The Accidental Scot Read online

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “Hey.” It felt like he’d swallowed concrete dust. “How was work today?”

  She glanced up. “Short.”

  He pushed himself to a sitting position. “I’m sorry . . . was your day short because of me?”

  “Don’t fash yereself.” She held up the reports. “I brought work with me.”

  The place between her eyebrows was pulled together. Apparently, whatever she’d found in those ledgers hadn’t been to her liking.

  “You know,” he said, trying to lighten her up, “they make accounting software for that.”

  She wadded a piece of paper. For a second, he wondered if she might pelt him with it. Instead she tossed it into the wastebasket. “Being cheeky with me won’t get you anywhere.”

  “Boy, that’s a shame.” He let his eyes freely roam over the curves of her snug blue sweater, trying to imagine what was going on underneath. Yes, I’m definitely feeling better.

  She kept her eyes glued to the page, though her cheeks colored. “Going over things by hand helps me process the information.”

  Before he could goad her more, there was a knock, and the door opened. Amy, the store clerk, was holding a tray filled with sliced meat, broth, and bread. “Pippa? Yere dinner.” She grinned at both of them, before placing the meal on the side table.

  “It smells good.” A hell of a lot better than Bethia’s foul tinctures.

  Pippa handed him the mug of steaming broth and took the plate with the sandwich fixings away from him.

  “Only broth?”

  She set the plate on her chair. “Ye’re not well enough for this.”

  Did he need to remind her that he’d eaten Deydie’s stew?

  Pippa walked Amy out. Two seconds later, insistent whispering wafted through the crack under the door. When Pippa returned, she had a duffel bag in hand.

  She tossed it on the cot, appearing a little put out. “Looks like ye’ll have me as a roommate for another night.”

  He grinned at her, thinking to tease. “I guess I can suffer through.” But his thoughts twisted on him. I want to hold your hand again. I want you watching over me, too. The gravity of it slammed into his chest. Where had those feelings come from? He did want her there with him. And he shouldn’t. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine. Really.”

  “I’ve been given my orders.” She tore off a small piece of bread, frowning at the cot. “As I understand it, the pub is going to keep it to a low roar again for you tonight.”

  “It’s not necessary.” His illness had sent a small upheaval through the town and he felt lousy about it. He wanted to endear himself to the villagers and instead he’d been nothing but a pain in the ass. “It’s a good bunch of folks who live here, isn’t it?”

  She offered him a napkin from the tray. “Oh, it’s no kindness. They just don’t want to be responsible if you meet with an early grave.” She walked to the end of his bed, chewing on her lip.

  He laughed in midsip. “Good grief, it’s only the flu.”

  She adjusted the quilt at his feet, not meeting his eyes. “It killed my mother.”

  Her words were a battering ram to his chest. “God, Pippa, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Sometimes I can be an insensitive jerk.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. I never knew her. Da, though, still misses her a lot.”

  Pain sat in her eyes. Max wondered if it had more to do with her father than her mother.

  She gazed back at Max. Some other worry seemed to be lingering there. “Can I get you anything else?”

  He grimaced at the clear liquid in his mug. “Man cannot live on broth alone.”

  She shook her head, with a hint of a smile developing at the corner of her mouth. “Drama queen.”

  “You want me to keep my strength up, don’t you?”

  She gave him half her sandwich. “Eat. It’s getting late and I have an early morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they finished, she took the tray and dishes downstairs. She returned, but it was only to retrieve her duffel bag and head to the bathroom. Within a few minutes, she was back, wearing green plaid flannel pajamas with her hair pulled into a ponytail.

  “Not a word,” she said when she caught him ogling her.

  He didn’t tease her because that down-home-girl thing she had going on was sexy as hell. He really couldn’t stop staring.

  “That color makes your eyes . . . stand out. Not that your eyes weren’t already beautiful, it’s . . .”

  She blushed, glancing down at herself. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

  “That’s a shame. But your eyes are stunning.”

  “Save your bull for the boardroom, Mr. McKinley. It’s time for bed.” She turned out the light and lay down on her cot, clear on the other side of the room.

  Though he’d been out of it last night, he’d liked having her near.

  “You’re too far away,” he said into the night. “Do you want me to help move your cot closer?”

  She snorted. “Like you have the strength.”

  He could think of several things he had the strength for. One of them was turning the light back on and gazing into her sea-blue eyes while he peeled her out of those pajamas. She was tall and sleek as a jaguar, but downright prickly when it came to him. He’d like to tame her with a kiss, and smooth out her ruffled edges with his hands.

  The cot legs scraping the hardwood floor brought him out of his fantasy.

  She flopped onto her cot. “Better?”

  “Not quite.” He reached for her hand. It was warm, slender, and soft. Since it was dark, his thumb braved a caress to her palm.

  “Enough,” she said huskily.

  Damn! What would it be like to have that voice whispering in his ear? All sorts of images flooded him. But he stilled his hand to stop torturing himself and her.

