Some Like it Scottish (19 page)

K
it hurried and readied for the retreat, well aware that she was stripping naked only ten feet away from Ramsay—albeit with two doors and a hallway between them. She was unable to put that last kiss from her mind.

What had she been thinking? She shouldn't have been running her hands through his hair, pushing it off his forehead, enjoying the feel of his dark waves beneath her fingers. She'd just been so glad to see him again! But Ramsay wasn't some tame pet. He was wild in every sense of the word. Unlike a buttoned-up, controlled Wall Street suit, he was as unpredictable as a mountain lion.

But she had too much riding on this to lose focus now. Her clients needed her. Her family needed her more. She had the chance to undo the past, make up for what her father had done to them, if only she could be successful one more time.

Kit felt jumpy, wishing now that she'd been the one to go to the airport. But Harper insisted she could handle everything with the clients when they landed. Deydie insisted they needed help at Quilting Central, so that's where Kit headed.

But what Deydie really expected was for Kit to work
on her quilt. Why did Kit need a nautical quilt anyway? She banished the one sailor who came to mind. The one who kissed her with precision, skill . . . and passion.

Every time Kit tried to get up from her sewing machine, Deydie would bark another order at her to stitch another seam. The only reason Kit did as she was told—besides Deydie being scary—was because everything was under control.
Everything
.

Out of habit, Kit opened her planner. She gasped. The picture of her grandmother's quilt was back. She'd questioned everyone in Quilting Central twice about it, had asked everyone in Gandiegow if they'd seen it. But no one knew anything. But now it was back! Kit pulled it out and laid her hand on the picture for strength. Immediately, she felt calmer.

Right on time, her clients arrived with Harper, who ran to Kit. They hugged like they hadn't seen each other in years.

“We dropped our purses at the quilting dorm and came straight over,” Harper said, squeezing her back. “The men are going to get our things to the dorm for us.”

“I missed you so much!” Kit whispered into Harper's hair. “We'll talk in a bit, but first I better make the others feel welcome.”

But it seemed that each Gandiegow quilter had adopted one of Kit's clients and was introducing themselves to her. Like a well-rehearsed dance, the quilting ladies got the girls settled at the long tables.

Cait Buchanan stood at the front of the room. “Welcome, everyone.” While she gave the group an overview of the workshop, Deydie and Bethia directed Claire and Dominic as they settled the food on a table, banquet-style. “So after we eat, we'll show you your supplies. But
we won't start anything until the morning. Tonight is all about fun and getting to know one another.”

As Cait finished, the door to Quilting Central opened again, and a sea of men flowed into the room.

Bethia came over and laid a hand on Kit's arm. “After our menfolk get the luggage settled into the dorm, we reward them by filling their bellies.”

But it was one fisherman in particular who caught Kit's eye.
Ramsay.
Apparently, she hadn't gotten her fill of watching him this afternoon while he slept, for she couldn't stop looking at him now.
And him at her
.

Harper nudged Kit; she hadn't even noticed that her sister had sidled up next to her.

“Been fraternizing with the locals?” Harper teased.

“No. Not hardly.”
A few kisses didn't count.
“You know guys like him aren't my type.”

Harper gave her a smile full of wisdom. “It never hurts to try something new off the menu.”

“Always with the food analogies.”

“I'm always hungry.” Harper's eyes danced. She ate like a horse but stayed as slim as a supermodel.

“Go get something to eat.” Kit nodded to where the other quilters were lining up her clients at the food table.

“I will because I'm famished, but then I want to hear all about Hunk-a-Burning-Love over there.”

“His name's Ramsay Armstrong. He's not hunk-a-burning anything.”

“And you're blind.”

Kit gave her sister the older-sister
you'd better do as I say
glare.

Harper put her hands up in surrender. “I'm going, I'm going.”

