Some Like it Scottish (17 page)

When she returned to the Armstrongs', the house was quiet. Ramsay still wasn't home yet. Downcast, Kit went in his room and read until it was time for bed. Brazenly, she rummaged through his drawers and pulled out a T-shirt that read
SHUT UP AND FISH
. She slipped off her clothes and put on his shirt. He'd never know . . . because he wasn't here!

She climbed into bed and shut her eyes. But she couldn't go to sleep.

She must've dozed, because she woke up to darkness and rain hitting the windowpanes. Had something woken her other than the weather? She stole out of bed, went down the hallway, and tiptoed into the living room.

The couch was empty. No all-brawn man stretched out there. The quilts were still folded neatly on the back of the couch, too. She shuffled back to his bedroom with disappointment. And worry. And jealousy.
Whose bed had he climbed into?

But why should she care anyway?

She lay in his bed for a long time with her arms wrapped around his T-shirt, willing herself to go to sleep. Her last thought before her body succumbed . . . Where's Ramsay?

K
it's first thought on waking was again of her chauffeur. She wondered when he'd made it home last night.
Or if he had
. She checked her phone for the time. By fishing standards, she'd slept in again. She climbed out of bed and slipped on Ramsay's robe to peek at the couch for evidence. The creases in the quilts didn't lie. Nothing had been moved. Everything was exactly as it had been when she'd gone to bed last night. He hadn't come home.

The same mean-spirited and sour taste of jealousy hit her stomach, as it had in the middle of the night. He must've found a willing woman to share her bed. Kit's awkward drunken proposition from the night at the boardinghouse came back to her with blunt force to the gut. He'd turned her down cold. Yet last night, he apparently hadn't had any problem telling another woman yes. A vision of Bonnie and her ginormous boobs flashed in Kit's brain, heating her insides. Those double D's would make a soft place for Ramsay to land. She stomped into the kitchen for coffee, pissed at him and with herself for getting so worked up. He wasn't worth it. She was here to do a job, not to hook up.

Near the coffee mugs, she found another note from Maggie. She was out again today. Kit filled her cup, refusing to look toward the sofa. She touched the crayon drawing of a boat hanging on the refrigerator and signed by Dand.

Dand was at school. Kit had learned that schools in Scotland didn't let out for summer until the first week in July. But where was Maggie? If Kit was running Maggie out of her own house, she ought to pack up and move back to the pub. Sure, she'd miss sleeping in Ramsay's bed, near Ramsay's possessions. But she'd sure like to talk to him before she cleared out. Where the hell was he?

A covered pan of porridge sat on the stove, a much better breakfast than yesterday. While Kit ate, she examined the schedule posted on the refrigerator beside Dand's picture. It was a list of chores for each member of the family, each day of the week. Well, if Kit really had run Maggie from her home, then Kit should do Maggie's chores for her. She found a mop and a bucket. As she scrubbed the floor, she hoped to high heaven she was doing the right thing and not offending Maggie further.

After the floor sparkled, she grabbed a pen, and checked it off the list just like the other completed chores had been checked. Next, she took a quick shower and then hurried off to Quilting Central, trying not to think about Ramsay.
Damn him
.

She rushed down the boardwalk, and noticed that the sea was choppy and unforgiving. As she passed the church with the large white steeple, she offered up a quick prayer for Ramsay's safety and safety for all the fishermen out today.

When she arrived at Quilting Central, old Deydie zoned in on her and lumbered her way. “Are ye ready to get back to work on the quilt?”

“I have a few phone calls to make first.” She'd gotten two text messages on the walk over.

“Stop making excuses. It's time to get yereself behind that machine,” Deydie ordered.

The old woman should have understood that the closer it came to an event, the busier Kit got with questions and problems. Making travel arrangements for so many at once was indeed a pain, but at least Harper would be there to corral the women and put them at ease.

“Maybe later,” Kit said.

“There's no maybe about it.” Deydie gave her a look that said she was close to handing out a serious lecture. “Working on it every day is the only way to get it done.”

“Soon then.” Kit smiled at her, but just then, the door to Quilting Central opened. Father Andrew walked in. “If you'll excuse me.” Kit needed to have that chat with the Episcopal priest before things got any busier.

Deydie called after her, “Remember what I said.”

Kit caught up to Father Andrew, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee at the counter. “Good morning, Father.”

