Page 48 of The Highland Game

Anger surges hot through my veins—the kind of burn that makes me want to do something reckless—and before I can stop myself I’m stepping even closer until we’re practically nose-to-nose.

“The beer garden will open,” I say.

This close up her eyes are dizzyingly distracting—and absolutely deadly.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice drops to a mocking whisper. “Well, after you kicked me out of your car in the middle of a rainstorm, I say, bring it on! I’m more than happy to fight you. Also, what sort of man is so insecure that he has a wee tantrum when someone jokes that their gamer friend is really an old guy called Big Davie?”

I frown. “Wait⁠—”

But she doesn’t wait—she’s already talking over me. “We live in a democracy. A free country,” she announces dramatically with enough conviction to rival someone delivering their closing argument in court. “And I have every right to tell people what you’re up to. So, goodbye.”

She turns on her heel and stalks off, leaving me standing there like a right eejit. She thinks that’s why I kicked her out of the car? Christ, I’d barely even registered half of what she was saying by that point—I’d been too busy gripping the wheel and trying to keep the panic at bay as the rain hammered against the windscreen and memories threatened to overwhelm me.

Shit, even though I never talk about this stuff with anyone, I really should clear this up, as painful as this is going to be. I need to explain things to her.

“Maisie!” I take a step after her.

She whirls around like she’s ready to go ten rounds in a boxing ring. “What? Unless this is an announcement that you’re moving out of Bannock altogether—which honestly would solve a lot of my problems—I can’t imagine there’s anything you could say that would improve my afternoon. So, if you’re planning to offer me some half-arsed excuse for your behaviour, don’t bother. I’ve no interest in hearing it. Why don’t you stick to what you’re good at? Oh wait, what are you good at? Winding people up and generally being an arse? Nah, don’t do that. Just . . . piss off!”

The words I had been going to say die in my throat. Instead my temper flares back up—hot and irrational but impossible to ignore. Sod it. If she wants a fight, fine. Let’s have one.

“If you had any decency at all,” I spit, marching closer until there’s barely a foot of space between us, “you’d hold off on this petition nonsense until the council releases the actual plans. You don’t even know what you’re objecting to yet! You’re asking people to sign something based on rumours at best and outright lies at worst—and that’s not fair, and you bloody well know it.”

Maisie draws in a sharp breath like I’ve slapped her, then blows it out again with an exaggerated huff that sends stray wisps of navy-blue hair flying around her face. For one maddening moment she doesn’t reply. She just stands there glaring daggers at me while I glare right back at her.

“Fine!” she finally snaps, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “I’ll hold fire for a few days if it’ll stop you moaning, but don’t think for a second this changes anything. The moment the plans go public, I’ll be back out here collecting signatures faster than a bairn running to the ice cream van.”

She spins away again before I can respond, so I don’t get a chance to argue more or even to grudgingly thank her. Worse still, I’m really struggling to come up with an ice cream-related comeback to shout after her. Something about her being a flake? Nah, that’s naff. Oh, she needs to chill out? No, way too obvious. And . . . I’ve left it too long. If I say something now, it’ll seem like I’m trying way too hard.

I head back to the hotel. When I pass the bakery, Morag emerges, wiping floury hands on an apron that looks like it’s seen better days.

“Jamie, I must say, I was really disappointed to hear about this beer garden idea.” She doesn’t bother with pleasantries because apparently we’ve skipped straight to public scolding. “The last thing this town needs is folk getting rowdy outside our windows at night when we’re all trying to sleep.”

“What exactly has Maisie been saying to you?” I splutter. “The whole point of a beer garden is it’s a place to sit outside during the day when the sun is out. We’re not going to be conducting late-night raves there. Maisie’s made it sound like I’m planning something totally different from what I’m actually trying to do. All I want is to create a wee spot where folk can relax, have a natter, and soak up a bit of sun on a nice day.”

“Oh,” Morag says after an awkward pause where I’m pretty sure half my brain cells shrivel from stress alone. “Well . . . actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.” She sounds almost reluctant admitting it.

“Right?” I run both hands through my hair, probably making it stick up in a way that suggests I’ve lost the plot entirely. “So maybe people should wait until they’ve seen the full plans before deciding whether they object or not, eh?” I shoot her a grin in an attempt to take the sting out of my words. Getting tetchy with folk isn’t going to make launching this beer garden any easier.

Back at the hotel, I find Lewis and Emily chatting in the office.

“You’ll never believe what Maisie’s been up to!” The words burst out of me before I’ve even crossed the threshold. I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “She’s going around town with a bloody petition. A petition! Getting folk to sign it before they’ve even seen the plans for the beer garden. Can you believe it?”

Lewis and Emily exchange a look, then Emily slides out a chair and pats the seat. “Why don’t you sit down before you pop a blood vessel and fill us in?”

“Not happening. Sitting won’t help.” The energy coursing through me feels like it’ll explode if I don’t keep moving. My legs carry me back and forth across the office like they’ve got minds of their own. “Maisie is unbelievable! She’s out there gathering signatures like she’s some kind of crusader for justice—which, by the way, she isn’t. She doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. And now half the town thinks we’re planning a bloody nightclub or something in the beer garden!”

I regale them with every maddening detail—her smug smile, her ridiculous “democracy” speech, her complete refusal to listen to reason. Naturally, they’re on my side and concerned by this development, but I seem to lose them a little when I say, “Honestly, who even behaves like that? At the very least, you’d think people would hear someone out before tearing their idea to shreds, wouldn’t you?”

Emily’s lips twitch, and Lewis arches a brow at her like they’re having a silent conversation.

“What?” I bark. My heart’s still hammering from the encounter with Maisie. “What’s with the telepathic eyebrow dance? And can I point out how bloody weird it is for work colleagues to have their own silent language? Do Ally and Iona know about this?”

Lewis holds up his hands. “Whoa there, tiger. We’re not the enemy here.” He leans back in his chair with a hint of a smirk. “But tell me this, doesn’t any of this sound familiar? Maybe, oh, I don’t know, like that report Emily and I put together for Ally a couple of years ago?”

I frown at him, completely lost. “What report? What are you on about?”

“You can’t have forgotten! Back when Ally was still manager, Emily and I worked on a report, laying out plans to modernise and improve the hotel. Before I could present it to Ally, though, you grabbed a hold of it and showed it to him.”