Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  Rory’s eyebrows crashed together. “Oh, lass, I’m so sorry. How did yere family cope?”

  “My mother and my sister and I felt very alone,” Diana said. “We were kind of lost in the shuffle. All of New York was grieving from 9/11. No one had any further bandwidth for our personal little tragedy.”

  “What a terrible feeling,” Rory said somberly.

  The memories flooded her—what it had been like the days following. Mom staying in bed, crying all day. Police officers stopping by briefly as they came off shift. They’d loved her dad, but they were exhausted from mourning dozens of friends. There’d been condolence letters that were heartfelt, she knew now, but they’d only felt hollow then. In one moment, Diana’s life had gone from normal to disastrous. Nothing had ever felt safe again. “My mother was completely devastated and couldn’t help Liz and me process what had happened, something I understand better now that I’m older. At the time, though, I was angry.” Angry that her mother didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. To comfort them. Worst of all, Diana hadn’t been allowed to grieve. It had been up to her and Liz to get jobs, pay the bills, go shopping, get the laundry done, and deal with the creepy, handsy super of their building. Essentially, become adults overnight.

  Rory leaned over, took her hand, and kissed it. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “My mom wasn’t the same for a long time. Having grandchildren has helped bring joy back into her life.”

  Rory raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Not me. My sister Liz has three kids.”

  He nodded.

  Diana paused, wondering if she should tell him the rest. But it felt right and easy with Rory gazing at her so compassionately. She went on. “Since I was little, I’d planned on following in my dad’s footsteps. Even after the shooting.” Maybe even more so then…to honor her father’s memory. “But I couldn’t do it to my mom, it would’ve crushed her.” Back then, Diana would’ve done anything to make her mom bounce back, even give up her own dreams. “I figured I had to pick something safe, so I got a marketing degree.”

  “I’m sorry for all ye’ve been through.” Rory sat back and took her other foot, rubbing it as if to erase her painful past. “I thank ye for trusting me enough to tell me.” He gave her a look as if he was trying to see into her soul. “I see ye understand tragedy because ye’ve experienced it firsthand. Ye’re calm in the face of a storm because you’ve survived the worst kind of storm.” He frowned then. “What I don’t understand is what’s going through yere mind concerning me.”

  Diana couldn’t answer. She felt like she’d been nicked by a razor. She turned her gaze away from him.

  “Look at me, lass,” Rory coaxed.

  She did as he asked.

  “Tell me why ye pulled away from me earlier on the porch…when we were only just getting to know each other.”

  * * *

  Rory was surprised when she jerked her feet from his lap and tucked them under her. She looked as if she didn’t want to spell it out for him, but he was going to make her do it anyway. He wasn’t trying to pile on to her hurt and pain, but he wanted to know if she was conscious of why she was doing what she was doing. He’d understood perfectly the moment she’d said her father was a cop.

  Diana glared at him. “That’s an interesting euphemism. What would you call it if things had gone farther?”

  He scooted closer, making sure to maintain eye contact. “Ye’re deflecting. Tell me why ye pulled away.” He was a born interrogator. But this was no suspect. He’d have to tread lightly to make sure she was okay.

  She crossed her arms and stared at him for a long stubborn moment, to the point where he thought she wouldn’t answer him at all. But this lass had been forged from fire, and she was going to tell him how it was.

  “It’s nothing personal, Detective Chief Inspector. I don’t date cops. Period.”

  He nodded, satisfied that at least she was aware of her motives. He liked women who knew their own mind. He liked her. But she’d thrown up a wall between them. Maybe he could coax her around with some teasing. “Okay, then. It’s settled. We won’t date. We’ll just get to know each other better.”

  “You’re impossible.” She moved as if to get up and stomp away.

  But she only made it halfway to her feet. He latched onto her hand and tugged, bringing her back down to his eye level, her face so close that he could’ve kissed her. For a moment, he stared into her steely eyes, but he wasn’t deterred. His hands surrounded her waist and he planted her on his lap once again.

