Cait put a hand up in greeting. “I thought I’d pick up some groceries.” A brilliant idea lit up her brain. “Do you know if Moira and her da have any plans for Christmas?”
“Kenneth won’t be leaving the house right now. The doctor said he has to stay in bed until he’s stronger,” Amy supplied.
“If I give you a list of things, can you have them delivered to their house?” And because Amy was a bit of a friendly blabbermouth, Cait added, “Without letting anyone know? I mean absolutely no one.”
“Mum’s the word.” Amy gave her a big grin. “You’re a nice woman, Caitie Macleod. I know all of Kenneth and Moira’s favorites, if that’d be a help.”
“That would be great.” Cait unzipped her coat to give the pup some air.
“Oh, you’ve got the wee one with you.” Amy came around the counter. “Can I hold him while we work on that list?”
Cait handed over Dingus.
It didn’t take long to come up with enough food to last Moira and Kenneth a good month. At the same time, Cait filled a sack full of nutritious items for her and Deydie, then took Dingus back from Amy and set off.
When Cait got to her gran’s, she took a page from Amy’s book and didn’t knock, but walked right on in. She left her backpack by the door.
Deydie looked up from her rocking chair. Rhona’s baby quilt lay across her lap along with a needle and thread. “Where’s the cur?” she growled.
“Right here.” Cait pulled out the fur ball and put him in the box near Deydie’s feet.
“Hmmph,” Deydie said, plunging the needle into the binding of the quilt.
While Cait unloaded the groceries, she chewed the inside of her cheek. She needed to go to Graham’s and she needed an excuse. Her laptop wouldn’t do. She could charge it here, using Deydie’s powerhouse electric, courtesy of Himself.
“When yere done there, ye’re off to Duncan’s,” Deydie commanded. “It’s time for him to check the nets. Put that roast in the oven while yere there.”
I can’t. There’s something I need to do, Cait shouted inside her head.
Without so much as an Is that okay with you?, Deydie spoke again. “Get on. And leave that mutt here.”
Later, Cait promised herself. Later she’d get to Graham’s and work on that story. Margery at People magazine would want it soon.
She headed out into the cold and walked at a brisk pace. She nearly froze her butt off waiting for Duncan to open the door. Both he and the boy had their coats on.
Duncan pulled a wool cap over his head. “I was just on my way to drop Mattie at Ailsa and Aileen’s.”
Mattie hung back in the hallway, as quiet as wallpaper.
She looked directly at him. “I’ll stay with him, and we’ll have some cocoa. If that’s okay with you?”
No response from Mattie.
“Are you sure you don’t mind watching the little monkey?” Duncan squeezed Mattie’s shoulder.
“You go. Take your time.” She turned to Mattie. “Do you have any Christmas music?”
The boy pointed to the parlor and she followed him as Duncan slipped out the door.
Once in front of the CD cabinet, she prompted Mattie. “Any suggestions?”
He didn’t budge.
“I know it’s silly, but I like the Chipmunks Christmas.” She pulled it from its slot. “What’s your favorite?”
He pulled out the Highland Christmas CD.
“Excellent choice. We’ll put yours on first.” She looked at the complicated stereo system. “Do you know how it works?”
Mattie removed the Chipmunks Christmas from her hand and popped it into the player. He hit two buttons and Alvin came on. He opened his CD case and loaded his music in as well.
She smiled at him. “Promise this’ll be our little secret, that I like the Chipmunks Christmas, okay?”
He just stared at her.
In the kitchen, they sat at the dining room table eating shortbread cookies and drinking cocoa. Afterward, Mattie watched her put the roast in the oven.
When the Chipmunks Christmas finished on the stereo, the Celtic music came on. Mournful bagpipes filled the house with an eerie wail. Death music. She caught Mattie staring desolately out the window toward the sea. Too young to be so sad.
Maybe she’d take him down to the coastline to take his mind off his sorrows.
“Get your coat, kiddo,” she said cheerfully. “We’re going for a walk.”
