Mac’s gaze honed in on her as he blossomed with warmth. He’d missed her. They hadn’t had a proper moment to themselves – not since the night he’d dropped her off in the truck – with Mac keeping Arran entertained and Jess organising the festival.
He couldn’t think about that night. Not without aching with want. So he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead, and hoped he wasn’t sweating through his shirt in the skinny rays of sunlight pouring into the kitchen.
Jess’s cheeks seemed to flame with knowing. ‘Actually, my day was just freed up and I thought perhaps you might fancy doing something. I hope that’s OK, me just showing up …’
‘Course it is,’ he said softly.
‘Can we do something fun?’ Arran asked.
Mum clicked her fingers, face brightening. ‘I know just the thing!’ she exclaimed before dashing into the back garden.
Mac locked eyes with Arran, who shook their head with just as much bewilderment. Reluctantly, Mac followed her outside only to find her struggling to open the cobweb-covered shed.
‘What are you doing?’ He nudged her aside to do it himself, swiping the dust away with his sleeve and giving the door a good shove. The hinges were rusted but soon gave under his weight, meaning he half-stumbled across the step and into the shed.
‘There they are.’ Mum grinned as though she’d stepped into Aladdin’s cave and not a dingy old shed that still smelled of their late guinea pig’s urine. She gestured to a set of three bikes propped against the brick wall. Only Arran’s orange and white one had seen the sunlight in the last decade. ‘You should get your bikes out. I’ll do you up some sandwiches and you can take Jess and Arran for a little picnic over the hills. Wouldn’t that be nice – and romantic?’
Mac narrowed his eyes, inspecting the bike. ‘I haven’t ridden this in almost ten years. Think it’ll be a bit knackered now. Jess might not want to spend her day off riding a rusty old bike.’
‘Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense.’ When Mum really wanted to get her point across, she liked to repeat herself three times for good luck. ‘Make the most of the glorious weather before it starts raining again. You’ve been slacking, Mac. It’s time to amp up the romance and woo her properly.’
‘Please don’t say “woo”,’ Mac begged, scratching his beard and examining the mud-caked chain and pedals. He supposed it was something different, and he could probably use the exercise. Then again, he still hadn’t forgiven Dad for planning a similar outing when he was a teenager, which had ended in a broken elbow and tears from Mum. Jess deserved nice dinners and pretty gifts, not bike-saddle chafe and squeaky pedals.
But Mum was right. He hadn’t had much time to impress her the way he’d hoped, what with everything else going on. And picnics were romantic, weren’t they? He knew a few scenic places nearby where they could stop for lunch.
‘Arran?’ he shouted, poking his head out of the shed.
Arran was still visible from the kitchen table, spreading Nutella across a piece of toast. Their third slice that morning. ‘What?’
‘Fancy a bike ride?’
He was half hoping Arran would say no, but they brightened and nodded eagerly.
‘Jess?’ Mac asked hopefully.
She fidgeted for a moment, leaving Arran to plead: ‘Please, Jess? It will be fun. We can search for frogs.’
She smiled, the corner of her pretty pink mouth dimpling. ‘I don’t have a bike.’
‘Oh, but we have a spare!’ Mum offered, hauling the other bike – her old one – out of the shed and rolling over Mac’s toes in the process. He grunted, letting out a deep breath as he waited for the pain to subside.
For once, Jess’s fringe had been tucked back, and it made her lighter, younger, freer. Like he could read her better. Still, he wasn’t sure what she felt now; she didn’t seem too sold on the bikes. ‘I don’t know …’
‘Please?’ Toast forgotten on the side, Arran clasped their hands together and pouted.
Mac almost wanted to do the same if it meant spending the day with her. With both of them.
One look at Arran and Jess caved. ‘All right. I’m not exactly dressed for a bike ride, mind …’ She looked down warily at her floral summer dress. Perhaps not the most practical gear, but Mac was unable to keep his eyes off her slightly tanned bare legs, remembering his fingers digging into those smooth, wobbly thighs in the truck.
‘You look perfect,’ he couldn’t help but blurt. ‘I mean …’
‘He means you’ll be fine,’ Mum offered with a kind smile.
Jess’s cheeks turned red. ‘Good. Shall we get going, then?’
‘Hang on, hang on. I need to make you some sandwiches first.’ Mum jostled back into the kitchen and began frantically pulling out half the contents of their fridge. Mac rolled his eyes, knowing better than to stop her, and met Jess at the door. He slipped his fingers between hers as discreetly as possible, his thumb rubbing grateful, welcoming circles across her knuckles because he couldn’t possibly find any other way to show her just how happy he was to see her.
