Some Like it Scottish (18 page)

“Aye.” Maggie frowned at her husband, but a smile lingered just below her disapproval. “We're going to be blessed again. We just haven't told anyone, 'tis all.” Her gaze fell on Kit. “If you don't mind, I will go have a lie-in.”

John gave his wife a sound kiss on the mouth and a swat on the bottom as she sashayed away.

“Congratulations.” Kit grabbed a mug and poured him some coffee.

“I'm worried about her doing too much,” John confessed. “She's had trouble carrying a bairn to full-term since Dand.” He stopped abruptly as Ross came into the room.

Ross sniffed the air like a hungry canine. “What is that?”

“Breakfast casserole. I'll make you a plate,” Kit said, glancing back at John, thinking about what he'd just told her.

“Make mine a double.”

This would be the perfect time to bring up their absent brother without looking like she had some sort of crush or something. She dished up Ross's food. “I wasn't sure if I should make sandwiches for Ramsay, too. Will he be helping on the boat today?”

John grinned at her. “Aye. Ramsay will be on the boat with us. Ye best not forget him.”

How can I?
She'd tried every possible way to put him out of her mind. Without making eye contact, Kit stuck her red face in the refrigerator to cool off while pulling out the rest of the chicken salad for his sandwich.

The next two days ran together as Kit worked herself to the bone. In the early hours of the morning, she made massive breakfasts for John and Ross—Alabama biscuits and sausage one morning and her version of the Egg McMuffin, the next. Before Maggie could get up and grumble at her, Kit would do as many of the chores on the list as she could. Whatever she could do to help out. Maggie took her husband's advice and stayed in bed, eating Kit's leftovers with Dand when she got up to ready him for
school. Maggie's protests about the extra help turned into half-remonstrations, her feelings toward Kit softening a little more each day.

The rest of Kit's waking hours revolved around Quilting Central while she organized the social for her clients, and the occasional quilt block that Deydie insisted she make. Everyone seemed to have embraced her while she prepared for the quilt retreat. Cait and Deydie made lists while Rhona worked on lesson plans for the novice quilters. Moira and Gandiegow's matronly twins, Ailsa and Aileen, readied the tables, outfitting each sewing area with the tools of the trade—scissors, pins, and a small pail to dispose of clipped threads. And through it all, Kit was included in all the town gossip as if she were one of them. It turned out Emma and Doc weren't the only ones expecting; Claire and Dominic were, too. Emma had taken the time to sit with Kit a few times and helped her with her nautical quilt. When Claire and Emma weren't there, the townswomen talked of the baby quilts they were making for the mothers-to-be. Yes, the days passed well enough, but in the middle of the night, Kit was up, checking the vacant couch, hoping the lout had made it home, before making a hearty breakfast for the Armstrong brothers in residence.

Kit didn't inquire anymore after Ramsay. She'd made a fool enough of herself already with John. She was beginning to wonder if Ramsay was ever coming home, or if maybe he'd fallen off the end of Scotland, into the ocean, never to be seen again. But she was too busy to worry over him. Kit's clients would be flying in today with Harper and they should be in Gandiegow by supper tonight.

At the end of a long afternoon at Quilting Central, Kit
sat next to her sewing machine and pulled out the picture of her grandmother's quilt. For a moment she was lost in thought, but looked up as Maggie and her sisters made their way over to her.

“Can we have a moment of your time?” Maggie asked. “The lasses and I were wondering if there was anything we might help with to make your mixer easier.”

“Aye,” Rowena added. Sinnie only nodded.

The bachelors were due in a few days. “There's loads to do. I could use a few extra hands on the day of, to get the tables arranged.” Kit looked at Maggie and then at her belly. “Rowena and Sinnie can help with that. Maybe you and I could work on some centerpieces tomorrow while my clients are quilting?”

“It's a plan.” Maggie gave Kit her first genuine smile since she'd gotten here. “What's that a picture of?”

“It's my grandmother's quilt.” Kit handed it to her, explaining as neutrally as she could why she didn't own the quilt anymore.

