The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (10 page)

She turned inside the closest shop, an ancient place with steps that led below street level to a business that sold tartans. It smelled like new wool. Rows and rows of colorful woolen kilts were displayed on industrial metal racks.

Plaid kilts reminded her of her Nanny, and thoughts of her Nanny comforted her, so Kristin stayed inside the cramped quarters, sniffling uncontrollably, her eyes burning.

Two female shoppers stared at her. Kristin must have been a sight—teary-eyed and snotty-faced, her makeup running—so she hurried into a back room that was currently empty.

Bolts of tartan fabric were stacked everywhere in rickety piles, making the place seem like a homey rabbit’s warren.

Perfect.
Kristin found a private back corner and sank to her knees, hidden from everyone. If only she had friends here, family. But she didn’t. She was alone, in the big, bad world again. Just as she’d been alone those weeks, years ago, when she was in New York City. Yes, Arlene might still be her roommate tonight, but Arlene couldn’t be let in on the secret with Sage. Kristin didn’t want anyone from Vermont to get their hopes up that she might possibly have what it took to save the Aura factory.

And if she wanted to save the factory, she realized she had no choice: she
had
to work with this man. But how? How could she trust him, knowing that if he’d duped her once, he could easily try it again?

Kristin scrubbed her hand over her gritty eyes. Footsteps were approaching.

For the hundredth time, she wished she had never left home...

And then, she saw it. Directly before her, right in front of her eyes, at the very bottom of the towering stack of woolen plaids.

“Nanny,” she whispered.

That familiar tartan that her Nanny had worn as a winter scarf. Red and green with a hint of gold and beige. Autumn colors. A hunting plaid, Nanny had called it.

With all her energy, Kristin focused on the bit of cloth, conjuring up the image of her Nanny, smiling at Kristin, encouraging her to be brave and have faith.

Nanny had been born here in Scotland, so in a sense, this was Kristin’s home, too. Wasn’t she entitled to be here, as well?

I am a McGunnert. I will not be afraid.

She ran her palm over the bolt of wool plaid and then wrestled it out of the towering pile. When she at last had it free, she held it to her nose and sniffed, as if to internalize and be part of all of its essence and the strength it represented.

The shopkeeper stood beside her. He was a pleasant-faced man with twinkling green eyes. “Well, miss, those colors do suit you.”

Kristin smiled giddily at him. She stood, the bolt of fabric still clutched in her arms. “It does suit me, very much. Can you tell me the name of this plaid, please?”

“Let us see.” The shopkeeper strode over and found a three-ring notebook binder on a side shelf.

Kristin followed him, peering over his shoulder as he flipped through the homemade pages, each encased in a protective plastic cover. The collection looked like years’ worth of personal research on the shopkeeper’s part.

“Ah. Here it is.” He tapped on the image of the plaid she held. “McGunnert. A rare tartan to be sure, miss.”

Kristin stared. On the page, along with an image of the plaid was a pencil drawing of a very distinctive bee.

She gasped, then opened her purse and dug through it until she found the box she’d brought containing Nanny’s gold, bee-shaped brooch.

Exactly like the bee symbol on the clan’s card.

“This is it,” she said excitedly. She held out the bolt. “I would buy some of the cloth, but I don’t sew well. Can you help me find something in exactly this McGunnert tartan?”

“Aye, miss, we sell custom-made kilts and ship them worldwide.” He handed her a business card. “Now, where are you from?”

“Vermont,” she said shyly.

“Ah. I knew you were not from Florida. You’re not sunburned.” The shopkeeper smiled, which encouraged Kristin to do the same.

“Rather than ordering something custom, do you have anything already made that I could buy now, and wear?” Kristin asked. “Maybe a scarf? I would dearly love a scarf.” Just like Nanny.

“Come with me and we’ll check together.” The shopkeeper escorted her to the front room. On a counter, he spread out a shawl, larger than a scarf but smaller than a full-size blanket. “You’ll not find many in the country,” the shopkeeper said. “It’s made for you, miss.”

Kristin ran her hand over the fabric. “So soft.”

“It’s cashmere.”

She winced and then lifted the price tag. Yes, it was out of her budget.

“Do you have a smaller scarf? Maybe something in lamb’s wool?”

“Sorry, lass. As I said, it’s not a popular tartan.”

