The Accidental Scot

by Patience Griffin

  Deydie picked up a box and thrust it at her. “We can talk, but ye’ll have to sort the fabric kits while we do. It should’ve been done hours ago. With Cait and Mattie going away soon . . .” Deydie’s voice was strained. She covered it with a cough. “There’s a damned lot to do. The party for them . . . everything.”

  Freda took the box, understanding Deydie’s pain that her family was leaving for a time. “Why isn’t Cait waiting until after Christmas to join Graham in New Zealand?”

  Deydie sighed heavily. Not because she was angry with Freda; she mostly sounded sad. “Graham’s shooting schedule. He’ll return to the U.K. to do a couple of publicity events and then gather Cait and Mattie to take them back with him.”

  Bethia wrapped an arm around her old friend’s shoulders. “Ye’ll miss them.”

  Deydie shook her head. “Caitie asked me to go with them. But my place is here. No one else could run the Kilts and Quilts retreat. Besides, they won’t be gone forever.” But her voice held doubt as if they would.

  Bethia rubbed Deydie’s back reassuringly. “Graham said that once his biography comes out, the media won’t bother with Gandiegow for too long as he’ll be in New Zealand. Things will be back to normal soon.”

  Freda, for one, would do anything for Deydie. The whole town would gather around her and support her in her time of need.

  Bethia confirmed her thought. “It’ll be okay, my dear friend. Ye have us to help ye through.”

  Freda glanced about the room. “Maybe we should have our Christmas Eve dinner here this year. We could ask others to join us.” Maybe Abraham Clacher. There had to be other people, too, who were at loose ends at this time of year, the same as Freda had been her whole adult life.

  For a second, she wondered if Deydie would take the broom after her for suggesting it.

  Instead, Deydie nodded. “’Tis a good idea. We could help the lonely souls this Christmas.” Deydie looked at Freda pointedly, the message clear: Freda was the lonely soul and she wasn’t. She gestured to the box in Freda’s arms. “Ye better get to organizing those damned fabric kits.”

  Freda sat the box on the table beside the design wall and began pulling out the bags filled with fabric. “Tell me about the new woman in town. I haven’t heard yet who she is. No one stopped by while I was cleaning the McDonnell’s house this morning, and I’ve waited all day to find out something.” She had Pippa and the McDonnell’s dinner in the slow cooker, and their kitchen floor sparkling as if stars had fallen from the sky and lay upon their floor.

  “Ye were always a strange one, Freda. A dreamer.” Deydie shook her head as though Freda was a bampot. “Always interested in people, even as a girl.”

  Freda put her eyes back on the kits. She’d learned a long time ago to keep her assessments to herself. In some respects, she liked fading into the woodwork so she was free to study people and not be asked about what she thought. But the problem with fading into the background was that when she wanted to be noticed, she had no idea how.

  Freda spoke nonchalantly over her shoulder. “So what’s the woman’s name?”

  “She’s another one from that big company. Her name’s Miranda something. She’s Max McKinley’s boss.”

  “Oh. Do you know anything else about her?”

  Deydie stopped messing with the quilt blocks and gave Freda her full attention. “I take it ye saw her then. Go ahead and tell me what you think. What was it about this one?”

  But Deydie would laugh at Freda, maybe even scold her, if she told her what she thought.

  Freda had clearly seen the vulnerability that lay beneath Miranda’s overabundant confidence. A vulnerability that Freda knew well. How had Miranda pulled it off? How had she managed to overcome the same flaw that Freda had—insecurity? A small spark of hope flickered inside of Freda then. If Miranda could display confidence, then maybe Freda could, too.

  “She’s different, is all.” Freda picked through the kits, pulling out all the blue ones, laying them on the table.

  “Sort them by size, not color, Freda. I know ye like the different shades, but we need to make an inventory to decide if we need to cut more kits.”

  “Ye’re right,” Freda agreed. She did like the shades—in fabric and in people.

  “We’re keeping Miranda at Thistle Glen Lodge,” Bethia provided.

  Deydie took over, readjusting the kits into piles. “We could use help, keeping an eye on the woman. That way ye can study her further.”

