To Scotland With Love (8 page)

“Good. Then get on to making that nightcap.” Deydie went to her rocking chair and creaked back and forth, singing quietly “What Child Is This?” and looking younger and happier than Cait had ever seen her.

W
hen Cait woke the next morning, Deydie's bed lay empty and she was nowhere in sight. For a moment, Cait worried her gran had wandered off in the night but then remembered Deydie had duties at Graham's house.

Cait quickly made the trundle bed, sparing a moment to admire the workmanship of the counterpane—a Grandmother's Flower Garden quilt, all hand sewn, using 1930s-vintage fabrics. She slid the trundle back under the bed, deciding to make tea in the pub's kitchen because she needed some things from her room.

When she stepped outside the cottage, she was unprepared for the snow that had fallen by the shovelfuls during the night. She fretted over Deydie coming back down the bluff but saw that the pathway leading up to Graham's had been cleared and salted. But no one had cleared the walkway back toward the center of town, and for Cait, it was slow going. Before entering the pub, she kicked as much snow from her boots as she could. She went directly into the kitchen and put a kettle on to boil. A small flat-screen TV hung near the chopping table. Cait turned it on.

And there was Graham, a media storm over his arrival in London. Even though he smiled graciously, a darkness in his eyes told her he was pissed, close to murdering whoever had ratted him out. Good thing he didn't know she was a journalist, else he might put her on the chopping block when he returned.

Cait filled a mug with the boiling water and dropped in a tea bag.

“Graham Buchanan arriving on the scene after a two-month disappearance. Might I have a word, sir?”
The reporter pressed a microphone in Graham's face.

“I'm here to do a public-service announcement for the RSPCA, who are working on the Five Freedoms for animals through legislation,”
Graham said.

If she were the reporter, her next question would be to ask what prompted this public-service announcement. And why now.

The one-track-minded reporter tried again.
“Yes, but where have you been? Your agent had no comment as to your whereabouts.”

“Sorry, mates. This is my stop.”
Graham disappeared into the RSPCA building.

Cait lifted a mug to Graham. “Nicely sidestepped.” Then she felt guilty for what she planned to do to Gandiegow's superstar. It would definitely knock the air from Graham's sails when he found out she was writing a piece on him. He'd never trust her again. Their comfortable friendship would be dead.

But Cait had to take care of getting her life back on course first and squashed any doubts she had about doing the story. For a moment, she worried his London appearance would affect the salability of the exposé to
People,
but she put the thought out of her mind.
Everyone knew Graham disappeared, but no one knew to
where.

She switched off the TV and went upstairs only to find the hallway nearly blocked with her boxes delivered from Chicago. She wished she'd remembered to talk to Graham about some storage. One by one, she carried each box into her room, stacking them against the wall. When she was done, there was little room to move. She changed into a camel-colored sweater and chocolate wool slacks, then located her tan mittens and matching cap. Before walking out, she grabbed her cell phone and charger, hoping to plug it in at Duncan's house. If not, then at Graham's later.

When Duncan answered the door, he looked paler than the last time she'd seen him. She stepped over the threshold. “I came to play with Mattie and to give you a break, if that's okay.”

“My da sent you?” Duncan asked, recrimination in his voice.

“Not exactly. But I'm sure Deydie will be by to make certain you men have enough to eat,” Cait said.

“She dropped a stew by first thing this morning,” he replied. “I'm glad you're here, though. I planned to leave Mattie at the store with Amy, but he's coming down with a cold.”

“Are you getting it, too?” Cait asked.

“No,” he said. “But I do need to get going. I have to pick up my da's Christmas present. It'll be my only chance.”

“Would you like me to make you some tea before you go?” she asked. “Or are you a coffee man?”

“Aye, coffee.” Duncan ran a hand through his hair, looking just like Graham. “You do know that Mattie is mute, don't you? He doesn't speak.”

No, she didn't know. And by the I-really-don't-want-to-talk-about-it
expression on Duncan's face, she shouldn't ask either. “Don't worry. We'll be fine together,” she said.

Six-year-old Mattie peeked around the corner with an old man's somberness masking his child's face.