“'Tis beautiful.” Maggie handed the picture back and Kit stored it in its spot.

Just then Cait Buchanan called out to Kit from across the room. “Can you come here and look at these fabrics I've cut up for your girls?”

“Excuse me.” Kit left Maggie and her sisters sitting beside her things.

Twenty minutes later, when she made it back to her portfolio, Maggie was gone. And so was the picture of her grandmother's quilt.

*   *   *

In the wee hours of the morning, Ramsay drove maybe a little too fast in the pouring rain. He'd promised John he'd be back in time for the boat. But it had also been
important to deposit the check in the night slot on his way back to Gandiegow. For the past four days, after fishing, he'd driven to Spalding Farm to help with the new barn stalls. Each night he'd slept for a few hours at Colin's and then hurried back to the fishing boat once more.

He was damned happy to have the work. It wasn't going to give him the money he needed to buy ole man Martin's boat in time, but it was always good to build up his bank account. More importantly, it kept him away from Kit—even if it hadn't kept him from thinking about her in his bed. He'd like to peel the clothes off the sprite slowly and get to what lay beneath. He wouldn't stop there. He'd like to kiss her senseless and make her moan. He'd like to . . .

He swerved, barely making the curve. He better keep his blasted thoughts on the road instead of how he'd like to make love to Kit. He wondered if she'd missed him. He hoped so. It would be payback for driving him crazy. There was nothing he could do about the guilty feeling he had for abandoning her in Gandiegow without even telling her where he was going. He was as spineless as a jellyfish.

He knew what day it was—the day Deydie had said the retreat should start. He wondered if her clients had made it in from the States. Or if she was ready for the bachelors to come to Gandiegow. Actually, he felt like he'd missed out on a lot. But that was the price he had to pay to keep his distance from her.

Kit was a beautiful, interesting woman, but he didn't need someone like her in his life. He had plans for himself. And getting tangled up with a woman would only hold him back.

Ramsay made it to the boat just as Ross was untying the line. “Was that the last night of it?”

Ramsay stepped aboard. “Aye.”
Unfortunately
. It would be his last chance in a while to dig up an odd job for the season.

John nodded at him as he touched his hand to the cross. Over the last four days, he'd made a point not to ask after Kit. He didn't want his brothers to get the wrong idea. So instead, Ramsay kept his thoughts to himself.

They had a short day of it on the boat. Ross was in a hurry to get to the North Sea Valve Company, and John had made plans to take Maggie to Inverness for their anniversary.

The house was empty when they arrived home. John and Ross took turns in the bathroom, insisting they clean up first. After working two jobs with little sleep, Ramsay could barely keep his eyes open until it was his turn. When they finally left he cursed them to high heaven for leaving him no hot water. After his cold shower, he threw on boxers, shut his door, and collapsed into bed.

But as soon as his head hit the pillow, he felt another presence in the room.
Her.
She wasn't physically there, but his bed, his whole room, smelled of Kit. If he was a wuss, which he wasn't, he'd think her scent was irresistible. He sighed, shut his eyes, and was asleep instantly.

He came awake to a gentle touch to his face. He kept his eyes closed because he wasn't quite sure whether he was dreaming it or not. But there was the touch again, moving his hair off his forehead. He relished it for a second, then opened his eyes to a vision. “Hey, kitten.”

Her cheeks blushed red. “Hey. You're not quite Goldilocks that I found sleeping in my bed.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “
Yere
bed?”

She didn't answer but grabbed his T-shirt off the hook behind his bedroom door. “Put a shirt on.” She tossed it at him.

“Is my manly chest getting to you?” He flexed his muscles as she rolled her eyes. He held the shirt to his nose. “Have you been wearing my clothes?”

She shook her head.

“Kitten, tell the truth. I know how you like to dress like a lad.” He skimmed his gaze down her chambray shirt and jeans, lingering on the places he liked the most—her breasts, her hips. He held his shirt out to her. “But why'd you need
my
shirt? I bet this swam on you.” He placed a hand over his heart, acting like the truth had just hit him square in the chest. “You missed me, didn't you?”

