Jake stared into his cocktail and frowned. “The lawyer mentioned something about crofters.”
“We’ve got crofters?” Connor said.
Ian looked puzzled. “You mean, like squatters?”
“No,” Jake said. “These are tenants who live and work the land around the castle. We pay them.”
“We do?”
“Yeah, so whoever buys the land has to buy the crofters, too. They’re a package deal.”
Disgruntled, Ian said, “What if we don’t want crofters? And it’s kind of weird to be selling people, don’t you think?”
“I doubt we’re actually selling the people,” Connor said dryly.
Jake shook his head in frustration. “This is why somebody has to go over there.”
“One of you should go,” Connor said immediately.
“Why not you?” Ian said.
“Because I’ve got boots-on-the-ground responsibilities up here. I’ve got twenty-seven new products ready to hit the market, we have three new farmers who want to join the artisanal league and we’re training a replacement manager at the brewpub.”
Ian looked askance. “Oh, so you’re saying our meager office jobs are expendable, is that it?”
Connor grinned back at him. It was a long-standing rivalry among the brothers, with each of them claiming to work harder than the others. But in Connor’s case, it was true. Maybe he didn’t handle the corporate stuff, like finances or marketing or hiring, thank God. But he did have sole responsibility for the day-to-day production of eight different facilities, including the brewery itself and the brewpub in town, both of which had put their company on the map in the first place.
“You’re the natural choice to go,” Connor said to Ian. “You could check things out with the castle, then take a detour south and visit Gordon. Make sure he’s still willing to grow our hops.”
Ian flashed Connor a dirty look. “Everything’s fine with the damn hops. The next batch will arrive on time, right after the drying season. So back off.”
“Touchy,” Connor muttered, exchanging glances with Jake. It always irritated Ian when they brought up the subject of his recent breakup with his gorgeous wife, Samantha. Her eccentric father, Gordon McGregor, lived in an ashram west of Kilmarnock where he grew the hops and many of the bitter herbs used exclusively in MacLaren beers. The trade winds that warmed the west coast of Scotland provided the perfect climate for Gordon’s hops and they were among the finest the MacLarens had ever used for their beers. While Connor cared very much for his sister-in-law Sam and was sorry she and Ian had split, he knew that if they lost their main source for those rare Scottish hops, it could be disastrous.
“I can’t go right now, either,” Jake realized.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Why not?”
“I’m in the middle of planning the senior staff retreat,” he explained. “I won’t be able to go for at least three months.”
“Look, we don’t have to make up excuses for the lawyers,” Ian reasoned. “As soon as one of us gets a break, whoever it is will go to Scotland, meet with the lawyers, check out the castle and list it for sale.”