The Accidental Scot Page 8

  Max felt like a prick. Didn’t the McDonnell understand that his thoughts about his daughter weren’t completely innocent? Max had been imagining doing all sorts of things with Pippa only last night. And this morning. And all day long. Apparently, the McDonnell wasn’t as good at reading minds as he thought. And didn’t the McDonnell take Ross into account when making the offer of Max sleeping under the same roof as his intended?

  Max laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Thank you, no. I’m fine at the pub.”

  “Aye.” The McDonnell nodded. “A man needs his space. Now, take me into the den so I can have mine.”

  Pippa stepped into the hall as Max wheeled him out, a mixture of emotions playing on her face. Was she thinking of Ross? Or had one of those emotions been the same disappointment that Max felt, that he and she would be sleeping in separate rooms tonight with the span of the town between them?

  Max got her father settled, but when he returned to the hallway, she was waiting with his coat over her arm.

  He took it. “I’m being kicked out before the work is done?”

  “Nay.” She reached for her coat on the hook behind her. “The dishes are soaking. I thought to walk you back.”

  “I can make it on my own.” He leaned in just close enough to smell the flowery scent of her shampoo.

  “We have things to discuss.” She shrugged into her coat and slipped on a stocking cap. “We’ll have a drink at the pub.”

  “Surely I shouldn’t mix alcohol with Bethia’s cure.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hot tea, Mr. McKinley. The pub serves hot tea. We can discuss our plans for the next few days.”

  “Good.” Better to discuss business than the details about her wedding with Ross. “I’d like to get right to work. Make up for the time lost while I was sick.”

  Pippa touched his arm. For a second, he thought it was a show of affection, but it was only to get his attention.

  “Your scarf. Bundle up. I don’t want you on your back again.”

  Oh, his libido couldn’t help itself . . . On his back was fine as long as she was on top.

  They stepped into the cold wind and didn’t say a word to each other as they made their way across town.

  A crowd had formed at the pub, the noise level closer to what one might expect on a Friday night. Max waited by the bar while Pippa made tea in the kitchen. When she came out with the tray, she motioned for him to follow her up the stairs.

  She must’ve read the surprise on his face. “It’ll be quieter up there.”

  Nearly every eye in the room was on them as he followed Pippa behind the bar to the steps. Bonnie nudged a large Scot sitting at the bar, and he glanced over at them.

  “Who’s that?” Max asked.

  Pippa shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s Ross.”

  The large Scot had a strange look on his face. Surprise? Jealousy? Disappointment? Max couldn’t tell which. Hell, maybe it was all of the above.

  And shouldn’t Pippa care enough about Ross’s feelings not to parade Max in front of him like this? He tried to put Ross out of his mind as he followed her up the narrow steps. But Max couldn’t help feeling like a heel for lusting after another man’s girl. Truthfully, though, she didn’t act like an engaged woman. Once again, he recalled their joined hands as they slept.

  “What are the townsfolk going to think about you coming up to my room?” Especially Ross.

  She blushed, but in a bristly sort of way, as she pushed open the door. “Let ’em talk. It’s not like I’m going to bed with ye. Besides, it’s no one’s affair except my own what I do in a man’s room.”

  God, she was sassy, testy, hot. All that lip had him wanting to find out what it would feel like to have her backed up against the door, kissing and—

  She gave him a hard glare. “Mind out of the gutter, Mr. McKinley. We’ve business to attend to.”

  Max shut the door behind him. “That can wait. I want to talk about Ross.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “That’s tough, because we’re going to talk about this anyway. If he’s your boyfriend, why would you let me hold your hand? Twice.” It was best to get it all out in the open, though it embarrassed the hell out of him. He wasn’t one to discuss his feelings. Or anything approximating feelings. She took her time, setting the tea tray down. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. “I’d like to know the truth,” Max said. He didn’t know why this was so important, but it was.

  “This whole notion that I’m promised to Ross—as I told ye—it’s not my idea.”

