Tuck cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “Let’s get ye back to the cottage.”
Outside, the car waited with the heater blowing hot air. How considerate, she thought. She added it to the other times when he’d surprised her.
He drove her back down the hill, around the corner, and then up to the wool mill and the cottages beyond.
“Hey!” Ryn turned to him. “How were you able to retrieve my sewing machine? You locked my cottage.” She felt for the key.
“I have keys to all the cottages. When I knocked and ye didn’t answer, I knew you must’ve fallen asleep at the castle.” He gave her a look that said you should’ve called for me to come get you sooner. “While I was in your cottage, I took the liberty of setting your alarm for eight o’clock. Does that work for ye?”
“The retreat starts at nine, so yes, I guess that’s fine.”
He was not only considerate, but thoughtful, too.
He left her off at the door and waited until she was inside before she heard him pull away in the car.
Ryn fell onto her mattress, grateful for the bed being made up. Before she drifted off, Tuck waltzed across her mind. Thank goodness he’d set her alarm, because there was no way she was crawling out of bed now to take care of it.
She slept soundly until her alarm went off. And with the alarm, the butterflies in her stomach woke up, too. Not the kind of warm and delicious butterflies Tuck set off whenever he was near—or whenever she thought of him. But she had the kind of butterflies that came from real nerves. Why did I volunteer to run this retreat? Nothing in the world qualified her to be a quilting instructor, except her love of fabric and a passion for designing and making quilts.
As she hurried to get ready, she wished she’d gotten up an hour earlier, but she couldn’t begrudge the extra sleep. Something told her it was going to be a very long day.
She practically ran to Kilheath and was relieved to see Sophie, Sinnie, and Rowena in the kitchen, preparing trays.
“Sorry I’m late,” Ryn said.
Sophie gave her a warm smile. “Och, it’s only eight-thirty. No one will arrive for another hour.
Ryn opened her mouth, but Sophie put her hand up.
“I told everyone to come at 9:30 this first day. I figured we could all use the extra half hour to get things ready.”
All three of them carried the coffeemaker and breakfast goodies into the ballroom.
“I’m glad you found the drawing materials I left for you.”
“Thanks for everything.” Ryn looked at all three of them. “I really appreciate all you did.”
At that moment, Maggie, carrying Irene, walked into the ballroom. Unlike before, Maggie seemed to wake up to where she was and take in the whole room. She set Irene to her feet and the little one ran to her Aunt Sinnie who held out a cream pastry. As Maggie made a beeline for her, Ryn’s nerves kicked up another notch.
“Ryn, was it?” Maggie glanced back at her sisters who were watching them. “Rowena and Sinnie say I have you to thank for getting me out of running this retreat.”
Irene squealed as Dand came into the room.
“Mum? I can’t find my Wellies.”
“Why do you need them?” Maggie asked.
Irene slammed into her brother with a whoomf.
“Mum! Tell her to stop hitting my nuts!”
Sinnie grabbed Irene. “We’ll help ye find yere Wellies after we have a cuppa.” Rowena corralled Dand and they headed out the door. Sophie went with them, too, leaving Ryn alone with the one person she’d come to Scotland to see.
Maggie turned her attention back to Ryn, but her eyes kept glancing up at the Modern quilt pieces pinned to the design wall. “I’m headed off to the hospital. John, my husband, called early this morn. I’m afraid he had a rough night again.” She looked anxious to leave. “I hope we get a chance to talk while ye’re here.” Her voice sounded sincere, but not hopeful. “Thank you again.”
Maggie revolved toward the door and hurried off. That’s when Ryn realized she hadn’t had a chance to say a word. Not about the Modern quilt. Not about her mother. Not about the Goodbye quilt she was supposed to deliver.
Sophie returned, laying copies of Ryn’s pattern in each of the quilter’s spots. “I printed these off.” She glanced her way and stopped. “Are ye all right?”
“Yes.” But Ryn didn’t feel very well. The persistent stomach ache—she’d been nursing for a while—returned, and she was certain of the cause. She hated letting her mother down by not fulfilling her last request.
