Deydie’s voice bellowed throughout the house. “Everyone get yereselves dressed for dinner.”
Graham patted Cait on the rump like a teammate. “Go on now and put on one of your brown outfits.” He laughed and shook his head as if it was a private joke.
But the joke would be on him. Cait made her way to the room off the kitchen where she’d hung her clothes.
Deydie had just finished adjusting her McCracken plaid around her shoulders and was clasping a brooch to hold it.
“You look nice,” Cait remarked.
“Hesh up, now. The food’s getting cold.” Deydie hustled from the room.
Cait slipped on the only nonbrown outfit she owned as the butterflies in her stomach kicked up a storm. The red sweaterdress clung to her curves like a Porsche on the Grand Prix. She finished the ensemble with gray tights and Prada heels. Graham would have to eat his words when he saw her in this. She checked herself one more time in the mirror, then went to help put the food on the table.
As she walked into the formal dining room with the last dish, the two Buchanan men sauntered in, wearing their matching kilts and tucked-in white peasant shirts. Cait nearly dropped the mashed potatoes on the marble floor. “Damn,” she drawled.
Between their sporrans, knee-high socks, and those cocky grins on their faces, they were too gorgeous for their own good. And they knew it, too. Their testosterone filled up every molecule in the room.
Then Mattie stepped out from behind the two and stood in front, decked out in an identical outfit.
Her heart melted. “Oh, Mattie,” she cooed, going down on one knee to be at his eye level. “You look grand.”
Though it was completely out of character for Mattie, an air came over him, like he knew he’d be the future laird of the Buchanan clan. Just as self-assured as the other two.
Graham took her hand and pulled her back to her feet, letting go with a low whistle. He gave her the once-over, twirling her around, taking her in from head to toe and from breast to breast. His eyes hooded like he’d seen exactly what he wanted for Christmas. He’d be put on the Naughty List for thinking it. That seductive smile of his spread over his face as his eyes continued to eat her up. “I see ye’ve been holding out on me, Caitie. Red is your color.”
Deydie bustled into the room with a basket of bread and elbowed Graham. “Stop ogling me granddaughter and sit yere pretty arse down. Ye too, Duncan.”
Duncan nudged his son. “Go on, now, and be a gentleman.”
Mattie took Cait’s hand and led her to her chair, pulling it out for her.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said.
He sat beside her. Duncan next to him. Graham took his place at the end of the table on her right. Her gran plopped down opposite Cait, frowning.
“Everyone put yere hats on,” Deydie barked.
Cait passed around the ridiculous paper hats, smiling at the Scottish tradition. Graham took a sparkly black top hat, Mattie a homemade sailor hat and Deydie a flashy pink one. Duncan produced a Santa’s cap for himself. Cait grinned at the motley crew as she adjusted her choice, the purple paper crown.
“Graham, say grace,” Deydie ordered, reaching out to him.
They all clasped hands, completing the circle, and bowed their heads. Graham’s prayer was simple and sincere—for the meal, for the fishermen’s safety, for those less fortunate. Cait hadn’t known it until this moment, but she’d missed this tradition—the family praying. She couldn’t help but soften a little more toward God. She took a silent moment to be truly grateful. Graham squeezed Cait’s hand when he said, “Amen,” and held on maybe a little longer than he should have.
Deydie kicked Cait under the table.
“Ouch.” Cait rubbed her shin. “What’s that for?”
Her gran sneered at her. “Get yere head out of yere nether parts and pass me the pudding.”
“Violence, especially at Christmas, is never called for,” Cait retorted. Not to mention “netherparts” at the table.
“I feel right bad about it. Now, pass the pudding,” Deydie said.
Mattie’s Christmas music played in the background, and they all ate until they were stuffed, like the cooked-to-perfection turkey. When they finished, Duncan showed a burst of energy, getting up and grabbing the dishes.
“As soon as we get these done, we can open presents,” he said. “Right, Mattie?”
Mattie jumped up and stacked their dirty plates together.
