“Sit down, Brodie,” Abraham said.
“I’m not hungry.” He felt as petulant as when he was a ten-year-old boy and refused to move in with his mother and her new husband. “I’m going to check on the boat,” he said as an afterthought. “I’ll be back to take her to Quilting Central.” He stomped from the kitchen and down the hallway, not waiting to hear what either of them had to say about it.
He was out the front door and halfway to the boat when he realized the storm had arrived, making the North Sea churn. Father Andrew MacBride and his brother, Tuck, were walking toward him. Tuck was a year older than Andrew, a good-looking bloke, blond like his brother, but had a laughing glint of mischief always playing in his eyes.
“We were looking for you,” Andrew said. “Tuck heard from Ross that ye need a hand on yere boat.”
When Brodie first arrived, everyone referred to the boat as Abraham’s, but as the months wore on, they’d slowly started speaking of the boat as if it was his.
“Aye. An extra hand would be welcome with the fishing,” Brodie said.
Tuck’s stay in Gandiegow had been awkward, to say the least. He’d gotten off on the wrong foot with everyone by showing up two months late for Andrew and Moira’s wedding. Gandiegow viewed such an offense as unforgivable as family was the lifeblood of the community. The gossip was that Tuck was useless, but Brodie had seen him helping out on various boats and doing odd jobs around town. The man appeared to work hard. Others complained about Tuck not being considerate because he was horning his way in on the newlyweds’ time. But Moira and Andrew were hardly the typical newlyweds as they had her cousin Glenna to raise. Andrew seemed to take his brother in stride, and so Brodie did, too.
“Good,” Tuck said. “I like to stay busy.” He winked at Brodie. “I hear there’s a new bird in town. What’s up with her? She’s staying at Thistle Glen Lodge?”
Keep your hands off Rachel! Fire burned through Brodie’s chest and his fists clenched. Of course, he didn’t want Joe’s widow, but that didn’t mean Tuck should have her. Brodie considered himself even-tempered. But since Rachel arrived in town today, she’d turned his world upside down and him into a hothead. Just like she did before.
He wanted to yank Tuck to a stop and tell him Rachel was off-limits.
Andrew gave his brother a warning glance. “Do me a favor and leave her alone? From what I understand, she and Abraham’s great-granddaughter are only here for a short time. Moira says she’s had a rough go of it.”
If the playful determination in Tuck’s eye was any indication, the warning his brother gave him would be ignored. “What’s her name? Rhonda?”
“No, Rachel,” Brodie hissed, maybe a little too quickly, because Andrew and Tuck both looked at him strangely. “She was my cousin’s wife,” he supplied as a lame excuse. “Family,” he added, which sounded even lamer.
“Weren’t ye headed for yere boat?” Tuck asked.
Brodie realized he’d come to a halt and was staring out at the sea. It was cold out here. “Nay. I have someplace to be.” He should build the fire up for Abraham. And the little girl. He wouldn’t be doing it for Rachel.
Brodie turned in the opposite direction and left Andrew and Tuck as he hurried back to the cottage. His urgency made perfect sense. He had a duty to perform. He needed to get Rachel to Quilting Central . . . and then get her off his mind.
At the house, Brodie slung open the door and advanced down the hall. He found the three of them in the kitchen, where he’d left them.
“Let’s go.” He wasn’t in the mood for niceties.
Rachel glanced up, but he turned away, not wanting to see the locket around her neck. Instead he busied himself by clearing the table while he waited for her to be ready to leave.
“I’ll take care of the dishes when I get back, Grandda,” Brodie said, calming his emotions for his grandfather’s sake.
“Nay. Little lass and I will work on them.”
Hannah bobbed her head up and down excitedly. “I can stand on the chair and wash. Sometimes at the hotel, Chef lets me help when the restaurant’s closed.”
“It’s now or never,” Brodie said impatiently.
Rachel didn’t acknowledge his statement, but kissed the top of Hannah’s head. “I’ll be back soon. Be good.” As soon as she turned away, her mood changed. She flounced by Brodie without as much as a glance.