  She squeaked, but she stayed where he put her. Gently, he cradled her in his arms, not forcing her to remain. With only his eyes, he willed her to stay.

  She seemed as brittle as the stem of a wineglass. For a moment he faltered, not confident his brand of charm would work on a one-of-a-kind lass like her.

  “What are your plans, Columbo? Or should I say Jimmy Perez, you know, from Shetland?” Her question threw him off, her voice harder than he expected, her tone a clear challenge.

  His world twisted a little off kilter and he admitted the whole truth. “I do want to know ye better. I want to know everything about you. What makes ye tick. What makes ye laugh.” What turned her on. Rory desperately wanted to find an empty room and make love to her. At the same time, he wondered if he shouldn’t get the hell out of there.

  The resolve in her eyes wavered. Maybe she was thinking about finding a bedroom, too. Or was that only wishful thinking on his part?

  She tugged at her ear—buying time, perhaps—but she still didn’t slip from his lap. “Where are you sleeping tonight? Duncan's Den is full.” Her eyes scanned the room as if it was packed wall-to-wall people.

  He chuckled. She was so damned cute in her uneasiness. “Aw, lass, ye’ve been waiting for me all evening, it seems, stretched out on my bed.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.” She tried to get up again, but he gently squeezed her, just enough to convey the request, Please stay.

  Immediately she stilled. “Now what?”

  “You’re going to kiss me,” he said boldly.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Ye will.” Slowly he ran his hands down her arms, and instantly goosebumps broke out under his caress. He examined the little bumps closely. “Are ye cold?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer but took the opportunity to pull the quilt over the two of them.

  Her eyes went wide.

  “Relax, lass.” He leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. “Something about ye helps me to unwind,” he admitted. “I’m grateful to ye.”

  She shifted and burrowed into him, too, as if she’d known he needed more.

  His mind calmed. He could’ve let his hands explore her body, but they both needed sleep.

  That’s when she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss her.

  In seconds, they were acting like a couple of teenagers, making out on the couch while the rest of the cottage was fast asleep in their beds. It was thrilling and passionate, and they were both still fully clothed!

  When he was worried one or both of them might get carried away and take it farther, he pulled back. “We should sleep.”

  He meant for her to stay stretched out on him, but instead, she brushed her lips over his before rising. “I can’t get caught out here.”

  “Aye.” He understood. She was here on business. He was, too. But understanding didn’t fix how he’d gone instantly cold as she padded from the room. Or how all of the worries of the day flooded back in on him.

  Then he was hit with a boulder of a thought. And, oh, God, he was in trouble. He’d crossed a line tonight. One moment he was perfectly content in his life. A life that had structure and purpose. A life he could control. But now he felt helpless with the realization his life could be so much more. Richer. More fulfilling. Challenging in ways he’d never dreamed of. …if only Diana would agree to be part of it.

  * * *

  Sitting at her rolltop desk, Deyd
ie chewed on her pencil, wrestling with how she should handle this new day. The retreat goers would be here any minute and Deydie wanted to do something special for them, besides the trip to Whussendale. The poor lassies had been through a lot—seen a lot—since they’d come to this retreat. The Almighty knew the excitement had been hard on Deydie’s old heart, too! At least it was all behind them now…with that Leo Shamley hauled off to prison.

  The door blew open, carrying in a gust of wind, and with it, Diana and Parker. A blast of rain pellets showered Deydie, too.

  “Shut the damn door,” she complained. “Don’t ye lassies understand how expensive bought heat is here in Gandiegow?”

  “Sorry,” Diana said as she pulled the door to, before shrugging out of her rain jacket.

  Deydie frowned at the skinny American. “Lordy, aren’t ye freezing in those scant threads ye’re wearing? Ye’re going to catch yere death.”

  “This is what I’d wear in New York.” The Yank looked down at her black sheath dress, nude hosiery, and her pretty boots, which were good for nothing here in Scotland.

