To Scotland With Love (17 page)

Graham started explaining excitedly, like he was the one who'd gotten an amazing present. “It's like Caitie's. I thought you might want to have one, too. I got one for all the quilting ladies.”

“But . . .” Deydie started. “It's so . . .” She didn't finish. She jumped up and threw her wide body at Graham, wrapping her pudgy arms around his middle in a bear hug.

Cait slumped against the couch and bit her lower lip.

That hug should've been mine, not his.
It stung.

Then Deydie smacked his arm. “Ye're too extravagant for yere own good, Graham Buchanan.”

“But you love me anyway, ole bird,” he said with affection.

Deydie turned to Duncan. “Help me get this thing out of the box. I want to take a look at it.”

Mattie wandered back in with the sated puppy hanging under his arm like a football. He sat down and rolled the dog into the hem of his shirt, ready for more presents. Dingus snuggled against the boy, his tongue hanging out like a pink flag.

Graham pulled another gift from the tree, much smaller this time. “How about one for you, Caitie?” He placed it in her lap. “It's from me and the lads.” He nodded toward Duncan and Mattie.

She stared dumbfounded at the plaid wrapping paper and gold ribbon for a moment. Finally, she looked up at him. “Don't tell me you actually wrapped a present all by yourself,” she said.

He gave her a soft, gentle smile. “Go on, now. Open it.”

She peeled back the paper, and her breath caught in her chest. She smoothed her fingers over her mother's image. “Mama,” she managed, before tears filled her eyes.

“Do ye like it?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, his face anxious.

She held it to her heart and gazed at him. “It's the best gift I ever got,” she said honestly.

“What is it?” Deydie rose from behind her new sewing machine.

Cait swiped at a tear and smiled up at him. “It's a picture of me and Mama.”

Deydie waddled over to her. “Let me see that.”

“I found it in my mother's photo album,” Graham explained. “My ma and yours were friends. Did you know that?”

Deydie studied the picture, her voice hoarse. “Ye were a wee kipper back then, Caitie. A handful, like Nora at that age.” She ran a craggy finger over Cait's small image. “Nora had made ye that little yellow pinafore and dress from some fabric of mine.” Her gran didn't give the frame back to Cait, instead carefully propping it on the end table. “I haven't given ye my gift yet.”

With her voluminous rump up in the air, Deydie dug under the tree. She produced a package wrapped in white tissue paper with a piece of cotton fabric tied around it.

Cait carefully undid the makeshift ribbon and pulled off each piece of tape, savoring the anticipation of getting a gift from her gran.

“Ye're too slow.” Deydie snatched it away and ripped it open. She dropped it back in Cait's hands.

It was a simple patchwork lap quilt.

“It's all I had time to make on short notice,” Deydie complained.

“It's beautiful.” Cait recognized several of the fabrics—a piece from Deydie's curtains, a swatch from her comforter, a bit from her apron.

Deydie pointed at a yellow gingham quilt block. “That's the fabric from your pinafore. And the blue floral next to it is a piece from Nora's dress in that picture.” Deydie stepped back. “I put all the rest of Nora's scraps in that quilt there. To clean out my stash,” she added, making it sound as if she hadn't taken love and care in creating for her granddaughter the most special quilt ever.

Cait held it up, her eyes filling with tears once again. Warmth wrapped around her like she'd been swathed in a blanket fresh from the dryer. “Oh, Gran.” She jumped up and grabbed Deydie into a hug before her gran could stop her. “Thank you so much.”

Graham leaned against the wall. “And I only got a thank-you.”

Cait kept her arms around her gran for a moment longer. “You can wait,” she said to him.

“Off with ye.” Deydie pushed Cait away. “I have to figure out that contraption Graham gave me.”

Deydie lumbered away, not meeting Cait's eyes. That was okay. Cait had gotten her hug.

“Is the lovefest over?” Duncan stood. “I think there's another gift or two for Mattie under the tree.” He went and sat next to his son as they pulled out presents for the two of them.

Cait cuddled up on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her new quilt and put the framed picture of her mama in her lap.

Graham waded through the ever-growing pile of discarded boxes and ripped-up paper to where she sat. “Scoot over.”

“Santa doesn't like bossy Nellies,” she quipped.

“I have a whole year to be bad before it matters again.” He sat close beside her and quietly spoke to her. “Having a nice day?”

