I smirked. “Close. I had a collector set of Hot Wheels that I took around with me everywhere in a little case.”
Isla was trying not to laugh. “That’s horribly adorable. Now I’m just imagining a tiny Locke in a suit with his briefcase full of toy cars.”
“It wasn’t a briefcase.”
“In my head it is.”
My thoughts momentarily shifted to the baby. Would they like cars? Books? Painting? Video games? Isla caught my eye, and for a second, I wondered if we were thinking the same thing. I cleared my throat. “Sounds like you spent a lot of time outside.”
“It was easy to. Our house was just down there,” she said, pointing out a trail. It was the opposite direction from where Weston and I had walked.
“It’s on the lot?” I was surprised to hear that. “The estate agent didn’t mention a dwelling.”
“It’s not really livable anymore—it needs too much work. I figured whoever bought the property would tear it down.” She sounded a little sad. “It hasn’t been occupied since my mom andI moved out sixteen years ago. But I have lots of fond memories there.”
“How old were you when you left?”
She hummed. “Seven.”
I wondered briefly what had happened between her mother and Dougal. What prompted her to take Isla to the other side of the world? It didn’t feel like the right time to ask, so I filed the question away for later. “I was only a little older than that when I came to Braeburn for the first time.”
“You went to Weston’s grandad’s camp, right?” she said. “I’ve heard about some of your Highland adventures.”
“Oh, boy,” I said. “How much has he told you?”
“I know all about you falling in sheep shit, if that’s what you’re asking.” She flashed me a wicked grin. “Now that I think about it, that feels very on-brand.”
I shook my head, trying to shake off the residue of embarrassment that particular memory always left me with. “It’s funny the things we remember from childhood.”
“I know what you mean.” She released a heavy breath. “This is the place where my parents’ marriage fell apart, but I mostly remember the good things. How happy the waterfall made my mother. The picnics we used to have, among the blooming heather. The butterflies that used to descend upon the wildflower meadows behind our house.”
“It sounds like a fairy tale.”
“I think parts of it were.” A soft smile took over her face. “For me, anyway.”
I stopped walking. “Then it really would be a shame for your family’s legacy to be swallowed up by some factory. You’d never get to share these special places with the baby.”
The smile dropped from her face, and her expression closed off. “Right,” she said, voice icing over. “I forgot that you’re only interested in using me to help with your business deal. Just FYI, I’m not going to be your pawn.”
I reached for her, catching her hand before she could stalk past me. “Are we really back to this? I’m not trying to manipulate you or use you or?—”
“Sure, Locke, I totally believe that,” she said, yanking her arm away. “You’re just trying to be friendly. The fact that this is my father’s land has no bearing on your behavior.” She sneered. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I meant what I said,” I told her. “Not just because I want the land, but because it really would be a shame to lose this place. I can see how much it means to you, and I understand. That’s what the Highland camp felt like for me. When Weston reopened it at the start of summer, it was like stepping back in time, and I realized how important it was to be able to share that place with the next generation.”
Her jaw was tight, her chest heaving. Ranger whined between us, picking up on the tension.
“Some places deserve to be saved and cherished,” I continued. “And I think this is one of them. Do I want to develop the property? Yes, of course. But my plan is the one that’s going to make the most of the natural beauty without trampling over it. Isn’t that what you want?”
“No,” she snapped, her brown eyes fiery. “I don’t want you to slap your luxury hotel down here. What I really want is to have the land for myself. To build an artist’s retreat in my mom’s honor.”
“Your mum was an artist?”
“She was a landscape painter,” Isla said. “And this place spoke to her like nothing else. I think artists should have free access to it.”
Okay, that was not what I was expecting her to say. I puzzled over it for a beat. “If that’s how you feel, why haven’t you asked Dougal to let you have it?”
“I have!” She sounded beyond frustrated, a muscle in her cheek twitching. “He won’t give it to me. He won’tsellit to me, even though I offered a fair price. He won’t even entertain the idea.” Her hands turned to fists at her sides. “He’s too busy trying to decide between the industrialist, who’ll slap his ugly factory down, and you, who’ll make a private clubhouse for the rich.”
