“I’m supposed to meet with the solicitor of the estate at Dunross and sign papers that will transfer the land to me. I don’t want to put it off for a month or two. Why can’t you go? What happened?”
“The scented oils for my new line of candles didn’t arrive, and my company has orders to fill.
Everything will come to a halt if I don’t go home and fix this. I’m so sorry. I know how much this trip meant to you.”
Isabel’s first reaction was disappointment, but her attitude quickly changed. “We don’t have to put the trip off. You can’t go, but I still can. I’ll go ahead like we planned, and when your crazy workload eases up, we’ll go together another time.” She expected Kate to argue with her but was surprised by her response.
“I can’t say when I’ll be able to get away, but I promise I will see Scotland and Glen MacKenna with you someday,” Kate assured her. She thought for a second, then said, “I don’t like the idea of you going alone. Isn’t there someone you could take with you?”
“I suppose I could ask one of my friends,” Isabel answered, knowing full well her sister would object if she didn’t agree.
“Good.” Kate sounded relieved.
Isabel didn’t like misleading her sister, but the idea of going alone and taking her time actually appealed to her. She knew she was going to love Scotland. She had read so much about the beautiful rugged land.
After fifteen minutes of going over the details of the itinerary and giving her sister advice on traveling to another country, Kate left Isabel to continue her walk.
Okay, Isabel had a new plan. Swim, sail, and party until next Monday, and then off to Scotland on her own. Of course, this plan was all contingent on Detective Samuel allowing her to leave Boston.
After their last meeting, she couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t, but still, she needed to be sure. She’d ask Dylan for his advice. She would prefer to discuss the matter with Michael, but at the moment they weren’t on speaking terms.
There was another worry she wanted to address. She had to find the courage to look at the video of that poor detective falling into her arms. She was hoping she would remember what he mumbled to her. It was probably nothing more than him pleading for help, but she needed to be sure, didn’t she?
And how was she going to be able to watch herself killing that man without throwing up?
She walked for a long while then stopped and stared at the waves lapping against the rocks below her. She wondered how life had become so complicated. It was most likely her own fault. She never should have gone for that walk in Boston. Of course, if she hadn’t, Detective Walsh would be dead.
As it was, his life was now hanging by a thread, according to the latest report she’d gotten from Nurse Terry, who was now on a first-name basis with Isabel because she’d called so often. Isabel knew she wouldn’t stop worrying about the poor man until he improved, and she absolutely refused to think that he might not make it.
As much as she hated to admit it, Michael was yet another worry. A big worry. She hated being attracted to him, and wanting him to want her. How pathetic was she? He had made it obvious that he didn’t like her much, and maybe that was the reason she kept trying to irritate him. Was it possible to be furious with someone and still be drawn to them? At the police station she should have sent him on his way and hired her own attorney. Michael had only been doing a favor for his brother, and now he acted as though he were stuck with her.
Was she wallowing in self-pity? Of course she was.
She decided then and there to stop mentally whining and concentrate instead on how fortunate she was to have such a great family. Kate and Dylan and Kiera would do anything to protect her, and she would do the same for them. It was unconditional love, which Isabel knew was a rare and beautiful thing. She could count on them, no matter what.
Okay, time to adopt a new attitude. From now on she would think only about positive things that were happening in her life. She loved being on the island. That was a positive. To her, Nathan’s Bay was a paradise. She strolled along the shoreline to the gently winding path that led the way to the Buchanan home. The three-story clapboard house had recently been painted a light gray. The shutters were black, as was the front door. It was pristine, but she knew that in a couple of years, with the windstorms and the ice and snow, the weather would take its toll, and it would need to be painted again. Facing the shore, a wide porch spanned the entire length of the house and welcomed anyone who wanted to sit and take in the beauty of the bay. The lush green lawn was about the size of half a