  “Why aren’t ye wearing a pair of jeans? I know ye have them. I saw them on ye the other day,” Deydie said. “Och, ye young lassies need to care less about yere vanity and more about keeping warm.”

  “My jeans are fine, but I’ve worn all my tops,” Diana explained. “Besides, I wanted to dress up for our trip to Whussendale.”

  “This is one problem I can fix.” Deydie picked up her phone to ring up her granddaughter, while Diana gaped at her like a fish. “Caitie? Can ye bring a warm top down to Quilting Central for Diana? She’s going to freeze if ye don’t. I honestly don’t think me heart can withstand another dead body this week. If this lass doesn’t start wearing proper clothing, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. Death by stupidity.”

  Diana rolled her eyes. “Cait already brought me clothes.”

  Deydie ignored her and finished up with Caitie. “See ye soon.”

  After Deydie hung up, she nodded at Diana. “Git yere skinny arse back to Duncan's Den and get yere jeans on. Caitie will be by with a sweater for ye to wear. Ye’re nearly the same size, though ye won’t fill out her sweater as well as she does.”

  Diana looked down at her chest.

  Deydie shook her head at her. “Stop wishing for teats ye don’t have. Now tell me, do ye have any giveaways planned for today?” She didn’t wait for her answer. “While ye’re at Duncan's Den, gather up some goodies and bring them back with ye.”

  Diana held up her bag. “I brought them with me. We have charms for everyone. For your quilting ladies, too.”

  “Good…good,” Deydie said. “Now off with ye.”

  But as Diana made her way to the door, all the quilters filed in with Marta in the lead. When the crowd flowed around her, Diana took a few steps before halting in her tracks: Rory had entered, shutting the door behind him.

  Deydie observed the American lass’ mooning and shook her head. She needed another good talking to, one more direct than the last time. “Diana, git over here.”

  The lass came out of her stupor and made her way over to the desk.

  “I was leaving to put on jeans like you told me to,” Diana complained.

  Deydie whacked her desk with a pencil. “Snap out of it. The way ye act around the DCI, what’s wrong with ye? It’s as if ye’ve never seen a strapping Scotsman before. Are ye lovesick over the man?” Now that Deydie thought about it, they would look good standing up together.

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” Diana said, indignantly.

  “Is that a bite mark I see on yere neck?”

  Diana glared over at Rory first, then looked down—as if she was going to check her own neck. Her cheeks turned the color of red currants, nearly the same color as the border on Deydie’s Puffin quilt.

  Deydie stood and smacked her on the back, laughing. “Ye’ve no bite mark, ye ninny. Just testing ye. But ye proved there could’ve been one.”

  Diana glared at Deydie, but her gaze shifted to Rory again, as if she couldn’t help herself.

  “Pull yereself together, lassie, or I’ll take my broom after ye, for yere own good.” Deydie whacked her back again. “Now off with ye.”

  But as she started toward the exit, the door opened again. A rosy-cheeked and windblown Graham strolled in, causing the room to go silent.

  “Hello, all,” he said cheerily. “I thought I might stop by and have coffee with ye, before you head off to Whussendale.”

  The ladies were mesmerized, starstruck, right down to their warm stockings. Though Graham hailed from Gandiegow, he seldom visited Quilting Central during the Kilts & Quilts retreats. Deydie did everything within her power to make sure Graham wasn’t bothered with people poking in his business when he was home. He was a son of Gandiegow and didn’t have to worry about autographs here.

  Caitie walked in behind him with wee Hamish strapped to her chest. Deydie’s heart squeezed every time she saw the babe. And for Caitie to name Hamish after the grandda Caitie never met—Deydie’s own dead husband—made Deydie love Caitie that much more, though she wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

  Graham gave the retreat goers one of his movie star smiles and chuckled. “Don’t drink all the tea and eat all the pastries, ladies. Save some for me, as I have to help my wife with the bairn.” He slipped the baby out of the carrier and bounced him a little as he made his way to the kitchen area. As if he was a trawl line and the retreat goers were a bunch of hooked haddock, they left their seats and were pulled in his direction.

