The Trouble with Scotland (30 page)

They dropped their bags off, deciding they would look for everyone before Ross took his duffel home to his cottage, where she would move in after the wedding.

Ross wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they left; he seemed to want to keep her close at all times. “Are ye sure ye don't mind moving into my bedroom until we can figure out a place of our own to live?”

Sadie hugged him close with an arm around his waist. “I'm sure. My home is wherever you are.” She was pleased to use those words back on him. Besides, they were true.

They neared Quilting Central, the only building in town with lights on.

“I think we found everyone,” Sadie said.

“I wonder what's going on.” Mischief danced in Ross's eyes.

He held the door open for her as she walked through—and the crowded room broke out into cheers and
applause. Her heart was full of love as she took in the faces of these wonderful people, and the room decorated as it had been for Moira's shower, with the addition of a huge banner hung over the gift table:
W
ELCOME
H
OME,
S
ADIE AND
R
OSS
.

Ross came up behind her, pulling her back against his chest. “It was Deydie's idea.”

“Not completely.” Deydie stood near and jabbed a finger at Ross. “He threatened to move into Thistle Glen Lodge and take up with ye there if we didn't pull off the wedding by tomorrow.”

Sadie turned and looked at him over her shoulder.
“Tomorrow?”

“I'm a patient man, lass, but I do have my limits.” He squeezed her shoulders.

“Take yere hands off of her and go say hello to yere mother and brothers.” Deydie took her hand. “Come with me. I've something to say.” She dragged her to the kitchen. On the way there, Oliver made a move toward them, but Deydie waved him off. “In a minute, lad.”

Sadie wondered what was going on. Everyone else in Gandiegow seemed to wonder, too, as they were all listening in.

Deydie plugged in the electric kettle. “Before we go any further and start the festivities, I need to tell ye that I was wrong.” She put her hand up as if Sadie was going to stop her. “I'm not wrong very often, but I was wrong to tell Ross that he shouldn't court ye. I'm sorry. I said some things that might've been hurtful. Ye've got to know . . .” The old woman looked away as if collecting herself. “I lost my daughter to illness. Duncan. Others, too. Sometimes I think it's best not to get attached at all,
especially if ye know right off that ye're going to like someone.”

Sadie touched her arm. “I understand.” It was the reason it was so hard in the beginning to be around the quilters of Gandiegow who reminded her of Gigi.

Deydie gazed at her. “I think that's why I said what I did. I ask that ye forgive me.”

Sadie felt herself tear up. “Of course. No harm was done.” Not permanently anyway.

“Ye need to know that we care for ye as much as we do Oliver. It just took me longer to see the error of my ways.” The old woman glanced at Oliver, then leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Perhaps ye belong here more than yere brother. Ye're a hell of quilter, Sadie Middleton. A hell of a quilter.”

Sadie smiled, feeling welcomed and loved.

Deydie straightened and grabbed the tea ball. She dumped out the old tea and filled the tea shell with new leaves. “We'll start fresh.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sadie said.

To her shock, Deydie suddenly set the tea ball down and pulled her in for a bear hug. The crowd hushed completely with all eyes on them.

Recovering, Sadie returned the hug. “Thank you for everything.” She'd never have Gigi back, but she could have Deydie and the other quilting ladies as part of her new life here in Gandiegow.

Deydie dropped her arms and gave a little wave at the room, looking embarrassed at the display of affection. Sadie loved her all the more for doing it, and couldn't help but lay a hand on her shoulder possessively.

Deydie smiled for one brief moment, then barked at
her. “Go mingle until the tea is ready. Then we'll start the party.”

Sadie looked around for Ross, but he was in deep conversation with Andrew and Moira. Emma approached, holding Angus. He automatically put his arms out for Sadie to take him.

“Come here, chunker.” She hefted him to her shoulder, happy to be cuddling with him again. Only time would tell if she would take that step to become a mother. But it wasn't a decision she had to make today.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver make his way to her. When he got within arm's length, she surprised both of them when she pulled him in for a one-armed hug, the best she could do with Angus clinging to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She'd already thanked him on the phone, but it hadn't been enough. “You didn't have to be tested.”