Duncan walked over and squatted down in front of him. “Caitie is an old friend. I knew her when I was your age. Go show her where we keep the traveling mugs while I get my coat.”

Cait followed Mattie into the kitchen and saw a sink full of dirty dishes staring back. The boy pulled out a can of coffee from the fridge and pointed to where the cups were. She quickly got a pot going.

Duncan came in just as she filled his mug. “I won't be long,” he said. “My mobile number is on the refrigerator.”

“Speaking of mobiles, can I charge my cell here?” Cait asked.

“Make yourself at home. I gave Mattie a dose of cold medicine an hour ago. He should be fine until I get back.” He ruffled Mattie's hair. “You help Caitie, son.”

Mattie nodded solemnly. Duncan kissed the top of his son's head and walked out the door.

Because Mattie didn't know her, Cait expected to see trepidation on his face. Instead, he looked unchanged, unaffected. She imagined that everyone in the village had watched him at one time or another, and he was used to a variety of people caring for him.

Cait had a brilliant idea. “Hey, Mattie, are you up to helping me with the dishes?”

He grabbed one of the dinette chairs and pulled it to the sink.

Cait was pleased with herself. She'd tackle two things
at once—cleaning the kitchen and keeping Mattie engaged. Intuition told her to keep up a running conversation and pretend like he responded to what she said. She told him all about Chicago, the time she'd caught a cod on Billy Kennedy's boat, and about the potholder she was making for Deydie for Christmas. Mattie remained silent, scrubbing each dish and setting them in the sink for her to inspect, rinse, and dry. Eventually, all the dishes were done.

Mattie looked beat, his eyes drooping, probably from the cold meds.

“I think we should lie on the couch and watch a movie.” She pressed a hand to his forehead, checking for a fever.

They went into the parlor, and Cait put on “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Mattie fell asleep within minutes.

She flipped off the television and went in search of other ways to help. She cleaned the bathroom, picked up the parlor, then readied Deydie's stew by pouring it into the Crock-Pot she'd found above the stove.

When Duncan arrived home, Mattie still slept. She put a finger to her lips. “He's napping.”

Duncan grinned at Cait and whispered, “Guess what's in the box.” He flipped the lid open. Inside was a ball of black, brown, and white fur. “I got Da a puppy for Christmas, a tricolor sheltie.”

He is off his rocker! Who in their right mind would get Graham a dog so soon?
Cait shook her head and wanted to ask Duncan what he'd been smoking. Did he think Graham would thank him for it? She tried to give Duncan a reassuring smile but wasn't sure she pulled it off. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. We're a family of boys. This little guy will fit right in.” Duncan's face shadowed. “I don't know what I'll do with him until Christmas, though. I want it to be a surprise, but I've trouble enough arranging sitters for Mattie while I'm out fishing.”

Crap. Between another rock and a hard place.
Cait had no choice but to offer. It would only be for a few days. “Do you want me to keep the dog until Christmas?”

“Over the pub? Going up and down those stairs to take him out?”

“I'm sure Deydie won't mind if the puppy and I crash at her place.” Cait would have to get her gran drunk again before asking permission.

Duncan beamed at her. “Okay. But let me know if it doesn't work out.”

“We'll be fine,” she said, not sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself.

* * *

Deydie could very well turn both me and the pup out in the cold.
To counteract that thought, Cait stopped at the store. She'd bet good money chocolate would be just the thing to win over the Grand Pooh-Bah of Crankiness. She nestled the dog in the blanket and made sure the lid was on tight before entering the mercantile.

Amy was just putting the phone down. “I'm glad you're here. We're having an emergency quilt session at Deydie's right now. That was Ailsa—Rhona's had a shocker. Her daughter isn't having just a baby—it's twins. She only made the one quilt, and now she needs another before Christmas. Bethia is on her way, and I'll be closing up in a minute. I'm sure Ailsa has already called Moira, but I don't know if she'll be able to leave her da or not. You'll come and help, won't you?”

Cait looked down at the box. “Of course.” Then at the row of chocolate. “Do you know which is Deydie's favorite?”

Amy smiled. “That's easy. Chocolate-covered cherries.”

“Great. I'll take two boxes.” Cait laid the money on the counter.

