The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) (20 page)

“Yes, it means another long day in the car,” his father said grumpily, joining mother and son on the driveway to look at the dog. “Speaking of which, I need to stretch my legs before dinner. Let’s walk.”

Colin’s heart sank until his mother chimed in. “What a good idea after the drive. And it was a rough crossing on the ferry, so Peewee and I could use the fresh air as well. Let’s stroll on the lake path.”

Colin flashed his mother a grateful smile. His father tried to keep his temper in check in the presence of Elisabeth, at least in a relative way.

Soon they were walking sedately along the wide path that skirted the lake
, Peewee trotting along obediently at their heels. It was a chilly autumn afternoon and the brisk wind stirred up whitecaps on the water, sending a cold spray along the path. Colin glanced away from the inviting warmth of the castle and thought that at some very basic, hardy and hill-walking way his parents would get along with Fiona.

He couldn’t stop thinking about
her. The incredible night that they had spent together earlier that week ought to have mended any rifts between them, but in the morning she had left in a rush, acting with the same inexplicable hurt that she had shown the night before. It didn’t seem possible that she could still doubt his ardour, but she seemed to be expecting something more. Colin was baffled, not wanting to hurt Fiona in any way and yet not daring to call for fear of triggering another inexplicable outburst.

He came out of his reverie when his father cleared his throat purposefully, the way he usually did before he began a diatribe against his son.

“So, how was Aunt Mildred?” Colin asked cordially, in his best hosting manner, a firm believer in the pre-emptive strike.

“
Still as strong as an ox, healthy as a horse and stubborn as an ass,” William said shortly.

“Ah, but with a new penchant for dogs, I see,” Colin went on, not to be put off.
“A change from cats.”

“At least she has a passion and follows it through,” his father barked
before Elisabeth could launch onto the subject of dogs. “She jumps into these projects of hers with the energy of a much younger person.”

His belligerent gaze fell on his son and Colin forced a cheery smile. “Yes, well, that keeps one invigorated, doesn’t it,” he said brightly.
“As I’ve discovered this autumn myself.”

“I wasn’t referring to golf or generously redistributing the family fortune to every Englishman thirsty for fine whiskies,” William growled warningly.

“Nor was I, father,” Colin said smugly. “I’ve been researching some cultural and natural sites of interest that I thought the Foundation might want to support. You know, find some new projects that need our help and try to broaden local interest in the area and history.”

Both his father and mother stopped in their tracks to stare at their son. Colin continued to saunter along smoothly, enjoying the unusual feeling of having impressed his parents.

“What did you have in mind specifically?” his father asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Oh, this and that,” Colin said, waving his hands airily. “There’s a valley that’s being considered for a new development that we might want to
protect. Full of Viking prongwort and yellow marsh saxifrage, among other things, which are, of course, protected species. And with the renewed interest in that writer, Campbell, there are some historical and cultural spots that could be better valued. He’s going to be recognised as the Fort William Rabbie Burns, you know.”

Now his father was staring at him dangerously. “You’re not just making this up, are you?” he asked threateningly.

Colin tried to look hurt. “Never. I’ve been out tramping along these hills and speaking with a local historical expert and some botanists to get more ideas. There’s a lot we could do besides continuing with the Annual Ball and the likes.”

For once he really thought his father was about to say something complimentary, but the moment was stolen by Peewee suddenly shooting off into the forest, just as a large, furry dog came barrelling through, heading straight for the little purebred.

“He had better not…” Elisabeth began in horror, unable to finish her sentence as the two dogs met in an exchange of growls and sniffs and disappeared into the undergrowth.

“What the…?” William exploded, wheeling on his son. “Since when have you allowed stray dogs onto the property?”

Colin stared at the woods blankly, his recent moment of near-success rapidly slipping from sight as the rustling in the bushes continued. “McTavish thinks he comes over the wall from the cottage,” he answered flatly.

“And you just let this happen?” his father continued, livid, as his mother went pale.

“Peewee,” she called feebly. “Well, do something, you two, don’t just stand there.”

Father and son exchanged looks and made a half-hearted foray in the direction of the crashing, but it was too far away and they were too late by the time Peewee trotted back out,
tail wagging coquettishly. The larger dog could be heard retreating through the woods at the men’s approach. They looked back at Elisabeth who had buried her face in her hands.

“I promised Lucy purebred pups for breeding,” she wailed. “I never dreamed that she was at risk of being assaulted on our own grounds.”

The two men hurried back to the path. William’s eyes blazed as he faced his son. “How did this happen?” he demanded ominously. “If this has happened before, why haven’t you put an end to it?”

“I had
McTavish write a warning letter,” Colin said stiffly. “It seems to have worked. Until now.”

“Since when have Alistair and Connie
kept a dog?” his mother asked suddenly. “The MacPhersons don’t even like animals, a fact I find distasteful as a personality trait but very useful in a renter.”

“They decided to try living in town for a year,” Colin informed her. “So they sublet
Silverbeck for the year, in case they decided to move back.”

“You let some stranger live in
Silverbeck?” his father asked, scandalised. “You know that the last thing we want is a crowd of strangers on the castle grounds. What the dickens were you thinking?”

“Your father is right,” Elisabeth said in a pained voice, stooping to pick up Peewee and examining her dejectedly. “We only let the MacPhersons stay on as a favour really. I always thought that we could do something much nicer with that old cottage.”

