Some Like it Scottish (31 page)

Deydie slammed the book down on the table and sat in front of it, then pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Best to get yere dates written in now.”

“What dates?”

“Yere matchmaking dates for the rest of year. Remember, you have to have a quilting retreat each time. Ye best do it now as we're filling up.” Deydie flipped the notebook open with the efficiency of an executive secretary. “How's about the first week in August? Do ye think ye'll have enough lads and lassies gathered by then for the matching?”

Harper and Cait sat down, too, and helped negotiate two more retreats for this year and four for the following.

By the time it was done, Kit's head was spinning and she had to get out of there. “I'm going back to the Armstrongs' and pack up my things.”

Harper stood, too, in a show of solidarity. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I shouldn't be too long.” Kit planned to get in and out before she was waylaid by any of the Armstrong clan.

When she got to the house, luck was with her and she breathed a sigh of relief. There was no one in the living room or kitchen and the house was silent. But when she went into Ramsay's room, she almost jumped out of her shoes.

“You scared me!”

He lay stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head. He glanced for a second at her but then went back to staring at the ceiling.

She walked carefully into the room. “I'll be out of your hair soon. I just need to pack my things.”

“Oh? Going somewhere?”

“You know I am. I have a flight out tomorrow with everyone else.” She went to the closet, but her hanging clothes were gone. She spun around and saw that the two suitcases that had been by the window were gone, too.

“Missing something?”

She stomped over to him. “Ramsay Armstrong, I'm in no mood for your teasing.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the bed. He didn't force her to stay there, but she felt befuddled about what to do next.

He gazed into her eyes. “You and I need to have a talk.”

“About what?”

“About how you were wrong and want to reconsider yere answer.”

“To what?” But she knew.

He
tsk
ed at her. “Now, kitten, are you going to play hard to get?”

“I'm not playing at anything.”

“Aye, you are.” He grinned at her with the same old grin that she'd fallen in love with. “Do you want me to show you how it's going to be, kitten, or tell you?”

She'd hurt him. How could he still want her? While she was trying to make up her mind how to answer him, he made it up for her.

“Kiss me.” He didn't lay a hand on her, only looked at her with smolder and confidence in his eyes. And something else too.
Love
.

She leaned over and pressed her lips to his. After a moment, it wasn't enough and she deepened the kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her like they would be together forever. Finally, he broke the kiss, but didn't let her go. “Reconsider. Say
yes.
”

“But—”

He cut her off with a heavy sigh, but spoke patiently to her. “Ye're not going anywhere, sprite. I have your clothes—nice collection of panties, by the way. And I have yere messenger bag. Oh”—he paused for a second—“and yere passport. It's all tucked away for safekeeping.”

She batted his chest. “You are the most maddening man I've ever met.”

“Marry me so you can fix me.” He gave her a grin that said that he knew he was perfect.

She rolled to her back and looked up at the ceiling. “You're exasperating.”

He gave her a cocky smile. “It must count for something that I proposed to ye before I hit my head. Doesn't it?”

It was her turn to sigh heavily.

He gently rolled her back to face him, both of them on their sides. The teasing Ramsay was gone. Serious Ramsay was gazing into her eyes. He tucked her hair behind her ear—this gentle habit of his—and took both of her hands. “Choose love.” He kissed her hands.

“But—”

“Shh.” He rested his finger on her lips. “I love ye, lass, with every last bit of this fisherman's heart. You've landed me—hook, line, and sinker. Marry me.”

She knew the truth of what he was saying. She could choose love. She gazed into his eyes and saw a future. It was bright, filled with laughter and love. Partnership and commitment. And it was hers for the taking.

“Here.” He pulled the ring from his pocket and held
it out to her. “If you say ye'll marry me, I'll tell you where I've stashed yere things.”

She took the ring and gazed at the emeralds. “And give me back my passport?”

“I'll not make any promises on that count.” He held her hand with the ring cupped in her palm. “I will insist on your vow before you slip my ring on your finger. I can hear it plainly from your heart, but I need to hear the words from yere mouth.”

“What about your vow to me?”

“Gawd, lass, ye're going to be the death of me. I'm begging here, for the luvagawd. Ye know I love ye more than the very air that I breathe. Ye're my sprite, my kitten, my lass, my everything.”

She scooted closer to him and cupped his face. “I love you, too, Ramsay.” And she kissed him.

Without breaking the kiss, he took her left hand and slipped on the ring.

She pulled away. “Where are my things?”

“At our place.”

“Our place? We have a place?” she said.

“Well, we can't exactly live together until we stand before the priest. One of us will stay here, and one of us there. The family will probably want ye here to keep an eye on you. But yes, we have a place. We're renting Rhona's cottage.”