“Perfect.” She felt as content as Dingus looked, tucked in Mattie's arms, taking a snooze. “It beats being alone in my big empty house back in Chicago, surrounded by all those sympathy cards.”

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “There's nothing to say.” She stared at the fireplace, Christmases past bombarding her memory. Last year, Tom had sneaked out without saying a word. Undoubtedly to slip his yule log into his latest squeeze. At the time, though, Cait had convinced herself he'd gone to the office to get some urgent work done. She'd been left alone with a dirty kitchen as her only company. He hadn't even opened the gifts she'd bought for him.

Graham, that astute bugger, slipped his hand into hers. He had such a lovely way of comforting her.

“Keep yere hands where I can see them,” said eagle-eyed Deydie.

“Yes, ma'am.” Graham pulled his hand out in the open.

Soon all the presents were unwrapped. Graham helped Mattie clean up the paper with Deydie following behind them, bellowing orders.

Duncan took the chair next to Cait. “I delivered your package to Moira's house this morning. I felt right juvenile for ringing the doorbell and hiding.” Cait noticed a large black-and-blue bruise on his arm.

“So she got it, then?” Cait asked, deciding not to ask about the bruise.

“Aye. You should've seen it. Moira gasped, she was so happy,” Duncan whispered. “It was a good idea, Caitie. The pup will be a blessing to both of them.” The telling seemed to drain all of his energy from him. He withered before Cait's eyes. “I wish Da had had the same response.”

“Give him time.” She laid a hand on his upper arm. “He's still grieving for Precious. Once he sees how adorable Dingus is, he's going to love him.”

There was a
grrrr
from behind Deydie's sewing
machine. One end of Graham's new tie was caught underneath the machine and the other end was in Dingus's mouth, a makeshift tug-of-war taking place.

“
Adorable
,” Graham said mockingly. He stood behind Cait, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Toss him out in the snow, then,” Duncan grumbled, rising. “I'm going to have a lie down. Send Mattie to get me when it's time to roast chestnuts.”

With a frown on his face, Graham ambled over and removed his tie from the floor. The dog shot a series of rapid-fire barks at him.

He exhaled loudly. “What am I going to do with this damn dog?”

“Give him love and attention?” she offered sarcastically.

“I told you I'm going on location right after Hogmanay. I'll be gone at least the whole month of January. Probably longer.”

A pit formed in the middle of Cait's stomach. Even though she wouldn't admit it under the threat of torture, she'd miss Graham when he was gone. She wanted to offer to watch Dingus to help out, but that would only make her more connected to Graham. And she might've become too attached to him already.

He picked up the dog and looked him in the eye. “Ye're no Precious.”

Cait defended the cute mutt. “He's a sweet little fellow. You took Precious with you while you traveled. You can take Dingus, too.”

“Precious was well trained.”

Dingus chose that moment to cut loose and pee on his new master, a long stream arcing out and soaking his white peasant shirt.

“Dammit! Here. You take him.” Graham thrust the dog at Cait.

“No way. He's yours.” She jumped up, getting her quilt away from the residual dribbles, and joined Deydie in the dining room, where her new sewing machine had been moved. She spent the next hour helping her gran get acquainted with the features of her Christmas present.

When Duncan got up, they all gathered back in the parlor around the fireplace. Graham had changed into a T-shirt and a gray utility kilt. He sat in his wingback chair by the fire. Duncan instructed Mattie on how to roast the chestnuts while Deydie hovered above them, belting out instructions.

Graham leaned over and whispered to Cait. “I taught Duncan how to roast chestnuts when he was about Mattie's age. It's all in the wrist.”

When it was done, they filed into the media room to watch the Queen's speech. Then the movie marathon began, Mattie falling asleep during
Little Drummer Boy
.

Duncan bundled the limp boy into his arms. “Do you mind, Da, letting him stay? I'll get the nets early and then be back to get him.”

“You stay, too,” Graham said.

“Nah. I like my own bed,” Duncan replied. Cait knew it was more than that.

“After you tuck Mattie away, come back down. I want to talk to ye,” Graham said.

Duncan glowered at his father and left the room.

A few minutes later, he came back in, looking dead on his feet.

“Out with it,” Graham said. “What's going on with you?”

