The Trouble with Scotland (3 page)

“Is she all right?”

Ross led the American lass inside. “We've had a long day. She's tired, is all. She'll be fine once I get her in bed.”

Sadie stiffened.

The missus looked concerned. And then as if she was only now noticing, she glanced at their hands.
No luggage.
She glowered at its absence. “Just remember this isn't some manky hotel. This is my home.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ross said, glad the woman had already taken his money.

“The room's upstairs.” The missus stared at him hard for another moment.

Ross pulled Sadie to him tighter. “Come, luv.” He ushered her to the stairs and up.

Once he had her inside the room and the door closed, he sighed with relief. The bedroom wasn't much, but it had the two requisite beds, simple patchwork quilts, and pillows. The only luxury as far as he could tell was the two fluffy robes hanging inside the opened armoire.

Sadie eased herself down on the closest bed. “Sorry.”

“Ye've nothing to be sorry for. Do you want to use the loo first?”

“Yes.” She rose gracefully and left the room.

He'd gotten himself into a tight spot. He wasn't sure how to handle the lass. Even worse, how was he going to handle Deydie and the rest of the quilters when they found out he'd taken her from the village and had her out all night?

He went to the window and stared out at the ocean until Sadie came back. He didn't say anything or look in her eyes as he walked from the room to take his turn in the loo. When he came back, she was wrapped in one of the robes, but he could see she was still fully clothed, the hem of her dress showing.

“I was cold,” she explained.

He crossed the bedroom. “Lie down. Let's get these covers on you.” He pulled the top quilt from his bed and spread it over her bed, too. He couldn't help himself—he tucked the covers around her like his mum used to do for him when he was a wee lad.

Sadie wasn't a wee bairn, but she needed his compassion so he gave it.

She gazed up at him with her deep brown eyes. “Thanks. For everything.”

What could he say? It was his pleasure? Well, it had been . . . up until the point he'd learned who she was.

He turned off the lights, and the room went dark. The moon was high, though, and he had no trouble making it to his bed. He pulled back the remaining cover and lay down. How strange the day had turned out.

“Ross?” she said into the darkness.

“Yes?”

He watched as she wrestled with the quilts to face him, his tucking-in job wasted.

“Why aren't you married?”

“Where is that coming from?”

“I'm curious. I was right about you. You're a nice guy, and Harry's trying to set you up? There has to be a story behind it all.”

They'd spent most of their time in silence today, but now she wanted to talk? He guessed he could say anything under the blanket of night . . . even the truth.

Ross sighed. “I was engaged once. Do ye have a beau back in the States?”

Sadie snorted again. “Not hardly. Tell me about your engagement. Unless, of course, it's too painful.”

Ross could've produced his own snort, but he didn't. “Nay. Not painful at all. Her name is Pippa. She's a childhood friend. She runs the factory just outside of town. Our das set it up when we were kids.”

“I met Pippa today, and her husband Max. They drove us into town after the bus broke down. You were engaged to her? An arranged marriage?”

“Something like that.” He told her what had happened over Christmas, how his life had gone from
settled
to up-in-the-air. “Max came into town and stole Pippa's heart.
I'm happy for her. We were never more than friends.” And he'd made his mind up that if he was ever to marry, it would have to start out with fireworks like it had with Ramsay and Kit.
And Max and Pippa.
Love at first sight. That way Ross would know for sure that what he was doing was the right thing and not wasting his time. And in this future relationship with his unidentified-as-yet wife, they wouldn't be great friends at first . . . friendship would come later. In this way—hell, in all ways—his mystery wife would have to be the opposite of Pippa. He didn't even know what that would mean exactly, but she would just have to be nothing like her. He finished telling Sadie the rest, admitting one of his greatest flaws. “But I was going to go through with it and marry her anyway. I believed that doing what my father wanted me to do—hell, what the whole town wanted—was more important than what I wanted. That it was the right thing.” And somehow, doing what everyone else thought was right turned out to be wrong for Ross.

