“Don’t beat yourself up.” She caressed his arms as if he were cold. “It’s not your fault. One thing I finally learned from my husband is that I couldn’t control him. Just like you couldn’t control your ex. And Duncan couldn’t make Mattie’s mom be a mom. It’s not your fault; it’s a circumstance beyond your control. No one blames you. Who knows? Maybe some good will come out of all this.”
“Hmm.” He sat down at the table, seeming to let the idea soak in. He laid his hand on her laptop, and when he did, he brought his gaze up to meet her. “Maybe the same can be true about you getting fired. I’ve got a thought.” He jumped up. “Follow me.”
She trailed after him up the stairs and into the den. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick manuscript. “How’d you like to work for me?”
She took a step back. “No way.”
He held the papers up to her. “I need a second pair of eyes. Will you read this script? I need to know what you think about it.” He dropped it on the desktop.
“Maybe as a favor. But not as your employee.” She picked it up and scanned the title. “I read an article about this book. Some predict it’s the next Harry Potter.”
“The studio wants to get rolling quickly. I’d be playing the headmaster,” he said. “Let’s go back to what you said a minute ago about good things coming out of bad things. It would mean a lot to me if you’d take a look at this and give me your honest opinion.” He looked so anxious, she couldn’t say no.
“I guess I have plenty of free time now. When do you need it?”
“An hour ago.” He laughed. “I’m holding everyone up.”
“Sure. Why not?” she said.
“You go get settled in the parlor, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea. Mattie and I will tell Deydie not to expect you today,” he said. “You’re busy.”
“No,” she blurted. He’d see Dingus. “I’ll talk to her. You know how persnickety she can be.”
“Aye. Prickly as a hedgehog. Run along now while I clean the kitchen. You still have your key?”
She nodded.
“I’m taking Mattie to the city to buy his da a present before returning him home. I’ll be back late this afternoon. You’ll stay, won’t ye?”
She was playing with fire. The more she was with him, the more she wanted to be with him. And every time she looked into his brown eyes, the harder it became to ignore the guilt about the article.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” she finally acquiesced. “If my gran will let me.”
* * *
As soon as Caitie left for Deydie’s, Graham went to her computer and did some snooping. He opened the most recent e-mail from WriteChicago.com. “So, I was right. Our Caitie Macleod is a journalist.”
He opened her documents folder. None from the past few weeks. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said out loud. “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime, to rat me out. And why didn’t she nose around my house when she had the chance? What kind of journalist is she?”
A small hand tugged his shirtsleeve. Graham looked down and saw his mute grandson frowning up at him, disappointment in those young eyes.
Shite. “I know.” Graham put the lid down. “I shouldn’t have been poking through her laptop. I won’t do it again.”
More frowning from the six-year-old.
Graham put his hand up. “Promise. Grandda just had a weak moment, that’s all.”
The boy seemed to understand weak moments and laid his head against Graham’s arm. It broke his heart to see Mattie so sad. “Let’s get you dressed. We’re going to Inverness, lad, to do some Christmas shopping. What do you want to get yere da?”
Mattie said nothing. Graham led him upstairs, wondering if he’d ever get his grandson back. Or if the sea in all its glory—and horror—had swallowed up Mattie’s voice forever.
* * *
“Mind ye get home tonight.” Deydie rocked back and forth with Dingus curled up in her arms. “My quilting ladies are coming over for a sew. We’re finishing up our Christmas projects.”
Cait bit her lower lip. “I’ll try. I promised I’d wait for Graham to get back and give him my take on the script. He has to make a decision right away.”
“Watch yereself with him,” Deydie warned. “That Graham is a charmer. No man will buy the goat if he can get the milk for free.”
“Gran, I don’t plan on getting milked anytime soon.” Cait held her breath, waiting to see if Deydie would notice that she’d called her “Gran” for the first time in a long time.
“Ye better keep yere teats covered then,” Deydie mumbled.
Cait grinned and left the house. She didn’t want to ponder too long about getting “milked.” She had a growing ache inside of her that needed fixing and wondered if there were any free men within a hundred miles of Gandiegow who could be her “handyman.” Or would she have to order an electronic device to take the place of a man in her bed?
The path to Graham’s house stretched up before her. She chose her steps carefully so as not to stumble. A sinking feeling took hold, almost overwhelming her. What if Graham was the only one who could satisfy her?
She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and let herself into his house. A message had been posted on the refrigerator.
Make yourself at home. Tea is in the teapot and there’re extra logs by the fire. My mobile number is on the refrigerator. Call me if you need anything. G.
She ran her finger over his handwriting, tracing the letter G. It was stupid how dreamy she felt. She wandered over to the fridge and found his posted number. For kicks, she programmed him into her cell under Mr. Darcy but didn’t call. This would be the perfect time to snoop around his house, but she’d promised to read for him. She grabbed the manuscript and went into the parlor and curled up on the sofa.
After some quiet hours in front of the fire, she closed the manuscript, laying her hand on top. It was good.
