To Scotland With Love (24 page)

Cait walked over to her, having saved Deydie's copy for last.

“Here's the story I wrote.” Cait held out the sheet, but Deydie didn't take it.

“I'll not be reading it.” Deydie gave Cait a scowl, then her back.

Since they couldn't be overheard at the back of building, Cait pleaded to the old woman's hunched shoulders. “It's the quilt story, Gran. Not the other.” Cait looked at the floor. “I started to write it, but never sent anything in. I couldn't do it.”

Deydie spun around so fast, she should've given herself whiplash. And if Cait thought there would be gratefulness about her, boy, had Cait been wrong.

Deydie slammed her fists on her hips with her eyes burning like a Scottish warrior. “It doesn't matter one whit that you came to your senses, you stupid girl. Changing your mind doesn't erase the fact that you were going to do it. It's still a betrayal.”

“But—”

Deydie marched away.

Cait stood there a moment, her eyes stinging, her face hot, then fled the building before anyone looked closely and saw her shame. She ran back to the big house.

Mattie met her at the door with a hug.

Thank God for this little boy.

They spent the rest of the day working on Valentine's Day cards. Cait tried to help him with his, but he kept shoving blank red construction paper at her, thumping
his pointer finger on it. Like she had valentines to complete for herself. Yeah, right.

Finally, she acquiesced and made one for Deydie, which Cait had no intention of giving. She made one for Duncan, making it extra cheery. She made one for each of the quilt ladies. When she was done with that, Mattie stared at her expectantly. He pushed another red piece of paper at her, a shiny one, a special piece.

“Fine,” she barked, sounding a lot like Deydie.

Mattie grinned at her.

She cut out three hearts—two big ones, one little. She pasted them together with the little heart between them. There was no way she was writing
Be Mine
on it. She wrote only,
Happy Valentine's Day
.

Mattie frowned at her.

“Okay,” she said and wrote,
Love, Caitie.
“Are you happy now, you little monkey?”

Mattie got out of his chair, walked around the table, and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

When he wasn't looking, she stuck another piece of paper under the others, planning to get his card done in the privacy of her room before the gathering.

After cleaning up their Hallmark mess and stacking their cards in piles by the back door, Cait went to work on the homemade chicken soup for dinner. When it was done, she sent Mattie to pick up his room while she took a tray to Duncan.

He sat propped up in his bed, reading
Fish!
magazine. If he hadn't appeared so tired, he would've looked like a man at leisure.

Cait tapped on the doorjamb. “Can us non-fishing-people come in?”

He brought his head up and grinned. “Only if you have food.”

“I'm in luck, then.” She set the tray in front of him. “Will you be up to going to the céilidh tonight?”

“Wouldn't miss it.” He attempted a good-humored smile. It fell a little short. “I'm only resting now so I can party later.”

She pulled a napkin from her back pocket and gave it to him. “I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead.” She cringed at her word choice. It was never a good idea to bring Death into the conversation.

Duncan winced and closed his eyes, looking like he was trying to ignore her slipup. “Caitie, I want to thank you,” he started.

She shook her head. “The soup? 'Tis nothing. No need to thank me for that.”

“Not the soup. For setting me straight about Da.” He reached out and took her hand. “Your nasty temper came into good use.”

“Nasty temper?” She tried to look shocked. “Is that your way of complimenting me?”

Duncan went on. “Things are much better now between me and Da. It makes Mattie happy when we get along.” He squeezed her hand. “You've been good to our family, Caitie. I'll never forget it.”

Foreboding came over her—Death had just taken a step into the room. She shook her head and shrugged it off. “It sounds like you're bidding me farewell. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know you're not,” he said.

She refused to let him get gloomy on her. “I'm needed too much around here. The dishes, the laundry, even my
nasty temper would be missed.” She pushed the tray closer to him. “Now, eat.” She turned to go.

“One more thing,” Duncan said. “Send Mattie in to see me.”

After Mattie had been in his father's room for a long time, he came downstairs and found Cait in the laundry room, pulling her red dress from the dryer.

“What is it, little bug?” She squatted down to get a better look at him. His eyes were red and watery like he'd been crying.

