One More for Christmas(72)

“New York and now Boston.”

“And Ella?”

“She and Michael moved to a small town in Connecticut. They have a house on the water. Very pretty.” And was she envious? Yes, she was. “He was a hotshot lawyer in Manhattan, and then he met Ella and both of them decided they wanted a different life.”

“I suppose as long as you both want it, that works. You see them often?”

“Yes. She’s only a couple of hours from me so every few weeks I pile my work into my bag and head down there on a Friday night.” It was the closest she came to enjoying family life. “You were living in London?”

“London based, but I spent weeks at a time in Boston. Then my father died, and I came home to support my mother and Kirstie. Intended to stay until after the funeral, but things got complicated.”

“You mean financially?”

“All of it.” He pulled the car off the road and parked. “We walk from here.”

She left the car and slammed the door. “We’re seeing the reindeer first?”

“Yes. And then we’ll hike up through the forest a little way because there is a great view of the whole estate from the top. I’d like you to see that. I’d like you to see all of it.”

They changed into hiking boots, zipped up down jackets, hauled on backpacks and then headed along the trail that wound its way through the forest.

The air was crisp and cold, numbing her face and turning her breath to mist.

His stride was longer than hers and she found herself walking a little way behind him, which gave her a perfect view of wide shoulders and ruffled dark hair.

She looked away quickly. “What’s the fence for? Keeping guests in or unwanted guests out?”

He turned and waited for her to catch up. “It’s to keep deer out of this section of the forest. Overgrazing stops the forest from regenerating, so if we keep the deer away it protects the seedlings and gives new trees a chance.” He glanced up through the branches to the sky. “Two thousand years ago this place was covered in the Caledonian Forest. Oak, birch, aspen, rowan, juniper and Scots pine. Hard to imagine.”

She stopped to pull a hat out of her backpack. “But you’re replanting?”

“We’re part of a project that aims to restore the forest. It’s not just about trees, it’s about the whole ecosystem. And the deer aren’t the only species to blame. The forest was cleared for agricultural land and to meet a demand for fast-growing timber. But now we’re planting native trees, removing invasive species, putting up fences. There’s a strong local interest so we’re not short of volunteers.”

They followed the trail as it twisted its way through the forest and then they left the trees behind and ahead of them was nothing but the loch, framed by mountains.

Samantha pulled out her camera and took a few shots. “That’s incredible.”

“It is.” Brodie stopped next to her. “You see the little cottage?”

“Cottage?” She lowered the camera and scanned the snowy slopes. “I don’t see anything except stunning scenery.”

“At the end of the loch, on the left. Not far from the lodge. Stone building.” He stepped closer and pointed. His arm brushed against hers. His body blocked a little of the biting wind.

“I see it. Tucked away by the trees. It blends into the surroundings. That’s a cottage?”

“One of my ancestors built it originally as a shelter. Climbers and hikers used it if they were caught in a storm. It was basic back then. My grandfather made it habitable. My father fixed it up into something special, thinking that he might rent it out as another way of getting income. He proposed to my mother there.”

“That’s romantic.”

“You think so?” He smiled, and she felt a sharp tug of response inside her.

She wondered if he had any idea how attractive he was.

“It sounds romantic to me.”

“He always joked that he did it there because it was impossible for her to get away. It had been snowing all day and they were trapped. Watch your footing here—the snow is covering rocks.” He held out his hand and she took it, picking her way carefully.

“And are you considering renting it out?”

“No. That’s not part of the deal. It’s currently my office.”

“Your office?” She let go of his hand and stopped walking. “You work in that remote cottage?”

“It’s not that remote. Five minutes drive from the lodge if the track is kept clear, but far enough that no one is going to come in and clean, move empty mugs, or pieces of paper.”

“I understand. I don’t like people moving things on my desk. I assume your mother loves the mountains as much as your father did?”

“Yes. She was born and raised around here. They met at school when they were both six years old. They used to hike and spend the night in the hut every year for their anniversary.” He stared into the distance. “They did it last year.”

“It must be very tough for her. And on you.”

He turned. “Is your father in your life?”

“No. He died when I was a baby.” It wasn’t something she usually talked about, but they’d talked about so much already it seemed pointless to hold anything back. “My mother was pregnant with my sister. It must have been a hideous time for her.” She’d never thought much about it, but now she was thinking about it and with the thoughts came guilt. She remembered how protective she’d been when Ella was pregnant. Who had taken care of her mother?