Page 29 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

Mitch strode off on his long legs, clutching the painting with reverence. Reece had already moved off just ahead of him and was placing the bluebell painting inside the open studio door.

As I approached, the studio looked like a child’s paintbox. The late morning light was sending strobes of winter sunshine across the wooden, paint-splashed floor. It glanced at her precious collection of glass butterflies up on the mantlepiece above the old, gothic-style fireplace.

‘This is where it all used to happen.’ I managed a smile.

But Mitch wasn’t listening. He was too interested in Grandma’s artwork. He set down the painting he was carrying and took in his surroundings. His attention zoomed in on my grandma’s other paintings propped against the back wall. ‘You said she always wanted to have her work on display?’

‘Yes, she did, although when you asked her, she’d always deny it.

’ I took in her palettes of paint that I couldn’t bring myself to pack away.

‘She never knew how good she was.’ I clasped my hands together.

‘Anyway, at least we tried to get her featured in the Lumiere Gallery. I hope I can thumb my nose at that old bat when another gallery snaps up her work.’

‘Let me help,’ erupted Mitch, breaking through my thoughts.

I blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’

His voice sounded almost desperate. ‘Let me see if I can get her paintings accepted by the Lumiere Gallery. At least let me try.’

I stared at him and then at Reece, who’d been listening intently from the other side of the room. ‘But… But that woman in the gallery gave us a flat no,’ he said.

‘Well, she might not if I ask her.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘What makes you think that you’ll have more success than us?’

‘My dark, troubled-poet good looks and scintillating personality?’ His face was deadpan.

I rolled my eyes. My head was swimming with surprise. I tried not to acknowledge how good-looking he was. He definitely did carry a brooding, tortured Heathcliff vibe with all those thick, dark curls. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer. But why?’

Mitch looked at me and Reece. ‘Why what?’

‘Why offer to do this?’

Mitch gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Can’t someone just want to do a good turn for someone else?’ His tone was verging on the defensive.

I knew I was still staring at him and looked away. Why was Mitch offering to do this? Why was he so insistent that he wanted to help?

‘Look, just let me take a few of your grandma’s paintings into the gallery and see what happens. You can come with me if you like. Conduct surveillance from the car.’ Mitch arched his brows. ‘You don’t think I’m capable of nicking them and running off with the takings, do you?’

Reece let out a laugh. ‘Of course not, young man. We don’t, do we, Rosie?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Then why not let Mitch at least try?’ suggested Reece. ‘It’s worth a go, surely. He might have more luck with the ice maiden than we did. What do you say?’

‘Ice maiden?’ asked Mitch.

I folded my arms. ‘Yes. The witch who works in there; all cheek-grazing silver bob and red lipstick. I don’t know her name.’

‘Ah. You mean the gallery owner, Ruth Mangan. Her bark’s worse than her bite.’

‘That’s your opinion,’ chipped in Reece with a rueful look. ‘I think Rosie and I might need tetanus injections.’

I didn’t know how I felt about any of this. Mitch was being very kind. It was just a bit left field, that’s all. We didn’t know each other very well and yet he was offering to do something like this.

I debated whether I should accept. I didn’t want to have to rely on anyone, especially another man.

In a weird way, living up here just with Bronte and with the bay swishing around at night, I was slowly becoming used to being on my own.

I knew sooner or later I would have to face up to life’s challenges and the bitterness of what Joe did.

Although I much preferred to achieve this for Grandma just with Reece’s help, I didn’t want to appear unappreciative.

I just wished I could understand why Mitch was so keen to get involved.

How did he plan to help? What was he intending to do?

As if reading my mind, he carried on with his argument. ‘I’m good at pitching. In my former life, it was something I did regularly.’ He hesitated. ‘I had my own business.’

Now it was my turn to look questioningly at him. If Mitch noticed, he chose not to expand on his previous employment situation.

‘Just let me give it a go and if I don’t manage to charm Ruth, then you can say, I told you so.’ He aimed his attention back at me. ‘I’m confident I can persuade her to take the paintings. Like I said, I know what I’m doing.’ He pulled himself up but didn’t elaborate.

I was in danger of being on the receiving end of one of Mitch’s hot looks again.

I took a breath. His assertiveness and confidence were very attractive.

Okay, I was acknowledging it. That was all.

‘I don’t think a lion tamer could handle that woman,’ I ground out, my optimism deflating as I thought more and more about her attitude.

‘But I don’t suppose we’ve got anything to lose. ’

Mitch cocked one brow.

I accepted defeat. ‘Okay. Reece is right. Worth a try. Thank you.’

Mitch nodded his head. ‘Good.’

I suspected that the gallery Rottweiler would refuse him too, even if he was a long, dark stream of good-looking moodiness. But he definitely didn’t lack self-belief, that was for sure. I wondered what career he’d had before becoming a lighthouse keeper.

Mitch’s voice cut across my thoughts. ‘You free tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. I’ll drop by to collect you at just after nine-thirty. Have the paintings ready.’

Mitch bent down and gave an admiring Bronte a rub behind her ears. Was I imagining it or was she batting her eyelashes at him?

I watched Mitch stride back up the hallway. Just when I thought this reclusive lighthouse keeper couldn’t get any more mysterious.