“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely, feeling guilty.
“For what?”
“For thinking it was you because of what happened to your sister.”
The farmer exhaled heavily. “My only issue with Adair is the land. I let go of what happened to Maryanne a long time ago.”
“You let it go?” I frowned. “Lachlan doesn’t think so.”
McCulloch’s gaze pierced through me. “His father not only lost his sister, too, he lost his bloody wife. If that man did owe me a debt for what happened to Maryanne, he paid it twice over in grief.”
I nodded, ashamed I’d gotten him so wrong.
He seemed to understand. “You followed motive. It’s done. Move on.”
Move on?
I found Lachlan again, his eyes downcast as the paramedic spoke to him. He looked haggard. Lost.
How did you move on from that kind of betrayal? How did you move on when you’d been so utterly deceived by someone you cared about?
How would he ever trust again?
37
Lachlan
“I just can’t believe this has happened,” Wesley Howard said for what felt like the millionth time.
Lachlan nodded, face blank, at the computer screen. “I know.”
“But we need to get our members back into the club.”
As a top investor, owner of the most expensive home on the estate, and a board member, Wesley, though not entirely lacking in compassion, ultimately viewed the whole thing as a business situation. And Lachlan was glad for his attitude. The PR nightmare gave him something beyond sitting alone with his turmoil to focus on.
“I’ve spoken with Luther”—his actor friend and the other board member—“and if you’re not opposed to it, we’d like to ask Marci Robbins to replace Lucy on the board.”
Wesley scrubbed a hand over his thick beard. “Don’t you think it should be someone younger, on par with Lucy?”
He shook his head. “You should see the other members around Marci, Wes. The word fangirling was invented for it.”
His friend snorted. “I can see that happening.”
“She has clout and respect. We’re all about image. What better thing to brag about than Marci Robbins approving you for membership to Ardnoch?”
Wesley nodded along. “No, you’re right. Do it.”
Lachlan just had to hope the legendary British actor wasn’t put off by the scandal.
“I’ve got a break coming up, and the wife is missing Scotland. We’ll be at the house for a few weeks, and I’ll make it public that’s where I’m going.”
“That should help,” Lachlan said. “I’m grateful.”
“I’ll contact Roman, pull a few favors, and get him to come too.”
Wesley referred to Roman Bright, the son of Oscar-winning actor Garrett Bright, and an Academy Award-winning screenwriter in his own right. He’d canceled his annual May Stay after Mac’s stabbing.
“That would be great.” Lachlan clicked on his members’ file. “We’ve already reached out to sixty percent of our members, and most of them feel assured the club is a safe retreat once more. But there are a few A-listers we need to convince, and I think you and Roman coming to stay will do that.”
“Great.” Wesley leaned into the camera. “I gotta go, Lachlan, but I hope you’re doing okay, man. You look tired. Get some sleep.”
After saying goodbye, relieved to be off the video chat, Lachlan slumped in his chair. He had no fear that his members would return to Ardnoch. They loved the drama and scandal Lucy had left in her wake.
Lucy.
Her name was like a knife in his mind.
The night of the event when she’d revealed herself as the culprit behind everything, he’d been in such a state of agitation, he could barely speak. Robyn stayed with him, and he’d experienced the most peculiar sensation of needing her near so he knew she was okay—and yet, he also wanted her as far from him as he could get her.
Never mind that one of his closest friends had betrayed him beyond imagination; he’d let Fergus, a man he could take out in a heartbeat, get the jump on him. Whatever he’d hit Lachlan over the head with, it left him with a bad concussion, and he’d had a headache for days after. The thought of Fergus not only doing that to him but dragging him downstairs in his own home and out to his truck, then into the shack and tying him to that fucking chair … Lachlan should’ve woken up at some point before then.
If he’d only woken up, Robyn would never have been in that position.
It was a joke.
The great Lachlan Adair, once Hollywood’s most bankable action hero, handcuffed to a chair, incapacitated by a concussion but aware enough to watch on in horror as the woman he loved faced her death.
What a bloody hero.
He flinched.
In the end, Robyn had saved them.
He hadn’t been able to protect her.
Didn’t deserve her.
But fuck, did he love her beyond bearing and was so goddamn grateful she could save herself. If he’d had to watch her die while he could do nothing to stop it, the death Lucy had in store for him would’ve been welcome.