Max put the slip of paper in his pocket. “Sure, ladies. I can pick up the fabric. Is it for the next quilting retreat?”
“Nay, we’ve made up a design, ye see,” Aileen said. “Sister and I like to work on new things.”
Ailsa clamped onto his arm excitedly. “We ordered it special. It’s the fabric for Pippa’s wedding dress.”
* * *
Bethia was talking to her, but Pippa was only half listening. She was more interested in what Ailsa and Aileen were saying to Max that had him red in the face.
“It’s time to get serious, Pippa,” Bethia said. “The auction is only days away.”
Bethia wasn’t the only one to have scolded her in the past week.
“I know.” Pippa picked up two more pieces of fabric. Didn’t these women know she had a factory to run? And didn’t they realize that she’d slept little since Max was no longer in her life? And it wasn’t the good kind of not getting sleep either. Pippa cuddled up with his damned red T-shirt every night as if the man himself was in it. And every morning, she’d shoved it back under her pillow for safekeeping. Ridiculous, aye, but ridiculous was what she’d become.
She glanced up again at Max, but this time he wasn’t clear across the room. He was marching her way, his eyes blazing a hole in her middle. She automatically stood.
He took her hand and slapped a piece of paper in it. “Get it yourself.”
She was speechless. Those were the first words he’d said to her since he’d adjusted her scarf that night outside her house.
He stomped away, grabbed his coat off the hook, and stormed out.
Before Bethia could answer, Moira sidled up to Pippa, too. “Freda called, looking for you. Ye’re needed at the factory.”
Pippa reached for her mobile. The screen was dark. She’d forgotten to charge it last night before falling asleep with Max’s red T-shirt.
Pippa turned to Bethia apologetically. “Sorry. I’ll get the quilt done. I promise. I only have two more blocks to go.”
Moira took the fabric that Pippa had clutched in her other hand and smoothed it out. “Don’t worry. I’ll work on it while ye’re gone. I’ll get Amy, Ailsa, and Aileen to help piece it together.” Moira picked up the engineering pad beside the sewing machine. “I’ll make sure to follow yere pattern and use the right tartan on the right house block.”
“But—”
Moira laid a hand on her arm. “’Tis the only way. When it’s done, I’ll get the quilt top on the longarm machine.”
“Are ye sure?” Pippa said to Moira.
“Aye. Now, go.”
Pippa put on her coat and slipped out with Max’s piece of paper still in her hand. She’d have to ask the twins later if they could tell her what it meant.
As she made her way through town and then to the factory, she wondered where Max had gone off to. When she arrived at NSV, she found Freda in Pippa’s office at work at the little café table that they’d reived from Quilting Central. Papers were spread all over the floor.
“What’s going on? Is there trouble?” Pippa said.
“Aye, trouble.” Freda answered. “I’ve been going through this notebook I found of the McDonnell’s where he kept a list of factory expenses. The man is a brilliant engineer but he doesn’t know a thing about running a business. I figured out why NSV is having financial problems.”
Pippa leaned over her shoulder, staring at the notebook as well. It felt good to know she wasn’t the only one trying to work things out. “What did ye find?”
“The damn bastard—excuse my language—made the company cash poor. The number one mistake made by small businesses.”
Pippa was a little stunned. She tried to form the right question for Freda.
“Don’t look so shocked. I’ve been reading books on business, accounting, and finance for several years now. In case I could help yere da out. But the bluidy pigheaded Scot never let anyone look at the books.” Freda slammed the notebook shut. “It’ll take a month of Sundays, but I’ll get this worked out.”
“Thank God.” It was one less thing for Pippa to do.
Freda still hadn’t been back to the house, and neither she nor Da was saying why. Pippa was disappointed; she liked the idea of her da having someone, and she wanted Freda to be happy. But whatever had gone wrong, Freda seemed determined to move forward. Pippa only wished she could find that kind of determination. She had a lot to learn from the woman who had taken care of her for her whole life.