Graham removed the turkey platter and turned to Cait. “We do things differently in the Buchanan household,” he explained to her. “Most families in Scotland unwrap their gifts on Christmas Eve.” A mischievous grin filled his face. “But we like to wait, don’t we, lads?”
“Da has a thing about torturing people,” Duncan said with his hands full. “As a kid, I always thought he was the cruelest of parents. Still do.”
“Get over it,” Graham said. “You turned out just fine.”
“Hurry up.” Deydie balanced three dishes in her ample arms. “I want to get to me presents.”
Graham laughed. “You know the rule. The one who insists on being first will be last.”
“Hogwash,” Deydie said, hustling from the room.
With all of them helping, even though Duncan looked like a worn-out Santa with circles under his eyes, they got the kitchen back in shape in no time. Then they made their way to the parlor.
Mattie got a present first, a remote control car, and Duncan got his satellite phone next. Graham got a tie from Duncan. Then Cait gave Deydie her present.
With zeal, Deydie discarded the tissue paper covering the potholder. Then she froze. There was a long pause as the gift lay limp in her hands. Deydie’s eyebrows folded together like flaps on a box. “For me?” she whispered to the perfectly pieced fabric. Cait thought she saw a tear form.
“Do you like it?” Cait asked, desperately trying to catch her gran’s eye.
Deydie flinched. Instead of her gran coming to Cait and giving her the expected Hallmark-moment-hug, her gran harrumphed. She shoved the potholder into her dress pocket as if she’d been given a pair of men’s briefs for Christmas.
It felt like an anchor had landed on Cait’s chest, and she wanted to slip from the room for a good cry.
Just then, Deydie rocketed out of her chair. For a moment, Cait’s hope returned. Maybe they’d share that hug now.
But ole crabby pants wouldn’t do thank-yous or hugs. Gran trekked from the parlor, speaking over her shoulder. “Duncan, I’ll get yere da’s present from the room off the kitchen.” Her voice sounded strange, like she was trying to keep it steady.
Cait stared at the frosted window, hoping to purge her hurt feelings. Graham came and stood beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder, but said nothing. He didn’t have to; his presence was enough to help her feel somewhat better.
Within minutes, Deydie returned with the lidded box, no sign of the emotional turmoil of moments before. She set the present in front of Graham.
“What’s this?” He smiled at his son, kneeling down to the box. He opened it, and his smile faded, his back stiffening.
Cait had known it was too soon to replace Precious. Men were so stupid.
“His name’s Dingus,” Deydie announced.
“Call him whatever you like,” Cait interjected. “He’s your dog.”
Graham just frowned at the pup. “No. Dingus is fine.”
The dog growled.
“What do you think, Da?” Apparently, Duncan was blind to body language. “He’s a sheltie, too. I thought he’d make a great replacement for Precious.”
Graham’s face tightened. Cait knew he couldn’t trust himself to speak.
Duncan finally got a clue. “Ah, bloody hell. If ye don’t want him, all ye have to do is say so.” He opened his mouth to say more, except Cait laid a hand on Duncan’s arm to stop hi
m.
That’s when she noticed Mattie, who was making his way trancelike across the room.
Dingus yipped at him as he got nearer. The boy looked at his dad for permission. When Duncan nodded, Mattie picked up the dog. Dingus wagged his tail and licked Mattie’s face.
Deydie plucked a small can of dog food from her other pocket. “How about ye feed the pup?” she said to Mattie as she popped off the lid. “Get a bowl from under the counter.”
Mattie took the can and left with the dog.
Duncan cleared his throat, getting his father’s attention. “Seriously, Da, I’m sure we can find the wee pup a home since you don’t want him.” His hostility brewed just below the surface.
Graham’s frown deepened into resignation. “It’s a fine gift. Thank you, son.” But the accomplished actor didn’t pull off his lines.
“Ye two stop yere bickering like a couple of old ninnies and get me my present,” Deydie declared. “Where is it, Graham?”
He sighed, seeming to be straightening out his emotions, while across the room, Duncan, red-faced, deliberately flipped through the instruction manual to his satellite phone.
