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“You look like you could use a drink.” Dougal’s concerned expression made Kris realize she’d been frowning at the thought of her rapidly dwindling bank account.
She made herself smile. “Yes. Thanks.”
Dougal lifted his hand and the bartender, an extremely large man in every way—height, breadth, belly, chin; make that chins—grimaced. Strange behavior for a business owner, but it was quite busy. Eventually, after waiting on every customer down the line first, he made his way to them.
“Johnnie, this is Kris Daniels, the writer woman staying at Effy’s place.”
Kris’s offered hand disappeared in Johnnie’s when t
hey shook. His smile for her was warm, and his voice when he asked what she’d like friendly. She must have been mistaken about his annoyance.
Kris didn’t think white wine was on the menu or, if it was, that she’d want to drink it, so she indicated Dougal’s glass with a finger and said, “Whatever he’s having.”
Johnnie moved off with a surprisingly light step for his bulk and pulled a bottle from the top shelf.
“Did I just order the equivalent of Scottish lighter fluid?” Kris asked.
“You’ll see.”
Johnnie brought her drink, about an inch of liquid the shade of burnished sienna; then he waited while she tried it.
Yep, definitely lighter fluid.
Kris managed not to choke. She even managed to swallow the stuff instead of spraying it all over the bar. But what really impressed her was that she smiled and thanked Johnnie in a voice that sounded almost like her own.
The big man left to wait on another customer, and Kris turned to Dougal. “What is that?”
“MacLeod’s only serves the very best Scotch.”
“Which is?”
“Well, most have their favorites, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, but in this bar—” Dougal lifted his glass. “Only single-malt whisky from the Highlands. This is called Loch Ness Whisky.”
“No way.”
He downed it in a single gulp. “They call it the ‘monstrously good malt.’”
Kris took a baby sip. Fire trickled down her throat and leaped into her stomach. She coughed.
“You don’t have to drink it,” Dougal said.
“It’s growing on me.” Kris took another sip. “Or if anything is growing on me, this will definitely kill it.”
Dougal signaled for another, and, eventually, Johnnie brought the bottle. He glanced at Kris’s barely touched glass, and his lips twitched before he moved off again.
“Is he always so laid-back?” Kris asked.
“Laid-back?” Dougal repeated.
“He takes his sweet time waiting on people.” From what she could tell, he took his time only when waiting on Dougal, but she didn’t think it prudent to mention that. Turned out, she didn’t have to.
“He’s just like that with me,” Dougal said. “I’m not a local.”
“Neither am I.”
“Tourist is different. You won’t stay.” Dougal glanced at Johnnie. “I won’t go.”
“Why would they want you to go? Your grandfather lived here. Doesn’t that make you one of them?”
