Page 21 of Gardening and Gargoyles

I stop and add notes to that.

46 clan members accounted for, with Duncan making 47.

There are strings of phone numbers and emails. The “family reunion” is still held every August in Scotland, but no one guards the old castle anymore.

I smile and resist the urge to doodle around the next section. Wuillie’s granddaughter is part of the Gilcreedy village council. When she “discovers” that Daniel removed an artifact from the site (namely Duncan), something he was expressly told not to do by some Scottish historical preservation society, he’s going to get his planning permission revoked.

I snap a picture of Duncan, focusing the camera on the broken wing, the clear identifying mark, something someone will connect to the records of what Daniel repaired and shipped, the people he hired, etc. etc. With a click of a button, it’s off to Gemma in Gilcreedy, and I only hope she sends me back a blow-by-blow account of what happens when Daniel and his rich partners and investors find out that their project is going to go “poof” because he decided to show off and surprise his garden-obsessed girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend.

I push the sadness away and think about the next section of notes.

If Gemma can’t get the planning permission revoked quickly enough...

My smile stretches.

Any clan members left in the UK, and some of Genesis’ clan, too, are going to start a midnight mischief campaign. Steal blueprints. Turn cranes upside down. Hide the construction equipment in the woods and the loch. Take sections of stone that were already excavated and put them back the way they were. The workmen may think the place is haunted or at least under attack by a corporate rival.

Between the planning permission problems and the midnight marauding, Daniel’s going to lose a fortune, and Clan Mackintosh’s gargoyle members, working through the Gilcreedy granddaughter, might be able to get their castle back and work to restore it to its historical glory. Will it turn a dime? No. Will the clan be able to live there, together again? Yes, if they want to.

“It was a good night’s work, Dunc. And it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You stirred your clan up. You’re the patriarch, I guess.” My smile falters. I just met this strange creature, this noble, old-fashioned guy with wings and horns, but I’ll miss him when he leaves.

“It’s the leaving season, I guess,” I whisper, pushing myself out of the chair and heading for my gardening gloves.

The growing season, too.

I’ll have to leave this garden at the end of July. I guess I always knew I would, but I thought... I thought I’d come back.

I won’t be able to afford it, not on my salary. There won’t be a wedding here, or a honeymoon here. Practically speaking, there’s no reason for me to keep working on the landscaping of the lodge. I’ll never see it again.

I’ll probably never see Duncan again, or Pine Ridge.

This will just be the sweet part of the worst, most bittersweet summer ever.

I swallow hard and pull on my gardening gloves.

You don’t garden just for your own enjoyment. You do it to make the world brighter, more beautiful.

I plant a ring of pale purple petunias, interspersed with dark pink ones. The effect is going to be beautiful. The ring of azaleas. Then hydrangeas. Then these littler guys, all drawing the eye.

They all lead to Duncan, the centerpiece.

My odd new friend that I’m going to miss. I wonder if he’ll head home tonight or wait until his wing is healed?

Part of me hopes he waits until August to go home for his reunion.

“I bet you can’t hear me, but when I’m with company, I tend to put on my tough girl face. I just want you to know that you’re a beautiful soul. A loyal heart. A true gentleman. Clan Mackintosh is lucky to have you—and I was lucky to meet you.”

I know it’s silly, but I leap up to kiss his cheek when I’m done with my little speech, then head inside the house to sleep for a few hours. “Sweet dreams,” I call over my shoulder.

Chapter Five: Loyal Hearts

“Imade carnitas, and I’m making tortillas to eat them with. Mrs. Fenclan showed me where the crockpot was.”

I don’t know what Lady June is talking about, but I know by the scent of roasted heaven that she’s been cooking again. “It smells like a banquet for kings!” I praise, collecting up my stone shards with the rake she hands me. “You’ve made it look like heaven, too. All these flowers you put in yourself? Wi’ no gardener?”

“I told you. I’m a tough girl. I don’t need help.”