To Scotland With Love (13 page)

“The verdict is?” He acted as anxious as if he'd auditioned for a part.

She held up the script. “It's a much different character than you've played in the past.”

Graham took off his gloves. “I've never done fantasy. I don't know how the audience will react.”

“You'll make an awesome headmaster.”
A much sexier headmaster than I ever encountered at boarding school.
“It'll widen your fan base.” She stopped herself and put on her journalist hat, storing away these tidbits for when she got back to her article about him.

“Then I should accept the part?” He looked both excited and unsure.

“They'll love you. Like always,” she added sincerely.

He looked over at her with his eyebrows knitted together. His unspoken question hung between them.
And you, do you love me?
But surely she'd imagined it.

She ducked her head and squeezed past him, heading
for the kitchen. The sack on the counter gave her the diversion she needed. She struck a light tone. “Now, let's talk about more pressing matters. What did you bring back for dinner? It smells delicious.” She pointed to the sack.

“Who said it's for you?” he teased. “It might be for one of my other script readers.”

“Not buying it.” She grinned at him. “You're smart enough to understand that while I refuse to be paid for my services, I do expect to be fed. Good choice on picking up Chinese. Tell me you brought chicken lo mein.”

“That and everything else on the menu.” He took small white boxes from the sack. “If I'd had your cell number, I would've called to find out your favorite.”

He beamed at her, and they shared a moment—one where time stood still, both of them grinning at each other, crushing like a couple of idiots, making her forget to feel self-conscious. But feeling so comfortable with him made it uncomfortable for her. “I have to hurry home. Deydie needs me. Quilting.”

“I was hoping you'd stay awhile. Duncan didn't want to come back up to the house tonight. And Mattie is pooped.” Graham laughed. “He picked out a vanload of toys for Duncan as Christmas presents.” He stared at her for a second longer and then spoke, his voice pouring out, smooth as fine Scotch. “And you, Caitie Macleod, what do you want for Christmas?”

It should've been easy to answer, but the question seemed too personal. And she felt too vulnerable. The things she truly wanted couldn't be bought and were too much to ask for, so she mentally marked them off instead.

1. A family. All she had left was Deydie, and at every turn her gran hindered her plan to get close.

2. A career. Journalism was her ticket to fulfillment. But until she had the gumption to finish the
People
magazine article, her career was dead.

3. Happiness. She wasn't ten years old anymore and knew the score. Happiness could be elusive. But since returning to Scotland, she'd had a few rare moments of utter contentment.

And all of them had been with Graham.

Panic washed over her. She couldn't, and wouldn't, rely on a man again to give her what she wanted. She grabbed her coat and ran for the door.

“Where are you going? You haven't eaten yet.” He came toward her, looking concerned.

She backed away from him, recalling clearly what had happened when she'd allowed another man to cast a spell over her. Loads of heartache. Then death. “I'll take the lo mein with me.”

When she reached out for the container, he grabbed her hands and searched her eyes. “Why are ye running away?”

“Deydie will skewer me if I'm late.” She tried to ignore the seductive tingling that had electrified her hands where he touched her.

“I don't believe you.” His eyes implored. “Why is it so hard for you to come clean with me?”

She pulled away from him. “Listen, Mr. Sensitive. Life is full of shitty things. Getting fired is only one of them. And I have to deal with my stuff on my own. End of story.”

He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “No, you don't. You have all of us to help you through it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she practically yelled. “My only family is a gran who can't stand me. I've been on my own for most of my life. The only person I can count on being there
for
me,
is
me. And sometimes even I'm not that reliable.”

“What about me?” he said, his voice sounding strong and steady, reminding her of the oak in her backyard in Chicago. Every time she felt beaten down by Tom, she'd lean against the tree and soak up its strength.

“Nope.” She shook her head. “You're that good-looking guy from the big screen. Even I'm not stupid enough to believe that you're real. Besides, I don't want
or
need a man in my life. God has given me a do-over, and by God, I'm going to take it. This time, though, I'm not going to think I can have it all. I just need my career. And even though I might've blown it these past couple of weeks, I'll get my foot back in the door.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” he demanded, angry this time.

