“These are very good.” She tapped her hands on the folder of photos. “Now I realise what you meant earlier, when you said that people needed to be seen as well as heard, and that’s why you take photos.”
Nerves made her voice higher pitched than she’d aimed for. She wasn’t an actor like Nick. Pretending not to be filled with warm awareness of Mac wasn’t something she could manage for long.
His tight posture relaxed a little at her words. He seemed more thoughtful and pensive, though his face gave away nothing of what he was thinking.
Except that she sensed her compliment pleased him.
“Thank you,” he replied gravely, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “It’s my job, and if you see that in the photos, then I’m doing it right. There’s one there for you, too.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to see it. Would she like seeing herself the way Mac saw her?
Slowly, she shuffled through them, distracted by the other faces she saw.
“Oh, here’s Doreen. How wonderful.” She stared at the photo, at the quiet dignity and endurance he’d captured in the older woman’s deeply lined face. The truth of the person behind Doreen’s muttering and her drooling and her never-ending picking at her skirt.
She smiled up at Mac, who’d propped himself against the wall beside her. Only the way he held the injured leg straight, without resting weight on it, gave any hint of how badly he’d been injured.
He glanced around the room. “Is she here today? I haven’t seen her.”
“Simon found her a place in a residential care home in Paddington. A secure place for her to live for the rest of her life.”
“Good news.” He reached out for the picture. “I’ll have to post it to her.”
Tiff paused, shaking her head. She set the photo to one side. “I can take it to her, seeing my plans for New Year’s Eve have fallen apart. Doing some good with the time will help me get over feeling sorry for myself.”
Guilt bit. Her disappointment felt so petty, after listening to Josie’s story, and thinking of poor Doreen. Losing her vacation money in a tourist scam was upsetting, but any of the residents would be glad to have problems as trivial as hers.
Sorry Lord. I’m trying hard to accept it, help me, please.
Mac’s focus narrowed on her and his lazy posture stiffened. One dark eyebrow raised. “So what’s happened, lass?”
Lass. She liked that, with his Scottish lilt. His rough voice seemed to gentle on the word. Or maybe she was just imagining that added warmth and softness.
Just because she felt it, didn’t mean he did.
She looked down to the toes of the far more sensible sneakers she’d bought to wear today instead of her usual heels, and sucked in a deep breath. No more pity parties. She’d said it, and she meant it.
Lifting her head and tossing back her hair, she straightened and met his eyes. A hint of concern gleamed in them.
“Just that I won’t be going to Edinburgh for Hogmanay as I’d hoped. I was conned. Turns out the tickets I bought on the internet are fake. I found out when I tried to book the train travel that was meant to be part of the deal.”
A sigh escaped her. This was something she’d dreamed of for a long time, ever since Grandma had told her about going there as a girl.
Maybe she was allowed to be a little disappointed.
Mac shook his head, saying nothing, encouraging her to continue.
“And of course, the real Hogmanay tickets are long booked out. I even paid for it myself. I wanted it to be my special adventure.” A wry smile twisted her lips. “My family think I’m useless. I wanted to do this one thing on my own, prove them wrong. And look how it’s turned out. Nothing I wanted for this trip is working how I’d hoped.”
She clenched her mouth shut. Enough whining. Time to put on her big girl panties. She had to let that Hogmanay dream go.
Turning back to the photos, she kept looking through them.
“No hope of getting accommodation so near to the night,” Mac said, that same slow thoughtful note in his voice. “Or tickets for the big street parties. They’ve been sold out for weeks. I’m not sure you’d be safe alone in that stramash, either. Those parties can get a bit wild, especially for a wee lass like you.”
She nodded. Even hearing that softening of his voice as he called her a wee lass couldn’t make her smile. “That’s what Dad said. He didn’t want me to go. Well, his prayers were answered. Now he doesn’t have to worry about his little girl.”
“His prayers were answered and yours were not, huh? That doesn’t seem fair. It just so happens that I’m rather familiar with Edinburgh and know a place you can stay.” The gravelly words seemed dragged out of Mac.
