The Accidental Scot (16 page)

He wanted her to come sit near him, to tell him that everything was going to be all right. But it would never be again. He wasn't the man that he once was.

And he wouldn't do this to her. She'd come to mean a lot to him over the past several months. His affection for
her had blossomed as she spent long hours sitting quietly with him beside his fire. He squashed down his growing feelings. It wasn't fair. She was a good woman. She deserved a
whole
man. One with a future. One who wasn't riddled with broken bones that wouldn't heal.

“I don't want breakfast,” he said roughly. “Take the books away. I'll not be needing them either.”

“But—” she tried, her face turning red in pain and confusion. “I don't understand.”

There was nothing to understand.

“Go home,” Lachlan said tiredly. He had to make it stick, no matter how much it hurt him to do it. “I'm not interested in yere bluidy coffee or yere breakfast or yere bluidy books. I want to be left alone.”

Freda gasped, clutching at her skirt, as if it could offer support.

He turned his head away but wasn't quick enough. He saw the tears running down her cheeks.

Freda hurried from the room. He heard the door slam and knew that she was gone for good.

A minute later, Pippa came down the stairs and rushed into the den. “Is everything all right? I heard noises.”

Lachlan straightened himself, though he felt old and stiff. “We need to talk.”

“I thought I heard Freda.”

“Never mind about that.” Only a weak man would take his woes out on a woman. He shouldn't have raised his voice to the kindest person he knew, his closest friend and ally. Instead, he should've told Freda how lovely she looked today. But now he'd ruined it all. If things were different, if he wasn't so pathetic, he might've asked
Freda to dinner. He should've done it long ago but he wouldn't dream of asking her now. Freda deserved so much more than a weak man like him.

Pippa's face deepened with concern. “What's going on, Da?”

“I made a call to the law offices in Aberdeen yesterday.”

“What did you do?”

He nodded in the direction of the corner. “The papers are over there on the fax machine. I'll sign them and then the factory is yeres.”

“I don't want—”

He lifted his good arm to stop her protest though it pained him. “It would be yours eventually. I'm just safeguarding the future by doing this now.” He wouldn't tell her that he'd given up hope.

“No.”

“I'm still the head of this family.” He didn't have the strength to yell, but he was firm. “Ye're fit to run it; I'm not. At least trust me on this.” Those last words completely drained all energy from him. He needed this over with. He didn't want to talk anymore.

Pippa knelt beside him. “What's changed? Do ye need a painkiller?”

“Nay.”

The way she looked at him, the pity in her eyes, she knew he was defeated, too.

“Now, get me those papers.”

She did as she was told. He retrieved a pen from the side table and signed. For a moment, she acted as if she was going to renew her protest, but then she signed, too.

“Now the power lies with you,” he said resolutely.

“You're still going to help with the decisions,” she said. “Right, Da? This was just a formality.”

“I'm tired now,” he said, closing his eyes. “Turn out the lamp on your way out.”

She touched his shoulder gently. “Can I fix ye a cup of tea to tide ye over until Freda comes back?”

“No.”

*   *   *

For the past hour, Pippa sat alone at her kitchen table while her tea got cold. She felt utterly lost. What was she going to do about her da? He'd clearly taken a turn for the worse, but he wouldn't tell her what had happened. She wondered if she should have Emma do a psychological evaluation.

If Pippa had thought the weight of responsibility was heavy before, it was nothing but a pin compared to the two-ton lorry resting on her shoulders now.

Finally she grabbed her coat, deciding to appease the old ladies and make an appearance at Quilting Central. Her brain was on overload. As if the factory wasn't enough to worry about, she couldn't stop thinking about Max McKinley. It was as if her brain had been rewired. Ever since the Yank had stepped into Gandiegow, she'd been an emotional mess. And Alistair McDonnell was never emotional!

She would focus on one thing today. She'd sew. It would be mindless and it would get the old ladies off her back about getting the quilt done for the auction. Deydie insisted that Pippa needed to work on the quilt every day if she was to finish in time. Pippa really did want to honor her father, now more than ever. She just needed to put in the effort.

When she opened the door to Quilting Central, a cold breeze blew in with her.

“Shut the damned door, lassie,” called Deydie from the hearth. Then she and Bethia lumbered toward her.

“We're so glad you could come in today.” Bethia pointed to the matronly twins across the room. “Ailsa and Aileen have offered to press for you while you sew.”

The bouffant twins in their matching red and green plaid outfits waved to Pippa.

