Rachel bit her lip, dreading the upcoming conversation. “We have to talk first.”
Deydie harrumphed. “Not unless I have a cup of tea in my hand. I’m feeling a mite chilled.”
“Are you coming down with something?” Rachel asked, concerned.
“I’m fine,” Deydie barked. “I went outside a moment ago and the temperature’s dropped. Now, what is it ye want to say?”
“I’d like a cuppa, too,” Rachel said, stalling for a few more seconds. “Let’s go to the kitchen area and I’ll put on the kettle.” Offering to help should soften up the old woman. Rachel led the way.
Once the tea was brewing in the pot, Rachel dove in. “My mother has had a change of plans and is all alone this Christmas.”
“And?” Deydie acted as if she was anticipating the worst.
“She’s coming here to Gandiegow and she’ll need a place to stay,” Rachel said. “Can she have one of the beds at the quilting dorm?”
Deydie eyed her shrewdly. “What do I get out of the deal? Do ye have any more quilts tucked away in yere luggage that we’d like to make?”
Rachel hesitated. Should she tell the old grouch about Hannah’s plaid Gandiegow Fish quilt that she’d designed last night? “Can I think about it?”
“Nay. What is it ye have?”
“It’s just a drawing, not a quilt yet, but it will be,” Rachel said.
“Is it something us Scottish quilters would like?”
Rachel took the teapot and poured them both a cup. “It’s over there.”
“Well, what are ye waiting for? Go git it.”
Rachel nodded and went to her purse, pulling out the drawing. She brought it back to Deydie, smoothing out the pages. “If I’d known anyone else was going to see it, I would’ve done a better job.”
Deydie took it and examined the quilt drawing, making clucking noises as she nodded her head. Not negative sounds, which was surprising, but sounds of approval. “How quickly can ye put this together?” She shook her head. “Never mind that. Be back tonight after the evening meal. We’ll help ye cut it out and ye can start the piecing.”
“And my mother? She’ll have a place to stay?”
Deydie tapped the drawing. “Aye.”
“What about Hannah? Will you welcome her here at Quilting Central, too?”
Deydie looked as if her haggis had gone down the wrong way.
Before the old woman could shove the drawing into her pocket, Rachel snatched it from her hand. “Hannah is part of the deal. Take it, or leave it.”
“Fine. The lass can stay at Quilting Central. But shouldn’t she be in school during the day?” Deydie seemed pleased to have figured out a way to pawn Hannah off on someone else.
“We’re not going to be here very long.” Just for Christmas. Maybe a little longer for my second chance with Brodie. But the school idea was interesting. “When does Gandiegow’s school break for the holidays?”
“I don’t know. The twenty-third? Ye’d have to ask Kirsty, our schoolteacher. Ye could ask her tonight when ye come back to sew.”
Deydie might be right. Hannah would only be happy here at Quilting Central for maybe half a day, but then she would become bored. And possibly get into something she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe someone could babysit her in town; certainly not Brodie as Rachel had already imposed too much on him today. Besides, he had a fishing boat to run.
But her daughter loved school. Maybe the teacher wouldn’t mind if Hannah spent a little time there while Rachel taught here. Split her day three ways—school, Abraham, and Quilting Central since Deydie had agreed.
Even though Rachel still couldn’t stand up to her mother, Gandiegow was making her feel braver and sassier than she’d ever felt in her life. Rachel took a sip of her tea and smiled at Deydie over the rim of her cup. “And be nice to my mother.”
Deydie surprised her by giving her a frightening grin. “Don’t go pressing yere luck, lassie.”
Everything was coming together. Maybe this trip was going to work out after all.
“Oh, crud.”
Deydie raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
But Rachel wasn’t going to tell her that Vivienne was going to lose it when she saw Brodie was in town. Or explain how her mother would throw a royal fit when she realized Rachel wanted to be with him.
