To Scotland With Love (16 page)

Graham pulled away and shielded her with his arm. “Forget it.”

“You know it's bad form.” Duncan's tired eyes lit up
mischievously the same way that his da's did. “Ye're the one who taught me the importance of sharing.”

“Don't forget, wee lad, I'm one of the famous ones.” Graham squeezed her a little tighter. “I don't have to live by the same rules as you do.” Teasing or not, he wasn't giving her up, his hold on her feeling like a pair of vise grips.

“Oh, good grief.” She unlatched herself from Mr. Possessive and put herself back under the mistletoe. “Duncan, get over here.” When Duncan leaned down, she caught the scowl on Graham's face. She gave Duncan a chaste peck on the cheek. “There. Everyone happy now?” Neither one looked it.

“I'd better go help Deydie in the kitchen.” Cait escaped from the room.

Deydie had everything well in hand, standing over the stove. She spoke without turning around. “Wash yere hands and pull the potatoes out.”

Cait went to the sink. “What do you have, Beelzebub? Eyes in the back of your head?”

Deydie cackled and gave the Christmas soup another stir. “Get over here and give the turkey a baste.”

Cait put her hands on her hips. “Seriously, I'm only one person here. I can only do one thing at a time.”

“Stop yere sassing and get it done,” Deydie ordered.

“Slave driver,” Cait mumbled as she grabbed the potatoes from the bin. “And Merry Christmas to you, too.”

At the oven, she squirted juice over the bird and pondered her grandmother. Only a few days ago, she'd taken Deydie's tone and bossiness personally, as if the old woman had it in for her. Now Cait understood that maybe after all her losses, her gran just needed to feel in control. Cait glanced over at her. Deydie looked like the master and commander of the kitchen, a fair bit of
contentment squashed between the wrinkles of her old crabby face. It made Cait's heart soften.

“Get that floor cleaned up,” Deydie barked, breaking Cait's reverie. Gran gave another stir and spoke to the soup. “Graham and his damn tree.”

“I'll get right on it, Ebenezer.” Cait grabbed a rag and started to rub back the sparkle to Deydie's clean floor.

“You missed a spot,” Deydie spat out.

“Nag, nag, nag,” Cait replied and wiped the floor all the way back into the parlor.

Graham and Mattie stood admiring the lighted tree. Over by the sofa, Duncan rummaged through a box, pulling out ornaments. The poor guy looked bone tired.

“Here. Let me help you with that.” She grabbed a wooden snowflake from the box.

“That'd be great,” Duncan replied, collapsing onto the sofa. “I could use a breather.”

Graham turned to his son and gave him a vexed glance. “Why do you look so tired all the time? You're in the prime of your life.”

“Leave it go, Da.” He nodded his head in Mattie's direction. “Not on Christmas.”

The worry line between Graham's brow deepened. “Then go get yourself a tea, Dunc. I'm sure Deydie will allow you in her kitchen by now.”

Cait, determined not to let her own uneasiness show, forced a grin for Duncan. “Yeah, good luck with that, buddy.”

“Tea does sound good. Save the star for me.” Duncan plodded from the room.

Cait caught Graham's eye, shared a concerned look with him, and then tried to let it go. “So what's next?” she said lightly. “I'm here to help.”

“Get the video camera running.” Graham busied himself with adjusting the tree. “I should've had it going earlier.”

She found the camera on the writing desk, flipped it open, and started filming. “Mattie, do you know how to turn on your grandda's stereo? Can you put us on some Christmas music?”

Surprised, Mattie's eyes grew big, as if he'd been told to play with matches. He gave her his most-devoted-servant nod before running from the room.

“I don't allow anyone to mess with my sound system.” Graham grinned even though she knew he was still apprehensive over Duncan. “But I guess I'll make an exception since it's Christmas. Did you see the look on Mattie's face?”

“I got it on film. Recorded for all posterity,” she said proudly.

“Ye're right handy to have around, Caitie Macleod.” Graham came over to her.

“So I've been told.” She kept the camera running.

He leaned down, his chest covering the lens as he gave her a hard and quick kiss. There was power behind it, as if he wanted to reassure himself that everything was going to be all right.