Mattie slipped soundlessly out of his chair, moving like a ghost as he retrieved both of their jackets.
Outside, the sun made a rare appearance, sneaking from behind the gray clouds in the sky. Two large white gannets, their black-tipped wings stretched outwardly, sailed above them.
She peeked over at Mattie, who was watching the elegant birds. “So, your da is a fisherman. Do you go out with him often?” She didn’t expect an answer, so she went on. “I bet you’re a right good fisherman yourself.” She stared out at the waves crashing violently against the rocks.
She stepped up on the pier and noticed Mattie stayed on the ground. “Come on, pokey. Let’s go all the way to the end.” Someone had scraped the ice off and salted the planks clear.
Mattie didn’t move, his face turning as pale as the whitewashed deck.
“Come on, Mattie. There’s nothing to be scared of.” She hopped up and down on the wood planks. “It’s been here a hundred years. It’ll be here a hundred more.” She took his hand and pulled him onto the pier.
She started walking, holding his little hand. “Yesterday I saw three fishing boats just there beyond the rocks. Maybe we’ll see your da’s boat coming in.”
Mattie stumbled. When she righted him, she found him trembling, his eyes transfixed to the spot she’d pointed to just off the rocks.
She saw nothing there except the splash of waves. “What’s wrong, Mattie?”
His eyes grew wide as life preservers. He opened his mouth in a terrified scream. Except nothing came out. He pointed off in the distance, the silent scream going on and on.
Panic gripped her. She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around him. “It’ll be all right, honey.” Then she gave him a gentle shake, praying he’d snap out of it.
From the walkway, she heard urgent cries and the footsteps of two people hurrying onto the pier. Moira sprinted full-out on the planks with Deydie lumbering as fast as her plump body would carry her.
“Get him away from there,” her gran shouted. “Have you gone crazy?”
Cait turned toward Deydie, whose face was a sea of rage and fury, anger seething from every corner of her wrinkled face.
“A walk,” Cait cried. “That’s all. We went for a walk.”
Moira snatched Mattie up, cooing at him. “Shh, shh. It’s all right,” over and over. Mattie buried his face into Moira’s shoulder as she whisked him off the pier and onto higher ground.
Deydie slammed her hands on her hips, blocking Cait’s escape. “Why did you bring the boy out here?”
“I thought we’d watch for boats.”
Deydie eyed her with accusation. “Or were you meddling, trying to making him face his fears?”
“W-what?” Cait stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Water Dawn. It sank and drowned six men.” Deydie glared out at the rocks. “Out there. Last spring. When a sudden storm came up. Mattie and Duncan were standing right here when it happened. Duncan took that blue dinghy and tried rowing out to them, shouting for Mattie to go for help. Mattie froze. The ship sank, and we’re lucky Duncan didn’t go down with them.”
“I . . . I didn’t know.” Cait’s eyes stung. “I’m so sorry.”
Deydie harpooned her with a killer glare. “Sorry don’t fix a damn thing, missy. Have you no sense? Didn’t you wonder why the boy doesn’t speak?”
T
he wind sent a spray of salt water up, smacking Cait directly in the face. After what she’d done, Cait doubted Mattie would ever speak again.
Deydie despises me. And Cait deserved her scorn. When the townsfolk heard what had happened here today, they’d hate her, too. Including Duncan. And Graham. She ran off the pier.
“Of all the devilment,” Deydie shouted after her. “Go on, now. Get yereself back to the cottage.”
Cait ran to the pub instead. She burst in and dashed past Bonnie’s gaping bloody-red lipsticked mouth, past gawking men with the stink of dead fish on them. Cait ran up the stairs with Father Death sailing right behind her, laughing, mocking, torturing her once again. She threw herself on the bed and cried for herself and for Mattie, so utterly defeated.
Death was such an asshole.
* * *
Hours passed. Cait didn’t ever want to leave the pub again. Embarrassment and guilt almost had her packing for Chicago.
