Jessica Gilmore - Her Highland Boss

‘There are lots of things we don’t want,’ he said, gentling now. ‘This situation is absurd but there’s nothing for it but for us both to make the most of it. Risotto or nothing, Jeanie.’

She stared at him for a long moment and then, finally, she gave a brisk nod. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Good. I...I’ll eat your risotto and thank you for it. And thank you for today. Now I’ll...I’ll...go do a stocktake of...of the whisky. There’s all the new stuff you’ve bought. I keep a ledger. Call me when dinner’s ready...sir...’

‘Alasdair,’ he snapped.

‘Alasdair,’ she conceded. ‘Call me when dinner’s ready. And thank you.’

She fled and he stood staring after her.

She was accepting his help. It should be enough.

Only it wasn’t.

* * *

She felt weird. Discombobulated. Thoroughly disoriented. For the first time in over three years she had nothing to do.

Except think of the day that had just been.

Except think of Alasdair?

He was her husband. She should be used to having husbands by now. He was nothing different.

Except he was. He’d spent today working for nothing except her enjoyment.

He’d seen puffins many times before—the way he looked at them told her that. He also had work to do. She’d heard him at the computer almost all the time he’d been here. She’d heard the insistent ring of his telephone. Alasdair McBride was the head of a gigantic web of financial enterprises, and one look at the Internet had told her just how powerful that web was.

He’d spent the day making her happy.

‘Because I agreed to keep our bargain,’ she told herself. ‘I’m saving his butt.

‘The best way for him to keep his butt safe is for him to keep a low profile.’ The dogs, well-fed and exercised, were sprawled in front of the kitchen range. They were fast asleep but she needed someone—anyone—to talk to. ‘He must know that, and yet he risked it...

‘To make me happy?’ She thought of Rory doing such a thing. Rory was always too tired, she conceded. He had long spells at sea and when he was home he wanted his armchair and the telly. He’d taken time to spend with her before they were married but afterwards...it was as if he no longer had to bother.

And Alan? That was the same thing multiplied by a million. Pounds. He’d had well over a million reasons to marry her but when he had what he wanted, she was nothing.

And Alasdair? He, too, had more than a million reasons to marry her, she thought, way more, but she’d agreed to his deal. He’d had no reason to spend today with her.

‘Maybe he thinks I’ll back out,’ she told the dogs but she knew it wasn’t that.

Or maybe it was that she hoped it wasn’t that.

‘And that’s just your stupid romantic streak,’ she told herself crossly. ‘And, Jeanie Lochlan, it’s more than time you were over that nonsense.’

Her discussion with herself was interrupted by her phone. Maggie, she thought, and sure enough her friend was on the line, and Maggie was almost bursting with curiosity.

‘How did it go? Oh, Jeanie, isn’t he gorgeous? I watched you go out through the entrance with the field glasses—I imagine half the village did. Six hours you were out. Six hours by yourself with the man! And the amount he’s given Dougal for the Mary-Jane , and what he’s paying Mam and her friends... Jeanie, what are you doing not being in bed with your husband right now?’

She took a deep breath at that. ‘He’s not my real husband,’ she managed but Maggie snorted.

‘You could have fooled me. And Mam says he was just lovely on the phone and he’s thanked her for the sponge cake and the brownies as though she wasn’t even paid for them, and he’s organised her to go back tomorrow and he says he’s taking you to see otters. Otters! You know the old cottage down by the Craigie Burn? There’s otters down there, I’m sure of it. You could light a fire and—’

‘Maggie!’

‘It’s just a suggestion. Jeanie, you married the man and if you aren’t in bed with him already you should be. Oh, Jeanie, I know he’s not like Alan, I know it.’

‘You’ve hardly met him.’

‘The way he said his vows...’

‘We were both lying and you know it.’

‘I don’t know it,’ Maggie said stoutly. ‘You went home last night, didn’t you? One night married, three hundred and sixty-four to go—or should I multiply that by fifty years? Jeanie, do yourself a favour and go for it. Go for him.’

‘Why would I?’

There was a moment’s silence while Maggie collected her answer. One of the guest’s cars was approaching. Jeanie could see it through the kitchen window. She took a plate and started arranging brownies. This was her job, she told herself. Her life.

‘Because he can afford—’ Maggie started but Jeanie cut her off before she could finish.

‘He can afford anything he wants,’ she conceded. ‘But that’s thanks to me. I told you how Eileen’s will works. He gets to keep his fortune and I...I get to keep my independence. That’s the way I want it, Maggie, and that’s the way it’s going to be.’

‘But you will go to see the otters tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ she said, sounding goaded. Which was how she felt, she conceded. She’d been backed into a corner, and she wasn’t at all sure she could extricate herself.

By keeping busy, she told herself, taking the brownies off the plate and rearranging them more...artistically.

One day down, three hundred and sixty-four to go.

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