The Trouble with Scotland (5 page)

He raised one eyebrow at Deydie, looking ready to give her a fierce comeback. But then he seemed to think better of it.

Deydie put her hands on her hips. “And who gave ye permission to take one of my quilters from town anyway?”

Sadie felt forgotten because Deydie's ire was all on Ross,
her champion
. Maybe she should've slipped inside, but she couldn't leave him to this old Scottish badger. “I'm to blame. It was my idea to get out of town.”

Deydie shook her head. “He never should've done it. Get on inside, lass, if ye're tired. I'll have a word with Ross. Alone.”

Sadie looked up at him, not for permission, but to make sure he was going to be okay.

“Good night, lass,” he said resignedly.

Sadie wanted to thank him again properly for the time on the rock, and all he'd done for her—maybe dare to kiss his cheek again—but not with Deydie as an annoyed audience. Anyway, she hadn't formulated yet what would
be a proper thank-you for him being a gentleman. She felt as if she'd made a friend and an ally here in Scotland.

“Good night, Ross.” She slipped inside.

As soon as the door was closed, she heard Deydie light into him, her words clearly sailing through the two opened windows at the front of the quilting dorm.

“That girl is not for the likes of you. Ye need a lass who's not sickly. Promise me ye won't be courting her.”

Deydie's words hit Sadie like a slap and she gasped before she could get her hand to her mouth. She ran down the hall to her bedroom and shut herself inside. She would not cry. She'd known from the first that Ross was out of her league; that's not where the injury lay. But it had never occurred to her that her CKD would be used against her like this. Her disease had quietly slipped into her life and wreaked havoc with everything and taken away so much. Now the possibility of love fell out of reach, too, another dream shattered because of her worthless kidneys.

Maybe she should've waited by the windows to hear Ross's response to Deydie. But the truth was, Sadie couldn't bear to hear him agree with the old woman. She dropped on the bed, and drew the quilt over her, before the first tear slid down her cheek.
So much for not crying.

She thought about North Carolina, about going home. The only things that waited for her there were an empty house and her job of endless mouths with teeth to clean. Dental hygiene was extremely important. She knew that. It just wasn't her passion.

She hated every moment in the dentist's office, scraping tartar and handing out goody bags with toothbrushes
and dental floss. But right now, it looked preferable to another second here in Gandiegow.

*   *   *

Ross's gaze snapped to the open window when Sadie gasped, and then he turned his glare on Deydie. Of course, he had no interest in the American lass, but at least he had compassion. He'd been taught to respect his elders, but he was raging mad at the town's matriarch now.

“Did ye hear that? You've hurt the lass. And she's had enough pain, don't ye think?”

Deydie was a tough nut—bullheaded and single-minded. She glared right back. “I spoke nothing but the truth. She's not right for ye. Ye're a strapping lad. Ye need a woman who can be yere match in every way.”

He could almost hear her say
like Pippa
, but she stopped short of uttering it. For a moment, she seemed to be chewing on her own words, maybe even reconsidering.

While he had the advantage, he said what was on his mind, and to hell with the consequences. “Don't take this the wrong way, but the only person who is allowed to counsel me on who I
court
 . . . is myself.” He was done doing what Gandiegow told him to do. And didn't the townsfolk realize he couldn't be tied down now? He'd never gotten to sow his wild oats, not really, and play the field like a normal bloke. No. He'd always been attached to Pippa. Sort of. He needed to get away from Deydie, and his own thoughts. “If ye'll excuse me, I'm going to check on Sadie and make sure she's okay.”

Deydie harrumphed, but she didn't stop him from opening the door and going inside.

“Lass?” Ross called out.

“Go away.” The voice was muffled.

He headed to the bedroom and knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

“No.”

He cracked the door to the darkened room. A ray of light from the hall shone on Sadie as she lay on the twin bed with her face to the wall.

“Are you all right?”

“Grand. Or whatever you Scots say.” The lass had a sarcastic streak, but could he blame her?

He padded across the room. “Scoot over.”

When she didn't budge, he nudged her with his knee. “I need more room than that. Remember? I'm a big man and this is a small bed. Now, scooch.” When she still didn't move, he slipped his arms underneath her, picked her up, then settled himself on the bed, ignoring her sharp intake of air. She was half-sprawled across his chest.

“Deydie was way off base.” Though he held her close, he wasn't interested in Sadie, beyond being her friend, but he didn't want her hurt either. “She never should've said what she said. I'm sorry for it.”

Sadie kept her face turned away from him. “Didn't I say that I'm fine? It doesn't matter.”