Her gaze flew to him. Foolish hope took wings in her heart. Why this one thing meant so much to her she couldn’t explain. It just did.
His words came slowly, and his brow creased. “Those big parties aren’t all Edinburgh does for Hogmanay. Our church has a Hogmanay party.” He smiled. “It used to be a prayer vigil, and a few people do still keep vigil. But Dad figured putting on a party would get more folk into the church to hear some prayer. They do a ceilidh, with traditional folk music and dancing. All you’d need is a train ticket. My mother is always asking me to bring friends home to see in the bells.”
She frowned. Was he asking her to go stay in his home? Mingled nerves and excitement had her mouth so dry she wasn’t sure she could speak.
Mac must have seen the question in her face. “All the church bells in Edinburgh ring at midnight. And my parents live in one of those huge Victorian manses attached to the church, built back when people had families of twelve or more. There are plenty of rooms. Would you like me to speak to your father about it? It would all be very proper. If you want to come, that is.”
Joy at being given what she wanted sang in her, cracking her face in a grin, even as doubt tightened her throat.
Mac looked as unsure about the wisdom of this as she felt.
But if God had given her this unexpected blessing, an answer to her prayer, surely she shouldn’t say no?
She swallowed past the lump in her throat to get out a careful reply. “Thank you, Mac. I don’t need Dad’s permission, but I don’t want him to worry either. Please, do speak to him. Are you sure your mother won’t mind?”
An odd unreadable look crossed his face. “Just the opposite. She’ll welcome you with open arms.” He looked across the room. “There’s your dad. I’ll go talk to him about it. Maybe you can both feel God heard your prayers.”
She watched as he walked over to Dad, with only the slightest hint of his limp. Her thoughts made a crazy whirl of hope and excitement and nervousness. As a distraction, and to stop herself from staring at Mac, she turned her attention back to the photos.
And here was hers.
She stared, breath caught in her chest, mouth dropped open, tears stinging her eyes.
This wasn’t the face she saw in the mirror. This wasn’t a silly girl, frowning at a spot on her chin or a dress that didn’t fit perfectly or hair that wouldn’t go right.
The face in the photo was a grown up woman, more beautiful than she’d ever seen herself. Somehow, Mac had captured not who she was now, but who she could be. He’d seen that in her.
The woman God created her to be. The woman she wanted to be.
She clutched the photo to her chest, and forced herself to breathe.
Somehow, she had to find out how to become that woman.
With God’s help.
And maybe, with Mac’s.
Chapter 8
The speed Mac worked out the details of her travel amazed Tiffany. The day train had been fully booked, so he gave her his ticket on it, taking the red eye the night before instead. He said he wanted her to feel safe, and see the scenery.
His thought and care touched her.
She hauled her suitcase up to the front door of his family home. Aching feet and hands had her regretting her decision to walk from
the train station rather than take a cab. But it gave her the chance to see something of the city.
All the tourist pictures of Edinburgh showed it in summer, green with trees, the stone walls glowing in the sunshine. Now, at barely four in the afternoon on a cloudy winter’s day, and already near dark, it looked very different, not nearly so welcoming. With leafless trees and mounds of snow scattered on the ground, the chill left her shivering on the doorstep, stamping her feet to keep warm.
But the sense of history was amazing. So many more old buildings here than in London. She was here, in Edinburgh. Not quite the Hogmanay she’d wanted, but still, a Scottish New Year’s Eve.
Thankfulness that Mac’s kindness had blessed with this filled her. It was one of those once in a lifetime things, and she intended to make the most of every minute.
The stone built house was way more imposing than she’d expected. Mac said it was a big old manse. She hadn’t imagined his parents lived in a Gothic looking turreted mansion, bigger than their sprawling house back in L.A.
At last she heard someone on the other side of the door, answering her ring on the brass doorbell.