Finally, Graham reached around the back of the tree and produced a large box. “I’m sure you’re not going to like it.” It was obvious he was working at being playful, trying to behave more like himself. He slid the box over to her. “I can always take it back.”
With gusto, Deydie ripped into it, paper flying about like an origami tornado. She froze so completely when she saw it that for a second Cait feared her gran had stopped breathing.
Graham started explaining excitedly, like he was the one who’d gotten an amazing present. “It’s like Caitie’s. I thought you might want to have one, too. I got one for all the quilting ladies.”
“But . . .” Deydie started. “It’s so . . .” She didn’t finish. She jumped up and threw her wide body at Graham, wrapping her pudgy arms around his middle in a bear hug.
Cait slumped against the couch and bit her lower lip.
That hug should’ve been mine, not his. It stung.
Then Deydie smacked his arm. “Ye’re too extravagant for yere own good, Graham Buchanan.”
“But you love me anyway, ole bird,” he said with affection.
Deydie turned to Duncan. “Help me get this thing out of the box. I want to take a look at it.”
Mattie wandered back in with the sated puppy hanging under his arm like a football. He sat down and rolled the dog into the hem of his shirt, ready for more presents. Dingus snuggled against the boy, his tongue hanging out like a pink flag.
Graham pulled another gift from the tree, much smaller this time. “How about one for you, Caitie?” He placed it in her lap. “It’s from me and the lads.” He nodded toward Duncan and Mattie.
She stared dumbfounded at the plaid wrapping paper and gold ribbon for a moment. Finally, she looked up at him. “Don’t tell me you actually wrapped a present all by yourself,” she said.
He gave her a soft, gentle smile. “Go on, now. Open it.”
She peeled back the paper, and her breath caught in her chest. She smoothed her fingers over her mother’s image. “Mama,” she managed, before tears filled her eyes.
“Do ye like it?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, his face anxious.
She held it to her heart and gazed at him. “It’s the best gift I ever got,” she said honestly.
“What is it?” Deydie rose from behind her new sewing machine.
Cait swiped at a tear and smiled up at him. “It’s a picture of me and Mama.”
Deydie waddled over to her. “Let me see that.”
“I found it in my mother’s photo album,” Graham explained. “My ma and yours were friends. Did you know that?”
Deydie studied the picture, her voice hoarse. “Ye were a wee kipper back then, Caitie. A handful, like Nora at that age.” She ran a craggy finger over Cait’s small image. “Nora had made ye that little yellow pinafore and dress from some fabric of mine.” Her gran didn’t give the frame back to Cait, instead carefully propping it on the end table. “I haven’t given ye my gift yet.”
With her voluminous rump up in the air, Deydie dug under the tree. She produced a package wrapped in white tissue paper with a piece of cotton fabric tied around it.
Cait carefully undid the makeshift ribbon and pulled off each piece of tape, savoring the anticipation of getting a gift from her gran.
“Ye’re too slow.” Deydie snatched it away and ripped it open. She dropped it back in Cait’s hands.
It was a simple patchwork lap quilt.
“It’s all I had time to make on short notice,” Deydie complained.
“It’s beautiful.” Cait recognized several of the fabrics—a piece from Deydie’s curtains, a swatch from her comforter, a bit from her apron.
Deydie pointed at a yellow gingham quilt block. “That’s the fabric from your pinafore. And the blue floral next to it is a piece from Nora’s dress in that picture.” Deydie stepped back. “I put all the rest of Nora’s scraps in that quilt there. To clean out my stash,” she added, making it sound as if she hadn’t taken love and care in creating for her granddaughter the most special quilt ever.
Cait held it up, her eyes filling with tears once again. Warmth wrapped around her like she’d been swathed in a blanket fresh from the dryer. “Oh, Gran.” She jumped up and grabbed Deydie into a hug before her gran could stop her. “Thank you so much.”
Graham leaned against the wall. “And I only got a thank-you.”
Cait kept her arms around her gran for a moment longer. “You can wait,” she said to him.