Ryn walked to the front and reviewed her notes once again. Before she knew it, the room was filling with women and their sewing machines. While they set up, they chatted merrily amongst themselves. Ryn watched as they stole glances at the True Colors quilt up on the design wall. Some whispered to each other after taking a look, but mostly they smiled at her, which boosted Ryn’s confidence that perhaps this day wouldn’t be the disaster she’d envisioned.
Sophie grabbed the bell from the small round table at the front and rang it. “Does everyone have their cup of tea and snack so we can get started?”
The women hurried with their morning snacks to sit down.
Sophie went back to the front and the room became quiet. “I want to introduce ye to Ryn Breckenridge who is Maggie, Rowena, and Sinnie’s cousin. Ryn’s from America and has graciously agreed to teach us her True Colors quilt for the first Kilts and Quilts Retreat of Whussendale.” None of this was a surprise to the village women, but Ryn was glad Sophie’s voice was firm, as if to say, Be nice. The American lass has been through so much already. She turned to Ryn. “Ye’re up.”
Ryn smiled sheepishly and walked to the front. “Thank you, Sophie. Everyone should have a True Colors quilt pattern at their station. Your fabric is lined up on the side table.” Ryn told them how to start the quilt and then helped the women gather their solid fabrics. Just as she was beginning her speech on the value of negative space in a Modern quilt, Tuck appeared in the doorway and she stumbled over her words. All thoughts, pertaining to quilting, were gone.
She was trying to wrap her brain around why Tuck carried a basket of wool scraps looped over his arm. Even stranger, when their eyes met, he acted as if he was giving her fair warning that a major storm was coming. A hurricane? A typhoon?
Sophie looked beyond Tuck and then she looked worried, too. She took off in his direction.
What was going on?
But Sophie didn’t make it all the way to the doorway, before Deydie appeared with her wrinkled face lit with excitement. But that quickly faded. Her rheumy gaze fell on the True Colors quilt and she looked puzzled and confused.
Ryn wanted to make a run for it as she watched Deydie’s frown grow while she worked out the truth.
Ryn was the one standing at the front.
Ryn was the one pointing to the True Colors quilt.
Ryn was the one who was going to be skewered.
Deydie waddled down the middle aisle and yelled at Ryn. “What in damnation is going on here?”
13
Tuck hated the way Ryn was glaring at him from the front of the ballroom. He knew she felt betrayed and he wanted to explain.
He set down the basket Deydie insisted he carry, and walked toward Ryn, taking the clear path along the side wall. Sophie and Deydie blocked the middle aisle.
If only he’d had a chance to warn Ryn the old quilter was coming, but there’d been no way to give the American lass the heads up. Deydie had waylaid him as he’d started the vehicle to make the trek back to Whussendale.
Ryn, hands on her hips, met him halfway. As she leaned close, he inhaled, but she wasn’t coming near for his pleasure. She was ready to give him hell.
“Why did you have to bring her?” Ryn hissed.
“’Tis not my fault. Ye’ve met the woman. Do ye really think I had a choice?” Deydie was the one person for which Tuck kowtowed.
“Couldn’t you have at least prepped her? Told her I was taking o
ver the retreat for Maggie?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” he said. “For a good part of the trip, she lectured me on my past transgressions. I was quite relieved when her mobile rang in mid-rant.” He paused, looking to see if Ryn believed him. “That poor soul on the other end. Deydie barked out orders as if a Royal Army captain had possessed her. I think it ‘twas Moira who bore the brunt of the tongue-lashing.”
Tuck cringed when he saw Deydie break away from Sophie. She waddled toward him and Ryn, the old woman grimacing ferociously as every last wrinkle participated in her pudgy face.
She shook a stubby finger at Ryn and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “Why didn’t ye tell me ye were running the retreat? We spent enough time together the other morn. ‘Tis lying, in my book, omitting something like that.”
“I didn’t want to rock the boat.” Ryn glanced at Sinnie and Sophie sideways. For a moment, he wondered if Ryn might throw her new friends into Deydie’s path. But she surprised him, by taking the high ground. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something.”
Deydie pointed to Ryn’s blocks on the design wall. “Where’s the wool quilt Maggie was to teach?”
Ryn bit her lip. “I don’t know enough about wool quilts to teach a class on it.”
