Tiff shook hands and returned their warm greetings, but couldn’t help craning past Fraser, looking for Mac.
The whole family smiled, too obviously guessing what she was up to.
“Colin will be along in a minute,” Brodie said. “He declined to practice with us. Said he had to do his leg exercises. He’s better than last time though. When he came out of hospital, he was more of a raspberry than I am.”
“Raspberry?” Tiff asked.
A lopsided grin brightened his thin face. “You’re American, so you wouldn’t know our rhyming slang.”
She shook her head.
“Raspberry ripple. Think about it.” He turned to the kitchen table and sat alongside his mother, giving her a quick hug. “Bannock. My favourite!”
His mother pushed the plate closer to him, with a smile. “You know I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to fatten you up, laddie.” She turned to Tiff. “It’s a rare treat to have all our children home. Only Fraser and Cat, the youngest two, live here normally. Brodie has his own flat on the other side of town, and Colin’s always away.” Her eyes twinkled. “I didn’t think he’d even come home for Hogmanay this year, so I can’t help seeing you buying those fake tickets as anything but a blessing. God gives His gifts in surprising ways.”
The door swung open, and Mac’s broad shoulders filled it. He smiled, straight at her. A real, honest, happy-to-see-her smile that took her breath away.
“I hope you aren’t too tired from the trip,” he said. “You’ll find people here know how to celebrate.”
As warmth filled her from her head to her toes, Tiff couldn’t help agreeing that maybe those fake tickets were a blessing, too.
Chapter 9
Mac watched the dancers swirl and twirl at the Hogmanay ceilidh in the church hall. He searched out Tiffany in the crowd of dancers, the same way he’d been watching her all evening. She’d joined in everything with joyous enthusiasm.
There she was, face rosy pink, smiling widely, blonde hair flying and green skirt billowing as she spun and wove in the complicated moves of Strip the Willow. Instead of the far too fancy party dress she’d brought, Cat had loaned her an old dancing dress from when she was about twelve.
The tight high necked top and full gathered skirt fitted wee Tiffany perfectly. With a Maclean tartan sash pinned in place, and only occasionally stumbling over the steps, she looked like she belonged.
More than he felt he did tonight.
He almost growled in frustration. Every other Hogmanay, unless he was out of the country working, he’d be there among the dancers, leading the way. Or sharing dance caller duties with Dad. Or up on the makeshift stage with the rest of his family and the other musicians, performing in the band.
Tonight, he couldn’t even wear his kilt. Loose trousers covered the ugly scars he didn’t want Mum to see and fret over. He wasn’t sure he should try to climb all the way up the church tower to ring in midnight, as he normally did, either. He couldn’t risk doing anything to limit his chances of passing the fitness medical, just five days away.
Odds were, he’d fail anyway. He knew, if he was honest with himself, his leg hadn’t healed enough. Maybe it would take another month. Maybe, it never would heal enough.
His fists clenched.
Dad said God had a plan and a purpose for his life, but what had happened made no sense that he could see.
Though his own choices made no sense either.
Coming home at all, for example. He’d thought about exchanging his ticket for a later date, to avoid the celebrations. It made more sense to come up on the train next week. He could have done his medical and gone back to London, all in one day. No one would have known. No one would have worried.
But he’d promised Mum. She would have worried even more about him if he hadn’t come home.
Then when Tiffany had been so disappointed about missing out on Hogmanay, and he could make it happen for her, he’d impulsively offered before he’d even thought about it. Her genuine concern for the homeless girl had touched something in him he’d thought was beyond being touched, after all he’d seen.
And she was far too naive and trusting to be out in the stramash of tonight’s street parties alone. The thought of the trouble an innocent like her could end up in shuddered down his spine.
Here, she was safe.
Somehow though, watching her delight in it all poked at a tender spot. He’d been like her once. Young, joyful, enthusiastic, full of faith. But too much had happened since then. The six years between them and all that he’d experienced gaped like an unbridgeable chasm between them.
The music ended and the dancers whirled to a stop. Dad called a break in the dancing, and some soft recorded music started to play.
Tiffany stood laughing with her palm raised to her chest, smiling up at her dance partner. He knew the man. Alistair Murray, a physiotherapist Cat worked with. A good man, a churchgoer, and not likely to overstep the mark with her.
Alistair put a hand on Tiffany’s arm.
An odd possessive jealousy surprised Mac, burning in his stomach and tightening his chest. Instinctively, he stood, ready to head toward her.
Then he forced himself to sit again. He had no right at all to feel the way he did, to want to push in between them and make Alistair unhand her, as if he was the hero of some melodrama and Alistair was the villain.
He looked down at his leg, and closed his eyes. Some hero. He hadn’t been there for Gina, and she’d died. And he hadn’t been able to help that boy. The bitter taste of failure filled his mouth and tightened his lips.
“So here you are, stuck in your corner all by yourself. Is this a private pity party, or can anyone join in?” Brodie’s acid words interrupted his thoughts.
Mac looked up, shaking his head.
