She stared at him, searching his face. He wondered what she saw there. Could she see he was at war with himself? He should let her go. But as he wrestled with the decision, she reached up and gently pushed his hair away from his face, then left her hand resting on his cheek.
“Brodie?” Her voice was filled with earnestness.
Her hand was warm and it was as if six years had slipped away . . . to when they’d kissed. A torturous time warp. But six years ago, she hadn’t been wearing his locket.
“No.” He stepped back, being the one who stumbled. He couldn’t do this to himself. Not again. He held his head high and stomped to his door, slamming it behind him. Immediately he regretted it. He might’ve woken Grandda, and the little girl.
He stood fuming in his room for a long moment, wanting to go back in the hallway, wanting her to implore him with her eyes again. Wanting her to touch him as she had. She was putting him through hell. But it was the call of nature that had him venturing from his room. He entered the loo and flipped on the light switch and stopped cold. God help him, her black bra was looped over the towel rack, displayed like some peepshow advertisement. He nearly roared. Had she done it to torment him further? Like she’d done by wearing his locket?
He couldn’t leave her sexy contraption here. He pulled the hand towel from the rack, and without touching the offending bit of lingerie, he used the towel like oven mitts to pick up the bra. He didn’t know what to do next. He couldn’t very well knock on Rachel’s door and give it to her right now. He’d wake the girl. Instead, he hid the garment within the towel, shoved it under his arm, and walked across the hall. He hooked it on her doorknob, not caring one damn bit if she was embarrassed about it hanging there when she discovered it in the morning.
He still needed to take a piss. He stomped back to the bathroom, thinking about how life had become a lot more complicated since the two females had arrived. What the hell would tomorrow bring?
Indeed, Brodie had a sleepless night. Mornings come early to fishermen, but with little to no sleep, it made getting up for the boat more of a chore than what it was normally—a blessing. In the hallway, outside Rachel’s room, the bra still hung on her doorknob. Not touching it, Brodie laid his ear against the door, wondering if she’d slept like a babe while he’d been tied in knots all night. He heard nothing from the other side and forced himself to get on with his morning.
Soon Brodie stood on the dock, waiting for Tuck. “Screw it.” He stepped onto his boat, ready to cast off.
“Hold up.” Tuck was waving his arms and running toward the boat. He hopped aboard just in time.
Brodie walked to the wheelhouse, talking over his shoulder. “Do I need to remind ye the catch waits for no man?”
Tuck laughed, but got right to work. Once underway, the bloke was such good help that Brodie nearly forgot about him being late.
As they made their way to the next fishing spot, a storm unfortunately blew in, cutting the morning run short. Unfortunate for both Brodie’s bank account and his peace of mind.
When they pulled back into Gandiegow, Tuck jumped off and secured the lines as well as any seasoned fisherman. But no sooner did Brodie have that thought than his day worker went and ruined it.
“How’s about I come back to yere house and have a cup of coffee. Or tea.” He shot Brodie a cocky grin. “I hear the bird and her daughter are at yere cottage. I’m feeling thirsty.”
“No,” Brodie said with force.
“I see.” Tuck laughed. “Want to keep her all for yereself?”
That wasn’t it at all. Brodie wanted to wipe the deck with Tuck’s grin. Instead he ignored the bastard and stepped off the boat, marching toward home.
His mood didn’t improve once he opened the front door either. The scene hit him like gale force winds. The cottage had been transformed from good old-fashioned male starkness to bluidy female warmth.
Hannah’s pink backpack hung over the newel post and her guzzy was draped over the banister. Her new ragdoll was sitting on the bottom step like it was resting there before making the climb upstairs. Her cute pink puffy coat hung on the hook. His eyes fell on her black boots with the multicolored stars, sitting right where he’d told her to leave them yesterday. But they irritated the hell out of him. It all irritated him. Why? Because it looked like Hannah had bluidy well moved in. But it wasn’t only Hannah’s things. Evidence of Rachel was everywhere. Her coat hung next to her daughter’s. Some sort of woman’s novel was resting on the side table, which should only have the day’s mail and an extra set of the keys for the boat on it. And the smell! God help him. Rachel’s scent had taken up residence in his nostrils and he hadn’t walked two steps indoors yet. It was enough to make a man want to run for the hills . . . and become a monk.