“None of your business.” She grabbed the lo mein carton and stomped out the door.

It took only a few steps down the path before she realized how unfair she'd been to him. Guilt, and not the cold wind, made her shiver. Why had she taken her dreadful life out on Graham after he'd been so nice to her? He didn't deserve her bitchiness. As soon as she got to Deydie's, she'd text him and tell him she was sorry. Yes, it was the chicken's way out.

She ran the rest of the way down the path, half slipping, half stumbling. At Deydie's, she didn't hesitate but threw open the door. The quilt ladies turned to her.
Bethia and Rhona rocked in the chairs in front of the fire, hand stitching. Deydie and Moira sat at the sewing machines. Amy sloshed tea over the side of a mug as she placed it beside Deydie.

“Shut the damn door, lass,” her gran shouted. “Ye look like you've seen a kelpie.”

“I've seen nothing.” Cait closed the door and set the lo mein carton down. “Where's Ailsa and Aileen?”

“Not here yet,” said Rhona.

Cait dug around in her pocket for her cell phone. She had to text Graham now or she would lose her nerve. But she didn't get the chance.

Deydie got up and shuffled toward her, holding Dingus at arm's length. “Take him out. The little bugger got into the oatcakes. He'll have to shite from here to next Sunday.”

Cait took him and held him close. “You've grown, little guy.”

There was a knock at the door.

“It's probably the twins,” Deydie announced and opened it.

Shocked, Cait almost dropped Dingus, but she regained her wits enough to shove the dog inside her coat without Graham seeing.

He ducked his head and came in with the brown sack. “Anyone interested in Chinese food?”

The women ran to him like cats on catnip. Cait slipped past him. Before she made it out the door, though, he grabbed her arm. “Don't go because of me.”

“Don't worry. Take a load off. I'll be right back.” She tried to smile at him, knowing she'd have to apologize in person now that he was here.

He let go of her, and she slipped out of the house.
While Dingus did his business, she rehearsed what she would say to Graham. She let the dog sniff around longer than usual, trying to put off the inevitable. Finally, she hid the dog under her coat once more and headed back to the cottage.

Once inside, though, Cait got a momentary reprieve. Amy gave her a pointed look and nodded toward the bathroom. Mr. Eagle Eye caught it all, but Cait couldn't do anything about it. As nonchalantly as she could, she snuck off to the restroom. Dingus's box sat in the bathtub with his little blanket fluffed up and ready to go. “You be quiet.” She knelt down. “Your new daddy doesn't know about you yet.” She gave him a kiss and settled him inside. She pulled the shower curtain in case Graham decided to make a pit stop in Deydie's loo, then went out and joined the rest.

They were all devouring the Chinese food, including Mr. Movie Star. Before she could take one bite, Ailsa and Aileen walked in.

“What did we miss by coming late?” Ailsa pulled out a half-finished Crazy Quilt.

Aileen grabbed for it. “Give it to me, Sister.”

“No.” Ailsa tugged back. “I have more embellishments to add before we move on.”

It was almost comical, two menopausal women playing tug-of-war like kindergarteners. Cait noticed that Graham was openly laughing.

“For heaven's sake, don't start again,” Bethia said. “It's almost Christmas. Sit down and have some Chinese food before it's all gone.”

Cait grabbed a rangoon and joined Graham, who lingered with his food by the fireplace. It was a brave move on her part. All the ladies were watching, and she was
sure to take some flak for it later, but she owed him that apology.

“Sorry about earlier,” she said, half whispering. “I'm a little off-kilter right now. You know, the job thing and a million other worries. I hope to have my life figured out before I'm Deydie's age. Forgive me, okay?”

“What are you saying over there?” Deydie snapped. “Speak up. The rest of us want to hear.”

Graham winked at Cait. “She agreed to come back to the house tonight and help me wrap presents. You don't mind, do you?”

“I
never agreed—” Cait cried.

Graham cut her off. “You ladies wouldn't be able to help wrap presents, for the obvious reason.” He wagged his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and, at the same time, gave them all his beguiling smile.

