The Trouble with Scotland Read online

  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.”

  As Kirs
ty’s gaze landed on him, she smiled and skated his way.

  The foundation under his feet shifted. His black-and-white vision turned to Technicolor. His jumbled thoughts turned to poetry. And the room turned brighter. Kirsty. Her name rang in his head like a bell, calling him home. Deydie eyed him closely. She must’ve seen it in him before the thought could fully form in his head. But quite suddenly, he wasn’t in such a rush to get back to the US after all.

  Chapter Five

  Ross left Sadie at the cottage so she could work on his shirt. He’d better face Deydie before she figured out where he’d stashed the American lass without asking permission from the quilting gaggle. He sighed deeply. This wasn’t going to be pleasant, but he marched on to Quilting Central anyway.

  The moment he walked through the door, Deydie caught sight of him. Glowering, she plowed forward in his direction. The old she-badger had a sixth sense when it came to trouble.

  “What is it, Ross?” She said his name as if she’d downed a dram of spoiled goat’s milk.

  “We need to talk about Sadie.”

  At her name, her brother’s head popped from behind a computer. Deydie put her hand up, motioning to Oliver as if to say I have this.

  Ross cringed; an audience wouldn’t help his cause. “May we speak in private?” he added quietly, and politely. Anything to get on her good side.

  How he’d gotten himself wrapped up in this mess, he didn’t know. He’d become Sadie’s champion of sorts, which had left the damned town getting the wrong impression. He could see it on their faces. But he was in it deep already, so he waded in farther. “Outside?” Where no one else can listen in.

  Deydie glared at him a second longer, but followed him, grabbing the watering can on the way. Once they were on the other side of the door, she handed it off to him. “Make yereself useful.”

  He took the can, filled it, and began watering the baskets of flowering geraniums, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

  Or to bolster himself up.

  “Go on.” Deydie acted as if she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. She tapped his watering can. “I’ve got things to do, Ross. Ye’re wasting my time. I have quilt retreats back to back, plus Moira and Father Andrew’s wedding coming up. Spit it out. But don’t be tellin’ me that ye’re keen on Sadie.”

  Ross blanched. “I’m not keen on anyone.”

  The old woman huffed like she didn’t believe him.

  This was ridiculous. He wasn’t looking for a relationship. Couldn’t anyone understand that? But he wasn’t in the mood to discuss his love life right now. He expelled a pent-up breath. “Sadie isn’t coming back to Quilting Central.”

  Deydie’s glower grew, her face flushing red.

  He stopped her before she burst. “She can’t come back to Quilting Central. Not yet, anyway.” The lass might never be able to join others in quilting again, but he would do his best to help her.

  “Explain yereself, or get out of my way. I have work to do.” Deydie moved toward the door.

  Ross blocked her path. He had planned to tell her how Sadie was reading to Dand, but right now, it was more important for Deydie to know the truth. “Can’t ye see that being at Quilting Central is hard for the lass? It reminds her too much of her dead gran—you, Bethia, all the quilters. The fabric, the smell of the place, I suspect, are all hard on her, too.” Now it was time to come clean. “Ye may not like what I did, but at least I got her out of bed today.”

  Deydie glared at him as if he’d done it by ravishing the lass first.

  He put his hand up to stop her rabbit-trail-thoughts, and to bring an end to her glare. “As we speak, Sadie is actually sewing, which I think is a remarkable improvement over hiding in her room, don’t you?”

  “Where is she?” Deydie barked.

  “At my cottage.”

  Deydie cocked her head to the side as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “She’s where?”

  “I set her machine on our dining room table and gave her a shirt to work on.” There would be hell to pay when Maggie told John what Ross had done to his new shirt. “She’s there now.”

  Deydie stepped forward and stared him down, even though he was more than a foot taller than she. “Who gave ye the right to take a sewing machine from Quilting Central?”

  He wanted to say the Almighty, but Deydie would take her broom to him for blaspheming. “It was the only way to help her.”

  “Help her what?”

  “Help her ease back into life without her gran.”

  As if each syllable was a raindrop and Deydie’s single-mindedness was parched earth, his words seemed to finally seep in. Her fierce scowl slowly faded. “All right.” But then her brows pulled together in realization and determination fell into place on her face like pegs in a hole. “If she won’t come to Quilting Central, then we’ll come to her.”

  “No!” That’s not what he wanted at all. He opened his mouth to protest further.

