The Accidental Scot (20 page)

At the bottom of the flyer was the address: www.KiltsAndQuilts.com.

“I will,” Miranda said.

“Max will be in the McKinley tartan, of course. Deydie has Sophie making it; she's one of our local lasses, who recently married a laird.”

“The McKinley tartan?” Miranda asked.

“Deydie has everything organized over at Quilting Central. She's letting us locals cheat a bit. She has swatches of every kilt and the name to go with it so we'll know who we're bidding on. The out-of-towners won't have a clue.”

“I don't understand. Why wouldn't you know who you're bidding on?” Miranda asked.

Bonnie laughed. “A curtain will be drawn halfway
down, so when our lads come on stage, the only things we'll see are their kilts and their legs. It makes for a bit of fun to auction them off that way. Don't ye think?”

Miranda thought it was asinine. “So where are these swatches exactly?”

Bonnie stopped short and chewed on her lip as if she'd said too much. “Ye're not a local. Deydie did, after all, only want us to know.”

“Don't worry,” Miranda assured her. “I have nothing nefarious up my sleeve. I just wanted to see the different colors of plaid. I think Scotland's system of the clans is very interesting.” What a line she was feeding this woman.

“Bonnie?” a man at the end of the bar called. “I need a refill.”

Bonnie looked relieved. “Sorry. Gotta go.”

“Fine. Go ahead.” Miranda swung back around, sipping her whisky, while eyeing her employee. She was clever enough to find out which tartan Max McKinley was going to wear, all on her own.

*   *   *

Pippa lay awake in her bed, listening, hating herself for waiting for Max to come home. He'd turned out to be a bastard like all the other bastards she'd known over the years. She should thank Miranda for clueing her in. But still, Pippa had her ear tuned to the third step from the top, the one that creaked when stepped upon. She pulled the clock over and gazed at the time. One a.m.

Where was he?

Dread was tucked around her as if it were a quilt. Only a quilt didn't make her queasy.

She couldn't take it anymore. She crawled out of bed
and dressed in jeans, a thick sweater, and warm socks. She had to know. She opened her door quietly and made her way down the steps, skipping the third one from the top. At the front door, she quietly slipped into her boots and snuck out into the night.

She knew what she would find at Thistle Glen Lodge, but knowing didn't stop her. She had to see for herself. When she caught Max in Miranda's bed, then Pippa would truly be able to let him go, once and for all.

Keeping to the shadows, she stole across town, though who would be out at this hour and in this cold weather was beyond her.
Only the completely deranged.
Acid churned in Pippa's stomach, but she moved on.

When she got to the quilting dorm, sure enough, the light was on in the back bedroom. She tried looking in the window, but the double-lined curtains were pulled tight. Pippa went around front and quietly opened the front door and tiptoed inside.

She heard Miranda talking. She inched forward.

“Yes, Roger. Of course, I can cut my vacation short and go to France.”

Pippa peeked in the room. Miranda's back was to her and she was packing her suitcase. No one else was there.

“I'll leave in the morning.” Miranda hung up and laid her phone on her bed, next to her folded slacks.

Relief swept through Pippa, but other emotions nipped on its heels.
Limbo.
She'd both wanted and not wanted Max to be there. If he'd been there, then she could write him off forever. But now?

She sagged and backed away silently, ashamed for coming. She wasn't the kind of lass to lurk outside of bedrooms and spy.

As she made her way home, the question that had kept her awake came back to her full-force.
Where is Max?

*   *   *

Max woke on Andrew's sofa with a helluva hangover, a crick in his neck, and the smell of coffee in the air. He wondered if he could lie here forever and not rejoin the human race. He should've found a way to get out of this godforsaken town last night instead of finding Andrew and tying one on. The nice thing about his new friend, he hadn't probed, hadn't asked why Max had near poisoned himself with alcohol.

Max tried rolling to his side, but the pounding in his head stopped him. One thing was for sure, he would do whatever it took to avoid Pippa today. Whatever they'd had—a good time or something more serious—was over.
The end.
The thought made his chest ache.

The Episcopal priest wandered into the tidy living room. “Ye look terrible.” He set a mug on the coffee table, and went to stand near the fireplace. He pointed at his cup. “God's brew. Drink up.”

“Thanks.” Max dropped his feet to the floor and made his way upright, cringing. “And thanks for letting me crash here last night.” He picked up the mug and took a sip.