Rachel gulped her tea. It was Gandiegow’s fault after all. Gandiegow was infusing courage into her, making her feel as if anything was possible. Even what she’d dreamed of and assumed she’d never get. A second chance with the one who had gotten away.
Chapter Six
Robena Aitken pretended to read the flyers hanging on the bulletin board near the door of Quilting Central, but really she was waiting for Rachel Granger. Deydie was sure taking a long time with Joe’s widow at the back café table. Robena only needed one quick look. She stepped in front of the next flyer, flipped it up, and peeked over her shoulder. Finally, the American lass was headed toward the door. As Rachel got closer, Robena zeroed in on her target and got an eyeful.
Aye, it was her locket.
Robena glanced around the room to see if anyone else had noticed. Not a soul. But she guessed they hadn’t remembered the locket she’d always worn until the day she married Keith.
Keith. It would be many years after becoming his wife before she would fully realize what she’d done—she’d married an amazing man, who was loyal, true. But by doing so, in some respects, she’d lost her son, Brodie.
He’d been too young when Niall died. Too young to understand the decisions she’d had to make for them. By the time Brodie was old enough to hear the truth, he wouldn’t talk to her about it. Aye, he was cordial to her if they crossed paths after church or ran into each other at the General Store. But he’d never forgiven her for marrying so quickly. The pain was physical, even to this day. She loved Brodie so much, but he kept her at a distance.
But what about the locket? What had possessed her morally superior son to give her locket to another man’s wife? Did this mean Brodie was vying for Rachel’s attention? Or maybe that was the reason Rachel was back in town.
Robena knew one thing for sure—it was time to get to the bottom of this. Tonight she’d force herself to make an appearance at her father’s house for supper. She’d leave Keith at home with leftover carrot and coriander soup, and the rolls she’d made this morning. His favorite meal. She didn’t go to her father’s cottage often as the memories of living with her da and his slanted views on women had left her feeling dejected when she was a young lass. But tonight, she’d step into her childhood home, because curiosity about the locket and whatever was going on over at Abraham’s cottage, won out over her painful past.
* * *
Brodie stood at the front door, listening to Doc MacGregor’s instructions.
“Make sure to keep the humidifier going in both the parlor and his bedroom,” Gabriel said. “We’re going to keep an eye on him.”
Brodie nodded and let Doc out. The X-ray had shown a small spot of pneumonia, which they were treating aggressively with antibiotics. But it was up to Brodie to keep his grandfather hydrated.
Hannah came skipping into the hallway. “Should I get Grandda a cuppa?”
Brodie smiled. Correction, it will be up to me and Hannah to keep the old man in tea. “Aye. Help me in the kitchen.” He was enjoying the lass, but they’d had very little time to work on their fort after she’d woken up from her nap and before their grandfather had gotten home. Only one quilt had been positioned in place, trapped by the books on the shelf. There was always tomorrow, though.
She took his hand and pulled him through the hallway. As they passed the parlor, she hollered in, “We’ll be back with yere tea, Grandda.”
Abraham laughed. “Thank ye, lass.”
Brodie winked at her. “It’s a shame ye’re such a quiet little thing.
You’ll have to learn to speak louder.”
Once in the kitchen he gave her the tea canister. “Put one scoop into the ball. While we’re making the tea, tell me what kind of Italian food you like. I’m going to place an order at the restaurant for us. How does that sound?”
Before she could answer, the front door opened and closed. It would be Rachel. He didn’t realize he’d been waiting for her until his pulse kicked up and eagerness spread through him.
“That’s Mommy!” Hannah ran from the room.
Brodie hated himself, because he wanted to run and greet Rachel, too. But it was only his damned urges, out of control again, that made him so eager. He tamped down that particular craving and kept his arse in the kitchen. When she didn’t appear, he figured she was in with Abraham, and possibly avoiding him, too. Though Brodie had initiated the talk they’d had earlier, he didn’t like how things were left between them.
There were still more things that needed to be said. More things he needed to ask. He needed to know if Joe had ever raised a hand to her.