She gave the soft shawl a lingering glance, folded on the table. No matter the price, she had to take it.

She lifted the shawl and handed it to the shopkeeper. “Ring it up for me, please.”

Five minutes later, Kristin exited the shop with her Nanny’s beautiful shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her brooch pinned to her coat. If Malcolm was a Scottish clansman, then so was she. She had the weight of centuries of tradition behind her and flowing in her veins. She was brave. She was smart. She would not be kept down.

Outside, a flow of people walked on the sidewalks, and a succession of small cars and trucks drove past. Kristin aimed once again for the Sage Family Products headquarters building. This time, she held her chin in the air.

When she bumped into George—into
Malcolm
—dressed in his business suit with tie askew and hair blown about from the wind, and his face looking upset and bewildered, she only felt calm.

She could handle him.

With renewed determination and confidence, Kristin looked directly into Malcolm’s eyes. She knew what she had to do.

CHAPTER SIX

M
ALCOLM
WOULD
NEVER
forget the look on Kristin’s face when she’d discovered that he wasn’t who he’d said he was. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a feeling worse than facing a person he’d hurt, even if he hadn’t meant to do it.

But now, as Kristin stood before him, she seemed calm and resolved. The wind blew her blond curls around her face. She didn’t smile to see him, just gave him a steady look.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. He’d been searching everywhere for her.

“I’m ready to talk to you.” She pulled a tartan shawl closely around her shoulders. It looked good on her—brought out the green in her eyes and otherwise brightened what had been a lousy day for them both.

The sky was overcast now; another gray Scottish afternoon settling in, and he rubbed his arms, wishing he’d brought his overcoat with him. “Yeah, I want to talk to you, too.”

She nodded. “Let’s go inside, Malcolm.” She indicated a coffee shop.

He patted the envelope in his shirt pocket. The letter was still there. “After you.”

He opened the coffee shop door, the bell tinkling as she entered. Her turf, because she’d chosen the location. He’d actually never been inside this place before, had never even noticed it, despite its close proximity to his office. Maybe he’d driven by on his way into work, but Malcolm always had a driver with him. He never drove himself. It just wasn’t safe for him.

Inside the coffee shop, about five or six tables were tucked among alcoves.

All were taken. Kristin aimed for the corner table, the most private one, in the best location. A solitary man had finished his cup and was staring into space. When he saw Kristin smile at him, he jumped to his feet and offered her his table.

Malcolm just shook his head. Obviously, Kristin had charmed him, too. She had that effect on people, like a sprite. How else had she gotten into Sage past the security guards?

He waited as Kristin sat, settling into the cushions on her wooden chair.

“What can I get you?” Malcolm asked.

“Earl Grey tea, please.”

Malcolm preferred coffee. Dark, Italian espresso, as strong as possible.

He went to the counter and ordered their drinks, then brought them back. When he’d set his mug of coffee on the table, plus Kristin’s steel teapot and empty cup and saucer, he sat and leaned forward. He would have reached for Kristin’s hand, but he didn’t feel like getting rejected again. It wasn’t as if he went around holding women’s hands, anyway.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t use my real name. I wrote you a letter...and was just about to mail it when...” He pulled it from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. “It explains everything—best I could explain it, anyway.”

She gazed at the envelope as she dipped her tea bag up and down inside the steel pot. Her brow was creased, and she seemed receptive to listening to him now. That was better than her previous cool remoteness, because it meant that she wouldn’t run away from him.

But she looked away from the letter and shook her head. Her big green eyes tore at his heart. “You not only lied to me and my family, but you lied to Jay Astley. The man who hired you as a consultant in good faith to help us stay solvent.”

“Jay knew that I worked for Sage Family Products,” he said in a low voice, because people were at a table beside them, and not all of what he was about to say was public knowledge. “We’d already committed to buying Aura from him weeks prior, before I even met you. Jay wanted the news kept quiet while the details were finalized. Do you know what a nondisclosure agreement is, Kristin?”

She frowned as she poured her tea into the cup. “Yes, I guess.”

“It means we signed a contract with Astley. As a result, we’re obligated not to talk about certain things. Certain things that neither side wants known.”

Why was he even saying this? He could get in trouble for breaking confidentialities.

“
Jay
knows what your real name is?” she asked. “He lied to me, too?”

