Ryn didn’t trust herself to speak just yet, but stepped to the side to let Sophie enter.
Sophie laid the quilt on the table, then turned around and studied her face. “I can plainly see ye’re not okay.” She touched her arm. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Mortified, Ryn felt tears spring to her eyes and she had to work hard at not spilling the beans about how love-em-and-leave-em Tuck had treated her.
“It’s nothing.” Ryn looked away, focusing hard on the quilt Sophie had brought. The way the quilt was sprawled on the table, gave her a good look at the design. “My mother had a pineapple quilt once. But Mom’s quilt wasn’t made with flannel plaids and a thistle medallion in the center.”
It was the right thing to say to throw Sophie off the scent. Her expression turned to one of understanding. She wrapped an arm around Ryn’s shoulders. “I can’t imagine what ye’ve been through, losing yere mother so recently.”
Ryn felt guilty using her mom to deflect Sophie from the awful truth—being upset over a man. Again!
Sophie led her to a chair. “You look a little flushed.”
Mark that up to Tuck, too. Ryn automatically touched a finger to her freshly kissed lips.
“I’ll make ye some herbal tea, then I’ll get the bed made up.” Sophie retrieved the kettle from the stove and took it to the sink. “We need for ye to have a good night’s sleep for the retreat tomorrow. I’m sorry about the roof. We’ve been keeping Tuck so busy with the wool mill that there’s been no time to really work on the cottages.” She paused, as if thinking. “Hugh should really contract out the remodeling to someone else. Tuck has enough on his plate.”
Though Sophie had placed Ryn in a chair, the talk of Tuck had her jumping up. She went to the shelf and retrieved two teacups.
Sophie smiled at her. “Are ye nervous about tomorrow?”
No, I’m nervous about the man next door, the one who kissed me silly and then stomped on my fragile heart. Not something Ryn could say aloud. But she could tell Sophie a different truth. “I think I’m ready. I would like to set up early, though, if I may.”
Sophie laughed and dug around in the pocket of her wool dress. “I’m glad you said something.” She handed her a skeleton key. “It’s to Kilheath. Come and go as ye wish, day or night. Think of the castle as yere own. The key’s to the kitchen entrance.”
Ryn pocketed the key. “Thank you.”
Sophie made the tea, while Ryn stripped the plastic off the new mattress. They sipped a little at their teacups, but then got busy putting the room to rights. While the two of them made up the bed, Sophie filled her in on the various village quilters. When they were done, she didn’t stay, but gave Ryn one more squeeze and left with a wave.
Sophie’s companionship had raised Ryn’s spirits, but now alone, they fell a little. She went to the old-fashioned refrigerator and saw it had been stocked with yogurt, milk, and a casserole dish marked Shepard’s Pie. Ryn couldn’t get over the kindness she’d met, since coming to Whussendale, but invariably her mood was tainted by the man next door. She wished she could put him behind her as easily as he’d slammed the door on her after the kiss.
Her stomach felt queasy so she left the food for tomorrow and slunk off to bed, completely exhausted. But once she was under the Pineapple Thistle quilt, sleep eluded her. For a long time, she lay listening—wondering what her duplex-mate was up to. But the only sounds she heard were from the night. Suddenly a phone rang from the other side of the wall. Because she’d been concentrating on every noise—so as not to think of Tuck’s lips on hers—the phone startled her.
The wall may have muffled Tuck’s words, but Ryn made out every one. “Hallo.” A silent pause followed and then, “Aye.” Pause. “I’ll be right there.” Footsteps sounded and then Tuck’s door opened and shut.
Ryn jumped up, ran to her window, and looked out. Tuck walked away from their connected cottages and crossed to the other side of the horseshoe of homes.
I can’t believe it: Booty call! That’s what it had to be…and the flirty café clerk came to mind.
Ryn plunked herself down in her chair, wishing she had duct tape to lash herself to it. She wanted so badly to chase after him to find out where he’d gone. For the next forty-five minutes, she stared at the thistle clock hanging above the sink, as every scenario of Tuck kissing and touching another woman cruelly played out in her mind.
