Page 22 of Scotch & Dreams

Lachlan was surprised that this woman he barely knew would ask him such personal questions, and yet, strangely, he didn't mind it. He was generally leery of people trying to dig into his personal matters. Being from a wealthy family, there were people who tried to get close to him for their own personal gain, but this— This was very different. He didn't know what it was about her, but he felt at ease in her presence like he could take off his wealthy businessman’s coat of armour and just be himself. Maybe it was because she was unapologetically herself, pure and authentic—an intoxicating combination. In Lachlan's experience, people weren't always so genuine. There was a lot of smoke and mirrors in his world. Something deep in him knew the lass sitting across from him was as pure and real as it got—a rarity.

Still, he never spoke about his family matters with anyone other than family. It struck him just how tempting it was to talk with Violet Munro. Really talk with her. Maybe it was to do with the events of last eve together, but something made him feel he could speak openly with her without fear of it coming back to haunt him.

Lachlan stood and walked over to the photos, looking at them.Remembering.Rolling the amber liquid in his glass, he took a sip.

“My older sister, Helena, she and I were very close growing up. We were very similar and always had a bond.” He took in a deep breath, and it lumbered out heavily. It was never easy to talk about. “Helena died. In a riding accident. We were racing, and her horse caught his hoof in some low branches. She was thrown, and her neck broke.” His voice wavered, and he stopped to fight back the tears that threatened. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he added, “It was quick, and thankfully, she didnae suffer.”

“Oh, God, Lachlan, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.” The lass wore her heart on her sleeve. She’d gotten up to stand by him. Her nearness was both alarming and comforting to him.

“Aye. It’s been thirteen years, but the ache is still there. I miss her.” He cleared his throat and stepped away from the photos—and away from the woman whose heat wreaked havoc on his senses even though she hadn't even touched him.

“I’m sure. I don’t think you ever stop missing someone you love.”

“No, that’s true. Ye learn, somehow, to live without them,” Lachlan said as he sat back down on the safe-distance-away settee.

Violet had settled herself back on the settee across from him, and he was oddly grateful for the oversized quartz coffee table barrier between them. The sky had turned dark through the windows behind her as day turned to night.

“Drew hasnae forgiven me, though,” he said, surprising himself at the confession.

“What?” Her brows knit together in confusion. “Hasn’t forgiven you for what?”

Lachlan shrugged. “He blames me for Helena's death." He glanced up to gauge her reaction.

She sat still, listening intently. There was no judgment on her pretty features, only a sadness etched around the corners of her eyes. "He thinks I should huv done something or that I shouldnae huv let her ride that day. I dinnae ken, exactly. I do ken that I’d give anything to huv her back, though.”

“I'm sure you'd take her back in a heartbeat, but how could you have done anything to prevent what happened? It’s not your fault,” Violet said softly.

It was a bold proclamation for a lass that barely knew him, and despite the pain of it, he liked her all the more for it. Lachlan smiled sadly. “Well, according to Drew, it is. I was the one riding with her. It was because of me we were racing. If we hadnae, she would still be here.” Those were realities he'd grappled with every day since the accident.

“Oh, Lachlan.” She came over to sit beside him and laid her hand on his.

He was far too aware of the warmth of her slender fingers laying across the back of his hand, gently squeezing.

Looking him in the eye, she asked, “Do you believe that?”

He was silent for a moment. Most people tried to comfort him and reassure him that Helena's death was an accident and not his fault. There was always pity in their eyes, but he knew they meant well. Had anyoneeverasked him what he thought? It shook him to realize that no one ever had. They only ever told him what they thought. A borage of opinions and words. This was the first time he'd been asked what he thought, and it threw him off. But as he sat there, with her hand on his, he knew exactly what he thought even though he'd never spoken it—he knew the truth.

Swallowing hard, he said, “Aye, for a time I did. I blamed myself. Guilt ate at me. The what-ifs gave me nightmares.”

Violet sat quietly beside him, listening intently without judgment. He was almost waiting for her to jump in with her pity or well-meaning advice, but the lass just listened. Perhaps that was why he found himself speaking freely.

“I was riding one day a few months after Helena’s accident. And it struck me that I was actually enjoying the ride. I wasn't just going through the motions, but the pleasure of riding came back to me. I was so aware, and it was like a peace settled over me. I felt good. For the first time in months, I felt good. And it came to me. I knew my sister, and she loved riding even more than I did. Nothing would have stopped her from riding that day. Nothing. She rode rain or shine. Why would that day huv been any different?"

The more Lachlan spoke his thoughts out loud, the more free he felt, and the words continued in a rush. "It was a freak accident. A terrible, terrible accident. It was horrendous, and God, I wish with everything in me that it hadn't happened. For so long, I wished we hadnae gone riding that day. And yet, I knew— I know,” he corrected, “Helena was happy on her horse that day, like every other day. She wanted to be riding. Being on her horse with the wind whipping through her hair made her feel alive. Some people die and never know what it's like to truly feel alive, but my sister knew. And that brings me comfort somehow. I ken nothing could change what happened that day.”

Lachlan ran his forearm across his wet eyes. “After that day, I ken in my bones, what had happened wasnae my fault. It was nobody’s fault. It was a tragic accident.”

Violet's smile was soft on him, and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes as well, making them impossibly green. “Thank you for telling me.” Her voice was gentle and soothing like a balm on his soul. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I’m so glad you found peace. She sounds like she was a free spirit.”

“Aye, she was, and I realize how lucky I am to have spent time with her—to huv had her in my life. Even our last ride together. I’m even grateful for that. I feel privileged to have seen her last moments of pure joy on this earth.”

A tear slipped down Violet’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “That is a beautiful perspective.” Her voice was a whisper.

Lachlan let his whisky roll over his tongue. Helena would have liked Violet. From what he'd seen of the lass, she was a free spirit, too. It still surprised him how easy it was to open up to her and lay his deepest thoughts bare. Three months of dating Anna with the tentative plans of moving in together, and he hadn’t once spoken about the day Helena died with her. Twenty-four tumultuous hours since meeting Violet Munro, and he was bletherin' away like he was on a daytime talk show with Oprah Winfrey. He would have suspected that talking about his family would be akin to pouring cask-strength whisky on an open wound, but to the contrary, he felt calm, almost like a weight had been lifted. He'd carried his thoughts for so long. It felt good to finally set them free.

Stealing a look at the woman sitting beside him, he again wondered about the strange connection that seemed to flow invisibly between them. That connection must have bloomed due to the circumstances of last night, but still, it was interesting how he felt when he looked at her. Like he wanted her to know everything there was to know about him, and he wanted to unravel every little mystery of her.

“What about your other sister? Are you still close?” Violet pulled him from his reverie.

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