The Trouble with Scotland (7 page)

As Kirsty's gaze landed on him, she smiled and skated his way.

The foundation under his feet shifted. His black-and-white vision turned to Technicolor. His jumbled thoughts turned to poetry. And the room turned brighter.
Kirsty.
Her name rang in his head like a bell, calling him home. Deydie eyed him closely. She must've seen it in him before the thought could fully form in his head. But quite suddenly, he wasn't in such a rush to get back to the US after all.

R
oss left Sadie at the cottage so she could work on his shirt. He'd better face Deydie before she figured out where he'd stashed the American lass without asking permission from the quilting gaggle. He sighed deeply. This wasn't going to be pleasant, but he marched on to Quilting Central anyway.

The moment he walked through the door, Deydie caught sight of him. Glowering, she plowed forward in his direction. The old she-badger had a sixth sense when it came to trouble.

“What is it, Ross?” She said his name as if she'd downed a dram of spoiled goat's milk.

“We need to talk about Sadie.”

At her name, her brother's head popped from behind a computer. Deydie put her hand up, motioning to Oliver as if to say
I have this
.

Ross cringed; an audience wouldn't help his cause. “May we speak in private?” he added quietly,
and politely
. Anything to get on her good side.

How he'd gotten himself wrapped up in this mess, he didn't know. He'd become Sadie's champion of sorts,
which had left the damned town getting the wrong impression. He could see it on their faces. But he was in it deep already, so he waded in farther. “Outside?”
Where no one else can listen in.

Deydie glared at him a second longer, but followed him, grabbing the watering can on the way. Once they were on the other side of the door, she handed it off to him. “Make yereself useful.”

He took the can, filled it, and began watering the baskets of flowering geraniums, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts.

Or
to bolster himself up.

“Go on.” Deydie acted as if she wasn't going to like what he had to say. She tapped his watering can. “I've got things to do, Ross. Ye're wasting my time. I have quilt retreats back to back, plus Moira and Father Andrew's wedding coming up. Spit it out. But don't be tellin' me that ye're keen on Sadie.”

Ross blanched. “I'm not keen on anyone.”

The old woman huffed like she didn't believe him.

This was ridiculous. He wasn't looking for a relationship. Couldn't anyone understand that? But he wasn't in the mood to discuss his love life right now. He expelled a pent-up breath. “Sadie isn't coming back to Quilting Central.”

Deydie's glower grew, her face flushing red.

He stopped her before she burst. “She
can't
come back to Quilting Central. Not yet, anyway.” The lass might never be able to join others in quilting again, but he would do his best to help her.

“Explain yereself, or get out of my way. I have work to do.” Deydie moved toward the door.

Ross blocked her path. He had planned to tell her how Sadie was reading to Dand, but right now, it was more important for Deydie to know the truth. “Can't ye see that being at Quilting Central is hard for the lass? It reminds her too much of her dead gran—you, Bethia, all the quilters. The fabric, the smell of the place, I suspect, are all hard on her, too.” Now it was time to come clean. “Ye may not like what I did, but at least I got her out of bed today.”

Deydie glared at him as if he'd done it by ravishing the lass first.

He put his hand up to stop her rabbit-trail-thoughts, and to bring an end to her glare. “As we speak, Sadie is actually sewing, which I think is a remarkable improvement over hiding in her room, don't you?”

“Where is she?” Deydie barked.

“At my cottage.”

Deydie cocked her head to the side as if she hadn't heard correctly. “She's where?”

“I set her machine on our dining room table and gave her a shirt to work on.” There would be hell to pay when Maggie told John what Ross had done to his new shirt. “She's there now.”

Deydie stepped forward and stared him down, even though he was more than a foot taller than she. “Who gave ye the right to take a sewing machine from Quilting Central?”

He wanted to say
the Almighty
, but Deydie would take her broom to him for blaspheming. “It was the only way to help her.”

“Help her what?”

“Help her ease back into life without her gran.”

As if each syllable was a raindrop and Deydie's single-mindedness was parched earth, his words seemed to finally seep in. Her fierce scowl slowly faded. “All right.” But then her brows pulled together in realization and determination fell into place on her face like pegs in a hole. “If she won't come to Quilting Central, then we'll come to her.”