“Off with ye.” Deydie pushed Cait away. “I have to figure out that contraption Graham gave me.”
Deydie lumbered away, not meeting Cait’s eyes. That was okay. Cait had gotten her hug.
“Is the lovefest over?” Duncan stood. “I think there’s another gift or two for Mattie under the tree.” He went and sat next to his son as they pulled out presents for the two of them.
Cait cuddled up on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her new quilt and put the framed picture of her mama in her lap.
Graham waded through the ever-growing pile of discarded boxes and ripped-up paper to where she sat. “Scoot over.”
“Santa doesn’t like bossy Nellies,” she quipped.
“I have a whole year to be bad before it matters again.” He sat close beside her and quietly spoke to her. “Having a nice day?”
“Perfect.” She felt as content as Dingus looked, tucked in Mattie’s arms, taking a snooze. “It beats being alone in my big empty house back in Chicago, surrounded by all those sympathy cards.”
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head. “There’s nothing to say.” She stared at the fireplace, Christmases past bombarding her memory. Last year, Tom had sneaked out without saying a word. Undoubtedly to slip his yule log into his latest squeeze. At the time, though, Cait had convinced herself he’d gone to the office to get some urgent work done. She’d been left alone with a dirty kitchen as her only company. He hadn’t even opened the gifts she’d bought for him.
Graham, that astute bugger, slipped his hand into hers. He had such a lovely way of comforting her.
“Keep yere hands where I can see them,” said eagle-eyed Deydie.
“Yes, ma’am.” Graham pulled his hand out in the open.
Soon all the presents were unwrapped. Graham helped Mattie clean up the paper with Deydie following behind them, bellowing orders.
Duncan took the chair next to Cait. “I delivered your package to Moira’s house this morning. I felt right juvenile for ringing the doorbell and hiding.” Cait noticed a large black-and-blue bruise on his arm.
“So she got it, then?” Cait asked, deciding not to ask about the bruise.
“Aye. You should’ve seen it. Moira gasped, she was so happy,” Duncan whispered. “It was a good idea, Caitie. The pup will be a blessing to both of them.” The telling seemed to drain all of his energy from him. He withered before Cait’s eyes. “I wish Da had had the same response.”
“Give him time.” She laid a hand on his upper arm. “He’s still grieving for Precious. Once he sees how adorable Dingus is, he’s going to love him.”
There was a grrrr from behind Deydie’s sewing machine. One end of Graham’s new tie was caught underneath the machine and the other end was in Dingus’s mouth, a makeshift tug-of-war taking place.
“Adorable,” Graham said mockingly. He stood behind Cait, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Toss him out in the snow, then,” Duncan grumbled, rising. “I’m going to have a lie down. Send Mattie to get me when it’s time to roast chestnuts.”
With a frown on his face, Graham ambled over and removed his tie from the floor. The dog shot a series of rapid-fire barks at him.
He exhaled loudly. “What am I going to do with this damn dog?”
“Give him love and attention?” she offered sarcastically.
“I told you I’m going on location right after Hogmanay. I’ll be gone at least the whole month of January. Probably longer.”
A pit formed in the middle of Cait’s stomach. Even though she wouldn’t admit it under the threat of torture, she’d miss Graham when he was gone. She wanted to offer to watch Dingus to help out, but that would only make her more connected to Graham. And she might’ve become too attached to him already.
He picked up the dog and looked him in the eye. “Ye’re no Precious.”
Cait defended the cute mutt. “He’s a sweet little fellow. You took Precious with you while you traveled. You can take Dingus, too.”
“Precious was well trained.”
Dingus chose that moment to cut loose and pee on his new master, a long stream arcing out and soaking his white peasant shirt.
“Dammit! Here. You take him.” Graham thrust the dog at Cait.
“No way. He’s yours.” She jumped up, getting her quilt away from the residual dribbles, and joined Deydie in the dining room, where her new sewing machine had been moved. She spent the next hour helping her gran get acquainted with the features of her Christmas present.
To Scotland With Love Page 18