“I can't stay too long,” Pippa said, making her excuses now. “Da will need his pills soon.” She doubted he would be a willing patient today. “Has anyone seen Freda?”

“Nay,” Bethia said. “She's not been by.”

Maybe Freda could get her da to open up.

Pippa took her place at the sewing machine. She decided to work on Freda's block next, picking out the fabrics to represent her small cottage by the sea. She pulled the Douglas tartan from the stack and cut it to the right size. Then she found a piece of red fabric for Freda's front door and attached it. Because Pippa wanted to do something special for Freda's house, she embroidered a cross on one of the windows. This gave her an idea of what to give Freda for Christmas, though she was crunched for time. This year, instead of another soup cookbook, Pippa would hand make Freda a quilted pillow just like the quilt block.

Pippa almost didn't recognize herself, having feelings that she'd never felt before. First, her crazy feelings for Max. Then feeling like maybe her da wasn't the man she thought him to be. And now, finally noticing Freda for who she was.

Ross and Ramsay Armstrong appeared, followed by
Abraham Clacher. And then a fourth person stepped inside Quilting Central, too. Pippa's breath caught.
Max.

Ross pointed to the far end of the room. “Deydie said we're supposed to build it over there.”

The four of them stalked to the back. Max, Pippa noticed, couldn't take his eyes off her either. But it wasn't an ogle; it was more of a determined stare. She wondered what was on his mind, but she really should concentrate on the quilt block she had to finish.

The men measured the back wall, talked, and then split up. Max came straight to her. Ross watched him, frowning, but he left without saying a word to them.

“Pippa?” Max's voice was teeming with determination. “We need to speak with your father together. Right now.”

“Why?” Pippa wouldn't bother her da, especially since he wasn't himself today.

Deydie, always the eavesdropper, seemed to have zeroed in on their conversation.

“We have to get down to business,” Max added as if to let Deydie know she wasn't needed.

“Fine.” Pippa shut off her machine and stacked her two completed blocks.

Deydie let loose with her thoughts as usual. “At the rate that ye're going on that quilt, lassie, ye'll be lucky to get her done by the first snowfall of
next
Christmas.”

Pippa frowned at Deydie, not replying to the jab, and grabbed her jacket. She followed Max out.

Once outside, he turned and adjusted her coat, zipping it up. “You're going to catch a cold.”

It felt both nice and scary to have him watching out for her; she knew from experience that it didn't pay to
count on a man. Not even her da. “I don't need ye to take care of me.”

He pulled her hood up, too, his touch seeming to mirror his emotions—determined, matter-of-fact. “None of us are living in this world alone, Pippa. Accept a little help every now and then, and you'll be a blessing to those who want to do good for you.”

“Since when are ye the Dalai Lama?”

His sternness dropped away. “Since you don't zip up before going outdoors.” He surprised her with a genuine smile.

“So where's yere boss?” she blurted.

His smile faded. “On a conference call. But I'm done talking about her.”

Pippa wasn't. “Are ye and Miranda seeing each other?”

Max stopped short and stared at her. “No.” He seemed at war with himself for a second. “But if you're asking if we have some history together, then I would have to say yes.”

I knew it!
“What kind of history?”

Max pulled at his scarf. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Fine.”
That should satisfy my stupid lips for wanting to kiss him again.
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Pippa turned, ready to stomp off.

Max grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “I'm
not proud of what I did, but at one time, I led Miranda on, and I feel bad about it.”

“Aye. Ye and every other man in the world. All of ye are experts on deceiving. Maybe it's a requirement of having a penis.” She meant to wound him, but the hurt in his eyes had nothing to do with her. It went deeper than that.

He dropped her arm. “It was three years ago. Right after the accident.”

Oh, God.
“What accident?” she asked quietly.

“My brother's accident.”

Pippa shivered.

Max stared at the sea. “Jake was on a Christmas errand for me. When he came out from the store, he had a flat tire. While he was kneeling down, fixing it, a car barreled into him.”

“No,” she said.

“He's paralyzed now. His boy was only a year old when it happened. Jake is in a wheelchair and it's my fault. I'm the one who sent him to pick up Mom's present, a Kitchen Aid mixer. I was too busy, so I sent my little brother instead.”

“It's not yere fault.” Pippa wanted to hug Max until the pain left his face.

“It is. A lot of things are. I led Miranda on. At the time, I would've done anything to keep the guilt at bay for my part in my brother's severed spine.” His gaze fell back on her as if she was a priest taking confession. “I invited her out to dinner. Afterward, we went back to her place.”

