It Happened in Scotland Page 4

  She broke away from him and tugged Rachel over. “This is my grandda.” She’d said it just like Brodie, burr and all.

  Abraham beamed at Rachel as they exchanged pleasantries. It was strange his grandfather seemed so fond of Joe’s widow. But why wouldn’t he? Brodie had never told his grandda how she’d kissed him one moment, and then stabbed him in the back the next.

  The child hopped from foot to foot. “Can we show Grandda our Christmas tree now? Can we? Can we?”

  Brodie could’ve argued they didn’t need Rachel’s tree; they already had one in the corner. He’d cut it down himself at Colin’s farm. The decorations weren’t much, but he’d put them on himself as Abraham had been resting at the time. The star at the top had been his mother’s—the one she’d left here for him, Abraham, and Joe, when he and Joe had been boys. One of only a few things she’d given him that he’d kept.

  At the same time, Brodie was curious to see this tree Rachel had packed in her bag. “I’ll roll yere luggage in here.”

  Rachel nodded, smiling at him as if he’d offer to bring her roses. He had no intention of starting up with her again, but he could still be civil. He strode into the hallway, retrieved her bag, and brought it back to the room.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it and laying it down on the floor. As she unzipped the bag, several personal items fell out.

  Of course, with his terrible luck, the pieces couldn’t be wool socks and long underwear, but a lacy blue bra and flowery panties. While she quickly shoved her undergarments in the outside pocket of her luggage, Brodie heated up.

  He should’ve looked away, but instead kept his eyes glued on her suitcase, in case anything else interesting tumbled out. At this moment, her lingerie was making it hard for him to be indifferent about her being here.

  One thing he didn’t see in her luggage were the plastic branches he’d expected to catch sight of, shoved around her jeans and sweaters, evidence of an artificial Christmas tree. He’d decided that’s what the girl had meant when she’d said her mother had packed one. It had to be small to fit in there.

  However, it was a rolled-up quilt which Rachel retrieved.

  “There it is, Grandda,” Hannah said, pulling at the end. “Our Christmas tree!” She extended it all the way out and was halfway across the room before he could blink.

  Brodie had never seen anything like it . . . a Christmas Tree quilt. It was in the shape of a truncated triangle, indeed as high as the ceiling, made from green and red fabrics, and it had a quilted star crowning the top. He glanced over at Rachel, but she was already staring at him, seeming to be waiting for an apology.

  Well, he might owe one to the little girl. “Hannah,” he said, “ye spoke true. ’Tis indeed a fine Christmas tree.”

  “Bring it over so I can see,” Abraham said.

  But a hard knocking came at the front door.

  “Brodie, see who it is,” Grandda ordered.

  Brodie went down the hallway and opened the door. Deydie, the town matriarch, barreled her way in, wearing potholders and carrying a covered dish. “I’ve brought Abraham his meal.”

  By the way she was looking past Brodie, her real errand was to have a good look at Rachel.

  “She’s in the parlor with Grandda. The girl’s with her, too.”

  “I’ll see my way in,” Deydie said.

  Most of the time, Brodie didn’t mind Deydie and the other quilting ladies. They kept him and Grandda fed and didn’t interfere with them as they did with the others in town. Brodie counted himself blessed. But something about how Deydie was acting made him think the tides were turning and his good fortune had run out.

  Deydie moved past him into the parlor. He followed. But Deydie halted in the doorway, staring at the quilt. “Where’d ye get that?”

  Rachel glanced up. “I made it.”

  Brodie heard himself saying, “Ye remember Deydie, don’t you?” Like he was in charge of the hospitality brigade or something.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  But Deydie wasn’t interested in pleasantries, especially where quilting was concerned. “Tell me how ye come to make it.” The old woman seemed to be enthralled, unusual for her, since Deydie and the other townsfolk were none too happy with Rachel the first time she came to Gandiegow; Deydie blamed Rachel for Joe not moving home to raise his family there when they got married.

