The Trouble with Scotland (2 page)

She didn't turn to greet him. “What do you want, Oliver?”

“I came to walk you to the retreat. We have to hurry though. One of my clients needs me to hop online and check for a bug.”

If only Gandiegow didn't have high-speed Internet, then Oliver wouldn't have been hell-bent on coming to Scotland to keep an eye on me.
But her brother's IT business was portable.

Moira saved Sadie. “Don't worry. I'll get her to Quilting Central safely.”

He remained where he was. Sadie could feel his gaze boring into her back.

“Go on, Oliver. Your customer is waiting.”

She still didn't hear him leave. Sadie rolled her eyes heavenward and heaved herself off the bed. She plastered on a fake smile before facing him. “I'm fine. Really.”

“Okay. But if you need me, I'll be next door at Duncan's Den.” The other quilting dorm, only a few steps from this one.

Sadie nodded.

Oliver held his phone up as if to show her he was only a call away.

“Come,” Moira said. “It's time to meet Deydie and the other quilting ladies.”

Oliver pinned one more worried glance on Sadie, then left. She grabbed her bag and a sweater.

Outside, Sadie trudged along, wishing to be anywhere but here.

Moira peeked over at her. “Gandiegow only has sixty-three houses.”

“It's very quaint.” For the first time, Sadie really looked around. The village arced like a smile facing the ocean, the little stone cottages an array of mismatched teeth, but seemed to fit together. The rounded green bluff loomed at the backs of the houses, a town blocked in, but cozy. Yes, the village was
quaint
with its oceanfront views from nearly every house. But sadness swept over Sadie once again. Gigi would've loved it here, as she'd often reminisced fondly about the small town in Montana along the Bitterroot River where she'd grown up.

Moira stopped in front of a building with a sign that read
Q
UILTING
C
ENTRAL
. “This is it.”

Without realizing that she should prepare herself, Sadie opened the door and stepped in. A tidal wave of
anxiety hit her, the emotion so overwhelming, she wanted to flee.

The smell of starch.

White- and gray-headed women.

Fabric stacked and stashed everywhere.

All the things that reminded her of Gigi. If that wasn't enough to have Sadie bolting for the door, a crowd of women scuttled toward her. She backed up.

One tall, thin elderly woman clasped her arm, stilling her. “We're so glad ye're here. I'm Bethia.”

A short battle-ax of a woman barreled through to get to Sadie, grabbing her other arm. “I'm Deydie. We've been waiting on ye.”

Sadie was short of oxygen. She desperately wanted out.

Gray-haired twins, wearing matching plaid dresses of different colors, stepped in her path. The red plaid one spoke first.

“Sister and I were distraught when we lost our gran.”

They knew
. Sadie looked at the faces around the room.
They all knew
.

The green-plaided one bobbed her head up and down. “That was many years ago. We've all experienced loss.” She gestured toward the crowd. “We understand what ye're going through.”

The other whispered loudly to her sister. “But not about the kidney disease.”

No! How could he!
Sadie wasn't the all-out swearing type, but internally she formed a string of obscenities to sling at her brother that made her cringe.

“Back,” Deydie said to the twins. “Give the lass room to breathe and to get her bearings. She's not well.”

Well enough to scream!

A thirty-something woman, carrying a baby, made her way to Sadie. “I'm Emma. And this is Angus.” She had a British accent, not a Scots like the others. She turned to Deydie. “I should take over, don't you think?”

Deydie nodded vigorously. “Right. Right. It should be ye.” The old woman cleared the others away.

“Come sit down,” Emma said. “The town can be a bit overbearing. But they mean well.” She led Sadie to a sofa.

Deydie called everyone's attention to the front and began welcoming all the quilters.

Emma leaned over. “I'm a therapist. Most people when they're grieving should talk to someone. I wanted to let you know that I'm available if you need me.”

