She sat down, pulled the quilt from the end of the bed, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She’d give herself one moment to feel bad.
“Mommy?”
Or not.
Rachel stood and let the quilt crumple on the comforter. She wouldn’t fall apart. She couldn’t. Mothers didn’t have the luxury of indulging in pity parties. Mothers pulled themselves up by the bootstraps and soldiered on. She marched out of the room toward the bathroom.
Rachel also couldn’t ignore she had a real problem. Brodie’s resentment. If only he could get past it. But he wouldn’t if she was here in the house, where he could sling her sins at her every chance he got.
Didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder?
She looked in on Hannah and an idea came to her.
No, she wouldn’t go home to Chicago, but she would go far enough to make Brodie miss her a little.
“Mommy? Do you think Auntie can come back tomorrow and work on the fort with me and Brodie?”
Probably not. Robena had been giving Rachel strange looks all evening. Not mean, but thorough looks, as if searching for something.
Rachel grabbed the shampoo from the side of the tub. “Let’s get your hair washed.”
Hannah handed her the plastic cup. “Don’t get the soap in my eyes.”
“I won’t.” As she wet her daughter’s hair and lathered it up, she mentally listed all the things she’d tell Deydie she could bring to the table if she moved back to the quilting dorm. Rachel was, after all, an expert at hospitality, and who better to take care of the retreat-goers than the manager of a swanky hotel.
As she rinsed Hannah’s hair, Rachel put aside her hurt feelings. She wasn’t giving up hope yet. But she did have to wonder. Shouldn’t it be easier than this?
Another complication came to mind, though it played well into her plan to make Brodie’s heart grow fonder. Rachel’s mother was coming to town. She could use that excuse with Abraham as to why they had to move back to the quilting dorm. Everything was falling into place.
“Hannah, I have a surprise for you,” Rachel said.
She beamed up at her. “What is it? A new toy?”
“No, silly. Grandma Vivienne is coming here for Christmas.”
“Yeah!”
For the rest of bath time, she and Hannah made up silly songs, singing about Scotland, her new doll, and the fort in the parlor. By the time Hannah was as pruney as an elephant, Rachel—certain the argument downstairs had ended—finally helped her daughter from the tub.
After getting Hannah settled into bed, Rachel found Abraham in the parlor watching a Christmas movie. “Hannah is down for the night. Deydie expects me back at Quilting Central. Is it all right to leave her here with you?”
He smiled at her. “Of course. Ye never have to ask. Having that girl here makes me feel better, like I was seventy again.”
Rachel smiled. He really was a dear. “Thank you.” She kissed the old man on the cheek. She had the urge to look for Brodie as she left the house, but she tamped it down.
She rushed off to Quilting Central, where Deydie and a skeleton crew of quilters were ready to help her make the Gandiegow Fish quilt meant for her daughter. Kirsty, the village’s teacher, stopped by and Rachel took the opportunity to talk to her about Hannah.
“Sure,” Kirsty said. “She can come for a visit at the school until we break for Christmas. She can sit with Glenna since they are close to the same age.”
They chatted for a few more minutes about the particulars of the arrangement, but then Rachel got back to work because Deydie was giving her the eye. When nine o’clock came, everyone shut down for the night and left, except her and Deydie. Rachel marched toward the old woman.
“I need to revise the last deal I made. I’ve decided to move Hannah and me back to the quilting dorm . . . with my mother coming, and all.”
Deydie scrutinized her. “Ye’re a cheeky one, I’ll give ye that. And brave.”
The old woman’s noncombativeness threw Rachel off guard, but she still felt on the defensive. “It’ll be best for everyone.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“I’ll be able to help with the retreat-goers while I’m there. I do run a hotel, you know.”
Deydie handed her the recently sewed pieces of the plaid Gandiegow Fish quilt. “As long as ye’re going to teach my group.”
From where Rachel stood, suddenly Deydie didn’t seem quite as overbearing as she had before.