“And those quilt blocks hanging there? Doesna look anything like what my quilting ladies do.”
Ryn shrugged, looking embarrassed. “It’s my own design. I call it the True Colors quilt.”
The lass seemed to be holding her breath while Deydie peered hard at the quilt for a full two minutes.
“Where did ye learn to make a quilt like that?” Deydie asked.
“The style is called Modern quilting.”
When one of the local Whussendale quilters approached, Deydie’s hand shot up like a roadblock. “The American lass is busy just now. Ye can speak with her when I’m done.”
Mrs. Bates heeded Deydie and slunk back to her spot.
Tuck felt bad for her, and bad for Ryn, too. He wished he’d driven on when Deydie had called out to him back in Gandiegow. He would gladly have suffered Deydie’s broom to keep Ryn from having to deal with the old woman now.
Deydie nodded at Ryn. “Ye’ll be done here tomorrow, aye?”
“Yes,” Ryn said.
Tuck saw the gleam in the old woman’s eyes. He’d seen it before. Deydie was up to something.
“Then ye’ll come to us the next day and set up.”
“Set up for what?” Ryn asked, looking confused.
Deydie pounded her on the back, giving her a most frightening smile. “The workshop. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s high time we expanded our quilting repertoire.”
First, it sounded ridiculous for Deydie to say repertoire. She was too Caledonian beef and potatoes to say something so French. Secondly, Tuck felt that sinking feeling coming on. Deydie was a bull, unpredictable, and Ryn had no idea of what she was getting herself into. But it was too late. Deydie’s stubborn face said she’d have her way. Tuck felt it in his gut. This’ll only end in disaster.
Deydie shot the American lass that awful maniacal grin of hers. “Ryn Breckenridge, ye’re coming to Gandiegow to turn us into a bunch of Modern quilters.”
* * *
“You want me to do what?” Ryn couldn’t believe it. Deydie isn’t upset that I’m teaching a Modern quilt?
“Lass?” Tuck’s look of concern disarmed Ryn.
But Deydie wasn’t done issuing orders. “Tuck will bring ye to Gandiegow. Sophie’s agreed ye can come to us next, when ye’re done with the Whussendale quilters.”
Ryn spun on Sophie, and her response was a sheepish shrug.
Deydie tapped Ryn on the arm, hard. “Ye’ll stay in the room over the pub. Our Kilts and Quilts hospitality manager, Rachel, says the quilting dorms are off limits while we repaint the walls before the next retreat. The smoke from the fireplaces, ye see, has the walls taking on a dark cast. Now, if Rachel’s bed and breakfast were done being built…” Deydie waved her hands in the air as if dispersing the B & B’s image. “Did ye hear me, Tuck? Bring the lass and she’ll teach us her Modern quilt.”
The old woman was being heavy-handed and issuing out orders as if Ryn herself didn’t have a say in the matter.
What if she was due back in the States? What if she had a life to get back to? Of course, she didn’t have either, but Deydie didn’t know that and should’ve at least assumed she did.
Unless, I look like the lost soul that I am.
Ryn automatically turned to Tuck to see if he saw the real her, and dammit, he seemed to thinking along the same lines. His gaze was filled with concern and some other emotion she couldn’t nail down.
Ryn swept that thought aside. His strange expression had to do with Deydie bossing him around, too. Ryn opened her mouth to stick up for herself and Tuck.
But the old quilter plodded ahead as if Ryn had agreed to everything. “Aye. Right. I need to call Bethia to let her know of the change in plans and the quilting workshop ye’re going to do.” She stared at Ryn. “Go on now and get back to yere teaching.” Without another word, Deydie waddled over to Sophie and Rowena, leaving Ryn alone with Tuck.
Ryn had things she wanted to say to him, but then Sinnie appeared with two steaming mugs. “Cocoa for the both of ye. I expect you need it after getting bushwhacked by Deydie.” The monitor at Sinnie’s belt gave a toddler gurgle. “Somebody’s up. I better run and get Irene before she gets into trouble.”
Ryn didn’t even have time to thank her for the hot cocoa before she rushed off.
Tuck turned to Ryn with genuine concern and interest in his eyes. “Are you okay, lass?”
“Other than the near heart attack that Deydie gave me just now?”
