Love Came Just in Time (22 page)

“Hey, look at this.”

Gideon wanted to get out of the chair, but it seemed reluctant to let him go. “I fear I'm trapped.”

Megan walked over to him, her eyes glued to a document she'd picked up from off the desk in the corner. She held out her hand and hauled Gideon to his feet.

And then she started to shake. She looked up at him. “I can't believe this.”

Gideon looked at her blanched face and immediately threw his arms around her. It seemed like the proper precaution to take when your beloved looked as if she might fall down in a dead faint.

“Read it!” Megan exclaimed, shoving it in his face.

Gideon read. And then he reread. And then he shook his head in wonder.

“I'll be damned.”

“This can't be legal!”

“It certainly looks as if it is. All you need do is sign. I can witness it for you.”

“Gideon, Mrs. P. left me the entire inn! What am I going to do with a haunted inn? I don't know the first thing about cooking, or cleaning, or advertising—”

Gideon pulled her close and rubbed his hand soothingly over her back as she continued to list in great detail all the things she could not do. He smiled into her hair as he scanned the rest of the deed. It was all quite legal and quite binding. And he knew without a doubt that Megan would do a positively smashing job at all of it.

“I'll be stuck out here all by myself for the rest of my life with the rain and the ghosts—”

Gideon paused, then stroked her back more thoughtfully. That was a problem. After they married, she wouldn't be able to be here full time. In fact, he didn't know how she could spend more than a week or two here during the year. His business was in London. AE, Inc. would collapse without him overseeing it every day. Good heavens, his vice presidents couldn't tie their shoelaces without Gideon giving them a memo on it!

Well, there had to be a solution to the dilemma. Gideon was known for his creative solutions to impossible tangles. He'd fixed other things, he could fix this too.

“—probably doesn't even have a washing machine. I'll be washing things on a rock in the river. All right, so my nails aren't in great shape anyway. Can you imagine what they'd look like after a few months of that?” She pulled back and looked at him. “Well? Can you imagine?”

Gideon took her by the hand and led her over to the desk. He put the deed down, found a pen and handed it to her,

“Sign,” he commanded.

“Oh, I just don't know—”

“Sign, Megan. It will all work out for the best.”

She leaned over the document, then looked at him from under her eyebrows. “Will you,” she paused, then cleared her throat and looked away, “will you come visit me now and then? When you take another vacation?”

“Oh, Megan,” he said, surrendering his heart to her all over again. “Of course I will.”

She started to cry. She dragged her sleeve across her eyes and looked at the deed. “You know, I'll probably end up just as batty as Mrs. Pruitt. At least she was a Mrs. She hadn't been stuck here alone her entire life.”

“Megan, sign the deed,” Gideon said, forcing himself not to blurt out his intentions. He wanted his proposal to have the proper romantic setting ; popping the question while his bride-to-be sniffled liberally into her sleeve was not it.

Megan signed, then buried her face in her hands and wept. Gideon witnessed her signature, then pulled her into his arms and held her.

“Megan, you just acquired a lovely little getaway. These should be tears of joy.”

“Oh, I'm just thrilled!”

“The place could stand a little sprucing up, of course.”

“I'm broke!”

“You're forgetting whom you're drenching. I'm the extremely powerful CEO, remember?”

She froze, and then looked up at him. “But, I don't want your money.”

“I'm not going to give you any money.”
You'll just take it out of our joint account
, he added silently. “I'll just help you get a business loan,” he lied.

She worried a loose thread on his tunic. “And you'll show up now and then?”

“Probably more than you'll want,” he said, fishing heavily for a compliment.

“I could use help with the cooking,” she said, looking no further up than his chin. “And maybe the decorating. You know, British input and all that.”

He laughed softly and tipped her face up to kiss her. “Of course, Madame Proprietress. My proper British tastes are at your disposal.” He smiled down at her. “Well, shall we go ransack Mrs. Pruitt's room and see what other surprises she left for you? Then perhaps we should head down to the village and stock up for the Christmas feast.”

“It will be a quick trip,” Megan said as he pulled her toward the library door. “My savings account isn't exactly padded.”

“I'll buy—”

“No, you won't” she said, digging in her heels.

Gideon frowned down at her. “Megan—”

“No, Gideon. I don't want your money.”

“Ah, but seeing my hands prune up from too much dish washing appeals to you.”

She smiled up at him so brightly, he almost flinched.

“Exactly,” she said.

“Are you going to be this stubborn for the rest of our lives?”

She blinked. “The rest of our—”

The front door slammed, making them both jump. Gideon pulled her behind him. “Let me go first.”

“Oh, brother. It's not a burglar.”

“Humor me.”

“Maybe it's another guest,” Megan said suddenly. “Hurry, Gideon. Maybe he'll pay in cash up front.”

Gideon stumbled out into the entryway, thanks to Megan's hearty push. It was a good thing his toes were tamed, or he would have embarrassed himself.

A young man stood there, soaked to the skin. His jaw dropped.

“We're in costume,” Gideon said, gritting his teeth. No sense in pummeling any of Megan's potential customers.

“I was sent for Lord Blythwood. Is he—?”

“I am he,” Gideon said, swallowing a feeling of dread. “What is it?”

“An urgent message from a Mr. MacClure. The phone's out up here so I was sent to give it to you. Lord Blythwood,” he added in a tone that said volumes about his opinion of Gideon's manner of dress.

“What was it?” Gideon demanded. Heaven only knew what kind of disaster Adam had landed them in. Gideon cursed himself thoroughly. He never should have given up so easily on staying connected with the company.

