“Take your time,” Graham singsonged. “Don’t worry about us.”
Mattie giggled.
He’d never done that before.
“Well,” she hedged. “I’ll be going, then.”
“Don’t let the door hit you on the—”
She closed the door, so she couldn’t hear the rest.
* * *
Cait sat next to Deydie at Quilting Central, trying to concentrate on the lunch menu for the retreat. It’d been an hour since she’d seen Graham and Mattie, and with every passing minute, she became more and more obsessed with what might or might not be happening with Graham.
There’d been a lot of buzz about his return, all the quilting ladies questioning her twice as to how he looked, what he’d said, and what his plans were now. Cait had wanted to yell, How the hell should I know? The seconds ticked by on the wall clock, going way too slowly for her anxious emotions.
Through Mattie, she was tied inextricably to Graham. But what did that mean? Would they marry like Duncan had requested? But what about love? her heart cried.
She took a deep breath and went through it all again in her mind. She now had a good life here and a new career with Kilts & Quilts. Quilting Central had plenty of tables for sewing machines and enough room for any- and everyone to stop by and sew—lots of good old-fashioned community in progress. Cait put her pen down and gazed around the room, shaking her head at the funny truth of it all. While she had been trying to restore the village back to its former glory, Gandiegow had restored her.
And if today had been any other day, if himself hadn’t materialized out of thin air, Cait knew the buzz of women around her would give her great satisfaction. But she was way too jumpy. Graham had turned her into a mess.
Cait laid a hand on her gran’s shoulder to ease her nerves. Deydie glanced over at her and didn’t even attempt to swat her hand away.
“I’m grateful for you, you know. You’re my rock,” Cait said.
“Aye, I’m that and more. This old Rock of Gibraltar, though, is feeling a bit of her age today. This chilly May weather has seeped into me bones. Can ye get me a fresh cup of tea?” Deydie shot her a craggle-toothed smile, the smile Cait had waited for since she’d come home to Scotland.
Before she could get the tea, though, the door to Quilting Central blew opened, and all the women looked up. It was Graham and Mattie. The ladies launched out of their chairs to greet him.
“It’s great to be home,” he said to the crowd. He’d traded in his khakis and polo for a kilt, a light wool sweater, and a pair of heavy black boots.
Cait stayed in her seat but had zero self-control. She blurted out her question when she should’ve kept her mouth shut. “What’s the occasion? Why the kilt?”
Graham tsked at her. “Can’t a Scot be a Scot?” he countered back.
“I guess.” She put her head down and concentrated on the lunch menu, trying not to overheat because of him in that Buchanan kilt.
“Caitie, I’ll have a word,” he drawled.
She frowned at him. “I’m in the middle of something.” She went back to her work.
“Go for a walk with me.”
She had two choices—keep her butt glued to the seat or bound out the door after him like she was Dingus.
“Oh, all right.” Dingus she would be, dammit. She capped her pen and grabbed her jacket.
Outside the door, she expected him to get right to it, the reason for the walk, but he remained silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked at him. He made her feel warm and cozy despite the cool breeze off the ocean. She still didn’t know where she stood, and it was driving her crazy. He led her onto the weathered dock.
Graham looked out to the sea and cleared his throat. “I’ve got a project for you to do.”
His smug expression annoyed her.
“Could you get someone else to do it?” she said. “I’m swamped with the upcoming retreat.”
“It’s a writing project,” he enticed.
Her face went hot with shame. A writing project had gotten her into a whole lot of trouble with him before.
“Aren’t you even a little curious?”
“Go ahead and tell me if you must.” But he had piqued her interest.
“I need my official biography written.”
“Really?” She was more than a little shocked. He’d always kept his personal life personal, as far away from the media as possible.
“Aye. And I want you to be the one who writes it. Call it Lost Actor—Found, if you want. Isn’t that what you were going to call the article about me?”