He reached out a hand as if to steady her, but pulled back at the last moment. “Ye’ll survive. We all do.”
But Ryn wasn’t sure she was going to survive his deep baritone burr and his make-her-fall-for-him-again look of concern.
She turned away, focusing on the Whussendale women who were quilting. “Yes, I’m fine.” The morning class had gone well, better than she could’ve hoped for.
Ryn realized Tuck was scanning the length of her, as if looking for bumps and bruises. His gaze was probably meant to be brotherly, but dang it, if he didn’t give Ryn goosebumps just the same.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“This old thing?” she answered, smoothing down the front. “You’ve might have heard of it. It’s called a dress.”
He chuckled. “A dress, huh? I like it.”
Unwittingly, her stomach did a flip-flop, reliving the kiss…okay, the two kisses they’d shared before.
She watched him closely. And if she wasn’t mistaken, his benign gaze turned meaningful—a gaze filled with promise. Her little black dress had been holding out on her in the past. The snug sheath had never caused this kind of reaction before.
“I’m glad you like my dress,” she heard herself saying and was immediately mortified. A heated blush flooded her face and she spun away from him. “I better get back up there.”
“I’ll pick you up early Monday morning,” he said.
She didn’t look back as she walked to the front, but waved an arm behind her. “Fine. Sounds good.” Oh, dear!
That’s when she noticed all eyes were on her. Sophie, Rowena, the cook Elspeth, Lara, and all the rest of the room. They looked ready to ask her a thousand questions about her and Tuck.
Deydie saved Ryn, though, as the old woman came shuffling back into the room. “I’d like to say something to the group before ye get back to teachin’.” With some effort, she huffed herself to the front. “Most of ye know me. I’m Deydie McCracken of Gandiegow, and me granddaughter came up with the Kilts and Quilts Retreat. Sophie, Sinnie, and Rowena—” Deydie’s eyes skimmed the room and landed on Ryn with a frown “—and the American lass have done their part to bring the first Kilts and Quilts Retreat to Whussendale. Enjoy it, for
this is the last of easy street ye’ll see. In the future, the burden shouldn’t land on these young women alone. I expect ye all will help. Aye?”
Aye went up around the room, as if Deydie’s reputation had preceded her.
Deydie nodded. “Good. Now, get back to sewing.”
Ryn took that as her cue and hurried to take Deydie’s place.
Surprisingly, Deydie didn’t leave the ballroom, but took a seat next to her basket. She pulled out an embroidery hoop and began stitching while Ryn self-consciously gave the next instruction. It was unnerving to have the old quilter there, watching her every move, but Ryn pushed through her uneasiness for the sake of the quilters…and for the sake of Maggie.
An hour later, two tall, good-looking men showed up in the doorway.
Sophie appeared at Ryn’s side and answered her question before she could ask. “Those are my cousins, Ross and Ramsay. They’re here to retrieve Deydie. They’re on their way to the hospital to visit my cousin John. Come. I’ll introduce you.”
As introductions were made, Deydie gathered her things, and finally Ryn could teach the Whussendale ladies without being scrutinized.
Without any more incidents, Ryn taught the rest of the day and didn’t see Tuck again. She wondered about him, though, several times…and she shouldn’t have. When she returned to her cottage in the evening and saw that his light wasn’t on, she wondered if he’d stayed the night in Gandiegow. Exhausted down to the toes of her tights, Ryn fell into bed and dreamed of him.
The next morning, she either heard him leave his cottage or she dreamed it, but was too tired to fully wake to find out. Besides, she shouldn’t care what he was doing. She was self-aware enough to know she was acting like a boy-crazy fool. Which always got her into trouble.
Later when she woke, she kept her thoughts to getting ready and then hurried to the castle. But as she walked, she couldn’t stop thinking about Tuck. She didn’t understand her hang-up on him. And though she knew it was wrong, she looked for him everywhere. It was as if her DNA was searching for him.
The morning session went well as all of the quilters had finished the appliquéd circle blocks. Slowly, Ryn was learning the names of the village women. Sophie started a list of what they would need for future retreats and laid it on the table besides Ryn’s teaching notes—nametags were on top of the list.
Blame It on Scotland Page 15