He pulled away. “Of course, I did. I'm your brother.”

Emma relieved her of Angus. “Oliver told us the good news, that he's a match. Ross was devastated when he found out that he wasn't.”

“What?” Sadie and Oliver said at the same time.

Emma looked stricken. “Oh, I assumed you knew. He made no secret of it with us.” She looked around the room. “He was tested while the two of you were in Glasgow.”

“Well, I'll be damned.” Oliver gazed upon his future brother-in-law with what looked like newfound respect.

“But we barely knew each other then,” Sadie said.

But that wasn't true. They seemed to have recognized each other from the beginning. Ross had said himself
that he'd fallen in love with her on the first night that she'd crawled in bed with him.

Oliver squeezed Sadie's arm and left.

Emma gently bounced Angus. “Gabriel said he knew it was love between you and Ross from the start. ‘A man will act on it before he can even name it,' is what he said
.
”

“I guess that's right.” Sadie laughed. “But wouldn't it be nice if they got a clue a little bit sooner?”

Kirsty stood on the stage and clapped her hands. “Okay, everyone. Deydie said we need to get started. Fellows, go ahead and take Ross away for his stag night.”

Grace stood up, pointing a finger at her sons. “And ye better keep things moderate. I want Ross to be up for his wedding in the morning, and not stinking drunk somewhere out to sea on one of yere boats.”

The room laughed.

Instead of heading for the door, Ross came for Sadie. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard.

The whole town hooted and hollered, but she didn't care.

He set her back and beamed at her. “We've got a place to live. Our own place!”

“Where?”

“We're going to rent Moira's cottage. She and Glenna have moved into the parsonage with Andrew.
Gawd
, Sadie, our own place.” His eyes twinkled. He whispered the next words. “Unless ye want to live under the same roof as John and Maggie and mind how loud ye yell out my name in bed.” He picked her up again and gazed into her eyes.

“Come on, Ross,” Ramsay hollered. “Stop accosting her. Can't ye wait one night to start the honeymoon?”

Ross smiled at her. “I love ye, lass. We're going to have the most wonderful life together.”

“I know.” She kissed him soundly. “Now, let me have the wedding I never knew I wanted.” She patted his rump. “Go on now.” Because behind Ross, she saw that Bethia was holding a beautiful box. “It's time for the Passing of the Recipes.”

Yes, she would have a Gandiegow wedding, and that was just the beginning.

Dear Reader,

Oftentimes I'm asked where the stories come from, and the answer is that they are based on snippets of real life. This story,
The Trouble with Scotland,
is no different.

Last fall one of my closest friends—sister of my heart and matron of honor at my wedding—received some life-changing news about her young adult daughter. Prior to this, her daughter was a vision of health, so you can image the shock when Amber was diagnosed with stage four Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD).

Doctors told my friend that her daughter would need a kidney transplant in the future. I was moved deeply by the news. I remember watching Amber skip down the aisle as the three-year-old flower girl at my wedding. When she was in middle school, I was thrilled when she wanted me to see the quilt that she'd made. Amber is a lovely person, and I'm impressed with the wonderful young woman that she's become.
The Trouble with Scotland
isn't Amber's story, but writing it has been a way for me to process how Chronic Kidney Disease can have a lasting effect on families, friends, and communities.

The National Kidney Foundation® has been a great support to Amber and her family. If you would like to find out more about Chronic Kidney Disease and donate to further research and assist those struggling with CKD, please visit my website at www.PatienceGriffin.com and click on the National Kidney Foundation button.

As of the writing of this letter, we have once again received news. Amber and her doctors had hoped to put off her kidney transplant for five years, but recent bloodwork shows her transplant will be needed within the next
two weeks. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts and prayers.

From the heart,
Patience

To contact me, visit:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/PatienceGriffinAuthor

e-mail: [email protected]

Or through the US postal system:

Patience Griffin

5100 Eldorado Pkwy, Ste 102

PMB518

McKinney, TX 75070

H
olding her daughter's hand, Rachel stood at the baggage claim alongside the woman with whom they'd sat on the flight from Chicago to Glasgow. Rachel's new friend, Cait Buchanan, was flying home, whereas Rachel was bringing her daughter to Scotland for the first time.