  Hannah pulled her end of the quilt over to Deydie. “Mommy says our hotel room is too small for a real tree. She hangs it up and we put our presents under it. Even though we don’t have a fireplace and chimney, Santa comes anyway, because we have a tree. Right, Mommy?”

  Deydie stared at the girl as if cataloging her features, appearing pained by what she saw.

  Aye. The girl looks like Joe.

  Finally, Deydie set the covered dish on the bookshelf, slipped off the potholders, and took the quilt by the corner, peering closely at the stitches.

  “That sure smells good,” Abraham said.

  But Deydie wasn’t listening. She held the fabric under the light. “Who did the quilting?”

  “I did. On my machine,” Rachel said.

  “Hmmm,” Deydie answered. “Ye did a nice job. Where’d ye get the pattern? I think this is something we should make at the quilt retreat that’s starting tomorrow.”

  “It’s my own quilt design.” Rachel was acting a little defensive and for good reason. Deydie had a way of putting everyone on edge. Even when she was trying to be halfway nice.

  Deydie dropped her end of the quilt and stared directly at Rachel. “Get settled and then ye need to come by Quilting Central. We have to talk. Bring along that Christmas Tree quilt, too.”

  With great effort, Abraham pushed himself to his feet. “Stay and eat with us, Deydie.” Lately Brodie had been surprised how much his grandfather acted as if he liked the old woman. Grandda could definitely tolerate her better than most.

  Deydie shook her head, the white bun at the back of her neck coming loose. “Nay. I have to get back. Caitie looks like she ate something that doesn’t agree with her.” She fussed with the pins, positioning her hair back into place. “There’s so much to get done. Now I need to scrounge up some red and green scraps for the group that’s coming so we can make the Christmas Tree quilt.” She motioned to Brodie and the covered dish. “Put that in the oven and heat it up for twenty minutes.” Deydie shoved her potholders on like they were mittens and nodded in Rachel’s direction. “Do what ye have to do quickly, and then hurry on over to Quilting Central.” She jabbed a potholdered finger at Brodie. “Ye’ll show her the way.”

  He didn’t have time to argue with her as she hustled from the room and was gone with a slam of the front door.

  “That woman is always up to something,” Abraham mumbled. Then he turned to Brodie. “After ye get the pan in the oven, take Rachel upstairs so she can put her things away. The lass and I will wait here. I want to show her the photo album of Joe that the quilting ladies made for us.” He pointed to a shelf. “’Tis over there. Are ye strong enough, little lady, to get it?”

  “Aye, Grandda,” the girl said, once again copying the brogue.

  Brodie wondered if she was playing at being Scottish, or if her little heart was telling her she really belonged here.

  He used his flannel shirt to hold the warm dish and left the room to put the casserole in the oven. When he returned, Rachel was draping the folded quilt over the sofa. They’d have to find a place to hang it. For the girl’s sake.

  Abraham pointed at him. “Git yere camera. I need all of us in a family picture.”

  “I left my mobile on the boat,” Brodie lied.

  Rachel pulled her phone from her pocket. “I came prepared.” She stood back while Hannah climbed on Abraham’s lap.

  Reluctantly, Brodie stood beside them.

  “Rachel, come and get in the picture,” Abra
ham commanded. “I want all of us together. The whole family.”

  She frowned as if she might argue. Brodie didn’t necessarily want her in the photo, but his grandfather would be obeyed.

  Rachel brought him the phone. “Brodie, your arms are longer than mine. Do you mind taking the picture?”

  Hell yes, he minded! Because she stood next to him, making him feel uncomfortable.

  “Take a couple,” Abraham ordered. “I want to hang it on the wall with the other family photos.”

  Brodie held up the phone and did as he was told. It was hard to smile with Rachel being so close, making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. When they were done, he returned the phone to Rachel without meeting her eyes. “I’ll show you where ye’ll be sleeping.” To prove he wasn’t completely bad-mannered, he zipped her suitcase and toted it from the room, speaking to her over his shoulder, “Come.”