“Don't worry yourself over it. I've got it under control,” Duncan retorted.

“What? Like when you broke your leg and couldn't fish?” Graham paced back and forth. “If Rhona hadn't called me, you would've lost your boat.”

“It's my life,” Duncan said.

“You're wrong.” Graham had a sad look on his face. “We're all connected. When you hurt, I hurt. Now, out with it. Is your business in trouble again? Is that why you look so tired all the time? I hate to say it, son, but you look like shite. Do I need to get a doctor in here to take a look at you?” Graham reached for his phone.

“I've seen a doctor.” Duncan paused for a long moment. “Another opinion isn't going to change anything.” He looked squarely at his da with both belligerence and sadness written on his face. “I have leukemia. Merry Christmas.”

“N
o!” Graham bellowed so loud that the family portraits shook on the wall.

Deydie hobbled from the room, tears winding through the wrinkles on her cheeks.

Poor Duncan,
thought Cait. Death and sickness had stalked her all the way to Scotland and found its next victim.

Graham paced in front of the large screen. “Ye're only tired, Duncan. That's all. Rest more.”

Duncan looked wilted. “Da, the tests were conclusive.”

Graham stopped suddenly. “We'll see another doctor. A better doctor. Get a second opinion.”

Duncan shook his head. “The second and third opinions agreed with the first.”

“You haven't seen my physician. I'm going to get Dr. Jackson on the next plane here.”

Cait went and stood by Graham. When he reached for his phone, she laid her hand over his. “Duncan, what is the prognosis?” she asked.

Graham looked at her as if she'd betrayed him. “Prognosis?” He spewed the word like it was poison.

“Acute-blast phase,” Duncan said flatly.

“What does that mean?” Cait asked.

Graham turned his anger on her. “It means nothing. We're not even sure he's sick.” He turned to Duncan—a desperate man, clinging to a rocky precipice.

“It means I'm very sick.”

Graham stared at him in disbelief. “Stop saying that. We'll get you to Mayo Clinic or Guy's and St. Thomas'.”

“No, Da. I'm off on the morrow. For a week. I got into a study—an experimental trial at the University of Aberdeen. It's the only treatment available to me at this point. Rhona has agreed to stay with Mattie.”

“Rhona?” Graham yelled. “Why not his own grandda?”

“You said you're going on location on Wednesday.”

Graham did hit speed dial then. “Sid?” A pause. “Cancel all of my commitments for the next month.” There was a longer pause. “I don't care about contracts. Just do it.” He pocketed his phone.

The two Buchanan men glared at each other.

Cait stuck herself between them. “Duncan, I'll help out, do whatever I can.”

Graham spoke before Duncan opened his mouth. “Yes, good. Caitie, you'll take care of Mattie.” It wasn't a question. “I'll be going to Aberdeen, too.”

Duncan tried to speak, but Graham beat him to it once again. “I'll take no argument from you,” he said.

Duncan hauled himself from the room, scowling at his father on the way.

Cait put her hand on Graham's arm. He didn't look at her, his eyes glued to the doorway his son had just passed through. “Go home,” he finally said.

She stared at his face. She knew that look. He was ticked off—at God, at life, at the whole universe. When
Mama died, Cait had cornered the market on that look. Cait tried one more time. “I should stay.” It wasn't about the two of them. She just wanted to give him comfort.

But when she moved to put her arms around his waist, he sidestepped.

“I mean it. Go home, Caitie.”

Dingus, who'd been lying quietly on Precious's fluffy bed, perked up his ears at his master's terse tone and whined. It was the wrong move on the puppy's part. Graham grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa. For a second, Cait worried he might lob it at the dog. Instead, he let it fall near the fireplace. He picked up the dog and unceremoniously plopped him on the throw pillow. Dingus growled.

“Stay,” the master said, assuming the dog would do as he was told. Graham began switching off the lights.

Dingus stuck his nose in the air and pawed his way defiantly back over to Precious's pillow. He circled three times and dropped into a puppy
C
in the middle of the fluff. He was asleep before his master turned off the last light.

Cait didn't know what to do. Graham shouldn't be alone.

He stood in the doorway of the parlor, glaring at her. “Deydie needs you.” The underlying
I don't
came through perfectly clear.

She gathered up her new quilt and took Mama's framed picture from the table. “Thank you for this.”