He reached out and gave her a hug, clinging to her as if his little life depended upon it.

E
ven though Deydie didn't want her to, Cait went to the dance early to see if she could help with any last-minute preparations. The wool shop had been completely transformed into Cupid's corny, cotton-candy land of love. Most people would've found it adorable. Not Cait. Red and pink hearts made her want to puke. Saint Valentine's Day could go jump off a tall cliff as far as she was concerned.

On Cait's first Valentine's Day with Tom, he'd given her fifteen million excuses why he hadn't planned anything special—no flowers, no chocolate, no fine dining. She'd gotten him the complete collection of the Beatles—something he'd wanted. A box of turtles—his faves. And a slinky teddy for her—what a waste. After that, Valentine's Day went downhill. He spent most of them “working late at the office.”

Cait walked her homemade cards to where the paper sacks sat lined up against one wall. Each bag had a villager's name on it, and they were organized alphabetically. She deposited her cards into their respective bags and went to help Moira fill cups with red punch. Slowly,
people trickled in, and Cait found herself watching the doorway intently.

“Are you waiting for someone?” Moira asked.

Cait hated to lie, but she did it anyway. “No. Just making sure the door isn't left open. Don't want all the warm air to escape.”

“I see,” Moira said straight-faced. “Are you sure you're not waiting for a certain film star?”

Amy popped up from nowhere and elbowed Moira. “Is she looking for Graham?” Then she turned to Cait. “I'm sure he'll be along soon.”

Cait's cheeks burned, and she felt like crawling under the table. “Will you two stop it?”

They smiled at each other and shrugged.

Rhona joined them, and Cait was glad when she went into teaching mode, even though she wasn't keen on the subject. “Did you know Scotland is world renowned for its romance?” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Gretna Green for eloping. Robert Burns for romantic poetry. Rob Roy for his great love.”

Moira looked interested. Cait wasn't. Romance and Valentine's Day were for those who believed in love.

“And your gran, Caitie,” Rhona continued, “met your grandda on this very day, many years ago, at a céilidh very much like this.”

“What?” Cait asked, her interest finally piqued.

“You haven't heard the story?” Rhona asked.

Bethia joined them. “I'll tell it. I was there. It was a game. One that was played for many years. All the single men of the village wrote their name on pieces of paper and put them in a hat. The single ladies chose a name from the hat, and he had to stay with her for the whole evening. Deydie pulled out Hamish's name.”

“Deydie, my gran, played a Valentine's Day game?” Cait said incredulously.

“Now, listen here, lassie,” Bethia chided. “Your gran was quite the beauty, like yourself, but pragmatic. She didn't have time for courting in the normal fashion. She needed a man to help with the chores, so she chose a name from the hat.”

“So that's how Deydie got a husband.”

“Behave yourself, wee Caitie, or I'll be telling your gran.” Bethia chuckled. “Anyway, Deydie didn't count on falling in love with Hamish McCracken. Before the night was through, those two were thick as thieves. Married a month later.”

“I never knew.” Cait squeezed Bethia's round shoulders. “Thanks for telling me.”

“It never hurts to be forewarned,” Bethia said. “These things run in families. Deydie fell in love on Valentine's Day. You might, too.”

“Not a chance,” Cait declared. “I don't need a man. I have you ladies. Who could ask for anything more?”

Bethia and Rhona shook their heads, but it was Rhona who spoke.

“Sometimes we don't have a choice in these matters, wee Caitie,” her teacher said. “Just remember I told you so.”

But Cait had come well armed. Before leaving the mansion, she'd tacked her resolve firmly back in place and wouldn't be swayed. No matter how much Graham begged and pleaded, she wouldn't dance with Mr. Wonderful tonight. Holding him close and swaying to the music was only asking for trouble.

And sex.

If she let him, she'd be putty, pliable and willing, in his
hands, letting him take her over and over again in his bed, making her hot and sweaty and satisfied.

Cait waved a napkin in front of her face. “Is it warm in here?” she asked Moira.

“Nay, but I believe you'll be wanting to see who just came through the door.”

Cait jerked her head up and found Graham gazing at her. “Damn.”

