Love Without Reason

She nodded, before saying, ‘Yes, but—’

‘I knew there’d be a but,’ he cut in. ‘Don’t tell me. She’s broken an arm? Busy sailing across the Atlantic single-handed? Emigrated to New Guinea?’

‘No, she’s just out at the moment,’ Riona relayed.

‘Out?’ he repeated blankly.

‘Not at home,’ she said with exaggerated slowness.

His lips thinned. ‘How do you know?’ he asked in a manner that suggested he thought she was lying.

‘Maybe I’m clairvoyant,’ Riona responded unhelpfully, but her eyes betrayed her, wandering to the two women still standing gossiping.

‘OK, which one is she?’ he demanded.

Riona was forced to admit, ‘The one in the blue dress.’

‘Right, we can either go talk to her now,’ he declared, ‘or you can direct me to the next on the list.’

‘I...’ Riona hesitated. She didn’t much fancy the idea of broaching the topic with Jean Macpherson in the middle of Invergair’s main street and publicly advertising her association with the American, but she didn’t much like giving in, either.

She was forced into action as he made to climb out of the vehicle, and she grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘It’d be better if we called at her home,’ she said, and, scanning the list for the easiest-going of the ladies, added, ‘We could go to Betty Maclean’s now. She’s only a couple of miles out of the village.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded and, putting the vehicle in gear, followed the direction she pointed in.

A smile had reappeared on his face. It was hardly surprising. He’d won.

The smile remained on his face when she introduced him to Betty and then sat, largely silent, while he proceeded to reduce the lady to fluttering acquiescence.

They had a repeat performance in the next house and the next. Riona couldn’t believe it. She’d thought his brashness would put off each and every lady. She’d thought they’d be suspicious of his grand schemes and offended by his sheer, overpowering confidence.

Instead they were carried along by his enthusiasm and bowled over by his charm. That he invited them to contribute any ideas they had to the scheme was the final seal on his popularity.

It was Riona who ended up trying to preach a little caution, and, though Cameron Adams tolerated her efforts, the women didn’t want to know.

‘The world’s changing, Riona, lass, and we have to move with the times,’ she was told by Aggie Stewart, the oldest of the knitters at seventy-four.

After that, she gave up, and limited herself to informing him how to get to each croft and providing an introduction to its inhabitant.

By the late afternoon, they’d seen about six ladies in all. It was just a fraction of the number of women capable of professional knitting in the area, but Riona felt it was enough. They were bound to relay his ideas to the rest and she told him so as they arrived back at her crofthouse.

‘Possibly,’ he conceded, ‘but, having visited a few, I reckon I’m obliged to visit them all. Otherwise I’m going to have some offended ladies on my hands.’

Riona saw his point but said, ‘Well, I can’t help. I have too much to do round the croft.’

‘No problem. I’ll let you have Rob again,’ he responded. ‘You can give him a list of what’s to be done, and, if he has any time over, he can do some repairs round the place.’

‘No, thanks,’ she refused ungraciously. ‘I can do my own repairs.’

‘Can you?’ he challenged mildly and glanced round her back yard. The sheds were dilapidated, a door hanging from one hinge. The hen-run, now unoccupied, was more holes than fencing, and the dry stone wall was almost rubble in places.

When his eyes returned to her, Riona muttered tightly, ‘I’m doing my best,’ and made to climb out of the Land Rover.

He caught her arm. ‘Hey, I wasn’t saying otherwise. It’s just too much for you, a girl on her own.’

If his manner was sympathetic, Riona was too strung up to notice. ‘I can manage,’ she snapped back, ‘so if you’re thinking of reclaiming the croft that way, you can think again.’

‘What?’ He was clearly taken aback by this outburst. In fact, the finest of actors couldn’t have feigned his surprise.

Riona knew then she was being unfair and unreasonable, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wasn’t able to behave rationally when he was around. She sent him a look that was a mixture of appeal and accusation, before wresting her arm free and jumping down from the Land Rover. Jo, the collie dog, jumped down too, but headed for the hills for his evening prowl.

Cameron caught Riona up at the house and dragged her round to face him. ‘What is it with you? Do you really believe I’m out to evict you?’ he demanded, angry now.

‘I...’ Riona’s eyes went to his and any protest died on her lips. Whatever he wanted from her, it wasn’t this mean little crofthouse on the hill.

They stared at each other for an endless moment, and she wanted to take back all the bad things she’d said. But no words came and finally he gave up on her, making some exasperated sound as he released his grip on her arm and wheeled round.

She watched him jump back into the Land Rover and slam hard the door and drive away without a backward glance. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she dashed them away. She had caused their quarrel. She had wanted him to leave her alone. So why should she cry about it?

CHAPTER THREE

AND why should she feel a surge of happiness when she saw the Land Rover reappear at the bottom of the hill early next day? It wasn’t logical, but she didn’t wait around too long analysing her emotions before tearing downstairs and out into the yard to greet him. She stopped short when she saw Rob Mackay with him.

Rob acknowledged her, ‘Aye, aye,’ but Cameron virtually ignored her, before the two walked round to the back of the Land Rover and began lifting out wood and wire-meshing and a collection of tools. It seemed she was going to have repairs done whether she liked it or not.

When they’d finished unloading, Rob started mending the shed door while Cameron crossed to where she stood in the doorway. Jo wagged his tail, betraying the pleasure Riona was too proud to show. Cameron patted the dog’s head, but his expression remained cool as he confronted Riona. He handed her a buff-coloured envelope.

‘What is it?’ Riona’s happiness had evaporated.

‘Don’t worry. It’s not an eviction notice,’ he responded heavily and pushed it into her hand. ‘Read it carefully, before signing it.’

He turned away and Riona thought he was leaving, but instead he walked over to the dry stone wall and, to her astonishment, began to dismantle a section that badly needed rebuilding.

Riona stood for a moment, watching as he shifted stone boulders almost effortlessly, and wondered once again what he did in his other life back in America. Talking to the doctor, he sounded like an educated man with sophisticated ideas and an executive air. Labouring in her back yard, he could pass for a construction site worker who wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. Which was the real Cameron Adams?

Whichever, he was now the laird and, as such, far out of her reach. If Riona needed a reminder of the fact, it was in her hand—in the shape of a buff-coloured envelope. She carried it inside and, sitting down at the kitchen table, turned it over and over in her hand. The easygoing Cameron of yesterday hadn’t given her this; her landlord had. He’d tried to be friendly, and she’d been churlish in response. Whatever was in the envelope, she very probably deserved it.

She was wrong. She didn’t. She twice read the document inside, looking for a catch and finding none. It was an agreement, offering her lifetime tenancy of the croft, rent to remain currently static, future increases to be limited to inflation rate and unaffected by any improvements the estate might make to the property. It was on a standard form with handwritten additions witnessed by Agatha Mackenzie and Morag Mackinnon, housekeeper and housemaid at Invergair Hall. It gave her total security and cost her nothing and was more generous than she had any right to expect after her surly behaviour.

It was some time before she went out to him. She rehearsed a speech of gratitude and apology, but it became a confused mess in her head the instant she came near him.

He didn’t notice her at first. He was working steadily, stripped down to the waist in the bright June sunshine. He was tanned an even brown, suggesting he was accustomed to working outside.

Riona stopped short, her eyes drawn to his broad, muscular back and the rivulets of sweat running down it. Her breath caught and she wondered if a man could be described as beautiful. If he could, Cameron Adams was.

He must have sensed her presence. He straightened and turned suddenly, and she blushed, as if guilty of something.

He nodded towards the envelope in her hand. ‘Have you signed it?’