“He said it was something of an emergency, and a long, expensive one at that. They need you in London as soon as you can get there.”

“I knew it, damn it,” Gideon said, dragging his hand through his hair. This was what he deserved for thinking to take a holiday. And when the company collapsed, Gideon would personally hold Stephen responsible.

“All right,” Gideon said, striding to the door, “let's go. Are there any cars for hire in the village? I suppose the train might be just as fast. Or maybe a flight from Edinburgh. Well, come on, lad. Don't just stand there.”

Gideon strode out the front door into the pouring rain and swore. The boy had come up on a motorbike. Well, perhaps it was fitting to end his ill-fated holiday soaked to the skin, since it was how he'd begun it once his car had caught fire. The car likely would have exploded if Megan hadn't been so quick with the fire extinguisher.

Gideon froze in mid step, then turned around. Megan was standing in the doorway.

Gideon strode back to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I'll ring you soon.”

“Sure.”

“I will,” he promised, “And I'll arrange for some help to come up. I'm sure there is someone in the village who'll hire out for the holidays.”

“It's okay,” she said, pulling away.

“I'll send a decorator too. Maybe a chef to get things rolling. We have an advertising division at AE. I'll have someone ring you after Christmas with some ideas—”

“Gideon?”

He closed his mouth on the rest of his plans. “Yes?”

“I'll be okay on my own. Really.”

“But I can help,” he said.

She shook her head. “I don't want your money.”

“But—”

She backed away. “Just go do your business thing.”

“Megan—”

“It was fun.” She smiled, but her eyes were too bright. “I'll see you around.”

And with that, she shut the door in his face.

Gideon stood there on the porch and felt worse than he'd ever felt in his entire life. Not even blowing the entire U.K. telecommunications market had left such a sinking feeling in his gut.

“My lord?”

Gideon turned. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other.

He climbed onto the back of the motorbike. It was an unpleasant ride to the village, but it was probably just what he needed to bring himself back to his senses.

He would straighten things out in London and ring Megan the first chance he got. He would fly her down and they could resume their relationship in town. He could come home earlier at night, in time for a late supper, perhaps. Maybe he would give thought to taking a few hours off on Sundays to devote to her. Things could work out remarkably well.

He had Adam on the line within moments of arriving in civilization.

“What?” he barked. “Were we robbed? Scooped in the Far East? Did the infrastructure of the company collapse?”

“No,” Adam said, sounding confused, “but the stock was off ten points today in New York.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and'?” Adam exclaimed. “It was off
ten
points, Gideon!”

“Stocks dip.”

“What?” Adam gasped. “The last time it dipped
two
you dragged us all out of bed for an emergency board meeting!”

“It will bounce back.”

“It will bounce back,” Adam echoed, disbelief plain in his voice. “Gideon, have you lost your mind? This is a disaster!”

“Adam, relax—”

“Relax?” Adam bellowed. “I'm sprinting through the halls, bloody frantic about this and all you can say is ‘relax'?”

Gideon whistled softly. “I think you need a holiday.”

“What did they
do
to you up there?” Adam yelled.

Gideon paused, wondering where to begin. Normally he would have gone on about equipment failures and the time it had cost him, but now he saw clearly that business went on in spite of him. Even the few hours he had spent fretting and stewing had been nothing but a waste of time.

And then quite suddenly a most amazing thought occurred to him.

“Adam, I think I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“What she wants.”

“Oh, no,” Adam moaned. “Tell me there isn't a she involved!”

“I'll call you in a few days. Maybe after the new year.”

“Gideon, wait—”

“Go home, Adam. It's Christmas Eve. You need a holiday.”

“What I'm going to need is a trip to hospital—thanks to the chest pains you're causing—”

Gideon hung up the phone and lowered himself onto a handy bench. Realizations of this magnitude were better digested while sitting. Yes, it was all becoming clear. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before.

He looked up at his dripping chauffeur. “Are there any shops still open? I need ingredients for a modest Christmas dinner and a few of the trimmings.”

The boy nodded, his eyes wide.

“Then let's be off, shall we? I won't spend much. That isn't what's important.”

And now he knew what was.

MEGAN LOOKED AT the rain beating incessantly against the window. She'd been watching it from the same position for most of the day. Part of it was she couldn't seem to get out of Gideon's chair, and part of it was she just didn't have the heart to move.

It being shattered and lying all around her in pieces as it was.

Well, it was getting close to dark now. Probably time to go and see what was in her kitchen. Somehow, she just couldn't get enthusiastic about the thought of it being hers. She would never go into it that she didn't see Gideon standing over the stove, coaxing his bannocks to cook properly and not scorch themselves.

“Get over it, McKinnon,” she commanded herself sternly.

She clawed her way out of the overstuffed chair and dragged herself through the entryway and down the hallway to the dining room. She walked over the place where Gideon had planted his face more than once. Then she gave herself a good shake. She couldn't walk through the house and see him at every turn. He'd made his decision and it was blindingly clear that his priorities didn't include her, despite his brief about-face. He was a workaholic. There was no changing him.

She put her hand on the door, then froze. There was someone in the kitchen. More than one someone, if her ears weren't deceiving her. She grabbed her trusty ornamental dagger from off the buffet and eased the door open the slightest bit.

“I'll go after him,” a voice said, in less than friendly tones. “I'll teach him to break me wee granddaughter's heart!”

“Leave him be, ye blighted Scot! He's regained his senses and gone off to do his manly labors!”

“Och, and what more manly a labor is there than having a wife and bairns?” the first voice demanded. “Pebble countin' ain't the way to happiness!”