CHAPTER FIVE

AFTER BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Serena left the children with Muriel and headed farther down the Sleat Peninsula toward Armadale. When she’d planned the temporary move to Skye, she’d known they wouldn’t be able to stay with Muriel the whole time. Her aunt would have welcomed them, but considering Max’s nightly awakenings and the fact that Muriel was a light sleeper, it was a better option to rent a holiday cottage. Unfortunately most of the options that would allow them to stay through August had already been booked, leaving only this little cottage about five miles away from Armadale Castle at the farthest end of the peninsula.

She drove slowly down the highway, taking care on the road left wet by the steady rain. Green was finally beginning to overtake the grays and browns of the winter-dormant foliage, a sure sign that spring was on its way. While she’d always secretly loved winter on Skye, when its rustic beauty was highlighted by a fine dusting of snow, the slow forward creep of the seasons held a particularly appropriate promise: a new beginning, bright life springing from a long, cold winter.

Serena followed the directions she’d scribbled on the back of an envelope, looking for the tree with the broken branch that would mark the otherwise-unsigned turnoff to the cottage’s long drive. Her car’s suspension thudded over the ruts in the road, jolting her all the way to her teeth. Water pooled in the little worn channels on the side of the road and filled the potholes left behind by winter ice, their glassy surface broken by a fine fall of rain.

She followed the winding drive up a gentle slope and parked in front of a tiny cottage. The structure’s exterior was encouraging: neatly whitewashed stone, a fenced garden, a picnic bench on a gravel pad along one side. Clearly the owner had gone to some trouble to make it an inviting accommodation for holidaymakers.

She stepped out of the car and zipped her waxed jacket against a sudden frigid gust. For all her romantic thoughts about spring, the wind still held winter’s bite.

The cottage door opened and delivered an older man in a heavy corduroy jacket and a dark watch cap onto the stoop. “Mrs. Stewart?”

“Mr. Brown.”

He nodded and gestured for her to follow. “Come inside and have a look, then.”

Not one for small talk apparently. Serena squeezed past him into the tiny cottage and looked around. It was bare but neat, with rag rugs and pine furniture, just enough room for two or three people. More than adequate for their temporary needs.

“One bedroom down the hall and a loft,” he said.

She nodded and examined the perimeter of the room. “Where are the rads?”

“No radiators, dear.”

“Excuse me?”

He jerked his head in what she assumed was an invitation to follow and led her to a wood-burning stove in the small kitchen. No radiators or proper appliances, just this old-fashioned stove for both heat and cooking? She wasn’t even sure she knew how to use one.

“There’s a woodpile out back. More than enough to last you the summer.”

Her hopes deflated as quickly as they had risen. She could bring in an electric hot plate and mini oven for cooking, but Skye’s summer nights remained cool. Even if she were willing to keep the stove constantly burning, the idea of hot iron around curious three-year-old fingers seemed like a bad idea.

“I’m going to have to give some thought to this,” she said slowly. “I’d not known this was the only source of heat.”

He shrugged and ushered her outside, where the rain had shifted from a fine mist to a steady patter. She pulled up her hood, shook Mr. Brown’s hand, and hightailed it back into the warmth of her sedan.

So that was a bust. She might not have many requirements, but reliable heat that didn’t involve an open fire was certainly one of them. What was she going to do now?

Find another place, clearly. Yet she’d had enough difficulty finding this cottage within the school’s catchment area. Even if she could find an available rental, it wouldn’t necessarily be within the prescribed boundaries—which meant her plans of having Em ride the bus home each day were for naught.

Serena had planned on going straight to the hotel, but instead she drove all the way back up the Sleat Peninsula and then an extra fifty minutes to her favorite coffee shop in Portree. Not only did the shop make an excellent latte, but it had free Wi-Fi and a community noticeboard on which locals often posted room and cottage rentals. Her avoidance had nothing at all to do with the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought of Malcolm Blake. Finding a place to stay was her first priority.

And yet after a fruitless scan of the board and an hour on the Internet, Serena had to admit it might be a futile hope. She even navigated the guesthouse’s reservations system to check availability of the self-catering cottages, which were of course booked solid through September. Just as well, she supposed. Staying on-site would make her plans of keeping clear of the hotel manager that much more difficult. In fact, if she weren’t loath to let him think he had scared her off, she would implement that plan today.

She tossed her paper cup in the bin and ventured back outside to her parked car. Time to put on her big-girl pants and make it clear she had as much right to be there as he did. As part owner, it was her responsibility to review the books and see how the hotel’s money was being spent. She couldn’t force him to be pleasant, but she could refuse to rise to his bait. This wasn’t personal, after all.

