The Accidental Scot (7 page)

“You got better, didn't ye?” Pippa sniped.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I'm tired of sleeping.”

“Is there anything else I can get for ye, Da, before I go?” she asked.

Her father pointed. “My design book from the den.”

She squatted down, getting eye to eye with the McDonnell
.
“Listen, ye can't be givin' away all yere secrets to this man.”

Max touched her arm. “
This man
is right here.”

Her da patted her face. “Trust me. Max has a good heart. Who knows what could happen if Max and I collaborate. We might come up with something that could change the world.”

She stood. More likely Max would steal everything and run back to his boss! But she didn't argue. She had to get to the factory and her conference call.

At NSV, Pippa had only a few minutes to organize her employees. She put Bonnie in charge of setting up for the Christmas Roundup tomorrow. Taog and Murdoch were already dragging barriers into place so the children couldn't wander into the dangerous parts of the factory. When Pippa's phone rang, she ran into her office to catch the call from the bank.

The arrogant tossers didn't waste any time delivering their verdict: The bank wouldn't extend their credit any further. She slumped in her chair; it was time to face facts. North Sea Valve was doomed without MTech's influx of cash. But she couldn't just roll over and hand Max the keys. She had to do something.

An idea hit her.

Before going any farther on the MTech deal, she'd make sure Max got to know the people of Gandiegow, those who'd be destroyed when the big corporation stripped NSV of all its value. Pippa would start tomorrow. She'd show the Yank the true meaning of Christmas on the faces of the Gandiegowans, and thus reveal the heart of her clan—one personal encounter at a time.

She returned to her office and practiced what she would say to him. “Business isn't just business in Gandiegow, Mr. McKinley. Business is personal.”

W
hen the front door opened to the McDonnell's house, Max checked his watch, wondering if this time it was Pippa. He'd enjoyed his time with her father and the others who'd stopped by today, but Max was surprisingly anxious to see the chief engineer. Like sunshine, Pippa appeared in the parlor doorway, revitalizing his day. Her face was flushed from the cold wind, exertion, or both. She looked beautiful. More than beautiful.

He couldn't help smiling. “You're back early.”

She shrugged out of her coat and kissed the top of her father's head. “I am back early. I did all I could do at the factory. I stopped by the dock to pick up some fresh fish.” She held up a white-papered package.

“Halibut?” the McDonnell asked.

“Aye.”

“Want some help in the kitchen?” Max assumed she'd turn him down but she didn't.

“Sure. As long as you feel up to it.”

“I'm fine.”

Her father tapped his design book. “The lad speaks true. In fact, we came up with several new products to develop.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I should've known.”

The McDonnell didn't look repentant in the least.
“Besides Bethia, Maggie and her sisters stopped by today.”

Max had felt like a rare exhibit at the zoo with the number of women who came to peer at him. He stood and stretched. “Bread is rising in the oven.”

“Da, we'll start the meal. Call out if you need anything.” Pippa left the parlor and Max followed.

Once in the kitchen, Pippa got down to business and showed him how to clean the fish and fillet it. He pulled seasonings from the cupboard, prepared the pan, and preheated the oven. She tossed the salad and he made the dressing. Together, he thought, they made a pretty good team.

Dinner went well, the McDonnell telling one embarrassing story after another about Pippa as a young tyrant. By the sounds of it, she'd taken no flak from the snotty girls of the village and even less from the fishermen's sons. Max liked that Pippa could hold her own.

But when the McDonnell complained about her never giving the local men a chance, she defended herself. “The lads were all immature. Da would say you have to kiss a few toads to find Prince Charming.” Her cheeks tinged red. “From my experience, all men are toads.”

“Hey,” Max said. “I take objection to that.”

She nodded to her father. “Present company excluded.” She looked to Max specifically and smiled. “The jury is still out on you.”

The McDonnell laid his napkin on the table. “Ross is no toad.”

Pippa popped up and grabbed an empty serving dish. “We're not speaking of Ross.”

“Ross who?” Max had heard the name whispered at Quilting Central.

“Ross Armstrong,” the McDonnell provided. “Maggie—who was here earlier today—is married to Ross's brother, John. Ross is—”

Pippa shoved the dirty dish at Max. “Come, Yank. Help clear the table.”

Max followed her into the kitchen. “Why don't you want to talk about Ross?” Who was he to her?

“It's a long story.” She acted as if that was the end of it.

“Would you rather tell me or should I go ask your dad about it?” Max took a step like he was going to do just that.