When the tea was ready, he loaded a tray, prepared to go in the parlor and take everyone’s order for dinner. And to see Rachel. But as he walked down the hallway, there was a light tap at the door, and then it opened.
His mother smiled at him. “Hello, Brodie.” She waited and watched, as if he were a dog who might bite.
“Mum,” was all he said. Seeing her always dredged up the sticky feeling of unforgiveness. He took the tray into the parlor, aware he had more than Rachel to concern himself with now. Why in the hell is my mother here?
She followed in behind him, not coming completely in, but standing in the parlor doorway uncomfortably. “How are ye doing?” she said to Abraham. “I heard ye went to the doctor today?”
“Inverness. X-ray,” Brodie heard himself saying.
Abraham coughed as evidence. “Just a precaution.” He smiled over at Hannah. “This is my best girl.”
At first his mother seemed elated, but then tensed and looked embarrassed when she realized it was Hannah he spoke of. Brodie felt embarrassed for her, too.
She recovered quickly, putting her hand out to the lass. “I’m Robena. Brodie’s mother.”
Hannah looked up at Brodie. “So she’s my grandma?”
“No, little one.” He almost said his mother was no one to her, but he rearranged his words before speaking. “She was yere da’s aunt, so she’s yere great-aunt.”
“Just call me Auntie, if ye like,” his mother said with a smile. His mother was always kind and thoughtful. But Brodie couldn’t let it go that she’d married again so quickly, as if Da, who had been everything to him, had been nothing to her.
Hannah looked at Rachel with wonder, as if she’d been given a present. Rachel nodded and the girl ran to Robena, hugging her.
His mother was just as surprised as Brodie was. But he shouldn’t have been. Hannah was constantly amazing him with the things she did. Also, being American, she showed her emotions when Scots didn’t.
Still holding on to his mother’s middle, Hannah stared back at Rachel. “I have an auntie.”
“Yes, you do,” Rachel said, smiling sadly, making him wonder what that was all about. Just another thing to ask her when they were alone. That’s when he noticed the notebook Rachel was sketching in. Was she drawing up another quilt?
Hannah let go and pulled Robena over to Abraham. “This is my auntie.”
The old man chuckled. “So I hear. Did ye know, lass, that yere auntie is also my daughter?”
The girl spun around and stared at Robena with bugged eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.” Mum walked all the way into the room and stood by the hearth.
She was always uncomfortable around her own father, and Brodie knew why. Abraham never watched what he said when it came to complaining about his wife who’d left him for the traveling grocer. Brodie had seen clearly the pain in his mother’s eyes every time old Abraham said, Women can’t be trusted. She didn’t come by often to the cottage, so it must’ve been something important to make her come here tonight.
His mother glanced over at Rachel, her eyes flitting to the locket around her neck, and then back to her face as if she hadn’t done it at all. Brodie was beginning to get a clue why she was here, which made his stomach queasy. Mum was just as curious as he was as to what Rachel was up to.
“Do ye mind if I join ye for dinner this evening?” Mum said nonchalantly.
Only if ye don’t make assumptions and get the wrong idea.
“We can make room, can’t we?” Rachel turned to Brodie. “Right?”
“I was just getting ready to call in an order at Pastas & Pastries, Dominic and Claire’s restaurant. Ye probably haven’t met them. Claire was raised here.” He noticed his mother nodded solemnly as if remembering when Claire had left. “Dominic is her husband. They make fantastic food.” Brodie should stop his rambling. But dammit, Rachel was making him act like a fool. No, his mum. Hell, all of them! He should’ve made other plans for this evening. Anyplace but here. He was beginning to feel constricted. “Is lasagna okay?”
“Aye,” Abraham said. The others nodded.
“Do I like it, Mommy?”
Rachel squatted down. “Chef made it for us two Christmases ago. You loved it.”
Once again, it hit Brodie that he and Rachel lived totally different lives. Her meals were catered to her. He had to catch his with his fishing pole, clean out the guts, and fry it up in a pan.