Finally, she stood and went to her suitcase, resolutely.
No, she wouldn’t go knocking door to door to find Tuck.
No, she wouldn’t go next door and insinuate herself into Tuck’s bed, a replay of last night, but this time make herself more seductive than the drooling fool she’d been in her sleep.
And no, she wouldn’t drag a chair and camp outside, tapping her foot on Tuck’s stone porch until he returned home.
With skeleton key in hand, she grabbed her notebook, determined to go to the castle without giving Tuck another thought.
Outside, the night was dark, no moon in sight. For a brief second, every scary movie—where the heroine stupidly heads out into the dark alone—made a chill run up her spine.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Ryn whispered as she tried to lock her door with her trembling hands. “Whussendale is as safe, as safe can be.”
“Aye. Ye are being ridiculous,” said a deep familiar voice.
She jumped in surprise, but immediately spun around, feeling pure relief when she saw Tuck. He leaned against a tree, not ten feet away from her cottage’s window.
She crossed her arms over her chest, because she wanted nothing more than to run into his arms. “What are you doing? Spying on me? Peeping Tom? Peeping Tuck?” She piled on loads of attitude to cover up how warm he made her feel, and for how silly she must’ve sounded talking to herself. But really she was grateful. It was hard being all alone in the world. If something did happen to her tonight, between the cottage and the castle, at least one person had seen her set out.
He pushed away from the tree, pointing to the top of her cottage. “I was just trying to get a look at yere roof. Willoughby said Declan patched it while I was away.”
“Oh.” The moon made an appearance, making Tuck’s features easier to make out.
He came nearer and her stomach squeezed in anticipation.
“Who’s Willoughby?” she asked nervously.
“The master kiltmaker. That’s where I’ve been. Willoughby needed me to check the damper in his fireplace.” He stopped in front of her. “The more important question is what are ye doing out here alone, with it being so late?” His head tilted down and she knew he looked at the items in her arms. He reached out, not taking her notebook, but the key to her cottage. Then he finished locking the door for her. “If ye were running away, I’d think ye’d bring more than some paper and a stack of fabric.”
“I’m not running away.”
His face turned a bit hard as if she’d answered him wrong. She knew he wanted her to get the hell out of Scotland!
Ryn set her feet as if she wasn’t going anywhere…just to spite him. “I’m sure you’ve heard already. I’m taking Maggie’s place and teaching at the quilt retreat tomorrow.”
“Aye. I heard something about it.”
“I guess I’m a little nervous about tomorrow, because I can’t sleep. I decided to get a head start on setting up.”
“A dram of whisky usually works for me.”
“For nerves?”
“For dousing insomnia,” he said, as if he wasn’t scared of anything. He came closer. “I should walk ye to the castle then.”
His offer didn’t sound like an offer at all. It sounded as if he’d been charged with an unpleasant obligation.
“Don’t fash yourself,” she said, emphasizing what he’d said to her last night while she lay in his bed. Though she was trying to be tough, the thought of him watching over her again, involuntarily soothed the rocky feelings he’d caused when he’d stomped away from the car.
But she coul
dn’t trust him. Good sense made a go at returning. He’s only trying to get into your pants. Just like all the rest of the gorgeous men you’ve known. But the lecture barely registered because he stood near. Her raging hormones had turned her resolve into the firmness of warm pudding.
Tuck touched her arm to point her in the right direction. It should’ve been innocent enough, but dammit, the contact felt as if firecrackers had been set off on her insides. Her stomach fluttered wildly and her legs became as reliable as stacked marshmallows. Abruptly, she pulled away, wanting to yell, No! Not this time! She’d let him kiss her earlier, which had been clearly a mistake. She couldn’t allow him to keep reeling her in and then tossing her back. But that was exactly what this gorgeous fisherman was doing.
She took a steadying breath. “Thank you. I’m fine on my own.” She took off at a clip. “It’s not a long walk.”