The door squeaked as a girl around her own age swung it wide open, and a black and white shaggy dog bounded for her, sniffing her bag and licking her hand. Loud folk music sounded from an upper floor.
“Back, Hector,” the girl commanded. “Hello! You must be Tiffany, right?” Her looks unmistakably proclaimed her Mac’s sister. A lovely cascade of dark brown hair curled at the nape of her neck and she had the same brown-flecked hazel eyes.
Tiff nodded and smiled, but the girl kept talking before she could reply.
“Come in out the cold. So sorry to keep you waiting! I was in the kitchen, and I thought one of the boys would let you in.” She cocked her head to one side. “They’re all in the music room practicing for tonight, by the sound of that racket. Mum and I should be up there too, but the men will still want feeding, even if we stop cooking to join in.”
Tiff stepped into a warm brightly yellow painted hallway, and bent to pet the dog’s silky head as Catriona shut the door behind her. Thankfully, they seemed to have heating. She’d worried the inside of the house would be as bleakly Victorian as the forbidding exterior.
“I’m Cat. Short for Catriona, but I’m only called that when I’m in trouble. Let me take your coat and hat.”
“Thank you.” Tiff barely managed to squeak the words, as Cat helped her out of her oversized down jacket and crammed it on the cluttered rack.
She pushed Tiff’s suitcase against the wall. “Goodness, you don’t travel light, do you? Fraser will have to carry that upstairs.” In Cat’s quick smile, Tiff glimpsed what Mac could look like, if he wasn’t grim and hard as the stone his city was built from.
“Come on out the back. The kitchen is the warmest place in the house in this weather. I’ll make you a cup of tea to warm you up and the boys will find us when they hear the kettle whistle.”
Cat led the way along the long hall to a doorway at the end, opened a bright blue door, and turned back to her with an encouraging grin. “Mum, it’s Tiffany.”
Tiff liked Cat already. How could she not. The Scottish girl was as warm and welcoming as the big cosy farmhouse kitchen she stepped into. It looked like all her favourite country kitchens on Pinterest, rolled into one.
The woman who turned from stirring something in a massive pot on the old fashioned cookstove was an older version of Cat, just as vibrant, with streaks of grey in her dark hair. In L.A., few women her age would leave the greys natural. Her own Mom certainly made sure her stylist carefully covered the silver strands in her blonde.
But it suited Mac’s mother.
To Tiff’s surprise, she was enveloped in a hug. She’d expected more British reserve, more of Mac’s dourness.
Looked like he didn’t inherit that from the women in his family. Maybe it wasn’t natural to him at all, but the effect of his injury. Her heart echoed with a silent prayer that God would heal him.
As the woman released her, Tiff stepped back and made sure she pinned on her best smile. She shouldn’t be thinking about Mac. She should be making the most of the unexpected blessing of this trip.
“Hello, Mrs Maclean,” she said. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
The woman held her shoulders, stretched her arms to their full length, and examined her.
Tiff’s cheeks heated. Like Mac, his mom and sister were tall, making her feel like a microbe beside them. She’d worn flat winter boots for the walk through the ice and snow, but as soon as she could she’d get into some heels and stop feeling quite so tiny.
Raising her head, she met the older woman’s clear hazel gaze.
It seemed she passed the inspection.
Mac’s mother nodded decisively. “Och, please, call me Helen,” she said. “I’m very pleased Colin has brought a friend home for Hogmanay.”
“Colin?” Tiff had to think for a moment, then smiled. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard his real name since I met him. In London, everyone calls him Mac.”
“We’re all Mac here,” his mother said with a laugh. “He’s still our Colin to us. Sit down, and have tea, I just made a pot. And some bannock fresh from the oven. We girls can sit and talk. I want to know all about how the two of you met.”
She pointed to the chairs pulled up to the big scrubbed pine table, and passed over a thick blue mug of tea.
Tiffany sat gratefully, wrapping her hands around the mug to absorb the heat, though she wasn’t quite sure she liked the speculative gleam in Helen’s eyes. It was a little too much like her own Mom’s had been when she’d looked at Mac.