But that wasn’t completely fair. More times than not, the village women made sure he and Grandda were fed. Dominic was constantly bringing over leftovers and popping them in Abraham’s freezer, too.
“How long are ye in town?” his mother asked Rachel, bringing Brodie back to this reality, and the problem at hand.
“I’m not sure,” Rachel said.
“Oh?” Robena’s pitch had risen. Her eyes flitted down to the locket and back up again.
God. He was going to have to set his mother straight. He’d never told anyone about the kisses he and Rachel had shared at the ruins of Monadail Castle. Never planned to. But he would have to let Mum know that the locket didn’t mean anything, that he’d given it to Rachel long ago, and that her having it wasn’t a recent development. Though her wearing it was.
Brodie frowned at the group of them. “Instead of calling the order in, I’ll run over there. It’ll be quicker.” More importantly, he could get out of the cottage and away from his mother’s scrutiny.
Mum raised her eyebrows at him. “Do ye want some company? Rachel could go with you to help carry it back. It might be nice to have an extra set of hands.”
“No.” Hell, no! “I’ve got this.” He stomped from the room, grabbed his coat, and was out the door before he could be pinned to the wall with one of his mother’s meaningful stares.
He didn’t know what Rachel was all about either—wearing the locket. He wasn’t happy with the looks she gave him every now and then . . . as if she wanted something. Something he couldn’t give. He’d given her his heart once before, but that was when he was young and naïve and certain his grandfather had been wrong. But the truth was, women really couldn’t be trusted.
The storm had eased, which was good; he didn’t want his mother to have a reason to stay longer than she already would be staying. Maybe he should’ve had Rachel come along. It would’ve given them a few moments to discuss the things on his mind. But agreeing would’ve raised his mother’s eyebrows even higher, possibly to her hairline.
At the restaurant, he placed his order, and thankfully, he got in and out without much conversation. He wanted to get the food home and his mother gone.
Back at the cottage, Hannah was inquisitive, asking his mother all kinds of questions. Some about her father, some about Scotland, and some having to do with nothing at all. Mum watched him and Rachel like a sparrowh
awk, ready to jump to conclusions at any moment. Brodie breathed a sigh of relief when the meal ended. He gathered his dishes and stood, hoping the others would take the hint.
Rachel snatched Hannah’s plate and her own and transported them to the sink. “Okay, little miss, time for your bath and then bed.”
“But Grandda needs me to read to him.”
Brodie knew verra well the child was too young to read, but he kept his mouth shut and filled the sink with water.
“I better get home, too,” Robena said.
“Aye.” He didn’t offer his mother the customary after-dinner tea. He also didn’t ask about Keith, Mum’s husband. It felt pretty glaring to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be amicable on this point. Right now, he just wanted his mother to leave.
Hannah threw her arms around his mum. “Night, Auntie.”
Robena looked up at Brodie with love in her eyes. “Night, lass.” And hugged her back.
Rachel and Hannah left the kitchen. Brodie turned to the stove and put the kettle on for Abraham, expecting his mother to follow them out. He stared at the kettle until the first sounds of it starting to boil. When he turned around, he was stunned his mother was still there.
But he should’ve expected it.
“The locket,” his mother said, getting right to the point. “Do ye want to tell me what’s going on?”
If only Keith would do him a favor and call up his mother right now, asking her to hurry home. Brodie stood there silent, wishing for her mobile to ring.
“Does this mean ye’re courting Rachel?”
“Hell, no!” he said. “I want Joe’s widow to go home to America!”
* * *
Rachel gasped, hearing the argument through the vent clearly, as if she were chopping vegetables in the kitchen beside them. Thank God, Hannah was splashing in the tub across the hall and couldn’t hear. Brodie’s words would’ve devastated her daughter.
His words devastated Rachel. Since seeing him again, all her hopes and dreams of them together were resting on the assumption that Brodie still cared for her. Even a little. Couldn’t he give her a chance?
It Happened in Scotland Page 10