Some Like it Scottish (16 page)

She took another bite. Clean undies were a necessity. If she was going to make herself at home, it was best to do it when no one else was here. She went to get her dirty clothes.

While her clothes washed, Kit made calls to her office in Alaska, answered e-mails, and talked to her sister Harper. Travel arrangements were coming along nicely for her socialite clients. Next, she took a shower and dressed. Finally, she was ready to go to Quilting Central. The number one question she'd been getting from her wealthy clients was what the heck was a quilting retreat? Kit would make sure that Deydie gave her some details and an itinerary. Calming nerves was one of Kit's many jobs, and as the time drew nearer, her clients were feeling plenty nervous about coming to Scotland to meet men.

As Kit walked to Quilting Central, Ramsay wandered into her mind for about the fiftieth time that morning. She looked out at the water lapping against the retaining wall and prayed for his safety. She also couldn't help but think about sleeping in his arms last night. It had been wrong to do it; she knew that. But knowing didn't stop her from wanting to be back in his arms again. She was halfway to the parking lot before she realized that she'd walked right past her destination, so she backtracked to Quilting Central.

Deydie and her quilting crew were there, bustling around the one-day workshop. The teacher at the front was holding
up fabrics and explaining to the out-of-towners how to do something called a “whack and stack
.
” Kit stood and listened for a minute, but then Deydie saw her and lumbered over.

“I've got you all set up over there. We did part of it for you, but Moira is going to show you how to cut the rest of the fabric,” the old woman said.

“Oh, no. I'm not here to sew. I'm here to get more information on my retreat.”

Deydie put her hands on her hips. “We won't tell ye nothing about that retreat until yere quilt is started. Ye're a lass who needs a hobby.” She glanced pointedly at Kit's messenger bag. “I know what's good for ye. Now scoot yereself over there. Moira doesn't have all day.”

“Fine. But for every piece of fabric I cut, you'll have to tell me something about what my clients will be doing while they're here.”

Deydie gave her a snaggly-toothed smile. “Pretty cheeky for needing something from me, aren't ye?”

Kit didn't get to answer. Deydie saw something beyond her shoulder and hustled off, muttering, “Dammit,” under her breath.

Kit smiled after her, then joined Moira at the cutting table. This would actually work out perfectly. She wanted to interview the quiet woman anyway and start the process of trying to match her with the Episcopal priest.

Moira gave her a shy smile and showed her how to press the fabric and line it up on the mat, then how to measure and cut the fabric with the rotary blade. She was a competent instructor and patient when Kit got it wrong.

Time flew by, and Kit was so focused, she almost missed it when Ramsay came sauntering in with a tall, gorgeous strawberry blonde. They were laughing and carrying on,
the woman touching Ramsay's arm. Kit's stomach dropped and she sliced the fabric in the wrong place. She mentally kicked herself. Not for the fabric, but because she'd been so dumb. Not twelve hours ago, she'd been kissing Ramsay, making him groan, and here he was parading his beautiful Amazonian girlfriend in front of her. Kit looked at her rotary blade, seriously considering slicing him into little pieces like she'd done to her fabric.

Moira grabbed her wrist to still her. “That's only Pippa.”

“Pippa? Ross's Pippa?”

Moira shrugged. “Or so they say.”

But it looked like Pippa had a thing for
Ramsay
. Maybe Kit should take the rotary blade to her instead.

“Cut,” Moira said softly. “I'll tell ye the story.”

Because Moira's voice soothed her, Kit pulled over the next piece of pressed fabric and laid it out.

Moira began her tale. “Pippa's mama died when she was a wee thing. She grew up with the Armstrong boys, as her papa and their papa were best friends. The McDonnell is the one who is starting up the North Sea Valve Company.”

“
Were
friends?” Kit asked.

“Alistair Armstrong died three years ago. It was a sad day when those three carted their papa's casket up the hill to the cemetery. They refused help from the rest of the town, insisting they carry their papa all on their own.”

Kit glanced up at Ramsay. She knew what it meant to be fatherless and felt his loss along with her own. With new eyes she looked at Pippa and Ramsay joking around across the room. Maybe it was brotherly-sisterly affection that passed between them. But she wasn't 100 percent convinced. “So what about Ross and Pippa? Why are you skeptical?”