“I know what you mean. Gigi and Oliver wanted me to become a dental hygienist, so I became one.”

Ross could hear the frown in her words. He wanted to ask her about it, but then she spoke.

“Have you ever lost anyone?” Her voice was quiet, but her grief was palpable.

He thought about his da.

“A close friend?” she clarified.

The images of Duncan, his best mate, flashed through his mind. “Aye.” It had been one of the hardest things he'd ever gone through, to watch his friend fight leukemia and lose. “What about you?”

“Gigi was my closest friend.”

“I lost my closest friend, too.” Ross found himself opening up about Duncan. He hadn't talked about it with anyone, because everyone he knew had lived it along with him. Even though it tore at him to share with Sadie what had happened, it felt right at the same time. Then he went back a little farther and told her how the loss of his da hadn't been any easier. It had been sudden, no time to prepare, and no time to say
I love you
once more.

Sadie's bed creaked. He saw her rise and pad toward him. “Scoot over. I'm cold.”

He could've argued that he was a big man in a small bed. But who was he to turn away a woman who needed him? He opened his arms and she slipped in. She didn't feel cold, but warm, and smelled of the outdoors, the ocean, and sunshine. He pulled the covers around them.

Sadie spoke into his chest. “I know what you mean about not getting to say
I love you
one more time. My parents went out for the evening and never came home. They were hit by a tractor trailer. I was six.” She shivered.

He rubbed his chin over her hair. “Aw, lass, I'm sorry.” He'd been lucky at least to have his father until he was grown.

“What about your mother?” she asked.

“She's in Glasgow. She moved in with her sister to care for her. Aunt Glynnis isn't well.”

Sadie was quiet for a long moment. She was probably thinking about how she wasn't well either. Her silence gave him time to dwell on how bizarre this was. He was holding this sweet woman with no intentions of putting the moves on her. Not because he didn't find her intriguing, and not because she didn't fit up against him perfectly. He just wasn't the sort of man to take advantage
of a woman in distress. She was completely safe with him. She was nice, and even adorable in a quirky kind of way, but not his type. He yawned. In the middle of it, he had a fleeting thought . . .
This lass is the opposite of Pippa.

*   *   *

Sadie couldn't believe she'd been so bold. But she had to do it. She wasn't cold when she'd crawled into Ross's bed. He was the one who needed to be held. He was hurting and needed a hug, something a man like him would never admit. She had not done it for herself, no matter how good it felt to be in his arms. His yawn made her yawn, too.

She closed her eyes and snuggled in deeper. “Ross?”

“Hmm?” The hum of him relaxed her even more.

She sighed contentedly. “I know I promised to return to Gandiegow.” She yawned again. “But can I have one more day to sit on the rock by the ocean before we go back?” She breathed him in and fell asleep.

Sadie woke, relaxed, well rested, and still snuggled against the Scotsman's chest. For a moment, she could imagine having this pretend life—whole, healthy, and sleeping in the arms of a kind man. But her current reality wasn't real.

His breathing was even and she was afraid if she moved, she'd wake him. But the restroom called. She slipped from his arms and stood. He rolled over, an arm and leg hanging over the side of the bed in the process. He was even more handsome in his sleep, if that was possible. She quietly left and went down the hall.

When she returned, Ross laid his phone on the bed and bent over to tie his army boots. “Get yere shoes on. We'll go downstairs, grab our breakfast, and leave.”

Her heart dropped—they were leaving? Going back to Gandiegow? Now? Going back to being smothered? Rebellion had her planting her hands on her hips, making it feel as if she was speaking up for herself for what seemed like the first time. “I'm not leaving.”

He stopped and glanced up. “Oh?”

As quickly as it came, her steam ran out and she dropped her arms.

He went back to tying his boots. “So ye've changed yere mind. Ye don't want to sit on yere rock?”

Her heart soared. “You're really going to let me have my day?”

He grinned at her and stood. “Part of the day. I texted my brother that we'll be back by supper.”