Pippa backed away. “I don't need to hear more.”

Max seized her hand. “Nothing happened. I couldn't go to bed with Miranda. I couldn't use her like that.”

Pippa was relieved, and at the same time, she could easily see how he might've done it to ease his pain. But he hadn't.

“Max, ye can't beat yereself up over it.”

He squeezed her hand. “I was surprised when the promotion came through because I knew that I'd be working for Miranda. I was relieved that she took the high road and had forgiven me.”

“But?” Pippa didn't really want to know this either.

“I'm under a lot of scrutiny. We need to quit messing around and get the McDonnell to make a decision. I'll fight to get him the best deal with MTech. I promise. But I may not have a job much longer if I keep screwing around.” She heard the subtext
with you
tacked onto the end of his statement.

So spending time with me is screwing around?

It felt like a smack to the face.

“I suppose that's
my
fault?” Pippa said, defensively. They were both hotheads, but she could win the title for the top hothead right now.

He dropped her hand. “Good God, woman. You're the one who's jacked me around with all your damn Christmas schemes.” He'd flipped the switch to angry now, too. “Tell the McDonnell it's now or never. I can't hold Miranda off any longer.”

Pippa had a vision of her father being trapped in Miranda's net. She slammed her hands on her hips. “Keep Miranda away from my da. I'll not have her upsetting him.
Bluidy she-devil.
”

Max didn't back down either, glaring at her.

She would show him who held all the power now. “And secondly,
Yank
, watch how you speak to me.” She stepped into his personal space and gave him her best Alistair stare. “My da has nothing to do with the deal or the factory anymore. I'm the one ye'll be negotiating with from here on out.”

That got him looking like a cod with his mouth hanging open.

She delivered the final blow. “I'm
the
McDonnell
now.”

M
ax stood there stupidly, trying to process what Pippa had just said. He shoved his hat back on his head. “What do you mean you're the McDonnell?” He shouldn't have been surprised—Pippa was a born leader, a warrior through and through.
Which was sexy as hell.

He didn't wait for her answer, but nodded in her direction. “If you're the McDonnell, then you're going to have to throw Miranda a bone. Invite her back to the factory. Flash the shutoff valve patents in her face. Promise to make up your damned mind soon about the partnership!”

Pippa glared at him. “Miranda seems to be the only thing on yere mind.”

He grabbed Pippa's arms and shook. “Listen. Here's what's going to happen. If you and I don't go over the contract together and hammer out a deal, Miranda or someone worse will take over.” Not to mention he'd be fired.

Pippa stared at him as if she hadn't heard.

He needed to make her listen. “I can help you, and the town, but we have to work together—fast.”

Pippa undid herself from him. “How do I know I can trust you?”

Max gazed into her eyes, trying to convey the truth.
“It's easy. The subsea shutoff valve means the world to me. Everything else is secondary.”

She got a funny look on her face, as if his words hurt.

“That's not what I mean.” He wasn't sure what he was getting at. “But I promise to make it a good deal, a deal both parties can live with. Your father's valve has to be brought to market.”

She glanced in the direction of her cottage. “We'll work at my house.”

But at that moment, the guys—Ross, Ramsay, and Abraham—came around the corner, carrying the wood they'd picked up yesterday. Max and Ross had said nothing between them on the ride to and from the mill, only a couple of grunts between men.

“Are ye here to help or not?” Ramsay looked at Max and then at Pippa, as if he might have a clue that something was going on between them. He finally walked toward Quilting Central.

Max turned back to Pippa. “It looks like I can't work on the contract right now.” Dammit. He hated this. “But later.”

She glared at him. “Make up yere mind, Yank. Either the deal is important, or it isn't.”

“I made a commitment. It won't take too long.”

“Stop by the house when ye're done then,” Pippa said begrudgingly. “We'll get my da to help.”

“So not really the new McDonnell then?”

She shot him a hard look. “Make no mistake, I'm the one ye're dealing with.”

Max wanted to pull her into his arms and remind her whom she was dealing with, too. He didn't get the chance.

“Today, McKinley.” Ross came out of Quilting Central on his way to get more wood.

And Ross was the other subject he wanted to revisit with Pippa. But his phone rang.

Miranda.
Her timing was terrible. He shifted away to answer.

Pippa must've guessed, because he caught her eyes rolling heavenward.

“Yes?” he said into his cell.

“Max, I have to fly to London for a few days. When I get back, I expect progress to have been made. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Perfectly. Have a safe trip.” He hung up.