Deydie pulled on her pea coat and began fastening the huge buttons. “Take yere time in the morning. I’m teaching a little class first. Ten o’clock will be soon enough for ye.”
Rachel walked back to the house, feeling as if things couldn’t have gone better with Deydie. In the morning, she’d speak with Abraham about switching her residence, but she didn’t know what to do about Brodie. Should she discuss it with him or let him figure it out for himself?
Everything had shifted on her. She couldn’t force Brodie to see what she saw—that they could be a couple. She’d given him enough hints. If Brodie wanted them to be together, he’d have to make the next move. The ball was in his court.
When she got to the cottage, Abraham wasn’t in the parlor and Brodie wasn’t either. She breathed a sigh of relief. But on its tail came worry. If Brodie wasn’t here, was he out with someone else? He’d done nothing but twist her into knots since she arrived. She trudged upstairs and readied for bed.
She woke up early and packed their bags while Hannah still slept. While she showered and fixed her hair, she recited her argument in her head—the one she was going to give Abraham for why they were leaving.
Back in their room, Rachel gently shook Hannah awake.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get up.”
Hannah put guzzy over her head.
“I’ve got another surprise for you. Do you want to hear it?” Rachel cooed.
“Is it a present?”
Rachel laughed. “You’ve got a one-track mind. How would you like to attend a real Scottish school while you’re here?”
Hannah popped up, wide awake now. “Really?”
“Yep. I spoke with the teacher.”
Hannah jumped out of bed. “When do I go?”
“After breakfast.”
“Can Dolly go?”
“Yes, Dolly can go. Now let’s head downstairs and tell your grandfather what you’re doing today.” That they were moving out.
As Rachel put the last of their things into the suitcases, Hannah got dressed, jabbering about what they were going to learn at school. Rachel made sure to explain to Hannah the importance of being a good student, especially staying quiet. Hannah promised.
Rachel left their packed bags in the room and went downstairs to talk with Abraham. Once again she wondered how Brodie would react to them leaving.
But Brodie was already on the boat like yesterday. As soon as Rachel made tea for both her and Abraham, she carried their mugs to the parlor to break the news while Hannah ate her porridge in the kitchen.
“My mother is coming to Gandiegow,” Rachel started.
“I remember yere mother. She’s a handsome woman.” Abraham nodded his head. “Like yereself.”
“Thank you,” Rachel replied, thinking more on her next words than what she was saying now. Better just pull off the Band-Aid. “With Mom coming in, she’s going to need a place to stay. I’ve decided Hannah and I will be moving back to the quilting dorm this morning.”
Abraham opened his mouth, but Rachel held up her hand, knowing she would have to be gentle with the old man. The opposite of what she was with Deydie. “But don’t worry. We will be seeing you just as much.” To make Brodie miss her, Rachel would have to schedule her time at the house when she was sure Brodie was gone—like first thing in the morning.
A snippet of doubt buzzed arou
nd her like an annoying fly. What if Brodie doesn’t miss me at all?
Negative thinking was never productive. Never. She put her thoughts back on Abraham. “Hannah will be staying here with you quite a bit. I promise.”
“All done!” Hannah ran in from the other room and laid her hand on Abraham’s shoulder. “Mommy said I can go to school today. Then I get to spend time with you.”
Abraham brightened as if hearing it from Hannah made it true.
Then the old man turned to Rachel. “But have ye told Brodie yet?”
* * *
“What the hell,” Brodie muttered under his breath. Rachel was wheeling her suitcases through the wynd toward the houses at the back of the bluff. Two cottages sat there, the quilting dorms—Thistle Glen Lodge and Duncan’s Den. He finished tying off the boat and started to chase after her.
No. If he did run after her, he’d look like some smitten pup. Which he wasn’t. He hurried home instead.
He found Abraham in the kitchen writing on a sheet of paper. Brodie was too worried over Rachel to ask him what he was doing.