“Aye, we understand.” Deydie beamed. “Do you have any sewing to do, Caitie?”

“Almost done.” She'd argue with Graham as soon as she got him out the door. “I can finish tomorrow.”

“Then go on,” Deydie commanded. “Take yere food with ye back up the bluff.”

Cait zipped her coat and headed out the door. It was barely closed when he pulled her into his arms—right outside Deydie's front door! Boy, was he asking for trouble. She let him kiss her anyway, which was the least she could do for going bitchy on him earlier.

When he pulled away, he took her hand. “Let's get out of here.”

“So do you really have presents for all of them, or were you making that up?” Cait asked, their hands still linked.

“Aye.” He nodded. “New sewing machines. Dougal—
you know him, our postie? Our postman,” Graham clarified. “He should have them unloaded by now. I heard Deydie talking about your machine and, well, I had them ordered.”

“You bought
them all
machines? You'd better bring along a defibrillator when you deliver them or else you're going to have drop-over-dead seamstresses on your hands,” Cait ribbed. “Are you always so extravagant?”

“No, not always. You know you have to be careful with a Scot. If you do too much for any one of them, they get upset. Scots don't handle the thought of taking charity very well.” He shrugged. “This year I had to do something special. Those ladies have been good to me and Duncan and Mattie.”

He stopped then and stared at her, the moon their only light. “I didn't get anything for you. I wanted to, but I just didn't know what.”

“Your friendship's enough.” She dropped his hand and hurried up the path. “And that's all you're going to get from me, bucko,” she called over her shoulder.

“I'm not interested in being yere friend,” he said, his strides getting longer.

He caught up to her at the entrance of the house and pulled her inside, taking her into his arms again. “Tell me you don't like kissing me.” He leaned in and teased the hell out of her lips, then pulled away, apparently waiting on an answer.

She had to let the fog clear from her brain first before speaking. “Kissing you is like kissing my cousin.”

He unzipped her coat and slipped his hands inside. “Most unconventional family.” He kissed her again, this time tantalizing her with his tongue. She couldn't help the moan that slipped from her lips.

She forced herself away from him. “Okay, I concede. Maybe kissing you is a
little
fun.” She touched her swollen lips. “But it has to stop. I'm not an affair-type girl. In fact, my Dating Card has been revoked. By me,” she added.

“Relax,” he said—the Big Bad Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood.

“Yeah,
relaxing
before got me into an atrocious marriage.”

He rubbed his nose against hers. “Put it out of your mind.” He kissed her again. This time his hands roamed over her, running up her sides, over her breasts. “If you want me to stop, I will. But I hope ye don't.”

Deydie's lecture on teats and milk came back to Cait, and she laughed. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “Time-out. I need to regather my convictions.”

She wasn't the only one affected—he breathed hard himself.

“We need a diversion,” she said. “Let's get to wrapping those Christmas presents.”

“Ye're no fun at all,” he groaned.

“That's not what you said a few minutes ago.” She turned and sashayed up the stairs.

The den had been packed full of sewing machines. A mound of overflowing sacks sat in one corner. On the desk lay rolls of wrapping paper, ribbons, bows, tape, and scissors.

“This is going to take all night,” she exclaimed from the doorway.

The Big Bad Wolf breathed down her neck. “I hope not.”

“Don't get any ideas. I'm here to help with the presents. Not for you to get into my goodies.”

He laughed. “We'll see.”

She walked to the center of the room with the boxes surrounding her. “You could've fed the whole town for what all this costs.”

He gave her a pointed look. “From what I hear, I don't need to.”

She put her hands on her hips. “What did Amy tell you?”

He shrugged. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I'm going to duct tape that girl's mouth shut,” Cait mumbled. She tossed him a roll of wrapping paper. “Come on, Mr. Generous. Time to get to work.”

He tossed it back. “I'll go get us something to drink.” And left.

“Men,” she complained to the room. “Always making themselves scarce when it's time to wrap presents.” She sat on the floor and started with the first machine.