“Well?” Pippa said.

“It's a reprieve. She'll be gone for a couple of days.”

“Do ye need to run and give her a proper send-off?”

Max didn't think. And he didn't check to see if anyone watched either. He slipped his hand around Pippa's neck, pulled her to him and kissed her, hard and thoroughly. It wasn't friendly, but it should send the message loud and clear. “Give it a rest, Pippa.”

She looked dazed and he wanted to do it again, just to keep that softness and wonder on her face. He started to lean in for another go, but the guys came back with their next load. He'd almost given them a hell of a show.

Max joined the men. But he couldn't help glancing down the boardwalk while Pippa marched off.

That woman was a handful. And he couldn't wait to wrestle with her again.

By the time they'd unloaded the truck, framed up the stage, and did another huge list of chores for Deydie, it
was late afternoon. So much for telling Pippa he wouldn't be long.

Outside, the wind had picked up, and the sea had turned angrier in the last few hours. Waves splashed violently against the thin retaining wall that also served as the walkway, making the trek to Pippa's house slick and dangerous.

She opened the door immediately when he knocked.

He put his hand up. “Don't lecture. Deydie put us to work. Every time I tried to make a getaway, she threatened me with her broom.”

“Let's see Da and get down to business.” Pippa grabbed his arm and dragged him to the darkened den.

“Da? Are ye awake?”

“I'm tired, daughter. Let me rest.”

Pippa turned on the light. Max thought the McDonnell looked frail and thoroughly exhausted.

“I've brought Max. All three of us are going to work on the contract together.”

“Nay. You two do it.”

“But, Da, I need yere help. Wouldn't it be better to have two Gandiegowans working on it instead of one?”

Her father waved his hand at her dismissively. “Nay. Max can help ye.” The older man seemed spent. “Do it somewhere else. I need my peace and quiet.”

“But, Da—”

“Leave me.”

Pippa seemed to shrink. “I'll call Freda and have her come over.”

The McDonnell jerked. “No!” He was definitely struggling with tamping down his emotions, but finally did. “I'm not in the mood for company.”

Pippa leaned down and kissed his head. “I made yere supper. I'll leave it on the tray here beside ye.”

The McDonnell nodded, defeated.

While Max gathered their coats, Pippa delivered the promised tray. He heard a few more words between them, saw the light go out in the den, and then she appeared, a look of pained confusion on her face.

“Is everything all right?” Max helped her on with her coat.

She shook her head, exactly like her father had.

Max wrapped his arm around her shoulders and for a moment, she laid her head on his chest. But it didn't last.

“We better get to work.” She grabbed her messenger bag and they headed out.

If he had thought the walkway dangerous before, now it was almost impassable. The sea was brutal, water up to the edge, with waves crashing against the house fronts.

She pulled him behind the cottage. “We'll have to take the back walk.”

The path hugged the foot of the bluff. As they trudged past Thistle Glen Lodge, he wondered if Miranda had made it out of town before the storm had gotten so bad. He hoped so. He needed her gone so he and Pippa could hash things out.

“A storm's brewing,” Pippa hollered above the wind and the crashing waves. “A nasty one.”

“I think it's already here.” Max couldn't imagine it getting much worse.

“Hold on to me and we'll get to the pub fine.”

“I assumed we were going to the factory.”

“Nay. I want to stay close in case Da needs me.
Besides, ye never know. We don't want to get iced in or snowed in at the factory.”

“But we won't be able to get anything done at the pub. It's too noisy.”

“No one will be there. The Fisherman closes during bad weather.”

“Really? I pictured Scots gathered around the bar during a hurricane, singing bawdy songs.”

“We're a smart people. We've found that rough seas and whisky don't mix.”

“I see what you mean.” He glanced out at the turbulent water, which looked as if it might devour the village whole. Then Max slipped.

Pippa caught him around the waist. “Och, it's only wee waves now.”

“Wee?” he said incredulously, still holding on to her.

“The big ones will come. I plan to be tucked safely in at the pub with a cup of cocoa in my hands by then.”

Max thought about the last promise of hot cocoa at the pub—how it had led to kisses and to nearly doing the deed before they were interrupted. Sadly, there was no chance of a repeat this time; they had a contract to negotiate.

Once they made it to The Fisherman, they went to the kitchen to start the kettle. He carried their mugs to a table, expecting they'd work downstairs.

“Nay. We'll stay warmer upstairs in yere room. Smaller space to heat,” she explained.