She gazed at him in wonder. “When did you arrange all this?”

“Before I proposed.
The first time
,” he said pointedly.

“I'm glad I came around to your way of thinking.”

“Me, too.” He kissed her.

“How much time do you think we have?” she said around the kiss.

“Time?” the big tease asked innocently.

“Time before the family gets home,” she clarified, running a hand down his chest.

“Ye're a scamp. An insatiable scamp.” Ramsay gazed into her eyes. “And I love ye for it.”

“Then lock the door.”

K
it walked into their cottage and hung her messenger bag on the hook, the one Ramsay had put next to the door especially for her. They had been married the second week in August in front of her family and all of Gandiegow as they made a promise to themselves and to God to love each other for always.

She was starting to figure things out for the Real Men of Scotland, fine-tuning her strategies. First, she had to make sure to have her socials on the first night of the retreat so that her handpicked bachelors at least had a shot with her clients from America. And now she would include any locals who wanted to come, at no charge, and let the chips fall as they may.

The door opened and her husband walked in, all swagger,
and all hers
. She smiled at him. She still couldn't believe that she was Mrs. Ramsay Armstrong!

“Wife, what's for dinner?” He was so full of himself, but she loved him that way.

“Husband, whatever you're cooking is fine with me.”

He reached outside the door. “Then the catch of the day it is.” He produced a plastic container with a cleaned fish. “I thought I'd bake it.”

She glanced at the bed, tempting him. “Could we hold off on dinner for a bit?”

He grinned at her and she knew the teasing was coming. “But I'm a big, strong man. I need sustenance.”

She walked over and patted the quilt, the Gandiegow Matchmaker quilt. “Some things are more important than food.”

“More important than food? I'm not sure I believe ye.” He placed a hand over his heart in faked solemnity. “Perhaps ye'll have to show me. First, let me put this in the icebox.”

“And wash up,” she said.

He grinned. “Only if you'll join me.”

She nodded and he took a step toward her, the fire in his eyes igniting.

She put her hand up, laughing. “Put the fish away first.”

She watched as he stowed their dinner in the refrigerator and felt bone-deep contentment. Never in her wildest dreams had she seen herself living in a one-room cottage . . . and feeling so rich! After all was said and done, she didn't need to buy back her family's honor; she only needed to make room for love in her life.

 

A pang of guilt hit Pippa. She never should've left Gandiegow in the first place. She should've been here. Sure, she'd come back to visit, but she hadn't been here when the McDonnell had needed her most, when he'd almost killed himself doing something incredibly stupid. Who in his right mind put a pallet on a forklift, then a ladder on the pallet, then climbed to the top of the ladder to change a lightbulb? A pigheaded old Scot who wouldn't dream of asking for help, that's who.

But guilt and lecturing the McDonnell weren't going to fix the problem at hand. She needed to find a way to save the factory and afford private care for her da.

Only last year, MTech had made an offer for NSV, when they'd gotten wind of Da's new subsea shutoff-valve design. Da told them flat-out
No, the North Sea Valve Company is not for sale.
But whether her da liked it or not, she would let MTech, or any other outside investor, come in, and she'd listen to what they had to say. Scots weren't known for taking charity, but she'd entertain the foreigners as long as they brought an infusion of cash to the table.

She pulled out a pad of engineering paper and began jotting down ideas, just like when she was designing a piece of equipment.

Ross leaned into her office. “Can we talk to you a minute?”

Ross and his brother Ramsay stood outside her door. These two hulking Scots were close childhood friends who'd grown into a couple of tall, handsome fishermen.

She joined them outside her office. “Can you both take a look at conveyor three? There's something hanging it up.”

They both frowned down at her, but it was Ross who spoke up first. “We want to know what the doctor had to say yesterday when ye were in Aberdeen. We're worried about the McDonnell.”

Hell.
Couldn't she have a little more time to process the news herself? “I really don't want to talk about it.”

More of the workers made their way over and gathered around.

Ross motioned to the group. “We have a right to know.”

Many of the men had invested not only their time into her father's vision, but what little money that they had, Ross included.

“He's not healing.” Toag, her father's ancient machinist, seemed to have read her mind. “What a rotten herring. 'Tis bad enough the McDonnell took a spill.”

“'Twas more than a spill,” Murdoch interrupted, running his fingers through his beard. He was the other machinist. He and Toag were always together and, more times than not, were at each other's throat. “I saw the bone sticking out of his leg meself. Jagged, it was. Och, blood was everywhere.”

“Quiet,” Ramsay commanded.