  She followed him out and then up the stairs. He had no choice but to put the two of them in the room he and Joe had shared as children. Seven months ago, when Brodie had returned to Abraham’s, the thought of staying in their old bedroom had been a sad reminder of the cousin he’d lost. Not just when he’d died, but also when he’d married. Perhaps it had even been before then, when Joe had turned his back on all of them, leaving Scotland, declaring he would have a better life somewhere else. Brodie inhabited his mother’s old room, decorated in faded green and pink florals.

  He opened the door of his childhood bedroom and set Rachel’s suitcase inside. “Feel free to use the bureau. ’Tis empty. If we’d known ye were coming, the bed would’ve been made up.” He pulled the sheet from the mattress, which the quilting ladies had put there to keep the dust off. “I’ll get the linens.” He didn’t look into Rachel’s face as he passed by her. He didn’t have to. He knew her features. His whole being inhaled her, dredging up old images, old memories, things he’d rather remained buried.

  That day at Monadail Castle, she’d smelled the same way, something so enticing it took his breath away.

  Six years ago when Rachel arrived, Brodie had been so taken with her that he’d begun carrying around his mother’s locket. The locket was special, given to his mum as a keepsake from his da and something his mother wore every day when Da was alive. On the day Mum married another, she passed the locket on to Brodie. I guess she couldn’t keep such a thing and be wed to another man.

  Aye, he loved his mother, but her betrayal against his father’s memory remained fresh in Brodie’s heart. Da hadn’t been gone but a month when his mother had stood at the altar and pledged herself to another man. Brodie had never used the term stepfather when he referred to Keith. He was just the man who had married his mother.

  But that day at the ruins of Monadail Castle where he and Rachel had shared their first kiss, Brodie had presented the locket to her, pressing the black velvet pouch into her hand. Now he stood at the linen closet, wondering if she still had the necklace or if, like his mother, she’d disposed of it because she couldn’t be married to another man and have it near?

  With an exasperated sigh, he pulled the sheets and blankets from their shelves. He couldn’t stay here with Rachel in the cottage. Maybe he should take a bedroll and camp out on the boat until she took her bairn and left Gandiegow.

  At that moment, the wind outside howled as if to remind him a winter storm was moving in. He shook his head at his bad luck. But then another feeling stole over him.

  But this is my home. He’d be damned if he’d let Rachel run him off and keep him from a good night’s sleep in his warm bed . . . across the hall from her.

  He returned to her room, dropped the linens on her bed, and went to the door, still not meeting her eyes. “Hurry up. Abraham will want to eat with you. Then Deydie expects ye at Quilting Central.”

  Chapter Three

  Rachel sighed with relief as Brodie shut the bedroom door behind him. Not thirty minutes ago, she was anxious to be alone with him to talk, but now she needed a minute to herself. Brodie was not in the mood for a heart-to-heart so she couldn’t tell him outright how she was feeling. She’d have to get creative to get her point across.

  Quickly she unzipped the front pocket of her roller bag and pulled out the items she’d crammed in there. Thank goodness her bra and underwear had fallen out along with the black velvet pouch which held Brodie’s locket. And thank the heavens above, Brodie was your typical man who’d only noticed the lingerie scattered on the floor. For years, she’d kept the locket hidden within her socks. While packing for this trip, she felt compelled to bring it along. She opened the dresser drawer, carefully laid the locket inside, and set her blue bra on top of it.

  From downstairs a giggle drifted up through the vent. Well, at least one thing was going as she’d hoped. Abraham and Hannah were hitting it off. She and Brodie . . . not so much. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with her. She finished unpacking, brushed her hair, applied another round of lip gloss, and then returned downstairs.

  She was disappointed when Brodie was no longer in the parlor. Hannah was standing next to Abraham, snuggled up against him, the two of them acting as if they’d known each other forever.

  “Mommy, come see the pictures of Daddy. Look how different he looks from my pictures of him.”

  Rachel crossed the room and leaned over. Sure enough, there was Joe . . . on the beach, on the boat, climbing the bluff, wearing blue jeans, T-shirts, and with his wavy hair touching his collar. Not the polished Joe she knew. Also, in every picture, Brodie was there beside him.