Amy rang it up, bagged the chocolate, and grabbed the
CLOSED
sign. “If anyone needs anything, they know how to reach me. What's in the box?”

“Another shocker,” Cait said, knowing it was true. Or at least it would be when her grumpy gran saw it.

Amy shrugged and headed out the door. They set out for Deydie's as a storm came in from the sea.

Amy still managed to talk a mile a minute over the gale-force winds. “I hope Rhona has enough fabric to make another Log Cabin quilt. The babies are due in January. I bet Rhona is cutting out pieces right now. I reckon the rest of us will work on the blocks. I think we can get it done pretty quickly, don't you?”

Seriously, Cait didn't know why anyone would even want to talk in this kind of weather. Her uvula was in danger of freezing. But Cait hollered back anyway, “We'll get it done if we all work together.”

It wasn't just the snowstorm slowing Cait down. She hadn't seen or talked to Deydie today. Things were just
okay
between them last night when they'd gone to bed. Not anything said actually—Deydie humming Christmas tunes and Cait careful not to upset her good mood. She wondered how her gran felt this morning. Apparently, well enough to be up at the crack of dawn to leave food at Duncan's and take care of Graham's place. What if Deydie was ticked with her for leaving and not coming
back today? Cait would just have to explain that she'd been at Duncan's helping out. She looked down at the carton. This was no box of cookies. How would her gran feel about having extra housemates until Christmas?

When they got to Deydie's, Amy just walked in without knocking. She looked over and must've read Cait's mind. “Your gran told me there's no need to knock.”
In other words,
Amy is family.
Another little jab at Cait's heart.

“We're here,” Amy called out.

The quilting ladies filled every corner of the small cottage. Rhona stood over a card table with a rotary cutter in her hand. Bethia, Ailsa, and Aileen sewed at their machines. Moira stood at the ironing board, pressing small blocks. They all turned their heads and gave their greetings.

Deydie came out of the bathroom and stopped short when she saw Cait. “What's in that box?”

Carefully, Cait set it down on the little table by the door while she slowly took off her mittens and hat, searching for the perfect thing to say. “It's a favor for Duncan.”

Deydie eyed her skeptically. “That makes no sense, girl.”

“It's a present for Graham, and Duncan needs a place to hide it until Christmas.” Cait needed time to ease into the truth, but she would pay for dodging the question. Putting off the inevitable butt chewing would only make the butt chewing worse.

“Ye can set it outside in the storage shed,” Deydie said.

“I don't think that will work becau—” The puppy whimpered before Cait could finish.

Deydie cocked her head to the side and squinted at
the box. “What's in there?” She hobbled her way over to the little table. The other women, as if attached to Deydie by a string, gathered around the box as well.

Cait cringed as Deydie opened the lid. She slammed the lid back down. “Get that damned thing out of here.”

“I can't,” cried Cait.

“Graham won't want it,” Deydie said flatly.

Amy pulled the dog out of its hiding place. “It's so cute. Is it a girl?”

“Boy.”

“May I?” Moira asked with her hands outstretched to Amy.

It seemed so out of character for Moira to request anything; Cait caught the surprised look on Deydie's face to prove it. Amy gave the fluff ball a kiss and passed the puppy to Moira, who murmured in Gaelic to the dog as she walked over to the rocking chair in front of the fire.

“Well, look at that,” Rhona muttered.

They all stared at Moira, gape-mouthed, as she held the dog close and hummed. She didn't seem to notice them. Cait wondered if they'd be able to pry the dog away from her so Graham would get his present on Christmas Day.

“Let's get back to work,” Bethia reminded everyone. Everyone except Moira.

“Right,” the twins said together.

Deydie grumbled as she went to her machine.

Cait took Moira's place at the ironing board, pressing Log Cabin blocks.

In shifts, the women took small breaks. A cup of coffee with shortbread cookies, a big stretch and a bathroom trip, a turn about the room. Eventually, Moira
rejoined them, but only after making the puppy comfortable in his box by the fire. In the company of this group, Cait had completely forgotten about rummaging through Graham's place. As she pressed away, she worried whether she'd be able to steal back up the bluff to his mansion. Because of the puppy, she was no longer a free agent and couldn't come and go as she pleased.