“Are you all right?” Moira asked.

“Sure.”

But she wasn't. Graham looked better than wonderful. He exuded sex like the sun gave off rays. And every woman in the room knew it. They'd all turned in his direction and, whether they were conscious of it or not, were drawn to him. The females walked toward the door in a trance, like pheromone-starved zombies. Except for Bonnie, who sashayed up to him, draping herself on his arm, her nearly exposed boobs within licking distance of his tongue.

Cait's resolve seriously faltered. She hadn't foreseen this happening, hadn't figured Bonnie and all the other women into the equation for the night.

Moira reached out and stopped Cait from hopping over the table and shoving Bonnie into the special heart-shaped cake.

“She's not in your league, Caitie,” Moira said. “Ye've nothing to worry about.”

Moira is at it again.
“You should give up this amateur matchmaking.” Cait filled another cup.

Moira shrugged. “I have eyes, 'tis all. And by the looks of it”—she inclined her head toward Graham—“he only has eyes for you.”

“If we're going to be grand friends, Moira Campbell, you'll have to stop being such a romantic.”

“I'd like us to be grand friends,” Moira said.

“Then you'll have to stop seeing things that aren't really there.” Cait smiled at her all the same.

The music started, a Scottish reel, and the crowd whooped and hollered as the dance floor filled up quickly. Cait walked two steps from behind the table before she saw the exchange by the door. Without warning, Bethia and Deydie extracted Graham from Bonnie's tentacles and pulled him out on the floor.

Cait smiled. “Those two are a couple of peaches, aren't they?”

Moira smiled, too. “Why don't you go dance with Mattie?”

Moira was right. Mattie stood next to Duncan, gripping his hand.

Cait made her way to him, trying not to bump into the hyperactive dancers. When she reached him, she knelt down. “Can I have this dance, kind sir?”

Mattie looked up to Duncan for approval.

“Go on, now, and have a good time,” Duncan said. “I'm going to go sit by Doc. Remember, Mattie, women don't like it if you step on their toes.”

Cait gently squeezed his arm, then took Mattie's hand. They danced an alternate version of the waltz. When the song was over, a little girl, five or so, asked if she could dance with him next.

Mattie looked pleased, so Cait went back to the punch table to help Moira. It gave her a clear view of the action on the floor.

Freda Douglas had snatched the next dance with Graham. Then Rhona. A teenage girl. Amy. Ailsa, then Aileen.

Good,
Cait tried convincing herself.
I'm glad he's
dancing with the town's women.
But when he asked her to dance, she'd have to refuse.

The next song started, and Bonnie snatched him up for a slow dance. She clung to him like cellophane and gyrated her hips as if she were practicing her Hula-Hoop.

Just when Cait couldn't take it any longer, the song ended.

The lights came up, and Rhona started the auction of Deydie's Pinwheel quilt. Graham got in one bid before Bethia captured his arm, keeping him from jacking up the price. The quilt sold for one hundred twenty-five pounds to Coll, Amy's husband.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Amy,” Coll shouted, holding the quilt over his head.

Never-shy Amy ran and jumped into his arms, plastering a kiss to his lips.

The music started again. While handing a punch cup to Mattie and his new lady friend, Cait glanced up and saw Graham weaving his way toward her.

This is it, Resolve. Be brave. Be firm. Be ruthless.

He smiled and then held his hand out to Moira. “Would you like to dance?”

Moira gave Cait an
oh well
shrug and grinned, succumbing to Graham's charms without a backward glance.

Cait changed her mind.
Moira sucks at being a friend
.

Cait couldn't take her eyes off them, the jealousy bug taking hold again. She didn't know if it was Graham or the music or just Moira's natural talent, but the shy woman came alive—smiling, laughing, graceful on her feet—a different person.

After the song hit its last note, Rhona announced the last dance of the céilidh. Graham deposited Moira back
at her post with the girl glowing like a sunflower. Cait glared at her, a wee bit of animosity seeping in.

Graham put his hand out to Cait. “Will you do me the honor of the last dance?”

Cait opened her mouth to say no, but nothing came out. She tried again. “I—I . . .”