But she came from tougher stock—north coast Scottish stock. She’d also made a pledge to stick with Deydie come hell or high water. Even if her grandmother told her to shove off.
Cait pulled herself out of bed and splashed water on her red, puffy eyes. She’d go back to Deydie’s and face her.
When she walked through Deydie’s door, the old woman hollered at Cait, not about Mattie, but an errand. “Run up to Graham’s and get my sewing basket. I finished Rhona’s quilt but forgot the damn basket. I need to darn a sock or two after dinner.”
Great. Finally the chance to ransack Graham’s place and her heart wasn’t in it. She needed to clear the air with Deydie first. But Deydie was acting like nothing had happened.
Cait fingered the cell phone in her pocket, hoping it was charged up enough to take photos for the story about Graham. The ticket to her new life. A life that didn’t include so much pain and involved a little less contact with Old Man Death. “Where’s the basket?”
“In the parlor, next to Precio—” Deydie stopped herself. “Next to the fireplace. The key is on the hook by the door.”
“I’ll be back,” Cait said, grabbing the key, even though she had her own, and went out the door.
Hurrying, Cait wound her way up the path and noticed her gran had left a few lights on. She unlocked the door, but when she swung it open, Graham stood there. The headline flashed before her eyes.
WOMAN FOUND DEAD OF FRIGHT ON FAMOUS ACTOR’S PORCH
She grabbed her chest, trying to breathe, and at the same time, noted how good he looked. Damn good. He wore a tweed jacket, black turtleneck, and jeans that hugged him perfectly. The concern on his face, though, looked out of place.
“Are ye all right?” His Scottish burr came out as thick as warm fudge. He took her arm and helped her over the threshold.
“You scared the bejeebers out of me, that’s all.” She liked him holding on to her, and he didn’t let go.
“Sorry. Got home a bit ago. I flew into Inverness and drove back.” He did let go of her then and went to the laptop on the desk and shut the lid. It seemed an odd thing to do, but she didn’t question him.
“So, have ye been staying here like I asked?” he said.
“No. I’ve been at Deydie’s. She got a little tipsy at the cookie exchange, and the next night we had an emergency quilt session. We’ve been busy, busy, busy.”
“Haven’t come up here at all?” he asked.
“No.” She shook her head, maybe overdoing it a bit, so she stopped.
“Hmm,” he said. It almost sounded like, We’ll see about that.
Cait tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but her cell phone in her pocket felt mighty heavy with guilt right now. “Deydie needs her sewing basket. Left it by the fireplace. Do you mind if I get it?”
“Mi casa es su casa,” he said.
She dug in her pocket and produced the key he’d given her. “Here.” She hated offering it back.
He waved her off. “Hang on to it. It might come in handy.”
She smiled to herself and put the key away.
“How about staying for a drink?” he offered, giving her a slow, easy smile.
It should’ve been a no-brainer—either spend a few moments with Mr. Darcy or rush back down the bluff to Cruella De Vil. “Deydie has socks to darn.” She tried to move past him.
He touched her shoulder, infusing more than a little sizzle into her bones. “At least let me show you what I got Duncan for Christmas,” he said.
What was it with the Buchanan men that she had to keep their Christmas secrets?
“Sure, but only for a minute,” Cait said.
* * *
Graham walked down the hallway with Caitie trailing behind. He had to do it now, had to talk to her about Duncan before things went any further. He spun around to her.
He must’ve stopped too quickly, because she was right there, her hands landing on his chest. He liked it. A lot. With her standing so close, he could smell her shampoo—some sort of flowers or something. He breathed her in. She tilted her head back and looked up at him with dazed eyes. After a moment, she slowly pulled her hands away. He didn’t miss the blush forming on her cheeks.
“Duncan needs a wife,” he blurted. Not exactly how he’d intended to approach the subject, but it was on the table now, for better or for worse. And no matter how wrong it felt, he would make this sacrifice for his son.
“You’re not interested, are you?” he said.
She flinched like his words had pricked her.