She grabbed his arm. “Start the dishwater and I'll tell you.”

He grinned at her as he retrieved the dish soap. “I'm all ears.”

She frowned at him as if he was one of the toads she was referring to a minute ago.

“I spent a lot of time with the Armstrong lads while growing up. They're like brothers to me. My father and Alistair, their father, were best mates.” She paused as she placed a few dishes in the sink.

“Alistair? You're named after Ross's father?”

“One and the same.”

“But that can't be the end of the story,” Max said.

She crossed her arms over her chest as though she wasn't saying more.

Max picked up the first plate, washed, and rinsed it.
“If that was all, why did you want your dad to drop the subject?”

Her shoulders slumped. She took the dish from him and dried it completely before answering. “Because it isn't worth mentioning.”

Max cocked an eyebrow. Once again he acted like he was going to ask her father.

“Fine. My da and Ross's da had the grand scheme to join the two families by marrying me off to Ross.”

Max stopped washing. He might have stopped breathing as well. It wasn't only that he'd held her hand . . . she was to marry another man!

He finally found his voice. “I don't know what to say.” He wasn't the type of guy to horn in on another man's territory.

Apparently, she didn't know what to say either.

But Max wanted something from her. An explanation might be nice. “So that's the reason for all the whispering at Quilting Central the other day?”

“Aye. The town has nothing better to do than to gossip about when Ross and I are to marry.”

Max grabbed the steel wool and scrubbed the hell out of the baking dish. “And when
are
you getting married?”

She sighed. “I said it's what the town and my father wants. I never said it's what I want.”

And Ross, what did he want?
Max told himself to forget it. He grabbed a dish towel and dried his hands. “I'll get the rest of the dishes.”

He stomped to the parlor.
So Pippa is promised to another man.

“Dishes,” he said to the McDonnell in explanation, though he hadn't asked.

“Can ye leave those for a second and help me? I'm ready for a lie-down in the den.”

“Sure.” Max exhaled and left what he was doing. He stepped behind the wheelchair. “Do you need your oxygen?”

“Not tonight.” The older man leaned his head to the side, speaking over his shoulder. “Ye should stay with us. Take my empty bed upstairs. I can't use it. I'm sure the room over the pub isn't comfortable.”

Max felt like a prick. Didn't the McDonnell understand that his thoughts about his daughter weren't completely innocent? Max had been imagining doing all sorts of things with Pippa only last night. And this morning. And all day long. Apparently, the McDonnell wasn't as good at reading minds as he thought. And didn't the McDonnell take Ross into account when making the offer of Max sleeping under the same roof as his intended?

Max laid a hand on the older man's shoulder. “Thank you, no. I'm fine at the pub.”

“Aye.” The McDonnell nodded. “A man needs his space. Now, take me into the den so I can have mine.”

Pippa stepped into the hall as Max wheeled him out, a mixture of emotions playing on her face. Was she thinking of Ross? Or had one of those emotions been the same disappointment that Max felt, that he and she would be sleeping in separate rooms tonight with the span of the town between them?

Max got her father settled, but when he returned to the hallway, she was waiting with his coat over her arm.

He took it. “I'm being kicked out before the work is done?”

“Nay.” She reached for her coat on the hook behind
her. “The dishes are soaking. I thought to walk you back.”

“I can make it on my own.” He leaned in just close enough to smell the flowery scent of her shampoo.

“We have things to discuss.” She shrugged into her coat and slipped on a stocking cap. “We'll have a drink at the pub.”

“Surely I shouldn't mix alcohol with Bethia's cure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hot tea, Mr. McKinley. The pub serves hot tea. We can discuss our plans for the next few days.”

“Good.” Better to discuss business than the details about her wedding with Ross. “I'd like to get right to work. Make up for the time lost while I was sick.”

Pippa touched his arm. For a second, he thought it was a show of affection, but it was only to get his attention.

“Your scarf. Bundle up. I don't want you on your back again.”

Oh, his libido couldn't help itself . . . On his back was fine as long as she was on top.

They stepped into the cold wind and didn't say a word to each other as they made their way across town.

A crowd had formed at the pub, the noise level closer to what one might expect on a Friday night. Max waited by the bar while Pippa made tea in the kitchen. When she came out with the tray, she motioned for him to follow her up the stairs.

She must've read the surprise on his face. “It'll be quieter up there.”

Nearly every eye in the room was on them as he followed Pippa behind the bar to the steps. Bonnie nudged
a large Scot sitting at the bar, and he glanced over at them.

“Who's that?” Max asked.