‘Glad you came today.’
‘Well … I missed you.’ She ruffled his hair and then tugged him into the kitchen and did the same to Arran. ‘And you.’
Arran glared, but they all knew they secretly loved Jess’s attention. Just as Mac did.
He drank in a deep breath, the baking grass and Jess’s perfume filling his nostrils. It was going to be a good day. It always was when he had Arran and Jess for company.
Jess managed to get away with walking the bike off the street but after that … she supposed she was expected to get on it. Mac seated himself and Arran followed as they came to a small overgrown pathway where the sun didn’t reach. She hesitated behind them, cringing at her own bad luck.
‘Ready, Jess?’ Mac asked, fastening his helmet.
‘Er …’ She put her foot on the pedal, imagining it was a stirrup instead, and that the bike was one of her old horses. She wasn’t sure what it said about her: that she would be more comfortable riding a live animal than a piece of metal. Carefully, she kicked her other leg over and landed on the uncomfortable seat, which did not seem to accommodate or even cushion certain undercarriages very well. Did people really do this for fun?
Still, she was on. She forced a smile and a thumbs-up, then realised that not clutching the handlebars made her wobble. ‘Oops! Yep. I’m ready to go, I think.’
Mac’s brows knitted together, humour in his careful gaze.
‘You never ridden a bike before?’ Arran asked in that blunt, careless way that meant one absolutely had to reply with the truth.
Jess tried to lie anyway, even when her cheeks heated. ‘Yes. Of course I have. Everyone has ridden a bike.’
‘Not me. Mac had to teach me.’
Well, that did make her feel a little bit better, even if Arran was twelve years old and she was pushing thirty. Faced with Arran’s honesty, Jess caved. ‘No,’ she muttered quietly. ‘OK. I’ve never ridden a bike.’
Sympathy softened Mac as he dismounted again, propping the bike against an old fence. ‘You could have told me. I would only have made fun of you a wee bit for it.’
She laughed, though sadness frayed the sound. She wondered what else she had missed out on in a childhood that had given her everything material she could want. There was so much to life she had just never been introduced to because it wasn’t considered ladylike or necessary.
‘I can teach you,’ Mac offered, gripping her handlebars so she wouldn’t have to. It meant they were face-to-face and she could no longer avoid looking at him.
‘That’s silly,’ she said, smiling. ‘Teaching a twenty-eightyear-old how to ride a bike.’
‘Thinking you’re too old to learn is sillier,’ Arran pointed out wisely, before they rode down the path without a care in the world. They were still in view on the other side, along with miles of green dotted with splodges of yellow buttercups.
‘Arran’s right.’ Mac shrugged. ‘But you don’t have to ride. There’s room on the back of my bike if you’d rather …’
But she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life not knowing. She was Jess now, and Jess rode Ferris wheels and kissed people in parked cars and, thanks to Arran, watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
‘I want to learn,’ she said. ‘Will you teach me?’
Mac grinned. ‘OK. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it. Just make sure to keep your hands on the bars and your feet on the pedals.’
He moved behind her, and then his hand rested near her tailbone as he gripped the back of her seat. She stiffened instinctively, that familiar maelstrom of desire swirling in her again. Mac was the current, and with the way his thumb brushed along her lower back for a moment, she was beginning to think he knew that. Liked it.
‘Focus,’ he whispered.
‘You’re making that very hard to do,’ she replied.
His chuckle held all of the sharp smugness of the man she had met in the castle gardens. The one who teased her about flattening his tulips. He definitely knew what he was doing to her. She would get him back at some point … She smiled to herself.
No time like the present.
She wiggled her hips so her bum met his hand, which also gave her the advantage of a more visible cleavage. Thanks to the heat of the day, she’d left the top few buttons of her dress undone. Mother would be horrified, but then, she always was horrified by Jessamine. Jess was beginning to shape her life around her own standards and not her mother’s, and she’d never been freer.
‘I don’t like this game,’ said Mac.
‘Yes, you do.’ She shot him a pointed look over her shoulder and whispered, ‘Are you going to feel me up, or are you going to teach me how to ride a bike?’
‘Both, I hope. Maybe not in that order.’ Another wolfish grin before his pressure on the bike seat increased. He kept one hand on the handlebar as she pushed off the fence. ‘Pedal your feet forward slowly.’
