Some Like it Scottish (28 page)

John straightened and turned to her. “When are you leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow. I'll fly home with the girls.”

John frowned. “Does my brother know ye're leaving so soon?”

He didn't have to explain which brother. She couldn't speak; she shook her head.
No.

He stood and stared at her for a long moment.

The conversation seemed to be over, so she stood as well. “I'm sorry. I had hoped for a long and enduring partnership, one that would have been good for the community as well as my business.”

He waved off her comment, and then rested a hand on her shoulder. “You've been like one of the family to us. We'll all be sorry to see you go.” He dropped his hand and walked away.

The gravity of what he said hit her. They had been like family to her, too. It wasn't just her Scotland-based business that she'd lost. As the seconds wore on, she felt the weight of the losses piling up.

For the next hour, Kit sat behind her sewing machine, staring at Bethia, who was instructing, but not hearing a word and not sewing a single stitch. She was relieved when Andrew showed up. Better to think about his problems than her own.

He handed her an envelope. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I'm not making any promises.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “But I'll give it my best shot. I'll be in touch, one way or the other.”

Andrew nodded stoically and walked her out, but then they parted ways. When Kit got to Moira's house, she knocked quietly, knowing her father was ill.

Moira answered the door, not looking much better than Kit had this morning.

“May I come in?”

Moira stepped aside. “Let's sit in the kitchen. My da's asleep in the parlor.”

Kit followed her into a small kitchen with a tiny round table.

Without asking, Moira set a mug in front of Kit and poured from a Victorian teapot.

“How are you holding up?” Kit asked.

Moira inhaled. “Then you and everyone else knows—”

“That Andrew was an overzealous lunkhead? Yes, we know.” Kit dropped a teaspoon of sugar in her teacup.

“I've never been more embarrassed in my life.”

Kit handed her the letter. “Someone would like to apologize.”

Moira gazed at it, and for a moment, Kit wondered if she would open it. She looked up at her expectantly.

“I have e-mails to check. Go ahead and read it. Afterward, I'd like to have a minute of your time.” Kit pulled out her phone, turning away from Moira, giving her some privacy.

After a few minutes, Moira refolded the note, slipped it into its envelope, and set it in her lap, her hand still covering it.

Kit put her phone away. “Did the lunkhead bungle that, too? Or did he do a good enough job that you would be willing to hear what I propose?”

Propose
was the wrong choice of words. Moira flinched.

Kit rubbed the handle of her teacup. “Or would you rather see Davey again? He likes you.”

Another little flinch.

Kit leaned on the table. “Of course, in this day and age, a lot of women are choosing to remain single. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.” It's what Kit was going to do.

Moira shook her head. For a moment, Kit worried that Andrew might be out of luck.

But then Moira held the envelope to her chest, speaking quietly. “I'll hear what ye have to say. About Andrew, that is.”

Kit explained to her about the possibility of Andrew courting her, and how Kit would oversee the process.

Moira listened quietly. “I would be comfortable with that.”

“At any time, you can back out of the deal.” None of Kit's clients would ever be coerced into a relationship. “I want to assure you that you have the power to walk and no one will say a word.”

“I thank ye for that.” Moira had a shy smile on her face. “But I doubt it will come to that.”

Kit rose. “Normally I would say let's let things cool off for a couple of days. But if it's okay with you, I'd like to set up a mini-date—say, tea at the restaurant this afternoon. I need to put you on the fast track because I'm leaving soon.”

Moira's face blanched. She reached out to Kit.

Kit touched her hand. “I'll be here every step of the way. We can Skype or FaceTime. I promise to keep Andrew in line until you feel comfortable enough to keep him in line yourself.”

Moira looked relieved, a small grin emerging. “Deydie says that every woman needs to know how to handle a broom.”

Kit gave her a hug. “That old quilter makes a lot of
sense. Maybe I should add that advice to my website. I better get back to Quilting Central, though. I'll leave it up to you to share with the town what we've devised. Or not. It's up to you.”