Maybe his tone with her had been a bit gruff. But considering he was the one who’d been blindsided by her being here and then put out because he had to escort her all over God’s creation, he was justified. He followed, trying not to inhale her, but he caught a little whiff . . . and wanted more. Pathetic. Hadn’t he gotten enough heartache from her before?
She walked by the parlor without stopping.
“Weren’t ye supposed to bring yere tree?” he reminded her.
She gave him a puzzled look, and when she did, the light caught the damn locket and its reflection twinkled at him.
“Oh,” she finally said.
He wouldn’t offer to get it for her either. This was between her and Deydie. Rachel was just lucky he remembered the quilt, or she would’ve been traipsing back in the cold to retrieve it.
She moved past him into the parlor and came back a second later with it cradled in her arms. He couldn’t help cataloging the changes since he’d seen her six years ago. Her coffee-colored hair was longer, fuller, cascading down her shoulders to the middle of her back. Her brown eyes, once filled with wonder of the sights of Gandiegow, were now overflowing with worldly wisdom.
And God, he hated himself for noticing, but she’d gone from a skinny young adult to a full-fledged woman who had filled out in all the right places.
She laid the quilt on the bench where Hannah had sat earlier as she shrugged into her coat. Brodie picked up the mail lying on the hall table and busied himself, flipping through each piece until she marched out the door with the hood of her parka bouncing like a bobber. He hesitated a couple of seconds, swallowed the attraction he felt for her, and then followed her out, feeling more than a little used. Why should he have to babysit her to the door of Quilting Central?
The storm was getting right angry with the wind kicking up all around them. And damn him, he wanted to wrap his arm around Rachel’s shoulders to protect her from the sea lapping at the walkway. But she had on proper boots and he’d seen her pick her steps carefully before. He did, however, close the distance between them, in case he needed to fish her out of the ocean. Not out of any sentiment for the woman, but it’d be hard to explain to Deydie why he hadn’t brought her to Quilting Central as promised.
Rachel stopped and turned on him, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I don’t appreciate the way you spoke to me in front of my daughter.”
Before he could answer, he saw the breaking wave. He grabbed her by the shoulders and snatched her away from the edge, saving them both from a good drenching.
Rachel’s big rounded eyes shifted from the wrathful water back to him. She was terrified and he was ashamed. If it had been any other woman new to town, he would’ve guided her toward the safer route behind the buildings instead along the ocean’s edge, where it was dangerous.
He gently shook her shoulders. “I’ll not let anything happen to ye.” He wanted to pull her close to prove his body could protect her. But he fought the urge, letting his hands fall away.
Gads! His emotions were fluctuating from one extreme to another, as unpredictable as the crashing waves. But wasn’t this what had happened to him six years ago when Rachel had been here?
She napalmed him with her blasted grateful eyes. Even worse, she seemed comforted that he was near. Or maybe the wind had clouded his vision. He wished the streetlamp wasn’t burning so bright. The look she gave him comforted him, too, filling in all the places she’d left empty in him long ago.
Dammit. Brodie’s insides we
re tangled-up, a mess, just like the fishing line after a storm. All it took was one glance from her, and he was sucked right back in.
But he couldn’t let that happen. Not this time.
A minute later, they arrived at Quilting Central.
“Ye’re here,” he said, ready to walk away.
She touched his arm. “Come in with me.”
“No.”
But the door opened and Deydie was there with her broom. “Git in here. You, too, Brodie. I’ve got Abraham’s shirt that I mended. I need ye to take it back to him.”
Begrudgingly he followed Rachel in and waited by the door. But he would’ve rather stubbornly faced the freezing cold while the older woman retrieved the shirt. He noticed Rachel acting like a codfish out of water, inching closer to him as if he could help her breathe easier. He stepped farther away while she glanced around uncomfortably. The quilting ladies won’t bite. But the second he thought it, he corrected himself. Aye, Deydie verra well could, but not the rest . . . as long as ye didn’t cross them.
Deydie pointed a gnarled finger at Rachel and lit into her. “It’s about time ye brought the girl around to see Abraham. With that cough lingering the way it does, ’tis clear his time is drawing near.”