He grabbed her hand. “I'll take that as a
yes
.” He led her out on the floor and twirled her into his arms. He whispered Gaelic into her ear as he cuddled her close.

She closed her eyes, going with it, letting the music sway them into their own little world. She was caught up in his net, her emotions tangled up in him. For all Cait knew, they were alone in his bed, making love, becoming one. It felt so good and so right. She wouldn't let herself think about how exposed her heart was. She'd deal with that later.

The lights came up. The music had stopped. A minute ago, judging by all the eyes on them. She extracted herself from Graham's embrace and felt branded by the heat rising in her cheeks. Across the room, Cait caught Deydie's fierce frown. Cait ran for the door.

Outside, it was cold, especially without her coat. She couldn't go back to the big house—Graham's home. She couldn't go to Deydie's.

Cait fled to the little room over the pub.

* * *

Cait had to start over. Had to get a grip. Had to get a restraining order against Graham to keep him away from her heart.

From the outside, looking in, the pub was dark. She let herself into the building and ran up the stairs. Her room was still wall-to-wall boxes, but at least she had a bed. Fully clothed, she kicked off her dancing shoes—a pair
of Kate Spade red leather heels—and climbed into bed. She missed her mama's Double Wedding Ring quilt, but this one, an Around the World quilt, would do. She pulled it up to her chin, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Maybe she could move to Fairge until her house was livable. It wouldn't be forever, just enough time to pull herself together and bolster up her resolve. But what if Mattie and Duncan needed her?

Sometime later, the door opened to her little room. She wasn't scared. She'd known he'd find her. Footsteps creaked across the floor.

“Scoot over,” his deep voice said.

“No,” she answered back, sounding like a petulant teen. “I don't want you here.”

“Tough.” He gently slid his large frame beside her. She was sure he had to be hanging off the twin bed.

He put his arm around her. “It's not all that comfortable here.”

“Nobody asked you,” she shot back, even though he smelled great.

“Caitie, I can't sleep without you nearby. I was a veritable grump in Italy.” Graham sighed. “Mattie needs his grandda in a good mood. Duncan, too. So here I am.” He squished her up against the wall. “We'd have more room in my king-sized bed back at the house.” He bounced up and down. “It's pretty lumpy here, too. If we're going to be sleeping at the pub from now on, I'd better replace the mattress.”

She did her best to ignore him, but it was damn near impossible. Her hands ached to run themselves all over him.

He went on. “I do worry about Mattie. What if something happens in the night and the boy needs us? I know
the nurses are there, but Mattie has grown awfully attached to you.” He exhaled dolefully. “Oh, well.”

“Fine.” She sat up. “You're such a drama queen.” She scooted off the bottom edge of the bed. “I have to find another jacket to wear. Mine's at the party.”

He chucked his coat at her. “Let's get you home.”

“No,” she said. “It's not my home. I'm just the help. When the cottage is completed, I'll be out of your hair. Duncan will be free to call me night or day. Do you understand?”

Through the light of the full moon, he studied her. “I understand. But I don't think you do.”

* * *

Graham's thoughts kept him from feeling the winter wind as they walked back to the mansion.

Big words he'd given. Like he had all the answers. Shit, he didn't understand a thing either. The only thing he knew was that he needed her near. She made him feel sane. Real. Right. When she was around, he was more of what he should be, more of what he wanted to be. Was that love? He didn't know.

He glanced over at her as she huffed along. He didn't know why she was unhappy. He wanted to make her feel better. But he couldn't even do it for himself.

“I know I'm being selfish,” he started.

“Damn straight you are,” she shot back.

“I just need someone to talk to,” he said honestly.

She stopped and looked down at the ground. “I'm sorry. I'm the one being selfish. You're going through a lot with Duncan. I'll always be there for you if you need to talk.”

What about letting me touch you and hold you?
He didn't say it, but he wanted to.

When he reached out to her, she took off at a clip on the boardwalk.

Graham followed. “Did you think Duncan looked bad tonight? The nurses talked to me about getting a hospital bed. Said he'd be more comfortable. One is coming. And tomorrow, I'm going to see about a doctor coming to stay at the house as well.”