Moira looked down at her shoes. “Would you tell them for me? I don't want to answer any questions. Surely they would be asking.”

Kit patted her hand. “I'll take care of everything.”

Moira gave her a brilliant smile. It was easy to see why Andrew loved her.

*   *   *

Ramsay was about to pull away with his boatload of bachelors when he saw John and Ross running down the dock. “Wait up,” John hollered from the shore.

Ross jumped on the boat, out of breath. “John needs to see you. I'm yere relief captain.”

Ramsay looked over at his expectant passengers. “Give me two minutes and we'll be on our way.”

Ross grabbed a drink from the cooler and began entertaining the others with fish tales as Ramsay stepped off the boat.

John was just reaching him. “Ye'll need to leave yere paying customers with Ross.” He had that
I'll brook no argument
tone that he'd perfected as a teenager.

“Leave them? Nay. They're my responsibility and this is
my
boat.”

John gave him a stony expression, serious even for him. “Ye're needed back at the house.”

“Is Maggie all right? The babe?” Surely God wouldn't let them lose another one.

John jammed his hands in his pocket. “It's Kit.”

Ramsay felt his world falling apart. “What about Kit?”

“I'm afraid yere time to win her over is shorter than you think.”

“What are ye talking about? She's all right, isn't she? She's not ill or something?”

John frowned at him. “She's leaving in two days.”

“
Aw, hell
,” Ramsay growled. He wanted to do this right.

“Send Ross out with Kit's bachelors and come with me,” John commanded.

“I can't come with you. I have to get to Inverness now.”

“No. You don't. I have what ye need back at the cottage.” John gave him the
oldest brother knows best
look.

“You know what I have planned?” Ramsay asked.

“It's as clear on yere face as the sky is blue.”

Ramsay turned back to the boat and hollered to his passengers. “Something's come up, fellows. I leave you in my brother's capable hands. Ross, take them to the honey hole.”

Ross saluted. “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

Ramsay gave the boat one more glance before he walked away with John. When they arrived home, the house was empty. It felt even emptier knowing Kit wanted to leave Scotland so soon . . . without giving him a chance to do it up right.

John went into his bedroom and came back with two boxes, setting them on the table. “These were our grandmothers' rings. Mum gave them to me to choose one for Maggie.”

Ramsay looked at him, puzzled. “Then why are there still two?”

“I was young and stupid and thought Maggie needed
something new. Now I regret not giving her a family heirloom. Don't make the same mistake that I did.”

One was an amethyst. The other was an emerald.

“You choose one for your matchmaker and the other one will be for Ross to give to Pippa one day.” John pushed the opened boxes toward Ramsay.

The choice was easy. “Her eyes are green.” Ramsay thought his voice sounded thick. And at this moment, he didn't care that he sounded like a dumb kid.

John clamped him on the shoulder. “Excellent choice. Now go tell her.”

“Don't you mean
ask her
?”

John shook his head. “Go tell her that ye love her.”

Ramsay couldn't. He wasn't going to do what Andrew had done. Kit deserved a romantic evening. He'd get a bottle of wine from the pub. Maybe they had champagne somewhere in the back. He'd take
his sprite
for a sunset ride on his boat. He'd woo her. He'd make love to her. Then when she was all relaxed, he'd seal the deal by giving her the ring.

He pulled the emerald from the box and slipped it on his little finger, smiling. “Nay. I'll ask her out on a date for tonight. Before the evening is over, she'll be mine.”

John frowned at him, an expression Ramsay had gotten well used to over the years. “Don't put off what needs to be done.”

“It's my affair. I'll handle it as I see fit.” Ramsay knew it was all going to work out just as he planned. He'd never been more certain of anything in his whole life.

K
it stood in front of everyone at Quilting Central, just like her first time in the building. Except this time, she wasn't under fire. She was here now as Moira's advocate, and she meant to be firm in her words.

