The Trouble with Scotland (6 page)

How he missed his mother. She'd been in Glasgow with Aunt Glynnis for two years now. He would go see both of them soon, and maybe take his nephew Dand along. John and Maggie could use the time alone, except they wouldn't exactly be alone. Baby Irene was seven months old and had yet to sleep through the night. She was a handful, but the cutest little bug he'd ever seen, and she loved to cuddle with her Uncle Ross.

His thoughts turned to Sadie and he glanced down the hallway as she came out of the restroom all trussed up in a long robe. His pulse kicked up. A normal, natural reaction, he told himself. Everyone thought they'd been irresponsible, sneaking out of town the way that they had, but they were two unattached adults, and he'd gotten her back to Gandiegow safely, hadn't he?

Funny, spending time with the lass was the most interesting thing he'd done in a long while. Even more interesting than working on his truck.

A minute later, she appeared from the bedroom in a
purple sundress, the color of foxglove in full bloom, making her brown eyes stand out like a lone thistle in the glen. Remembering to breathe, he sucked in a lungful of air.

He felt damned uncomfortable. As if he was wearing a vise instead of a loose polo shirt. “Are ye always this slow getting ready?” He tried for teasing, but his voice was a mite strained.

She gave him a sideways glance. “You didn't have to wait that long. Besides, I hurried.”

“Well,” he groused congenially, “I would hate to be waiting on ye when ye were taking yere time.”

She snatched the torn shirt from the back of the couch. Hell, good thing she remembered it because he'd forgotten all about it. He prayed John wouldn't notice that his new shirt had gone missing, and that Ross had taken the fillet knife to it.

He walked with Sadie through town, the pathways empty this time of day, for which he was grateful. Not that he was embarrassed to be seen with the lass . . . quite the opposite. He just didn't want to explain why he wasn't taking her to Quilting Central as expected. Her eyes darted everywhere, taking in his village.

“I can't imagine living here,” she said on a sigh. “The North Sea out your front door. Do you know how relaxed I'd be if I had all this?” She gestured to the ocean, the cottages, and the bluffs.

“I'm pleased ye like it.” It was an odd thing for him to say, but he meant it. He pointed to his family's white cottage, not the last cottage in town but nearly. “This is it.” He sauntered up the walk with Sadie trailing behind. He opened the door for her, trying to see his home through her eyes. The big, open living room, their everyday things
scattered about—fishing magazines, Dand's box of Legos, a pile of clean cloth diapers neatly stacked on the counter near the washer.

When John got married, they'd all worked together to update and expand the cottage. Da had built a new bedroom for John and Maggie and an extra bedroom that was now Dand's. After his mother moved to Glasgow, Ross had moved out of the bedroom he and John had shared growing up and taken his parents' old space. It had been strange at first, but now the room was all his own. Ramsay's old bedroom was now a nursery for Irene.

“This is lovely,” Sadie said to him. “It's so welcoming.”

“Maggie runs a tight ship. We all help out.” Ross transferred his wellies to the boot mat, their proper spot.

Sadie gestured at the sewing machine. “For me?”

He nodded. “Ye can use thread and whatever ye need from Maggie's sewing things.” He went to the wooden cabinet near the hallway, lifted it by the handle, and brought it over to Sadie. “This was Maggie's gran's. Open it here.” He raised the lid on one side. “The shelves pull out at both ends.” Completely opened, it looked like stairs on each side, bursting at the seams with sewing stuff—scissors, thread, buttons, patches, and ribbons.

Sadie's brow furrowed. “Are you sure she won't mind?”

The door to Maggie's bedroom opened and out she walked. Ross cringed; he hadn't known his sister-in-law was home. He was fairly certain Maggie wouldn't take it well that Sadie was here, that she'd see the American lass as a threat. The moment he was no longer engaged to Pippa, Maggie had been suggesting rather strongly that he marry one of her sisters.

She came farther into the room, her eyes darting to
Sadie, the sewing machine, then to Ross holding her gran's sewing cabinet in his hand as if he was holding little bug's baby carrier.

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “This is new, Ross. Are ye needing thread to whip yereself up something from me sewing basket, or were ye showing off yere muscles for our guest?”

