18
John left the castle and walked to Hugh’s office, but only after questioning the cook as to where to find him. The wool mill was a succession of buildings, some shiplap, some stone. A few were prettily painted with stripes, but mostly they were a creamy yellow. John found the building which had Office written on the outside door. But when he tapped, no one answered. He checked the door and it was unlocked. He entered to find there were several doors with names and titles below them. He found Manager and knocked again.
“Come in,” Hugh said.
John entered and the young Laird looked surprised.
He recovered quickly, “What can I do for you?”
“The cottage. The one ye were fixing up. Is it good enough for me to move there today?”
Hugh’s eyebrow rose. “Aye. If that’s what ye want. I’ll get Declan to take yere things there straightaway.”
“No!” But then John cursed his blasted temper. He tamped down his emotions. “I mean, I’ll do it myself. ’Tis not much that I have.”
Hugh opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out an old-fashioned key. “Your cottage has the green door in the middle of the horseshoe of homes. I know you have physical therapy most days, but when ye’re up to it, I could really use some help.”
John suspected the truth. The Laird was fabricating a job to give him something to do. Or to keep him out of everyone’s way.
“It’s not what ye think,” Hugh said. “I really do need help here in the office. Tally, my bookkeeper, is taking some time off to be with her mum who is gravely ill and living in St. Andrews. I have a hard enough time juggling the wool mill business without having to figure out her job as well. I reckon since ye own a successful boating business, you’d know yere way around accounting software.”
John looked at him circumspect. “Aye. I’m decent with numbers.”
“The software update arrived. It’d be a great help if ye could get that installed, too.”
John glanced down at his right hand that was no longer there. Then he stared at the bookcase behind Hugh. The physical therapist said John would have to retrain his brain to write and work with his left hand.
“Then ye’ll do it?” Hugh asked expectantly.
“Yes.” John felt defeated.
“After ye get the accounting caught up, I hope ye can help me with another matter. As it’s the month of May, this is the beginning of shearing season and the wool mill is ramping up to handle the new wool. Tuck, I’m sure, would appreciate all the help he can get with the machines, as the process will go to sixteen hours a day. He’s had his hands full since he got here—one breakdown after another. Not to mention how he’s taking care of Ryn…you know, Maggie’s cousin.”
John knew. He’d ridden in the van with her. “Aye.”
“What time is your PT appointment?” Hugh glanced at the schedule on his desk. “I could possibly take ye.”
“Nay. Ross is planning to.” John wasn’t looking forward to seeing him either. Ross would more than likely berate him for his outburst with Maggie, but his brother wouldn’t do it with yelling. No, Ross would handle it with calm logic that would piss the hell out of John.
“Good. All right, then.” Hugh looked at him as if he was worried, but the Laird had a good head on his shoulders and kept his sentiments to himself.
“I’ll be fine to get things moved in on my own,” John reassured, and then he left.
An hour later, John hauled his second bag to the cottage with the green door. He was winded, exhausted, and disgusted with himself for not being able to get everything in one load. But that was the outcome of having only one arm. He didn’t unpack. He sat on the edge of the bed, bone-tired. Finally, he gave into how weak he felt and laid back. He woke to knocking at his door.
“John? Are ye in there?” The door opened and Ross and Ramsay came in.
“What the devil?” John said, trying to sit up quickly, but he fell over, forgetting he only had one arm for which to push himself up.
“We went to the castle and Sophie said ye were here,” Ross explained.
“She’s not happy about it,” Ramsay added.
“Yeah.” She’d given John hell earlier for leaving Kilheath.
“Yere appointment,” Ross reminded him. “We better get going.”
John stood. “Ye both didn’t need to come. Ramsay, don’t ye have a touristing boat to attend to?”
Ramsay shrugged. “Tuck is taking the visiting gents out today for me. We have four from Glasgow who want to experience a bit of our North Sea fishing.”
“Ye should be doing it, not Tuck. ’Tis yere business, not his,” John argued.
Ramsay gave him a look that said John wasn’t the captain of the boat and couldn’t push him around. “I had more important things to tend to today.”
John knew what that meant, and as soon as he slipped into the front passenger’s side of the vehicle, Ross started in on him.
“Tell us what’s going on. Why is Maggie back in Gandiegow with the bairns, and ye are here?”
John answered to no one, except maybe the Almighty, and right now, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. “It’s none of yere affair.”
“Aye, it is,” Ramsay piped in from the backseat. “Ye’re family. Maggie is, too. Ye need to apologize to her for whatever jackass thing ye did.”
John clammed up. He didn’t have to explain himself to his brothers. Besides, he didn’t do anything. Maggie agreed to move them to Whussendale without really discussing it with him first. It was she who needed to apologize to him!
Even-tempered Ross glanced over and then back at the road. “Brother, there are worse things than losing an arm.” John knew he was speaking of Sadie, who was preparing for her kidney transplant.
But Ramsay filled in the blanks another way. “How about like losing yere family. That’s worse than losing an arm, isn’t it?”
At any other time, John would’ve agreed, but things had changed. His whole world had flipped upside down and the same rules didn’t apply anymore. His brothers couldn’t understand.