  But Deydie was the one who put a hand up this time. “Hold on to yere boxer shorts. We’ll not bombard her all at once, but she needs to get used to us. We’ll take turns visiting her. Maybe bring her a project or two to work on.”

  But Ross knew Deydie, and working Sadie to death didn’t seem right, especially since the lass wished for some peace and quiet. And more time to read.

  But Deydie was as set on her plan as the concrete of the pier. “Aye.” She was nodding to herself. “Kirsty was looking for extra hands to make the back-of-the-chair bookholders.”

  “What?”

  Deydie pushed past him. “I’ll get it set up. Then we’ll pay a visit to the lass at your house. First, though, I need to speak with Kirsty.”

  “No.” But Deydie was already back inside. Maybe he should’ve started off by telling Deydie how Sadie had gotten Dand interested in reading books. But that ship had sailed. And here he was left holding the watering can and feeling as if he hadn’t helped Sadie at all. He had only made things worse.

  * * *

  Sadie sat alone at Ross’s dining table. Maggie was down the hall in her room, caring for baby Irene. Dand was off to spend time with Maggie’s sisters. She smiled, thinking of the fit Dand had thrown when it came time for him to leave. He wanted to stay cuddled up next to Sadie while she read to him, and only the promise of more books later had calmed him enough to go willingly to his aunts’.

  She sighed. Maggie was pleased that Dand wanted to read, but Sadie could tell that she wasn’t pleased that she and Ross were spending time together.

  Sadie had been nothing but trouble since she’d arrived in Gandiegow. She’d monopolized Ross’s every second—she snorted—since picking him up at the bar. Here Oliver had thought Ross had kidnapped Sadie that first night. The truth was that she was taking up all of Ross’s free time and she felt kind of bad about it . . . except that she’d enjoyed every minute.

  She hadn’t heard the conversation between him and his sister-in-law, but it was a safe bet that Maggie felt the same way about her that Deydie did. Couldn’t these people see that Sadie agreed with them all—she wasn’t good enough for Ross. Seriously, she was no love match for a man like him. Ross’s other sister-in-law, the matchmaker, should put the town at ease. She was a professional. Surely Kit could see how ridiculous Maggie and Deydie were being. The idea of Ross with her . . . Sadie snorted again.

  She repaired his mutilated shirt the best she could. When she was done, she turned off the machine and held his favorite shirt up. Unfortunately, it would never look brand-new again. She shrugged to the empty dining room and set the sewing machine on the treadle as Maggie had told Ross to do. She grabbed her book and headed for the door.

  But before she reached for the knob, there was a quiet rap on the other side. Should she answer it? Sadie glanced at the closed door of Maggie’s bedroom. The rap sounded again, harder this time. Not hesitating any longe
r, she opened the door to find a petite dark-haired woman standing on the threshold with Oliver, who was holding a wicker basket filled with denim material, scissors, and thread. How strange.

  She wasn’t the only one who was feeling strange if the look on her brother’s face was any indication.

  As his eyes fell on her, then scanned the interior of the cottage, he said, “I came with Kirsty to make sure you were all right.”

  Yeah, sure. Sadie knew the truth. He was making certain there wasn’t an orgy going on. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything’s on the up-and-up.”

  Oliver glanced around again. “Where’s lover boy?”

  Sadie rolled her eyes but answered her brother anyway. “Out on the family fishing boat with his brother John.” She put her hands on her hips. “And he’s not my lover boy.”

  “Sure,” Oliver muttered, still lurking in the doorway.

  Kirsty waited patiently, seeming to take their sibling bickering in stride, but Sadie was embarrassed. Having her brother treat her like an inept teenager was wearing thin.

  Kirsty gave Sadie a warm smile. “May we come in?”

  “Sorry.” Sadie stood back, but felt a little weird about letting people into a house that wasn’t her own.

  Kirsty motioned to Oliver. “Put my things over on the table.”

  Sadie was surprised that this Kirsty had Oliver’s number. Her brother, usually as alpha and indignant as they come, didn’t seem to mind doing as she bid.

  Kirsty touched Sadie’s arm gently. “I’m Gandiegow’s schoolteacher.” She glanced around until she saw the sewing machine that Sadie had been using. “Deydie said ye could help with a project for the school children.”

  “She did?”

  “Aye.” Kirsty held out a sewn piece of cloth that looked like a one-sided saddlebag. “I thought to cut down on the clutter at the schoolhouse. We have cubbies, but wouldn’t it be nice if the children’s chairs held a book or two?” She slipped the contraption over the back of a dining chair and dropped Sadie’s book inside the pocket. “See?”