Andrew nodded and drank, too. “What's on yere list for today?”

“Tying up loose ends.”

Last night after Pippa had dropped the E-bomb—
engagement
—there was no way he could go back to her house . . . sober, anyway. But then when he was drunk, he knew he couldn't go that way either. This morning, he'd
make his way to her house and clear his things out. Move back to the pub—the McDonnell or no. “I better get going.” Surely Pippa was at the factory by now. He didn't want to go to her house, but he might as well get it over with. He couldn't feel any worse than he did already.

“If ye're hungry, scones are wrapped in foil on the stove. Help yereself. Stay as long as ye like. I have a visit to make first thing this morning.”

Max nodded, but he shouldn't have. Pain ripped through his head.

Andrew said good-bye and left him alone. Max finished his coffee, folded the quilt, and put it at the end of the couch. He found his coat in the hall closet and his boots on the rug by the door.

Surprisingly, the crisp air outside soothed his head. At Pippa's door, he hesitated only a moment before going inside. The house was quiet. He started to peek in on the McDonnell in the den when Pippa appeared at the end of the hall.

She stopped short as if he were an apparition.

He put his hand up. “Don't worry. I'm only here to get my things and then I'll be gone.”

Panic filled her face and he didn't know why. She didn't care about him. She was Ross's problem now.

But Max couldn't stand to see her upset. “I'm moving, but only back to the pub.”

Relief washed the panic away. But then she schooled her emotions. “I see. What about my da?”

Max walked toward her, speaking more softly. “What about him?”

“He wants ye here.”

Max was directly in front of her now. God, he loved the slew of freckles across her nose. He shifted his eyes to hers. “I'll handle your father.” He tried not to think about the consequences, how the MTech deal might be affected if he didn't do exactly as the McDonnell wanted. Would he encourage Pippa to call the whole thing off? But Max had to think about himself, too, and how he would be affected if he stayed.

“Then ye better go speak with him. He should be awake.”

But before he could head to the den, he received a text. He glanced at his phone. “Miranda's off to France.”

“Good.” But Pippa didn't seem surprised by the news.

“MTech has its sights set on a small valve company near Paris.” Another company to buy and dismantle.

She headed for the stairs. “Ye go talk to my father. I have to change. I'm needed at the factory.” She ran up the steps and out of sight.

Max tapped on the den door and peeked in when he didn't get an answer. The McDonnell sat in his wheelchair staring out the window.

He knocked harder and stepped in. “Morning, sir.” This conversation was going to be damned awkward, but by God, he could avoid only one McDonnell at a time. And he needed to set the older man straight.

“McKinley.” The McDonnell nodded to the doorway.
“She's gone then? I got the feeling she wanted to dodge ye at all costs. Did ye two have a row?”

Yes, we had a row! She freaking wants to marry someone else!
Max gave a noncommittal grunt instead and then chose the chair directly across from the McDonnell.

“We need to talk.” Gone was the McDonnell's anger of yesterday. He seemed more subdued.

Max schooled his features. “Yes, sir, we do.”

“Don't call me
sir.
Call me Lachlan.”

Max leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, not knowing how to start.

The older man began first. “I wanted to thank ye.”

Max jerked upright. “For what?” For making love to his daughter? “I haven't done anything that deserves thanks.”

“I know about the auction and why it's taking place.” The McDonnell picked up his glass of water and gulped. “Abraham let it slip. But it wasn't until last night that I heard ye were in it, too.” The McDonnell looked directly into Max's eyes. “And ye, of all people, didn't have to be part of it.”

Max felt uncomfortable, wishing for a way to escape.

The McDonnell raised a hand. “That's all I wanted.”

Max understood what the words had cost the McDonnell and he had to say something, even if it was a lie. “I'm glad to do it.” And suddenly, Max was surprised that he was. He'd come to care for Pippa's father, actually all the people of Gandiegow. He admired their close-knit community. It was only right to band together with them to help this proud man.

The McDonnell tilted his head to the side. “Ye had something to say as well?”

Might as well get it over with.
“Yes, sir. I mean, Lachlan, sir.” God, he was fumbling over his words like a scared teenager. “I hope you know that I respect you, but sir, I'm not going to stay here at your house. I can't.”

