The Accidental Scot (8 page)

“And why is that?” she said.

“Too much merrymaking.” He was usually a cheerful guy, but Christmas sobered the hell out of him.

Her curiosity appeared piqued. “Oh, do share.”

“Nope. It's a long boring story.”

She took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps you'll tell me one day.”

He dodged her request. “Is this normal, putting your visitors to work like this? Or am I just special?”

Her grin was only part of the answer. The gleam in her eye said she might have something else up her sleeve. “We don't get many visitors here.”

What a crock. The town was crawling with the out-of-town quilters for the Kilts and Quilts retreat.

Pippa dabbed at a drip of tea on her lips. The action was innocent, but it hit him as erotic. And just like that, he was off balance and burning up. He tugged at his sweater. “You don't mind, do you?” He didn't wait for her answer, but went ahead and slipped it off, leaving only the polo underneath. “It's getting warm in here.”

He must've moved toward her, because she stood abruptly.

Her confidence seemed to have faded. She fumbled to zip her coat. “I better go. Ye need your sleep.”

“Not as much as I might need other things.” Sure, only a moment ago, he was determined to extinguish this attraction he felt for her, but now the mouse-and-cat game between them felt too powerful. He was on autopilot and stepped closer.

She ducked past him. “Meet me downstairs in the morning. Eight, sharp.” She slipped out the door and was gone.

He was satisfied that he'd unnerved her. But a shiver passed through him, a reminder that he better get his head back in the game and quit messing around. Ross may not have a claim on her, but neither did Max. Nor should he.

That night, his sleep was erratic, filled with Pippa. In his dreams she wasn't slipping out the door, but entertaining him . . . in bed. She was teasing, giving, and exciting and . . . she was crazy about him.

But it was only a dream.

When he woke in the morning, his nighttime fantasies had put him in a dark mood. Because none of it had been real. Or ever would be.

As directed, he met Pippa downstairs at eight sharp. He was going to do as she asked, but he wasn't going to do it without a bit of a fight.
Wrangling me into the Christmas Roundup was damned presumptuous of her.

He ignored how festive she looked in her red-and-white-striped sweater and how cute her hair was braided with plaid ribbon. “I need details about today. How
many kids are we talking about?” He might've sounded rude, but he couldn't help it. He really was annoyed.

She eyed him closely. “Ye're grumpy this morning. No one likes a grumpy Father Christmas.”

He backed away, putting his hands up. “No. I draw the line right there. No dressing up as Santa. It's bad enough you already got me in a skirt.”

She
tsk
ed. “A kilt is only a skirt if ye're wearing something underneath.” She raised her eyebrows in question as if she wanted to know. “
Real men
wear kilts.”

He'd never tell. “Can we go?” His mood was crappy this morning, but he still mustered up some good Texas boy manners and held the door open for Pippa as she strolled through.

“Maybe thirty,” she said.

“Thirty what?”

“Children who are coming to the Christmas Roundup. And I'm sorry you don't like kids.” But nothing in her words or body language hinted she would give him a pass on today's activities.

“I like rug rats fine,” he answered, “as long as I'm related to them. I have a nephew and a niece.”

“What are they like?”

“Loud. Little Max is a handful. My brother, Jake, keeps him riled up, which drives his wife crazy. Bitsy, my little sister, has a girl, Hannah. She's two, and a handful like her mother.” He smiled, thinking about the tantrum Hannah had thrown over wearing tights to church the last time he was there. “That little girl knows her own mind. I know better than most that strong women rule the world. There's something powerful about a female who knows what she wants out of life.”

He paused for second.
What the hell.
“Like you.” He was only telling the truth.

“What makes you think I know what I want out of life?”

“You're as easy to read as a schematic,” he said. “You love a challenge. You love figuring things out. You're starting to see that it doesn't matter whether you're in Edinburgh or Gandiegow, that there'll always be things that need to be fixed. Like North Sea Valve.”

She stared back at him, horrified, as if he'd used X-ray vision to see clean through to her soul.