  Freda pulled more fabric kits from the box. “I’d be happy to help. I could make her a pot of soup to keep in the refrigerator, in case she gets hungry.” She decided the name Miranda fit her well.

  Miranda knew how to be noticed. Her hair was perfect, her clothes crisp and commanding. She looked like a woman who always got what she wanted—men, money . . . men.

  But there was only one man that Freda wanted. The McDonnell.

  “Freda?” Deydie barked. “Where are ye? I asked ye what ye saw in Miranda.”

  Bethia cleared her throat. “Don’t rush her, Deydie.” Clearly, Bethia was curious, too.

  Freda stepped back away from the kits and grabbed her coat off the chair. “I just remembered I forgot to take the towels out of the dryer at the McDonnell’s.”

  Bethia touched her arm in encouragement, her eyes imploring.

  Freda needed time to think on it a bit more, but she knew one thing. She met both of her friends’ eyes and told them the truth. “I saw a lot of things in Miranda. But mostly I saw a scared little girl.”

  * * *

  When Pippa was sure that Deydie and Bethia were busy at the design wall and not listening anymore, Pippa stood and turned on Max. “I asked ye why ye’re being nice to me. Are you feeling randy again, Mr. McKinley? If so, go charm Miranda Weymouth. I’m not stupid enough to fall for yere line again. We need to talk, my arse. I can guarantee ye won’t see me near-naked again.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her, getting too close. He commanded attention with nothing more than his presence—suffocating and intoxicating, and sexier than anything she’d ever experienced.

  His nostrils flared as he leaned close. “I don’t need lines or ploys to get women. Secondly, you’re way off about me not seeing you naked. I expect that’ll come about naturally. But it’s the contract I’m after now. Miranda has blocked me from getting my hands on it. I need to know what she’s hiding. Can’t you see I’m trying to help you?”

  Pippa moved away. Miranda’s name made her want to throw something at his head. A hot iron would do. “I told you MTech played dirty.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “So whether you like it or not, we have to work together.”

  “No.” She pushed him away, but not without first feeling how hard his chest was under her hand. She was being stubborn, but dammit, she didn’t like being bossed around. “My da and I will work through the contract and get back to ye. And keep Miranda out of my hair. I need peace and quiet. She better leave Da alone, too.”

  Max looked ready to lose it. He walked two steps away, but then spun back. “Why do you have to be so stubborn? Anything between us is less important than bringing the subsea shutoff valve to fruition. I don’t want anyone else to die.” He walked out the door.

  Two things hit her at once. She wondered what I don’t want anyone else to die was about. And at the same time, it hurt that he clearly wasn’t feeling as drawn to her as she was to him.

  And where was he going? Was he heading back to the pub? To Miranda?

  A chill came over Pippa.

  Like hell he is. She left her quilt pieces where they were and dashed for the door, grabbing her bag with the contract on the way out. But once outside, she slowed.

  Maybe she should drop her bag off at home first and change into something more . . . appealing.

  Chapter Ten

  At home Pi
ppa put on her sexiest outfit—a pair of jeans and a tight scoop-necked sage sweater. With simple gold hoops as earrings, her wavy strawberry blond hair brushed over one shoulder, she was happy with the look. This outfit should get a certain American’s attention.

  She ran downstairs and found Freda in the kitchen, pulling towels from the dryer.

  “Leave those,” Pippa said. “I can fold them later.”

  “Nay. ’Tis no trouble.” Freda admired her outfit. “You look very pretty. Ye have a gleam in yere eyes, too.”

  By Freda’s sideways glance, she must have known that Pippa planned to give Max a difficult time tonight. “Is it a date?”

  One of the things Pippa loved about Freda was that she never said a word about Ross. Once, she’d even hinted that she didn’t agree with the rest of Gandiegow: A lass needs to make up her own mind over the lad that she wants.

  “Why would ye ask if I have a date? Can’t a girl get a wee bit fixed up, now and then?”

  “Hmmm.” Freda grabbed the next towel and folded it in thirds. “The way ye look suggests a man is involved.”