A little more guilt hit her, but she recovered. “I think the cool wind under your skirt has you a bit cracked. No pun intended,” she added.
He acted like he hadn’t heard her and grabbed her hand, dragging her farther out onto the pier while talking over his shoulder. “Sid thinks it should be about my struggle to come to grips with my life and my profession. I think it should be about my roots and what it took for me to get real with the world.”
She frowned and felt a smartass comment coming on. “Seriously, you’d better go in and warm up in front of the fire. Or lie down. I’m worried about you.”
“I want to dedicate it to Duncan.”
“Oh.” That shut her up. She tugged back at his hand, and they stopped.
He turned and gave her a sad, knowing smile, like he knew what she felt. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, grazing her cheek with his fingers. An innocent touch, but it had her body sizzling just the same. God, she’d missed him so much.
He went on. “I thought the proceeds from the book should go into a scholarship fund for all the fishermen’s kids of Scotland. Help give them a leg up.”
“I love the idea, but when—?” she started.
He cut her off. “But we can’t start on it until after the wedding.”
Her breathing came to a complete stop. No words would come out. Finally, she regained control over her vocal cords. “What wedding?” Just to be clear.
He shook his head. “You know very well, Caitriona Macleod, what wedding I’m talking about.”
“But—”
He bent down on one knee, and she about fell off the edge. This is really happening.
Cait glanced over, and sure enough, the quilting ladies had all squeezed in the doorway of Quilting Central, ogling them, the twins even pointing in their direction.
“I see them, too.” Graham pulled a small box from his pocket, opening it up. It was a diamond ring, set in a substantial band, Celtic knots cut into either side of it.
“Oh my gosh,” she got out.
“You can’t say no. Not with the quilting ladies watching. They’d string you up.” Graham gazed deeply into her eyes. “Caitie, my darling lass, I shouldn’t have kept you waiting. Should’ve told you long ago how I felt. I love you. You’re my clear sky, my calm waters, my life.” He kissed her hand. “In time, after we’re married, do you think you can love me back?”
Her heart skipped a beat and then soared, finally satisfied. She felt calm and at peace, standing here by the ocean.
“Get up, you goof.” She pulled him up. “You got your pretty knee all dirty.”
“Name-calling?” he said, unfazed.
“It’s something I do to remind you that you’re just one of us mortals,” she said.
“You’re always concerned with my welfare, aren’t you?” He laid his hand on her cheek. “But you haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ve always loved you,” she admitted. “And Mr. Darcy, of course, but that was only a wee crush.” She moved her hands to his chest. “It’s the real Graham Buchanan, not the movie star, whom I love with all my heart.”
His eyes lingered upon her with warmth and wonder. “You really do love me?”
“Aye.” She spread her
arms wide. “I love you more than the ocean.” She laughed, overjoyed. “I love you more than Deydie’s cherry cheesecakes. And that’s saying something!” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you more than the finest quilt I’ve ever held.”
“Will you marry me, then?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
She glanced over at the white steeple of Gandiegow’s church. “Yes, I’ll marry you, and it’ll make me the happiest woman on the planet.”
He picked her up and hugged her. “You’ve made me verra happy, too.”
She swatted him. “But for the luvagod, you could’ve told me how you felt sooner. You’ve made me absolutely crazy.”
He set her down and smiled. “A little crazy isn’t a bad thing. It just means you fit in here in Gandiegow all the more.”
“I fit in?” she said softly and then nodded her head. “I really am home, aren’t I? I’m so done with being scared and alone.”
He took her into his arms. “I promise you’ll never be alone again. And you’ll always be safe with me, Caitie.”
“I know that now. It just took me a while to figure it out.” She wrapped her arms around him, too, and kissed him.
It vaguely registered that little footsteps were running on the pier. Until a small body slammed into theirs, jarring their kiss. Little arms wrapped around their waists, hugging them tight. Graham and Cait looked down and found Mattie. Cait marveled at the little boy’s progress. A few months ago, he couldn’t get near the pier without trembling, let alone run out on it. But here he was. He’d taken another step toward recovery.