As if on cue, Graham came in the back door, and she went to greet him. He met up with her in the hall with rosy cheeks and windblown hair. She wanted to warm him up by using her body as a blanket but remembered herself.
“The verdict is?” He acted as anxious as if he’d auditioned for a part.
She held up the script. “It’s a much different character than you’ve played in the past.”
Graham took off his gloves. “I’ve never done fantasy. I don’t know how the audience will react.”
“You’ll make an awesome headmaster.” A much sexier headmaster than I ever encountered at boarding school. “It’ll widen your fan base.” She stopped herself and put on her journalist hat, storing away these tidbits for when she got back to her article about him.
“Then I should accept the part?” He looked both excited and unsure.
“They’ll love you. Like always,” she added sincerely.
He looked over at her with his eyebrows knitted together. His unspoken question hung between them. And you, do you love me? But surely she’d imagined it.
She ducked her head and squeezed past him, heading for the kitchen. The sack on the counter gave her the diversion she needed. She struck a light tone. “Now, let’s talk about more pressing matters. What did you bring back for dinner? It smells delicious.” She pointed to the sack.
“Who said it’s for you?” he teased. “It might be for one of my other script readers.”
“Not buying it.” She grinned at him. “You’re smart enough to understand that while I refuse to be paid for my services, I do expect to be fed. Good choice on picking up Chinese. Tell me you brought chicken lo mein.”
“That and everything else on the menu.” He took small white boxes from the sack. “If I’d had your cell number, I would’ve called to find out your favorite.”
He beamed at her, and they shared a moment—one where time stood still, both of them grinning at each other,
crushing like a couple of idiots, making her forget to feel self-conscious. But feeling so comfortable with him made it uncomfortable for her. “I have to hurry home. Deydie needs me. Quilting.”
“I was hoping you’d stay awhile. Duncan didn’t want to come back up to the house tonight. And Mattie is pooped.” Graham laughed. “He picked out a vanload of toys for Duncan as Christmas presents.” He stared at her for a second longer and then spoke, his voice pouring out, smooth as fine Scotch. “And you, Caitie Macleod, what do you want for Christmas?”
It should’ve been easy to answer, but the question seemed too personal. And she felt too vulnerable. The things she truly wanted couldn’t be bought and were too much to ask for, so she mentally marked them off instead.
1. A family. All she had left was Deydie, and at every turn her gran hindered her plan to get close.
2. A career. Journalism was her ticket to fulfillment. But until she had the gumption to finish the People magazine article, her career was dead.
3. Happiness. She wasn’t ten years old anymore and knew the score. Happiness could be elusive. But since returning to Scotland, she’d had a few rare moments of utter contentment.
And all of them had been with Graham.
Panic washed over her. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, rely on a man again to give her what she wanted. She grabbed her coat and ran for the door.
“Where are you going? You haven’t eaten yet.” He came toward her, looking concerned.
She backed away from him, recalling clearly what had happened when she’d allowed another man to cast a spell over her. Loads of heartache. Then death. “I’ll take the lo mein with me.”
When she reached out for the container, he grabbed her hands and searched her eyes. “Why are ye running away?”
“Deydie will skewer me if I’m late.” She tried to ignore the seductive tingling that had electrified her hands where he touched her.
“I don’t believe you.” His eyes implored. “Why is it so hard for you to come clean with me?”
She pulled away from him. “Listen, Mr. Sensitive. Life is full of shitty things. Getting fired is only one of them. And I have to deal with my stuff on my own. End of story.”
He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “No, you don’t. You have all of us to help you through it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she practically yelled. “My only family is a gran who can’t stand me. I’ve been on my own for most of my life. The only person I can count on being there for me, is me. And sometimes even I’m not that reliable.”
“What about me?” he said, his voice sounding strong and steady, reminding her of the oak in her backyard in Chicago. Every time she felt beaten down by Tom, she’d lean against the tree and soak up its strength.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “You’re that good-looking guy from the big screen. Even I’m not stupid enough to believe that you’re real. Besides, I don’t want or need a man in my life. God has given me a do-over, and by God, I’m going to take it. This time, though, I’m not going to think I can have it all. I just need my career. And even though I might’ve blown it these past couple of weeks, I’ll get my foot back in the door.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” he demanded, angry this time.
“None of your business.” She grabbed the lo mein carton and stomped out the door.
It took only a few steps down the path before she realized how unfair she’d been to him. Guilt, and not the cold wind, made her shiver. Why had she taken her dreadful life out on Graham after he’d been so nice to her? He didn’t deserve her bitchiness. As soon as she got to Deydie’s, she’d text him and tell him she was sorry. Yes, it was the chicken’s way out.
She ran the rest of the way down the path, half slipping, half stumbling. At Deydie’s, she didn’t hesitate but threw open the door. The quilt ladies turned to her. Bethia and Rhona rocked in the chairs in front of the fire, hand stitching. Deydie and Moira sat at the sewing machines. Amy sloshed tea over the side of a mug as she placed it beside Deydie.
“Shut the damn door, lass,” her gran shouted. “Ye look like you’ve seen a kelpie.”
