Behind him Joe Sampson snorted. ‘Oh, not another bloody McMurtrie man addled by a nice pair of legs,’ he sneered, before turning back to the bar and speaking too loudly to be to himself. ‘Or what’s between them.’
Grant spun faster than Kate could blink and his body was hard up against Joe’s. Both the old man’s friends stepped in, hands raised, to head off the conflict. Joe stumbled backwards off his chair and looked every year of his considerable age.
Grant caught him and held him with the steeliest grip Kate had ever seen. ‘Apologise.’ His voice was low and hard, and she got her first inkling of what he might be like as a boardroom opponent.
‘I’m not apologising to no city skirt.’
Grant shook the older man and spoke low and hard. ‘I’m not talking about Kate. She can look after herself. Apologise for what you implied about my father.’
Kate held her breath. So did the rest of the pub.
Joe Sampson eventually dropped his gaze from Grant’s. ‘Yeah, all right. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I s’pose.’
Kate stepped up behind Grant and put her hand gently on his back, moral support, for what it was worth. He didn’t even notice. Furious heat radiated through his shirt.
‘My father negotiated access with Kate’s team. As was his right on his land. Nothing more.’
‘That we know of,’ Joe threw out stupidly.
Grant’s whole body tensed but one of Joe’s mates stepped into the simmering tension. John Pickering, the one with the bushy beard. ‘Look, I’ll take her out. I don’t mind,’ he said.
Joe turned on his mate. ‘Traitor!’
‘Let it go, Joe. What’s one boat trip to keep the peace?’ Pickering looked past Grant at Kate. ‘This has gone far enough. Take this as my way of saying sorry for not stopping it sooner. I’ll take you out tomorrow afternoon if that suits. Half price.’
Kate just nodded dumbly. The bearded man matched it and then steered the belligerent Joe Sampson away from her. Grant straightened up but didn’t turn back to her. He spoke quietly to the bar manager over the counter, who nodded and then wandered off to wipe down a surface at the far end of the bar.
Kate stared pointedly at Grant’s back. Eventually, he turned and faced her. She lifted both eyebrows.
To his credit, he didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. ‘You would have made things so much worse.’
‘You were right when you said I can look after myself. I don’t need your help.’
‘Kate, you were warming up to a bar fight. With one of Castleridge’s longest-standing residents.’
‘He’s an idiot.’
‘Moron I think was your professional estimation.’
Smiling now would be a mistake, but Grant with his super-solemn face was hard to take seriously. Her lips twitched.
‘I’m serious, Kate. You could have ruined everything you’ve worked for.’
‘By having a vigorous discussion on a subject I can argue convincingly in a room full of potential allies?’
He stopped and stared at her. ‘You did it on purpose?’
‘Not stir up Joe Sampson—although I’m glad I’m not getting on a boat alone with him now that I know what a misogynist he is. But it wouldn’t hurt if word began to spread in town that the seals aren’t threatening human fish-stocks.’
Green eyes blazed. ‘You actually think that’s a good idea?’
Whose side was he on? Oh, wait … stupid question. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked irritably.
‘I told you I’d come if I heard the sounds of scaffolding being erected.’
‘From the other room? You were supposed to be at the movies.’
‘A man’s got to eat.’
‘Dine alone often, do you?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s Friday night. Always someone to meet.’
He looked entirely innocent. If he was lying, he was good at it. ‘There really is a table?’
‘There was. If you haven’t got us banned.’
Kate smiled and followed him into the dining hall. All eyes were on them, which barely registered, because her eyes were entirely on Grant.
Kate can look after herself.
Uncertainty nibbled. On one hand, it was enormously validating to have someone like Grant McMurtrie display such confidence in her ability to handle herself, after years of being talked down to as a pretty, young woman in the male-dominated scientific community. But, on the other hand, feeling Grant’s hard body slide in between her and danger had generated a heady, primitive kind of rush, and the tingles it caused were still resonating. Kate stared at the back of those broad shoulders crossing the dining room and remembered how they’d shielded her from Joe Sampson.
She smiled. Or perhaps protected Joe from her.
‘Table for two?’ A tall, toothy waitress appeared from nowhere with two menus. She gave Kate an approving wink before placing the menus on a neatly laid table and parting on, ‘Hope the company’s more agreeable in here.’
It couldn’t be hard. Still, for all the drama, at least she was walking away with a boat and someone to captain it. So something positive had come from the evening.
A few moments later they were settled and seated and everyone in the bar had gone back to minding their own business. Mostly. Kate could feel Joe Sampson’s malevolent stare on her back from across the adjoining bar-room. Her heart slowly got back to its normal rhythm.
‘So, you weren’t kidding about being farming blood. You’re a country girl,’ Grant said by way of a conversation-starter.
Kate looked up. ‘Sunbrook. We ran dairy, mostly, but had sheep and some alpacas.’
‘What happened to the stock when you moved to the city?’
‘Sold, apparently.’
‘Apparently?’
Her hands tightened under the table. ‘I never asked. I never wanted to know. Two of those alpacas were like pets to me.’
Grant shook his head. ‘And no-one asked your permission? Asked you what you wanted?’
Defensiveness surged through her for the people who’d been left with the awful task of sorting out her life. The people who’d done their best. But deep down she knew that Grant only voiced the same question she’d had her entire adult life. How hard would it have been to ask her what she needed?
She shrugged and studied the menu. ‘I was twelve. What was I going to say? There was no way Aunt Nancy would have moved onto the farm, so what choice did I have?’
Conversation stalled while they ordered meals and their drinks arrived—a tall beer for Grant and a wine and soda for Kate.
‘It’s funny,’ he finally said, breaking the silence. ‘While I was doing everything I could to get out of this place, you would have given your life to go back to your farm.’
Kate sipped carefully then lowered her glass. ‘I still would.’
‘Did you ever go back?’
She’d driven south especially to see it a few years back but, even with the shielding of time past, it hurt too much. ‘Only once. I couldn’t bear to see someone else’s children climbing my trees. Someone else’s washing