“No!” That's not what he wanted at all. He opened his mouth to protest further.

But Deydie was the one who put a hand up this time. “Hold on to yere boxer shorts. We'll not bombard her all at once, but she needs to get used to us. We'll take turns visiting her. Maybe bring her a project or two to work on.”

But Ross knew Deydie, and working Sadie to death didn't seem right, especially since the lass wished for some peace and quiet. And more time to read.

But Deydie was as set on her plan as the concrete of the pier. “Aye.” She was nodding to herself. “Kirsty was looking for extra hands to make the back-of-the-chair bookholders.”

“What?”

Deydie pushed past him. “I'll get it set up. Then we'll pay a visit to the lass at your house. First, though, I need to speak with Kirsty.”

“No.” But Deydie was already back inside. Maybe he should've started off by telling Deydie how Sadie had gotten Dand interested in reading books. But that ship had sailed. And here he was left holding the watering can and feeling as if he hadn't helped Sadie at all. He had only made things worse.

*   *   *

Sadie sat alone at Ross's dining table. Maggie was down the hall in her room, caring for baby Irene. Dand was off to spend time with Maggie's sisters. She smiled, thinking of the fit Dand had thrown when it came time for him to leave. He wanted to stay cuddled up next to Sadie while she read to him, and only the promise of more books later had calmed him enough to go willingly to his aunts'.

She sighed. Maggie was pleased that Dand wanted to read, but Sadie could tell that she wasn't pleased that she and Ross were spending time together.

Sadie had been nothing but trouble since she'd arrived in Gandiegow. She'd monopolized Ross's every second—she snorted—
since picking him up at the bar
. Here Oliver had thought Ross had kidnapped Sadie that first night. The truth was that she was taking up all of Ross's free time and she felt kind of bad about it . . . except that she'd enjoyed every minute.

She hadn't heard the conversation between him and his sister-in-law, but it was a safe bet that Maggie felt the same way about her that Deydie did. Couldn't these people see that Sadie agreed with them all—she wasn't good enough for Ross. Seriously, she was no love match for a man like him. Ross's other sister-in-law, the matchmaker, should put the town at ease. She was a professional. Surely Kit could see how ridiculous Maggie and Deydie were being. The idea of Ross with her . . . Sadie snorted again.

She repaired his mutilated shirt the best she could. When she was done, she turned off the machine and held his favorite shirt up. Unfortunately, it would never look brand-new again. She shrugged to the empty dining room and set the sewing machine on the treadle as Maggie had
told Ross to do. She grabbed her book and headed for the door.

But before she reached for the knob, there was a quiet rap on the other side. Should she answer it? Sadie glanced at the closed door of Maggie's bedroom. The rap sounded again, harder this time. Not hesitating any longer, she opened the door to find a petite dark-haired woman standing on the threshold with Oliver, who was holding a wicker basket filled with denim material, scissors, and thread.
How strange.

She wasn't the only one who was feeling strange if the look on her brother's face was any indication.

As his eyes fell on her, then scanned the interior of the cottage, he said, “I came with Kirsty to make sure you were all right.”

Yeah, sure.
Sadie knew the truth. He was making certain there wasn't an orgy going on. “Don't worry,” she said. “Everything's on the up-and-up.”

Oliver glanced around again. “Where's lover boy?”

Sadie rolled her eyes but answered her brother anyway. “Out on the family fishing boat with his brother John.” She put her hands on her hips. “And he's not my lover boy.”

“Sure,” Oliver muttered, still lurking in the doorway.

Kirsty waited patiently, seeming to take their sibling bickering in stride, but Sadie was embarrassed. Having her brother treat her like an inept teenager was wearing thin.

Kirsty gave Sadie a warm smile. “May we come in?”

“Sorry.” Sadie stood back, but felt a little weird about letting people into a house that wasn't her own.

Kirsty motioned to Oliver. “Put my things over on the table.”

Sadie was surprised that this
Kirsty
had Oliver's number. Her brother, usually as alpha and indignant as they come, didn't seem to mind doing as she bid.

Kirsty touched Sadie's arm gently. “I'm Gandiegow's schoolteacher.” She glanced around until she saw the sewing machine that Sadie had been using. “Deydie said ye could help with a project for the school children.”

“She did?”