He stared right through her and then walked away.

When she went to fetch her coat from the room off the kitchen, Deydie sat there motionless on the bed.

“Are you all right?” Cait asked.

Deydie glowered at her, the red around her eyes the
only sign that she was upset. “Of course I'm all right. But ye should stay here tonight for Mattie's sake. I've made up the guest bed. I'd stay meself, but me back is
killing
me.” She shuddered at her own choice of words. “I need me own bed.”

“I can't. I'm going back to the cottage.”

Deydie stood up and put her wide body in Cait's personal space. “Rebellious lass. How many nights have I told you to come home to the cottage and instead your skinny arse stays up here on the bluff? Now I'm telling you to stay here and you insist on coming home.”

“Graham doesn't want me here.”

“That's rot. He's in no condition. He needs you here for Mattie.” Deydie shook a knobby finger at her. “Mind ye stay in yere own bed and don't sneak into Graham's.”

Cait
ha
ed. “No chance of that.”

The back door slammed.

Deydie unfolded herself from the bed. “He's gone out now for a walk. Get yereself to bed before he comes back.”

Cait couldn't help herself. She hugged Deydie fiercely. Her gran stiffened like a week-old corpse but didn't immediately push her away.

“Bring Mattie to the cottage tomorrow for Boxing Day. The quilting ladies will be there. We'll make a party of it.” Deydie's old face fell and she spoke to herself. “Or at least it's been a party in the past.”

As Cait climbed the back stairs to the bedrooms above, she heard Deydie letting herself out of the house. As Cait opened the guest bedroom door, Mattie cried out, making her jump.

She quietly slipped into Mattie's room and found the boy sitting up stiffly, trembling, his eyes blank. Cait knew
he was reliving the horror of the accident. She climbed in beside him and put her arm around his shoulder, shushing him, coaxing him into lying back down.

Mattie relaxed and slumped against her. She slid farther into the bed and held him close, her heart aching for him. He'd already endured so much, and now his own da was in mortal danger. She kissed his forehead and closed her eyes.

Sometime later, the bedroom door opened. Graham stood there a long time. Finally, he turned off the hall light. At first she thought he might join her and Mattie in the bed, but instead the bedroom door closed, shutting him out.

* * *

The next morning, when she awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. In the kitchen, she found Mattie and Graham sitting on barstools at the peninsula, eating pancakes.

Graham barely glanced up. “I see you stayed anyway. Coffee's in the maker.”

Mattie shot his grandda a questioning frown.

“Caitie is going to watch you for a few days while your da and I go to Aberdeen. We're going to see a man about building your da a new boat. Isn't that grand?” Graham's blatant lie sounded hollow, and Mattie's eyebrows narrowed.

“Really,” Graham assured him. “Isn't that right, Caitie?”

She avoided the question. “You'll help me take care of Dingus, won't you, Mattie? He'll have to learn the ropes around here. You'll have to show him where your grandda keeps his favorite slippers. Dingus needs to become acquainted with them, give them a right good chew before Grandda returns home.”

That earned her a small smile at the corners of Mattie's mouth.

“Keep that fur ball away from my things. Or else,” Graham threatened.

Cait raised her eyebrows and gave him a scathing look from across the room.
Tell Mattie his da is going to see the doctor,
she tried to convey.

Graham turned away from her. “I'd better get a shower. I expect yere da to be here any minute.”

When he'd left the room, Mattie came over and took her hand with his sticky syrupy one and led her back to the table. He put a plate and a fork in front of her.

“Thanks, kiddo. I am hungry.” She couldn't meet his imploring eyes. It wasn't her place to break the news to the boy, but she wanted to. She remembered clearly the lies she was told when her own mama first got sick. Her father said Mama had gone away on holiday, but Cait knew better—she'd gone to the hospital for surgery. Illness wasn't something to be swept under the carpet. It was better to tell the truth, and she planned to tell Graham so. Right now.

She pushed herself away from the table. “Save those pancakes. I'll be right back.”

She steamed up the stairs and straight into Graham's room. The bathroom door stood open, the shower running, and she decided this wasn't the time for niceties. She marched into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The shower was one of those roman showers, no door, just a big open room, big enough for a soccer team. Graham turned toward her and she got quite a view.

“Have ye come to join me?” Sarcasm pricked at his burr.