“Where is Rachel going with her luggage?”
“Her mother’s coming for Christmas. She’s gone to stay at the quilting dorm with her,” his grandfather said.
“Is her mother already here?” And when did this come about? Why hadn’t she told him?
Maybe Rachel might have told him, but he’d been too busy giving her a lecture on how to be a parent and then avoiding her afterward.
The lines between Abraham’s eyebrows grew more pronounced. “I assumed her mother was here already.”
“And Hannah?” Brodie asked.
“She’s gone to school for a few hours, then she’ll be back to stay with me this afternoon.”
Brodie didn’t like it. Rachel was settled in here one minute then gone the next. Was she just trying to yank him around? First, she’d dropped into Gandiegow unannounced, and now she’d gone to the other side of town without a word?
“I’ll be back.” Brodie walked away, determined to find Rachel and speak with her.
But outside, he stopped. Running after her would be stupid. He didn’t care what she did.
Instead he headed up the bluff. The pathway had been cleared and salted. Before he realized what he was doing, he was standing at the edge of the ruins of Monadail Castle. He hadn’t been here since that day six years ago. He half expected Rachel and a partridge to be waiting for him in the snow, but he was all alone. If he was being honest, he was disappointed.
Graham had built his mansion near the castle, making the ruins not nearly as secluded and private as they had been. Which wasn’t a problem for Brodie. He had no one he wanted to bring here for a liaison. Not anymore.
To prove to himself he could, he went to the exact spot he and Rachel had kissed . . . under the archway. From that vantage point, he could see the North Sea rolling and the waves crashing. Only a crazy idiot like himself would be up here sightseeing on a nasty day like today. He turned and looked the other direction through the archway to where the partridge had been. He’d been ridiculously happy with Rachel in his arms . . . and delusional to think she was his. He was thoroughly disgusted with himself for being so naïve when it came to women. Abraham had warned both him and Joe about how duplicitous they could be.
Brodie turned back to the sea, which as a fisherman was his past, his present, and his future. He stopped short. He stopped breathing. Everything stopped, except his heart, which was beating too fast. His eyes lied.
Rachel stood five feet away, her hood pushed down, and looking so vulnerable that she had to be some awful mirage come to haunt him. They both stared at each other, and then suddenly, she was rushing into his arms, kissing him. She’d knocked the breath from his lungs on impact, and it took a second for his body to respond, but then he made up for lost time, kissing her back.
The message started deep inside, a muffled warning—you can’t do this, not again—and at first he ignored it. All that mattered was Rachel was here, they were together, and she was kissing him again. But the voice grew louder in his head, Stop this! His hands moved to her arms, gripping them, but still he kissed her. The pounding in his head and in his chest became dual war cries, the battle turning full-blown, yet he couldn’t let her go. Finally reason tipped the scales, and without his heart’s consent, he set her away.
“No!” he roared, his hands, even now, locked on her arms. He shook her a little.
But then, because he wasn’t in his right mind, he pulled her back to him, crushing her against him, kissing her, brutalizing her lips, wanting to punish her. Punish himself. Wanting to make them both pay for what had been between them in the past. What was between them right now.
She took it. His bruising kisses, and she gave it back to him with tenderness by way of running her hands in his hair. Her mewing sounds. She was trying to crawl inside his skin, though he was being a beast.
Somehow his kisses turned tender, too. He remembered everything. Felt everything. The love he had for her. How right it was to be with her. How their future had seemed so clear. His brain stopped there and didn’t remember the rest. Because there was nothing more in the world right now than the two of them. Together.
Cherishing her lips was amazing, but he wanted more. He pulled at her collar and moved to her neck, needing to love her there as well.
But the second his warm lips hit the cold metal of the chain—the chain which holds my locket—he jumped back.
“Son of a bitch!” He was breathing hard, his warm breath visible, clouding the space between them. “Why are ye here?” Why are ye doing this to me? He felt like a sunk man—his legs strapped to an anchor and thrown in the deepest waters of the North Sea. For all the strength he had to resist her, she might’ve well have been wearing his balls around her neck instead of his locket.