“But it matters to me,” he confessed. He wasn't going to examine why. He liked holding her in his arms. He liked her being near.

Maybe he could make a career of protecting the lass.

A brilliant idea came to him. “I need yere help, Sadie Middleton.” One where she could focus on something else besides all the tragedies that had befallen her.

She did look up at him then. “What? Me? Help you?”

“Aye.” He brushed back a piece of her hair so he could see her face better. “I want ye to do me a favor.”

“I'm more sleep-deprived than I thought. What could you possibly want from me?”

Ross settled her back to his chest, ready to give voice to the words he hadn't spoken to anyone. “I've been trying to figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

She nodded. “Me, too.”

“So there's another thing we have in common, besides needing to run away every now and then.” The thought contented him somehow. “But what I noticed about you is that when you needed yere time away to sit on yere own, you took it.”

“Oliver would say I was being selfish. And Deydie thinks that plain, little sickly me is out to snare you.” She did her little snort thing that was unladylike, and at the same time, adorable.

“It took conviction to do what you had to do—sit on yere rock and the hell with the rest of the world—and I admire ye for it.”

“Admire me?”

“Aye. I've always done what others wanted of me.” Working on the fishing boat and going along with marrying Pippa.

Sadie patted his chest. “I'm no poster child for independence. I became a dental hygienist because Gigi and Oliver decided it would be best. I hate sticking my hands in strangers' mouths.” She shivered.

And Ross had been engaged to a woman he didn't love because everyone else thought it was best.

“What is it that ye want to do?” he asked. “That is, if there was no other consideration in the world.”

She guffawed pessimistically. “My biggest fantasy? To read twenty-four hours a day.”

He chuckled. “Lass, ye can't make a living reading.”

“I know. But I thought if I could become a librarian, then maybe that would satisfy me.” She put her hand up as if he was going to contradict her. “I know librarians don't sit around reading all day, but at least they get to talk about and think about books for a living. And they get to help people find wonderful books to read. Being a librarian would be the best job in the world.” Her voice hitched.

Now that he had taken her mind off Deydie, he didn't mean to get her upset in a different direction. “Will ye help me?” He didn't know if he was asking for her to help him find what he wanted, or to help him not bend to the will of Gandiegow.

“I'll help. But on one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You have to get Deydie and the others off my back. I'm not going to return to Quilting Central, no matter what. Can you do that for me?”

He kissed the top of her head in answer. He trusted that Sadie knew what was right for herself, and if she thought Quilting Central was going to hamper her in any way, then he was going to run interference for her.
For now
.

He stared at the far wall, bracing himself. Once Deydie figured out what was going on, she was sure to tear into him again.

“It's going to be okay,” he said to both of them.

Ross heard a noise at the front of the house. Had someone just come in? Footsteps stalked down the hall.
It wouldn't do either of them any good to get caught in bed together. Sadie seemed to hear it, too, as she stilled and her head cocked to the side to listen. He kissed her head again—not sure why he did it—and slipped from the twin bed.

“Sadie?” It was her damned brother, Oliver. “Are you asleep?”

Ross stood there frozen, hoping he wouldn't see him.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Aw, hell.”

Oliver flipped on the switch and stomped into the room. “Is this what you meant when you said you would get my baby sister back to the dorm safely?”

Ross glared at her brother. “She's hardly a baby.” At least he hadn't caught him in her bed. But it did look incriminating. “It's not what you think.”

“My ass.” Oliver glared at Sadie. “Have you been crying? What did he do to you?” The chap looked ready to take a swing at Ross.

Before Sadie could say anything, the front door slammed again with more footsteps down the hall.

“Lass?” It was Deydie, dammit. “I came to make sure that ye're . . .” The old woman peered around Oliver.

Sadie scrambled out of bed, muttering, “Grand Central Station.” She swiped the hair from her face.

Deydie forced her way past Oliver. “Why've ye been crying?” She glared up at Ross as if he'd brought on Sadie's tears.

He held his hands up. “Don't blame me. Ye're the one with the barbed tongue.”

Deydie didn't get a chance to rip him apart because Oliver turned to the town's matriarch. “Is this how things
are run around here? Anyone can get in my sister's bedroom whenever they want?”

“Now wait a minute,” Ross interjected.

Sadie shaded to the color of a deep-sea redfish.

Ross was in a strange position and not sure what to do next. He could tell Oliver what Deydie had said and how he was only checking on the lass, but he had no real explanation why he was in her bedroom with the lights out.