And damn, if his large stride didn’t make it easy to catch up to her. “’Tis my duty, lass. The Laird said to watch out for you.”
She was so unbelievably conflicted. On one hand, she wanted him to take her to the castle like in some fairytale. Prince Charming waking Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. But this princess wanted His Charmness to want to be with her for her, and not out of a sense of obligation. And at the same time, she knew better. She knew better than to want him at all!
They walked along in silence for a while, but then Tuck spoke.
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
Sorry? “Yeah? Well, that makes me feel better. That you’re sorry you kissed me. I’m not used to men apologizing afterward,” she said sarcastically.
“That’s not what I’m sorry about,” he said.
“Sorry you met me then?”
Tuck gave a mock laugh. “The truth?”
The truth could hurt, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But deep down, she had to know more about Tuck MacBride. “Yes. The truth.” She braced herself, waiting for the blow.
“It’s not what ye think,” Tuck said quietly. “After we kissed, I realized why ye look so familiar to me. And it might explain why my normally hospitable brother wasn’t as warm and friendly as he’s known to be.”
“Who do I look like? An old flame? A ballbuster?” Ryn couldn’t believe she was being so crass. But she was tired, on edge, alone in the world, and had left her filter beside her mother’s grave.
By the look on Tuck’s face, she’d nailed it.
“Ye’ve no idea,” he finally said.
He went silent again for another long moment. This time she saw he wasn’t at war with telling her the truth, but with the ghost from his past.
“I don’t get it.” And she really didn’t. “You can’t blame me for taking it personally that you turned into a jerk after kissing me. You have to admit we’ve spent a lot of time together since I arrived. Why didn’t you say something sooner? It’s not like I suddenly transformed into…into… What’s the ballbuster’s name?”
“Elspeth.”
“Yes, Elspeth. You should’ve said something.” But relief swept through Ryn. Her imagination hadn’t run rampant. He was interested in me from the start.
But the actuality hit Ryn. His interest hadn’t been in her. It was his residual feelings for his old flame, sputtering about, that had burnt Ryn in the crossfire.
She didn’t wait for him to tell her why he hadn’t said anything. The pain of rejection returned and she stomped off.
He caught up to her once again. “Hold up.”
The sincerity in his voice had her turning toward him.
He reached out and lightly ran his hand down her arm. “I don’t know why I didn’t see the similarity at first.”
“So it took kissing me to see that I look like your ex?”
His eyebrows crashed together and she knew she’d struck a nerve.
“The point is,” he started, “I’m sorry for how I behaved when I figured it out. Ye should know I really enjoyed the kiss we shared.”
“I enjoyed it, too.” She couldn’t believe she’d admitted it. But the kiss had been hot. Surreal. The best kiss she’d ever had, except best didn’t come close to describing what they’d shared.
His fingers encircled her arm and he gently tugged her closer. As his gaze fell to her lips, Ryn became defenseless to what happened next.
Like a woman with no restraint—whatsoever!—she went up on tippy-toes and kissed him, even wrapping her arms around his neck to anchor him to her. At first he didn’t move, proving she’d surprised him. Hell, she’d surprised herself. But then he kissed her back, tenderly. The kiss felt like a cool drink on a hot day. Or the warmth of fleece around her shoulders during a winter storm. Or just that feeling of coming home, after being gone so long.
Her brain attempted to keep her steady, begged her to not succumb. Plant your feet on firm ground! This isn’t real! Sure, somewhere deep inside, Ryn understood this kiss was nothing more than an extension of the apology he’d given. And possibly, Tuck was only kissing her, looking for some skewed closure with his old girlfriend. But the truth was Ryn just didn’t care. It felt too good. Too right. And with each second, her inner voice faded and the spell of his kiss swallowed her up as the magic—of him, of her, of them together—weaved a cocoon around them. A dangerous web. But she kept kissing him back.
Slowly, Tuck pulled away, acting as if he didn’t want to. “I better get ye to the castle.”