Whereas Deydie is too ornery to let death take her, Brodie thought. He hated when Deydie spoke as if Grandda was going to kick off any minute. Brodie had a moment of sympathy for Rachel because Deydie had perfected the art of being untactful. Also, the old woman was famous for her persistent badgering.
The next thing he knew, the ill-tempered badger glowered at him as if he’d broadcasted his opinions of her to the room. Then Deydie spun and waddled away.
Bethia, Deydie’s closest friend, and Moira approached him and Rachel. Bethia was tall and slim, and had the demeanor of a friendly, welcoming housecat. Moira gave Rachel a shy smile. Glenna, her young cousin, stood behind her.
Bethia held out a vial to him. “Can ye give this essential oil to Abraham? It’s my latest concoction.” While Brodie had been away, Bethia had become a certified herbalist. She pulled a small sheet of paper from her pocket. “Here are the instructions. He can either hold the vial a few inches from his nose, or put a few drops on his pillow before bed. It will help soothe his cough.”
Moira guided Glenna to stand in front of her, as if it was her turn. The little girl stepped up to Rachel and handed her a homemade rag doll that wore a plaid dress matching her own.
“For yere daughter,” Glenna said. She was older than Hannah, maybe six.
Moira nodded. “We wanted to welcome Hannah to town. Glenna thought to give her the doll we were making.”
Brodie was sure Rachel’s girl had plenty of store-bought toys and wouldn’t want a homespun doll, but Rachel took it with a sincere smile.
“Thank you,” she said to Glenna. “You’ll have to stop by and meet her.” Rachel looked as if she’d like to have her daughter with her right now.
Deydie came rushing back over with Abraham’s shirt. She thrust it at Brodie. “Here. Now off with ye.” She glanced at Moira. “Aren’t ye supposed to be meeting Kirsty at the school?”
Moira smiled kindly. “We’re on our way right now to help put up the Christmas decorations.”
“Good. Be careful out there or the storm’ll carry ye away.” Deydie turned to Rachel and took her arm. “Git to the front now and show them the quilt ye brought.”
Rachel’s smile fell away and she turned pleading eyes on him.
Brodie had no sympathy. “Ye’re on your own.” Without a backward glance, he turned and walked out into the cold.
* * *
At first Rachel couldn’t believe Brodie would abandon her like this. But honestly, what else could she expect? She’d abandoned him long ago. What stung more was that she didn’t get the reaction she’d expected from him when he saw her wearing his locket. He should’ve been happy, but he’d only seemed angry. Not the best way to start off their do-over.
“Git up there,” Deydie barked again. “Hold up the Christmas Tree quilt really high. Some of the ladies have poor vision.”
As Rachel made her way to the front, she glanced about. Quilting Central resided in a huge open room with tables everywhere and sewing machines on each one. Two longarm quilting machines sat at the back. Several design walls were covered with quilt blocks. There was a kitchen area, several spots with comfy sofas and chairs, and what looked like a library in the corner.
The room was quiet with all eyes on Rachel. Was everyone remembering her last appearance and the urn that held Joe’s ashes? How they’d barely spoken to her? The only one who’d been kind had been Abraham, but he had little to say as he’d been torn with grief. She’d never forget how he’d gone from a commanding patriarch to silent tears pouring down his face at the funeral. Or the slump of his shoulders as he took the shovel to scoop the first dirt into Joe’s grave. Or the shuffle in his walk as he made his way down the bluff, a man nearly broken.
“Wait a minute.” Deydie hustled up beside her and took her place on the stage, speaking to the crowd. “Before the retreat-goers get here, there’s something I need to say. I know we’d agreed to clean out our cupboards and work on our UFOs—” The old woman turned to Rachel as if she was clueless. “UFOs are quilt projects that seem to never get finished.” Deydie huffed and pointed to her desk piled with what were clearly several bundles of uncompleted projects. “But the retreat-goers will have the option to work on the Christmas Tree quilt from Rachel Clacher as well. Ye know I always want to give a little something extra to our customers.”