“I wanted to speak with everyone at once, so we're all on the same page.” Hopefully, what she had to say wouldn't get misconstrued and twisted when they talked about it later. “I'm here on behalf of Moira and Father Andrew. I've been asked to step in as their go-between, their dating coach, if you will.”

A buzz went up around the room.

Kit put her hand up. “The reason I'm telling you this is to ask that you all respect their privacy. Have a little compassion. Moira appreciates your support, but doesn't want to discuss her love life with you.” Kit stared directly at Deydie. “
Any of you
. No matter how much you want to give advice.”
And stick your nose in their business.
“Andrew isn't going to want your questions, either.”

“So ye're going to crack the whip?” Deydie challenged.

The door opened. From where Kit stood, she had an eagle-eyed view of the all-brawn man as he came in, his
presence filling the room. She snapped her gaze away from him and back to Deydie, not remembering the question.

Deydie put her hands on her wide hips, looking powerful. “Who is going to keep us in line, lassie? You?”

Kit put her hands on her hips, too, mirroring the tough old woman. “Yes, me. At least while I'm here.”

Kit sensed more than saw Ramsay's annoyance.

“I'll have spies reporting to me.” Kit would ask Maggie, Rowena, and Sinnie to help her. “If you all don't behave,” Kit said, smiling, “I'll have to come back here and kick some Scottish butt.”

“Not with a skinny little arse like yeres.” Deydie cackled. “Ye're good for a laugh, matchmaker. I'll grant you that.”

The whole room laughed.

Once more Kit motioned for them to be quiet. “But seriously, though, can I count on you to help me with Moira and Andrew by giving them some space?” Her eyes—the little traitors—shifted to take in Ramsay. “Love needs room to grow.”

Many of the women nodded their head
yes
, and the others talked among themselves.

Deydie joined her at the front. This time, she was the one who held up her hand. “The matchmaker has my full support. Her heart is in the right place and it's past time that those two wised up. If any of yees cross the line with the good Father and Moira, you'll have to answer to me and my broom.”

Nervous laughter twittered around the room, the women looking at one another. Everyone knew that Deydie meant business when it came to her broom.

Harper gave her that smile that said she was proud of her big sister. Kit stepped toward her, to join her at her sewing machine, but Ramsay caught up to her first, blocking her path. He wasn't his old teasing self, but looked as serious as high seas.

“A minute?” He tilted his head, gesturing toward the door.

It wouldn't do her resolve any good to be alone with him now. “I'm busy.”

“Aye, you are.” He took her hand and towed her to the door.

The whole room went silent, all eyes on them. Kit thought her cheeks would incinerate right off her face. He didn't drop her hand as he opened the door, or when he dragged her through it to the sidewalk outside, and slammed the door behind them.

She pulled free and crossed her arms over her chest. “That was quite a show you put on. Taking tips from Andrew?”

Ramsay looked heavenward and exhaled heavily. “Gawd, ye're a saucy one, always making it hard on me.”

She showed him saucy. She dropped her eyes to his crotch. She had the upper hand here, thanks to her anger. And her resolve.

“Don't goad me, little sprite,” he drawled, closing the space between them. “There are plenty of quiet, private places where I can have my way with you, places where no one will hear you begging for more.”

Oh, shit
. Her resolve melted. Her breath became shallow with want, need. She dropped her arms and hung her head. “What do you want, Ramsay?”

He tipped her chin up with a finger and took both of
her hands. He gazed into her eyes. “I want a chance to make everything up to you. I didn't mean to run out on you. I only needed a minute to pull myself together. Say ye'll go on one date with me.
One date
.”

“Don't worry yourself over it. We were only having a bit of fun.” It was a lie, but she wouldn't put herself out there again. “I don't see the point.”

