PRAISE FOR THE KILTS AND QUILTS NOVELS OF PATIENCE GRIFFIN
“A captivating story of four friends, two madcap romances, an idyllic Scottish town, and its endearingly stubborn but loyal inhabitants . . . witty, warmhearted, and totally charming!”
—Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling author of Whisper Beach
“A magnificent triple-hankie debut written straight from the heart. . . . Prepare to smile through your tears at this deft, brave, and deeply gratifying love story.”
—Grace Burrowes, New York Times bestselling author of the Lonely Lords and the Windham series
“Griffin’s style is as warm and comfortable as a cherished heirloom quilt.”
—Lori Wilde, New York Times bestselling author of the Cupid, Texas Novels
“Griffin has quilted together a wonderful, heartwarming story that will convince you of the power of love.”
—Janet Chapman, New York Times bestselling author of It’s a Wonderful Wife
“A life-affirming story of love, loss, and redemption. Patience Griffin seamlessly pieces compelling characters, a spectacular setting, and a poignant romance into a story as warm and beautiful as an heirloom quilt.”
—Diane Kelly, author of the Tara Holloway series
“Griffin’s lyrical and moving debut marks her as a most talented newcomer to the romance genre.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Another appealing romance full of gentle humor, small-town charm, and enormous heart.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Definitely a ‘must read’ for any woman with romance in her heart.”
—Fresh Fiction
Also by Patience Griffin
The Accidental Scot
Some Like It Scottish
Meet Me in Scotland
To Scotland with Love
SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
This book is an original publication of New American Library.
Copyright © Patience Jackson, 2016
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eBook ISBN 9780698404960
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Praise for the Kilts and Quilts Novels of Patience Griffin
Also by Patience Griffin
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Pronunciation Guide
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Author’s Note
Excerpt from IT HAPPENED IN SCOTLAND
For Charla & Amber
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE
Aileen (AY-leen)
Ailsa (AIL-sa)
Bethia (BEA-thee-a)
Buchanan (byoo-KAN-uhn)
Cait (KATE)
Deydie (DI-dee)
Moira (MOY-ra)
DEFINITIONS
céilidh (KAY-lee)—a party/dance
fash—trouble
fat quarter—a portion of fabric measuring eighteen inches by half its width (typically twenty-two inches). In the U.K. a fat quarter is slightly larger, approximately 56cm wide x 50cm.
Gandiegow—squall
Irn-Bru (aıәrn'bru)—considered Scotland’s national carbonated soft drink
ken—range of knowledge or understanding
manky—seedy
numpty—a stupid person
postie—postman
radge—crazy, mental
shite—derogatory term
Quilters of Gandiegow
Rule #4
Let the healing art of quilting take root.
Chapter One
A light Scottish summer breeze deposited a leaf on the hood of Ross Armstrong’s red truck. He brushed it aside, dropped the rag he’d been using into a bucket, and stepped back, admiring his masterpiece—a newly restored 1956 Ford F-1. Ross hadn’t done it all by himself, not by a longshot. His brothers, John and Ramsay, had helped, and Doc MacGregor had been invaluable, from rebuilding the engine to doing the new paint job. But Ross felt a sense of accomplishment anyway.
As if the wind had dropped something heavier than a leaf—perhaps an anchor—a thought hit him, crushing his good mood. Now what am I going to do?
For the last seven months he’d spent every spare second on the pickup, when he wasn’t working on the family commercial fishing boat or helping out at NSV, the North Sea Valve Company. He’d filled his time, hoping to keep the women, and men, of Gandiegow from bugging him, trying to set him up with their daughters and granddaughters. Now that Pippa—his ex-long-intended—was married, the town thought he should be hitched, too.
Didn’t everyone have enough to fuss over with Moira and Father Andrew’s upcoming wedding than to try to marry off Ross, too?
He had his own plans. Robert and Samuel were out of school for the summer, so they could take his place on the fishing boat while Ross did something else.
He just didn’t know what.
He’d spent a lot of the time working on the truck thinking about a new career, how he might step out from the life everyone else had chosen for him from birth. His little brother Ramsay had made a change from being a fisherman to running his own business. Ross could do it, too. He’d been toying with the idea of hiring out his truck to haul goods, but it didn’t seem quite right.
“There you are.”
Ross groaned as he glanced back at Kit, the town matchmaker, barreling toward him. She might be his sister-in-law, but it didn’t give her the right to meddle in his nonexistent love life. Sure as shite, she held her damned matchmaking notebook to her chest, and right beside her was Harry Dunn looking intently at him, too.
Ross tossed the bucket into the bed of the pickup, pulled his keys from his pocket, and hopped into the front. “Gotta run.”