Oh, hell. “Er...I can’t speak to that. I can only tell you this—I would like to help you get a better job.”

“
Me
get a job?” She put her hand to her chest.

“Yes.” He felt so earnest. She just needed to read his letter and see how well he thought of her and how much he wanted her to stay. “Please, Kristin.” He indicated the letter. “This is our formal offer. You’ve said that you love Scotland, and we would pay you well. You were undervalued at Aura. I know, because I saw your salary, and I think that we...”

Her eyes blazed at him.

What was wrong? Maybe he wasn’t speaking as eloquently as he could, but she had to know he’d done his best for her. “Kristin?”

“Do you really think I want to move here and work for
you
after what you did to us? To my whole town?”

“What? No.” He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. “You’re being stifled there, Kristin. Andrew...he’s an ass, and frankly, I can’t wait to terminate his position.”

“
Andrew
has a new baby to support,” she said crisply. “And what about Mindy, and Arlene, and Jeff?” Her forehead creased in outrage. “And Stephanie, my sister-in-law—you remember her? You ate in her house. Her livelihood is a sandwich shop that relies on the business of Aura employees. And then there’s Stephanie’s husband, my brother, who works in the accounting department at Aura? And my dad, who runs the Chamber of Commerce? You saw in person what Aura means to
all
of them.”

“Companies are bought and sold every day,” he protested. “You don’t think I tried to save it? You told me Laura was your friend. Well, moving the production of her formulas to our Byrne Glennie plant is the only way to make sure her brand survives. Otherwise, Aura goes bankrupt and her legacy is gone forever. You know that.”

She crossed her arms. “I have a better idea, Malcolm.”

It occurred to him he hadn’t asked her what she’d hoped to accomplish by coming to Edinburgh. He sighed. “Is that why you came here to Sage Family Products? To share with us this
great
idea?”

“Yes. I’m here to show Mr. Sage why he should keep the Vermont plant open,” she said.

A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it.

She glared at him again. “How is that funny?”

If only she knew his uncle. “You’re asking for impossible things.”

She raised her chin. “Am I?”

“My uncle rarely even meets with people on his own staff, never mind staff from a company he’s just purchased.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” he said calmly. If anyone knew his uncle, he did. “He doesn’t even do television or public appearances. Never. He has no time and no inclination. He stays in the background, surrounded by his assistants and bodyguards. I doubt he would see the Queen if she so requested.”

“Really?” she said again, raising her brow at him.

“Really.” Malcolm tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Look, I’m the person he placed in charge of assimilating Aura. What happens to Aura is my call.”

He didn’t tell her that it was a test, that Malcolm’s task was to acquire and integrate smaller companies that produced green and organic products. Aura was Malcolm’s first acquisition, and if he failed—if he didn’t have what it took—then another of his cousins would be tapped to someday run the family business.

“Interesting,” she said dryly. “That’s why ‘George Smith’ needed to steal my production diagrams.”

He just sighed. “That was my security name, Kristin.”

“Because we’re so dangerous in Vermont, aren’t we, Malcolm?”

How could he expect her to understand? She didn’t understand security. Not the way he did.

It was visceral to him. He lived with the fallout every day. She didn’t know what it was like to always be on guard, always wary.

Just this morning, his driver had turned on the radio in his car, and an old song had played. “Gloria.” An obscure track from a Celtic rock band not yet famous. It was scary how music took a person back and put them right in the middle of a situation.
Tied up in the back of a van. Thugs screaming. Raining blows on his head.

“You know nothing about safety,” he said in a low voice.

Her eyes narrowed. “I most certainly do. And let me tell you, Malcolm, real safety is about people being secure with their own families, in their own towns. You ruined that for us. You came into my office, into our plant, and you took that away.”

He sucked in his breath, stunned.

“Safety,”
she continued, “is keeping people employed, in the place that they know, doing what they know. Do you think your people in Scotland will care about Laura’s bees the same way that we in Vermont do?”

“The plant in Vermont was hemorrhaging money,” he said quietly. “It was imploding, and that is the truth.”

“I’m done listening to your excuses, Malcolm. I came here,” she said forcefully, “to discuss new plans for a new line. My goal is to show you how to save the Vermont plant.”

“Kristin, I want to help but I can’t give you that.”

“I have solid plans that will keep the Vermont plant open
and
make it profitable.”