“I had to know before . . .” He stepped forward and brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
She shifted nervously away from him, looking like she was gathering her thoughts. “Graham, if you’re trying to play matchmaker . . .”
He waited, watching her, maybe even holding his breath. Was she going to say she wanted to be with his son?
She turned to him with her face screwed up in pain. Or was it confusion? “I like Duncan, I do. And Mattie, well, he’s a sugarplum—”
Graham cut her off, taking a step back. “If you’re worried about romantic love, well, it’s overrated. Love doesn’t fade over time. Reality snuffs it out.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “And here I thought I had cornered the market on emotional baggage. Listen, about Duncan: I used to babysit him. I’m not interested in your son in that way. And for your information, I’m not marrying again. Period.”
Like a rogue wave, he was slammed, almost knocked from his moor. A variety of emotions hit him. Relief that she didn’t want Duncan. Disappointment that she would never marry again. And shocked at himself that he was distressed by her declaration. He stepped closer to her.
“It’s like this.” She put her hands on her hips, Ms. Badass now. “Love is a freaking fairy tale. And I’m no longer nine and want to marry Prince Charming. This princess doesn’t need a man to take her to the ball. I’m going stag.”
“Whoa. I’m the one who’s supposed to have issues.” He laughed, laying his hands on her shoulders. It was settled. Things would go on the same. But then several things happened at once. Time stood still. Her tough girl act fell away. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, he saw something there. Is it a future? Then her pupils dilated, and he knew he was going to kiss her.
* * *
Part of Cait was dying to find out what it would be like to kiss Graham Buchanan. But her heart couldn’t chance it. And her mind knew without a doubt that kissing him would be detrimental to this new life she was trying to forge for herself.
She wriggled out of his arms. “Back off, hoss. This show pony wants no part of your rodeo.”
He tipped her chin up. “Your eyes say differently, lass.”
Even if she’d wanted to shoot him down with a snarky remark, she couldn’t muster one, especially since he was wrapping her up in that sultry gaze of his. She was under his spell and
didn’t stop him as he leaned down and deposited a small kiss on her lips. And in response, an inferno lit up inside her, burning downward into her lacy underwear. God, what a delicious ache. She went all Julia-Roberts-for-Hugh-Grant soft, wanting more, even leaned in for it, but he stopped and pulled away.
“Is that the best you can do?” She only said it to keep him from seeing how embarrassed she felt. Who in their right mind gets so hot and bothered by an innocent kiss?
He took her words as a challenge, though, and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. Before she could tell him she’d only been kidding, he was kissing the hell out of her. Not some milquetoast BBC kiss. An R-rated, no-holds-barred kiss.
Every molecule in her pulsed for Graham. It had been so long since she’d been with a man. Cait had all but forgotten what lust felt like, but she damn sure knew now.
He set her away from him at that moment. He stood back and grinned at her like the kid who’d won the triple-dog-dare bet. “Was that better for ye, lass? I can try harder if it wasn’t good enough.”
She wanted to smack him. He knew exactly what he’d done to her. She’d have to go sit in the snow to cool off her panties. She put her hand up. “Nope, I’m fine. All good, hoss.” Go back to the ranch and leave this sad cowgirl alone.
She backed out of the doorway and stumbled her way down the path. When she got to Deydie’s, she slung the door open. She must’ve been a sight, because her gran looked alarmed.
“Caitie?” Deydie rose from her chair. “Ye look as if ye’ve encountered a banshee.”
“Fine. I’m fine,” Cait practically yelled. “Just need a little snack, that’s all.” To take the edge off. She headed for the mini cherry cheesecakes in the fridge.
And ignored how her hands shook as she opened the box.
As she took her first bite, Deydie asked the question that Cait had forgotten all about. “Where’s me sewing basket?”
“Crap,” Cait mumbled under her breath. She couldn’t go back to Graham’s tonight. Or ever.
Deydie snarled. “Are ye daft? That’s the reason ye went up there.” She snatched her coat off the hook. “If I want something done, I’d just better go do it meself.”
To Scotland With Love Page 10