After two steep hills Lucy started having second thoughts about it being easy.
As she crested a third breath-stealing hill, a deer leapt across the road.She stopped and watched its retreat, letting out a surprised oath at what she saw in the distance.
Talk about picture perfect.
A small L-shaped castle, with what looked like a Victorian-era addition complete with high peaks and Gothic windows, sat in the nicest spot tucked between the base of low hill and a long, thin loch.Tidy outbuildings surrounded the place and a well-tended lawn curved down to a tiny pebble beach.
Now this was what she'd come for.
A slow smile spread across her face.Scotland.Castles.Lochs.Yeah, life was definitely looking up.There were two cars in the driveway and a few dim lights in the windows.It looked to be a half-mile away or so.If she left the muddy track, made a shortcut over the pasture, through the woods, she figured she'd be there in no time.And it sure as hell was closer than five miles back to town...
Ian MacLaren stood in front of the parapet wall, the collar of his barn jacket turned up against the chilly mist of rain.To the west, a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the wet, rolling landscape and making it glow.It was his favorite kind of sunset, just after the rain when the air went soft and hazy, the color of grass turned emerald, and the loch became a giant mirror, reflecting everything off its surface.
God, he'd missed this place.
He'd been here for six months now and it still struck him how much he'd missed it, how much memories of his summers here calmed his mind during some of the toughest times in his life.His grandfather had left it all to Ian and his two younger brothers.The house, the land.Everything was theirs.
From his vantage point four stories above the ground, he could see most of the estate stretched out before him.Sheep and cattle grazed peacefully, unaffected by the beauty around them.Tidy rental cottages dotted the landscape, stone built, and there for so long they seemed a natural part of the land.Ian had worked his ass off getting the first rental in livable shape.He had a dozen more to go and a thousand more things on a To Do list that seemed never ending.
His brothers, Devin and Jamie were finally here to help with some of the work, though Jamie would return to combat soon and Dev ...well, Dev was dealing with a lot of shit.Last thing Ian wanted was to drag him into the additional stress of planning, organizing, permits, inspections...No, Devin was fine with a tool belt around his waist and a hammer in his hand.
Of course, if they sold the estate, they'd have millions.Ian could pay off the taxes and debts his grandfather had accumulated.
Too bad money didn't grow in the neglected fields or the towering pines.
With a heavy sigh, he dragged his fingers through his damp hair.The writer from New York would be arriving soon.
Everything had to be perfect.
He'd checked and double-checked.He couldn't remember how many times he'd walked through the guest suite.There were fresh flowers in a vase on the dresser, the four-poster bed's covers were without a single wrinkle, and the fireplace was clean and ready with wood.
A large part of achieving their goal depended on a stranger.A glowing article in America's largest travel magazine would be a great step in the right direction for Balmorie Estate and Guest House.He'd pulled some major strings to get the writer here.He had to make this work, had to start turning a profit at some point or he could kiss the land his family had owned for the last five hundred years goodbye.
Mrs.Riley Brooks of New York City was going to love it here.
Ian couldn't help but look at it from a military stand point.Brooks was a pivotal key in winning the Turn A Profit War.And hell if he was going to lose.He'd keep the land.For himself.For his brothers.God knew they needed the peace the land brought them, needed a place to plant their feet and battle the demons haunting them all.
The scent of Fran's cooking had wound its way through the house and out the open door.With one last look at the landscape, Ian went downstairs and into the kitchen.
"You're making me lose ten years off my life, Ian my lad, with all your pacing about," Fran said as he entered."There's nothing more you can do."
He looked over her shoulder, breathing in deeply as she kneaded flour dough on a flat wooden board sprinkled with oatmeal."Are those bannocks?"
"Of course.Now stop your fussing and go out for a walk.No sense fretting over something that's out of your hands."
She made it sound so simple.In some ways it was.In others, not so much.It was everything.
Ian kissed her cheek.
"Manhandling my wife again?"Hamish asked in his usual thick brogue as he entered with a grocery bag and a crooked smile that broke through his rust-colored beard."If ye'd stop being so stubborn and get a lass of yer own, ye could leave mine be."
Ian gave Fran a wink and then grabbed his ball cap from the peg at the back door.Dimon sat up from his bed by the fire and whined.The rangy, gray Deerhound was huge, but didn't seem to know it.Fran had rescued the one-year-old giant right before Ian had arrived.As soon as they met, Dimon decided Ian was his, and Ian was a sucker for those big, hopeful eyes.
Hamish slid his arm around Fran's waist and hugged her to him."She broke the mold, my Fran.There's not another like her in all the world."
One of the great things about returning to Balmorie was its caretakers, Fran and Hamish Graham.From the time Ian was little, the Grahams loved him as if he was one of their own.Ian might have lived in the States with his American mother and Scottish father, but every summer they returned to his father's childhood home, Balmorie Estate.His dad had loved it here as much as his sons did...
Ian's chest tightened at his father's memory.