He glanced down to see his taut bicep. He raised and lowered the cabinet as if getting in a few reps like the lads on the telly. He set the cabinet down.

“Little bug sleeping then?” he asked.

“Aye. I heard ye come in earlier.” Maggie eyed the sewing machine in front of Sadie again. “I didn't realize Quilting Central was moving here. Does Deydie know?”

Ross caught the downturn of Sadie's features.

“The lass has promised to mend a few things for me.”

Before he could wave her off, Sadie held up John's ruined shirt. “I'll do my best, but it's not ripped on the seam.”

Maggie's face turned leathery with anger as if the reality of what he had done was hard to chew. Surprisingly, though, she held her tongue, gluing on a hard smile instead. “Ye're welcome to the dining table but, Ross, ye'll have to clear it away for the supper. Ye can set it on the treadle machine over there when she's finished.”

Sadie eased into the chair in front of the machine, keeping her eyes on Maggie. “Will the noise bother the baby?”

Maggie snatched the clean diapers from the counter. “Nay. We're a loud household. Less so, though, since Ramsay moved into his cottage with his bride, Kit.” She nodded to the cabinet. “Help yereself to what ye
need. Ross, can I have a word? Outside by the burning barrel?”

Aw hell.
Maggie had held it together for Sadie's sake, but she looked ready to cut him like the knife that had sliced through John's new shirt.

Ross set the sewing cabinet next to Sadie, giving her a wink to shoo away the concerned expression clouding her face. “I'll be back in a flash.”

He followed Maggie, who was still clutching the clean diapers to her chest. When he closed the door behind them, she pounced.

“Have ye gone radge?” she hissed. “Are ye not thinking straight? The lass should be at Quilting Central where she belongs. If I let her stay here today, we'll both be in it with Deydie.”

He held his ground, though it was pretty shaky. Deydie could make his life miserable if he didn't return Sadie to the bosom of Quilting Central. “She's staying. 'Tis my house, too.” And to hell with convention, and Deydie, and what the rest of the town thought.

Maggie eyed him with suspicion. “What's going on here? Do ye fancy her?”

He said nothing while she glared holes into him. He owed her no explanation.

Dand came running toward the cottage.

“Mum! Did ye hear? Mattie and Cait will be home soon!”

Maggie kept her glower on Ross. “I heard. Now go inside and clean up. Ye can have a biscuit after ye do. Ye're expected over at yere aunties'.”

Dand wiped the hair from his eyes. “Can Mattie spend the night as soon as he's back?”

“We'll see how ye're doing with your chores then.”

“Aw, Mum.”

Ross thought he better warn his nephew. “My friend Sadie is sewing at the dining room table.”

“And be quiet when ye go in,” Maggie warned. “Your baby sister's sleeping.”

The boy ran for the door and slammed it on his way in.

Maggie sighed heavily. She seemed to listen for a baby's scream, and when it didn't come, she spun back on Ross. “Did the lass tell ye that she's sick? That she needs a kidney transplant? Do ye not know that she's not for Gandiegow? We have the doc, but no hospital to care for the likes of her.”

He put his hand up. “Stop. I don't fancy her. I only wanted to . . .” He broke off.
Make her happy?
He couldn't say that. He didn't care if Sadie was happy or not. He didn't fancy anyone right now. He wanted to date lots of women . . . make up for missed opportunities. Maggie had it all wrong. “Quilting Central is too painful for the lass. It reminds her of her dead gran. Have a heart. Keep Deydie and the others from pressuring her into returning to Quilting Central.”

Maggie seemed to consider his words and he couldn't help but drive the point home.

“Remember what it was like when ye lost yere own gran.” The rest of them would never forget what Maggie had gone through. “It took ye a year to thread a needle again. Ye said it yereself that yere gran was the one who taught
you
to sew. I think it shows great promise that the lass is willing to sit in front of her sewing machine, don't you?”

Maggie looked out to the sea for a long moment. “All right then. She can stay.”

The crashing of the waves was a welcome sound compared to her lecture, and for several moments there were no words between them. But then Maggie had to go and ruin it. “Ye'll have to tell Deydie what ye're about.”