“It’s not possible.”

“
Everything
is possible.”

He shook his head, sorry for her. “It’s a fairy tale to think so, love.”

She flinched. He shouldn’t have said that, and he knew it right away. Her green eyes bored into him. “We have to work together,” Kristin insisted, “and we will, because your uncle, John Sage, directed me to meet with you on Monday. I already talked to him about it.”

“You... What?”

“I talked to him.”

He just stared at her. “What did you do, waltz up to him and tap him on the shoulder?”

“No, I shook his hand.”

“And just like that, he said...?”

“He said that he wants me to work with you, and he had the receptionist make an appointment on your calendar for Monday.” She nibbled her lip. “I’m sure he wants to see a presentation from us.
Both
of us.”

“Did he actually say that?”

She crossed her arms. “Call him and see.”

He would, but not yet. Not until he got something straight with her. “Kristin,” he said gently, “I told you, Aura is dead. I ran the numbers every which way and—”

“
This
is for the Born in Vermont line.” She opened her purse and shoved a copy of a bound report at him. “It’s a new opportunity. New formulations that Laura developed. She tested it and got customer commitment. Read her plans and you’ll see.”

“Did you tell my uncle all this?”

“Not yet—not completely. That’s where you come in. He wants us to confer, and then talk to him together.”

Malcolm shook his head. He could not believe it. Then again, maybe he could—Kristin had a special way of charming people like no one he’d ever met.

Though he knew it wasn’t smart or safe, he was half in love with Kristin already, and he definitely wanted her to stay. But she’d just made life so much more difficult for him.

He tore his hand through his hair. “I need to speak with my uncle first. We have meetings the rest of the afternoon, but not about this.” He tapped her report. “We’re a family-owned company, with responsibility to a lot of people, and we’re juggling a lot of other projects at the moment—”

“You and I
are
working together on this, Malcolm,” Kristin interrupted. “It’s arranged. It’s happening. And your uncle expects it.”

“I need to talk with him first,” he repeated.

“Do
not
try to talk him out of it,” she warned.

“Do you think I want to send you home? Because I don’t. I like having you here in Scotland, believe it or not.”

She flinched. “I am not going to kiss you again, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s not why I’m here. In retrospect, that was actually a big mistake on my part.”

A twinge of disappointment passed through him. Malcolm didn’t want her to regret what they’d shared on Burns Night. It had meant something to him. Moments like that never happened to him, not in the careful, insulated life that he’d been forced to lead. The fact that he was falling for her was not normal for him.

She was special.

“Will you please read my letter?” he asked.

“If you champion my report,” she said stubbornly.

Malcolm’s phone rang, but he shut it off. The call was most likely to tell him that he had ten minutes to make it back upstairs to the fourth floor conference room. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“How did you travel to Edinburgh anyway? Who are you staying with?” he asked Kristin, changing the subject.

She looked down, taking a long sip from her tea. “I’m here with Arlene on the first leg of a tour of the British Isles,” she finally admitted.

“So you have a hotel for tonight, then?”

“Yes. But tomorrow I plan to break from the tour group. At noon they’re leaving in a coach bus for England.” She stared at him, her expression a warning for him not to interfere. “Obviously, I’ve decided to stay in Scotland and work with you on preparing a presentation for your uncle. You
will not
stop that from happening, Malcolm.”

Unfortunately, his concerns for her meant that it was in his best interest to keep her here in Scotland, close to him, for a while longer, too. But a presentation to his uncle? That was a bit much.

Still, he would not refuse her outright. Not just yet. “Why don’t we take it one step at a time, okay? Right now I’ve got to head back to the office. I have afternoon meetings I’m already booked for, plus a dinner meeting to prepare for. Why don’t we meet for breakfast tomorrow? It’s the best I can do for now. And it’s good for you, too, because Saturday is earlier than Monday.”

She nodded slowly, seemingly pleased with her progress. “What time should we meet?”

“Ten o’clock,” he said.

“Here. We’ll meet here. And maybe it would be wise if you actually had a look at the Born in Vermont report before then,” Kristin said.

He picked it up from the table and flipped through it quickly. Maybe twenty pages, mostly text, with very few numbers. His uncle required numbers. Income statements, balance sheets, cash flow analyses. Malcolm saw none of the above. Without those financials, the idea would be dismissed out of hand.