Ryn was super self-conscious, feeling as if she should apologize to him now. But then the enormity of it hit her. This must be what alcoholics suffered when they fell off the wagon. And it didn’t feel good. She’d betrayed herself. She’d taken one look at Tuck and all the hard work from the last two years was washed away. “Oh, crap.”
“Are ye okay?”
“Yes. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Hell no! “I’m fine.” She hated it even more, that with every moment she spent with him—his kisses aside—she was seeing he was more than good looks and hard muscle. He had depth! Showing he cared about her and the other little things he kept doing, was deceiving her into going down the wrong path with no way to get back.
At Kilheath, she used the skeleton key to let herself in.
“Thanks for walking me here.” She tried to slip in and shut the door, feeling both anxious to be rid of him, and at the same time, she didn’t want him to go.
Tuck stopped the door with a strong hand. “Nay, lass. I’ll see ye in.”
It was a good thing he did—he knew where the light switches were. And the direction of the ballroom.
When he turned on the light of where the retreat was to be held, Ryn saw Sophie had been busy, probably with the help of Sinnie and Rowena. The room had been set up with six long tables, extension cords running to each one. Design walls—made with flannel-covered plywood—were leaning against the wall behind each table. At the front, three design walls stood, clearly there for Ryn’s use while she taught.
She looked up at Tuck. “This looks great.”
He shrugged. “If you say so. Reminds me of a scaled-down Quilting Central.”
“It’s perfect.”
At that moment, the Wallace and the Bruce wandered in, tails wagging. They automatically scurried to Tuck’s side, as if he had treats in his pocket.
Tuck dropped down on one knee to scratch them both simultaneously behind the ears. “Awww, ye are worthless guard dogs.”
Ryn’s insides couldn’t help but glow, for how he showed his affection for the dogs.
Tuck turned his attention back to her. “Do you want me to hang around until you’re done?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
He stood. “Promise to call me when ye’re ready to go. I’ll come walk ye back up to the cottage.”
She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but don’t you have an early appointment to go fishing?”
He nodded, but the look on his face said he was standing firm. “C
all me.”
He stared her down until she nodded.
“All right then.” He patted the dogs one more time and then left.
The dogs trotted over to her then, looking forlorn. As she ran a hand over each of their furry heads, the dogs gazed sadly at the doorway Tuck had gone through.
“I know how you feel. But enough, already. Let’s get to work.”
First she pinned her quilt blocks to the design wall. Then she went to the stack of solids on the ironing board and began pressing them. She lay out and arranged the quilt fabrics on a table as if assembling a smorgasbord for the retreat goers, making it easy to take what they needed for their quilts. If she’d had more time, she would’ve made up kits for each of them, but decided it was more important to draw a picture of the True Colors quilt, using the poster board and markers Sophie had left. Ryn sat at the table and began sketching.
About halfway through the drawing, she yawned uncontrollably and her eyes watered. She wouldn’t quit though. It was important to have a mock up for the quilters to see.
Ryn woke to a warm hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her.
“Lass, wake up.”
She knew that voice and smiled without opening her eyes. If I play possum, will Tuck kiss me awake?
He must’ve squatted down beside her, because she felt his solid arm go around her waist. Her insides shivered as he softly spoke into her ear. “Hen, ye need to get back to the cottage. Ye’ll have to be up in a few hours for the retreat.”
“Hmmm?” she said, smiling as he held her tighter.
The dogs whined as one nuzzled into her hand. The other one burrowed his way in and nuzzled her, too.
“Come now,” Tuck said soothingly. “I brought yere sewing machine down to the castle for ye. Am I to carry ye back to the cottage like a wee babe?”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. “I’m awake.” Though the thought of him carrying her off, as if he was a Scottish Rhett Butler, had Ryn smiling even more.
He stood, offered his hand, and she took it. When he pulled her to her feet, they were awfully close. Close enough for her to lean into him, or go up on tippy-toes again and steal another kiss.
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