“Call me Andrew.” He gave her a brilliant smile.

“Andrew, then.” She pointed to one of the small café tables. “May I have a minute?”

“Sure.” He followed her and they sat. But before Kit could get to the point, Andrew turned the tables on her.

“I hope the townsfolk are treating you well.” He nodded toward Deydie as if he understood her bossy ways. “Gandiegow doesn't welcome newcomers easily.”

Kit wanted to correct him, to tell him she wasn't really a newcomer, only passing through, but he continued on.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm available.” His eyes held genuine concern and reassurance. It was
easy to understand why he'd become a pastor—he had a sixth sense when it came to people and their problems.

Kit shook her head. “I'm fine.
Really
. But what I wanted to speak with you about is marriage. What are your thoughts on it?”

Andrew chuckled deeply and pointed at his white cleric's collar. “I'm pro-marriage. In fact, you might say I'm in the business of providing happily-ever-afters.”

Kit gave him a thoughtful grin. “Yes, but what I'm getting at is how do you feel about marriage for you in particular?”

He jerked back a couple of inches as if she'd lit a torch in his face. “Marriage? Me? I'm in no rush.” His gaze shifted to somewhere over Kit's shoulder.

She looked to where his attention had gone. Moira was gliding across the room to the cutting tables. Kit wanted to tell him that his actions spoke louder than words, that the way he gazed at Moira wasn't any ordinary look. But she held her tongue
.
“Moira's a pretty woman and smart, too.”

“Aye.” He snapped his eyes back to Kit. “She's a good person. Well-loved by the community.”

“Really?” Kit only said it to make him elaborate.

As expected, he came to Moira's defense. “She's kind. She has a big heart. She's always willing to help those in need.”

“Hmm,” Kit said. “Like feeding the Episcopal priest when he's hungry?” She was going to be hard on him, because she felt the pastor needed a wake-up call.

Andrew got a perplexed look on his face. “Aye. She occasionally has me to dinner, but only because she's a good Christian woman.”

“I know she is. But I'd like to give you some advice.”

He didn't nod his head eagerly, but shifted to the side, giving her what could only be described as a wary glance.

Kit took it as his consent
.
“I have observed what's been going on. You and I both know Moira's not the type of woman to make demands. But that doesn't mean she should be taken for granted.”
Like you've been doing.
“I think it's important for you to understand that well-loved woman could be snatched up at any time by someone who recognizes her value better than you do.” Kit knew she might be crossing the line by being direct, but she went on. “Moira deserves to be taken care of, too, don't you think? I'm afraid that if you don't act, you might be left out in the cold while someone else takes your place at her table.”

He schooled his frown into a forgiving smile. “Thank you for yere concern.” He nodded in Moira's direction. “But we're doing fine. We're great friends.”

Kit stood. “Well, remember, I'm here if you need my services.”

“Thank you.” Andrew rose, kept a smile frozen on his face as he headed out the door without glancing again at Moira.

“That boy's a blockhead,” Deydie said.

Kit jumped. “Don't you know it's not nice to sneak up on people?”

“Moira pines after that lad like a seal after a bucket of fish. I heard you trying to talk some sense into him.”

Kit shrugged. “He listened to what I had to say.” But she doubted that he really heard her.
Oh, well.
Many a complacent man had missed out on the love of his life because he'd dragged his feet. “I did all I could do.”
For now
.

“About that quilt,” Deydie started.

“After I make my phone calls.”

“Then git to it. The day's a-wasting,” the old woman cackled.

Kit sat back down and settled in at the café table, again. She pulled out the picture of her grandmother's quilt, laid her hand on it, and made the first phone call.

The rest of the day flew by. People roamed in and out of Quilting Central—even a few fishermen in the afternoon, but none of them was Ramsay. Maggie and her sisters took up residence behind a row of sewing machines and worked for several hours. Kit didn't miss the glances from the three of them. Maggie and Rowena were disapproving, but Sinnie's glances seemed shy and curious.

After Maggie cleared up her area, she came over to Kit. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Kit put her phone down. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Maggie's eyebrows lifted. “Be on time.” She turned and left.

Kit hadn't had a minute to think about what she was going to say to the Armstrong family about moving back to the pub. But she'd had a vague thought to stay out of Maggie's hair by going to the restaurant for dinner. Well, that plan was shot. Kit only hoped Ramsay would be home tonight, sitting across the table and acting as her buffer.