“Don't worry, lass.” Toag dug in his pocket and produced his wallet. “Somehow, we'll get him the medical treatment he needs. We'll pass around a bucket to collect for private care.”

“Nay.” She pointed at Toag. “Grab the notepad off my desk.”

Toag lumbered past her to get it.

“But we want to help.” Murdoch nodded his head, his beard bouncing.

“I know you do. And most of ye will.” Pippa took the pad from Toag. “Here's how we're going to raise money.” She thanked the Almighty for the ideas that He'd dropped in her lap today. “There's no need to call anyone. We have all we need right here.” She looked around at the ruggedly handsome men of the village, the
single
, handsome men. “We'll have an auction. We're going to sell off our bachelors.”

Ramsay's face clouded over, a storm coming. “And who's going to tell my wife about yere plan? It won't be me.”

Pippa laughed, and it felt good after so much sadness. “No worries. It shouldn't interfere with Kit's matchmaking business. It's just a bit of fun for one evening.”

Ramsay grinned. “Then I'm sure you can count on us to help you with it.”

“Aye, ye'll all help and I'll not tolerate any of you crybabies whining about this auction, either. Do you hear me?”

“Aye, Pippa,” they all agreed one by one.

She could get away with talking to them like this. The whole lot of them were like brothers to her. “Each of you will be shaved, showered, and kilted. And the stink of bluidy fish had better not be on any one of you. Do ye hear?”

“What'd'ya have in mind?” Toag, being an old married man, had nothing to worry about.

“Here's the plan,” Pippa said. “We'll round up every rich, lonely female in Scotland. We'll even reach out to London if we have to. We'll entice them to come to Gandiegow with their purses stuffed with money. And after we've filled them with our best single-malt whisky, we'll sell off you lads for an evening of debauchery to the highest bidders.”

*   *   *

Max McKinley was jarred awake from his nightmare as the plane touched down in Scotland.
The same damn dream every time.
The real, live nightmare he'd lived through at fifteen. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and tried to put the tragedy out of his mind. It always got worse this time of year. God, he hated Christmas.

He gathered his belongings and rushed off the plane. The first order of business was to call Mom and let her know he wouldn't be home for the holidays. She would have a cow. Maybe he should've called before he left. But hell, he'd barely had enough time to pack before MTech had pushed him out the door. It still puzzled him. Max was the new guy. The technical asset. Brand-new in the acquisitions department. Why send him?

Before he went in search of his rental car, he pulled out his phone and delivered the bad news.

“You're what?” His mom came close to blowing a gasket.

“Not coming home for the holidays,” Max repeated.

“Or
won't
? How did you arrange it this time?” There was severity in her Mom-knows-all Texas twang.

He cringed at the truth in her words. But he was thirty-four, for chrissakes. He loved his mom and her heart was in the right place, but she was ruthless when it came to the holidays. He was tired from traveling and tired of the same old argument.

“Come for at least the day,” she said.

Max released the second bombshell. “I can't. I'm in Scotland.”

“You're where?”

“Scotland. For work. Please don't give me a guilt trip over it.” Max sighed heavily into his cell, making sure his mother heard him all the way back in Houston.

She lit into him. “You volunteered for it, didn't you? Found the perfect excuse to get out of Christmas this year.”

“Mom—”

“Your father would've wanted you to move past this. And your brother . . . Well, at least we bought him a wheelchair instead of a casket.”

Max ran a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“You blame yourself about Jake's accident, but—”

He cut her off. “Enough, okay? This trip has nothing to do with the past. It's work.” But both nightmares still felt fresh. Fifteen-year-old boys should not be told their dad was dead on Christmas morning. The television had replayed the oil-rig explosion over and over for the whole day. Max had made it through some rough Christmases since. Then Jake's accident . . .

Mom was the one who sighed heavily this time. “Why couldn't they send someone else?” She could be such a pit bull when it came to family. And Christmas. “Why you?”

Exactly the question he'd asked himself. “I guess MTech wants me to cut my teeth on this deal.” Even though he had no experience as yet in the acquisitions department. It must be trial by fire.

“Well, I hope at least you packed some warm clothes,” Mom said begrudgingly.

“Love you, Mom.” He made his tone let her know he meant it. “Tell Bitsy and Jake I'll call Christmas day.”

After a few more good-byes, he hung up. He got his rental car and started the trek to Gandiegow. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, but the sky was pitch-black, no moon in sight. The northeast coast of Scotland at the beginning of December would take some getting used to. With only the hum of the car to keep him company, the question niggled again. Why had MTech sent him?

Max understood the importance of the new technology he was to evaluate. He was also here to close the deal. Miranda and the rest of the acquisitions department must have had some pretty big Christmas plans to ship Max out alone. The whole thing was crazy, but he hadn't questioned his superiors.
Anything to get out of Christmas.