A moment ago, Sadie thought the woman had her best interest at heart, but she was like the others, trying to suffocate her, trying to tell her how to deal with her grief. Sadie didn't deserve their attention. Her selfishness had killed her grandmother. She opened her mouth to set the well-meaning therapist straight, but the woman's baby fortuitously spewed down his mother's blouse.

“Excuse me.” Emma stood with the little one. “We'll talk later.”

Or not.

Emma's leaving should've given Sadie's senses a reprieve, but in some respects, all the women smothering her had been a distraction. The room,
this place
, was too much; she couldn't sit here with a huge group of women reminding her of her grandmother. And with Gigi newly buried. The guilt. The grief . . . everything. Sadie had to get out of here . . . escape.

She looked longingly toward the door, only ten feet
away. Everyone was listening to Deydie, finally not focused on her. Sadie stood nonchalantly and walked toward the exit, slowly and with purpose, as if she'd left her curling iron on back at the dorm.

Two more steps.
She eased the door open so carefully that the bell above the door barely jingled.

She slipped out, gulping in the cool evening air as though it was water. But it wasn't enough. The town still felt claustrophobic. She'd do anything to get out of here.

The tide was up and the ocean was slapping itself against the walkway with increasing ferocity and passion. The sea was alive, the waves crashing, telling her to run.

And on the breeze, she heard the strangest thing . . . male voices singing. It was surreal. She followed the sound, heading back in the direction of the parking lot where the van had dropped them off. She stopped outside the first building in town, a pub called The Fisherman where the tune was coming from. The song pulled her up the steps and had her opening the door. As she crossed the threshold, the song came to an end.

The room was mostly filled with men, all sizes. The vast majority looked as if they could've done a magazine shoot for
Fishermen Now
. A few looked her way, but being plain, she didn't have to worry about anyone hitting on her or even approaching.

She put her head down, made her way to the bar, and sat at the far end on the only open stool. Next to her was a particularly large, rugged, all-muscle—and from what she could see of his profile—handsome man, undoubtedly one of the fishermen, too. Another man, short and
squat, stepped between them, partially blocking her view of Handsome.

Squat clamped a hand on Handsome's shoulder. “Ye'd like my niece, Ruth. She can cook and sew. She'd make ye a good wife. I promise, she will. At least meet her while she's here for the retreat.”

The way Handsome was scowling over his drink, Sadie was certain he hadn't been one of the men singing moments ago. He looked as if he'd given up singing permanently.

The bartender waved to Sadie. “What can I get ye?”

“Water,” she said automatically. Cola and alcohol were out-of-bounds. She would do everything she could to keep off the active transplant list for as long as possible.

Handsome
glanced her way, and damn, he was good-looking. Not that a guy like him would notice someone like her. Sure enough, he went back to his drink without a word.

Squat was fidgeting, beginning to look desperate. “What do ye say? I told Ruth ye'd see her. Take her to dinner. Or maybe have a stroll to the top of the bluff.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “She won't mind the exercise.”

Sadie felt sorry for Handsome. Couldn't Squat see that he didn't want to do it? The bartender set her glass in front of her and left to help a patron at the other end.

“Dammit, Harry,” Handsome growled. “Ye're putting me in a hell of a spot.”

Sadie made a snap decision. She reached for her glass and
accidentally
knocked it aside, spilling water all over Harry.

He jumped back. “What'd'ya do that for?”

She reached for the towel at the end of the bar and began blotting at the water on Harry's shirt. “So sorry. I guess I wasn't paying attention.”

When Harry wasn't looking, she tilted her head at Handsome for him to make a run for it. This fisherman was no dummy. He was out the door before she could order Harry a drink to make up for the drenching she gave him.

Once Harry was settled and complaining to the barkeep about her clumsiness, Sadie decided to leave before she brought any more attention to herself. She headed for the door, no closer to finding a way out of Gandiegow.

Outside, she paused on the top step and spoke to the vast ocean in front of her. “I have to get out of here!” That's when she realized she wasn't alone.