Her hopes were dashed. Back at the cottage, it was just John, Maggie, Dand, and herself. Not even Ross was there. But Maggie seemed slightly less hostile toward Kit as she dished out the dinner of baked chicken and mashed potatoes, or “tatties” as they called them. As the conversation swirled around her, Kit remained quiet, trying to think of a nonchalant way to ask about Ramsay and his absence.
When Dand finished and excused himself to go play in his room, Kit decided to start by asking about Ross.

“So where is everyone tonight? Where's Ross?” Her voice was the epitome of casualness.

John picked up a piece of bread. “He's having dinner with the McDonnell. They're discussing how to put a new hydraulic tester in at the factory.” He took a bite.

“And Ramsay?” Kit asked, willing her cheeks not to blush.

John put down the bread and gave her a strange look, as if he was deciding what bait to put on his hook. “Ramsay is working at the Spalding Farm in the evenings, building stalls in the barn.”

“Oh.” She felt kind of stupid for being jealous and thinking about Ramsay cheating on her
.

Cheating?
They weren't a couple by any stretch of the imagination. They were barely friends. Then she had a dreadful thought. What if the Spalding Farm was owned by a woman? Kit frowned at her plate.

John broke into her thoughts. “Ramsay and Colin, who owns the farm, have been friends since university. Colin picked up the farm for a pence and has turned it profitable.”

“Ramsay went to college?” she blurted.

“One of us had to,” John said as if an old memory plagued him.

Maggie laid her hand on John's. “Alistair, the boys' father, insisted that one of them go.”

John glanced over at Maggie and gave her a loving smile. “Luv, ye look beat. Go lie down. Kit and I will straighten the kitchen.”

“Absolutely,” Kit piped in.

Maggie did look pale. “That would be grand.” She
stood and walked toward the hallway, but then stopped. She didn't turn to Kit, but spoke to her over her shoulder. “Thank ye for the floor.”

It took a second to register what she was talking about; by then, Maggie was gone.

John nodded. “It was a nice thing you did. I thank ye, too. Let me go start Dand in his bath and then I'll be back to help.”

“Don't worry. I've got it.” Besides, Kit wanted time alone to think.

While she cleared the table and started the water in the sink, she realized things had shifted. She no longer felt the need to pack her luggage and go back to the pub. She'd found a small place in the Armstrong household, helping out where she could. They needed her.

Her thoughts had shifted about Ramsay, too. Why had she assumed he hadn't gone to college? Ramsay had proved over and over to her how smart he was. But it was how he used his brain that was so damned attractive. She'd figured out pretty quickly that he wasn't all brawn; he was brain, too. One sexy combination.

John and Dand made a two-second appearance, saying good night, and then she was left alone. Kit changed into Ramsay's T-shirt, but instead of plugging in her laptop and getting some work done like she should've, she grabbed her e-reader and lay back on
his
pillow. An hour later, when the front door opened, she hurried to the bedroom door, hoping it was Ramsay. But when she peeked out, it was only Ross getting home. She sighed heavily and went back to her book.

In the wee hours of the morning, she woke up with her e-reader stuck to her cheek. No one else was up yet, not even the sun. As she wandered into the kitchen, she glanced
at the empty couch and thought about how the heart really does grow fonder with absence. She pulled out the eggs, bacon, and cheese she'd seen in the refrigerator last night, and found potatoes under the counter in a basket, then set to work on making breakfast for the early risers. If she couldn't sleep, at least she could be useful.

Thirty minutes later, the breakfast casserole was in the oven, the dishes washed up, and the coffee brewing. Maggie wandered into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed.

For a long moment, she looked from Kit to the coffee to the stack of plates on the counter, then back to Kit.

“Why are you up?” Suspicion once again laced Maggie's voice.

“I couldn't sleep. I hope it's all right that I made breakfast.”

John came up behind Maggie. “Gawd, that smells good.”

Kit hurried to explain what else she'd done. “At dinner, you mentioned making chicken-salad sandwiches for the men for lunch.” She swung open the refrigerator door. “I did that, too,” she said sheepishly. She braced herself for Maggie's outrage.

John squeezed his wife. “Doll, go on back to bed. The babe needs its sleep.”

Kit looked from John's adoring face to Maggie's small bump of a stomach. “You're pregnant?”