“Wait up,” Harry hollered. “My niece is coming in today for the quilt retreat. She wants to meet ye.”
Kit glared at Ross. “You’l
l never find another woman if you keep running away.”
He turned the key and revved the engine. “Sorry, Harry. Sorry, Kit. Can’t hear ye over the noise.” He cranked the window up as fast as he could and pulled out.
“That was a close call,” Ross said to the refurbished gray interior of the truck.
He wasn’t being rude, only preserving what little sanity he had left. He’d done what the town had wanted. He’d waited years for Pippa to return so they could marry. She’d returned, all right, but instead of marrying him, she’d met and married her true love, Max. Max was a hell of a guy, and Ross wholeheartedly gave his blessing to their quick wedding. That should’ve been enough to satisfy Gandiegow. But no. The second Pippa was married, Kit started pestering Ross to take out the new schoolteacher, Kirsty. Against his better judgment, and to get Kit and everyone off his back, he’d gone to dinner a time or two with Kirsty. She was okay—nice-looking and everything—but his time would’ve been better spent chopping bait.
As he drove from the community parking lot and up the bluff, he caught a glimpse out of the rearview mirror of Kit with her hands on her hips. There’d be hell to pay for foiling her plans. He was going to have to talk to his brother Ramsay about setting his wife straight. Ross couldn’t be tied down right now. This was his time to play the field. Hell, he wanted to wear it out!
Maybe he should drive to Lios or Fairge to do just that. But first he had to pick up some goat cheese at Spalding Farm for Dominic and Claire, Gandiegow’s restaurateurs.
Farther up the road over the bluff, just past NSV, a coach bus came into view. Ross eased his truck to the side to let it pass. Harry’s niece was most certainly on that bus headed for the quilt retreat. Just like before every Kilts and Quilts retreat, the gossip mill had been abuzz, but Ross had done his best to ignore it. He pulled back into the road and kept going.
He glanced back in his mirror at NSV, Pippa’s father’s factory. Ross worked there sometimes and had invested what cash he had, not regretting the decision. NSV would make money one day, but in the meantime, what was Ross going to do? A looming dread fell over him. Have I wasted my life up until now? His little brother Ramsay, for gawd’s sake, changed his life. Ross had always worked on the family fishing boat. And that was fine, but shouldn’t he want more? What did he own besides this truck and a few shares in NSV? He’d spent his thirty years doing the right thing, being an honorable man, and what had it gotten him?
As if a thick fog had lifted, everything became clear. He was done doing what everyone else wanted, done doing what was expected!
He glanced over at the quilted grocery bags beside him. Except today. He would run errands for the village. But later . . .
Later he would make a stand and take back his life.
* * *
At twenty-two, Sadie Middleton didn’t like zombie movies, but as she stepped off the bus a mile out of Gandiegow, Scotland, she felt like the lead in her own dreadful film. Sadie of the Dead. Not some glamorous zombie either, but a plain zombie who wanted to vanish. The other women around her were excited, giddy about their first evening at the quilt retreat. Sadie felt only waylaid. Shell-shocked. Miserable. If she was still at home in North Carolina, she would be sitting on the porch with Gigi, her grandmother, drinking sweet tea and waiting for the July Fourth fireworks to begin.
Except they weren’t in the US.
And Gigi was dead.
The gravel crunched under Sadie’s feet as she made her way, along with the other quilters, to the North Sea Valve Company’s factory door. Their bus had died and coasted into the parking lot, and they were to wait here until she and the others could be transported into the small town. She leaned against the building, unfolded the printed e-mail, and read it again:
Dear Sadie and Gigi,
Pack your bags! Your team has won the grand prize in the quilt block challenge. Congratulations! You are coming to Gandiegow! For complete information regarding your Kilts and Quilts Retreat and all-expense paid trip to Scotland, please e-mail us back.
Sincerely,
Cait Buchanan
Owner, Kilts and Quilts Retreat
Having read the note a hundred times, Sadie shoved it back in her pocket. It seemed a cruel joke from the universe—to receive this letter only hours after Gigi’s funeral.
At hearing the news about the retreat, her brother, Oliver, had gone into hyperdrive, using his grief to propel him into action. While insisting Gigi would want Sadie to fulfill their dream of a quilt retreat abroad, Oliver had made all the arrangements for Scotland—packing her bags and having her out the door before Sadie knew what had happened. His bullying made the trip feel more like a kidnapping than a prize.
Sadie’s grief had immobilized her, made her want to crawl under a quilt and never come out. She waffled between feeling despondent and angry. But the one constant was her guilt for the part she’d played in her grandmother’s death.