Laughter drifted to his ears in the entryway—wee laughter, followed by adult female laughter. Could he take much more?
He sat on the bench, removed his boots, and chucked them onto the mat. He stalked into the kitchen and found the blasted females entertaining his grandda around the small table loaded with the most delicious-looking breakfast. Made more delicious because he hadn’t been the one to cook it. Scrambled eggs topped with cheese. Toast. Mugs of coffee. The girl’s must have been cocoa. They all smiled up at him as he blew into the room.
But it was Rachel’s smile that affected him strangely. The partridge on his chest warmed as if she was a bit of sunshine on this gloomy winter day.
He poured a cup of coffee for himself and stood at the counter, farthest away from her.
Abraham pointed at the slatted basket. “When ye walk the lasses to Quilting Central, take that along for Deydie. It was my mother’s, ye know. Her prized possession. Deydie’s had her eye on it for some time. I think she wants to stack fabric in it. I might as well pass it along now, as I won’t get a chance to do it later.”
His grandda had changed, turned maudlin while Brodie had been hiding out at Here Again Farm. The moment Brodie got wind that Grandda was ill, he moved home to take care of him and the fishing business. The congestion in his chest seemed to never get better and Brodie suspected that being ill for so long had done a number on his grandfather’s mental state, too. One by one, Grandda had been giving away the possessions he thought others might want. At first, Brodie tried to ignore the final orders his grandda gave him, about what to do with this bit and that. But over time, Brodie had started to accept the truth. Maybe the old man’s time was nearing. But what the Almighty didn’t understand was that Brodie couldn’t let his grandfather go; he just couldn’t do without him.
Begrudgingly, Brodie went to the basket. “Are ye ready then?” he said to the females.
“Aye,” Hannah said, hopping up.
“Aye?” Rachel said to her daughter, shaking her head and smiling. She stood and faced his grandfather with concern on her face. “Will you be all right?”
It was shite like this that really inflamed Brodie. She shouldn’t give a whit about his grandda. She hadn’t given a whit about me back in the day. Also, Abraham had drilled it into Brodie’s head from the time he was a wee lad that women cared only about themselves—always leaving, never sticking, never standing by their men. Rachel was behaving as if a leopard could change her spots.
“I’ll be fine. Doc said he’ll be by to check in on me.”
Brodie didn’t like it either that Grandda had stopped walking to the surgery. The exercise was good for him, but at the same time he understood how the frigid weather wasn’t always kind to weak lungs.
With basket in hand, Brodie stalked to the front door. Rachel and Hannah could find their own way to Quilting Central, but he found himself waiting anyway.
The girl chatted all the way to where the quilters gathered on a daily basis. Brodie only half listened. When they walked in the door, Deydie frowned in their direction.
“What’s up with her?” Rachel asked. “She to
ld me to come to teach.”
Deydie waddled over to them. “Young One, go get a scone over there at the table. Amy will pour ye some hot tea to go with it.”
Hannah skipped away with her ragdoll held tightly to her chest. When she was out of earshot, Deydie turned on Rachel. “She wasn’t part of the deal.”
What the hell. “What do you have against the girl?” Brodie blurted.
Rachel appeared muted with bewilderment. Two seconds later, her face reddened as the old woman’s meaning sank in. Rachel spun on her as if she wasn’t scared of Deydie’s notorious broom in the least. “Why can’t Hannah stay?”
“Because she can’t.” Deydie seemed unwavering. “Before ye go off in a huff, we have a deal. Ye’re the one who made it.”
“Forget the deal,” Rachel said on a growl.
“What deal?” Brodie said, before he remembered this had nothing to do with him. It was as if some twisted sense of gallantry had charged forth and taken over.