“Aw, hell.” He was done talking and trod back to the cottage to check on Sadie.

When he got inside, she wasn't sitting behind her sewing machine. He glanced around to the sofa and saw Dand cuddled up to her with a book stretched across their laps.

Sadie went on reading what seemed like a most unconventional rhyming book, putting on various voices and seeming to have the time of her life while Dand giggled and guffawed.

Ross interrupted. “What are ye reading?”

Dand held up the book.
“Dinosaur Poo!”

Sadie shrugged. “I gave him a choice between
Dinosaur Poo!
and
Princess Penelope
.”

Dand tugged on her arm. “Come on. Keep reading.”

At that moment, Maggie came through the door and stopped suddenly. Sadie glanced up for a second, but kept reading. Dand didn't notice that his mum was standing nearby, gobsmacked. When the book was done, he jumped up, grabbed another from the shelf, and then settled himself back up against Sadie.

Maggie came to stand next to Ross. “How did she do it?” she whispered. “Dand doesn't like books.”

It was true; Dand couldn't read a word. They'd tried everything to coax him into wanting to read. Almost everyone in town had given him a book and taken a shot
at persuading him to try. But the kid hadn't given a whit about books and could barely sit still. He cared only about roughhousing and playing outside. To see him now sitting on the sofa listening to a story was quite a surprise.

Ross shrugged. “What can I say? The lass has a way about her.”

“I believe it's a miracle,” Maggie said. “For both ye and Dand.”

“Why me?” Ross asked.

“Because the lass just handed you the perfect excuse to give to Deydie for why she needs to stay here to sew.”

*   *   *

With a click of the mouse, Oliver sent the first computer on the back table of Quilting Central to sleep. Only four more to go. He scanned the flurry of the room, realizing why no one had taken the time to update the computers—too busy quilting. Rotary cutters sliced through fabric, steam wafted from irons as quilters pressed away, and rows of women zipped through seams like bankers counting bills, their movements practiced, automatic, precise.

Gigi would've loved it here.

With his eyes slightly blurring, he moved to the next computer, removing his glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of his oxford shirt. His glasses weren't completely to blame. But there was no time to think about Gigi; he had to stay focused on helping Sadie. He had just settled into the chair and started to do a security scan when Deydie plopped down a stack of software boxes next to him.

“I've changed my mind, lad.” She gave him a frightening grin. “My granddaughter Caitie and I talked about
it, and decided we better go with the top-of-the-line embroidery software, too. Something more to offer the quilters.”

He stared at the pile of work in front of him. The only way he'd been able to do what he'd done so far was because his US clients weren't awake yet. Oliver glanced at his watch. Well, they'd be up soon.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said.

Determination shot from Deydie's eyes. “Ye'll do better than that. I promised the retreat goers that I'd show them how to use the embroidery software and the machines so they could design their own tags before they leave.”

Oliver smiled, shocking both himself and perhaps her. She couldn't know how much her bossiness was helping him—keeping him so busy doing her bidding that he didn't miss Gigi so much. “Okay. I'll work on it as I can. I do have a full-time job with my current clients.”

Deydie patted the pocket of her skirt as if her checkbook was lodged there. “I told ye to keep a tab and I'll be happy to pay ye when ye go.” But she had a funny gleam in her eye as if she was cooking up some sort of plan.

“I'm only here the week,” he reminded her, something he'd said many times since she'd assigned him his duties. He liked it here, but he was beginning to understand that maybe Gandiegow might not be so good for Sadie. Maybe he shouldn't have strong-armed his little sister into coming. If he made things worse for her, he'd never forgive himself.

“Aye. The week,” Deydie said. “Right.”

Just then the door to Quilting Central opened and a
gorgeous woman with long brown hair glided in. Oliver was . . . mesmerized.

Deydie nudged him, smiling like a wrinkly Cheshire cat. “That's Kirsty, the new schoolteacher. I told her ye were here. She wants to talk to ye about new computers for the school.”

Oliver tore his gaze away from the very attractive schoolteacher and back to the not-so-attractive Deydie. “I won't be here long enough for new computers to be ordered and set up.”