“I don't see it,” Moira said quietly. “The papas decided when they were wee ones that those two would marry one day, and the rest of the town says it's going to happen. But I don't think it's right that people get involved in other people's love lives.”

Kit waited for Moira to remember whom she was talking to.

“Present company excluded,” Moira said sheepishly.

Kit laughed. “It's okay. I'm just glad not everyone feels as you do, or else I'd be out of a job.”

Moira's cheeks turned pink. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“You didn't. You were only speaking your mind.” Kit suspected that Moira didn't speak up often, and it made her feel good that the woman was comfortable talking to her. But clearly she was barking up the wrong tree if she was going to set Moira up with the town's pastor. She would just have to work on Father Andrew instead to get the ball rolling.

At that moment, the door to Quilting Central blew open and the Episcopal priest himself walked in.

“Speak of the devil,” Kit muttered.

Moira stopped in midpress. It looked as if she was holding her breath. “What?” She shifted her gaze to Kit.

“Nothing,” she said.

Ramsay took that moment to look over at Kit with laughter in his eyes. She couldn't tell if it was because she was stuck quilting or if the luscious Pippa had said something funny.

Kit turned on Moira. “I thought Pippa lived in Edinburgh.” Her voice didn't sound calm and serene as she'd hoped it would. “Or was that just a fib?”

Moira patted her hand. “Don't worry yereself. I told
you there's nothing between them. Besides, she's only here for the weekend.”

Then Ramsay did the meanest thing; he walked right past Kit without acknowledging her existence, and out the door with the strawberry blonde goddess by his side.

Kit felt like an idiot. As soon as the Real Men of Scotland was up and running, Kit was going to find herself a man. Not one of those rugged men who looked better than God, but some lawyer or banker. Someone more like herself—business-minded, serious. Someone with the same goals as she had.

But above all, if she was being honest with herself, her future date better know how to kiss. Ramsay at least had that going for him. Hopefully he hadn't ruined her for all other men because of those talented lips of his. Yes, Kit wanted a man who could kiss, the kind of kiss that made her see forever.

“I'm not worried,” Kit said, remembering to answer Moira. “I was only curious.”

Moira passed her the red print fabric. “This is your last piece to cut. After that, we should head home for dinner.”

It struck Kit that Moira had given her a good chunk of her day. “Thank you for teaching me and staying beside me. I'm sure you had better things to do.”

“I enjoyed it. Besides, I have dinner in the Crock-Pot so I don't have to cook when I get home.” Moira's gaze wandered over to the pastor again.

“Is Father Andrew coming to dinner tonight at your house? Or have you not asked him yet?” Kit said.

“What?” Moira's cheeks turned really red now. “I c-couldn't,” she sputtered.

Andrew was speaking with Bonnie by the front door,
and it looked as if Bonnie was doing some serious flirting.

Kit nudged Moira. “If I were you, I'd hustle over there and seal the deal, before he makes other plans for the evening.”

Moira looked down at her hands. “Nay. Andrew sits often at our table, but my da does the asking.”

Bonnie took that moment to let out a bawdy laugh and to rub Andrew's arm. Instead of Moira setting down her fabric and going over there determinedly, she dropped her eyes to her shoes, shaking her head as if reiterating one more time that she
couldn't
.

Andrew left with Bonnie trailing behind him. Moira glanced up as they went out the door together. She shook her head one more time.

“It'll be all right,” Kit encouraged, laying a hand on her arm. She liked to see women come out of their shells, but Moira was planted firmly within hers. It would take some serious coaching from Kit to get this shy woman to make a stand for what she wanted.

She thought about her clients, all sweet, shy women like Moira. All determined in their own way. Hopefully, they'd find love here in Scotland.

They finished up and stored everything in the plastic bin that Rhona, the schoolteacher, had dropped by the cutting table. Kit told the remaining quilt ladies goodbye, but Deydie grabbed her arm before she could leave. “I'll expect ye back here in the morning so you can work on yere quilt.”