“It's okay.” He understood why she'd used her given name, Alistair, when dealing with MTech and with him. Engineering, for all its advancements and diversity, was still male-centric. “I'm a pretty intuitive guy. It's one of the reasons MTech wanted me in the Acquisitions Department. I can see things that perhaps others can't.”

“Or imagine that ye see.” She stared straight ahead. “Ye've got one thing spot-on. Strong women do make the world go round.”

“They certainly do.” His mother, grandmother, Bitsy, Hannah, and every woman he'd met in Gandiegow were a testament to that.

Relative peace surrounded the two of them as they reached the car lot, but not silence. Waves crashing against the embankment filled the space where conversation had been, reminding him that he wasn't in Texas anymore.

Pippa maneuvered the car up the treacherous slick hill, seemingly in deep thought. He wanted to ask her what was so perplexing that it would stitch her eyebrows together like that. Hopefully, she wasn't worrying over
the MTech proposal. He would do his best to make it advantageous for both parties, as much as was in his power.

At the factory, they were making their way gingerly through the slick parking lot when Pippa slipped on a patch of ice. Max instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, jerking her toward him.

She smelled so good. No perfume for this Scottish Amazon. Only shampoo, body wash, and something all her own.

Perhaps he held her too close for too long. She tried to dislodge herself from him.

“Nope.” He stay attached to her arm, guiding her up the walk. “We're going to hold on to each other to keep the other one from falling.”

“Or we're both going down?” she mumbled.

He chuckled, relishing holding her. He liked keeping her safe, though that was only more fantasy. Pippa could take care of herself.

“Do you have salt I can put down before the kids get here?” he asked.

“Aye.” Pippa unlocked the building and pointed behind Bonnie's desk. “Utility closet.” The same place the kilt and boots had been.

As Max spread the salt on various patches in the parking lot and sidewalk, a van pulled up with factory workers. Taog and Murdoch gave him a hand and soon the walkway was done.

Back inside, Pippa took Max to the factory floor, where a large space had been cleared and tables had been lined up. Household items covered each one—old
books, jars, rope, glue, glitter, a cheese shredder, spoons, bowls of rocks . . . all sorts of junk.

“Okay, everybody,” Pippa announced. “The children will be here any minute. Look at the list, find yere assignment, and get to your tables.”

Max turned to Pippa. “Where will I be?”

“With me at my table.” She handed him a red Santa cap.

“What's this for?” He wasn't a frigging elf.

“It's for the children. Now put it on. And a smile, too, or else ye'll scare the wee ones with that frown.” She donned a matching cap. “We'll have the six – and seven-year-olds.”

“Fine.” He pulled his on, feeling as petulant as a seven-year-old himself.

Max remembered Jake at seven. There were almost nine years between them, and back then he had found Jake annoying as hell. The kid followed him everywhere and bugged the crap out of him and his friends. Not until Max had gone to college had he realized how super cool his kid brother was. Now, they were best buds. He'd have to call his brother tonight to see how things were going back home. Hopefully, Jake had calmed Mom down and she wasn't still on the rampage over Max missing Christmas.

“Are you all right?” Concern rested in Pippa's eyes.

“Yeah, just thinking about my brother.” And how it sucked that he was stuck in a wheelchair, a young father with an energetic son.

At that moment, a sea of rug rats rushed in, filling the large open area of the factory with laughter and excitement.

Max saw one last chance for a reprieve. He looked to Pippa . . . and faked a cough. “Are you sure I'm not contagious? I'd hate to get the kids sick.”

“Pathetic.” She shook her head. “I can't believe a big man such as yereself is afraid of a few wee ones.”

“Thirty is not a few.” Max wasn't looking forward to the hours ahead. But if helping Pippa would get him in her good graces so they could talk about the MTech contract, he'd do it with as little attitude as he could muster.

Behind the children came a flock of adults. “We have backup,” Pippa said. “Parents and family.”

Max pulled his cap down farther. “Good. I didn't want to be the one responsible in case a kid got lost or something.”