As her sister walked away, Kit noticed the local
fishermen eyeing her clients, the new meat in town.
Oh, crap.
She'd screwed up. She'd brought her clients in a few days early to help them get used to their surroundings and to adjust to the time difference. It never occurred to her that this wasn't a good idea. Kit was dangling her socialites in front of the local fishermen and they were itching to take the bait—each one trying to get a closer look at the catch of the day. Their posturing said they were staking a claim. She'd have to come up with some plan to keep them separated until her bachelors arrived. Her socialites were not fair game!

The bachelors.
For the last few days, she'd been rolling over in her mind what to do with the out-of-town Scots before the mixer started. Kit thought about Maggie's analogy—
Men are like dogs. They need to burn off their energy or they'll start chewing on the furniture.
Kit was afraid that the high-energy Scots would start throwing punches at one another for sport if she didn't keep them occupied.

She looked at Ramsay. He'd said he'd help her figure it out, but then he'd gone missing. She should ask him now if he had any bright ideas. But before she could take a step, the answer came to her.
Ramsay.
He was her solution—well, he and his idea of a fishing tourism business. He could take her bachelors fishing for the day.

Kit grabbed her checkbook from her messenger bag and made a beeline for her chauffeur. On her way, she looked to Deydie to see if she could run interference between her clients and the fishermen, perhaps toss the wellies-wearers from the building. But Deydie was just heading out the door herself. One problem at a time, Kit thought. Her client-fishermen problem could wait a minute or two. She needed to square things away with Ramsay first.

She wove through the crowd to him. “Do you have a minute?” Before she could say any more, Ross came over and joined them.

He plopped a hand on her shoulder but spoke to Ramsay. “Oh, my gawd, ye've got to marry this one.”

“What?” Kit whipped around and stared at Ross, but he held her shoulder in place.

“Aye. And ye both have to live with us.” Ross grinned from ear to handsome ear.

Ramsay's mouth turned to a hard, flat line, his whole face going dark red, and his hands balling into fists.

Kit was already embarrassed by Ross's words, but to have Ramsay so visibly upset made her want to crawl under one of the sewing tables and die. “Stop it, Ross.” She shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

“Seriously, she's a genius when it comes to satisfying a man.” Ross eyed Ramsay closely for a moment, and Ramsay seemed to turn even angrier, ready to pounce. Ross took that moment to rub his belly. “She cooks breakfast like a son-of-a-witch. You missed it, brother.” He let out a hearty laugh.

Ramsay's stance relaxed. “What's he talking about?” He kept his gaze on Ross, but apparently was speaking to her.

She shrugged. “I helped out. It was no big deal. I can cook a few things.” Her face felt like it'd been stuck in the oven instead of the breakfast casserole she'd made.

“Maggie is even warming to yere matchmaker, brother. I'm serious.
Marry her
,” Ross repeated, sighing, “and I'll be a happy man.”

“Go away.” Kit had had enough of his silliness. “I have business to discuss with your brother.”

Ross gave her one last brilliant grin. “Only if ye'll
promise to make breakfast for the lot of us
until death do us part
.”

Ramsay elbowed him out of Kit's line of sight. “Speak,” he said to her.

Ross made no move to leave, so Kit grabbed her chauffeur's arm and pulled him over to the corner for privacy. But then she made the mistake of gazing up into his expectant eyes, and for a second she forgot what she wanted to say. But the checkbook clutched in her other hand reminded her.

“Hear me out before you say anything. But I have a proposition for you.”

*   *   *

“Hell's bells.” Ramsay boldly ran his eyes down her. “It's not even Christmas and I'm getting exactly what I want.” He was only half teasing. He reached out and ran a hand down her arm because looking at her wasn't enough. “I'm glad ye're stone-cold sober this time.”

She took a step back. “What?”

Because he was a devil, he took a step closer. “Yere place or mine, little sprite?” Which was funny because they both resided under the same roof.

She got a clue and shook her checkbook at him. “This is not that kind of proposition.” The red in her cheeks hitched up a notch. “This is a business proposition and nothing else.”