  “Perhaps.” Pippa leaned over and glanced in at the McDonnell in the den. Da seemed more and more tired these days. She should’ve come straight home after printing the contract at the factory. Da slept restlessly. “Maybe I should stay in.”

  “Nay. I’ll stay. I brought handwork.” Freda motioned to her English paper piecing project sitting on the counter. “I’ll watch over the McDonnell.”

  Freda was such a good soul. Something came over Pippa and she reached out and pulled her in for a hug. A tight one. “Thanks.”

  Freda stood there motionless for a moment, but then hugged her back, fiercely. Pippa understood. She hadn’t hugged Freda in years, not since she was a wee thing.

  When Pippa let go, Freda had tears in her eyes, and she felt guilty. Maybe she should’ve thanked Freda more often over the years. Hell, maybe she should’ve thanked everyone in Gandiegow, too. She was just beginning to see that maybe she should’ve been more sensitive to her da and others.

  Pippa squeezed Freda’s hand. “I mean it. Thank you.”

  She waited until Freda nodded before Pippa grabbed her coat and left. The second she got outside, worry fell over her again. What were Miranda and Max up to in the room over the pub?

  When she got to The Fisherman and looked around the room, Max wasn’t there. Crap.

  She wove her way through the growing crowd and joined Bonnie behind the bar.

  “Have ye seen the woman?” Pippa asked. “The American?”

  Before Bonnie could answer, Miranda appeared behind her at the bottom of the steps. She had on a slinky, long-sleeved black dress. It wasn’t revealing, but it had seduction written all over it.

  The dress infuriated Pippa. The hag had worn it for Max! And who in their right mind would wear such a thing to a pub filled with randy Scots? Sure enough, the men’s gazes gravitated toward her, the fools slathering over her. Didn’t her kinsmen understand women like Miranda were as treacherous as barracudas?

  Miranda’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Pippa. “My, my, you do get around. Scullery maid and bartender?”

  “Aye. Quite the multitasker.” Pippa tipped her chin up. “Which will it be? Ale or whisky?”

  “Doesn’t this country have a decent chardonnay?”

  Pippa gripped a crystal tumbler. “No. But we have manners.”

  “I’ll take an ale.” Miranda turned and leaned her back against the bar, surveying the men and seeming to find them lacking. “It’s good we have a moment to chat. Alone. Woman to woman.”

  Pippa didn’t want to chat. She wanted to run this woman from town.

  “You should step aside. For Max’s sake. He has a great future at MTech. He needs to focus while he’s here.” Miranda glanced at her over her shoulder. “Did you know he just received a well-deserved promotion?” She made it sound as if he’d slept with her to get it.

  Miranda glanced down at her fingernails. “We’re going to make the perfect power couple, Max and me. Unstoppable.”

  Before Pippa could react—like reach over the bar and yank out her perfect black hair—the pub door blew open. Taog and Murdoch stepped in, followed by Max.

  Pippa watched as Miranda’s eyes—and resolve—latched onto the Yank. She swallowed her anger and tried to engage her. “So, what are yere plans, Miranda? How long will ye be in town?” But distracting her from her target didn’t work.

  Miranda shot a conniving smile at her prey. “I’ll stay here until I get what I want.”

  “What’s that?” Pippa was clearly trying to punish herself.

  Miranda’s tongue slithered out and touched her top lip. “A satisfactory partnership.” She pushed away from the bar. “Excuse me.”

  Pippa grabbed onto her arm. “But yere drink’s ready. Bonnie’ll take your money.”

  Pippa slipped from behind the bar and made a beeline for Max, who had camped at a booth with Taog and Murdoch. His eyes were on her, or perhaps her neckline, as she made her way across the room. Was that a hungry expression in his gaze?

  “Scoot over,” she ordered.

  He looked at her questioningly but did as he was told. “I thought you’d stay in with your father tonight and discuss the contract.”

  “More pressing matters.” Even though Taog and Murdoch sat across from them, she laid a possessive hand on Max’s thigh under the table.

  He jumped.

  Mission accomplished. Pippa had his complete attention now. She patted him. Good boy. Now, stay.