“Rachel Granger,” Rachel corrected in a whisper. “I never took Joe’s last name.”
“Of course ye didn’t,” Deydie said on a frown. “Headstrong, ye are.”
Bethia stood and spoke to the room. “But don’t forget, we’re collecting any UFO blocks ye may not need for our charity quilts. We’re going to make two quilts to auction off this time: one for Kidney Research UK and one for the National Kidney Foundation in America. All, of course, in honor of Sadie.”
Sadie raised her hand and smiled. “I really appreciate everyone’s support.”
Rachel was glad the focus was off her, and at the same time, she wondered what that was all about.
Deydie bobbed her head as Bethia sat. “We’d like to have those blocks before the end of the year.”
Rachel’s relief was short-lived.
Deydie shot her another glare and pointed to her desk. “Now for our retreat-goers who are interested, I pulled out a stack of red and green scraps for what Rachel’s brought us. Hold up yere Christmas Tree quilt again and let us have a good look at it.”
Next to the scraps of green and red on Deydie’s desk was another stack of remnants—plaid remnants.
Rachel couldn’t look away from the tartan scraps. She could visualize a quilt made of the clans’ colors for Hannah. Something whimsical, to remind her little girl of her heritage, a lovely memory quilt that would commemorate her father’s people. Rachel smiled at the vision as the pieces fell into place. A child’s quilt with plaid fish. With maybe a boat at the top like the one Joe used to work on with his grandfather. Brodie’s boat now.
Deydie spoke to the group as all the past arguments Rachel had had with her mother about Joe filled her mind. Vivienne, her mother, loved Joe from the start. Her mother and husband were more alike than Rachel was to either. They were outgoing and easily talked with others, while Rachel had spent her life becoming comfortable with people. Vivienne had been sorely disappointed in Rachel when she’d left Joe. Embarrassment kept her from telling her mother the reason why she’d moved back to the hotel. Then Joe had died, which devastated her mother. Ironically, Vivienne didn’t understand why Rachel kept Joe’s memory alive for Hannah, always questioning her at every turn—if you didn’t care enough to live with the man, why make such an effort to make him part of your life now? For
Rachel, it was easy: She loved her daughter. Joe was a part of Hannah and she deserved to know him. Rachel didn’t have a relationship with her own father. It still hurt that her mother had cut ties with him. He’d remarried, started a new family, and Rachel had both grown up without a father, and felt forgotten. She would do anything to spare Hannah that fate. Hannah would grow up with her father in spirit, if nothing else.
Rachel glanced again at Deydie’s desk. Would the old stick-in-the-mud quilter be willing to give up the tartan scraps to her? By how Rachel was being treated now, and the shunning she’d received before, the answer was no. Pigs would have to fly first. Unless . . .
Rachel touched the locket. She’d been strong enough to take a stand on a second chance with Brodie. This next bit should be a piece of cake. She clutched the Christmas Tree quilt close to her chest.
“I said to hold up the tree so we can all see it,” Deydie snapped.
“Not so fast.” Braver words had never been uttered. “Make a deal with me first.”
The room gasped, then whispered exclamations spread from sewing machine to sewing machine. Rachel knew she was messing with the proverbial fire by not jumping-to when Deydie ordered, but she could be as stubborn as any Scot, couldn’t she? At least she felt that way since she’d arrived in town. Besides, she hadn’t survived this long in the hotel business to not have developed at least a semi-strong backbone.
“I’ll happily share my tree with you, even give you the template and teach everyone how to make it.” Rachel paused to take a breath, or to fortify herself. “But only if you’ll let me have that stack of tartans on the desk.”
Deydie glowered at her. “What would a Yank like ye want with a stack of old tartans from the folks here in Gandiegow?”
“I just do,” Rachel said boldly, which produced a second gasp from the captivated audience.
Bethia picked up the stack. “These? They aren’t very good pieces. I could find ye some better ones.”
Deydie put her hand up. “Nay. Those’ll do just fine for her. Ye give us yere pattern and teach us how to make the tree, and afterward, I’ll give that pile of crap, I mean scraps, to you.”
It Happened in Scotland Page 5