For the moment, the McDonnell lifted his eyebrow as if stronger men wouldn't dare go against him.

“I'm moving back to the room over the pub.”

The McDonnell deflated. “I guessed ye would.”

Pippa walked into the room. She seemed to take in the scene and glared at Max as if he'd caused more injury to her father. “Da, I'm off. I'll take out the garbage on the way. Mr. McKinley?”

Max exhaled. “Fine. I'm leaving. Good-bye, Lachlan.”

Pippa's glare intensified.

Max walked from the room. She waited until they were out the front door before railing on him.

“What did ye do to my da? What did ye say?”

Max wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about Ross and being engaged. Instead, he reached out and carefully wound her scarf around her neck, knowing exactly how she would react. She stilled. Max had thrown her off guard, but only to prove a point.

“Maybe it's time to admit that Ross isn't the right man for you.”

O
ver the next week or so, Max saw Pippa, but they didn't speak. He was a freaking saint, giving Pippa the space she'd asked for. Seeing her and not being with her was hell. Maybe he should've gone back to Houston while MTech's legal team and Pippa hashed out the final negotiations. But he didn't want to miss being here if he was needed. But if he'd thought sleeping across town would keep him from agonizing over her, he'd been dead wrong.

He'd seen her at the factory while he helped Taog in the machine shop. He'd caught glimpses of her at the restaurant and around town. Pippa had even ruined church for him, the one place that should be a sanctuary from hurt and pain. But at the Christmas pageant, he'd watched as Pippa sat with Ross and his family. It had been pure torture. Max looked for signs, actions, anything, trying to figure out if Pippa was truly meant for Ross. He saw none of it.

Max trudged into Quilting Central with his borrowed tools, ready to meet up with Abraham Clacher to finish up the stage. But as he made his way to the back, he overheard Bethia talking to Deydie.

“I've handed out the assignments for the big wedding.”

Ross and Pippa's wedding?

“Which ones?” Deydie asked.

“Claire will bake the cake. Amy is looking into decorations. Maggie is working on an invitation list.”

“Good. Good.” Deydie patted her dress pocket. “I have a few chores to hand off meself.”

This wasn't the first whisper of something big that was about to happen, but it was the most definitive. He needed out of here. There was only so much a man could take. He crouched down, grabbed a nail, set it, and pounded the hell out of it.

The door to Quilting Central opened, and as his lousy luck would have it, Pippa waltzed in. He stopped and watched as she made her way to her sewing machine across the room.

Abraham cleared his throat.

“Fine,” Max groused. He picked up another nail, placed it, and whacked it. He just didn't understand himself. Why did her engagement feel like a betrayal? He'd known from the beginning that Pippa and Ross were promised to each other.

But he knew why.
She told me outright she wasn't going to marry him!
Max grabbed another nail and abused the lumber with his hammer, doing his best to ignore her.

He heard his name. When he looked up, Ailsa and Aileen, the twins, were making their way over. Ailsa handed him a slip of paper.

“What's this?” He opened it. There was an address on the inside.

“Deydie asked us to take care of a few things,” she said.

Aileen took over. “We wondered if ye'd be willing to run an errand for us . . . to Inverness.”

“It'll be ready when you get there. It's just some fabric we need,” Ailsa said.

Max wiped the dust from his jeans. A little road trip might be just what he needed. He looked to Abraham, who was listening.

“Go on, Yank. I can finish this up without ye.”

Max put the slip of paper in his pocket. “Sure, ladies. I can pick up the fabric. Is it for the next quilting retreat?”

“Nay, we've made up a design, ye see,” Aileen said. “Sister and I like to work on new things.”

Ailsa clamped onto his arm excitedly. “We ordered it special. It's the fabric for Pippa's wedding dress.”

*   *   *

Bethia was talking to her, but Pippa was only half listening. She was more interested in what Ailsa and Aileen were saying to Max that had him red in the face.

“It's time to get serious, Pippa,” Bethia said. “The auction is only days away.”

Bethia wasn't the only one to have scolded her in the past week.

“I know.” Pippa picked up two more pieces of fabric. Didn't these women know she had a factory to run? And didn't they realize that she'd slept little since Max was no longer in her life? And it wasn't the good kind of
not
getting sleep either. Pippa cuddled up with his damned red T-shirt every night as if the man himself was in it. And every morning, she'd shoved it back under her pillow for safekeeping. Ridiculous, aye, but ridiculous was what she'd become.