Her quilted Mondo bag slipped from her shoulder . . . the bag that matched Gigi’s that they’d made at their last quilt retreat together. Memories of that glorious weekend were stitched into Sadie, the moments long and meaningful. She pulled the bag up, held it close, and squeezed her eyes shut.
The last twenty-four hours were wearing on her. Sadie was exhausted, depleted. But she had to keep it hidden at all costs. She glanced over at her ever-helpful brother as he assisted the rest of the women off the bus. Good. He was being kept busy. She was sick to death of Oliver fussing over her and telling her what to do.
At that moment, two vans pulled up. A tall, nice-looking man got out of one and a very pregnant strawberry blonde got out of the other. As they spoke to the bus driver, the woman handed over her keys to him.
Oliver, who had only just finished unloading the last quilter from the bus, hurried to the couple who’d brought the vans. “Excuse me?”
“Yes,” answered the man. From his accent, he clearly was from the States. Texas, perhaps.
Oliver pointed to Sadie. “My sister needs to be in the first group into town.”
Embarrassment radiated from her toes to her scalp. Dammit, Oliver. Sadie ducked behind another woman as the two newcomers turned in her direction.
“Sure,” the man said. “We can take her into Gandiegow first. I’m Max, by the way.”
Oliver introduced himself, too, and unfortunately felt the need to explain further. “My sister is ill.”
The couple’s curious eyes transformed into compassion. The women around Sadie spun on her with pity as well, staring at her as if they hadn’t just spent the last couple of hours on the bus with her in quasi-normal companionship. To them, Sadie had been another quilter, a fellow retreat goer. Now, she wasn’t. She was to be flooded with sympathy. No longer included. On the outside because of her disease.
Oliver spoke to Sadie but pointed to the vans. “Get in. They’ll get you to town.” He’d said it as if Sadie’s problem was with her ears and not her kidneys.
Without a word and anxious to hide her red face, Sadie walked to the van with a compliant exterior. On the inside, though, she was seething. She climbed in and took a seat in the back. A minute later, others were climbing in as well. No one sat next to her, leaving her alone to frown out the window at her overly responsible brother.
The couple climbed into the front of the van and began chatting with the other quilters. Sadie found out more about them and their connection to Gandiegow—Max and Pippa were engineers at the North Sea Valve Company and newlyweds. They kept up a steady conversation, asking the quilters about themselves, and explaining about the upcoming wedding between their Episcopal priest and a town favorite. Mercifully they left Sadie alone.
A few minutes later, when they reached Gandiegow’s parking lot, a group of men and women were waiting for them.
“We’re a closed community,” Pippa explained. “No cars within the village. Everyone is here to help carry
yere things to the quilting dorms.” Sure enough, many of the women had wagons beside them, while the men had their muscles. “Deydie will want everyone at Quilting Central as soon as possible. She’s the head quilter and town matriarch.” Pippa made it sound as if they better do as Deydie bid or there might be trouble.
One by one, they disembarked from the van. When Sadie got out, a young woman in a plain plum-colored dress with a double-hearted silver brooch moved forward. Next to her was a young girl.
“I’m Moira,” the woman said, “and this is my cousin Glenna. We’ll help ye get settled into the quilting dorm.”
Sadie followed them, immediately pleased with both of her handlers; Moira and Glenna seemed blessedly quiet and shy.
Even though it was early evening, the sun was still in the sky, due to how far north Gandiegow was. They walked through the minuscule town along a concrete path that served as a wall against the ocean with no railings for safety. Moira pointed to where Oliver was to stay, Duncan’s Den, and then took Sadie next door to the other quilting dorm, Thistle Glen Lodge. It was nothing more than a bungalow set against the green bluffs of summer, which rose nearly straight up at the back of the town.
Glenna shot Sadie a shy glance, then turned to Moira. “Should I let Deydie know that she’s made it?”
“Aye. We’ll be along shortly,” Moira said. The girl ran off between the buildings.
Moira led Sadie inside to the way-too-cheery interior and down the hall to a room with three beds. The decorations were plaid and floral—a little French country on the northeast coast of Scotland—and too optimistic and exuberant for Sadie.
Moira motioned for her to go in. “You can store yere clothes in the armoire. The kitchen is stocked with tea, coffee, and snacks. But all yere meals are provided either at Quilting Central or the restaurant. I can bring ye scones and tea in the morns, if ye like, though.”
Sadie set her Mondo bag on one of the beds. Moira was nice, but Sadie wanted only to be left alone to crawl under the quilt and hibernate until life wasn’t so crushing. And she was so very tired. People didn’t understand that though she looked fine, she was often exhausted and feeling generally cruddy . . . her new norm. Patients with chronic kidney disease, CKD, usually weren’t diagnosed until it was too late, already in stage four like herself, and in need of a kidney transplant.
The Trouble with Scotland Page 1