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“Yes!” Amanda clicked her fingers, standing up again. “Breadcrumbs! There’s always a breadcrumb trail if you know where to look. I’ve got to go. Right now. To the distillery.”
Gran rose from her chair, eyes like steel. “Ye’ll sit yourself back doon and et your meal!”
“Gran!” I warned, shooting to my feet.
My grandmother snorted. “Ye have no say in this until you give me great grand bebbies!”
Babies? I almost fell over.
But Amanda didn’t flinch.
“I’ll give you all the great-grand bebbies you want, if you’ll just excuse me.” She replied, not breaking her stare with my gran as she grabbed her handbag. “I have to save this family’s almost three-hundred-year legacy first before any babies.”
“In that case, fine.” Gran broke out into a huge grin. “Off with ye then.”
My brain stupidly raced off with the idea Amanda might have my children, as I pushed my chair away.
“And where do ye think you’re goin’?” Maisie McAlister, doyenne of the Gallanach whisky dynasty, narrowed her eyes and pointed the carving fork.
“I have to help Amanda at the distillery, Gran.” The front door opened and closed. “She needs me.”
“The only help that lass needs from ye is making bebbies,” she whispered, as if it were a threat, which it probably was. The fork shook in her hand, meat juices splattering the tablecloth.
“I assure ye, Gran. If Amanda wants to have kids with me, I’m willing to give ye a whole brood.”
Mum clapped her hands together in delight. Robert and James stared at me, slack jawed. My father frowned.
“Ye dating her?” Da asked.
I took a deep breath. “Aye, I am. But not officially until this audit is over.” I held up my hands. “And I’d appreciate ye all keeping that quiet. Amanda doesn’t know just how much I feel about her yet.”
Gran smiled sweetly, lowering the fork.
“Ye see, Mort and Lorna. Ye need to do a bargain with the young-uns these days.” Gran smiled sweetly, lowering the fork. “Else we’ll never meet future generations. Too busy with spreadsheets and running businesses.”
“Carrie and I have given ye two wonderful great-grand bebbies,” Robert tutted. “They’re right here.”
“Aye, you have, Robbie. Sweet darlings, they are.” Angus dribbled mashed neeps down his bib, splattering some on his father’s shirt. “But they need cousins.”
I ran from the dining room, grabbing my coat at the front door and caught up to Amanda who paced up and down in front of my car.
“Need a ride?”
Chapter Sixteen
Amanda
I talked non-stop on the drive from Maisie McAlister’s farm to the distillery. Orders, label printing, how many bottles and boxes were recorded for sale to customers, the record of how much spirit had been produced and bottled. My fingers were itching to explore formulas, to bring together the data of the last five years as a pivot table showing the relationship between the variables.
I glanced at Stuart, who’d been silent the whole time.
“You must think I’m bletherin’ piss.”
He spluttered a laugh. “Where did ye hear that phrase?”
“Ewan taught me.”
“Nothin’ ye sayin’ is bletherin’ piss.” He shook his head. “It’s makin’ complete sense and I think I know which reports ye need to find the data. Better yet, Caroline will. I’ll tempt her with an obscene amount of overtime money to come in and help us.”
