Of course she did.
I toss the phone onto the passenger seat and start the engine. The wipers struggle against the downpour. The road cutting through Glenfield is deserted, the villagers barricaded inside their warm homes, surrounded by people who’ve known them their entire lives.
Meanwhile, I’m driving toward an empty clinic in a village that hates me, trying to outrun a past that still chases me into my dreams.
Welcome to the Highlands, Dr. McLeod.
The sign reading GLENFIELD MEDICAL CLINIC appears through the curtain of rain. I park in front of the small building, cut the engine, and remain sitting in the silence broken only by the drumming rain on the roof.
Coming here isn’t a fresh start.
It’s just another way to run.
CHAPTER 2
MARY
The Lamb Thief
(Or How to Pick a Fight with a Sheep)
I pull up in front of McGregor Castle wondering exactly how my grandmother managed to summon me to a family dinner less than twenty-four hours after my return to Glenfield.
Oh right.
Because she’s Maggie McGregor, and refusing an invitation from Maggie McGregor is basically signing your own social death warrant in the Highlands.
Her message this morning had been deceptively simple:
“Dinner tonight, 7 p.m. The whole family will be delighted to see you.”
I hadn’t even tried to negotiate. What would’ve been the point?
I cut the engine and stay seated for a minute, watching the lit windows of the castle. Rain drums steadily against the roof because, obviously, it’s raining. This is Scotland. It’s alwaysraining. I spent enough time in London and across Europe to forget that relentless meteorological truth.
Right.
Let’s get this over with.
I let out a sigh, grab my bag, and dash through the pouring rain toward the main entrance. Jamison opens the door before I even get the chance to knock, as though he’d been expecting me.
Which he probably had.
Jamison always knows everything.
“Good evening, Miss Mary. Welcome home.”
“Good evening, Jamison. My grandmother is…”
“In the drawing room with the rest of the family.”
Everyone’s already here.
Of course they are.
I hand over my soaked coat and purse before heading toward the large sitting room where bursts of laughter spill through the open doors. I pause for a second in the doorway, gathering my courage and forcing a smile onto my face.
You can do this, Mary. It’s just dinner. With your family. The same family that’s going to bombard you with questions about why you came back when you’d planned to spend at least a year traveling around Europe.