Rachel had been to Gandiegow, the small town on the northeast coast of Scotland, twice before. Once to marry her husband. And again to bury him. She glanced down at five-year-old Hannah, who looked so much like her father, Joe. Rachel had been drowning in a hazy fog of grief and guilt for the last three years, hardly noticing how her spunky daughter had been growing and changing by the day. She was finally pulling herself out of it for Hannah. She had to. This year she was going to give her daughter a Christmas. A Christmas with a real tree, gingerbread cookies, and family.

Cait stepped to the luggage carousel. “There's mine.”

“It's huge. Let me help.” Rachel turned to her daughter. “Can you stay here and watch my things?”

“Sure, Mommy.”

She didn't have to worry; Hannah would guard Rachel's tote along with her own
Frozen
backpack like a belligerent soldier if anyone got near.

As the large suitcase approached, Cait laughed. “I always pack too much.” She reached for the handle, Rachel for the wheels. Together they tugged it to the floor with a
whoompf
.

“I'm glad ye're taking me up on my offer,” Cait said. “What are the odds of sitting next to someone going to Gandiegow too?” A green tinge came over her face and she grimaced. “Do you mind, um, watching . . . ?”

“Go,” Rachel urged. “We've got your bags.”

Cait raced for the toilet sign while Rachel rolled the humongous bag over to Hannah.

“Mommy?” Hannah took her hand. “Is she going to be okay?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes. She'll be fine.” Nothing seven or so months wouldn't cure.

The way Cait had been downing saltines all through the flight, especially during the turbulence, made her pregnancy obvious. Rachel had experienced the same joy and perhaps fear that stretched across Cait's face at every turn.

Right when Rachel was beginning to worry, because Cait had been gone so long, she appeared—white, wrung out, but with a small smile on her face.

“Sorry about that,” she said when she'd rejoined them. She studied Rachel. “So ye've guessed.”

“That depends on whether you want anyone to know or not.”

“The morning sickness is much worse this time. The
doctor says it's a good thing. But I haven't told anyone. Not even my husband.”

Automatically, Rachel's eyebrows shot up, but she got her reaction under control quickly. Cait's relationship with her husband was her own business.

Her new friend bit her lip. “I don't want to get his hopes up. I've miscarried twice. It's been hard on him. He travels a lot and he worries about me so.” She glanced at Rachel, hopeful. “So ye'll keep my secret?”

“Mum's the word.” She gave her a reassuring smile. Rachel knew a lot about secrets and keeping them hidden.

Her luggage came around the conveyor, much smaller than Cait's, as they were only going to be here a short while. Just long enough for Hannah to spend some time with her grandfather, Abraham Clacher, sing a few Christmas carols, and go back to the States at the beginning of the New Year. In and out without a worry or a fuss.

Rachel pulled off their bags as Cait's cell phone chimed.

“Our ride is here,” she said. “I'll wait for you on the other side of customs.”

The line for customs was surprisingly fast, and it didn't take long to meet back up with Cait. As their little group wheeled their things through the doors, three people rushed toward Cait, and she tugged Rachel closer to meet her friends.

“This is Ross, his wife, Sadie, and Ross's mother, Grace.” Cait smiled at them fondly. Ross and his mother were tall, but Sadie was a brown-haired pixie who looked up at her husband lovingly.

“Thank you for letting us hitch a ride.” Rachel hadn't reserved a rental car, not completely certain whether she would chicken out or not. Well, she was locked into going now.

“I'm glad it worked out,” Ross said.

“We were closing down the house here in Glasgow,” Grace explained. “My sister passed last month, and I'm moving back to Gandiegow.”

Rachel already knew the particulars through Cait. Grace's sister had died from complications of pneumonia but had been dealing with MS for years. “I'm so sorry for your loss,” Rachel said but cringed a little as it came out. She'd been the recipient of that phrase too often.

