Page 11 of A Summer House on Arran (Scottish Romances #3)

Kitty frowned as she was faced with a white-faced woman with blonde curls who dropped a rolling pin at her feet with a clatter and then screamed.

‘Oh,’ said Kitty, shocked. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.

’ Kitty wondered if she was perhaps the cleaner who was just finishing off her shift.

Though why was she wearing shorts and a vest?

Sure, it was summer and quite warm, but not all that balmy.

Unless that was what island cleaners wore and, anyway, who was Kitty to judge?

She often did her housework in her pyjamas on a Saturday morning.

That way she could have a shower afterwards and throw her pyjamas in the wash.

But that was all in the privacy of her own home.

She chastised herself for being judgemental again.

‘Can I help you?’ said the woman briskly. She was now standing with her hands on her hips, the rolling pin at her feet.

Her bare feet , thought Kitty. What kind of cleaner went about their hoovering and mopping with no shoes on? And what was with the rolling pin? Had she missed some cleaning hack somewhere about how useful rolling pins were for cleaning hard-to-reach places?

‘Hello? Did you hear what I said?’ said the woman.

Kitty frowned, not liking the demanding tone the woman was taking.

She felt her hackles rise. She could also play the confrontational game if that was how it was going to be.

Erm, I think I should be asking you the same question.

Can I help you ? But the truth was Kitty hated confrontation.

She could feel heat rising across her chest and up to her cheeks.

She crossed her arms in front of her and tried to look confident, when all she wanted was to take her bags to her room and get settled in.

‘You can’t just walk in here,’ said the woman, who Kitty realised had an American accent. ‘What do you think you’re doing? This is private property.’

Kitty felt her resolve falter. ‘I . . . I could say the same thing to you.’

Both women were rooted to their own spots — a real stand-off.

Despite her counselling training, Kitty hated awkwardness of any kind and would always go out of her way to appease a situation. ‘I’ve just arrived to stay here,’ she said, flustered, ‘and . . . I’m taking a bit of a break. And the cottage belongs to a friend of my cousin’s . . .’

The woman looked blankly at her. ‘But I’m staying here,’ she said, gesturing around the hall. ‘I arrived yesterday.’

Her voice had at least softened slightly.

‘Ah, that must be what it is.’ Kitty laughed nervously. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve obviously arrived early. Normally the changeover of holiday lets is in the afternoon. I didn’t even think. I was just told the cottage was empty and to arrive here any time.’

Kitty couldn’t help noticing how graceful the woman was as she stood opposite her, wearing not very much, with bed-hair that looked as though it had been professionally styled to look casually tousled.

Kitty absent-mindedly tucked a strand of her own hair behind an ear, suddenly very self-conscious of her tangled mane.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Olivia frowning. ‘What are you talking about changeovers? I only arrived yesterday. I flew into Prestwick Airport.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kitty couldn’t work out why this woman was being so awkward, especially as she was the one who was supposed to be here.

The woman flicked her hair out of the way and sighed loudly. ‘It means that I’m going to be here for the next six weeks. I’ve only just arrived, so I don’t have plans to go anywhere else. I have nowhere else to be right now.’

Kitty felt as though her mouth was filled with treacle.

Clenching her fists together, she could feel tears of frustration well in her eyes.

When it came to being Cameron’s mum, well, she was great at asserting herself and not taking any nonsense.

She would walk naked through a field of Highland cows or run over a pile of hot stones.

But now . . . well, Cameron wasn’t here to bolster her resolve, and she could feel her bottom lip start to wobble.

‘There’s obviously been a mix-up,’ she said, realising she was going to have to spell it all out.

‘I’m Kitty, and the cottage belongs to friends of my cousin Fergus, who lives in Lamlash.

He works at the outdoor centre there and is really nice.

’ Why on earth was she oversharing like this?

It was her usual attack of verbal diarrhoea that appeared when the nerves hit.

‘They aren’t letting it anymore and said I could have it over the summer as a house-sitter . . .’ Kitty’s voice trailed away.

‘Hmm, that sounds a familiar story,’ exclaimed the woman, her gaze roaming Kitty’s face. ‘I was also promised the cottage. For the very same reasons.’

Kitty sighed. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Me neither,’ said Olivia.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘There’s clearly been some kind of mix-up.’

You don’t say , thought Kitty, folding her arms. She was starting to feel annoyed now, and hot and bothered by what was turning into the adventure from hell.

She thought of Cameron and how lucky he was to be across the Atlantic, but oh how she wished she was back at home with him there, safe and sound.

Just the two of them, happy in their own little cocoon.

Why on earth did she think this was a good idea?

She should have known it was bound to go wrong.

There was no such thing as a free holiday.

She stared at the woman, who looked back, her eyes focused and unwavering, waiting to see what Kitty might say next.

Kitty could feel her resolve start to crumble.

For a moment she tried to bite down hard on her lip.

She didn’t want to cry. It wouldn’t help solve this very big problem that they were both facing.

But it was just all too much, and she burst into tears.