  She could’ve easily unlatched her hand from his, but she held on to him, too. She seemed relaxed. She must like being near him as much as he liked being near her, which gratified the hell out of him.

  But not all of his thoughts were as innocent as holding hands. He could think of a hundred different ways he’d like to hold on to Pippa, and they all involved her being naked.

  God, it was going to be a long night!

  * * *

  The next morning when Pippa woke, she was startled to find she was being stared at. Max was lying on his side, gazing upon her face.

  She should’ve been incensed—there was something so personal and vulnerable about being watched while she slept—but she was more embarrassed than mad.

  “Morning,” he said.

  “What’s the time?”

  “Seven, I think,” he answered.

  She jumped out of bed. “Why’d you let me sleep in?”

  “I’ve been enjoying the view.”

  “Stop enjoying, and get yere arse up. I need to get ready for work, and I need to get you to my house. Bethia said ye’re to keep my father company today.”

  “But I feel well enough to go to NSV with you.”

  “Nay, Bethia is calling the shots. Besides, I need to get some things done without worrying if ye’ll collapse on the factory floor.”

  “That’s sweet,” he deadpanned. “What things?”

  “I have a call at nine I can’t miss.”

  “Are you negotiating with other companies to partner with NSV?”

  She didn’t want to tip her hand, even if her da said they could trust Max.

  “Don’t worry over what I need to do.” It was her last chance to convince the bank that North Sea Valve was good for the quarter-million-pound loan they needed to bring their subsea shutoff valve to market. If approved, they wouldn’t need help from MTech or anyone.

  Max sprang from the bed. “Give me a minute
to get ready.” He grabbed some things and blew out the door.

  Pippa straightened his bed and propped her cot in the corner, thinking to return it to the basement later. She wasn’t happy with the twinge of regret that shivered through her. She had no reason to continue to sleep beside the Yank. He was going to be fine, and she was being absurd. Things had already gotten too cozy between her and her adversary. Holding hands, indeed! She needed perspective—and perhaps some distance from Max McKinley.

  It didn’t take long before he returned, clean-shaven and showered. Another stray thought landed in her belly and spread south—Will I ever get tired of looking at him?

  “Are you ready to head out?” She glanced toward the door to keep her eyes from giving her away.

  He bundled up and grabbed his messenger bag.

  As they trekked to her house, she should’ve kept her eyes straight ahead, but instead she focused on Max, making sure the exercise wasn’t too taxing on him. When they arrived, Max went to the parlor and she went upstairs to get ready for work.

  She meant to keep Max McKinley from her mind . . . she really did. But while she was showering, her subconscious wandered nakedly into his capable arms. Being all relaxed and soaped up was a dangerous combination—all sorts of fantasies playing out in her mind. When she suddenly realized how crazy it was to be dreamy-eyed over MTech’s deal closer, she quickly rinsed off and got out of there.

  Back in the parlor, she showed great restraint by keeping her eyes averted from their guest as she settled him beside her father. She made sure her dad had the TV remote and a fresh carafe of tea.

  Pippa shoved items in her bag as she spoke to them both. “Bethia will be by to check on ye and bring something special for lunch. I expect Freda to stop by, also.”

  Max wrinkled up his face. “I hope my lunch isn’t another of Bethia’s smelly goblets. I do believe she drugged me.”

  “You got better, didn’t ye?” Pippa sniped.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “But I’m tired of sleeping.”

  “Is there anything else I can get for ye, Da, before I go?” she asked.

  Her father pointed. “My design book from the den.”

  She squatted down, getting eye to eye with the McDonnell. “Listen, ye can’t be givin’ away all yere secrets to this man.”

  Max touched her arm. “This man is right here.”

  Her da patted her face. “Trust me. Max has a good heart. Who knows what could happen if Max and I collaborate. We might come up with something that could change the world.”

  She stood. More likely Max would steal everything and run back to his boss! But she didn’t argue. She had to get to the factory and her conference call.

  At NSV, Pippa had only a few minutes to organize her employees. She put Bonnie in charge of setting up for the Christmas Roundup tomorrow. Taog and Murdoch were already dragging barriers into place so the children couldn’t wander into the dangerous parts of the factory. When Pippa’s phone rang, she ran into her office to catch the call from the bank.

  The arrogant tossers didn’t waste any time delivering their verdict: The bank wouldn’t extend their credit any further. She slumped in her chair; it was time to face facts. North Sea Valve was doomed without MTech’s influx of cash. But she couldn’t just roll over and hand Max the keys. She had to do something.

  An idea hit her.

  Before going any farther on the MTech deal, she’d make sure Max got to know the people of Gandiegow, those who’d be destroyed when the big corporation stripped NSV of all its value. Pippa would start tomorrow. She’d show the Yank the true meaning of Christmas on the faces of the Gandiegowans, and thus reveal the heart of her clan—one personal encounter at a time.

  She returned to her office and practiced what she would say to him. “Business isn’t just business in Gandiegow, Mr. McKinley. Business is personal.”