Grace smiled at her kindly as one who accepted things easily. “Thank you. Glynnis is in a better place. My hope is that the house will sell quickly.”

Sadie took Grace's arm lovingly. “I'm sure it will.” They seemed closer than most mothers- and daughters-in-law.

“Let's get on the road. I'm anxious to get home,” Ross said.

“And back to fishing?” Sadie interjected with a grin.

“Aye. Fishing.”

As they drove to Gandiegow, Ross and Sadie filled Cait in on the gossip from the last two weeks.

When there was a break in the conversation, Rachel inquired after Abraham. “How is he doing?” She knew of his illness only because when she'd called, he'd had a coughing fit. She had no idea how long he'd been sick and how bad it was.

Ross glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “He's the same ole Abraham. But if ye're speaking of his health,
he's not well. He quit fishing about six months ago, which told the rest of us how serious it really is.”

“Oh.” More guilt. Rachel should've brought her daughter sooner to get to know the only great-grandparent she had.

An awkward silence came over the van for a few moments, but then Grace turned to Rachel. “Where will you and Hannah be staying? Thistle Glen Lodge?”

“The quilting dorm,” Cait clarified to Rachel.

Cait had explained all about her venture in the village of Gandiegow, the Kilts and Quilts Retreat, turning the sleepy fishing village into a go-to quilting destination.

“I'm not sure,” Rachel answered sheepishly. Though she'd talked to Abraham last month, and he'd asked her to come and bring Hannah, she'd made no promises. She'd booked the flight and a hotel room in Glasgow to get her bearings. Over the years, she'd learned to have a contingency plan. If she'd had second thoughts about going to Gandiegow at the last minute, she and Hannah would simply have had a special Christmas vacation at the Jurys Inn in the big city.

But Providence had stepped in when Rachel had taken her seat next to Cait. Rachel had innocently told her of Gandiegow, having no idea that Cait hailed from the village of only sixty-three houses.

“You can stay with me and my son, Mattie, in the big house,” Cait offered.

“That's so kind.” But Rachel wouldn't impose. “I think Hannah and I would like to stay at Thistle Glen Lodge. The way you described it, it sounds perfect.” She kissed her daughter's head. “That is, if it's okay. Do you have a quilt retreat going on right now?”

“One's starting tomorrow, which is why I couldn't stay longer in the U.S., but there's plenty of room. Deydie, my gran, said we had to keep the group small, as we're so close to Christmas.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“When is Graham done shooting?” Ross asked.

For Rachel, all the pieces clicked together. From the first moment, Cait had looked familiar.
That's where I saw her.
On the cover of
People
magazine, along with her famous movie star husband.

“Graham?” Rachel said, more in disbelief than a question. She had been so self-absorbed that it hadn't quite registered when the story came out that Graham had grown up in Gandiegow. So he still lived there?

“Yeah. Graham,”
Sadie said, kind of dreamily. “My reaction exactly.”

“Hey, now, lass,” Ross said with mock hurt. “Yere husband's in the vehicle with ye.”

Sadie patted him. “You've nothing to worry about. Graham only has eyes for Cait.”

Cait reached over and laid a hand on Rachel's arm. “Sorry I didn't say anything sooner.”

“I get it.”

Cait nodded and spoke to Ross. “Graham'll be home next week. The production shuts down until after the New Year. It'll be nice for Mattie and me to have him back.”

Rachel wondered if Cait would tell him then about the pregnancy. Surely, she wouldn't keep it hidden from him too long. She wondered if Cait's chest was always so expanded. Graham would certainly notice a change there, wouldn't he?

The conversation switched to Christmas, and Rachel turned inward, thinking more about her own turmoil than about the joyous occasion they were describing. Hannah leaned against her and fell asleep. Rachel dozed, too.

She came awake as the van pulled down the hill toward the parking lot. Ross was talking on the phone.

“Good. We can use the help getting my mum's stuff to the cottage.” He hung up.

