Hope Everlastin' Book 4 (19 page)

It was minutes later before
she felt spent of tears and self-pity, and timidly looked up to see
if he was still there. He was, as calm and serene as a summer's
morn, his expression kinder than she believed possible under the
circumstances.

Laura turned her back to
him, but could not bring herself to look upon the headstones. "You
must think me a raving lunatic," she said shakily.

"No, ma'am. I think ye be a
bonny womon wi' a great deal to work through."

"Thank you," she said
tremulously.

"Ye be a Yank," he said
with a hint of amusement. He sobered. "Tha' term isna
disrespectful, is it?"

"No. At least, I think it's
cute. Americans are called far worse in other parts of the
world."

"Ma'am, may I ask how ye
came to be here?"

Sighing deeply, raggedly,
she turned and offered him a small smile. "My brother lived in St.
Ives, England. He died and his second wife—my three nephews'
stepmother—couldn't handle them. I came not knowing she planned to
abandon them."

She gestured disparagingly.
"Believe me, leaving them in my care was equivalent to abandonment!
Anyway, due to other bizarre circumstances, we were on our way to
the American Consulate in Edinburgh. I'd never driven in this
country, or tackled a stick shift, so driving in winter conditions
was an accident waiting to happen. I-ah, somehow came up the
driveway here and crashed into the oak at the front of the
property. Fate at its nastiest best, wouldn't you say?" Her voice
trembled. "Every time I try to rationalize the chain of events that
led me here, I feel as if a jackhammer is going off in my
head."

"Ye be where ye should
be."

"Am I?" she whispered
achingly.

"We all come
home."

"Laura?"

Reith turned and Laura's
gaze shifted to Roan, who was coming to a stop alongside the new
groundskeeper. The young man passed her a look of understanding,
then said to Roan, "Ye be wha' she needs."

Roan said nothing, but
nodded. He watched Reith head across the field in the direction of
the carriage house. When he was long out of hearing range, he
shoved his hands in his pants pockets and met Laura's timid
gaze.

"I was gettin’ worried
abou' you."

She looked off to one side
and clutched the sweater about her more tightly. "I wouldn't blame
you if you wanted me to leave."

"Why would I?"

Her gaze cut to his. "How
could Robbie ever love Tessa? She was—" She choked on emotion and
had to draw in a breath before completing, "—so evil."

"No, no' evil, love. She
was desperate and afraid to live in poverty."

"I saw the look on your face
when I—
she
—was
saying those awful things to Lachlan!"

"Aye, I was shocked, but I
understood, Laura." Stepping closer to her, he reached out and
tenderly brushed the fingers of one hand against her left cheek.
"Haven’t we done enough to punish ourselves? They're gone, lass.
We're free to be just Laura and Roan, two people who love each
ither, who have been blessed wi' the love and respect o' some verra
exceptional friends."

"We are
blessed."

"Aye, and it's time we
started acting like the two people plannin’ the everlastin’ weddin’
o' their lives."

"Wedding?" Warmth blossomed
in her cheeks, and the gloom that had dulled her vibrant green
irises, became lost beneath a glow of joyous
expectation.

"Wha' do you think o' a
threesome?"

"What?"

"Lannie and Beth, Deliah
and Winston—"

"Roan and Laura," she
interjected dreamily. "Wow."

"It would be a helluva
grand ceremony," he said, then placed a lingering kiss on her lips.
When he lifted his head, he said in a low, raspy tone, "I want you
for ma wife, Laura Bennett."

"You got me," she laughed.
"But may I say one thing?"

"Sure."

"The new
groundskeeper...?"

"Wha' abou'
him?"

"He's gorgeous."

Roan jerked back. "He's a
fairly nice-looking lad."

"No, he's gorgeous. Almost
too beautiful to be male."

Roan scrinched up his face
in disbelief. "Have I reason to be jealous?"

Laura laughed. "Roan
Ingliss, I like my men ruggedly handsome, as broad in the shoulders
as a luxury liner, and having sexy brown eyes."

"In case you haven’t
notice," he said, grinning sheepishly,
"ma
eyes are brown."

She flung herself into his
arms and kissed him.

Moments ago, she'd thought
herself incapable of ever being happy again. Love was like that,
though. When you least expected it, it peeked over the darkest
horizon and promised a brighter day ahead.

C
hapter 7

Taryn decided her only
allies were Laura Bennett's three obnoxious nephews. They alone
sought her company. Their endless chattering and questions gave her
a real headache, but she tolerated them because she could be
herself around them. They liked her bluntness, and thought her
goofy when she refused to handle Wiggles, the household Doberman in
the guise of a mouse.

Nice.

The women remained distant
whenever she was in the same room. They watched her every move as
if expecting her to steal the clothes off their backs.

Nice.

The men weren't much
better. Considering their first encounter, Lachlan was surprisingly
the most polite, although he was careful about how he answered her
questions, which had nothing to do with his death or return. She
didn't dare mention that subject. If any one of them thought she
was there for an inside story, they would have her either thumbing
her way back to the airport or strapped to a dunking stool over
Loch Ken.

Despite her dislike for
lamb, she politely ate the roast dinner without a complaint.
However, the gathering was fraught with burping contests among the
boys. Taryn remained tense throughout the meal, questioning how the
other adults could put up with the crudeness. Were the boys her
responsibility, she would have sent them to their rooms without
supper. Laura had only once told them to stop then laughed when
Kevin released a liquid-sounding burp that made Taryn's stomach do
a double flip-flop. Taryn suspected her hosts and hostesses were
ignoring the antics because they knew it irked her.

Nice.