“What’s it to ye?” Deydie said, eyeing him. She jabbed her thumb in Rachel’s direction. “She said she’d teach a class for a stack of tartan scraps.” The matriarch quilter glowered at Rachel. “A deal’s a deal, dammit.”
Rachel glared, not backing down. “My daughter stays with me.”
Brodie admired the lass for standing up to the quilting harridan. He couldn’t think of another person who was fool enough to do it.
But then the old she-badger swung on him. “Brodie, take the girl to Abraham’s.”
“Why me?” But he knew the answer.
“Because ye’re family,” Deydie said.
Why the hell had he come in with them? He looked down at his grandfather’s basket still in his hand. “Here.” He thrust it at Deydie. “Grandda wanted ye to have it.”
The old woman took it, nodding.
Brodie looked from Rachel to Hannah, then back to Rachel. He felt like the only levelheaded one in the room, but he wouldn’t do anything without her permission. Rachel was, after all, Hannah’s mother. “Ye know Grandda would love to spend the day with the lass.”
Rachel was silent. He could tell she hated giving in to Deydie, and at the same time, he was making a lot of sense. “I give my word no harm will come to yere bairn.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to kick himself. He owed Rachel nothing. Nothing.
But at his words, Rachel’s shoulders relaxed. Her eyes went all soft on him and it was too effing late to renege. He guessed he could get Amy or Moira to look in on Abraham and the girl to make sure they were okay while Rachel was busy.
She chewed her lip, looking from him to Deydie. “All right. But tell Abraham to call if he needs me . . . for any reason. Any reason at all.”
Brodie thought about Doc coming to check on Grandda, a piece of information that Rachel must’ve forgotten during the quarrel. Hell, he could watch the kid for a few minutes while Gabe took Abraham’s temperature and blood pressure, and listened to his chest. “I’ll let the lass know she’s to leave with me.” Anything to get away from Rachel while she gazed upon him as if he was her champion . . . her knight in shining armor. He wasn’t; he was just going to walk her daughter down a few houses and leave her with Abraham.
He stalked over to the small café table. The little bit was stuffing a big chunk of blueberry scone in her mouth when he sidled up to her.
“Slow down there. Ye don’t want to choke.”
She gave him a smile filled with crumbs that spilled into her lap.
“Ye’re to come away with me, back to sit with yere great-grandda for the day. Do ye ken?”
She crinkled up her nose. “Ken?”
“It means, do ye understand. Come now.”
She hopped out of her chair and planted her hand in his as if he’d offered. Which he hadn’t. She acted like she’d known him forever. Which was so far off the mark. He might be family, but didn’t she know a stranger? Was she always this trusting of everyone?
He wanted to shake her grip loose—perhaps shake Rachel, too, for getting him in this mess—but he supposed he was stuck.
On the way to the door, Hannah stopped in front of her mother. “I’m going back home to sit with Grandda. Do ye ken?”
Brodie sighed exasperatedly as Rachel stared at him. As if he had anything to do with what the lass said. He put his hands up. “Don’t blame me.” The lass was a gifted parrot, he’d give her that. She’d said it perfectly with the same inflection he’d used.
Hannah grinned at her mother. “See you later, alligator.”
“All right, you. I’ll let you go, but be good for your grandfather. Please.” Rachel might have a smile for her daughter, but she gave Brodie a meaningful glance as the wind howled outside. He interpreted it with ease . . . take care of my girl.
Outside, he kept a grip on Hannah’s hand, hyperaware that she could blow away as strong as the wind was and with her as little as a mite. He wasn’t strong enough for this kind of worry. Once Doc was done with Abraham, Brodie would hand the girl off and be free. He had no big plans. Maybe he could make himself useful and wait tables at the restaurant. Or drive just outside of town, up to the North Sea Valve Company, and take on extra chores there.