Rachel gently woke Hannah. “We're here, sweetie.” She glanced around at the familiar sight of the bluffs looming out of the earth at the back of the village and how the small houses seemed to sit precariously on the edge of the ocean—a quaint row of dwellings daring the sea to engulf them.

Ross parked the van and jumped out to help his mother.

Rachel felt stiff from the flight and then the long drive to Gandiegow. She climbed out and then helped Hannah.

As she reached in to grab her tote, something caught her eye on the walkway.
No.

Someone
caught her eye. Strolling toward the parking lot, he looked so much like Joe. Tall, broad, with dark hair. But where Joe's hair had been kept short—the better to peddle pharmaceuticals—his cousin's long hair blew in the wind off the ocean. Six years had changed him. His features were chiseled, and where an easy smile for her had once existed, a stony frown remained.

But he was as beautiful as ever.

Rachel stopped breathing, but the voice in her head shouted loud and clear,
What is he doing here?

“Mommy, are you all right?”

For the life of her, Rachel couldn't stop staring at the
man she never thought she'd see again. They all turned to look at her.

When he got close enough, he nodded in her direction. “Ye're back.”

How could he have no emotion on his face? She was dying here.

“Hey, Brodie,” Ross said. “Grab a bag from the boot. It's going to take us a couple of trips.”

*   *   *

What in the blazes is she doing here?
Brodie Wallace couldn't believe his eyes. It felt as if Ross had sucker-punched him in the stomach. And yet here Rachel was, standing in Gandiegow's parking lot. The only woman who had ripped his heart out. The only woman he'd ever loved.

And he'd never forgive her.

Never.

Six years ago, he wasn't the only one toppled by the instant attraction. He knew she had felt it, too.

His cousin Joe had brought her home to Gandiegow two weeks before their scheduled wedding. Brodie was taken with Rachel from the start, which was no surprise. He and Joe had always gone for the same type of lass. Funny, smart. Even as lads, they'd competed, and Joe had won. Whenever Brodie found a girl, Joe would swoop in and steal her away. Brodie understood. Joe was a charmer with the gift of gab, and women couldn't help but fall under his spell.

Day in and day out, Brodie tried to keep his distance from Joe's bride, but they had been constantly thrown together at Abraham's house. They danced around and avoided their feelings. But on the day of the wedding,
he'd climbed up the bluff to clear his head and hide out in the ruins of Monadail Castle. When he arrived, Rachel was there, as if it was meant to be. She turned at his approach but didn't budge from the stone ledge. He had noted her puffy red eyes. She'd been crying.

He'd lifted her chin so she would look at him. “What's wrong?” The question was fatal.

“Why didn't I meet you first?” she cried, and threw herself into his arms, kissing him and knocking him from his moorings. His heart had slammed in his chest like a tidal wave.

“What are you going to do about it?” he'd asked, and she'd only shaken her head.

But that kiss and the way she'd looked at him, they had meant something—
they had meant everything
. For an hour they held on to each other, Brodie confessing to her that he'd never felt like this before. He knew it was love, but he couldn't tell her that until she called off the wedding. Which he was certain she would. More certain of it than the snow on the ground, the tide in the ocean, and the blood in his veins. Rachel loved him as he loved her. But then Grandda always said,
Women can't be trusted
. Just an hour later, Rachel walked down the aisle and repeated her vows, tossing Brodie away as if he was nothing more than spoiled bait.

Ross nudged him, pulling him back to reality.

“What?” Brodie said, the voice sounding harsh.

Cait eyed him curiously as if he'd cast his line into an opposing wind. “You two know each other?”

“Aye.” Brodie's gaze dropped down to the little girl holding Rachel's hand. The child gaped up at him.
God,
the girl has Joe's eyes. Brown. Rich as the soil on Here Again Farm.
Where he'd hidden out after Rachel betrayed him. He snapped his gaze away from hers.

“Brodie was best man at my wedding,” Rachel provided to Cait. “To Joe.” As if clarifying which wedding.

Has she married again?
Brodie's gaze slid to her hand, and he hated himself for looking because he sure as hell didn't care. He didn't care if she was married. He didn't care if she was in town. He didn't care if she disappeared altogether.