The rest of the trip was in complete silence. The three of them were used to not talking on the boat, but usually on car rides, Ramsay entertained them with stories of his antics. The quiet was maddening. When they pulled into the parking lot, John was never happier to see the hospital in his life.
Therapy was hard. Just trying to strengthen his left arm wore him out. Baby Irene could’ve wrestled him to the ground, for the shape he was in.
“Ye’re healing,” the petite blond physical therapist assured him. “Give yourself a break. It takes time to come back from this kind of injury. Ye’ll be yourself again before ye know it.”
“Not soon enough,” John growled as he lifted the weight again. Every exercise gave him the chance to take his frustrations out on the equipment, and he welcomed the opportunity. He wouldn’t think about Maggie and the kids. He wouldn’t think about how the doctor advised him against returning to fishing. Or the fact that Maggie told him he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t think about his damned brothers who waited in the outer room as if he was a child having a tooth pulled by the dentist.
“Last one,” the therapist said. “You can do it.”
“I don’t need a damn cheerleader,” he muttered.
“Aye, that’s were ye’re wrong,” she said, as if she’d encountered every type of out-of-sort grizzly bear. “Now, let’s get some ice on yere shoulder for ten minutes. I noticed ye were favoring it.”
When he was finished, he met up with his brothers.
“How about we head to Gandiegow?” Ross asked.
John was exhausted, but not so much that he couldn’t set his brothers straight. “Whussendale. I promised the Laird I’d help to work on the machines.”
Ross gave him a shocked look. “What?”
Ramsay leaned up to the front seat. “I told ye to just drive him to see Maggie and not give him the choice.”
John cranked his head around and
glared at his youngest brother. “I can still kick both of yere arses.”
Ramsay gave John his cocky smile. “Ye’d have to catch me first, old man.”
“Sod off,” John said. “I’m not that much older.” Only nine years.
Ross grinned but said nothing. John knew what he was thinking—at least things were a little back to normal between the three of them.
John laid his head back against the headrest, knowing he was going to sleep all the way back to Whussendale. The physical therapist had been the one to kick his arse today. Ross may think things were better, but the reality was that the rest of John’s life was shite. Complete shite. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
* * *
Ryn carefully rolled to her side, away from Tuck, and stared into the dark. The moonlight crept through the window, which would make it easier to see her bedmate. If she turned around to look. He was close enough for her to reach out and touch him. Instead, she stuck a pillow between them, to keep her hands from exploring the planes of his body.
Her first night out of the hospital, Tuck had slept in a kitchen chair next to her bed, reminiscent of when she’d slept in his bed in his cottage. The next night, though, he wore her down with reasons why he needed a good night’s sleep and why it would be beneficial to her.
Ye want yere manservant wide awake to wait on ye hand and foot, don’t ye?
He made her laugh with all his arguments, and she finally acquiesced, allowing him to slip into the large bed and lay beside her.
Though he’d promised to be a perfect gentleman—not make any moves whatsoever and keep his hands to himself—he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. While they lay in bed, he soothed her with light touches here and there—rubbing her back or caressing her arm. Always there, comforting her.
It was wonderful!
But she was miserable!
Even with both of them fully clothed in modest pajamas, he was driving her hormones toward doing something she would regret. Thank goodness she had three new incisions and doctor’s orders standing guard to keep them apart. At least for the time being.
Being so sleepy helped, too. She’d slept a lot over the last four days, dozing in and out, with Tuck at her side as much as he could be. Whenever she woke, he was there, getting her food, drinks, and an ibuprophen, if she needed it. But she was regaining her strength and awake more and more. Every time he did something nice for her, she had to remind herself she was supposed to be letting go. Practice makes perfect. But being weak in body, she was weak in spirit, and soaked up his goodness, instead of pushing him away.
“Are ye awake?” Tuck asked.
“Yes.” She gingerly rolled over to face him.
He removed her barrier pillow, propping it under his head. “Can I get ye anything?” He started to sit.
When she grabbed his arm to stop him, it hurt, and she groaned. “Ow. No, I don’t need anything.” An idea came to her. One of self-preservation. “Actually, if I’m being honest—” which she wasn’t, “—I think I would rest better if you slept back in your cottage.”
“Nay. I don’t want to leave ye. What can I do to help you sleep better?”
“Stop breathing?” she suggested, trying to make a joke. “It’s just…I’m used to sleeping alone.”
“Good,” he said.
“What I mean is, that I’m a light sleeper. Every time you move, I wake up.” Liar-liar-pants-on-fire skipped through her brain.
He gently pushed her hair away from her face. “But what if you need something in the night?”
“I’ll call,” she said. “Or throw a book at the wall. You’re close by. Besides, Doc MacGregor said it’s important for me to get my rest.”
Tuck didn’t look happy that he’d have to leave her bed. Truth be told, she wasn’t singing Dixie about it, either. She liked having him here. Liked hearing him breathe beside her. Liked playing house with him. But this wasn’t real. She had to do something, anything, to not fall for him.
“Okay.” He tried to sit again, as if he meant to leave now.