She smiled across at Helen, who’d sat opposite her, and changed the subject away from Mac. Not that there was anything to say. Forget boyfriend and girlfriend, they hardly knew each other. But avoiding questions seemed best.
“Thank you. Sorry I’m later than I said. I wanted to walk from the train station rather than take a cab or the bus, so I could see more, but what looked easy on Street View was a different matter pulling my case through the snow.”
Helen’s forehead creased in a frown. “I’m not too happy with Colin that you walked. I would have driven to the station to collect you if I’d known what time you were coming. It’s no way to treat his lass on her first visit to Edinburgh.”
Tiff’s heart plummeted to the toes of her winter boots. Exactly what she’d worried that speculative look meant. Mac had promised her he’d make sure his parents wouldn’t read anything into her coming to stay.
“I wanted to walk,” she assured the older woman. “It was lovely seeing the hills and the town before it got dark. And I’m not his lass.” If only her voice didn’t sound so annoyingly breathless as she rushed to explain. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. We’ve only met a couple of times, volunteering at a homeless shelter over Christmas.”
Helen nodded, but her smile held disbelief.
Tiff kept trying. “An Edinburgh Hogmanay was on my list of things to do while I was in Britain and I was conned into buying fake tickets to the street party. Mac helped me get my New Year’s Eve, that’s all. I’ll be going back to L.A. before long.”
Her heart sank even more at that thought. She’d be slinking home to the States with her tail between her legs sooner than she’d wanted the way things were going. So far, she’d failed miserably to get even a hint of interest from any of the designers she’d tried.
The knowing smile that passed between Cat and Helen suggested she still hadn’t convinced them as much as she’d hoped. But thankfully, they seemed willing to drop the subject.
“Well, we’ll make sure we give you a real Hogmanay, not that fake party they put on for the tourists. It’s not the place for a lassie like you on her own, anyway, all those crowds. We’ll be at our own church ceilidh tonight. A grand party.” Helen pushed a plate across the table. “Try my bannock.”
Tiff picked up a slice and bit down into the rich buttered brea
d. Hector jumped out of his basket in front of the stove and sat expectantly at her feet, ready to hoover up any dropped crumbs. “Delicious.” She smiled. “Good thing I walked. I can see I’ll go back to London several pounds heavier at this rate.”
“You’re just a wee slip of a thing,” Helen said.
Cat laughed and shook her head, slapping her own rear. “Mum will feed you up, like she does all of us. But don’t worry, you’ll burn plenty of calories tonight. All the lads will want to dance with you.”
Noisy male voices sounded in the hallway, and the door opened. Tiff swung around to see who came in.
Her pulse rate accelerated, but surely not in the hope of seeing Mac. Just her shyness making her nervous of meeting more people, that’s all. Mac’s family made an instant crowd.
First through the door was an older sandy haired man, wearing a white clerical collar under his jacket. “Why didn’t you tell us Mac’s lassie had arrived?” he asked with a grin.
So Mac was a preacher’s kid too? When he’d said his family lived in a manse, she hadn’t realised that was what he meant.
Tiffany jumped up and held out a hand. “Hello, Mr Maclean.”
Cat giggled.
An embarrassing thought hit Tiff. “I’m sorry, should that be Reverend?”
Her faux pas was what heated her cheeks, not knowing Mac would soon appear.
His father grasped Tiff’s hand and shook it warmly. “If you want to be formal, it’s Reverend Maclean. But we’re not much for formality here. Call me Robert. I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Two younger men pushed into the room behind him.
He smiled. “And these are my other sons, Fraser and Brodie. You’ve met the whole unruly brood now.”
The brothers couldn’t have been more different.
Fraser looked years younger than Mac, like him in colouring and build, but his open smiling face bore none of the pained lines on Mac’s. The other brother, Brodie, limping behind him, was shorter and fairer, but looked older. One side of his body was twisted and wasted. Cerebral palsy?
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 39