“Call it whatever you like.
I'm yeres
.” He knew he was frustrating her and pissing her off at the same time, but he was enjoying the hell out of himself.

She positioned herself in front of him, apparently trying to block the view from the rest of the room, and punched him in the arm discreetly.

“Ouch.” Her
punch
felt like a fly had landed on him,
but he rubbed his arm anyway. “I'm going to tell Deydie what you did.”

Kit looked over her shoulder as if Deydie had appeared. “Why can't you ever be serious?”

Ramsay put his finger under her chin and moved her head back to face him. “What is it, kitten? What do you need?”

She exhaled heavily. “I need your help with the bachelors.” She opened her checkbook and began scribbling while she talked. “You know they'll be here for eight hours before the mixer. They'll have nothing to do.” She finished writing and looked up to him. “I love your idea of a guided fishing business and I want to be your first customer. Keep those men busy for me, get them cleaned up for the mixer, deliver them on time to the restaurant, and I'll be eternally grateful.” She tore out the check and held it up to him.

He stared at her, trying to process what he had heard. She'd said the word
love
in there somewhere and it had gotten jammed up in his psyche, and he was having trouble getting past it. But then her offer sank in and he saw it for what it was.
Charity.

“I don't want your handout,” he growled. He would achieve his dreams on his own, or not at all.

She looked confused at first. But then understanding flowed across her face. Then anger. “You're a pigheaded man!” she hissed.

“Guilty,” he agreed.

“Fine.” She folded the check over. “I'll just get one of your brothers to do it for me. I'm sure they'd be happy to make some extra cash. Where did Ross go?” She turned around, searching for his brother. “Oh, there he is.”

She took one step away, but Ramsay caught her arm
and spun her back around. “Give me the damn check.” But she held on to it. He sounded gruff and mean, not at all like himself. Other emotions were prepared to spill over, too. “Bathroom. Now.” He pointed. They needed to have this conversation in private.

She marched the few steps to the restroom and he followed. He didn't care if everyone was watching or not, but he didn't think they were; the quilters were busy with the retreatgoers.

Once inside, she took his hand and slapped the check into his palm. He pulled the door shut behind them, blocking the doorway. There were a million things he wanted to say to her, the least of which was to stay away from his brother, or anyone else for that matter. He didn't want another man doing things for her that he could do himself. But instead he reached out, grasped her, and in the process crushed the check. He kissed her fiercely, putting his anger behind the kiss, and then set her away.

“I hope I've made myself clear.” He turned and walked out.

He kept walking, straight to the General Store, where he checked out one of the town's shared vehicles. He drove on to Fairge, his anger not easing up in the least. He'd keep the cranking bachelors occupied for her if he had to. He'd do this for her, but he was still pissed.

He parked in front of the bank. It wasn't until he got inside and laid the check on the counter for deposit that he saw the amount.

Motherducker! It's exactly what I need to buy the boat.

*   *   *

Good grief
. Ramsay had made nothing clear, nothing at all. Kit sighed and stared out the window, gazing at the storm rolling in from the sea. Big black clouds were
coming. She'd been sitting here while Quilting Central buzzed around her for the last hour, and she still couldn't figure out what he meant.
Clear
, he'd said? The waters were muddier than ever.

Deydie came over to Kit. “I see now why yere American girls need ye. They're as shy as they come. Shy as our Moira.”

Kit nodded. Over the years, she'd narrowed her client base, had specialized. Her clients were women who were more interested in reading novels or spending time with their horses than attending society balls. “I'm passionate about helping smart, quiet women. I try to find them men who can appreciate their inner qualities and not expect them to be social butterflies. They just need to meet some good men.”

“Ye're doing a right nice thing for them. I approve.” Deydie patted her hand and headed off, barreling toward the front of the room and her granddaughter, Cait.

Kit looked up as Moira sat down. She gave Kit a fortifying smile. Moira wasn't just shy. She had an inner strength that oozed from every pore. From what Kit had learned, Moira had been taking care of her ill father for many years, never complaining, and always willing to help others.