Always me and her against the world.
Until she took off with a group of friends she’d met online to backpack around Asia. That was around four weeks after I’d been shot.
My best friend.
Turned her back on me when I needed her most.
Kind of like Mac.
It made it hard to trust people when the ones you trusted most proved to be the most unreliable. It didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about Regan and what might be going on with her, but I was in the middle of a pretty big life situation myself. Instead of running after Regan, like Mom obviously wanted me to do, for once, I was putting myself first. Mom and Seth could deal with my sister. As for my abandonment issues, I refused to let it poison any possible friendships or relationships in the future.
Well, except with Lachlan.
The guy gave me whiplash. One minute I thought we’d attained a level of civility, and the next, he ignited an inner anger and fire that confused the heck out of me. Just the thought of my immature argument with him at the hospital in front of Mac was enough to make my cheeks hot.
“Robyn,” Morag greeted with a warm smile, pulling me out of my mortifying memories of yesterday. Had I called myself epic in front of Lachlan?
So what? You are epic.
I nodded to myself.
You couldn’t walk into dangerous situations like I had as a cop without confidence in your abilities. There was a balance. If you thought you were invincible, you’d get hurt (though sometimes that happened, anyway), but if you struck just the right chords of self-assurance and self-belief, it made dealing with the worst parts of the job, and the worst kinds of people, possible.
“Hey, Morag.”
“Same today?”
I’d visited every morning to buy a sandwich since that first day. “Yeah, please, times two, though.”
“How’s Mac?” she asked as she worked.
“At the castle, recuperating.” I smirked as I remembered helping him get settled into a suite that was much bigger than even Lachlan’s private rooms. “Frustrated with the idea of bed rest.”
Morag chuckled. “Oh, I can imagine.” Her gaze flickered over me. “I still can’t believe Mac has a daughter your age. Gosh, he must have been so young.”
I’d heard the same thing repeatedly over the last eight days, mostly from nurses at the hospital who clearly had whopping crushes on my father.
An image of him and Arrochar in his hospital room floated across my mind.
It was strange to me—surprising—but from an outsider’s perspective?
Not so much.
I grimaced. The idea of my father dating a thirty-something woman wasn’t actually weird, but it was weird for me. Mac never brought women around when I was a kid, and I had no idea if he’d had any serious relationships over the past twenty-eight years.
I’d always held on to the fact that his age was a huge factor in him abandoning me … but it was never clearer than it was now that I was grown up, thinking back on myself at sixteen, that Mac was a kid when Mom had me. An actual kid.
Look how scared Regan and I were when she had a pregnancy scare at seventeen.
But would you have taken off, left your kid?
No.
Then again, neither had Mac. Not at first.
That came later, when he was older. When I was a little older. No longer his “wee birdie,” even though he’d started calling me that again.
And fuck, did it hurt every time he did.
A deep, aching tension pressed against my skull.
“I’m sorry, Robyn, I didn’t mean to say anything out of turn.”
Blinking in confusion at Morag, I realized by her expression and my sudden headache that I was practically scowling at her. “Oh. No. You didn’t. Sorry … I drifted. That was rude.”
Her face cleared. “Not at all. Are you off to visit Mac?”
“Yeah, the other sandwich is for him.”
“Oh, you should have said. Mac likes my roast beef and pickle sandwich the best.”
Another reminder that I didn’t even know what kind of sandwich my dad liked. “Then I’ll take one of those instead.”
“He always buys two. Big, strapping man like Mac.” She tittered like a schoolgirl.
God, was there anyone who didn’t have a crush on my father?
It is not Morag’s fault I am estranged from Mac, I vehemently reminded myself as I gave her a tight smile and nodded for her to make two.
Morag’s bell rang, and I glanced over my shoulder. McCulloch trudged toward us. I hadn’t seen him in the shop since that first day. Then again, I hadn’t been in this early on my other visits. But I was eager to get more of a measure of the man now that he was on my suspect list.
He had an intimidating presence, not just because of his size. It was the way his dark eyes zeroed in on me; his icy focus was surprising. I straightened as if I’d been smacked on the ass.
“Morning, Collum, I have yours here,” Morag said, turning to retrieve his daily order.
His eyes remained on me.
I raised an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated. “Good morning.”
“You’re Galbraith’s daughter.”
I didn’t like his disparaging tone. In fact, I felt positively defensive. “I am.” Got a problem with that?
The farmer grunted. “Never understood his alliance with the Adairs.”
“Alliance? You mean friendship?”
“It isn’t friendship when you’re being paid, lass.” He narrowed his eyes. “I always warned your father to watch his back, getting caught up with the likes of Lachlan Adair. I guess I should have warned him to watch his front.”
That sounded suspiciously ominous and threatening.
“Collum.” Morag, face taut with irritation, skirted the counter to hand him his sandwich.
He snapped it out of her hands and handed over the money. Then his dark eyes returned to me. “Lachlan Adair isn’t worth protecting. Just like his old man, he’s a thieving, money-grubbing bastard. Turned this village