“Tell the tenant he has to go,” William ordered briskly. “We’ll keep the cottage empty until Alistair makes up his mind, and if he and Connie decide not to come back we can go ahead with renovation plans. Really, this is just scandalous. Not safe to walk in our own garden. Mildred’s pedigree dog molested…”

Colin threw up his hands before his father could gain too much momentum. “I’ll talk to
McTavish,” he said with resignation. It wasn’t his style to evict somebody, but neither was it his property in the end. Perhaps they could give the tenant time to find a new place and work out an arrangement where nobody lost money on rent.

His father seemed to read his mind. “One week’s notice,” he barked. “And then I want them out. We Parkers are doing enough for the local community without having to fear being attacked in our own home. This is an outrage.”

Colin sighed and abruptly changed direction. “I’ll go and speak with McTavish now,” he suggested, beating a hasty retreat down the path before William had time to react. Along the way he had time to wonder why he was managing to upset the people he tried hardest to please. Now he was in the dog house with everybody.

Chapter Twelve

Fiona was packing her bags in a fury. She still couldn’t believe that Colin would be so heartless as to evict a tenant over the small matter of a dog running loose on his property from time to time. As for his measly one-week notice, she didn’t plan to stay one more day now that she had seen his true colours.

The letter had been waiting in the mailbox that morning when she came back from her walk, and after a second walk to let out some of her anger, she had spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Sarah and packing up her notes, intending to leave first thing the next morning.
Now it was late evening and she was still finishing the last of her packing and cleaning, dressed in her pajamas, slowed in the process of packing by tiredness and the neediness of a dog that feared abandonment.

“Come stay with me until we find you a new place,” Sarah had begged but Fiona was adamant. There was no way that she was going to stick around anywhere that there was a risk of running into Colin.

“It’s not as if he’s likely to drop by the pub,” Sarah had reasoned. “The risk of meeting him again is tiny.”

“I think
it’s best if I go back to my mom’s for a bit,” Fiona had said flatly. “There I can put my head down and work with no distractions, nothing to remind me of my brief foray into enemy turf. Plus there’s some research I can do at the university archives and some ideas I want to bounce off my old supervisor.”

Her anger and scorn for Colin were so complete that she was fairly sure she could avoid the pining stage that usually followed a failed relationship and skip right to the feeling of complete alienation. She was relieved that she hadn’t had the time to spill her true feelings for him after their last
time together, to humiliate herself with confessions of love and a longing to be sure that it was reciprocal, that it meant something to Colin. In the end he was nothing more than what she had originally thought, a spoilt, self-centred, rich playboy who preferred to cut himself off from reality and could calmly evict somebody without even talking to them, without making sure that they had somewhere to go.

Well, she would tell him where to go if she ever saw his handsome, deceptiv
e face again. Not that they were likely to cross paths again, she thought bitterly as she stacked her books into heavy boxes and lugged them to the back of her car.

On her way back, she saw Livingstone following her movements with a worried air and dropped down to her haunches to wrap him in a hug. “I’ll be back for you, I promise,” she told the shaggy head, pressing
her forehead against his. “You’ll just stay with Sarah for a short time until I figure out where I can stay, where there’s room for you too.”

The dog gave a forlorn whimper that broke Fiona’s heart. “It isn’t your fault, sweetheart,” she told him earnestly. “I was an idiot, trusting the wrong person. I should have known to stick to the unfailing, uncomplicated love that a dog offers. I’ve learned my lesson this time.”

Still he stuck to her closely, following her back and forth from the car and nuzzling up against the back of her knees for reassurance. She bent down to pat him and was surprised to feel a tear run down her cheek.

“One last walk by moonlight, my little friend of friends?” she offered, realising how much she would miss this glen and the long walks in open heather, the sheltering hills. For a short while this had felt like home, like she had found
the right place for herself, her interests and work. And, unlikely as it seemed, for her heart.

Resolutely she stood up, shutting off that chain of thought as she
looked for her boots and a thick hooded sweatshirt. Her father had always said that you couldn’t measure a person until you saw how they reacted in a crisis. Of course, that same man had disappeared when things became tough, so perhaps he wasn’t the best reference. But how could she reconcile Colin the easy-going, attentive and friendly man with the heartless landlord?

It was hard for her not to think in terms of class, in terms of English domination over poor Scots, although she was trying hard not to
go down that road. It was a difficult habit to break after her family and the groups she had associated with during her relationship with Cormac. Still, she had willingly allowed Colin to draw her close, so it was her own decision. Her own fault, as it turned out.

With Livingstone at her heels, she stepped out into the cold evening. She stuffed her hands
and the leash into the pocket of her sweatshirt and pulled the hood up, throwing her head back to admire the stars. When the Highland nights were clear, the star-gazing was amazing, with far more stars visible than she had ever seen from the Edinburgh area.

Livingstone seemed invigorated by the night air and by whatever night-roaming animals he could smell as he ran from side to side, sniffing excitedly.

“C’mon, ‘Stone,” Fiona called after him, giving a whistle while she waited, stomping her feet against the cold which bit through the flimsy legs of her pajamas. They had cut through the back yard onto the driveway and she wanted to head down to cross the main road toward their usual trails.

Normally Livingstone was well-behaved as long as Fiona was with him, responding well to voice orders and never running too far away. But tonight he hesitated on the driveway, turning toward the direction of the castle and looking back over his shoulder at Fiona almost apologetically. Then he turned and sprinted down the drive, leaving Fiona to curse in vain and jog along as best she could in her rubber boots.

For one last time she approached the castle in stealth, this time more easily along the long driveway feeling well-concealed by the darkness. She doubted that there would be much outside activity at this hour and part of her didn’t care anyway, with nothing left to lose. Well, almost nothing in terms of eviction. But she would rather leave without seeing Colin again, to be “the one that got away” rather than “the one I threw out because of her impossible dog.” She was enough of a poet to be sensitive to the difference.