I took in the grizzly, gray beard and deep wrinkles around his dark eyes. A wool hat covered his hair, but I estimated he was much older than Mac.
And a farmer, if the smell was anything to go by.
“Usual, Morag,” he demanded in a gruff, gravelly voice.
Morag gave him a pained smile. “The corned beef didn’t come in with my delivery, Collum. Is there anything else you’d like?” She gestured to the sandwich counter.
Collum glared at her in obvious annoyance and then down at the counter. “The ham instead.”
“With all the usual, though?”
He grunted.
Morag seemed to take that as a yes and then gave me an apologetic look. “Are you in a hurry, dear? It’s just Mr. McCulloch is our local farmer, and I usually have his sandwich ready so he can just collect it and go.”
“I can wait.”
She set aside the tuna-mayo mix and worked on the farmer’s sandwich.
There was a moment of awkward silence as we watched Morag.
Until the left side of my face tingled.
The farmer was staring at me.
I raised an eyebrow at him.
He stared impassively down at me and then looked at Morag. “Another one?”
She frowned and then glanced at me, her face clearing. “Oh, I don’t believe so. Just a tourist.”
“Robyn,” I offered. “My name is Robyn.” Staring up at McCulloch, I asked bluntly, “What do you mean by ‘another one’?”
Our eyes met. “So-called actor from that godforsaken club.”
Realizing he meant one of the Ardnoch members, I shook my head. “No, I’m not one of them. I’m a cop.” Or I was a cop. I needed to stop introducing myself as such. Habit.
The farmer studied me closely. “Aye, you don’t look like you stick poison in your face.”
I let out a confused snort. “What?”
He sighed, as though aggravated our conversation had gone on this long. “Sarah, my granddaughter, she says they all stick poison in their faces to smooth their wrinkles. In their lips to make them fuller.” He eyed me again. “Not that you need that.”
“No. I don’t need Botox in my lips.”
His brows drew together.
“That’s what you call the toxin. Or at least the treatment. Botox.”
“Fascinating.”
I couldn’t help a bark of laughter at his dry sarcasm.
“Really, Collum,” Morag tutted. “You could try to be a little more welcoming to our tourists.”
“Why?”
She flushed. “It’s … well, it’s the decent thing. The friendly thing.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered. “You’re all only nice to them because of the money. Well”—he cut me a sardonic look—“not Morag here. She actually likes people.”
His disbelieving tone made me laugh harder, and his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Oh, you.” Morag tutted again, but a smile teased her lips as she wrapped up his sandwich. McCulloch gave her money, and Morag handed over his lunch. “Tell Sarah I was asking for her.”
He grunted again and turned to leave.
“It was nice to meet you,” I said.
McCulloch shot me a look of disbelief before glancing back at Morag. He gave a slight shake of his head but tipped his sandwich at me in acknowledgement before striding out.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Morag said, sounding surprised, “I think he thought it was nice meeting you too.”
I grinned. “He’s not the friendly sort, huh?”
“No. You got more conversation out of him than I have in the last ten years,” she cracked.
“I liked him.”
“You like cantankerous, do you?”
“I like honest.”
Morag smiled and returned to my sandwich. When it was done, she handed it over after accepting payment and said, “Have a nice day at the beach.”
I left Morag’s and walked east to the parking lot on the square across from the Gloaming. I’d parked there, and I planned on driving a few minutes east to Ardnoch’s beautiful, golden sands. It wasn’t a particularly sunny day. There was a chill in the late spring air, but the belly of the clouds weren’t dark enough to suggest coming rain.
Strolling down the quiet street toward the square, I noted a Range Rover drive past and watched it pull into the parking lot near my rental. As I approached my car, the doors of the Rover opened, and a couple rounded the trunk to lace their hands together. Surprise moved through me, and I’ll admit a little thrill.
It was Gabriella Ruiz and Sebastian Stone. Stone was a three-time Oscar-winning actor, and Gabriella was his pop-star fiancée. She was ten years his senior—he was thirty-five, she was forty-five—but she looked his age, if not younger. And not because of Botox either. Good genes and a healthy lifestyle did that. She was inspiring; he was beyond talented. As a couple, they were constantly hounded by the press.
Again, I wondered how Adair kept the media away from Ardnoch.
Gabriella offered me a gorgeous grin, and I was proud of the friendly but cool smile I returned. I wasn’t the type to fangirl, but I was also extremely aware that the estate members loved Ardnoch because it offered them some normality.
Pulling open the door to my rental, I shot a look over my shoulder as the couple strolled hand in hand down Castle Street. I shook my head in disbelief, smiling to myself. Rock music was my thing, not pop, so seeing Gabriella wasn’t what it might be to some other folks, though I admired her obvious work ethic. And I had to admit, Sebastian Stone was a great actor.
I’d just walked past them both.
So surreal.
It occurred to me as I drove toward the beach that it hadn’t felt surreal to meet Lachlan Adair, even though he’d once been as famous as Stone and wasn’t exactly unknown now.
No, it hadn’t been surreal.
It had just been painful.
The thought of the meeting reminded me of the dinner I’d promised tonight.
Me and Mac. Alone at the Gloaming.
After my embarrassing near breakdown the day before, I hoped I could keep it together tonight.
I was thankful the road to the beach was straightforward because learning to drive on the left was discombobulating; there seemed to be rotaries (though the Scots called them roundabouts) everywhere. Rotaries alone weren’t the problem; rotaries on the left side were the problem!
As the beach came into view, my anxieties melted away.
After parking the car, I grabbed my camera out of the back seat and followed the footpath down onto the beach. A sense of calm washed over me. The sea air held a soothing aroma, heightened by the sound of flying gulls and the gentle waves lapping at the shore. I’d never have believed sands this smooth and golden could be found in Scotland.
The water reflected the color of the sky, a muted dark blue, but I was curious what the sea was like in summer, if the clear sky made its waters as blue as the Mediterranean. Strolling along the beach, I took snapshots of the grass-covered hills that jutted out over the sea or sloped down toward the sand. There was a wild order to the beauty here.
Just like that, my worries about tonight, those irritating butterflies in my belly, disappeared as I hid behind my camera, walking the coastline, trying to capture the essence of this rare tranquility and knowing I wouldn’t completely succeed.