  Hannah looked up at her with a puzzled expression. “If Daddy and Brodie are cousins, does that mean Brodie’s my uncle?”

  “Nay,” the man-in-question said from the doorway. “Ye and I are cousins as well. First cousins, once removed.”

  “Once removed?” Hannah looked at him as if she didn’t understand. She hopped away from Abraham and went to him. “I’m going to call ye Brodie.”

  The way he looked at Hannah stabbed at Rachel’s heart, because he looked as pained as she felt. If she had married Brodie instead of Joe, Hannah could’ve been his. But then again, maybe she wouldn’t—and Rachel wouldn’t change a thing about her daughter.

  Brodie cleared his throat. “Grandda, you and yere guests need to come to the table. The food is laid out and ready to eat.” But he had his coat on.

  “Aren’t you going to stay and eat with us, too?” Rachel said, before she could keep herself from asking.

  “I’ve things to do.”

  “Aye,” Abraham said as he pushed himself out of his chair. “Things to do, like taking Rachel to Quilting Central after we’ve eaten. Ye’ve not forgotten, have ye, that Deydie expects ye to bring Rachel to her?” He started coughing.

  Brodie’s face hardened, as if he was preparing to tell Rachel to go to Hades to avoid taking her anywhere. Instead he schooled his features. “I’ve not forgotten. I’ll be back in a short while to fetch . . . her.” He wouldn’t even say her name and he still refused to look at her. He’d kept himself in check for Abraham, and certainly not for her.

  “Nay,” Abraham said. “Ye’ll sit with us and we’ll enjoy our first family meal together.” He reached over and patted Hannah’s hand.

  Brodie glared at Rachel as if she were the one who’d ordered him to stay.

  She deserved his disdain, but she’d never meant to hurt him. She just didn’t know how to let Brodie know how sorry she was for the pain she’d caused him. She looked up at the face of the man who had once adored her. How could she tell him she wanted a second chance with him? Especially since he didn’t seem receptive.

  The clouds in her head cleared. “Oh, good grief,” she said aloud. She’d just buried the one thing that would send a message to Brodie. She’d totally missed it as another sign when it had fallen out of her luggage onto Abraham’s parlor floor.

  A moment later, she caught on that they were all staring
at her. “Ummm. Excuse me for a minute. I forgot something very important.”

  As she left the table and ran upstairs, she bolstered herself up. Putting on Brodie’s locket would be the bravest thing she’d ever done. It would make a clear statement, one she hadn’t been able to make on her own. When Brodie saw her wearing the locket, he would know unequivocally that she meant business.

  * * *

  With more patience than he knew he had, Brodie waited with Abraham and Hannah for Rachel to return. He could get through the ordeal of her in Gandiegow if he focused on the fact she wouldn’t be here long. As soon as this meal was over and he dropped Rachel at Quilting Central, he’d be one step closer to her leaving, and that much closer to the return of his normal life.

  Rachel strutted into the room, taking the chair next to Hannah’s, which was positioned directly across from him. She toyed with the necklace at her neck with a secretive smile on her face that hadn’t been there before.

  Grandda put his hand out for Hannah to take. Automatically, Brodie took his grandfather’s hand as well.

  Abraham nodded. “Lad, it’s yere turn to lead the grace.”

  But Brodie was staring at Rachel’s outstretched hand. He didn’t want to complete the circle. If he touched her, then what? He brought his eyes up to meet hers.

  But the pendant around her neck caught his attention first. It wasn’t polite, but he couldn’t stop looking at her chest . . . and the locket he’d given her so long ago.

  “Holy hell.” He scooted his chair back and jumped to his feet, with the scraping sound on the floor accentuating his irritation.

  Rachel glared at him. “Little ears.” She nodded in Hannah’s direction.

  Right now, he didn’t care what language he used. Nothing made sense. Why would she have the locket with her? She seemed as shocked to see him as he was to see her in Gandiegow. Then why?

  Was she wearing the locket to rub in her rejection and betrayal of him? Was she on a mission to inflict more pain? Why would she want to bring up the past? He’d vowed to never speak of it. Especially with her.