  Max pulled her chair close to the bed and motioned for her to sit. “Elaborate.” She hadn’t been completely clear about where she stood.

  She shrugged off his invitation and paced instead. “To me, it would be absurd for us to get married.” She shivered as if the thought chilled her.

  Max felt a little appeased. “How does Ross feel about it?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth, but he was going to see this through.

  “I believe Ross wants to honor his da’s wishes. Alistair died three years ago.” Pippa grabbed the handle on the teapot and poured them both a cup. “Ross is a good man. A good friend, too. He’s not someone to make waves. He’d marry me just to keep the town happy.”

  Oh, good Lord. Max had stumbled into a regular Peyton Place. “And what about you, Pippa? Are you going to marry Ross because everyone else wants you to?”

  “Heavens, no. I’ve sidestepped marriage this long, I’m sure I can keep sidestepping it for the rest of my life.”

  Max breathed easier, knowing he hadn’t compromised anything between Pippa and Ross. But he wondered if Ross was completely in the dark about how Pippa felt. Or even worse, was he carrying a torch for her?

  Suddenly, it hit Max that he was being ridiculous. His thoughts had gotten turned upside down and twisted sideways since the moment he’d seen her standing behind the bar on his first night here. He wasn’t going to get any more tangled up in her affairs than he already had. He was here to make a deal. Nothing else. No more wishful thinking. No more hand-holding. No more dwelling on how Pippa’s lips might feel against his own. He had two objectives—make the deal, then go home.

  “It’s time to get down to business. MTech’s proposal,” he clarified.

  “Not MTech’s proposal. Not yet. We need to discuss the Christmas Roundup,” she countered.

  “The what?”

  “The Christmas Roundup. It’s what we’re doing tomorrow.”

  “I don’t do Christmas.” The holidays held only dark memories—things he didn’t like dredged up.

  “If you’re in Gandiegow, ye do.”

  “Do I dare ask what a Christmas Roundup is?”

  “Ye sound like Scrooge.” She handed him his cup of tea and finally sat. “It’s for the children. All our employees have contributed things from around the house. When the children come to the factory tomorrow, we’ll help them upcycle bits and pieces into gifts for their loved ones. A lot of the kids come from poor families. It’s a way for North Sea Valve to give back to the community.” It sounded as though she’d rehearsed this speech. “And you will be there to help. We need all hands on deck to keep track of the lads and lassies of Gandiegow.”

  He felt shanghaied. “What about the MTech deal?”

  She straightened herself as if the mention of MTech was the prickly thorn in her backside. “We’ll get to it. Right now, Christmas is more important.”

  He begged to differ. One of the benefits of coming to Scotland was to skip Christmas. He stared back, not saying anything.

  She surveyed him closely. “I promise I’ll listen to what you have to say about yere MTech deal, and consider it, if you help me.”

  “Fine.” He guessed doing Christmas crap for one day wouldn’t kill him. “But only because you and the others were good to me while
I was sick,” he groused. “I normally avoid Christmas like the plague.”

  “And why is that?” she said.

  “Too much merrymaking.” He was usually a cheerful guy, but Christmas sobered the hell out of him.

  Her curiosity appeared piqued. “Oh, do share.”

  “Nope. It’s a long boring story.”

  She took a sip of her tea. “Perhaps you’ll tell me one day.”

  He dodged her request. “Is this normal, putting your visitors to work like this? Or am I just special?”

  Her grin was only part of the answer. The gleam in her eye said she might have something else up her sleeve. “We don’t get many visitors here.”

  What a crock. The town was crawling with the out-of-town quilters for the Kilts and Quilts retreat.

  Pippa dabbed at a drip of tea on her lips. The action was innocent, but it hit him as erotic. And just like that, he was off balance and burning up. He tugged at his sweater. “You don’t mind, do you?” He didn’t wait for her answer, but went ahead and slipped it off, leaving only the polo underneath. “It’s getting warm in here.”