She glanced up again at Max, but this time he wasn't
clear across the room. He was marching her way, his eyes blazing a hole in her middle. She automatically stood.

He took her hand and slapped a piece of paper in it. “Get it yourself.”

She was speechless. Those were the first words he'd said to her since he'd adjusted her scarf that night outside her house.

He stomped away, grabbed his coat off the hook, and stormed out.

Before Bethia could answer, Moira sidled up to Pippa, too. “Freda called, looking for you. Ye're needed at the factory.”

Pippa reached for her mobile. The screen was dark. She'd forgotten to charge it last night before falling asleep with Max's red T-shirt.

Pippa turned to Bethia apologetically. “Sorry. I'll get the quilt done. I promise. I only have two more blocks to go.”

Moira took the fabric that Pippa had clutched in her other hand and smoothed it out. “Don't worry. I'll work on it while ye're gone. I'll get Amy, Ailsa, and Aileen to help piece it together.” Moira picked up the engineering pad beside the sewing machine. “I'll make sure to follow yere pattern and use the right tartan on the right house block.”

“But—”

Moira laid a hand on her arm. “'Tis the only way. When it's done, I'll get the quilt top on the longarm machine.”

“Are ye sure?” Pippa said to Moira.

“Aye. Now, go.”

Pippa put on her coat and slipped out with Max's
piece of paper still in her hand. She'd have to ask the twins later if they could tell her what it meant.

As she made her way through town and then to the factory, she wondered where Max had gone off to. When she arrived at NSV, she found Freda in Pippa's office at work at the little café table that they'd reived from Quilting Central. Papers were spread all over the floor.

“What's going on? Is there trouble?” Pippa said.

“Aye, trouble.” Freda answered. “I've been going through this notebook I found of the McDonnell's where he kept a list of factory expenses. The man is a brilliant engineer but he doesn't know a thing about running a business. I figured out why NSV is having financial problems.”

Pippa leaned over her shoulder, staring at the notebook as well. It felt good to know she wasn't the only one trying to work things out. “What did ye find?”

“The damn bastard—excuse my language—made the company cash poor. The number one mistake made by small businesses.”

Pippa was a little stunned. She tried to form the right question for Freda.

“Don't look so shocked. I've been reading books on business, accounting, and finance for several years now. In case I could help yere da out. But the bluidy pigheaded Scot never let anyone look at the books.” Freda slammed the notebook shut. “It'll take a month of Sundays, but I'll get this worked out.”

“Thank God.” It was one less thing for Pippa to do.

Freda still hadn't been back to the house, and neither she nor Da was saying why. Pippa was disappointed; she liked the idea of her da having someone, and she wanted
Freda to be happy. But whatever had gone wrong, Freda seemed determined to move forward. Pippa only wished she could find that kind of determination. She had a lot to learn from the woman who had taken care of her for her whole life.

Pippa laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ye're a godsend, Freda. Ye know that, don't ye?”

“Aye. But ye won't think me much an angel after ye review the expense sheet I set on yere desk.”

“I'll get right on it.” Pippa sat down and pulled the sheet to her, but then stared at the new filing cabinet, remembering.

Freda put down her pen. “What's going on? Ye seem distracted.”

“Oh.” It was all Max's fault.

Freda still looked on expectantly. She loved her, but Pippa couldn't talk about her troubles. Hell, she couldn't even articulate them to herself intelligently. So instead, she came up with an excuse. “The auction is coming up. There's a lot to do.”

Freda stared at her matter-of-factly. “Ye're not fooling me. I hope ye're not fooling yereself either. I've heard the whispers around town. Don't waste yere life doing what others expect of ye. Ye've got to find yere own happiness in this world.”

Pippa was taken aback. Quiet Freda had learned to roar like a lion.

“I
have
been living by my own rules.” At least until Max had come along. Pippa changed the subject and tried again with Freda. “Tell me what happened with you and Da.”

“Nay. Just heed my advice, dear one.”

“I will.” Pippa wasn't up to sharing the truth . . . that the wedding the town thought would take place would never happen. She should feel good that at least she'd worked it out with Ross. But instead, inexplicable sadness filled every corner of her life. In her heart, in her head, and through her eyes . . . specifically in the direction of the south wall, in the vicinity of the filing cabinet.