Pippa laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ye’re a godsend, Freda. Ye know that, don’t ye?”
“Aye. But ye won’t think me much an angel after ye review the expense sheet I set on yere desk.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Pippa sat down and pulled the sheet to her, but then stared at the new filing cabinet, remembering.
Freda put down her pen. “What’s going on? Ye seem distracted.”
“Oh.” It was all Max’s fault.
Freda still looked on expectantly. She loved her, but Pippa couldn’t talk about her troubles. Hell, she couldn’t even articulate them to herself intelligently. So instead, she came up with an excuse. “The auction is coming up. There’s a lot to do.”
Freda stared at her matter-of-factly. “Ye’re not fooling me. I hope ye’re not fooling yereself either. I’ve heard the whispers around town. Don’t waste yere life doing what others expect of ye. Ye’ve got to find yere own happiness in this world.”
Pippa was taken aback. Quiet Freda had learned to roar like a lion.
“I have been living by my own rules.” At least until Max had come along. Pippa changed the subject and tried again with Freda. “Tell me what happened with you and Da.”
“Nay. Just heed my advice, dear one.”
“I will.” Pippa wasn’t up to sharing the truth . . . that the wedding the town thought would take place would never happen. She should feel good that at least she’d worked it out with Ross. But instead, inexplicable sadness filled every corner of her life. In her heart, in her head, and through her eyes . . . specifically in the direction of the south wall, in the vicinity of the filing cabinet.
* * *
Max stretched out on the twin bed with his tablet in hand. Tonight, he was sequestering himself in the room over the pub and not showing up at Cait and Mattie’s going-away party. Sure, he liked them, but he’d had enough of seeing Pippa with Ross. Max slid his finger across the screen, ready to use his evening to catch up on trade journals.
A knock sounded at the door.
“It’s open,” Max hollered.
Andrew stepped in. “Aren’t ye ready yet?”
“For what?” Max played dumb and tapped to the next screen.
Andrew snatched Max’s coat from the back of the chair and tossed it to him. “Here. We don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not going,” Max said.
The priest folded his hands in front as if he was getting ready to pray, though it didn’t match the determination on his face. “Was I there for you when ye needed a friend? Did I let ye brood without asking questions? And did I not open my home to you and let ye sleep it off on my sofa?”
“Seminary teach you the art of guilt?”
“Ye owe me.” Andrew looked so miserable.
Apparently he needed reinforcements if he had to be around Moira tonight. It seemed the only job the women of Gandiegow excelled at was making the men miserable. At least these two men anyway.
“I guess I have no choice then.” Max stood and slipped on his coat. “You sure don’t pull any punches.”
“I have to be at the party, and ye’re expected there as well.”
Max didn’t care that several people had ordered him to be there. He wasn’t in the habit of being bossed around. Except since he’d arrived in Gandiegow.
“Ready?”
“Aye. As r
eady as I’ll ever be.”
They walked the few yards to Dominic and Claire’s restaurant, climbed the stairs to the grand dining room on the second floor, and found all of Gandiegow in attendance. Christmas had been scattered about the room by way of green and red plaid bows, garland, and decorated trees in every corner.
Max turned to Andrew. “Are those the Christmas trees from North Sea Valve?”
“Aye. I saw Taog and Murdoch delivering them this morning.”
“Father.”
“Father.”
Ailsa and Aileen were calling after the Episcopal priest.
“You’re being summoned,” Max said. “I’m going to get something to drink.” Something strong. But on his way to the table, he saw Mattie looking at the multicolored cards in his hands.
“Hey, what’s that you have there?” Max asked.
“Party cards,” the boy said.
“What are party cards?”
Instead of explaining, Mattie handed them over. They were blue, pink, and green, and there seemed to be talking points printed on them.
“Conversation starters?” Max had read an article once about ways to break the ice at cocktail parties with a list of talking points. Mattie’s cards were geared toward kids. What is your favorite subject in school? What’s your favorite color? Who’s your favorite character in a book? “Emma made these for you?”
“Aye. For practice.”
Max handed them back. “I get that the blue ones are for boys, the pink ones are for girls. What are the green ones for? Gardeners?”
Mattie laughed. “Adults.”
Max pointed to the cards. “Fire away then.”
The kid pulled out a green card, but didn’t seem to be reading it. “Who do you love most in the world? Who do ye want to marry?”
The question took Max off guard. “Let me see that card.”
But Mattie held it to his chest. “Who?”
Max’s eyes unwittingly traveled around the room until they fell on Pippa. She stood with Ross, Ramsay, Kit, and Maggie. Kit, the matchmaker, was watching him. Had she put Mattie up to asking him this question?
Max turned back to Mattie. “I love Betty Crocker.”
Mattie’s face screwed up. “Who’s that?”
“She makes the best cakes in the world. Now let’s go over to the cake table and get some. Okay?”
Mattie shoved the green card back in his deck and followed Max. But halfway there, Cait called for Mattie to join her and the quilting ladies. Deydie was glued to Cait as if she was her other half. The old woman looked miserable, but seemed to be trying to put a good face on it for everyone. But her sadness was as evident as the Christmas decorations around the room.
Max picked up a piece of cake and headed for a chair to eat it in peace. He’d shoveled in only one bite before Glenna ran over to him.
“Can I speak with you, Mr. Christmas?” Her voice was sweet, but a frown crowded her innocent face.
“What is it, peanut?” This girl was something special. He’d bet she’d be a heartbreaker one of these days.
She climbed up in the chair next to his. “Did ye talk to Santa Claus as I asked? Christmas is almost here, but cousin Moira doesn’t seem even the wee-est bit happier.” Glenna leaned closer. “I’m afraid.”
Max put his plate on the floor and gave her his full attention. “What are you afraid of?”
Glenna shrugged. Her eyes misted up, and though it broke his heart, he prayed the girl wouldn’t start crying.
He looked around to see if anyone could help. But it was only the two of them. He tried again. “What’s going on?”
She stared at her hands. “Sometimes at night, I hear cousin Moira crying in her room. And it’s all my fault.”
Shit! He wasn’t a therapist! He glanced to see if Emma could help, but she was busy talking to Cait and Mattie.
Max dove in, praying he wouldn’t regret this, and that he wouldn’t do more harm than good. “Can you tell Mr. Christmas what’s all your fault, honey?”
She picked at her sleeve. “Everyone said Father Andrew and cousin Moira were going to get married.” She glanced over at Moira standing at the rear of the quilting ladies, which was about the farthest point from Andrew as possible. Glenna faced Max again. “But I think they’re not getting married now because of me. Because I’m a burden.”
Oh, God. Max ran a hand through his hair. He should not have come here tonight.
Her head dropped and she studied her hands as if the answers were written there. Poor little thing. He understood better than most how easy it was for a kid to assume the blame. For the longest time, he felt responsible for his father’s death—if he’d done the right thing, he could’ve prevented the oil rig from exploding. If only he’d stayed home and worked with his dad in the workshop that one last time. Max wished now he hadn’t waited nearly twenty years to talk to someone about it. But he was glad Pippa had gotten him on the right track. Maybe he could help Glenna.
Max took her hand. “Honey, it doesn’t work that way. Whatever is going on between Father Andrew and your cousin has nothing to do with you.”
She shook her head in silent argument.
He squeezed her hand. “I promise.”
She looked up at him a little hopeful but still chewing her lip.
“If I’m wrong, I’ll eat Deydie’s broom.”
That got him a little giggle.
“Come on. Let’s get you some cake and punch.” Max grabbed his plate, and then pulled her to her feet. He had to find Andrew and make sure he and Moira fixed things—one way or the other—so this sweet little girl didn’t feel like crap.
Glenna tugged him to a stop and broke into a smile. “I like ye, Mr. Christmas.” She flung herself at him and hugged him tight.
His heart melted. “Mr. Christmas likes you too, peanut. Come on.”
He took her to the cake table and left her with Amy, Ailsa, and Aileen.
Max should stay out of it, but there was no way he could. Mr. Christmas was honor bound to get involved. Instead, he barreled toward Andrew, who was standing alone, his eyes fixed on Moira across the room.
Andrew’s eyebrows pulled together when he saw Max. “Is everything all right?”
Max pointed to an empty corner. “We need to talk. Privately.”
“Sure.”
While Max took a second, trying to figure out how to start, Andrew nodded in Moira’s direction.
“She’s ignoring me again,” he said pitifully. “I’ve racked my brain, analyzed my every word, and I can’t figure out what went wrong.”
Max glanced heavenward, thankful for the divine intervention. God had just broken the ice for him.
“You need to know what Glenna told me. And then I’m out of it. Do you hear me?”
Andrew stared at him, confused.
“Glenna believes she’s the reason Moira has shied away from you. She thinks Moira is worried about saddling you with a ready-made family.” Max shared nothing about Moira crying in the night. That was Moira’s business.
Andrew looked befuddled, as if he’d lost his place while reading his Bible. “How—”
Max cut him off. “I don’t care what you and Moira do at this point moving forward. But I do care about that little girl. Moira being happy is the only thing she wants for Christmas.” Man, Max was in deep. “You and Moira need to assure Glenna that whatever screwed-up thing that is going on in your relationship, that it has nothing to do with her. She’s had enough heartache, don’t you think?”
* * *
Pippa watched Max with Andrew from across the room, wondering what was going on. By the looks of it, Max was giving the Episcopal priest a sermon.
“Pippa, did ye hear me?” Ailsa said.
“We were wondering if you had anything else for me and sister to do for the auct
ion.” Aileen chimed in.
Ross was looking at her kind of funny, too.
Pippa returned her complete focus to the little group around her. “Nay. Everything is ready for tomorrow.”
“But if ye need us,” Aileen started.
“Ye know where to find us,” Ailsa finished.
Pippa reached out to both and gave them a quick hug. “Thank you.”
The two sisters said good night and wandered off.
“We need to speak of it, too.” Ross shifted so his big body blocked Pippa’s view, keeping her from seeing more of Max and what was going on.
She leaned over nonchalantly and saw Andrew’s face turning red. In the background the band was setting up for live music. “Speak of what?”
“Gawd, Pippa,” Ross said, exasperated. “Pay attention. The auction. Take me out of it.”
She frowned up at him. “Ye know I can’t. We advertised a picture of you as being one of the lusty lads in plaid.”
Ross flinched when she used the catchphrase. “But people are asking why I’m in the auction when I’m not exactly single. The town seems to think we’re getting married any day now. I caught Deydie whispering to Maggie about wedding veils. Do ye think they’re throwing us a surprise wedding? And is that even a thing?”
Pippa eyed him. “Och, Ross, ye’re just trying to get out of being auctioned off with the rest of the lads.”
“Aye. Maybe. But if ye want to wait to tell the town that we’ve called off the engagement, then what am I supposed to say in the meantime?”
“The truth. Tell ’em that ye’re doing your part to help out the McDonnell.” Pippa saw Max move away from Andrew. The priest wasn’t simmering now, but looked ready to boil over. She watched where his gaze landed—on Moira, and she was headed this way with Kit by her side.
Andrew marched their direction, too. Pippa didn’t even get to find out what was on Moira’s and Kit’s minds before the priest had descended upon them.
“Moira?” Andrew’s face was the color of the poppies that grew out front in the flowering boxes in summer. “We need to talk.”
Kit quickly placed herself between Andrew and Moira. “We’ve discussed this. You need to give Moira some space. She’ll speak to you when she’s ready.”
The Accidental Scot Page 23