“I’ve seen nothing.” Cait closed the door and set the lo mein carton down. “Where’s Ailsa and Aileen?”
“Not here yet,” said Rhona.
Cait dug around in her pocket for her cell phone. She had to text Graham now or she would lose her nerve. But she didn’t get the chance.
Deydie got up and shuffled toward her, holding Dingus at arm’s length. “Take him out. The little bugger got into the oatcakes. He’ll have to shite from here to next Sunday.”
Cait took him and held him close. “You’ve grown, little guy.”
There was a knock at the door.
“It’s probably the twins,” Deydie announced and opened it.
Shocked, Cait almost dropped Dingus, but she regained her wits enough to shove the dog inside her coat without Graham seeing.
He ducked his head and came in with the brown sack. “Anyone interested in Chinese food?”
The women ran to him like cats on catnip. Cait slipped past him. Before she made it out the door, though, he grabbed her arm. “Don’t go because of me.”
“Don’t worry. Take a load off. I’ll be right back.” She tried to smile at him, knowing she’d have to apologize in person now that he was here.
He let go of her, and she slipped out of the house. While Dingus did his business, she rehearsed what she would say to Graham. She let the dog sniff around longer than usual, trying to put off the inevitable. Finally, she hid the dog under her coat once more and headed back to the cottage.
Once inside, though, Cait got a momentary reprieve. Amy gave her a pointed look and nodded toward the bathroom. Mr. Eagle Eye caught it all, but Cait couldn’t do anything about it. As nonchalantly as she could, she snuck off to the restroom. Dingus’s box sat in the bathtub with his little blanket fluffed up and ready to go. “You be quiet.” She knelt down. “Your new daddy doesn’t know about you yet.” She gave him a kiss and settled him inside. She pulled the shower curtain in case Graham decided to make a pit stop in Deydie’s loo, then went out and joined the rest.
They were all devouring the Chinese food, including Mr. Movie Star. Before she could take one bite, Ailsa and Aileen walked in.
“What did we miss by coming late?” Ailsa pulled out a half-finished Crazy Quilt.
Aileen grabbed for it. “Give it to me, Sister.”
“No.” Ailsa tugged back. “I have more embellishments to add before we move on.”
It was almost comical, two menopausal women playing tug-of-war like kindergarteners. Cait noticed that Graham was openly laughing.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t start again,” Bethia said. “It’s almost Christmas. Sit down and have some Chinese food before it’s all gone.”
Cait grabbed a rangoon and joined Graham, who lingered with his food by the fireplace. It was a brave move on her part. All the ladies were watching, and she was sure to take some flak for it later, but she owed him that apology.
“Sorry about earlier,” she said, half whispering. “I’m a little off-kilter right now. You know, the job thing and a million other worries. I hope to have my life figured out before I’m Deydie’s age. Forgive me, okay?”
“What are you saying over there?” Deydie snapped. “Speak up. The rest of us want to hear.”
Graham winked at Cait. “She agreed to come back to the house tonight and help me wrap presents. You don’t mind, do you?”
Chapter Thirteen
“I never agreed—” Cait cried.
Graham cut her off. “You ladies wouldn’t be able to help wrap presents, for the obvious reason.” He wagged his eyebrows like Groucho Marx and, at the same time, gave them all his beguiling smile.
“Aye, we understand.” Deydie beamed. “Do you have any
sewing to do, Caitie?”
“Almost done.” She’d argue with Graham as soon as she got him out the door. “I can finish tomorrow.”
“Then go on,” Deydie commanded. “Take yere food with ye back up the bluff.”
Cait zipped her coat and headed out the door. It was barely closed when he pulled her into his arms—right outside Deydie’s front door! Boy, was he asking for trouble. She let him kiss her anyway, which was the least she could do for going bitchy on him earlier.
When he pulled away, he took her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
“So do you really have presents for all of them, or were you making that up?” Cait asked, their hands still linked.
“Aye.” He nodded. “New sewing machines. Dougal—you know him, our postie? Our postman,” Graham clarified. “He should have them unloaded by now. I heard Deydie talking about your machine and, well, I had them ordered.”
“You bought them all machines? You’d better bring along a defibrillator when you deliver them or else you’re going to have drop-over-dead seamstresses on your hands,” Cait ribbed. “Are you always so extravagant?”
“No, not always. You know you have to be careful with a Scot. If you do too much for any one of them, they get upset. Scots don’t handle the thought of taking charity very well.” He shrugged. “This year I had to do something special. Those ladies have been good to me and Duncan and Mattie.”
He stopped then and stared at her, the moon their only light. “I didn’t get anything for you. I wanted to, but I just didn’t know what.”
“Your friendship’s enough.” She dropped his hand and hurried up the path. “And that’s all you’re going to get from me, bucko,” she called over her shoulder.
“I’m not interested in being yere friend,” he said, his strides getting longer.
He caught up to her at the entrance of the house and pulled her inside, taking her into his arms again. “Tell me you don’t like kissing me.” He leaned in and teased the hell out of her lips, then pulled away, apparently waiting on an answer.
To Scotland With Love Page 14