“Aye.” Kirsty held out a sewn piece of cloth that looked like a one-sided saddlebag. “I thought to cut down on the clutter at the schoolhouse. We have cubbies, but wouldn't it be nice if the children's chairs held a book or two?” She slipped the contraption over the back of a dining chair and dropped Sadie's book inside the pocket. “See?”

“Clever.”

“Will you help?” Kirsty asked with a warm tone.

Oliver stared at the schoolteacher as if he were wishing upon a star. Sadie had never seen him like this. Oliver had a crush. A big one.

When Kirsty turned away, apparently to scope out the work area, Sadie took the opportunity to wave a hand in front of her brother's face.

The trick worked, breaking the spell. Oliver glowered at Sadie with the disgust of the proverbial older brother. He must have it bad for the teacher, though, because before Kirsty wheeled back around, a smile had returned to his face.

Kirsty pulled a pattern out and spread it on the table. She explained how, if they worked together, it wouldn't take long to get the chair pockets done.

“So?” Kirsty finished. “Will ye help?”

“Of course, she will,” Oliver answered for her.

Just then, Maggie's bedroom door opened, and she came in with baby Irene, whose dark red curls were going this way and that. She sucked her thumb, taking them all in with her deep blue eyes.

“We've more company,” mother said to the baby.

“Maggie, this is my brother, Oliver.”
The bully
.

Now Sadie caught the longing glance Kirsty cast at Oliver. But at least the schoolteacher was more discreet than Oliver's tripping-over-himself infatuation.
Good Lord.
When had they had time to fall head-over-heels-in-crush?

For a brief second, Sadie wondered if she'd be able to get her brother out of this town and back home. But it would be fine. Oliver was more career-focused than anyone she'd ever met. He would never leave his clients in the US for a woman, even if she was as sweet as Kirsty seemed to be. Oliver was more levelheaded than that.

The cottage door opened and two women she hadn't met came in with baskets. Moira and little Glenna trailed behind.

“We've brought sandwiches,” the taller one said.

The younger of the two newcomers made a silly face at Irene, and the baby smiled around her thumb.

Maggie handed the little one off to the woman, who had to be close to Sadie in age. “These are my sisters—Rowena and Sinnie.”

The women said hello, but Sadie could tell the younger one, Sinnie, wasn't nearly as outgoing as Rowena.

Rowena lifted her head in acknowledgment.

Within a minute, Deydie and Bethia turned up, too.
The room was beginning to feel tighter than the Spanx Gigi had bought last Christmas. Sadie looked to Maggie to see if she minded the growing number of people overrunning her house. Maggie didn't. Neither did baby Irene. The cherub was chortling loudly at the faces her aunt Sinnie made at her.

Deydie and Bethia took up spots at the table, opening up their notebooks. As Deydie pulled a pencil from behind her ear, Amy along with the matronly twins arrived. Now, every open space was filled.

This is all too much.
Sadie started to rise, hoping to slip out.

But Deydie caught her arm. “Stay. Ye've work to do,” she said glancing around. “Moira? Get over here. We need to go over this list.”

But Sadie had a question. “Who's at Quilting Central supervising the retreat?”

“Claire and Dominic are feeding our guests their lunch,” Bethia said. “We only have a short while.”

Maggie and Rowena were handing out drinks and sandwiches, while Moira took Amy's spot, looking self-conscious.

Deydie examined her page. “Did ye double-check yere wedding date against the waxing and waning of the moon?”

“Nay.” Moira bit her lip, looking dismayed.

Bethia flipped to a page in her notebook. “No worries. I took care of it. The date's fine. It's during the waxing.”

“Good. 'Tis bad luck to wed during the waning.” Deydie made a check mark on her list. “Now, Moira, we need to talk about the wedding cake. This is where ye and Andrew are to splurge.”

Maggie spoke up as she handed off another glass. “She's asked me to make the brandy-flavored fruitcake. I've been gathering the supplies. Rowena and Sinnie will help.”

Deydie grabbed a sandwich, frowning. “Fruitcake is traditional, I'll grant ye, but I—I mean, most of us like chocolate. What do ye say if we change it to the town's favorite?”

Maggie set a glass down in front of Deydie. “If
Moira
wants it, I can make one layer chocolate and one fruitcake.”