She huffed. “I haven't missed you. I've barely had time to breathe. Deydie kept me hopping. Where have you been for the last four days?”

He didn't answer. “What time is it?”

“Three. I barely escaped Deydie's clutches to run back here. I need to change before my clients get to town. And I needed to get my notebook.” She canted her head to the side table.

“So we're here all alone,” he drawled, glancing over at the shut door.

She nodded, looking more than a little unsure.

“In that case . . .” He grabbed her wrist and tugged. She fell on top of him. “Ye're a clumsy little sprite.” And he kissed her. Tasted every last fiery morsel of her surprised mouth. He shouldn't have done it, especially since he'd done a helluva job staying away from her the last few days. But he loved the challenge of getting to her.

At first Kit didn't participate fully, but he was a
determined man, especially when he had a goal in mind. He teased those lips of hers until she gave it right back to him.

He growled as he rolled on top of her. She dug her nails into him, clutching him, pulling him close, never breaking the kiss. And wasn't his pecker ever so happy they were finally going to do this? He felt like he was going to burst if he didn't get inside her soon. Not that it would mean that they were going steady or anything like that. It was just two adults having a bit of fun. He rolled off her and reached for his pants, needing the condom in his wallet.

She rolled in the other direction and got off the bed. The kitten was panting. “I've got to run.”

“Run?” Ramsay said huskily, thinking the chase was on. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

“But my sister. My clients. Here soon.” She seemed to be having a hard time putting two words together. She put her hands up in front of her and backed away.

He felt like the dog that'd been told to stay
.

He walked toward her anyway. “Answer me one question before ye go.”

She stopped and put her arms down. “Okay. One.”

“If ye were in such a hurry, what were you doing in here?”

“I told you. I came back to change.”

“But you weren't changing. You were touching me, like you were . . .” He couldn't use the words that came to mind. He couldn't tell her that her touch felt like butterfly wings. Or that the way she moved his hair away from his face made it feel like the two of them were lovers. “And don't say you weren't toying with me.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her up against his chest,
using his finger to tip her chin up. “Look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

She brought her eyes up and once again he was hit with how green they were. And vulnerable. He saw some piece of the truth there and it scared the holy hell out of him.

Determination shuttered her emotions. Her gaze fell and she patted him on the chest. “Och, I couldn't keep me hands off ye.” She'd put on a Scottish brogue like it was his damned T-shirt!

He planted both feet and cupped her face between his hands, searching her eyes again for the truth she wouldn't give him. When he bent down, he found it. In their kiss. He kissed her so tenderly that he nearly wept for the sissy that he was. In return, she wrapped her arms around his waist and mewed under his loving assault. Maybe he should've reached for the condom again—she felt so pliable that he could've done whatever the hell he wanted. But the game had changed—no longer a bit of fun, but something serious. He set her away from him and had to steady her as she wobbled.

“Ye've work to do,” he said gruffly. “Now off with ye.” He spun her around and shoved her toward the door.

He grabbed her notebook. “Wait.”

She stopped and turned. She still looked as dazed as he felt.

He settled the notebook in her hands, the fog clearing a bit. “Be careful, my little sprite. Coming into a man's bedroom alone can be dangerous.”
Especially if that man has a hankering to get a certain American lass naked.
“For the next time you wake me from a sleep with the gentle touch of yere soft hands, I won't be so honorable as to stop what I'm doing and let you make a run for it.”

She clutched the notebook to her chest and stood her ground for a second to give him a hard glare. Then she grabbed her outfit hanging on the back of the door, too, and hightailed it out of there, slamming the door behind her.

He laughed heartily, knowing she'd hear him. But then he stopped as the gravity of the situation fell over him. He scrubbed his hand over his face, a conflicted man. For as much as he'd wanted to frighten her with his promise, she was turning out to be a bigger threat to him and the person he wanted to be. His own man. Who needed no one. But somehow, that last kiss had changed . . . everything.