She'd finished with two before he returned with two steaming hot cocoas.

He set hers down beside her. “It's the salty caramel kind. I hope you like it.”

“What I'd like here is some help.” She took a sip. “It's delicious, though.”

He crossed over to the mound of sacks. “How about I get these organized into piles? Most of it's for Mattie and Duncan.” He looked over at her. “I never got around to showing you what I got Duncan.”

“Because you were accosting me,” she whispered to her cocoa as she brought it to her lips again.

He pulled out a package. “It's the latest satellite phone for the boat. I want Mattie and Duncan to always be connected.”

“What's the story with you and Duncan?” she said. “Since I'm doing all the work here, you have to spill it.”

“In a nutshell? You know how kids are. When they're young, you're their hero; then they hit adolescence, and suddenly you're the devil. But I think things really got complicated when Mattie came along. Ever since then, Duncan's been really angry about me not being around when he was a kid.” Graham sat beside her and picked at the carpet. “I can respect he wants to be his own man. But he could give me a chance to make up for not being there. I don't think he'll ever forgive me.” Graham sighed.

She took his hand. “Anyone with half a brain can see that Duncan is a hell of a man, which means you've been a hell of a da.”

He gazed at her. “I was determined to never raise a child in the limelight. Those kids can get pretty screwed up. My own da kept Duncan here, and I got back as often as I could. When I was younger, though, I stayed very busy, one job after another. If I had to do it over, I would make different choices.”

“Such as?” she prompted.

“Long ago, when that producer discovered me and told me I'd be great on the big screen, I should've told him to go flush himself. I was so full of it back then. So cocky. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And it was a lark at first. I thought I'd do it for a while and then come home. But starring in
Pride and Prejudice
changed the course of everything forever. I had expected to parallel my father's life—live here, be a fisherman. As it turned out, I became his polar opposite. I'd walk away from it all if I could, but too many people depend upon me.” He tilted his head, his eyes creasing with sadness.

“I know what would help,” she said seductively.

“Yeah?” He perked up. “Some serious necking?”

She held out the wrapping paper. “A little manual labor.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Always full of sauce, aren't ye?”

“Yup,” she replied. “I come by it honestly. Deydie's my gran.”

* * *

Cait actually made it back to Deydie's that night and into her trundle bed. The next morning, the day before Christmas Eve, she woke to the smell of coffee, the aroma of fresh-baked scones, and Dingus licking her face. “Stop it,” she chortled. “You're not my alarm clock.”

He wagged his tail in reply.

Deydie hovered over the table with her hand made into a fist. “Ye better get yere arse up.” She punched the dough in front of her with the force of a sledgehammer, making Cait glad she wasn't the flour and yeast. “We've got to get the baking done today.”

Cait rolled over and snuggled with the puppy. “Don't you ever enjoy a little lie-in?”

“Not when there's work to be done.” Another
oomph
to the dough. “And there's always—”

“Work to be done. Yeah, yeah, I know.” Cait chanced a glance at her gran.

Ever consistent, Deydie delivered one of her withering glares.

Cait pushed herself into an upright position. “No need to get your panties in a twist. I'm getting my arse up.” The dog barked happily.

The morning and early afternoon flew by, her gran taking Christmas baking to a whole new level—an obsessive-compulsive one. It wasn't so bad spending time with
Deydie, working side by side. They made enough butter-laden baked goods to clog the arteries of the whole northern coast of Scotland. They'd gotten into a sort of rhythm with the flour, the sugar, the shortening, coming together to make something special from the separate ingredients.

While Cait braided the last fruit-infused dough into a Christmas stollen, she wished she and Deydie had become like the dough, weaved inexplicably together, become a real family. But they hadn't.

By late afternoon, the table was covered in loaves of fresh bread, mounds of decorated cookies, and a line of Christmas stollen that Santa would've been proud of.

“Mind now, we'll be up early,” her cranky gran commanded, as she handed Cait the plastic wrap. “We have a lot to do.”

Cait tore off a sheet. “And today was a respite?”

“Don't be fresh,” Deydie growled.