“What do you say, little monkey?” Cait ruffled his hair. “Should I marry your grandda?”
Mattie beamed up at them with happy tears in his eyes and nodded emphatically.
Whoops and hollers came from Quilting Central.
“Well, that’s good enough for me. I guess it’s a done deal.” She gave Graham a sparkling smile and reached for the box in his hand. “How many karats is that thing?”
* * *
Later that night, after they got Mattie to bed, Graham spread his new quilt—the Gandiegow Star, she’d called it—in front of the fireplace. He loved that she’d made it especially for him. She’d prepared a plate of cheese and fruit plus two glasses of wine, but at this moment, Graham wanted only to soak her in.
Cait threw a couple of pillows on the floor, her eyes darting up to meet his and then back away. She was a little shy now and quiet. But all afternoon she’d chatted away about Mattie, the retreat, and everything that had gone on while he was away. He knew when he listened to her that she considered it foreplay. But he’d missed her voice and hearing her had made him smile.
He stepped in front of her and toyed with the top button of her blouse. “Are you happy, lass?” His voice sounded husky, even to himself. He was anxious as hell to get her naked, but he needed to know she was okay first.
She laid a soft hand on his cheek. “No one has ever been happier.”
“Do you think now I can show you how happy you’ve made me?” He ran a finger under her top button as he undid it.
She sucked in a breath. “Aye.” Her brogue was thick. “I had hoped you’d planned to.”
“Aye, plans.” He dipped his head down and kissed her neck. He was so turned on, but there were plans they needed to discuss and it had nothing to do with the quilting retreat. He switched to nibbling her ear. “I have to know, Caitie, will you be wanting to have a baby with me?” God, he loved this woman so much.
Her breath caught again, and he kissed her magnificent lips. It took a while for her to answer.
“I would love to give Mattie a brother or a sister.” She pulled his sweater over his head and ran her hands over his chest. “Or would it be an aunt or an uncle?”
Graham wrapped her in his arms and kissed her as he pulled her to the floor. “Aye,” was the last thing he said as he lost himself in her and the life that lay before them.
Continue reading for a preview of the next book
in Patience Griffin’s Kilts and Quilts series,
Meet Me in Scotland
Coming from Signet Eclipse in January 2015!
Just as Emma Castle’s plane landed in Scotland, she pulled out her phone and viewed the incriminating evidence once again. Bollocks. The damned video had gone viral. Exactly as her boss back in Los Angeles—or now her ex-boss—had feared. She still couldn’t believe it. Fired. Egghead Emma had been fired.
She watched the forty-eight-second clip for a third time. How superior her British accent sounded, how smug she looked, like she had all the answers. Those forty-eight seconds had irrevocably changed her future. Thirty years old and already a washup. Oh, bloody hell, what would she do now?
Well, that was why she was here sitting on the tarmac—hoping to figure things out with her best friend, Claire.
As the other passengers pulled down their bags and left the plane, Emma stared out the window at what looked like midnight. It was only seven p.m., but a blizzard was brewing. An accurate metaphor for her life. She slid her phone back into her pocket.
When the aisle cleared, she hurried off the plane and searched the waiting crowd. God, she’d missed her best friend. She’d hesitated only a moment when Claire had invited her to come to Gandiegow. Running away couldn’t fix the predicament she’d gotten herself into, but it would give her a respite, and oh, how she needed a best-friend booster shot to help make things better. Then she could head to London to face Mum. Hopefully, by then she’d have a few things worked out, maybe even a plan of what to do next.
Emma’s mobile rang; it was Claire.
“Where are you?” Emma scanned the faces around her. “Are you waiting at baggage reclaim?”
“Nay.” Claire paused, producing a long yawn. “I sent Gabriel to pick you up.”