Deydie glowered at Ross and jabbed a finger at the bedroom door. “Ye better get home.”

This time, he didn't mind doing what Deydie told him to do, but he hesitated anyway. He faced Sadie.

“Are ye going to be all right?” In other words, did she want him to hang around and sort things out for her?

With still-watery eyes she gazed up at him. “I'll be fine.” She spun on her brother. “Nothing happened. Ross is a
gentleman
with a capital
G
. You ought to apologize for accusing him of something he didn't do.” Her eyes fell on Deydie, but she seemed to bite back whatever retort she wanted to deliver in that direction.

Ross's feet wouldn't move, not until he did something more for Sadie. “Deydie, our little quilter here is a guest in our town. Don't you think we should treat her like one?”

Oliver's gaze went from face to face. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Aye.” Deydie patted Oliver's arm in a more grandmotherly way than Ross had ever seen her treat her own granddaughter, Cait. “Everything is okay here, lad. Let me have a few minutes alone with yere sister.”

He was surprised when Oliver nodded his head in agreement.

Ross wanted to reach out to Sadie and squeeze her shoulder, or something, because he hated leaving her alone with Deydie. But at least the old quilter seemed to want to make things right. He just hoped she wouldn't do it in a way that would cause more harm, as Deydie had a tendency to do.

“'Night, lass,” Ross said instead. He felt sure this was the end of whatever friendship he'd started with her, no matter the promises they'd made to help each other. Deydie would get the lass back to Quilting Central and Sadie would have no need of him. Sadness hit him hard as if he'd been blindsided by a wave. But he should've seen it coming.

S
adie crossed the room and pulled her robe from the armoire while Deydie waited with her hands in her skirt pockets, as uneasy as Lucifer at church. Suddenly Sadie was bone tired. She never should've zapped her reserves the way that she had.

Deydie stood before her, still a force to be reckoned with but now with a hint of compassion in her eyes. “Ye see, lass, I've been busy with this wedding. I never meant to—”

Sadie put her hand up. “Don't worry about it.” The old woman had only been speaking the truth. “Let's just forget it ever happened. I'm going to bed.”

The double crease between Deydie's eyebrows relaxed. “Ye do look peaked. I'm going to make ye a cup of chamomile before I go.” She hustled to the door, but stopped. “I'll let ye out of the quilting session tonight, but I'll expect ye at Quilting Central first thing in the morn.”

Don't hold your breath.
But Sadie kept the thought to herself.

Deydie scrutinized Sadie in silence, then finally exited without a word.

Sadie flipped on the small lamp beside her bed, already missing Ross's presence. She'd grown quite accustomed to him, but she'd have to sleep alone tonight. She shut the door, pulled off her dress, and donned her purple plaid pajamas. She was too weary to go in search of the kitchen and the promised tea. She flipped off the light, climbed into bed, and fell fast asleep.

Her rest was fitful as her mind whirled with storms, and the strong arms that were there to save her were just out of reach.

By morning time, she had a plan to get out of the Kilts and Quilts retreat. If Deydie was going to use Sadie's kidney disease against her, then she was going to use it right back—
in her favor
. She would feign sickness to get out of spending time with the ladies who reminded her too much of Gigi. She hadn't pretended to be ill since she was in grade school, holding the thermometer under the hot water faucet, right after her parents had died. But she was playing sick today, using the time to stay in bed to read.

Through the wall, female voices and laughter seeped in as the dorm came alive with movement and excitement. Sadie worried one of the women might take it upon themselves to rouse her, but when no one did, she realized Deydie had told them to let her rest for a while.

The front door opened and closed several times and then the dorm became quiet. Sadie rose, padded into the kitchen, and helped herself to one of the boxed scones and coffee in the carafe. After filling up, she went back
to her room, propped herself in bed, and pulled out her novel to fuel her soul. Just as she settled the book in her lap, she heard a noise. Or at least she thought she did. But when she heard no more, she went back to reading. Two seconds later, she realized she was being stared at . . . by Moira.

“Sorry,” the woman said. “I stopped to check in on you. I was quiet in case you were sleeping.” Moira's brow slightly rose when her eyes landed on the novel.

Sadie scooted farther under the covers. “I'm not feeling well . . . I thought I should rest.” She hated not being completely aboveboard with this nice woman, but sometimes a girl had to look out for number one.

Moira gave her a shy smile as if she understood.

Sadie shrugged, grinning back.

“I'll make ye a cup of tea,” Moira said.

“You don't have to. I had some coffee a little while ago.”