Cait's anger had her stepping into the tiled shower, no hesitation, no embarrassment. “I'm certainly not here to scrub your back. I've come to rip you a new one.”

“Well, if that be so, you might want to take yere clothes off first.” He turned around, giving her a perfect view of his perfect muscular ass, and stuck his lathered head under one of the oversized showerheads.

This was no time to ogle. She grabbed a wet washcloth and threw it at him. “You're making a big mistake. Lying to Mattie is not doing him any favors. Tell him the truth. He may be a little kid, but he isn't stupid. He knows something's wrong.”

“
There is nothing wrong
,” Graham said through gritted teeth.

“Lying to yourself is not helping anyone either.”
Especially your family.
“I know what I'm talking about. Tell him. It will help alleviate his fears.”

At
fears
, Graham's head fell.

Without thinking, Cait stepped farther in and reached out, touching Graham's shoulder.

It was as if she'd burned him. He jerked around so fast that lather from his shampoo shot out and smacked her cheek. By the fierce grimace on his face, she knew he was about to yell loud enough to knock the tiles off the wall. But in an instant and without warning, pain washed over him, making him raw and vulnerable. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly as the water showered over them both. She knew what he felt. She felt it, too. He was alive and he needed to prove it.

Then he pulled away from her, anger replacing his vulnerability. “Get naked or get out.”

Hard words that cut her like a knife. He turned his back on her, those perfect buttocks and the rest of his
body fully in the water again, protecting him from the real world.

Defeated, she stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, scrubbing it fiercely over her scorched lips and face. But she wasn't done with him yet. “I mean it, Graham. Mattie will never forgive you for your lies. I've never forgiven my father for his.”

She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed a long-sleeved polo shirt from Graham's walk-in closet. She slipped off her wet shirt and replaced it with Graham's, tying up one corner to make it fit.

Back downstairs, Mattie sat on the kitchen floor with Dingus in his lap. He looked up when she came in the room.

Not meeting his eyes, she reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Dingus, have you had breakfast yet?” She went to the cabinet to search for food. Sure enough, Deydie had left puppy food in the pantry. “Here you go.” She handed the can to Mattie.

By the way he kept petitioning her with his eyes, she knew he wanted her to spill the beans. And she might've caved if Duncan hadn't saved her by coming in the back door. “Hey, you're up.” He picked up Mattie and squeezed him. “Where's yere grandda?”

Mattie pointed up.

“I see.” Duncan scrutinized her, waving at her wet appearance. “Squall?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Something like that.”

He didn't probe her any further. “Are there any pancakes left for me?”

Cait grabbed a fresh plate. “Sit down, and I'll get you some coffee, too. Mattie, run upstairs and let
his highness
know your da is here.”

Mattie gave her a knowing frown. He understood she was trying to get rid of him. He set the dog food on the counter and grabbed Dingus before heading up the stairs.

Cait got right down to business. “Graham lied to your son. Told him you're off to talk to a boat builder. Somebody had better tell the boy the truth or I will.”

Duncan shook his head. “I know it's time. I'll talk to him.”

A few minutes later, Graham appeared at the foot of the steps with Mattie in his arms and Dingus in the boy's. “I found these ragamuffins upstairs. Does anyone know who these two belong to?” He fake-smiled at the room until his eyes landed on Duncan. He set Mattie down and then glared at Cait.

Duncan put his arms out. “Mattie, come here a moment. I've something to say to ye.”

Mattie walked solemnly toward his da.

Avoiding Graham's sharp, piercing stare, Cait busied herself by preparing Duncan's breakfast.

Duncan pulled Mattie onto his lap. “Lad, ye know how tired yere da's been lately?”

Mattie nodded.

Duncan continued. “I'm off to Aberdeen to see some good doctors.”

Graham exhaled exasperatedly.

Duncan ignored him and went on. “Ye're not to worry. I'm hoping these doctors will make me better. I need you to stay here with Caitie and help take care of things at Grandda's. Can ye do that for me?”

Mattie patted Duncan's cheek, then laid his head on his chest. Duncan kissed the top of his son's head and then set him on his own feet.

Graham yanked his coat from the back of the chair.
“We should get going.” His words sounded like bullets. With stiff, jerky movements, as if poles had replaced his arms, legs, and spine, he walked across the kitchen.