His brother stood looking down at him, anger sparking his granite grey eyes, as he waved a jerky hand to the stage. “I think you’ve sat out enough dances for one night. You’re worrying Mum and Dad. You need to join in with us in the next set.”
Mac growled the words. “How can I? I’m not the same man I was last Hogmanay.”
Brodie rolled his eyes. “So the tough big brother I always envied has discovered what it’s like to be a raspberry, huh?” The mockery in his tone cut deep. “Found out just how hard it is? Just thank God that in your case, it’s only temporary. You’ll get better.”
Guilt chewed into Mac at the realisation he’d always been jealous of his younger twin. So much of their parents’ time had been wrapped up in his sick brother’s needs. He’d had to learn to look after himself, fast. He’d had no choice but to be independent as a lad. Losing that since his injury was almost as big a wound as the damage to his leg.
He couldn’t say that to Brodie. He tightened his lips, and said nothing.
Brodie shook his head and a humourless smile twisted his mouth. “How can you? The same way I do. You just do it. Or you can choose to sit here and feel sorry for yourself because your poor widdle leggie is sore.” He spoke the last few words in baby talk, like talking to a child, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I’ve seen you popping pills when you think nobody is looking. Some tough guy you turned out to be.”
Mac swallowed, unsure how to defend himself. Of all the family, he’d hoped Brodie would understand. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Is it? Is it really?” His brother’s face hardened and his eyes flashed again. “All I see is that you ran away after Gina died, and you’ve kept running ever since.”
Mac shook his head, but his brother kept on talking.
“You decide. Stay sulking in the corner the way you have been, or behave as if you’re still part of this family. If you’re not careful, Fraser or Alistair will steal that sweet lass of yours away from you, too.”
He turned and limped off, without waiting for an answer, his thin withered leg beneath his kilt dragging a little, tension evident in his hunched shoulders.
Mac slouched down in the seat,
shaking his head as he stared after his brother. The brother whose body was warped by cerebral palsy, whose condition had claimed so much of his parents’ attention when they were kids. The brother he’d always defended against playground bullies, until Bro discovered that a quick mind and sharp tongue more than made up for lack of physical strength.
The brother with more courage than the rest of the family put together.
Was Brodie right? Was that what he was doing? Sulking, both with God and his family, like a spoiled toddler having a tantrum?
He looked over to where Tiffany stood, in a laughing group with Cat, Alistair, Fraser, and some of Cat’s other hospital friends. Beauty and sweetness radiated from her, like the subtle floral perfume she wore.
The expression on both Alistair’s and Fraser’s faces suggested he wasn’t the only one to notice that. If she wanted a holiday romance before going back to L.A., they were a far better bet than a grumpy old man like him.
What did he have to offer her? At nearly thirty one, he felt middle aged already. And if he passed the medical on Monday, he’d be leaving the country as soon as they let him go. He didn’t want romance. He wanted to get back to work.
Brodie was wrong about Tiffany.
Sweet, yes, no doubt about it. His lass? No. She couldn’t ever be that. He ignored the pang of regret that bit him at the thought.
But maybe Brodie was right about some other things.
Mac sucked in a deep breath and let it go. Making Mum and Dad worry any more than they already had about him would be selfish. He was supposed to be the tough one. The independent one. The one who could look after himself.
Time to start acting like it again.
As his father called out for everyone to get ready for the next dance, he stood, and walked to the stage.
“I’m out of practice, but what would you like me to play?” he asked, smiling at Dad.
He’d lost his first love. He’d almost lost his leg. He’d lost his trust in God. But no matter what else happened, he was still part of this family.
That was one thing he’d never lose.
Chapter 10
Tiffany couldn’t help thinking Mac’s family were a whole lot more fun than he was.
Even acid-voiced Brodie had his wicked sense of humour. She’d warmed to Cat straight away. And Fraser looked just like a younger, less angry version of Mac. Tall, dark, and handsome, with a soft Scottish charm that could melt the hardest heart.
But dancing with him didn’t cause the same flutter in her heart, and when he smiled at her, she didn’t blush. He was a boy in comparison.
Not that she’d had the chance to be too shaken or stirred by Mac tonight. They’d barely had a chance to say more than ‘Hello’ to each other between her arriving at his parent’s home and the ceilidh. Cat and Fraser had taken turns introducing her to people, making sure she was never short of a partner for each set, and keeping her busy chatting in between dances. Mac sat in a corner, watching the dancing but not joining in.
She felt a little guilty that she seemed to be having so much better a time than he was. She’d even thought of sitting it out with him.
But she didn’t want to sit out her one and only Scottish New Year’s Eve. Ever since she’d heard of it, she’d wanted a Hogmanay. She’d missed her chance for the big street parties Grandma had told her about, she couldn’t give up this wonderful opportunity she’d been blessed with.
Especially if it meant sitting out with Mac, who appeared determined not to enjoy himself. She dragged her gaze away from him. Better to stick with the people who were unashamedly here to enjoy the evening.
So far, her first ceilidh had been all she’d hoped. If the big party wasn’t part of God’s plan for her, she’d accept that, and be glad for what she could have. This was the real deal. Real music, real dancing, real people.