But back at home, he found Doc helping Abraham on with his coat. “What’s going on here?” Maybe they were headed over to the surgery. “Gabe, did ye forget one of yere instruments?” Brodie glanced outside; Abraham shouldn’t be exposed to this weather.
Gabe shot Brodie a serious expression, like the engine on the boat needed a complete overhaul and not just a couple of spark plugs replaced. “I’m taking yere grandfather to Inverness for an X-ray.”
“X-ray? Why?” It was a dumb question, but panic made Brodie ask nonetheless.
“As a precaution,” Gabriel said. “I want to make sure he hasn’t developed pneumonia.”
“I’ll take him,” Brodie said. Grandda was his responsibility.
“Nay,” Gabe said firmly. “I have to be there. I’ll want to read it myself.”
Now Brodie was really worried.
Hannah tugged on his hand. He’d forgotten about her.
“Grandda is going to be fine. Right, Doc?”
What was it with this kid that she had to copy him at every turn?
“Listen to the child,” Doc said. He knelt down beside her and stuck out his hand as if she were an adult instead of a bit. “I’m Gabe.”
“I’m Hannah. Brodie’s cousin.” She grinned at him with her irresistible smile that could charm a hungry polar bear.
“I heard ye’d come to town, Hannah,” Gabe said. “I promise to take good care of yere great-grandda.”
“I know ye will,” Hannah said, her brogue perfect.
Gabe patted her head and stood. He addressed Brodie. “Maybe Hannah would like to play with Glenna over at the parsonage?”
“Ye’re a genius.” Brodie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He could dump her there, then catch up with Gabriel and head to the hospital with them.
Hannah hugged Grandda and then took Brodie’s hand again as they walked to Father Andrew and Moira’s house. But when they got there, Andrew was pulling his front door shut with him on the outside. “What can I do for you, Brodie? I was heading out to make a call.”
Brodie glanced down at the child beside him. “I was wondering if Glenna was home.”
Andrew gave him a confused look. “Nay. She’s at school.”
“Oh,” Brodie said, feeling stupid. “Of course she’s in school. Thanks.”
As Andrew walked away, Brodie frowned down at the girl. “So . . . what do ye want to do?”
She screwed up her little face as if she was thinking hard. Finally, she answered, “Have a tea party.”
“Tea party?” He wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. He guessed he could make her some tea.
The girl seemed to read
his mind. “We’ll have one like Mommy and I have.” Hannah hopped up and down. “We’ll have so much fun. But ye’ll have to do what Mommy does.”
“What does yere mother do?” he asked, circumspect.
“We both put on our pretty dresses, sit on the floor, and drink tea with our pinkies up.” The kid demonstrated how she sipped tea . . . as if she were the blasted Queen!
“Ye expect me to put on a dress?” he asked, horrified.
“Aye,” the girl said. “Why shouldn’t ye?”
“Because I’m a bluidy man.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow at him as the wind nearly picked her up and blew her away. He clutched her hand tighter. He shouldn’t have raised his voice and he shouldn’t have sworn.
“Let’s get home,” he groused, worried about her, even though she wasn’t his. He felt sorry for the girl also. Did her mother abandon her often to strangers? Brodie suspected she did. He was stirred up and indignant for the little girl and decided he would tell Rachel how she was doing things all wrong.
All the way back to the cottage, Hannah chattered away as if she didn’t have a clue he was stewing. When they were safe inside, she slipped off her boots and gazed up at him.
“I’ll put my party dress on, then we’ll have our tea.” She paused as if looking for the right word. “And biscuits?”
“Aye, biscuits.” Her cuteness was starting to grate on him because he felt himself being sucked in. He hung up his coat and then frowned at her. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
She grinned at him. “Ye make the tea, and I’ll set up the parlor.”
He rolled his eyes and stomped up the stairs. What had Deydie gotten him into?
Brodie went into his room and changed for the girl. But not into a damned dress. He returned downstairs to the kitchen without her seeing him. He made the tea, carried the tray to the parlor, hoping the child would tire of this game quickly.
It Happened in Scotland Page 7