She stumbled backward as if his words had slapped her. “I—I came for a walk.”
“Nay,” he said, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. “Ye came to crush me.” He pointed to the space between them violently. “What happened here doesn’t mean a thing. Do ye ken?”
She pulled her hood up, shadowing her face. The wind howled. A dog barked. Suddenly, Brodie remembered that maybe they weren’t completely alone. He turned to see Dingus barreling toward them, his Sheltie body bounding through the snow, his playful canter in vast contrast to the serious byplay that had happened under the arch. Brodie’s gaze moved to the Big House, and sure enough, Cait stood near with the leash hanging from her hand. It might as well have been a noose . . . because someone, beside Rachel, could see he was nothing but a weak bastard.
Chapter Seven
Rachel was shaking, not from the cold, though it was bitter, but from the emotional upheaval of kissing Brodie. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to watch as he tramped off through the snow. Cait’s dog, Dingus, was barking at her, trying to get her to play.
“Come here, boy,” Cait called. But as she neared, she must’ve seen Rachel’s face. “Oh, no. Are ye okay?” She hurried to her and put her arm around her shoulders. “Come to the house. We’ll get you warmed up.”
But Rachel felt rooted to the spot. Too stunned by what she’d done. Too affected by Brodie. Too overwhelmed. Too frazzled. Miserable. Shaken.
“To the house,” Cait said, as firm as Deydie, but as soothing as coffee with Drambuie. Rachel let herself be led away with the dog at her side.
But when they got to the back door, Rachel dug her heels in. “I can’t. Quilting Central.”
Cait clucked at her gently. “Nay. I’ll text Gran, tell her ye’ll be a while. She’ll understand.”
“Not from what I know about her.”
Cait opened the door and Dingus rushed in first as if showing them the way. She led Rachel through the kitchen and down a hall to a parlor with wood-paneled walls, comfy sofas, and the promised fire
in the hearth.
Rachel’s teeth chattered. “You saw.” She didn’t have to spell it out for her.
“Not if you didn’t want me to.” This sounded like what Rachel had said to Cait at the airport.
Rachel turned toward the fire and away from her new friend. “Can you keep it a secret?” Brodie would hate everyone knowing. Especially if the villagers started making assumptions and drawing conclusions about how long this had been going on. Plus the fact he was caught kissing Joe’s widow. Once again Rachel would be raked through the coals for trying to corrupt another Gandiegowan man with her Yankee ways.
Cait came over and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll keep each other’s secrets.”
So she hadn’t told Graham yet. But her secret would become apparent with time whether Rachel told or not.
“Do ye want to talk about it?”
What could Rachel say? I have this plan, you see. One where Brodie, Hannah, and I are going to be a family. But the plan had fallen apart. “It’s complicated.”
“I know. It always is.” As if Cait was reliving her own past, she looked over at a picture on the side table of her and Graham. “I’m going to put the kettle on and take care of that text to Deydie. Make yereself at home. I’ll be right back.”
Dingus looked up at Rachel, then climbed into the dog bed, collapsing as if being a pampered dog was a lot of work.
She didn’t know how she was going to face Brodie again. She shouldn’t have thrown herself at him. It was exactly as she’d done six years ago, but today’s encounter hadn’t been the loving experience they’d shared before. This time it had been a tornadic whirlwind of pent-up emotions, and she had experienced every bit of anguish she’d put Brodie through. She was only beginning to see the pain she’d caused. She’d been so caught up in her own hurt and disappointment, she hadn’t realized how her betrayal might have crushed him. Changed him. Maybe to the point of not wanting her again at all.
A few minutes later, Cait returned with a tray containing two teacups. She laid her phone beside the picture she’d been staring at earlier and handed one steaming cup to Rachel. Cait’s phone pinged, but she ignored it.
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