“I'll fix ye a cup of green tea just the same.” Moira gestured toward the novel. “You have to keep up yere strength.” Before Sadie could respond, she left.

Sadie went back to reading and became so engrossed in the story, she almost missed Moira slipping into the room and setting the steaming teacup beside her.

“Thank you.”

With a smile, Moira nodded and departed.

Sadie was immediately back in the story—a romance set in medieval Scotland with a gorgeous alpha male and the strong woman who tamed him.

The front door opened and closed again.
What was it with Gandiegow? Could she not get a moment alone?
This
time the footfalls down the hall weren't Moira's. Sadie jammed her bookmark in place and shoved the novel under the covers as Bethia appeared in the doorway.

“Are ye well, lass?”

Slowly Sadie cracked open her eyes as if just waking.

“Moira said ye're a bit under the weather.” Bethia chewed her lip as if two seams didn't meet up properly. “Is there anything I can get for ye? I'm a healer, a certified herbalist. Moira said she'd made ye some tea, but if there's anything I can do, I'd like to help.”

Sadie sat up a little, trying to assure the woman with a smile. “I only need to rest today.” She would have to come up with another excuse to get out of quilting with the gray-headed ladies tomorrow.

Bethia still looked concerned. “Should I get Doc MacGregor?”

“Heavens, no. It's only jet lag.” Though Sadie had weathered the worst of it with Ross by her side. “I'll lie down for a while and then I'll be fine.”

Bethia fussed with her covers, felt the teacup to make sure it was still warm, and pulled the blinds shut. Sadie would have to open them after she left. With a few more assurances that she would be fine, Bethia finally departed, leaving her alone.

Sadie breathed a sigh of relief as all went quiet again. As she pulled her book from its hiding place, the front door slammed—
hard
—and familiar heavy footsteps marched down the hallway.

She groaned, no need to even look up to see who it was this time. “Hi, Oliver.”

He frowned at her, the opposite of Bethia's concerned
ministrations. “Why are you in bed instead of at Quilting Central?”

Bethia must've gone straight to Oliver and ratted her out. Maybe the elderly woman wasn't so sweet after all.

Sadie had seen this side of Oliver often since her diagnosis—angry—and at first it'd taken her off guard and had hurt deeply. She had spent a lot of time worrying what she had done to upset her brother. She touched the novel under the covers. Gigi was the one who told her to look in her books for the answer.
Men are basic,
Gigi had said,
with only a few emotions. They can get angry waiting on a red light, angry over being hungry, or angry over heaven only knows what.
Between Gigi's advice and her favorite novels, Sadie had figured out that Oliver was missing the gene that would allow him to exhibit his true feelings:
fear
.

“It's no big deal. I'm taking it easy today,” Sadie said.

With his eyebrows pinched together, he ran a hand through his blond hair, making his perfect cut stand on end. “The trip was too hard on you. Maybe we shouldn't have come.”

Now there's an idea.
But it was best to keep it to herself.

The front door opened again, her ears picking up the slight squeak of the hinges and the whoosh of the door sweep on the hardwood floor.
Oh, good grief. Will I be holding audience all day?

“Lass?” Deydie hollered. “I've come to talk to ye.”

Oliver seemed relieved to hear the old woman's voice. Sadie wasn't.

Deydie materialized in the doorway with her hands
on her hips. She scrutinized Sadie for a few seconds. “As I suspected, ye're only playing at being sick.”

Sadie smoothed down the quilt. “I'm resting.”

“I'm not a numpty. Ye look better this morning than ye did last night. And I expect ye were fine then, well enough to come quilt, too.”

Sadie didn't say a word, her gaze going from one accusing face to another. She felt taxed for real now. She scooted down and yanked the quilt up. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Deydie harrumphed.

Yes, they were brave words, considering the daggers her brother and Deydie were shooting at her.

Oliver pulled himself up straight. “I'll be back to check on you.”

A promise or a threat?
The two finally left, closing Sadie's bedroom door behind them.

She stared at the far wall for a long time.

A rap sounded on her bedroom door.

“Please, leave me in peace,” she said to the hard oak.

“Lass? It's me—Ross.”

Relief washed through her. “Come in.”

He cracked the door open only a little and peered inside. “Are they all gone?”

“Yes.” She smiled at him, understanding that constantly crossing Deydie could lead to dire consequences. “What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be fishing?”

“Aye. I've already been out and back from the morning run. We'll go out later this afternoon.”

“What's that in your hands?” Sadie asked.

“Oh, aye, the reason for the visit.” He held up a shirt
with a tear in it. “I need a favor.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as if they were back in the breakfast room at the B and B and he was pulling the wool over the owner's eyes.