Deydie's voice bellowed throughout the house. “Everyone get yereselves dressed for dinner.”

Graham patted Cait on the rump like a teammate. “Go on now and put on one of your
brown
outfits.” He laughed and shook his head as if it was a private joke.

But the joke would be on him. Cait made her way to the room off the kitchen where she'd hung her clothes.

Deydie had just finished adjusting her McCracken
plaid around her shoulders and was clasping a brooch to hold it.

“You look nice,” Cait remarked.

“Hesh up, now. The food's getting cold.” Deydie hustled from the room.

Cait slipped on the only
non
brown outfit she owned as the butterflies in her stomach kicked up a storm. The red sweaterdress clung to her curves like a Porsche on the Grand Prix. She finished the ensemble with gray tights and Prada heels. Graham would have to eat his words when he saw her in this. She checked herself one more time in the mirror, then went to help put the food on the table.

As she walked into the formal dining room with the last dish, the two Buchanan men sauntered in, wearing their matching kilts and tucked-in white peasant shirts. Cait nearly dropped the mashed potatoes on the marble floor. “Damn,” she drawled.

Between their sporrans, knee-high socks, and those cocky grins on their faces, they were too gorgeous for their own good. And they knew it, too. Their testosterone filled up every molecule in the room.

Then Mattie stepped out from behind the two and stood in front, decked out in an identical outfit.

Her heart melted. “Oh, Mattie,” she cooed, going down on one knee to be at his eye level. “You look grand.”

Though it was completely out of character for Mattie, an air came over him, like he knew he'd be the future laird of the Buchanan clan. Just as self-assured as the other two.

Graham took her hand and pulled her back to her feet, letting go with a low whistle. He gave her the
once-over, twirling her around, taking her in from head to toe and from breast to breast. His eyes hooded like he'd seen exactly what he wanted for Christmas. He'd be put on the Naughty List for thinking it. That seductive smile of his spread over his face as his eyes continued to eat her up. “I see ye've been holding out on me, Caitie.
Red
is your color.”

Deydie bustled into the room with a basket of bread and elbowed Graham. “Stop ogling me granddaughter and sit yere pretty arse down. Ye too, Duncan.”

Duncan nudged his son. “Go on, now, and be a gentleman.”

Mattie took Cait's hand and led her to her chair, pulling it out for her.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said.

He sat beside her. Duncan next to him. Graham took his place at the end of the table on her right. Her gran plopped down opposite Cait, frowning.

“Everyone put yere hats on,” Deydie barked.

Cait passed around the ridiculous paper hats, smiling at the Scottish tradition. Graham took a sparkly black top hat, Mattie a homemade sailor hat and Deydie a flashy pink one. Duncan produced a Santa's cap for himself. Cait grinned at the motley crew as she adjusted her choice, the purple paper crown.

“Graham, say grace,” Deydie ordered, reaching out to him.

They all clasped hands, completing the circle, and bowed their heads. Graham's prayer was simple and sincere—for the meal, for the fishermen's safety, for those less fortunate. Cait hadn't known it until this moment, but she'd missed this tradition—the family praying. She couldn't help but soften a little more toward
God. She took a silent moment to be truly grateful. Graham squeezed Cait's hand when he said, “Amen,” and held on maybe a little longer than he should have.

Deydie kicked Cait under the table.

“Ouch.” Cait rubbed her shin. “What's that for?”

Her gran sneered at her. “Get yere head out of yere nether parts and pass me the pudding.”

“Violence, especially at Christmas, is never called for,” Cait retorted.
Not to mention “netherparts” at the table.

“I feel right bad about it. Now, pass the pudding,” Deydie said.

Mattie's Christmas music played in the background, and they all ate until they were stuffed, like the cooked-to-perfection turkey. When they finished, Duncan showed a burst of energy, getting up and grabbing the dishes.

“As soon as we get these done, we can open presents,” he said. “Right, Mattie?”

Mattie jumped up and stacked their dirty plates together.

Graham removed the turkey platter and turned to Cait. “We do things differently in the Buchanan household,” he explained to her. “Most families in Scotland unwrap their gifts on Christmas Eve.” A mischievous grin filled his face. “But we like to wait, don't we, lads?”

