Page 69 of Scotlander

It was a heck of a way to become a butterfly. To throw himself into saving the place that brought him equal mixes of pleasure and pain. The fact he wanted to save it, not just for himself, but for a stepfamily he’d never quite bonded with spoke volumes. He was an honourable, kind man who would put his pride to the side to tend to the greater good and she did not fancy him one tiny bit. Her erogenous zones always threw a glitter party when she wished a man goodnight. That’s just how biology worked.

He touched his fingers to his cap. ‘G’night, then, Claire.’

‘Night, Jamie.’

When she closed the door and pressed her hands against the smooth, golden sheet of wood, something told her the absence of footsteps meant Finn was on the other side, doing exactly the same thing.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Finn powered through his morning chores, eager to get into town before the Thursday market traffic set in.

As he popped his favourite wheelbarrow back against the wall, Orla came in with one of her small baskets. She held it out to him. ‘Some food for you, in case you and Willa are out for a while.’

He took the basket and, after a knotty moment’s silence, said, ‘You’re doing a brilliant job, you know. Folk seem to be loving it.’

She looked at him wide-eyed with disbelief. ‘Finn! It’s a shambles. I lied to these people. They’re good, lovely folk who wanted a wee bit of a holiday and I’ve got them building stone dykes and clearing out brambles and clambering round a castle that is a health-and-safety disaster zone. I’m off my heid, is what I am.’

A hug would’ve been useful here. Some words of encouragement. Unfortunately, avoiding eye contact was what he and Orla were used to. They acknowledged one another, sure, but they didn’t ever really look at one another.

He looked at his stepsister now. Really looked at her. A year younger than him, Orla should be glowing with youth. A thirty-two-year-old mum of two living on a beautiful farm on the edge of a breathtaking loch, surrounded by villagers she’d known since she was in nappies. She was in the heart of a community that had supported her from the very beginning. And she looked absolutely knackered.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, feeling his chest release after years of waiting for just this moment.

‘For what?’

‘All of it. I—’ He hesitated, unsure if he should say anything and then thought, Screw it. In for a penny and all that. ‘I could’ve been a better brother to you and I – I just want you to know that I’m here now. For whatever you need.’

Orla’s spine endured a short, sharp shudder. In its wake, she stood, rapid-blinking at the lunch basket, as if giving herself permission to believe him would be a step too far. Her response felt like a sucker punch. Not that he’d been expecting a warm hug and tears of gratitude. He hadn’t earnt her trust. He couldn’t expect it with a few muttered half sentences of apology.

‘Aye,’ she finally said. ‘Right you are.’

‘You know,’ he pressed on. ‘The bank manager said there are buyers if we want. Ones with deep pockets.’

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. They weren’t tears of relief.

He ducked his head until he was looking her squarely in the eye. ‘We won’t let them take it, Orla. The farm. The castle. Any of it. Okay?’

A round of rigorous nodding and lip biting ensued. When she’d gathered herself, she pointed at the basket. ‘I put a cheese and pickle sandwich in there for you.’

He pressed his hand to his chest in thanks. This was Orla’s love language. Knowing and making someone’s favourite food.

‘Thank you,’ he said, meaning so much more than those two little words could offer. Thank you for not making him pay for being such a complicated stepbrother. For leaving her and her family to sort out the farm even though, in name, it was his.

Leaving had been his way of showing them that he thought of the place as theirs. The grand gesture had totally backfired. He’d failed to notice that they’d been keeping the place ready and waiting for him, just the way he liked it, for when, or if, he returned. An epic, sprawling gift of the Magi. They had loved him like family all along. Unconditionally.

If Willa were here, she would be stage-whispering instructions like, Hug her or Say something nice about her cooking. His lips twitched at the thought and Orla must’ve seen something in it because she smiled back at him.

After it all got a bit too much, standing there smiling at one another, Orla dug into her pinafore and pulled out a list. ‘These folk might be useful to speak to, down the village. They know about’ – she fanned her hand across her outfit and then out towards the castle – ‘the situation.’

‘Thanks.’ He turned to go, digging into his pocket for his keys, then stopped. ‘Orla?’

She turned round and smiled, the worry already eased from her eyes.

‘If it doesn’t work out, getting the money for the harvester, you and Dougie, your kids and your dad, I’ll look after you, alright?’

‘I know, Finn,’ she said. ‘You’ve always been there for us.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine