Sadie followed her, quite pleased with her handler. Moira was blessedly quiet and shy.
Even though it was early evening, the sun was in the sky, probably due to how far north they were. They walked through the minuscule town along a concrete path that served as a wall against the ocean. Moira pointed to where Oliver was to stay and then took Sadie next door to the quilting dorm Thistle Glen Lodge. It was nothing more than a bungalow set against the green bluffs of summer, which rose nearly straight up at the back of the town. The young woman led Sadie inside to the way too cheery interior and down the hall to a room with three beds. The decorations were plaid and floral—a little French country on the northeast coast of Scotland—and too optimistic and exuberant for Sadie. Two of the beds had personal items on them, from her roommates for the next week.
Moira watched Sadie and nodded. “Aye. The Sisters MacCrumb from Perth—Polly and Paddie.” Her voice was quiet but lilting. “This is their second retreat with us. Nice women. Arrived an hour ago. Ye’ll like them . . . friendly but not overly.”
Perfect.
Moira motioned for Sadie to go on in. “You can store yere clothes in the armoire. The kitchen is stocked with tea, coffee, and snacks. But all yere meals are provided either at Quilting Central or the restaurant. If ye like, though, I can bring ye scones and tea in the morns.”
Sadie set her Mondo bag on the bed. Moira was nice, but Sadie wanted only to be left alone to crawl under the quilt and hibernate until life wasn’t so crushing. And she was so very tired. People didn’t understand that though she looked fine, she was often exhausted and run-down. Patients with chronic kidney disease usually weren’t diagnosed until it was too late, already in stage four like herself, and in need of a kidney transplant.
She’d found out only last month, and Gigi had promised to be with Sadie every step of the way. But Gigi was gone, leaving Sadie to deal with everything alone. Oliver couldn’t; he had his own life. He didn’t have time to sit with her while she had her blood drawn week after week. He couldn’t put his life on hold while Sadie waited for the day to come when the doctors would move her to the active transplant list.
Sadie looked up, realizing she’d slipped into herself again, something she’d been doing a lot since her diagnosis.
Moira, though, seemed to understand and went to the door. “I’ll give ye a few minutes to settle in. Then Deydie expects all the quilters at Quilting Central for introductions and the quilting stories.” It was another warning that Sadie shouldn’t dawdle.
A sound rang out, a hard knocking at the front door that made her jump.
Moira put her hand up, either to calm Sadie’s frazzled nerves or to stop her from going for the door herself. “I’ll see who it is.”
Sadie dropped down beside her bag and smoothed her hand over the pinwheel quilt that covered the bed. A minute later she heard her brother’s exasperating voice at the entrance. Heavy footsteps came down the hall. She thought seriously about crawling out the window to escape what was sure to be more nagging.
She didn’t turn to greet him. “What do you want, Oliver?”
“I came to walk you to the retreat. We have to hurry, though. One of my clients needs me to hop online and check for a bug.”
If only Gandiegow didn’t have high-speed Internet, then Oliver wouldn’t have been hell-bent on coming to Scotland to keep an eye on her! But her brother’s IT business was portable.
Moira saved Sadie. “Don’t worry. I’ll get her to Quilting Central safely.”
He remained where he was. Sadie could feel his gaze boring into her back.
“Go on, Oliver. Your customer is waiting.”
She still didn’t hear him leave. Sadie rolled her eyes heavenward and heaved herself off the bed. She plastered on a fake smile and faced him. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Okay. But if you need me, I’ll be next door at Duncan’s Den.” The other quilting dorm, only a few steps from this one.
Sadie nodded.
Oliver held his phone up as if to show her he was only a call away.
“Come,” Moira said. “It’s time to meet Deydie and the other quilting ladies.”
Oliver gave Sadie one more worried glance, then left. She grabbed her Mondo bag and a sweater.
Outside, Sadie trudged along, and for the first time, really looked around. The village arced like a smile facing the ocean, the little stone cottages an array of mismatched teeth that somehow seemed to fit together. The rounded green bluff loomed at the backs of the houses, a town blocked in, but cozy. Yes, the village was quaint with its oceanfront views from nearly every house. But sadness swept over Sadie once again. Gigi would’ve loved it here, as she often reminisced fondly of the small town in Montana along the Bitterroot River where she’d grown up.
Moira stopped in front of a building with a sign that read QUILTING CENTRAL. “This is it.”
Sadie opened the door and stepped in. And a tidal wave of emotion hit her.
The smell of starch.
White – and gray-headed women.
Fabric stacked and stashed everywhere.
All the things that reminded her of Gigi. If that wasn’t enough to have her bolting for the door, a crowd of women scuttled toward her. She backed up.
One tall, thin elderly woman clasped her arm, stilling her. “We’re so glad ye’re here. I’m Bethia.”
A short battle-ax of a woman barreled through to get to Sadie, grabbing her other arm. “I’m Deydie. We’ve been waiting on ye.”
Sadie was short of oxygen. She desperately wanted to disappear.
Gray-haired twins, wearing matching plaid dresses of different colors, stepped in her path. The red-plaid one spoke first.
“Sister and I were distraught when we lost our gran.”
They knew. Sadie looked at the faces around the room. They all knew.
The green-plaid one bobbed her head up and down. “That was many years ago. We’ve all experienced loss.” She gestured toward the crowd. “We understand what ye’re going through.”
The other whispered loudly to her sister, “But not about the kidney disease.”
Oh, crap! Sadie wasn’t the all-out swearing type, but internally she formed a string of obscenities to sling at her brother that made her cringe.
“Back,” Deydie said to the twins. “Give the lass room to breathe. She’s not well.”
Well enough to scream!
A thirty-something woman carrying a baby made her way to Sadie. “I’m Emma. And this is Angus.” She had a British accent, not a Scots one like the others. She turned to Deydie. “I should take over—don’t you think?”
Deydie nodded vigorously. “Right. Right. It should be ye.” The old woman cleared the others away.
“Come sit down,” Emma said. “The town can be a bit overbearing. But they mean well.” She led Sadie to a sofa.
Deydie called everyone’s attention to the front and began welcoming all the quilters.
Emma leaned over. “I’m a therapist. It can be helpful to talk to someone when you’re grieving. I wanted to let you know that I’m available if you need me.”
A moment ago, Sadie had thought the woman had her best interests at heart, but she was just like the others, trying to suffocate her, trying to tell her how to deal with her grief. Sadie didn’t deserve their attention. Her selfishness had killed her grandmother. She opened her mouth to set the well-meaning therapist straight, but the woman’s baby fortuitously spewed down his mother’s blouse.
“Excuse me.” Emma stood with the little one. “We’ll talk later.”
Or not.
Emma’s leaving should’ve given Sadie’s senses a reprieve, but in some respects, all the women smothering her had been a distraction. The room, this place, was too much, and she couldn’t sit here with a huge group of women reminding her of her grandmother. Sadie had to get o
ut of here . . . escape!
She looked longingly toward the door, only ten feet away. Everyone was listening to Deydie, finally not focused on her. She stood nonchalantly and walked toward the exit, slowly and with purpose, like she’d left her curling iron on back at the dorm.
Two more steps. She eased the door open so carefully that the bell above the door barely jingled.
She slipped out, gulping in the cool summer air like it was water and she’d been stuck in the desert. But it wasn’t enough. The town still felt claustrophobic. She’d do anything to get out of here!
The tide was up and the ocean was slapping itself against the walkway with increasing ferocity and passion. The sea was alive, the waves crashing, telling her to run.
And on the breeze, she heard the strangest thing . . . male voices singing. It was surreal. She followed the sound, heading back in the direction of the parking lot where the van had dropped them off. She stopped when she discovered the music was coming from the first building in town, the pub The Fisherman. The song pulled her up the steps and had her opening the door. As she crossed the threshold, the song came to an end.
The room was mostly filled with men, all sizes. The vast majority looked as if they could’ve done a magazine shoot for Fishermen Now. A few looked her way, but being plain, she didn’t have to worry about anyone hitting on her or even approaching.