“No,” Emma cried. The people around her turned and stared. At the same time, her mother’s voice rang in her ear: Losing one’s temper is not in a proper Englishwoman’s repertoire.
Hissing wasn’t either, but Emma did it into the phone anyway. “For your sake, Claire, I hope you’re speaking of Gabriel the archangel and not the other one.”
Claire gave her attitude right back. “Don’t grumble at me. It’s not my fault your flight was delayed. You know how early I have to get up.”
“Why couldn’t your husband take the morning shift for you?”
Claire tsked. “The scones are my specialty. The restaurant depends upon them.”
Emma sighed heavily. “Yes, I know. But still . . .”
“Gabriel was a saint to offer,” Claire defended.
Yeah, right, Emma thought.
Her friend went on. “Is he there yet?
“I don’t know.” Gabriel would be the perfect end to her perfectly horrible day.
“Buck up, Emma. You’re a grown woman. You can handle a few hours with him.” With that, Claire said good-bye and hung up.
Emma’s temples began to throb. Claire was testing her patience as only Claire could. Gabriel MacGregor was incorrigible, plain and simple. Claire knew she couldn’t stand being around him.
When Claire and Dominic had first coupled up, Emma had spent a fair amount of time in Gabriel’s presence. Dominic and Gabriel were inseparable, closer than most brothers she knew. They were not biological brothers, but Gabriel’s father had taken Dominic in when he had been orphaned.
Emma had visited Claire often back then and had been thrust into Gabriel’s path over and over. He’d made a lasting impression but not in a good way. He had a way of flustering her that was very uncomfortable. For years now she’d successfully avoided him, making sure she had plenty of excuses at the ready if Gabriel was to be present. The last time she’d actually seen him was at Claire and Dominic’s wedding, ten years ago. He’d shown up late, roaring in on his motorcycle, wearing a leather jac
ket, leather pants, and an earring. Undignified and unrefined, especially for the occasion. Even worse, he had stirred something deep inside her that she couldn’t name. Ten minutes later, decked out in a tux, he’d smiled at her, tucked her arm into his and walked her down the aisle, best man to her maid of honor. He’d behaved appropriately during the ceremony, but then at the reception, he’d flirted with all the bridesmaids and had taken most of them back to his room for a pajama party. Emma sniffed. Certainly no pajamas had been involved. And Egghead Emma hadn’t been invited, either. Gabriel MacGregor with his deep Scottish burr was a scoundrel—a rake.
She sighed heavily. There would be no helping it. She’d be forced to spend the next several hours with him in the car, but thankfully, it would only be that. Surely he wouldn’t be staying in Gandiegow.
Emma stowed her phone and realized she was being stared at by an extraordinarily handsome man. As a trained psychologist, she recognized within herself all the telltale signs of instant attraction. Her pulse raced, she involuntarily licked her lips, and she brushed her hair off her shoulder.
Then recognition hit. Dr. Gabriel MacGregor.
Bugger me.
At twenty he’d been handsome, and she’d thought him a man. But now she saw she had been wrong. Dead wrong. He made the twenty-year-old Gabriel look young and wiry and inconsequential. This man had muscles filling out his long-sleeved polo, the breadth of an American football player, and the stance of a Scottish warrior. She did it again. Licked her lips. I’m in deep trouble.
He made his way through the crowd to her, not smiling, not happy to see her, either. In truth, she couldn’t blame him. She had been a pill at Claire’s wedding, but she had wanted everything to run smoothly for her friend’s big day. Emma might’ve crossed the line by scolding Gabriel at his tardiness. And she’d definitely given him plenty of attitude during the reception about his tart-iness. All those women, indeed.
“Do you have more luggage?” he said in his firm baritone burr.
It ran over her like warm syrup. No, butter. No . . . She fanned herself. She was incensed at her own visceral reaction. And he hadn’t given her a proper greeting. At least she could be civilized.
To Scotland With Love Page 31