The Great Scot. Donna Kauffman
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what it would be like, living in such a place. No pressure, no traffic, no harried phone calls and pre-production lists of demands. It was a Tuesday night and no one appeared to have anything better to do than amble about and make small talk.
“Must be nice,” she muttered, then turned away and dug a fresh shirt out of her luggage. She unrolled it, shook it out, debated on the relative merits of tracking down an iron, but that would mean actually using one, so she tugged it on as is, smoothed it as best as she could, then grabbed her satchel and headed for the door. Her plan for the evening was to head over to Hagg’s, but it wasn’t a social call. She was on a mission to chat up the locals some more. The pub seemed to be the social center of the small village and given how open and encouraging everyone had been earlier today in the lunch crowd, her hope was they’d be even more amenable this evening, their work day over.
Of course, there was the little matter of Brodie and his failure to call his brother about her business proposition. She didn’t think he’d just been humoring her, nor did she think that of the locals, either. He’d probably just gotten busy and hadn’t gotten to it before she’d arrived. She’d stopped by the local sandwich shop to grab a bite on her way back into town and the few people she’d come across had all asked her how her meeting with Dylan had gone. And here she thought L.A. had a good gossip loop. They’d each seemed sincerely disappointed when she couldn’t report that an agreement had been reached.
She hoped that buzz had spread. Maybe if she was really lucky, by the time she reached Hagg’s, they’d have already formed some kind of plan, or committee or something. She took the elevator down and found herself slowing down her usual pace a little, sauntering a bit as she crossed the square to the pub. She took a few precious seconds to enjoy the warm breeze and the relaxed vibe of the town. If she ever took a vacation, this place would be perfect, she found herself thinking, then smiled at the thought. She loved her job. It took her all over the world. She didn’t need a vacation.
She reached Hagg’s and pushed open the heavy oak door to the pub and quickly apologized when the door bumped into someone on the other side. The older gentleman shifted quickly out of the way and sketched a light bow as he held the door open for her. “Come on in.”
“Wow,” she said, squeezing herself into the place. It was jam packed. On a Tuesday. “Busy place.”
“We’ve a bit of entertainment tonight.”
“Ah.” She realized everyone was facing the rear of the bar, so she raised up on her tiptoes trying to see over their heads. “Music?” she asked, thinking it would be nice to see one of the local ceilidhs she’d heard about. Once she landed Glenshire, she’d have to scout additional locations for Greg’s dates. On her list was possibly incorporating the traditional Scottish folk music and dance into one of those dates.
“Not tonight,” the older man said. “Not yet anyway.” He faced her and stuck out his hand. “I’m Alastair, by the way,” he said. “I run the repair shop across the way with my daughter. Brodie, here, is my son-in-law.”
There was no mistaking the pride in his lovely blue eyes and Erin found herself smiling and shaking his hand with sincere pleasure. “I’ve heard nice things about them both, all well deserved, I’m sure. I’m Erin—”
“MacGregor, aye,” he finished for her.
Erin lifted a brow, but his smile only brightened.
“Small villages have big ears. The whole place is buzzing with news of your visit to Hagg’s and Glenshire.”
Erin smiled. She couldn’t have hoped for better. And it looked like she might have Alastair on her side. Someone with an actual direct tie to the family, who was also a business owner, and didn’t appear at all put out by her presence in town. If anyone could get to Dylan, make him understand what a great opportunity he was passing up, it was quite possibly this man. She cranked up her smile, and hopefully her charm, and said, “Is it good buzz, or bad buzz?”
“Quite good.” His eyes twinkled. “But then, it’s no’ often we get a fetching lass from across the pond visiting our modest little village.”
So, she thought, he was seduced by the whole Hollywood thing, too. Because fetching she was not. Whatever worked. “So you know why I’m here, then. Could I buy you an ale, perhaps? Bend your ear? I have some questions I was hoping to get answered and I think you’re just the man to help me.”
Alastair’s laugh was rich and infectious. “The man with the answers? I dinnae know so much as all that, but I’ll never turn down an offer of an ale.” He began to expertly weave his way through the standing-room-only crowd. “Follow me, stay close.”
“What’s the hubbub all about?” she asked as she steered behind him, raising her voice to be heard over the sudden cheer that went up, starting somewhere in the back of the pub.
“Dart contest.”
“Ah. I’m guessing you take that pretty seriously then.”
“Of course. My daughter is the reigning champion, you know.” He shuffled them around the side of the bar and miraculously wrangled her a stool. But then, most everyone was standing and craning their necks to watch the dart contest. He gestured her to take the seat.
“I didn’t know that. That’s great. Oh, thanks, but I can stand.”
He waved her to sit. “You’re buying, I’ll stand.”
She laughed with him and began to relax a little. Maybe it was all the bubbling energy inside the small pub, or being bodily swallowed up in the easy camaraderie of the crowd, but her anxiety about getting the job done was easing a bit. She waved at Marta who was working behind the bar and signaled for two ales. Earlier today Marta had been working back in the kitchen, preparing some of the best beef stew Erin had ever tasted. But she didn’t see Brodie anywhere tonight, so perhaps Marta was pulling double duty.
Another cheer went up, and she shifted around on her stool to see what was going on now. The cheer was followed by hoots and catcalls. She turned back to Alastair, his smile rueful now.
“Och, but the lad should have known better than to tangle with my Kat. She doesn’t play to lose.” He shook his head. “Even when it might be in all of our best interests if she did.”
Marta slid two ales onto the bar in front of them and Erin picked hers up and took a sip. “Who? Brodie?” She thought it was rather sweet that Brodie’s wife came to the pub after work and played darts with him. Even more charming that the entire village enjoyed the apparently heated battle between the newlyweds.
Alastair shook his head. “Dylan.”
Erin almost sprayed her sip of ale. She surreptitiously wiped her chin with her sleeve and tried to adopt a casual mien. “Really? I thought I heard earlier today that he wasn’t much of a joiner when it came to village activities. In fact, the locals made it seem as if he never came down off the mountain.”
Alastair enjoyed a long sip of his ale, then nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. Why do you think this place is packed on a Tuesday night?”
She didn’t know what to make of that. Coincidence? “So, he suddenly decided to come down and play darts?”
Alastair shrugged. “Apparently. But he might never again if Kat doesn’t play nice.” He sighed again, but Erin wasn’t paying attention.
What were the chances Dylan had suddenly come to town the same day she’d shown up on his doorstep, talking about leasing his place? Had Brodie talked to him after all? She’d hoped to bend Brodie’s ear this evening, but with the crowd, she doubted she’d have the chance. Of course, with the Great Scot himself on the premises, she could just go directly to the source. First, she needed a plan. She pictured those enigmatic eyes of his, the set angle of his jaw as he’d turned her down flat and took another sip of ale. A little fortification couldn’t hurt, either.
Another whoop went up and Alastair excused himself. “I suppose I should go make sure she doesn’t single-handedly destroy