Kit forced a smile for the old woman. “You're the one who gave me a hard deadline for the quilting retreat. I have a lot to do to pull it off, including getting the details you promised me.” And she still needed more
information on the men who were coming, the ones she didn't know. Trying to research them online this morning, she'd had little luck. “I won't have time tomorrow to sew. Tomorrow is off.”

Deydie shook her arm. “Nay. Tomorrow is on. I'm going to teach you how to make half-square triangles for your Nautical Flag quilt. While I do, I promise to tell ye everything ye and yere girls need to know for the quilt retreat.”

“I guess I could take a little time,” Kit said.

“Damn straight ye'll take time. Quilting is important in life,” Deydie declared. “As important as water is to the fish.”

At this Kit finally made her getaway, walking quickly to Ramsay's cottage. She hated to admit that she was looking forward to seeing him and his easy smile. Even more, she hated to admit that their bantering back and forth relaxed her, and she always needed to relax after talking to Deydie.

At the door to the Armstrongs' cottage, though, she hesitated. She couldn't just walk in. It wasn't her house. So she knocked.

Maggie opened the door. “Oh, it's you.” She walked away, leaving the door open and Kit still standing outside.

Kit went through and shut the door behind her. “Can I help?” She followed Maggie to the stove.

“You could get yere underthings off the table.”

“What?” Kit's eyes flashed toward the dining area. And sure enough, two of her French-cut panties were folded neatly by her place setting. She snatched them up and slunk off to Ramsay's bedroom. While she was there—and because she was too embarrassed to go out and face Maggie—she checked her texts.

Minutes later the house reverberated with noise as the brothers came home. Kit opened the bedroom door and ran to the living room. But Ramsay wasn't in the crowd. It was John, Ross, Dand, and . . . Pippa.

No Ramsay
.

“Pippa, this is Kit Woodhouse, the matchmaker,” said Ross, pointing.

There was a guttural noise from the sink. Kit chose to think that Maggie was only clearing her throat and not commenting on Kit and her profession.

John guided his son toward the restroom. As he passed, he answered Kit's unasked question.

“Ramsay won't be joining us for dinner.” John gave no more explanation.

Kit felt completely out of place. And trapped. It was too late to make her excuses and go back to Quilting Central, the only spot she could think to hide out. She'd just have to suffer through.

Pippa made herself at home by going to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of ale. She held it out to Kit. “Would you like one?”

“Yes.” Kit wasn't a fan of ale, but she wouldn't turn down the offer from the only person who was making her feel welcome.

“Get me one, too,” Ross said.

Pippa pulled out three, passing them around. She punched Ross in the arm. “Ye should've had manners enough to offer one to your guest.”

Ross opened his mouth, but shut it. Kit knew what he was going to say—she was Ramsay's guest, not his.

The three of them set the table while Maggie finished up. Ross and Pippa sniped back and forth while Kit got a pretty good read on them. These two were nothing
more than good friends to each other, like Moira had said. It would be asinine to think they would be a love match. But Kit knew friendship wasn't the worst foundation to build a marriage on.

“So you live in Edinburgh,” Kit started.

“She's a mechanical engineer like her da, the McDonnell,” Ross supplied.

“He's the one who started the North Sea Valve Company, just outside of town.” Pippa beamed. “He's brilliant.”

“So are you going to work with him at the factory when it opens?” Kit asked.

Pippa laughed. “Heavens, no. Gandiegow is too small for me.”

Something crossed Ross's face. Kit didn't know if it was disappointment or relief. She felt sorry for him. And Pippa. It seemed everyone expected them to get married except them.

The family ate their dinner companionably, although Kit had nothing to offer to their conversation about the fishing boat and the valve company.

Maggie wouldn't let her help with the dishes tonight as Ross and Pippa were in charge, so Kit grabbed her jacket and went for a walk.

She walked all the way to the end of town. Right before the last cottage, she took the path leading uphill. She assumed by what Moira had said earlier that the cemetery would be at the pinnacle. Instead she found a mansion built by the ruins of a castle. She would have to ask Ramsay later who lived here. She continued on the path that ran along the ridge and finally came across the cemetery. She spent some time reading the old headstones until she realized it was getting dark. She made her way back down the path on the other side.