Her brain knew her emotions couldn't take much more. He was a good man with a big heart. He was smart, caring and fun. The complete package. Her hormones and her body were on board. Every place that he'd touched and loved shouted,
Hell, yeah, I'm in!

He seemed stumped by her reply.

She filled in the blanks for him. “I'm leaving soon. It would be a waste of both our time.”

He caressed her captured hands. “Have I ever asked for one thing from you? One favor?” He looked at her pointedly.

She'd requested a million things from him. And he'd given in to all of them.
Eventually
.

She felt the energy flowing from his hands to hers. He squeezed to put an exclamation point on the chemistry between them.

Rationalization invaded her brain. To be in his arms one more time would be . . .

Heavenly.

Total bliss.

A nice farewell.

He'd already broken her heart.
How much more damage can he do?

“Sure. Why not?” she acquiesced. She would make love to him and that would be the end of it. “Where are we going to do this thing?”

He dropped her hands. “Ye're about as romantic as a lug nut, sprite.”

“Fine. Tell me about this date you've planned.”

She was surprised when he didn't hesitate.

“I'll pick you up at the Thistle Glen Lodge at eight for a late dinner. Wear that yellow dress I like so much. And bring yere wellies.”

She frowned at him. “Where's this date going to take place?”

He grinned at her. “On my boat. We're going to have our
romantic
dinner at my favorite spot.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I promise to give you a perfect evening.”

She stared at the hand holding hers—big and strong. “Okay,” she finally said. “I'm going to hold you to it.”

He chuckled and let go of her. “I have work to do.”

Already, she missed him. But she wasn't going to let him see the desperation written all over her pathetic face. “Well . . . I have work to do, too.”

He walked away, talking over his shoulder. “Tonight then. And bring your A-game.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But he was out of earshot by then. It was just as well. She had a date to plan herself—the one between Moira and Father Andrew.

*   *   *

It was one fifty-nine p.m. Kit and Moira waited at the restaurant for Andrew. She had left her clients with Harper and the quilting ladies. She knew that by this evening most of her girls would be scattered to the wind with their fishermen. Gretchen and Thomas still hadn't shown up. Bethia had assured her that all was well and the couple would no doubt reappear and would likely be
married. Kit pushed her own fisherman troubles out of her mind.

Moira stood near the door, twisting her hands.
Poor woman
. Kit was glad that she'd brought her here early. Moira was the type of client who needed to arrive first, so she could get her bearings. A sign that said the restaurant was closed for a private party hung on the door. Dominic and Claire had been more than happy to give the budding couple the dining room for their first date.

Claire had dressed up the table for two with a frilly tablecloth, turned napkins into pup tents, and filled a plate with petit fours. The Royal Albert Country Roses teapot had a cozy over it to keep their tea warm.

Moira shifted and gazed at the table. “It's very pretty.”

The poor girl had repeated herself several times.

“Remember—you'll go as you start. This is your chance to make that fresh beginning.” Kit had already talked to Moira about not letting Andrew fall into the old pattern of taking her for granted.

The door opened and the Episcopal priest walked in. He looked around hesitantly. But when his eyes fell on Moira, his face broke into an expression of relief, as if he hadn't dared to believe that she would actually come.

Kit stepped into his path, stopping him, and spoke quietly. “Don't scare her off.”

Andrew nodded solemnly as if her words had come from the Almighty himself.

She didn't need to remind him of his manners—at least those were impeccable.

He gazed over at Moira and motioned to the table. “Shall we?” He pulled out her chair and waited.

Moira gracefully walked across the room, her eyes darting to Kit a couple of times for reassurance.

Kit gave her a nod as if to say,
I'll be over here if you need me.
She went to her table across the room with her laptop and notebook, ready to do the unavoidable bookkeeping. After last night's debacle, her finances were ruined. Kit had always requested half of her payment up front, with the rest due when the client found her match. This had worked for her in the past—but in the past, Kit had been successful. She couldn't expect these clients to pay the balance when she hadn't really matched them at all.