“Go sit down and plaster a smile on your face,” she said. “Pretend you like Christmas.”

That'll never happen.

As the adults corralled the kids and settled them at their tables, Max went to his. Pippa stood in the center of the room and said, “The North Sea Valve Company would like to welcome everyone here today. But before we get started, I want to introduce our honored guest, Mr. Christmas.”

Max looked around for who that might be.

Pippa pointed in his direction. “Stand up, Mr. Christmas. Give everyone a big ‘HO-HO-HO.'” With a twinkle in her eye, she dared him to refuse.

He cringed. If she'd asked him to be the Easter Bunny, St. Patrick, or the damned turkey at Thanksgiving, he would've willingly obliged. But Mr. Christmas was the last person he wanted to channel.

He didn't budge from his seat.

Pippa speared him with a withering glare. He refrained from returning her look with his own eye roll. She had no idea how much he hated the holiday.

“Come, now,” she tried again. “Show us yere Christmas cheer.”

To appease her and the others, he stood, super-glued a smile in place, and waved to everyone. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said with little enthusiasm.

“Everyone, let's say good morning to Mr. Christmas together.”

Pippa raised her arms like a symphony conductor.

“GOOD MORNING, MR. CHRISTMAS,” the chorus of children and adults rang out.

He gave another wave and sat down.
Oh, Pippa will pay for this.
When he got hold of her and that saucy little mouth of hers . . . His thoughts were too X-rated to entertain while sitting with a bunch of children.

The vixen glided over and began explaining the project to the kids at their table. Pippa wouldn't meet his eyes, but her less than innocent smile said she was still whooping it up on the inside over putting him on the spot. Max pushed back his cap, tried to stop focusing on her lips, and did his best to listen to the instructions.

Max's table was making welcome mats from small ocean-polished rocks found on the beach. A pile of used floor mats sat at the end of the table, along with glue. A large box of pebbles sat in the middle. Pippa held up an example of what the finished project should look like and the kids stood to get a better look, oohing and aahing. She also had to stop a few hands from reaching into
the box while she explained how to make the mat, but soon she was done and the kids dove in.

“I have to go help the other tables.” Pippa pointed to his chest. “Mr. Christmas, ye're in charge.”

He wanted to complain, but Pippa was gone. Then he noticed the blond-haired girl at the other end of the table, sitting by herself, looking lost. He glanced around for backup, but Pippa had her hands full now with a four-year-old who was already covered in glitter.

Crap.
He peered at the sad-faced girl again. He moved down the table and sat directly across from her.

“Hey,” he said.

She turned sad green eyes on him.

“Hi there,” he tried again. “What's your name?”

“Glenna,” she said, but her voice was quizzical, as if she might be processing his words.

His accent.
“I bet you think that I talk funny. I'm from Texas. In America. My name is Max.”

“I thought yere name was Mr. Christmas.”

“Yes, well, so it is.” He motioned to the other adults. “Which one is your mother or father?”

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn't cry.

“Mama and Papa have gone to heaven. I live with Cousin Moira and Uncle Kenneth. 'Cept Uncle Kenneth died, too.”

Moira was the one who'd clued him in about Mattie. “Is Moira helping with the quilt retreat this weekend?”

Glenna nodded.

Okay. He really had to man up now, whether he wanted to or not. “Since Moira can't be here, can I help you make your welcome mat?”

She gazed up at him with big innocent eyes and nodded again.

“All right then. What do we need to do first?”

“We need one of those.” She pointed to where the stack of used mats had diminished considerably.

“Well, Glenna, pick one out for us,” he said. “I'll gather some pebbles.”

He glanced up and found Pippa staring at him, a look akin to gratitude. He nodded to her and began picking out pebbles. Glenna returned and they got to work, gluing the polished rocks into position.

Thirty minutes passed before Pippa glided over. Was it his imagination, or did her hand brush his hair? An accident or on purpose? Either way, it had a powerful effect on him.

She sat down beside Glenna but directed her comment to Max. “Do you want me to take over here so you can have a break?”