“What kind of favor?” Surely he didn't want her to play his bride again.

He shook his head. “At great peril to myself, I snuck a sewing machine out of Quilting Central when I saw Deydie heading toward yere dorm.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I set it up at our cottage—ye know, the one I share with my brother and his family.”

“That doesn't explain
why.
”

“Oh. I need ye to repair this tear.” He had such a forlorn expression on his face that it was comical. “It's my favorite shirt. And you owe me.”

“Owe you?”

“For all the trouble ye got me into with Deydie and the quilting gaggle before.” He seemed embarrassed. “I mean, quilting ladies. They think I coerced ye into running out on them. I'm happy to take the fall”—he lifted up his torn garment for emphasis—“if ye'll fix my shirt.”

From where she sat, the shirt's demise looked suspicious—more calculated than accidental. “I don't believe for a second that that shirt is your favorite. It looks brand-new, with the folding creases still in it.” Why had he ripped his shirt on purpose?

Pulling a dramatic face of mock hurt and disbelief, he glanced at the garment as if she couldn't possibly be seeing the same shirt that he did. “'Tis my favorite.” He held up his right hand. “Promise.”

She noticed his other hand was behind his back.

“Then how did you tear it? With your pocketknife?”

“I caught it on a nail. On the boat,” he added as an obvious afterthought. “Will ye get out of bed and come to the cottage? I want to show ye where I live before I have to go back out on the water.”

“But why didn't you bring the sewing machine to me so I could work on your shirt here?”

Confusion crossed his face, the first bit of honesty she'd seen from him since he'd come into her bedroom. “I dunno.”

She smiled, shaking her head at him. “Okay. I'll fix your shirt. But I'll be a while. I need to shower first.” After her running-away adventure and her crying jag last night, she needed to wash away some of the grit of life.

“I'll wait in the living room. Don't be long.”

“I know what you're doing,” she said pointedly.

“What?” he asked, all innocence.

But she couldn't work up any real indignation over it. He wanted her up and moving around, and he was willing to slice a hole in a brand-new shirt to get her to do it.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Go on. I'll be out soon.
So I can fix your shirt
.”

He laughed. “Bring yere book along with ye. Ye'll have a few minutes to read while I dig out those dungarees I need hemmed.”

She glanced down, and sure enough, the corner of her book peeked out from under the covers. What could she say? She'd been found out. She waved at him as if her hand was a paintbrush. “There's no way you need your pants hemmed.” If anything, he would have to have them let out, as tall as he was.

“Ye get ready. I'll be waiting in the other room.” He sauntered out, chuckling deeply to himself.

Sadie sighed, thinking how Ross had come to know her so well, and at the same time, she knew she would have to watch herself with him. He was getting to her. Her life was in enough upheaval as it was without her becoming a victim of a broken heart, too. Around Ross, she felt herself slipping into a kind of gooey mess, part butterflies, part hormonal, and part wishful thinking. A girl like her had no business getting dreamy-eyed over a man like Ross. She wasn't Jane Eyre, where everything worked out in the end with Mr. Rochester. She was plain Sadie Middleton, and had enough to worry about without troubling herself with a crush over a kind, gentle Scotsman.

*   *   *

Ross strolled from her bedroom, feeling as if he'd bested the prize fish. In his gut, he knew Sadie should get back to sewing as soon as possible . . . even though he had promised to get her out of Quilting Central.
Back on the damned horse and all
. If he had to, he'd face off with the quilters of Gandiegow to keep his end of the bargain with Sadie.

And for some reason, he didn't mind the thought of her and her sewing machine being at his house. Though how he'd come up with the plan seemed more like fate than brains on his part.

As if it was meant to be, he'd run into Father Andrew, who asked Ross to deliver a message to Moira, his fiancée. Then, when Ross stopped at Quilting Central to see Moira, she told him about Sadie lying in bed. Moira had pointed out the sewing machine assigned to Sadie, and
then turned away, perhaps even blocking everyone's view as he'd unplugged the cord and walked off with it. As if Moira had given him the suggestion telepathically with her soft voice and incline of her head. The town might think Moira was quiet, but she had a cunning streak in her that was sure to keep her future husband on his toes.

Waiting, Ross paced the floor of Thistle Glen Lodge, grabbing a periodical from the stack on the coffee table as he passed by . . . a quilting publication. A fishing magazine would've been preferable, but the quilt on the front looked like the one his mother had made for his confirmation. His mum had called the pattern a Mariner's Compass.