The rain shifted to a steady downpour on the drive back to Isleornsay. At the rate it was going, the hotel grounds would be ankle-deep in mud by morning. She parked in front of the structure, zipped up her coat again, and took a deep breath to prepare herself for battle.

Some days the hotel clicked along like a well-oiled machine. The guests were happy, the facilities operated as they should, and everyone showed up for work.

Today was not one of those days.

By two o’clock, Malcolm had already cleaned four rooms—after the housekeeper called in sick for the second day in a row—unclogged two toilets, retrieved a wedding ring from the P trap of a guest room sink, and spent twenty minutes on the phone with technical support to determine why the website had crashed. That in turn led to an hour restoring the site from backup and then making arrangements to switch it to a dedicated server, something he’d been considering since he came on board last year but hadn’t gotten around to doing. He settled into the desk chair in his office and massaged the back of his neck. Done. Surely that meant he’d covered all possible disasters and annoyances he was due for the day.

Almost as if the thought had summoned her, the door opened and delivered Serena Stewart.

“Can I get the last two quarters’ P and Ls?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Stewart.” He sat back in his chair, enjoying the view of her in those snug jeans and a zip-front Scandinavian sweater that opened a little too low to be considered work appropriate. He’d have thought it was on purpose if not for the fact she wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup and she’d plaited her hair back tightly against the falling rain. Not exactly the kind of thing a woman did when she was trying to be seductive.

He definitely shouldn’t be thinking along those lines about his boss anyway.

“Sorry. Good afternoon. How are things going today?”

“Two steps short of Armageddon,” Malcolm said, exaggerating just a touch for effect. “Now that it’s pouring down rain, I expect to have guests blame me for my lack of control over the Scottish weather as well.”

To his surprise a faint smile passed over her lips. “Do people do that?”

“Frequently.”

She shook her head, and the smile faded. “The P and Ls? Please?”

Well, she had said please, but he needed more information than that. “Why do you need them?”

The walls went back up, and she stiffened. “Because I asked you for them.”

“I meant, what do you need them for, so I know what files to give you?” He studied her defensive expression and decided to take a different approach. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot yesterday. But it would be a lot easier if you would stop instantly assuming I’m trying to make your life difficult. I’m just trying to do my job.”

The only change in her expression was a lifted eyebrow. “That goes both ways, you know.”

She wasn’t going to budge an inch. And he didn’t have any choice but to comply. He rose and circled the desk. “Listen, love—”

“No, just stop right there.” She held up a hand. “I’m not sure if your problem with me comes from the fact that I’m a woman or that you don’t want someone encroaching on your territory, but I don’t appreciate the implication that I’m not capable of running a business. I can and I have. So I suggest that you shove down whatever argumentative tendencies seem to spring up in my presence and give me what I want.”

He couldn’t help it. A grin broke over his face, his anger evaporating. And even though he knew it would make matters worse, he let his gaze travel down to the expanse of cleavage exposed by her sweater’s wandering zip.

She followed his attention and flushed crimson, yanking the zip up almost to her neck. He could see her processing how her words could have been taken as an innuendo, her color deepening even further.

She crossed her arms over her chest in a uselessly protective gesture. “Charming. Either you have no sense of self-preservation or you’re trying to force me to fire you. Which is it?”

He cleared his throat and forced an expression of seriousness back onto his face. “The former, I think. Mrs. Stewart—Serena—I’m not trying to be argumentative, and I’m not trying to make your life difficult. But I’ve run this hotel fairly successfully for the past nine months with no help and too little staff. What exactly do you think I’m doing wrong?”

“I already told you, you’re not doing anything wrong.” Her ire seemed to dampen a degree. “Let’s put aside the fact that I’m an owner and have every right to be here. By your own admission, you’re overworked. If this hotel is going to be the success I know it can be, you need my help.”

She looked sincere. And perhaps he had been overly defensive since her arrival. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He turned away, pulled open a file drawer, and yanked out the folder that contained the reports, holding it out. “Take a look. I think you’ll find everything is in order.”

She slowly took the file. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It nearly killed him to say the words. “Before you go, I do have a question. What exactly did you say to the guests while you were here yesterday?”

“I just gave them some ideas about what to do on Skye. Nothing special. Why?”

“A couple of them asked for you this morning. The Avilas were particularly appreciative of your stargazing tips.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m glad it cleared up last night for a bit before the rain came in. You can’t come to Skye this time of year and not appreciate our night skies. It’s practically sacrilege.”

“Indeed it is,” he said slowly.

She held up the folder like a parting salute. “I’ll get back to you about this.”

“Fair enough.” He watched her swivel on her heel and disappear out the door, not entirely sure what had just happened.