  Deydie hollered to Caitie. “Over here.”

  Cait smiled and joined her at the desk. “Hey, Diana—”

  Deydie interrupted. “What a surprise! Graham coming to visit.”

  “Aye,” Caitie said. “He’s awfully generous to give them his time, as he needs to leave soon again. A trip to London. He said he wanted to say a quick hello to the quilters, as they’ve had a bad go of it since they arrived in Gandiegow.”

  “He’s a good lad, Caitie. Ye couldn’t have done better when ye picked him.”

  Caitie laughed. “Aye. We had a rough time of it, but it’s all worked out well.” She looked over at Graham and nodded. “He’s making their day, ye know.”

  “I believe our troubles are behind us.” Deydie glanced at Marta, who surprisingly stood back watching, letting Graham have the limelight for the moment. “Maybe I’ve been a wee bit wrong about Marta. Maybe everything going to hell isn’t completely her fault. Maybe Marta isn’t bad luck…just a bad person.”

  Diana’s eyebrows shot up as if she might say something, but then she clamped her lips shut.

  Caitie held out a sack to Diana. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks,” the American lass said.

  Deydie glared at Diana. “Are ye still here? Git on with ye now and put on yere jeans. We’re going to be leaving soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Diana gave her a mock salute.

  Deydie scanned the room for her broom, but it was over by the door. “Don’t be cheeky, missy.”

  Diana smiled and headed for the door, but her eyes were on Rory.

  Caitie tapped Deydie’s arm. “Do ye see what’s going on there?”

  “Aye,” she said.

  From across the room, Rory seemed to have been watching Diana’s every move. As she opened the door, he strode toward her in a very determined fashion. Deydie opened her mouth to tell him to stay here; it wasn’t proper for him to go, with Diana changing clothes and all. But Caitie slipped her arm through hers.

  “Leave ‘em alone, Gran. We both know how Gandiegow has a way of bringing hearts together.” Caitie smiled blissfully at her own husband. “This village has magic.”

  Caitie and Graham’s love was one for the books.

  “All right,” Deydie harrumphed. “Just this once, I’ll let it go. But ye have to admit, we’ve had more than our fair share of lassies who have ended up with a bairn because of Gandiegow’s so-call
ed magic.”

  13

  As Diana zipped up her raincoat, she spied Rory marching her way, definitely on a mission. He had on his rain jacket, but for some reason, he grabbed an umbrella from the milk can by the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He reached out, turned the knob, and held the door wide for her. “Going with ye.”

  She started to argue, but the torrential rain was pouring into Quilting Central. Plus, everyone was gawking at them, as if they were watching a riveting reality TV show. Diana decided it was best to take their impending disagreement out into the storm.

  When the door was shut behind them, she pulled him to a stop. “There’s no need for you to escort me to Duncan's Den. Gandiegow is safe now, right?”

  “Let’s get out of this weather.” He didn’t answer her question.

  “We’ll talk now.” Diana ignored how her legs were being lashed with buckets of water from the sky and hosed down from below by the sea splashing and spraying under her dress.

  “Fine,” Rory said. “We’re not 100% sure the village is safe yet. Ye shouldn’t go out alone. That’s why I’m with ye.”

  She wanted to know if there was another reason. Like, did he want to be with her? No way was she going to ask.

  “You’re not making sense,” she finally said, diverting her crazy thoughts back to the case.

  “Although the evidence points to Leo, it doesnae mean he did the crimes. Come, lass, let’s keep walking.” She started off. Not because she was inclined to do as he ordered, but seriously, she was going to either freeze to death from the cold or drown from the storm.

  She let him hurry her along with his hand to her back. When Duncan's Den was in sight, she said, “I assumed, with Leo in jail, you’d be leaving. You even said so yourself—that you only came back to wrap things up.” Which is why she’d let herself get caught up in him last night. The reason she’d let things go as far as they did. She figured she was telling Rory goodbye.