They had a light supper, and before Cait knew it, the old woman was ushering her off to bed like she was six years old again.

Even though Cait was exhausted, she lay in bed for a long time thinking about things she shouldn't. At odd times throughout the day, she'd had these unbearable twinges of hope come over her, a sweet and sappy anticipation, wondering if Graham would make an appearance. Just to see his face would've been enough to keep her from missing him, the handsome dog. How he'd weaseled his way into her life and into her thoughts was beyond her. But as the sky darkened outside and no one had knocked on the door, her twinges had faded into a dark despair. Cait punched her pillow and rolled over, determined to get some much-needed sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning, Dingus whined and
Cait got up and took him out. No sooner had she gotten back into bed than Deydie was poking her awake.

“Up with ye. We've got calls to make today,” the old woman said.

Cait's groggy mind didn't understand. “Phone calls?”

“No, ye silly girl.” Deydie's voice was barbed. “Calls to the infirm and homebound. We're sharing our Christmas joy.”

Christmas joy?
It sounded like six months' hard labor. Cait just wanted to sleep a while longer, but she dragged herself out of bed anyway. “I need caffeine.”

“I'll make tea while you dress. Hurry now,” her gran nagged.

“All right already.” Cait dressed in her chestnut wool slacks, mocha turtleneck, and walnut-colored mukluks. The browns made her light blue eyes stand out. By the time she'd finished, Deydie had a mug ready for her. Breakfast consisted of one cherry scone from yesterday's cooking frenzy and half of a banger.

They started Christmas Eve morning by dropping off the puppy with Moira, along with a fresh loaf of bread. They spent the rest of the day going from house to house. Deydie insisted Cait pull the wagon with the boxes of goodies, her gran cackling every time the wagon slipped off the icy path. Some of the people they visited got lap quilts and loaves of bread, others only Christmas cookies. It seemed to Cait that Deydie was an unlikely Santa, but she took her job seriously, barking orders at her elf, Cait, every chance she got. The more her not-quite-five-foot gran ordered her about, the happier she seemed.

Christmas Eve had awakened all of Gandiegow. Normally, the streets were empty in the middle of the day, but not today. Everyone was out. With the number of
people coming and going to the store, it should've had a revolving door. Others hung garlands as last-minute decorations outside their homes. Even more folks stood about calling, “Happy Christmas to ye,” to passersby, the harsh weather not stopping their cheer. A real Norman Rockwell Christmas.

But it was all bittersweet. Everywhere they went, Cait felt her mama. The folks of Gandiegow talked about Nora as if she were making Christmas cookies in the cottage around the corner with the bright blue door. Didn't these people know that her mama was dead? Hearing Nora's name both hurt and soothed at the same time. After Mama died, her father had never mentioned her again. Cait, so alone and new to America, had sometimes wondered if she'd only imagined the mother her father had forgotten. But here in Gandiegow, Mama was remembered. And remembered fondly. Was it hard for Deydie to face her dead daughter's memory day in and day out? Or did it make her feel better? Cait began to feel it was almost too much. She wanted to hide under one of Deydie's quilts and never come out. Instead, she walked on behind her gran, pulling the wagon.

Deydie Claus
ended her route back at Moira's house. The twins had arrived and were sitting with Kenneth. Deydie and Cait stayed only long enough to make sure they weren't needed and to get Dingus. But before they left, Cait felt compelled to hug Moira. She wanted to tell her everything would be okay, except she wasn't sure it would.

On the way back to the cottage, Cait once again longed for Graham. It'd been two whole days, and she wanted to see him, talk to him. She wished he'd been
there to see Deydie hold the sick Bruce baby or hear how Deydie had sung Christmas songs with the tone-deaf Mr. Menzies. Or see how the townsfolk had stepped outside for a kind word or a wave as they passed with their Christmas wagon. She could almost see Graham's eyes twinkle with the telling. Cait's erratic brain had gone into automatic journalist mode, cataloging little snippets for him all day long. How stupid. She should give herself one hell of a shake for being so foolish. Why would he care how her day went, anyway? She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her.