  Chapter Five

  When the front door opened to the McDonnell’s house, Max checked his watch, wondering if this time it was Pippa. He’d enjoyed his time with her father and the others who’d stopped by today, but Max was surprisingly anxious to see the chief engineer. Like sunshine, Pippa appeared in the parlor doorway, revitalizing his day. Her face was flushed from the cold wind, exertion, or both. She looked beautiful. More than beautiful.

  He couldn’t help smiling. “You’re back early.”

  She shrugged out of her coat and kissed the top of her father’s head. “I am back early. I did all I could do at the factory. I stopped by the dock to pick up some fresh fish.” She held up a white-papered package.

  “Halibut?” the McDonnell asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Want some help in the kitchen?” Max assumed she’d turn him down but she didn’t.

  “Sure. As long as you feel up to it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her father tapped his design book. “The lad speaks true. In fact, we came up with several new products to develop.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I should’ve known.”

  The McDonnell didn’t look repentant in the least. “Besides Bethia, Maggie and her sisters stopped by today.”

  Max had felt like a rare exhibit at the zoo with the number of women who came to peer at him. He stood and stretched. “Bread is rising in the oven.”

  “Da, we’ll start the meal. Call out if you need anything.” Pippa left the parlor and Max followed.

  Once in the kitchen, Pippa got down to business and showed him how to clean the fish and fillet it. He pulled seasonings from the cupboard, prepared the pan, and preheated the oven. She tossed the salad and he made the dressing. Together, he thought, they made a pretty good team.

  Dinner went well, the McDonnell telling one embarrassing story after another about Pippa as a young tyrant. By the sounds of it, she’d taken no flak from the snotty girls of the village and even less from the fishermen’s sons. Max liked that Pippa could hold her own.

  But when the McDonnell complained about her never giving the local men a chance, she defended herself. “The lads were all immature. Da would say you have to kiss a few toads to find Prince Charming.” Her cheeks tinged red. “From my experience, all men are toads.”

  “Hey,” Max said. “I take objection to that.”

  She nodded to her father. “Present company excluded.” She looked to Max specifically and smiled. “The jury is still out on you.”

  The McDonnell laid his napkin on the table. “Ross is no toad.”

  Pippa popped up and grabbed an empty serving dish. “We’re not speaking of Ross.”

  “Ross who?” Max had heard the name whispered at Quilting Central.

  “Ross Armstrong,” the McDonnell provided. “Maggie—who was here earlier today—is married to Ross’s brother, John. Ross is—”

  Pippa shoved the dirty dish at Max. “Come, Yank. Help clear the table.”

  Max followed her into the kitchen. “Why don’t you want to talk about Ross?” Who was he to her?

  “It’s a long story.” She acted as if that was the end of it.

  “Would you rather tell me or should I go ask your dad about it?” Max took a step like he was going to do just that.

  She grabbed his arm. “Start the dishwater and I’ll tell you.”

  He grinned at her as he retrieved the dish soap. “I’m all ears.”

  She frowned at him as if he was one of the toads she was referring to a minute ago.

  “I spent a lot of time with the Armstrong lads while growing up. They’re like brothers to me. My father and Alistair, their father, were best mates.” She paused as she placed a few dishes in the sink.

  “Alistair? You’re named after Ross’s father?”

  “One and the same.”

  “But that can’t be the end of the story,” Max said.

  She crossed her arms over her chest as thoug
h she wasn’t saying more.

  Max picked up the first plate, washed, and rinsed it. “If that was all, why did you want your dad to drop the subject?”

  Her shoulders slumped. She took the dish from him and dried it completely before answering. “Because it isn’t worth mentioning.”

  Max cocked an eyebrow. Once again he acted like he was going to ask her father.

  “Fine. My da and Ross’s da had the grand scheme to join the two families by marrying me off to Ross.”

  Max stopped washing. He might have stopped breathing as well. It wasn’t only that he’d held her hand . . . she was to marry another man!

  He finally found his voice. “I don’t know what to say.” He wasn’t the type of guy to horn in on another man’s territory.

  Apparently, she didn’t know what to say either.

  But Max wanted something from her. An explanation might be nice. “So that’s the reason for all the whispering at Quilting Central the other day?”

  “Aye. The town has nothing better to do than to gossip about when Ross and I are to marry.”

  Max grabbed the steel wool and scrubbed the hell out of the baking dish. “And when are you getting married?”

  She sighed. “I said it’s what the town and my father wants. I never said it’s what I want.”

  And Ross, what did he want? Max told himself to forget it. He grabbed a dish towel and dried his hands. “I’ll get the rest of the dishes.”

  He stomped to the parlor. So Pippa is promised to another man.

  “Dishes,” he said to the McDonnell in explanation, though he hadn’t asked.

  “Can ye leave those for a second and help me? I’m ready for a lie-down in the den.”

  “Sure.” Max exhaled and left what he was doing. He stepped behind the wheelchair. “Do you need your oxygen?”

  “Not tonight.” The older man leaned his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder. “Ye should stay with us. Take my empty bed upstairs. I can’t use it. I’m sure the room over the pub isn’t comfortable.”