‘Oh, I’ll do that too,’ I offer quickly, spotting an opportunity to do some more of that bridge-building. ‘They’ll take it better coming from me.’
This isn’t, as it turns out, strictly true. When I squelch my way down the rain-soaked driveway to where the giant tree trunk lies straddling the road, Ian snorts in disgust at the news, Callum lets out a strange, wolf-like howling noise and the men they’re with all immediately start bickering over whose fault it is, while making plans to boycott the power company.
‘Well, we’ll just have to make the best of it,’ says Ian, once the shouting has died down. ‘As soon as this road’s cleared we’ll be heading home, as planned.’
‘But that’s just silly, Ian,’ I point out. ‘Especially when Hunter’s offered to let you all stay here in the hotel. Where there’s electricity. And food. And a swimming pool and hot tub at your disposal.’
The men standing next to Ian visibly brighten.
‘The lass has a point,’ says one of them.
‘I was never in favour of trying to make it back in this weather, anyway,’ says another. ‘I was just going along with it because everyone else was.’
‘Can we really use the spa?’ asks Callum eagerly. ‘What about the treatments? I could really use a deep tissue massage.’
‘We all could,’ says the first man, who doesn’t look like he’s been near a massage table in his life.
‘Well, you’re in the right place,’ I reply brightly. ‘I’ve sampled the spa treatments myself, and I can tell you, you’re in for a treat. A free one, too.’
‘No, we’re not,’ says Ian in a decisive manner. ‘We’re going home. All of us.’
‘Who put you in charge, Ian McBride?’ says the man who wants a massage. ‘We don’t all have to do what you say, you know.’
‘Um, did I mention there’s stovies?’ I say quickly, before things can get out of hand. ‘Izzie’s got the hotel staff making them. I’d hurry if I were you, or there’ll be none left.’
The two men immediately throw down their tools and head for the hotel, passing Hunter on the way. He watches them go, then comes over to join us, his expression guarded.
‘What’s going on?’ he asks, looking from me to Ian, then back again.
‘Some of the villagers have decided to stay after all,’ I tell him, choosing not to mention the bit where I offered them free spa treatments as a bribe. ‘Now that they know the power’s not going to be back on for a while.’
‘Right.’ Hunter looks less than thrilled by this.
‘Some of them have small children, or elderly parents,’ I add, when he doesn’t say anything else. ‘So we obviously don’t want them going home without power.’
‘Well, no. Obviously not. And you?’ He directs his question at Ian, who pretends to have found something very interesting to stare at on the ground.
‘My family and me will be leaving as planned,’ Ian says stubbornly. ‘Even if me and Callum are the only men left to clear the tree.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ says Callum. ‘I’m going for a massage. My back’s killing me after all that chopping.’
‘Massage?’ says Hunter, as Callum follows in the footsteps of the other men, towards the hotel. ‘Who does he think’s giving him a massage?’
‘Millie,’ I reply, improvising. ‘I think she likes him,’ I add in a voice I hope is low enough for Ian not to hear. Ian, however, is too busy glowering at Hunter to listen to anything I have to say.
‘So,’ he says gruffly, the axe he’s still holding making him look a lot like Jack Nicholson inThe Shining– a comparison that doesn’t exactly set my mind at ease. ‘It’s just you and me, then. That’s if you’re still willing to help me get my family out of here, Yer Lordship?’
‘I will if you stop calling me that,’ says Hunter, squaring his jaw. ‘It’s Hunter, thanks. And I have to clear the road whether you’re planning to use it or not, so if you helping gets it done faster, then you’ll get no objection from me.’
‘Right then, Laird Hunter,’ Ian replies, with a smirk.
‘Um, how about we make things a bit more interesting?’ I suggest, seeing my plan start to fall apart before my eyes. ‘Why don’t you have a competition?’
‘A competition? What do you mean?’
It’s Hunter who asks the question, but both men look equally confused.
‘Er, yes – a chopping competition,’ I say, making something up on the spot. ‘First person to chop all the way through the tree trunk is the winner? What d’you say?’