Leaning against the edge of the building a few feet away stood Handsome. He walked toward her and stuck out his hand to help her down the last few steps. “I owe you, lass. Tell me where you want to go. I've got a truck.”

R
oss couldn't believe the lass had not only saved him from Harry and his dreadful niece, but had read his mind, too.
I want out of here as well.
Her hand was warm in his and she held on tight. He glanced down at them linked together, and though it felt strange, it felt right, too. When he looked up, he saw his brothers, John and Ramsay, coming up the walkway that kept the sea at bay. Andrew MacBride, Gandiegow's Episcopal priest, was with them, too. Ross dropped Sadie's hand.

When John got close enough, he nodded in the lass's direction. “New friend?”

“Aye.” Ross wasn't in the mood for explanations. Hell, he had none to give.

Andrew in his cleric collar looked at the two of them curiously, but said nothing. Ramsay wore a look of surprise that spoke volumes.

So what.

Aye, earlier Ross had skipped out when Kit, Ramsay's wife, had tried to set him up. And now here he was with a stranger . . . headed off to God-only-knows-where.

When Ramsay opened his mouth, John gently shoved him toward the steps.

“We better get inside before all the drink is gone,” John said. “'Night, ye two.”

“Good night,” Ross said.

When his brothers were inside, he looked down at the lass again. “Were ye serious about getting out of town?”

“You have no idea,” she said firmly.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And ye'd run off with a man ye don't know?”

She didn't hesitate, as if she already had his number. “I figured you for a nice guy from the get-go.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “If I hadn't rescued you, you would've agreed to go out with Harry-there's niece. And I'm not completely sure that you're off the hook yet. I expect you'll be strolling with Ruth to the top of the bluff before the quilting retreat is over.”

She was probably right.

And she wasn't done. “I watched as you slipped from the pub. The townspeople seem to respect you by the way they were nodding in your direction as you left.”

This lass saw too much.

She gave him a solemn stare. “Then the two who looked like you”—she pointed to where John and Ramsay had stood.

“My brothers,” Ross interjected.

She nodded. “Your brothers saw us together. Witnesses, you see.”

Ross shook his head. She may be right about him, but what if she'd been wrong? “Ye can't go around hopping into anyone's vehicle who offers.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You don't know how badly I want out of here.”

The lass was determined, he'd give her that. “Fair enough.”

He really looked at her. She was shorter than him by at least a foot, with an innocent young face and brown bangs setting off her deep brown eyes. She had a birthmark above her mouth that reminded him of a heart. She seemed sweet, but her full-of-wisdom eyes contested her age, and at the same time they spoke of sadness and distress, too.

A wave of protectiveness came over him. “Do ye want to tell me what's going on?”

She shook her head
no
, as if that was her final answer. She glanced back at the rest of the town and then pointed to the parking lot. “Can we get going?”

“Aye. This way.”

She walked beside him the forty-some steps it took to get there.

“Is that your truck? The red pickup?” She walked toward it with purpose.

It was the only truck in the lot.

She opened the passenger side. “I like it. It has character.” She slid in and shut the door.

He did the same on the driver's side. “Where to?”

“Away.”

He liked her resolve and how she knew what she wanted. He pulled out of the lot and up the bluff, leaving Gandiegow behind.

In contented silence, they drove for an hour, maybe a bit more. He should've asked for her name, but he didn't want to spoil the unspoken peace between them. From
time to time, he would glance at her. The farther away from Gandiegow they went, the more relaxed she became. She mostly gazed out the front windshield, but if they passed something that caught her eye, she would look out her side window, too. She seemed to come awake, as if she'd been asleep for a long, long time.

When he pulled over the next rise, she grabbed his arm.

“This is it.”

He slowed. “This is what?”

“Can we stop?” She pointed to an outcropping of rocks that overlooked the North Sea. “I need to sit right there.”