She squeezed her hands together. “Thank you.”

“I smell bacon. Can you play the satisfied bride for the missus below?”

Heat poured into Sadie's face. She still couldn't believe the woman had bought that they were a couple, even for a second, even a little bit. Ross—incredibly handsome and incredibly nice—could date anyone he liked. Sadie didn't belittle herself over her appearance; she liked who she was, had accepted she would never be beautiful. She was a realist. She peeked over at her fake husband.
Handsome
didn't come close to describing him. He was more, much more. He was nearly
perfect
.

She ducked her head. “Yes. I can pretend we're together.”
But how could he?

“Good, because I'm hungry.”

They sat at the owner's table and ate their breakfast with the woman of the house looking on. Ross played it up to a tee and Sadie could see he had a mischievous
streak. Whenever the missus checked in on them, Ross would pour it on thick, either kissing Sadie's fingertips or making love to her with his eyes.

Sadie, though she enjoyed every second, couldn't help but blush all the way through her porridge and bacon.

*   *   *

Oliver Middleton rubbed sleep from his face and walked into the small kitchen of Duncan's Den. On the counter, he found fresh scones, sausages under foil, and hot tea—very thoughtful. He rushed through his meal. He'd been online late last night with his client and never made it to the quilting retreat to see how Sadie was doing.

He was worried about her; she'd been dealt a shitload lately. Last month her terrible diagnosis and this month, Gigi's death. Pain cut through him about his grandmother, about Sadie, about everything, but he squelched it. Taking care of his sister, making sure she was okay, was his number one priority. He'd promised Gigi. He hated that his grandmother had made him vow to keep it a secret from Sadie. He could tell her the truth now, but it wouldn't make any difference. It wouldn't bring Gigi back. But if Sadie had known beforehand, she might've been prepared for their grandmother's death.

Quickly, he dressed, finding the weather cooler here in July than in North Carolina. He went next door first, but no one answered when he knocked. He walked down the walkway, passing the General Store and the school. On the other side, he found the building marked Quilting Central and went inside. The place was crowded with quilters. He looked around, but didn't see Sadie. Two older women noticed him and hurried over.

“You must be Oliver, Sadie's brother,” said the taller of the two. “I'm Bethia and this is Deydie.”

The shorter, stockier one nodded at him. “Ye don't look a thing like yere sister.”

Yes, he was blond, and Sadie had brown hair. He glanced around impatiently. “Speaking of my sister, I don't see her. How is she this morning?”

Bethia shot Deydie a worried glance.

Panic flooded him; alarm bells went off in his head.

Deydie crossed her arms over her chest. “Go ahead and tell him.”

“Come with me, lad.” Bethia pointed to the sofa.

“No.” Oliver stood his ground. “Where's my sister?”

Bethia laid a hand on his arm. “We're not sure.”

Oliver's throat closed and fire sparked behind his eyes. “What do you mean
we're not sure
? Where is she?”

Deydie stepped directly in front of him and cranked her head back, staring him down. “She ran off. At least that's what Coll told his wife, Amy.” She pointed to a younger woman across the room. “Amy let us know this morning.”

“We've been in this town less than twenty-four hours and you've lost my sister!” Oliver didn't wait to hear more. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He marched over to the black-haired woman who at least knew something. She bent over to pick up a baby from a playpen before he reached her.

She gave Oliver a big smile, but it faded quickly. She must've known he was pissed. She handed the kid off to someone else, saying something in Gaelic as she did.

When he reached her, he didn't feel the need to introduce himself. “Where's my sister?”

“Hold up there,” a male voice said from the doorway. Another man followed.

By the looks of them, the two were brothers, although one was redheaded and the other dark-haired. They approached Oliver.

“I'm John and this is my brother Ramsay.”

The rest of the room went quiet, listening in. Oliver didn't give a rat's ass who overheard. “Where is my sister?”

John put his hand on Oliver's arm. “Why don't we go outside and talk?”

Oliver shrugged him off. “No. You'll answer my question. Now.”