  Miranda slunk across the room, her hips swaying like the headliner of a nightclub. “Don’t you have something better to do?” she said to Pippa. “Like man the bar?”

  Pippa ran her hand along the inside of Max’s thigh. “Working the bar isn’t as entertaining as this.”

  “Go away,” Miranda demanded. “Max and I have business to discuss.”

  Max grabbed Pippa’s hand, stilling it under the table. “She’s staying. As long as she behaves.” He gave Miranda a look that said the same went for her.

  Pippa purred, brushing her breast against his arm. “Ye’re no fun, darling.”

  Max rolled his eyes and Pippa smiled at him sweetly.

  “While I have you both here,” Max started, “you should be properly introduced.”

  Before he could go any farther, Pippa stuck her free hand out to the current-day Cleopatra. “Hi, I’m Pippa.” She made sure to sound like a complete bubblehead.

  Miranda sniffed the air but didn’t offer her hand back. She turned to Max. “Can we go somewhere more private? It’s getting too crowded in here.” She gave a pointed glare to Pippa.

  Pippa freed her hand from Max’s hold and was inching her way up to no-man’s-land, or man’s land as it were.

  Max suddenly pushed her from the booth, scooting himself out, too. “We were just leaving. Pippa has to get home. Night, guys. And I’ll meet you in the morning, Miranda. For the meeting at the plant?”

  “But . . .” Miranda stared gape-mouthed as Max drove Pippa toward the door, grabbing their coats from the hooks on the way. Pippa turned around and smiled victoriously at Miranda—they wouldn’t be a power couple tonight!

  At the last minute, Max turned back to his boss. “Deydie said she’ll be by to get you. The pub is too loud. The women have set you up in the quilting dorm.”

  He didn’t wait for her response, but pulled Pippa outside. It was freezing. But Max looked steaming mad. Or turned on. She wasn’t sure which.

  “What the hell was that?” he said as he dragged her along.

  “A bit of fun,” Pippa said lightly.

  “A bit of fun is going to get you and me in a lot of trouble.” He pulled her between the church and the General Store, a dark alleyway of sorts, sandwiched out of sight of the path.

  She d
idn’t get a chance to ask him what he was up to. He wrapped her in his arms, crushed her body against his, and kissed her. She was a struck match, instantly hot. Fireworks exploded inside her body. Any cold she felt was history. She was so turned on that her middle turned to mush and her legs trembled. The Yank has skills.

  He broke away, breathing heavily. “You’re making this hard on me.”

  She laughed. “I know.” She could feel him intimately against her.

  But Max was frowning, looking almost in pain. “We can’t do this, Pippa. The deal. Miranda. Your dad. And you’re supposed to be with Ross.” Max listed them off as if she didn’t already know it was a terrible idea for them to take up. But she wanted him desperately.

  And she couldn’t stand the thought of him with anyone else, especially the American harpy.

  Rejected once again. Pippa pulled away. “Fine.”

  As if the Almighty knew she needed to hurt the Yank as much as he had hurt her, a figure appeared at the end of the dock in their line of sight. Ross. He looked in their direction.

  She would show Max!

  “Ross!” she hollered. “Wait up.”

  Ross frowned.

  She moved away from Max and toward the man her da wanted her to marry. “Can you walk me home? We need to speak with my da. Together.” She said it loud enough for Max to hear.

  She strutted away without turning back. By the time she reached Ross, his frown had deepened.

  She latched onto his arm and started walking toward home, but Ross stopped and spun on her.

  “What’s going on? Ye’ve got that look on yere face.”

  She glanced back to register Max’s reaction. He hadn’t moved an inch.

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  Ross tilted his head in the direction of the Yank. “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Then it was business.” She reached for his arm again. “Can we just get going?”

  Ross finally started walking. “What do we need to speak with the McDonnell about? Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Ross was the poster boy for loyalty. She wouldn’t tell him how Da wanted them to set a wedding date. She wouldn’t tell him that even though he was a good man, she wouldn’t marry him. And she wouldn’t tell him that she was so damned attracted to the American that she ached.