She carried the contract while he transported their tray of drinks. As she spread the contract across the bed, he ran back downstairs and retrieved another chair. The
wind howled louder outside as they began to sift through the contract together.

After Max's first read-through, he stood up and paced. “My God. No wonder Miranda didn't want me to see this. The potholes set for NSV are everywhere. One misstep on NSV's part and the patents belong to MTech.”

Pippa gave him a pen and they both started marking up the contract. While the wind, sleet, and waves battered the village outside, the two of them were cozy in his room. They combed through the pages, fixing every problem, arguing half the time about the details, and then finally compromising. Every time he looked at her, she was smiling back, both of them reveling in the challenge of making a good deal. He really enjoyed working with her. In the wee hours of the morning, they sat back. They had done all they could do.

Max stacked the pages on the little side table. “Well?”

Pippa stood and hugged him. “Thank you. I couldn't have done this without yere help. NSV can live with this revised contract, and MTech would be bluidy fools not to accept it.”

She let go of him, but he pulled her back in for a kiss. The kiss should've been innocent, a small peck for a job well done. But once his lips met hers, hormones flooded his system, and Boy Scout Max had left the building.
To hell with keeping a professional distance.
The Max who wanted Pippa more than life itself was present and
accounted for. He took a quick inventory—or the best he could with no blood left in his brain as it had gone south—and he felt confident that they could fool around as long as he didn't take it too far. Everything felt right about this moment. Especially the woman in his arms.

By the way she slipped her hands under his shirt, running them up and down, he knew without a doubt that she wanted him, too.

“God, Pippa,” he groaned.

“It is heavenly,” she said breathlessly between kisses on his neck.

He wanted her so much. He wrapped his hands in her hair, tugged gently, and maneuvered her lips back to his. He slipped his hands under her sweater and up her back, lingering on her bra clasp. Pippa broke the kiss and surprised him by pulling his shirt over his head.

She leaned back for a moment, examining him. “Ah, Yank, ye are a pretty one.” She put a hand on his chest and then kissed it as if his pecs were to be cherished. “I could look at you all day and night except I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off of ye.”

“Me neither.” He wrapped his arms around her and indulged himself further.

As they kissed, their clothes got in the way—blouse, bra, pants, panties and boxers became scattered casualties at their feet. She was so beautiful. All the while, he convinced himself he would stop before things got out of hand.

She pulled him down on the bed, and all seemed right as he lay on top of her. He kissed her tenderly, lovingly . . . and stretched out like this, he suddenly felt unclear what his resolve had been all about. As she kissed him back,
she wrapped her hand around him intimately and guided him in.

It felt so freaking good! At that moment he could've died a happy man. Then he remembered one important detail. He started to pull out. “Condom.”

She gripped his hips and yanked him closer. “If ye stop now, I'll . . . I'll run ye through with my grandda's claymore.”

Oh, to hell with it. Just this once . . .
and like that, his common sense was history. They made love without reservation on his twin-size bed with the lights on, not worrying about being heard above the storm outside. The way she gazed into his eyes before kissing him, the way they fit perfectly together . . . it was more than he'd ever bargained for in sex. But it was more than sex. It was a coupling and he knew it. The way she loved him back, he was sure that she knew it, too. With all these crazy emotions swirling through him, when he came, it was powerful. And to have her under him, calling out his name when she came undone, made everything perfect in the world.

When it was over, he shifted so she lay in his arms, sprawled across his chest. They were completely content, enjoying the hazy wonderfulness produced by magical sex. He kissed her hair.

“Wow,” she said. “I didn't know it could be like that.”

“I feel the same,” he admitted. He'd had his fair share of good times in the sack, but nothing like Pippa had ever happened to him. She was exquisite. Everything a guy could ever want.

She ran her hand down his chest. “But I think we need another data point to see if that was an anomaly.”

He laughed, stroking her hair out of her face. “So what you're saying is that together, we make a fine-tuned machine?”

She lifted her head and batted her eyelashes. “Is that hot or what?”

He nuzzled her neck, getting hard again. “You're such an engineer. And the biggest turn-on.” He started to roll on top of her but she stopped him.

“Sorry, mister. I'm driving this time.”

She took charge of his body, and he was so consumed that when he came, he didn't care if her kinsmen were downstairs or not.

Afterward, as they lay quietly, he became aware of how the storm had kicked up, the wind's wailing intensifying.

He couldn't stop caressing her, running his hands up and down her arms. “Do you hear that?”

“Aye,” she said. “I guess ye're stuck with me until it's over.”