  He must’ve moved toward her, because she stood abruptly.

  Her confidence seemed to have faded. She fumbled to zip her coat. “I better go. Ye need your sleep.”

  “Not as much as I might need other things.” Sure, only a moment ago, he was determined to extinguish this attraction he felt for her, but now the mouse-and-cat game between them felt too powerful. He was on autopilot and stepped closer.

  She ducked past him. “Meet me downstairs in the morning. Eight, sharp.” She slipped out the door and was gone.

  He was satisfied that he’d unnerved her. But a shiver passed through him, a reminder that he better get his head back in the game and quit messing around. Ross may not have a claim on her, but neither did Max. Nor should he.

  That night, his sleep was erratic, filled with Pippa. In his dreams she wasn’t slipping out the door, but entertaining him . . . in bed. She was teasing, giving, and exciting and . . . she was crazy about him.

  But it was only a dream.

  When he woke in the morning, his nighttime fantasies had put him in a dark mood. Because none of it had been real. Or ever would be.

  As directed, he met Pippa downstairs at eight sharp. He was going to do as she asked, but he wasn’t going to do it without a bit of a fight. Wrangling me into the Christmas Roundup was damned presumptuous of her.

  He ignored how festive she looked in her red-and-white-striped sweater and how cute her hair was braided with plaid ribbon. “I need details about today. How many kids are we talking about?” He might’ve sounded rude, but he couldn’t help it. He really was annoyed.

  She eyed him closely. “Ye’re grumpy this morning. No one likes a grumpy Father Christmas.”

  He backed away, putting his hands up. “No. I draw the line right there. No dressing up as Santa. It’s bad enough you already got me in a skirt.”

  She tsked. “A kilt is only a skirt if ye’re wearing something underneath.” She raised her eyebrows in question as if she wanted to know. “Real men wear kilts.”

  He’d never tell. “Can we go?” His mood was crappy this morning, but he still mustered up some good Texas boy manners and held the door open for Pippa as she strolled through.

  “Maybe thirty,” she said.

  “Thirty what?”

  “Children who are coming to the Christmas Roundup. And I’m sorry you don’t like kids.” But nothing in her words or body language hinted she would give him a pass on today’s activities.

  “I like rug rats fine,” he answered, “as long as I’m related to them. I have a nephew and a niece.”

  “What are they like?”

  “Loud. Little Max is a handful. My brother, Jake, keeps him riled up, which drives his wife crazy. Bitsy, my little sister, has a girl, Hannah. She’s two, and a handful like her mother.” He smiled, thinking about the tantrum Hannah had thrown over wearing tights to church the last time he was there. “That little girl knows her own mind. I know better than most that strong women rule the world. There’s something powerful about a female who knows what she wants out of life.”

  He paused for second. What the hell. “Like you.” He was only telling the truth.

  “What makes you think I know what I want out of life?”

  “You’re as easy to read as a schematic,” he said. “You love a challenge. You love figuring things out. You’re starting to see that it doesn’t matter whether you’re in Edinburgh or Gandiegow, that there’ll always be things that need to be fixed. Like North Sea Valve.”

  She stared back at him, horrified, as if he’d used X-ray vision to see clean through to her soul.

  “It’s okay.” He understood why she’d used her given name, Alistair, when dealing with MTech and with him. Engineering, for all its advancements and diversity, was still male-centric. “I’m a pretty intuitive guy. It’s one of the reasons MTech wanted me in the Acquisitions Department. I can see things that perhaps others can’t.”

  “Or imagine that ye see.” She stared straight ahead. “Ye’ve got one thing spot-on. Strong women do make the world go round.”

  “They certainly do.” His mother, grandmother, Bitsy, Hannah, and every woman he’d met in Gandiegow were a testament to that.

  Relative peace surrounded the two of them as they reached the car lot, but not silence. Waves crashing against the embankment filled the space where conversation had been, reminding him that he wasn’t in Texas anymore.