“Da has a thing about torturing people,” Duncan said with his hands full. “As a kid, I always thought he was the cruelest of parents. Still do.”

“Get over it,” Graham said. “You turned out just fine.”

“Hurry up.” Deydie balanced three dishes in her ample arms. “I want to get to me presents.”

Graham laughed. “You know the rule. The one who insists on being first will be last.”

“Hogwash,” Deydie said, hustling from the room.

With all of them helping, even though Duncan looked like a worn-out Santa with circles under his eyes, they got the kitchen back in shape in no time. Then they made their way to the parlor.

Mattie got a present first, a remote control car, and Duncan got his satellite phone next. Graham got a tie from Duncan. Then Cait gave Deydie her present.

With zeal, Deydie discarded the tissue paper covering the potholder. Then she froze. There was a long pause as the gift lay limp in her hands. Deydie's eyebrows folded together like flaps on a box. “For me?” she whispered to the perfectly pieced fabric. Cait thought she saw a tear form.

“Do you like it?” Cait asked, desperately trying to catch her gran's eye.

Deydie flinched. Instead of her gran coming to Cait and giving her the expected Hallmark-moment-hug, her gran harrumphed. She shoved the potholder into her dress pocket as if she'd been given a pair of men's briefs for Christmas.

It felt like an anchor had landed on Cait's chest, and she wanted to slip from the room for a good cry.

Just then, Deydie rocketed out of her chair. For a moment, Cait's hope returned. Maybe they'd share that hug now.

But ole crabby pants wouldn't do thank-yous or hugs. Gran trekked from the parlor, speaking over her shoulder. “Duncan, I'll get yere da's present from the room off the kitchen.” Her voice sounded strange, like she was trying to keep it steady.

Cait stared at the frosted window, hoping to purge her hurt feelings. Graham came and stood beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder, but said nothing. He didn't have
to; his presence was enough to help her feel somewhat better.

Within minutes, Deydie returned with the lidded box, no sign of the emotional turmoil of moments before. She set the present in front of Graham.

“What's this?” He smiled at his son, kneeling down to the box. He opened it, and his smile faded, his back stiffening.

Cait had known it was too soon to replace Precious. Men were so stupid.

“His name's Dingus,” Deydie announced.

“Call him whatever you like,” Cait interjected. “He's your dog.”

Graham just frowned at the pup. “No. Dingus is fine.”

The dog growled.

“What do you think, Da?” Apparently, Duncan was blind to body language. “He's a sheltie, too. I thought he'd make a great replacement for Precious.”

Graham's face tightened. Cait knew he couldn't trust himself to speak.

Duncan finally got a clue. “Ah, bloody hell. If ye don't want him, all ye have to do is say so.” He opened his mouth to say more, except Cait laid a hand on Duncan's arm to stop him.

That's when she noticed Mattie, who was making his way trancelike across the room.

Dingus yipped at him as he got nearer. The boy looked at his dad for permission. When Duncan nodded, Mattie picked up the dog. Dingus wagged his tail and licked Mattie's face.

Deydie plucked a small can of dog food from her other pocket. “How about ye feed the pup?” she said to Mattie
as she popped off the lid. “Get a bowl from under the counter.”

Mattie took the can and left with the dog.

Duncan cleared his throat, getting his father's attention. “Seriously, Da, I'm sure we can find the wee pup a home since you don't want him.” His hostility brewed just below the surface.

Graham's frown deepened into resignation. “It's a fine gift. Thank you, son.” But the accomplished actor didn't pull off his lines.

“Ye two stop yere bickering like a couple of old ninnies and get me my present,” Deydie declared. “Where is it, Graham?”

He sighed, seeming to be straightening out his emotions, while across the room, Duncan, red-faced, deliberately flipped through the instruction manual to his satellite phone.

Finally, Graham reached around the back of the tree and produced a large box. “I'm sure you're not going to like it.” It was obvious he was working at being playful, trying to behave more like himself. He slid the box over to her. “I can always take it back.”

With gusto, Deydie ripped into it, paper flying about like an origami tornado. She froze so completely when she saw it that for a second Cait feared her gran had stopped breathing.