She put her head down, made her way to the bar, and sat on the only open stool at the far end. Next to her was a particularly large, rugged, all-muscle—and from what she could see of his profile—handsome man, undoubtedly one of the fishermen, too. Another man, short and squat, stepped between them, partially blocking her view of Handsome.
Squat clamped a hand on Handsome’s shoulder. “Ye’d like my niece, Euna. She’s not a pretty lass, but she can cook and sew. She’d make ye a good wife—I promise she will. At least meet her while she’s here for the retreat.”
The way Handsome was scowling over his drink, Sadie was certain he hadn’t been one of the men singing moments ago. He looked as if he’d given up singing permanently.
The bartender waved to Sadie. “What can I get ye?”
“Water,” she said automatically. Cola and alcohol were now out-of-bounds. She would do everything she could to keep off the active transplant list for as long as possible.
Handsome glanced her way and, damn, he was good-looking. Not that a guy like him would notice someone like her. Sure enough, he went back to his drink without a word.
Squat was fidgeting, beginning to look desperate. “What do ye say? I told Euna ye’d see her. Take her to dinner. Or maybe have a stroll to the top of the bluff.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “The exercise would do her good.”
Sadie felt sorry for Handsome. Couldn’t Squat see that he didn’t want to do it? The bartender set her glass in front of her and left to help a patron at the other end.
“Dammit, Harry,” Handsome growled. “Ye’re putting me in a hell of a spot.”
Sadie made a snap decision. She reached for her glass and clumsily knocked it over, spilling water all over Harry.
He jumped back. “What’d’ya do that for?”
She reached for the towel at the end of the bar and began blotting at the water on Harry’s shirt. “So sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
When Harry wasn’t looking, she tilted her head at Handsome for him to make a run for it. This fisherman was no dummy. He was out the door before she could order Harry a drink to make up for the drenching she’d given him.
Once Harry was settled and complaining to the barkeep about her clumsiness, Sadie decided to leave before she brought any more attention to herself. She headed for the door, no closer to finding a way out of Gandiegow.
Outside, she paused on the top step and spoke to the vast ocean in front of her. “I have to get out of here!” That’s when she realized she wasn’t alone.
Leaning against the edge of the building a few feet away stood Handsome. He walked toward her and stuck out his hand to help her down the last few steps. “I owe you, lass. Tell me where you want to go. I’ve got a truck.”
* * *
Ross couldn’t believe the lass had not only saved him from Harry and his dreadful niece, but the American lass had read his mind, too. I want out of here as well. Her hand was warm in his and she held on tight. He glanced down at them linked together, and though it felt strange, it felt right, too.
Yeah, so earlier Ross had skipped out when Kit had tried to set him up. And here he was now with a stranger . . . headed off to God-only-knew-where.
He looked down at the lass again. “Were ye serious about getting out of town?”
“You have no idea.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “And ye’d run off with a man you don’t know?”
She didn’t hesitate, as if she already had his number. “I figured you for a nice guy from the get-go.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “If I hadn’t rescued you, you would’ve agreed to go out with Harry-there’s niece.”
Ross shook his head. “Ye can’t go around hopping into anyone’s vehicle who offers.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You don’t know how badly I want out of here.”
The lass was determined, he’d give her that. “Fair enough.”
He really looked at her. She was shorter than him by at least a foot, with bangs framing an innocent face with her bobbed brown hair setting off her deep brown eyes. She had a birthmark above her mouth that reminded him of a heart. She seemed sweet, but her full-of-wisdom eyes seemed to contest her age, and at the same time they spoke of sadness and distress, too.
A wave of protectiveness came over him. “Do ye want to tell me what’s going on?”
She shook her head no, as if that was all the answer he was going to get. She glanced back at the rest of the town and then pointed to the parking lot. “Can we get going?”
“Aye. This way.”
She walked beside him the forty-some steps it took to get there.
“Is that your truck? The red pickup?” She walked toward it with purpose.
It was the only truck in the lot.
She opened the passenger side. “I like it. It has character.” She slid in and shut the door.
He did the same on the driver’s side. “Where to?”
“Away.”
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The Accidental Scot Page 31