  Pippa maneuvered the car up the treacherous slick hill, seemingly in deep thought. He wanted to ask her what was so perplexing that it would stitch her eyebrows together like that. Hopefully, she wasn’t worrying over the MTech proposal. He would do his best to make it advantageous for both parties, as much as was in his power.

  At the factory, they were making their way gingerly through the slick parking lot when Pippa slipped on a patch of ice. Max instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, jerking her toward him.

  She smelled so good. No perfume for this Scottish Amazon. Only shampoo, body wash, and something all her own.

  Perhaps he held her too close for too long. She tried to dislodge herself from him.

  “Nope.” He stay attached to her arm, guiding her up the walk. “We’re going to hold on to each other to keep the other one from falling.”

  “Or we’re both going down?” she mumbled.

  He chuckled, relishing holding her. He liked keeping her safe, though that was only more fantasy. Pippa could take care of herself.

  “Do you have salt I can put down before the kids get here?” he asked.

  “Aye.” Pippa unlocked the building and pointed behind Bonnie’s desk. “Utility closet.” The same place the kilt and boots had been.

  As Max spread the salt on various patches in the parking lot and sidewalk, a van pulled up with factory workers. Taog and Murdoch gave him a hand and soon the walkway was done.

  Back inside, Pippa took Max to the factory floor, where a large space had been cleared and tables had been lined up. Household items covered each one—old books, jars, rope, glue, glitter, a cheese shredder, spoons, bowls of rocks . . . all sorts of junk.

  “Okay, everybody,” Pippa announced. “The children will be here any minute. Look at the list, find yere assignment, and get to your tables.”

  Max turned to Pippa. “Where will I be?”

  “With me at my table.” She handed him a red Santa cap.

  “What’s this for?” He wasn’t a frigging elf.

  “It’s for the children. Now put it on. And a smile, too, or else ye’ll scare the wee ones with that frown.” She donned a matching cap. “We’ll have the six – and seven-year-olds.”

  “Fine.” He pulled his on, feeling as petulant as a seven-year-old himself.

  Max re
membered Jake at seven. There were almost nine years between them, and back then he had found Jake annoying as hell. The kid followed him everywhere and bugged the crap out of him and his friends. Not until Max had gone to college had he realized how super cool his kid brother was. Now, they were best buds. He’d have to call his brother tonight to see how things were going back home. Hopefully, Jake had calmed Mom down and she wasn’t still on the rampage over Max missing Christmas.

  “Are you all right?” Concern rested in Pippa’s eyes.

  “Yeah, just thinking about my brother.” And how it sucked that he was stuck in a wheelchair, a young father with an energetic son.

  At that moment, a sea of rug rats rushed in, filling the large open area of the factory with laughter and excitement.

  Max saw one last chance for a reprieve. He looked to Pippa . . . and faked a cough. “Are you sure I’m not contagious? I’d hate to get the kids sick.”

  “Pathetic.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe a big man such as yereself is afraid of a few wee ones.”

  “Thirty is not a few.” Max wasn’t looking forward to the hours ahead. But if helping Pippa would get him in her good graces so they could talk about the MTech contract, he’d do it with as little attitude as he could muster.

  Behind the children came a flock of adults. “We have backup,” Pippa said. “Parents and family.”

  Max pulled his cap down farther. “Good. I didn’t want to be the one responsible in case a kid got lost or something.”

  “Go sit down and plaster a smile on your face,” she said. “Pretend you like Christmas.”

  That’ll never happen.

  As the adults corralled the kids and settled them at their tables, Max went to his. Pippa stood in the center of the room and said, “The North Sea Valve Company would like to welcome everyone here today. But before we get started, I want to introduce our honored guest, Mr. Christmas.”

  Max looked around for who that might be.

  Pippa pointed in his direction. “Stand up, Mr. Christmas. Give everyone a big ‘HO-HO-HO.’” With a twinkle in her eye, she dared him to refuse.