She reached out again, being careful this time, and touched his arm. “Stay here with me tonight, though.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Yes. Stay.”
He lay back beside her. She didn’t tell him he was making it hard for her to follow through. Her heart, after all, was on the line and in danger of succumbing to the crush she had on him.
Her hand was still on his arm. She should’ve pulled it away, but instead, she left it there and scooted closer to him. He seemed rigid to her, as if he might be angry she was kicking him out of her bed.
Guilt had her running her hand up to his shoulder, trying to lessen the blow of his banishment. Yes, she was giving him mixed signals, and yes, she enjoyed how solid his muscles felt. But she was only trying to soothe his bruised feelings. Really.
She laid a palm on his chest and felt his heartbeat for a moment or two. Her hand then skimmed his six-pack. She blamed Tuck for what she was doing. It was totally and completely his fault. If he hadn’t been the nicest man she’d ever met, and if he hadn’t been sleeping next to her, driving her crazy, she never would’ve sought him out and been so bold.
“Ye’re making this hard on me, lass.” His voice sounded jagged and out of breath. He was a man trying to speak while climbing a mountain through rough terrain. “You need yere rest, don’t ye?”
She should stop, but now that she’d started…well, she wasn’t a quitter. She shifted again, this time to nibble at his neck, rolling carefully so as not to agitate her incisions.
He groaned and then clutched her hand, halting it. “Lass, no. Ye just had surgery.”
She kissed his shoulder lovingly. “I’m not doing anything. Just messing around.” She leaned over to get access to his lips, but winced, when the action pulled at her stitches.
He gently gathered her to him. “Are you all right?”
“I need you to kiss me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned over, propping himself high enough so he didn’t touch her abdomen, and kissed her tenderly at first. Mr. Considerate was a great kisser, but Ryn liked it more when Mr. Plunder took over and kissed the socks off of her. The man was a wonder with his mouth and she decided his current position left her hands plenty of room to roam freely up his back and down again.
He growled, “Ye’re a tricky one.” He captured her hands and gently moved each of them to her sides to shackle her wrists under his hands. He kissed her again, bringing her into submission.
“Oh, Tuck,” she said, when he moved to her neck and kissed her there. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to wait until ye’re up for more strenuous activity,” he said, misinterpreting her dilemma. “And then we’re going to see it through to the end.”
Ryn was so conflicted. He was looking at the immediate and she was looking at the big picture. She needed space. From him! And from her growing affection for this amazing man.
But hell, she’d have to admit the truth. Not even a million miles would be enough distance to keep her for wanting him…for always.
He kissed her once more and lay back beside her, replacing the pillow between them like before. “Go to sleep. Ye need yere rest. Especially since I need you in tip-top shape. Soon.”
Ryn rolled away, staring at the opposite wall. I really must be feeling better. Which meant it was time to come up with a new plan.
She sighed. After surgery, she should’ve gone to Gandiegow to recover, instead of Whussendale. Being here had only drawn her and Tuck closer.
Tuck laid a hand on her back. “Ryn, there’s something ye need to know.” He paused long enough, she felt certain he must be searching the night for the right words. “I don’t normally say things like this, but well…I like ye a lot.”
She didn’t move. Not even her lungs. For she couldn’t breathe. If only she’d met Tuck before. Back when she had hope. Back before her outlook on havin
g a good relationship was favorable. Back before she knew he’d hate her, if he found out she had an abortion, too.
“Lass?”
She didn’t say anything back. She couldn’t. Pretending to be asleep would save her from telling him that she liked him, too. Loved him.
When the sun rose, she came wide awake, keenly aware Tuck was beside her.
She opened her eyes and he gave her a slow, heart-melting smile.
“’Morning, lass.”
“Morning,” she mumbled. She felt awkward and shy around him in the light of day. Maybe it was because her hands had taken a little advantage of him, not too many hours of ago. More than likely, her shyness was brought on by what he’d said to her in the dark of night.
“I’ll fix ye a cup of tea.” He gave her a quick kiss before getting out of bed.
She allowed the affection, but decided then and there, she couldn’t abide his lingering kisses anymore. If she let her heart get anymore tangled up with him, she might not be able to see her way back to the inevitable reality—a future without him.
A knock sounded at the door, then voices.
“Wait!” It was Sophie.
“Why are ye yelling?” Deydie said.
“Ryn might not be decent,” Sophie said, clearly trying to alert her.
“Deydie!” Tuck whispered. “I’ll duck into the bathroom.”
The knocking reverberated again. “I’m coming in,” Deydie said, and the door opened.
Sophie looked around wildly and seemed surprised and relieved to only see Ryn.
Deydie waddled over to the bed. “How are ye feeling, lass? All better?”
“I’m getting there,” Ryn said, trying not to look at Tuck, who was peeking through the crack in the bathroom door.
“Good, good,” Deydie said.
Sophie stepped farther into the room and glanced toward the bathroom. “Oh.” She shot Ryn an are-you-crazy look.
Deydie spun around and frowned at Sophie. “I’ve never seen ye so jumpy. What’s wrong?”
Blame It on Scotland Page 22