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I run my fingers through the damp strands of my hair as Blair sets about making me a drink, and I tip my head back toward Fergus. “How’s your da today?”

“Same as usual,” Rory snorts. He raises his voice to shout, “Bloody useless, that’s what he is!”

Fergus just raises a middle finger, taking another large gulp of his whiskey.

Rory shakes his head. “Drunken arse. We should ban him from the place.”

“His name is still on the deed,” Blair pipes up as she finishes pouring me three fingers of Johnny Walker. She slides the glass across the bar, leaning to rest on her elbows. “Maybe we could convince Lach here to…you know…”

I cock a brow as I bring the glass to my lips. “To what?”

“Youknow,” Rory stresses, dragging his index finger across his throat.

I roll my eyes, taking a swig from my glass before setting it back down on the bar. “I’m not killing your da, you numpty.” I glance around at the empty bar. “Slow afternoon?”

“Aye,” Rory sighs. “People act like they’ll drown from a wee bit of rain.”

My thoughts flit to the angry expression of one fair American as I threatened her with said rain, and the corner of my mouth tilts up without my permission before I quickly tuck it away.

Blair leans in, lowering her voice. “So how goes the hunt?”

“Not so loud,” I hiss, turning around to look behind me out of habit.

Rory scoffs. “Who are you thinking might hear? Fergus? I could plot my da’s entire demise right here at this bar and the auld stoater would be none the wiser.” He raises his voice again. “He should sign the bar over before he does something useful like keel over!”

“Piss off,” Fergus calls back, still focused on his crossword.

“Bastard,” Rory mutters before turning his attention back to me. “Come on, mate. You’ve been living on the MacKay farm for six months now. You really haven’t found anything?”

I shake my head, sighing. “Nothing.”

“I’ll never believe Rhona doesn’t know something,” Blair hums.

“She’s aulder than our da, and he’s ancient. That woman knows more than she lets on. It’s in the eyes.” Rory points his index and middle fingers toward his own eyes for emphasis. “You can tell.”

“Well, when I learn how to read eyes, I’ll let you know.”

“How’s it been since that eejit Brodie came to stay?” Rory asks.

“Wanker tried to come on to me a few weeks ago,” Blair says with a shudder. “Creepy fucker. Rhona must know he’s after the farm, yeah? Why else would he show up out of nowhere after not visiting for years?”

“He’s the least of their problems,” I mumble as I take another drink.

Not that he hasn’t been a thorn in my side ever since I arrived. I’ve known Brodie MacKay since we were lads, and we never really got on.

Rory cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently, the MacKays have some long-lost granddaughter that’s just shown up out of the blue,” I tell them.

Rory’s and Blair’s matching brows shoot up.

“Does that—”

“You mean—”

“Aye,” I sigh. “A daughter of MacKay.”

“Your da always said—”