“Sure.” He pulled off the asphalt onto the grass.

She was out of the vehicle and shutting her door before he turned the ignition off. He got out, too, and watched her make her way through the tall grass to her spot.

She turned suddenly. “What's your name?”

She could've been part of a postcard. She wore a simple T-shirt dress and boat shoes. Her backdrop was the sea. A picture of purity.

“Ross,” he answered hoarsely.

“Thank you, Ross.” She turned back toward her destination.

He didn't move, watching her climb up and get settled. Maybe he should've asked her name back, but it felt perfectly natural to have things sit the way they were, part of the crazy magic since he'd met her. The next twenty minutes or so, he hung out at his truck. No one drove by on this Highland road, which was normal in these parts. As it grew later and the sun started to set, he made his way through the grass, too, to join her on the rocks.

As soon as he was settled, she gazed over at him.

“I like it here. I could stay in this spot forever.”

“Aye. It suits ye.”

They were quiet as the sun descended, but it was the strangest affair, as if they were at a symphony performance. Hushed. In awe. The air filled with tones of color. Ross had never experienced the sunset like this before. He looked over to see if the lass heard it—felt it—too. She was transfixed on the spot just off the horizon where the sun rested before falling into the edge of the ocean.

When it was over, she spoke very quietly as if they were in church. “I'm Sadie.” She sighed with contentment. “Sadie Middleton.”

The name jarred him out of the spell.

He hadn't listened to the gossip before the retreat goers had arrived, but invariably some had seeped in. And he sure as hell knew about
this one!
She was the one for which Deydie had said to take
extra care
. Her gran had recently died. And the lass was sick. Not a cold or anything minor, but truly sick. What a nightmare.

He hopped off the rock and glared up at her. “I'm taking ye back. Now!”

She cocked her head to the side as if she hadn't heard him correctly. Then she glared right back, or at least he thought it was a glare as the moon was rising.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Ye're going back.” Quick and decisively, he reached up and wrapped his hands around her waist. She gasped. Carefully, so as not to hurt her, he lifted her from the rock and set her on her feet. She weighed nothing. “Now,
do I carry ye back to the truck, or will ye walk on yere own accord?”

Her stubbornness faded. He saw it by the slump of her shoulders.

She laid a hand on his arm. “I can't go back. Not yet.” Her hand was cold.

“Lass, why didn't ye tell me ye were chilled?” He rubbed his hands over her arms. “Get to the pickup so I can turn the heat on.”

“In a minute.” She stilled one of his hands with hers. “First, hear me out.”

He should have asked her straightaway who she was. He never should've let her sit on that damned rock so long. The town would crucify him if the American lass took ill.
Or became more ill.

“I'll listen. But can you at least put yere sweater on? I'll get it from the truck.”

She nodded. And as he walked away, the stubborn little thing scrambled back up on her perch.

He hurried. While he was at it, he also grabbed the quilt that Maggie, John's wife, had tucked behind the pickup's seat. You never knew when you might get stuck out on a Highland road. He took the items back to Sadie.

“Here.” He handed her the sweater, then climbed up beside her, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders. “Now talk.”

When she didn't immediately speak, he gazed down at her.

She was worrying her lower lip. “I could sit here for a year.”

“Well, that isn't happening. Ye've got five minutes.”

She ignored him, her eyes fixed on the horizon,
captured by the massive full moon. “The ocean is vast and makes my worries seem small in comparison.”

Now
that
he understood. “I'm a fisherman. Sometimes I think the Almighty made the sea for just that purpose.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “I can't go back tonight. I need this time.”

“Ye can't sit out here all night either.”

She pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders and he squelched the urge to wrap his arm around her to keep the quilt in place.

“I promise to go back tomorrow,” she said in a small voice. “Just don't rush me. I know what I need, and it isn't a bunch of people.”

A strange notion hit him. She didn't need a bunch of people, but she needed him?