Pippa shrugged uncomfortably. “It's Ross.”

The large Scot had a strange look on his face. Surprise? Jealousy? Disappointment? Max couldn't tell which. Hell, maybe it was all of the above.

And shouldn't Pippa care enough about Ross's feelings not to parade Max in front of him like this? He tried to put Ross out of his mind as he followed her up the narrow steps. But Max couldn't help feeling like a heel for lusting after another man's girl. Truthfully, though, she didn't act like an engaged woman. Once again, he recalled their joined hands as they slept.

“What are the townsfolk going to think about you coming up to my room?”
Especially Ross.

She blushed, but in a bristly sort of way, as she pushed open the door. “Let 'em talk. It's not like I'm going to bed with ye. Besides, it's no one's affair except my own what I do in a man's room.”

God, she was sassy, testy, hot. All that lip had him wanting to find out what it would feel like to have her backed up against the door, kissing and—

She gave him a hard glare. “Mind out of the gutter, Mr. McKinley. We've business to attend to.”

Max shut the door behind him. “That can wait. I want to talk about Ross.”

“Well, I don't.”

“That's tough, because we're going to talk about this anyway. If he's your boyfriend, why would you let me hold your hand? Twice.” It was best to get it all out in the open, though it embarrassed the hell out of him. He
wasn't one to discuss his
feelings
. Or anything approximating feelings. She took her time, setting the tea tray down. He could almost see the wheels spinning in her head. “I'd like to know the truth,” Max said. He didn't know why this was so important, but it was.

“This whole notion that I'm promised to Ross—as I told ye—it's not my idea.”

Max pulled her chair close to the bed and motioned for her to sit. “Elaborate.” She hadn't been completely clear about where
she
stood.

She shrugged off his invitation and paced instead. “To me, it would be absurd for us to get married.” She shivered as if the thought chilled her.

Max felt a little appeased. “How does Ross feel about it?” He wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth, but he was going to see this through.

“I believe Ross wants to honor his da's wishes. Alistair died three years ago.” Pippa grabbed the handle on the teapot and poured them both a cup. “Ross is a good man. A good friend, too. He's not someone to make waves. He'd marry me just to keep the town happy.”

Oh, good Lord. Max had stumbled into a regular Peyton Place. “And what about you, Pippa? Are you going to marry Ross because everyone else wants you to?”

“Heavens, no. I've sidestepped marriage this long, I'm sure I can keep sidestepping it for the rest of my life.”

Max breathed easier, knowing he hadn't compromised anything between Pippa and Ross. But he wondered if Ross was completely in the dark about how Pippa felt. Or even worse, was he carrying a torch for her?

Suddenly, it hit Max that he was being ridiculous. His
thoughts had gotten turned upside down and twisted sideways since the moment he'd seen her standing behind the bar on his first night here. He wasn't going to get any more tangled up in her affairs than he already had. He was here to make a deal. Nothing else. No more wishful thinking. No more hand-holding. No more dwelling on how Pippa's lips might feel against his own. He had two objectives—make the deal, then go home.

“It's time to get down to business. MTech's proposal,” he clarified.

“Not MTech's proposal. Not yet. We need to discuss the Christmas Roundup,” she countered.

“The what?”

“The Christmas Roundup. It's what we're doing tomorrow.”

“I don't do Christmas.” The holidays held only dark memories—things he didn't like dredged up.

“If you're in Gandiegow, ye do.”

“Do I dare ask what a Christmas Roundup is?”

“Ye sound like Scrooge.” She handed him his cup of tea and finally sat. “It's for the children. All our employees have contributed things from around the house. When the children come to the factory tomorrow, we'll help them upcycle bits and pieces into gifts for their loved ones. A lot of the kids come from poor families. It's a way for North Sea Valve to give back to the community.” It sounded as though she'd rehearsed this speech. “And you will be there to help. We need all hands on deck to keep track of the lads and lassies of Gandiegow.”

He felt shanghaied. “What about the MTech deal?”

She straightened herself as if the mention of MTech
was the prickly thorn in her backside. “We'll get to it. Right now, Christmas is more important.”

He begged to differ. One of the benefits of coming to Scotland was to
skip
Christmas. He stared back, not saying anything.

She surveyed him closely. “I promise I'll listen to what you have to say about yere MTech deal,
and consider it
, if you help me.”

“Fine.” He guessed doing Christmas crap for one day wouldn't kill him. “But only because you and the others were good to me while I was sick,” he groused. “I normally avoid Christmas like the plague.”