But she did survive dinner,
and she did manage to keep her chin up when the women practically
ignored her in the kitchen during the cleanup. Again she got the
impression Deliah was the one she needed to avoid. She couldn't
figure out what it was about the softly spoken woman that made her
skin crawl, and she was usually quick to size up strangers'
personalities. Their weaknesses. Their strengths.

Not this one,
though.

Looking into the vibrant
blue depths of Deliah's eyes reminded Taryn of a roller coaster
ride. Scary. Thrilling. Dangerous. Although Deliah looked years
younger than Beth, Laura, and herself, Taryn couldn't shake an
inexplicable impression that the woman was the mother hen of the
household. Everyone was so solicitous toward her and her
"condition". Even the boys. Taryn found it sickening but kept her
opinion to herself.

Now, she was to endure yet
another insult.

After the boys were put to
bed and Beth had fed the twins and returned downstairs, the adults
gathered in the parlor. Taryn, of course, joined them. She was a
night owl who usually slept until late morning, and was looking
forward to some stimulating conversation with people closer to her
own age. But no sooner had she sat on one of the high-back chairs,
Roan approached her and told her there were plenty of books in the
library to look over until their discussion was through.

At first, Taryn could only
stare at him in disbelief. Considering what she already knew about
the residents under this roof, what else could be deemed
secret?

Being excluded was right up
there with a slap. No, a punch. In the face.

Nice.

When Roan scowled at her,
Taryn laughed. It was one of those caustic little laughs that
always escaped her whenever her pride got nicked or she was taken
by surprise. It was an automatic response, one she'd tried to curb
for years. At least she didn't snort, as did Helen Tooley, her
editor's secretary.

"You want me to leave?
Why?"

Roan stared down at her
through narrowed eyes, the scowl intact, his mouth set grimly and
his hands on his hips. "Family business."

She locked her teeth
against a retort. He was baiting her, expecting her to storm out of
the room in a snit. She refused to give him an excuse to demand she
leave the estate before she was ready to split on her
own.

"Fine," she said, forcing
lightness in her tone as she rose to her feet. She smiled into his
face and offered a nonchalant shrug. "But I don't feel much like
reading. Mind if I explore the house?"

Roan glanced at the others.
They didn't appear thrilled at the idea of her roaming the halls,
but in the end they nodded their assent. Her brother explained
which rooms were currently occupied, and she agreed to avoid
them.

She headed for the hall
door, her step lively, her projected demeanor camouflaging the
resentment fermenting in her gut. She closed the door behind her
and took a moment to will back the tears pressing at the back of
her eyes.

Damn you, Roan!
she silently cursed.
You
didn't have to humiliate me like that in front of the
others!

Her spine rigid, she
climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her room was directly
across from Roan and Laura's, its gold and red tones complimenting
the French Provincial furnishings. It was a feminine room with lace
doilies, a collection of etched perfume bottles and vases, and a
massive wall tapestry depicting a French courtyard of a bygone
century. The fireplace was her favorite, with its immaculate white
rock and white cherub columns supporting a gold-veined marble
mantel. The drapes were ruby-red velvet with lace sheers which
gently flapped from the breeze coming through the partially opened
windows. It was cool in the room, almost chilly, but she preferred
fresh air.

She'd left both suitcases
opened on the canopy bed. As yet, she hadn't hung up or put away
any of her belongings in the drawers. She was superstitious by
nature, another flaw she couldn't pluck from her faceted
personality. As long as she was prepared to leave at a moment's
notice, it wouldn't happen. She'd long ago determined her life was
governed not by a god or the planets according to astrology, but by
the dictates of Murphy's Law—what could go wrong, would. At least
she had the moxie to think her way around obstacles. And a sense of
humor, which few people would agree she had. But of course she
did.

Determination and a thick
hide were necessary in her line of work, and if she didn't view the
world as one big, revolving joke she would have capitulated years
ago to her parents' unrelenting pressure to marry and have a horde
of kids.

"One man and noisy brats
ain’t my style," she said in a singsong manner, and removed a
flashlight from the bottom of the largest suitcase. She tested it
and, satisfied the wide beam would see her through her exploring,
she headed for the attic door on the third floor.

The boys had shown her the
attic and the tower, earlier. Although the tower had given her the
creeps when Kevin pointed out where Lachlan had been interred by
her ancestor, the brief tour of the attic had made her heart
rejoice.

When she'd first begun
delving into Ailbert's journals, she'd had no real interest in her
family's history. She'd heard stories of Lachlan Baird since she
was a child. Once, when she was not quite five, she had
eavesdropped on a conversation between her mother and her Aunt
Aggie. They had gone to Aunt Aggie's for one of their monthly
visits. Usually, Taryn enjoyed her aunt's company—although Cousin
Borgie was a bore and a bully—but that day Aggie was in a foul
mood. She told Taryn's mother, her sister-in-law, she didn't know
how much longer she could work for the laird. The "devil", Aggie
called him again and again, as if to brand him a devil gave her
perverse pleasure.

Taryn had never disbelieved
the stories of the ghost harassing her family, but she hadn't taken
them all that seriously until this day. For nearly a year later,
she had nightmares of a fiendish ghost making her scrub his floors
and windows, his green misty body hovering over her as she worked
herself to exhaustion.

Moving to the U.S. had
ended them, and she'd tucked all memory of him away in a dark niche
in her subconscious.

Her research had begun with
the Ingliss clan and the Bairds relevant to her ancestry. Only one
of Lachlan's full brothers had married and had children. Gavin, who
had three sons of his own. In January, she'd had the good fortune
to track down two of his living relatives. Margaret Cunningham and
Collin Guin-James Baird. Brother and sister resided in Aberdeen,
Margaret in the house where Lachlan had been born. At eighty-two,
Margaret was a widow with no children, and a mind as sharp as a
sword's edge.