One More for Christmas

She didn’t want to think about those circumstances.

She didn’t want to think that this was the only option open to them.

Grief was a huge, dark cloud that blocked the light from her life.

“There must be another way.” Deep down she knew there wasn’t. She knew she was in a state of denial, but she somehow wasn’t ready to admit that. She didn’t want it to be this way, so she was still trying to ignore it.

He threw the log onto the growing pile. “If you can think of another, I’m willing to listen.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve made up your mind, and we both know that when that happens you won’t be moved away from it.” She was being as irrational as he was being stubborn.

He’d always been the one to do what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant or hard. When her first dog had died, he’d been the one to bury it.

He wiped his forehead on his sleeve and looked at her.

She saw the shadow of tiredness around his eyes and felt a stab of guilt. It was difficult for him, too, she knew that, but he still did it. “I’m sorry. I should be more supportive, but it’s hard. Half the rooms had been closed up for a decade until you decided to open them up. James couldn’t even get the window open in the garden room. I never want to make up another bed, or plump another cushion. I hate being indoors—”

“I know you do.” There was an edge to his voice. “But there are things to be done, Kirstie, so we’re doing them.” His use of the word we added layers of guilt to the deep sadness she felt.

“It’s hard for you, too, I know.”

“I’m fine.” He hauled another log into place. “These need to be taken inside. The Americans are going to want a roaring log fire to greet them, and for that we need logs. More logs than I can handle on my own. There are four bedrooms to heat.”

“Four?”

“There’s a little girl.”

“You can’t have a real fire in a child’s bedroom.”

“Good point. Three bedrooms.” He nodded. “And the Great Hall, the Loch Room, the dining room and the snug.”

She sighed. “And how much is all that going to cost us?”

“A fraction of what we’re going to make when they start booking groups of rich Americans. Can you give James a shout and ask him to help shift this lot?”

“I’ll help. James is busy trying to fix the quad bike that won’t behave, and after that he is taking Bear to the vet because he ate something gross.” She pushed the sleeves of her jacket up. “And what else are the Americans going to expect? Should I be in the kitchen baking shortbread?” Her sarcasm earned her a quick smile.

“Yes. After you’ve smoked the salmon you just pulled out of the loch and fastened those antlers to the wall. And if you could arrange a ceilidh and dust off that fiddle of yours, that would be good, too.”

She caught one of the logs before it could topple off the pile. “You’re annoying.”

“I prefer you annoyed to upset.”

“Will you be wearing your kilt?”

“If I need to.” He reached for another log. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Would it make a difference if I said yes? You wear it for weddings, graduations and now for showing off to the tourists.” She sighed and folded her arms. “Tell me about them. The Americans.”

“Guests,” he said. “They’re guests. There’s Samantha, she runs the travel company in Boston. Specializes in magical winter breaks.”

“Magical?” Kirstie raised an eyebrow. “Clearly she hasn’t been to the Highlands in the depths of winter.”

“It’s up to us to make it magical. Hence the logs and the extra fur throws on the beds.”

“Fur throws? Isn’t that a little kinky?”

“I was going for practical and warm. And also the look I assumed they’d be expecting.”