Yes, this trip had come at exactly the right time. A nice cold visit to Scotland
alone
would be an excellent way to spend the holidays.

The drive took longer than expected to get to the small town—due to the curvy, icy pavement. And then there was the herd of languorous hairy cows dawdling in the road. When Max finally arrived in the village, he parked his rental car in the lot on the edge of town. No vehicles were allowed within the actual city limits. The walking paths were only wide enough for the small carts or wheelbarrows parked here and there in front of doorways. He'd read about this and the many other quirks of the community in the MTech file.

He pulled out his American Tourister, locked his rental car, and rolled his bag toward the sparse civilization of stone cottages. He wasn't in Texas anymore.

The small village of Gandiegow hugged the coastline in an arc with a smattering of houses and buildings. The town looked as if an artist had painted it there to add visual interest to the snow-dusted bluffs rising out of the North Sea.
Before the valve factory, Gandiegow was known for two things: its commercial fishing and most recently its international quilt retreats—Kilts and Quilts, they called it.

Max wheeled his bag over the snow-covered cobblestones until he reached the first building—his destination, the Fisherman. After getting a look at the town, he understood better why there was no hotel. It was a small community, and ancient. He should be happy there was at least a space for him to rent—the room over the pub.

For a moment, he stood peering down the narrow walkway that ran to the other end of town. This strip of concrete was the only thing separating the ocean from the village. He really should go inside the pub—he was freezing his ass off—but he couldn't get over it. One strong wave and the town could be washed away, the sixty-three houses and various establishments pulled out to sea. Who in their right minds would live near such danger looming outside their doors?

He stepped inside the mayhem of the crowded pub and made his way to the bar with his bag in tow. He'd considered staying in Lios or Fairge at one of their bed-and-breakfasts, but he needed to be close to the factory, and it wouldn't hurt to embed himself in this community. He had only a month to win these people over and convince Lachlan McDonnell and his son to make the deal with MTech.

It would be a hell of a partnership. NSV's new subsea shutoff valve had the capability of shutting down an oil-rig leak in seconds and preventing a catastrophic event.
Like the ones that killed my father and many others over the years.
If Max did his job right, the valve would be developed in MTech's sixty-million-dollar research facility and in full production by the end of next quarter.

As soon as he sat on the barstool, a strawberry blonde—
tall, lean, and tempting—materialized in front of him, glancing at his luggage, then peering at him.

“What can I get for ye, Yank?” She had a thick Scottish burr and the most incredible sea blue eyes.

Before he could answer, an inebriated lug pushed Max aside and got in the bartender's face.

“Give us a kiss, Pippa,” the man slurred. “Just one kiss before I have to go home to me wife.”

“Och, ye're stinking drunk, Coby. Back off with ye. Can't you see we have an important guest in our midst? An American.”

“American?” Coby telescoped his head back and forth, trying to get Max in focus.

Max caught him as he fell forward.

“Don't muss the pretty Yank.” She motioned to the group at the end of the bar. “Toag, Murdoch, get Coby home, will ye?”

Max transferred Coby to the others and waited until they were out of earshot. “So I'm pretty, huh?”

“Aye, and you damn well know it.” She gave him a sardonic once-over as if real men were honed during barroom brawls and covered in scars from wrestling with sharks. She plunked a shot glass in front of him and filled it, though he hadn't ordered. “Here's yere drink,
sir
.” She cocked a mocking eyebrow at him.

He didn't let her less than warm welcome bother him. He'd expected some resistance, especially since MTech had tried to buy NSV outright before. Instead, he smiled and reflected how her name, Pippa, suited her. He'd grown up around sassy women—his tough mother, grandmother, and firecracker of a little sister. He wasn't in the least put off by this Scottish lass and her sharp tongue. Actually it was quite the opposite. Her long, curly hair
and perfect curves made this Texas-born man want to know more about—
Pippa.

But he wasn't here to hook up with the local barmaid. He was here to make a deal for the lifesaving valve, which would prove himself to the higher-ups at MTech. Max needed to earn the trust of the Gandiegowans or he'd go home empty-handed.

“Thanks.” He picked up the mystery drink and eyed the caramel-colored liquid before knocking it back. It didn't taste like the Scotch back in the States. It was smoky and burned smooth. He pulled out money for another, enjoying the shocked expression on Pippa's face.

She leaned on the bar, and he couldn't help but notice the tease of her cleavage in her tight green sweater.

“So ye can handle your whisky?” There was an air of respect in her tone and perhaps reverence shining in her sea blue eyes.