Mia entered the main room of Baird's pub and saw that trouble had come to town. Grant lounged at the counter, looking the part of a CEO in his crisp, expensive suit. His broad shoulders, long legs, and the air around him made her believe he walked into rooms and didn't leave until a deal was closed.

Worse, he looked chummy with the Baird. The old fox was laughing, narrating some story with his hands, and Grant sat there with his fingers interlaced, listening. That was until his left brow arched up as she made her way across the crowded pub.

Douglass was sharper than he looked. At Grant's brow lift, the Baird tilted his head in her direction. His smile broadened. “There's the lass. Mia have you met Grant?”

“Briefly,” Grant answered for her. “A few months ago. Then, she was a fly-by-night in my brother’s life. Now…”

Months later, and Mia couldn’t finish the man’s sentence, which probably explained the cold words. Their parents flitted in and out of Kincaid and Grant’s life. That’s all what a man like Grant would see.

She couldn’t blame him.

When Mia was close enough, she offered her hand to Grant. He stood from the stool, ignored her hand and brought her in for a hug.

A hug.

“Uh,” is all she could get out, too surprised and confused to say more.

Grant hadn't visited his brother in weeks, as far as she knew. Kincaid had called to chew Grant out, but now here he was. She looked to Douglass who was grinning. Oh, that old fox. He had no doubt given Grant the skinny on her and Kincaid's relationship. More than that, she could guess Grant had dropped in to see what trouble his brother had gotten himself into.

The trouble being her.

She had to remember Grant was cunning above all else. He pulled back and smiled at her with all his teeth. She really couldn’t be mad, not when she would do the same for any of her friends and family. Hell, she had done something similar for her friends and family more than once.

All that meant was the hug was supposed to throw her off.

She said, “I guess your talk with your brother brought you here.”

He shoved his hands into his slacks. “Douglass told me he'd be here. I decided to wait for him to show up. Is he upstairs?”

Even though she’d had a fair amount to drink the day before, she hadn't had as much as Kincaid. “He was bare-assed and asleep the last time I saw him. He did mumble something about wanting to die. I left him a bucket next to the bed.”

His brother laughed, and she could see the resemblance in the way his hazel eyes lit with pleasure. Grant's chiseled jawline didn't help either. Honestly, it was unfair to be confronted with a shark in a suit who could smile a woman's panties off.

“You're trying to tell me my brother has a hangover,” Grant said. “Kincaid Cameron?”

“Kincaid Cameron. He was knocking back homemade hooch like it was water."

"Fuck.” Grant shifted his stance to face Douglass. “Why did you give him some of your stash?”

Mia almost corrected him, but the last time she butted in, Kincaid had blew his top. He had shared with her his desire to make whiskey. She wasn't about to trample all over that if he wasn't ready to tell his brother or Douglass.

The Baird put his hands up in surrender. "I thought he was using it for some sort of experiment."

Grant shifted to narrow his gaze on her. This man knew his brother. He probably had good reason to tell his other siblings to give Kincaid space.

What did it mean Kincaid had turned to her the past few months? The thought twisted a knot in her stomach. She still had plans to go to London. After that, she had her eye on Egypt. She'd lived the past few years with open-ended plane tickets. When the right opportunity presented itself, she would fly to Germany at a drop of a dime or Tokyo. She didn't want to think about the fact that she felt rooted to Scotland—she felt rooted to Kincaid.

She cleared her throat. “I better get to work before this old codger gripes at me.”

Grant nodded slowly. “Aye.”

She dropped her gaze from Grant's and made her way around the counter to start her shift. Her strategic retreat didn't help. For the next two hours, Grant glowered in her general direction whenever she ventured into his line of sight. She spilled drinks because of that stare, nervously laughed too loud, and was just a mess.

Every now and again she could hear his laugh over the conversations in the pub then Douglass's booming voice. Still, she felt picked apart with every sly glance and sometimes a dismissive glare.

He didn't have to say the words for Mia to know she didn't pass muster. She was a tourist in Kincaid's life. Grant would remain in Kincaid's life long after Mia had become a faded memory. And they both knew it.

By seven o'clock, Kincaid's throat had lost some of the sandpaper rawness and he even managed to keep down a greasy breakfast and a lighter lunch. Still, the knock at the cottage door surprised him.