“All right.” The words came out before he knew what he was doing. He sighed. There would be hell to pay for this. “Let me call my brother John and tell him what's up. Then I'm going to take ye down the road. There's a B and B that might put us up for the night. And we'll go back early in the morn. Agreed?”

She nodded.

He allowed her to stay on her rock until the moon fully rose. When he went to get down, she didn't argue, but willingly slid down, too. As she walked beside him, she was quiet, subdued, but better than when she'd come into the pub hours ago in Gandiegow.

She kept the quilt around her shoulders as she climbed into his truck. It occurred to him that she was the first woman besides one of the old quilt ladies to actually ride in it with him.

After going a couple of miles down the road, he pulled
into the lane with the B and B sign, the one he'd seen many times when he'd driven to Inverness. Thankfully, the lights were still on.

He left the pickup running. “Stay here while I see if they have a vacancy.”

As he walked to the front door, he pulled out his phone and called John.

There was no polite
hallo
. “Hold on,” his brother whispered. The bed creaked, the door opened and closed, and then he was back on. “Why are you calling so late? Ye know I have to get up early for the boat. And so do you.”

“I know. But I might be a few minutes late in the morning.”

“If ye're not there, we'll leave without you. I have to set an example for Samuel and Robert.” Maggie's teenage cousins.

“I'll try to make it, but do what ye have to do.”

“Who was it that ye left with tonight?” John asked.

Ross reached the B and B's front door. A note had been pinned to it:

Ring bell, then go around to the back entrance.

“Nobody,” Ross answered. “I've got to run.” He hung up.

Within a few minutes, Ross had secured a room.
A room.
He walked back to his truck . . . Maybe his news would make Sadie want to return to Gandiegow tonight.

He opened her door.

A line between her eyebrows formed. “What's wrong? Didn't they have a place for us to stay?”

“Aye. They have a room.”

“Good.” She slipped from the vehicle.

But he blocked her from going farther, keeping one hand on the door and the other on the truck, and knelt to get closer to her eye level. “One, lass. They only have
one
room.”

“Oh.” She chewed her lip again, but this time it looked as if she was adding sums in her head. After a moment, she looked up at him. “Okay.”

“There's another problem.”
Gawd
help him for lying to the owner. “To secure the room I had to tell her I was with my new bride.”

Sadie stepped back, bumping her legs against the truck frame. She stared up at him, incredulous. “No one is going to believe that.” She waved a hand at him as if it was an awful joke. “Seriously. No one.”

“They will. The missus was apologetic that there's only twin beds in the room.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“I told her we'd make do.”

Sadie's mouth fell open. Then she slammed it shut. She acted as if she might try again to say something, but then only shook her head.

“Come. Let's get you inside.” He offered her his hand. “We've got to make her believe it. The missus was suspect at first, but I convinced her we're fiercely in love.”

Sadie snorted. “It's going to take more than a little hand-holding to make it believable.” But she laid her hand in his anyway.

They walked from the gravel driveway to the trellis at the edge of the garden. She stopped suddenly, tugging at him. “Wait.” She let go and transferred a ring from her
right hand to her left. “There. The illusion is complete. Thank goodness for Gigi's ring.”

“Gigi?” he asked.

“My grandmother,” she said quietly. “She gave it to me when I graduated in May.” Sadie went still, as if the thought had flipped a switch that rooted her feet to the grass.

Gawd
, he hoped she wouldn't start crying.

The missus of the B and B leaned out the back entrance. “Are ye coming in?”

Ross wrapped an arm around Sadie and continued walking, leaning down to speak in her ear. “I know I'm asking a lot, but can you pretend that ye're happy until we get to the room? As much as I love my truck, it would be damned uncomfortable to sleep in it tonight.”

She nodded.

But the missus was watching them like a hawk. Ross kissed the top of Sadie's head. When they got nearer, he spoke to the woman, not believing for a second Sadie could hide her grief.