She sighed and began entering expenses into her spreadsheets. But all the while, she kept her eye on things at the date table across the room. She wasn't completely eavesdropping but she heard Andrew's
You got my note?
and saw Moira's answering nod.

Kit had given Andrew a few talking points, and she noticed approvingly that Moira was engaging in the conversation. She had quit working her hands into knots and the pinch between her eyebrows was gone. Andrew was taking charge . . . but in a good way. He poured Moira's tea and offered her food from the plate. Only the light shake of his normally steady hands gave away what he had at stake here. By the secret smile on Moira's face, she was enjoying being looked after—something that surely hadn't happened often as she was the sole caregiver of her ill father.

The rest of the date ran smoothly enough. After precisely one hour, Andrew stood, as Kit had instructed. There was an awkward moment when the pastor looked like he wanted to go in for a hug, but like a good student, he offered Moira his hand instead.

Tentatively, she took it.

“May I see you again for a second date?”

Moira shocked them both by going up on tiptoes and pecking Andrew on the cheek. “Aye.”

He blushed as a goofy grin came over his face.

Kit popped up and stepped in. “That's lovely. Goodbye now.” She shooed him toward the door and out of the restaurant before he did anything stupid—like throwing Moira over his shoulder and carrying her off to the altar.

After the door closed behind him, Kit turned to Moira. “Well?”

Moira looked at the floor and smiled. “He'll do.” After a moment, she looked up at Kit with her eyebrows furrowed. “But now, what are we going to do about you?”

Kit didn't pretend not to know what she meant. “I'll be fine.” She ushered Moira out the door and stayed behind to clean up the restaurant alone.

Afterward she rushed to the cottage. Two hours later, after primping more than she wanted to admit, and wearing the yellow dress that Ramsay liked so much, Kit walked across town to the dock. She wondered if it was fair to compare Andrew and Moira's date with what Ramsay had planned for them tonight. Moira, who had only dared to kiss Andrew's cheek, would be scandalized at the steamy evening about to occur between the matchmaker and the fisherman.

“
You'll go as you start
,” Kit said to herself. But the cold, hard fact was that after this, she would just
go
. Back to the U.S. Back to concentrating on her Alaskan business. Back to her comfort zone.

Fear slowed her steps as she walked down the dock toward Ramsay's boat. But she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

As if he could sense she was near, Ramsay popped his
head out from the wheelhouse with a life vest in his hand. “Ye're here.” He looked down at her wellies. “And properly dressed, too.” His eyes skimmed up her boots, to the hem of her yellow dress, up farther, lingering on the flare of her hips, then on up to her modestly covered breasts.

She expected one of his teasing comments when his eyes finally met hers.

“Ye take my breath away, lass.” There was a yearning there, one that she'd seen in small flashes; but this time, he seemed in no hurry to ever look away.

She'd wanted him to be a more serious person, but now that she'd found it in him, it made her uncomfortable. Her face felt hot and her stomach churned deliciously, like a mixture of warm caramel and nerves. “Shouldn't we get going?”

He smiled at her and offered his free hand. “Come here.”

She shook her head. “Not until I have that thing on.”

“Aye. Right.” He handed over the life jacket. “Yere mantle, milady.”

As she slipped it on, he spoke to her in a very calming tone. “Anytime you start to feel anxious, I want you to tell me, so I can kiss you. That should help take yere mind off your worries.” He grinned at her.

“And he's back,” she said, without explaining what she meant. The teasing Ramsay had returned and she could take some comfort in that. But if she did as he suggested, and kissed him every time she was uneasy, then how would he be able to steer the boat? She stepped aboard, looking around. “Where's the life raft?”

“That question says ye're anxious. Come here, sprite, so I can plant one on ye for your ulcer's sake.”

She put her hand up. “No. I'm being serious. I want to know where the life raft is.”