Thank You Lord for leading Mac to ask me, even though he’s hardly come near me all night. Please, help him have a better night than he looks to have had so far.
She forced her mind away from thoughts of Mac, and smiled as Alistair took her arm to lead her into the new dance set forming.
Throughout the evening, the musicians and the instruments played had changed depending on the tune. Mostly members of Mac’s family, but others had joined in at different times, making it a community affair. As they waited for the music to start, she looked expectantly up to the stage, wondering who’d be playing this time.
“My whole family, playing together for the next song,” Robert announced, obvious pride shining in his broad smile.
Spontaneous clapping broke out around the room, and she joined in, surprised to see Mac holding a tin whistle.
“Colin wanted me to warn you he’s a little out of practice.” Robert laughed. “We’ll give him a workout with our next dance, The Dashing White Sergeant.”
Tiff smiled. She still couldn’t get used to hearing people call Mac ‘Colin’. He’d always be Mac to her.
The music started, and in seconds she was spinning in a large circle of dancers, constantly changing partners. She tried to pay attention to Robert’s instructions, but all she could hear was Mac’s flute, lively yet haunting, calling to her through the rest of the music. Several times, she stumbled or missed her steps, especially as the tempo accelerated to a whirlwind pace.
Breathless by the end, she literally fell into Alistair’s arms as the music stopped. His firm hands caught her, but maybe lingered a little too long on her arms.
She quickly pushed away with a smiling, “Thank you.”
What would it have felt like if Mac had been the one to catch her when she tripped? Her gaze jumped to him, standing on stage.
His dark eyes were on her, with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
Quickly, she looked away. Her pulses skipped and skittered as her cheeks heated. She pressed her hands to her hot face, hoping she could pretend her flush was due to the fast dance and not that simple exchange of glances.
Mac was all wrong for her, in just about every way. Yet she hadn’t had that instinctive response to a man in… well, ever.
Mom had told her that would happen eventually, and Tiff hadn’t quite believed it. Now she did. But why did it have to be Mac? Why not some nice uncomplicated man, like Alistair or Fraser? Better yet, some nice uncomplicated man from L.A.
Maybe God had brought her and Mac together to give her the chance for her to minister to him, help him find his faith again? The flutter of her heart told her something different, something she didn’t want to hear.
Turning to Alistair and the others in the group, she launched into chatter, telling a story about the time Nick had to play a Scottish character and how he’d had angry messages telling him his accent was an Edinburgh one when his character was supposed to be from Aberdeen.
As she spoke, Alistair looked over her shoulder.
A sudden tension dancing along her nerves and tightening her back told her Mac stood behind her, even before his light touch on her arm sent warmth tingling through her. She swivelled to face him, glad he couldn’t guess how dry her mouth had become.
“They’ll be playing a slow air next, the last dance before Dad prays in the New Year. Like with the tin whistle, I’m a bit out of practice with dancing. Will you take a chance on me.”
His impassive face and calm steady voice gave her no clue if she affected him the way he affected her.
She wasn’t sure whether to hope she did affect him, or to hope she didn’t.
A big thing for him, if he meant this would be his first dance since his injury. She mustn’t refuse. And he mustn’t realise how her heart had jumped at the thought of dancing with him.
“Sure, why not?”
She knew why not. Her response to him was the reason she shouldn’t have said yes. And she didn’t want to let herself think too much about the reason she did. Taking a chance on Mac might not be the wisest choice.
Alistair stepped forward with a possessive attitude, like a dog guardin
g a bone. Mac merely stared at him with one eyebrow raised. Challenge hung in the air, without a word being said. Then the younger man backed off with deflated air, and turned to take the arm of one of the other girls.
Instead of dancing in a set with the others, it looked like she and Mac would be dancing alone.
He took her hand. Sensation flooded her and warmth surged along her skin. The simple contact stole her breath, more surely than the reel she’d just danced had.
“Are you sure you can do this? I don’t want to hurt your leg.” She bit her lip. Dancing together could be a bad idea, for so many reasons.
“Let me be the judge of what I can do. I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “Mum and Cat will play a slow strathspey for us. Walking pace, nothing like the faster dances you’ve done.”
The music started, slow and sweet and beautiful. Raising their clasped hands, they circled around each other, first one way, then the other.
The dance was completely chaste. Nothing touched but their hands, and their gazes, locked together. Yet awareness of him shimmered in every cell of her body. An invisible cord seemed to bind them to each other.
The few short minutes of the dance stretched into an eternity Tiff knew she’d remember for the rest of her life.
This was why she’d come to Europe.
This moment, this dance.
With Mac.
The music faded to an end, and she stood still, staring up at him, chest heaving and heart racing as if she’d danced another reel. She barely registered his father on the microphone, saying a simple prayer for God’s blessing on the year to come, then starting the countdown to midnight.
While everyone else in the room counted down with Robert, all her attention was on Mac. They stood looking into each other’s eyes, swaying closer together. Her lips parted, and she raised her hands to his shoulders, stretching up on tiptoes as he slowly lowered his head. An almost magnetic pull he seemed as little able to resist as she was drew them nearer.
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 40