*   *   *

Max stretched out on the twin bed with his tablet in hand. Tonight, he was sequestering himself in the room over the pub and not showing up at Cait and Mattie's going-away party. Sure, he liked them, but he'd had enough of seeing Pippa with Ross. Max slid his finger across the screen, ready to use his evening to catch up on trade journals.

A knock sounded at the door.

“It's open,” Max hollered.

Andrew stepped in. “Aren't ye ready yet?”

“For what?” Max played dumb and tapped to the next screen.

Andrew snatched Max's coat from the back of the chair and tossed it to him. “Here. We don't want to be late.”

“I'm not going,” Max said.

The priest folded his hands in front as if he was getting ready to pray, though it didn't match the determination on his face. “Was I there for you when ye needed a friend? Did I let ye brood without asking questions? And did I not open my home to you and let ye sleep it off on my sofa?”

“Seminary teach you the art of guilt?”

“Ye owe me.” Andrew looked so miserable.

Apparently he needed reinforcements if he had to be around Moira tonight. It seemed the only job the women of Gandiegow excelled at was making the men miserable. At least these two men anyway.

“I guess I have no choice then.” Max stood and slipped on his coat. “You sure don't pull any punches.”

“I have to be at the party, and ye're expected there as well.”

Max didn't care that several people had ordered him to be there. He wasn't in the habit of being bossed around. Except since he'd arrived in Gandiegow.

“Ready?”

“Aye. As ready as I'll ever be.”

They walked the few yards to Dominic and Claire's restaurant, climbed the stairs to the grand dining room on the second floor, and found all of Gandiegow in attendance. Christmas had been scattered about the room by way of green and red plaid bows, garland, and decorated trees in every corner.

Max turned to Andrew. “Are those the Christmas trees from North Sea Valve?”

“Aye. I saw Taog and Murdoch delivering them this morning.”

“Father.”

“Father.”

Ailsa and Aileen were calling after the Episcopal priest.

“You're being summoned,” Max said. “I'm going to get something to drink.” Something strong. But on his way to the table, he saw Mattie looking at the multicolored cards in his hands.

“Hey, what's that you have there?” Max asked.

“Party cards,” the boy said.

“What are party cards?”

Instead of explaining, Mattie handed them over. They were blue, pink, and green, and there seemed to be talking points printed on them.

“Conversation starters?” Max had read an article once about ways to break the ice at cocktail parties with a list of talking points. Mattie's cards were geared toward kids.
What is your favorite subject in school? What's your favorite color? Who's your favorite character in a book?
“Emma made these for you?”

“Aye. For practice.”

Max handed them back. “I get that the blue ones are for boys, the pink ones are for girls. What are the green ones for? Gardeners?”

Mattie laughed. “Adults.”

Max pointed to the cards. “Fire away then.”

The kid pulled out a green card, but didn't seem to be reading it. “Who do you love most in the world? Who do ye want to marry?”

The question took Max off guard. “Let me see that card.”

But Mattie held it to his chest. “Who?”

Max's eyes unwittingly traveled around the room until they fell on Pippa. She stood with Ross, Ramsay, Kit, and Maggie. Kit, the matchmaker, was watching him. Had she put Mattie up to asking him this question?

Max turned back to Mattie. “I love Betty Crocker.”

Mattie's face screwed up. “Who's that?”

“She makes the best cakes in the world. Now let's go over to the cake table and get some. Okay?”

Mattie shoved the green card back in his deck and followed Max. But halfway there, Cait called for Mattie to join her and the quilting ladies. Deydie was glued to Cait as if she was her other half. The old woman looked miserable, but seemed to be trying to put a good face on it for everyone. But her sadness was as evident as the Christmas decorations around the room.

Max picked up a piece of cake and headed for a chair to eat it in peace. He'd shoveled in only one bite before Glenna ran over to him.

“Can I speak with you, Mr. Christmas?” Her voice was sweet, but a frown crowded her innocent face.

“What is it, peanut?” This girl was something special. He'd bet she'd be a heartbreaker one of these days.

She climbed up in the chair next to his. “Did ye talk to Santa Claus as I asked? Christmas is almost here, but cousin Moira doesn't seem even the wee-est bit happier.” Glenna leaned closer. “I'm afraid.”