In some fuzzy part of his mind he could recall Mia kissing his forehead, telling him to use the bucket if he needed it, and that she'd be back at the end of her shift. His foggy brain had filled in the rest, and that simply meant seven was much too early for her to be home again from work.

After checking the peephole, Kincaid sighed. He gave himself a five seconds buffer before opening the door. “And here's my brother to whinge at me.”

Grant didn't laugh at the greeting. His brows were low, and the green in his eyes were dark. His brother did not look happy as he pushed his way into the cottage. Kincaid leaned back against the door to close it and watched his brother take in the room in one quick sweep.

Mia lived the way she traveled. There were at least two pairs of shoes under the coffee table. A jumper hung over the back of the couch. A small stack of books on the arm chair. The cottage may have been borrowed, but she was there in every inch of it now.

He—he was fastidious to a fault. The only sign of him in the room was the rumpled throw pillow on the couch.

“Can I help you with something?” Kincaid asked.

Grant must have left his suit jacket in the car. He had no tie either, but the shirt and slate gray slacks were starched and wrinkle free. "You look blurry around the edges."

“Had some drink last night, and it was a bit much.”

“That's what she said.” Grant stuffed his hands into his pockets.

She had to be Mia. The mention of her made this visit all too clear. Grant worried, but one wouldn't know it from his outward calm. His brother was a fixer.

Cautious, Kincaid asked, “What else does she say?”

“Not much.” Grant plopped onto the couch and spread his arms wide on the back. “She's protective of you.”

That surprised Kincaid. “And?” Kincaid pushed from the door.

“You're standing there with your chest all puffed up.”

“And?” Kincaid asked again.

Grant shrugged and turned his head slightly to meet his eye. “You tell me.”

“There's nothing to tell.” He made his way over to his brother on the couch. “Were you hoping for some deep insight into my feelings?”

“Why not? I sent you here to keep you busy. You have, and before you pound me in the face, do know the favor was legitimate. Callan and Victoria have stayed on in California to help Ian and Jocelyn. Both couples are antique geeks."

"You keep saying that geek word. I don't think you know what it means."

“I know your woman was wearing a Deadpool shirt and formfitting black tights for work today. She is your geek's wet dream. What I'm trying to figure out is how far off the deep end you are.”

Likely drowning. “What does it matter to you?”

“You matter to me. You’ve been gone for years. Then some woman ploughs into your life, and you’re looking at her with one hand on your passport.”

Kincaid had no reply to that. Too much of it hit close to home. He crossed his arms and slouched into the cushions. “Dear Brother, I've come to the conclusion you need to get your own life outside of work. It's making you think you can fix anything with money or by glaring hard enough. That is not the brother I grew up with.”

“You don't know any of us anymore.”

Us. His siblings. Could he argue with that? No. His life was easier when the only responsibility he’d held was to his queen and country. There was no argument to be had when his decision was life or death. The only gray area was the laws he had to work in.

Everyday life was something completely different. His high stakes were calling his siblings once a week. It was easy to brush aside those responsibilities. Too easy to be a flake like his parents, simply because the stakes weren't dire.

He dropped his hand to his stomach, fisted it, and then rubbed the knot out. His future rolled out for him. For months, he hadn't known what he wanted to do. He had only known what he didn't want.

He focused on the TV but didn't see the images across the glass. “I'm going to regret this,” he muttered.

“Regret what?”

“I want you to try something. Keep an open mind. Mainly, I need you to be honest.”

His brother seemed to weigh the words, but eventually he nodded. “What is it?”

Kincaid thought of Mia. She may not have been the adventurer he had thought, but she jumped headlong into the unknown with little fear or even trepidation. As long as it didn't involve her heart. He had to admire her unflinching courage for the big things, the important things. There was something to be learned from that.

So, for a moment he channeled Mia. "I found something that interests me.”

“Liquor,” his brother guessed.

“Aye. Try some. If you like it, you can invest.”

Grant sat up straight like a dog who had scented its prey. “Invest is a hefty word, you know.”

“Maybe. Are you willing?”

“Hmmm,” was all that Grant said.

But Kincaid knew he had him.