He held the pillowcase up in front of his face as if he was examining it. She suspected he was screwing his emotions on straight before looking at them all. He was probably mad as hell at her for sewing it for him.
“I wanna see.” Hannah jumped up, grabbing for it.
“Stop that,” Rachel said.
Brodie turned it around for all of them to appreciate. For a second, he locked eyes with her. He didn’t look mad. He looked confused.
Heck, he should join the club.
“I’m hungry,” Hannah announced, Brodie’s present now forgotten.
“Come help me set the table,” Vivienne said. Before she left the parlor, she shot Rachel a black look which delivered her message: I didn’t miss the interplay between you and that fisherman.
Great. Mom would be riding her again. Maybe Vivienne could decipher where things stood between her and Brodie, because Rachel sure as hell couldn’t. Even more important, someone needed to clue her in on what she should do next.
Chapter Fourteen
Brodie carefully draped the pillowcase over the banister, admiring the partridge fashioned with different printed fabrics. Rachel had captured the essence of the bird perfectly. But what he didn’t get was why she’d done it. What was her motive? Was she trying to torture him? Giving him such an intimate present in front of everyone was inconsiderate. Embarrassing. Heartwarming. He was still reeling from it. But to be fair, Hannah had given her no choice. He glanced one more time at the pillowcase and then hiked into the kitchen.
Vivienne was pulling food from the box. The turkey sat on the stove. The food seemed to take up the whole room. Brodie calculated the space around the small kitchen table. He should’ve given some thought as to where everyone should sit before he’d brought another guest home for Christmas.
Abraham shuffled into the room and set his teacup on the counter. “Dinner smells great.” He scrutinized the room, too. “Let’s make plates and sit in the parlor.”
Solution found. “I’ll lay a quilt on the floor in case Hannah wants to have a picnic.”
Abraham touched Brodie’s arm and spoke quietly. “Ye did right by bringing the lad here.”
Brodie nodded. There was nothing else he could do.
“If he needs a bed,” Abraham said, “offer him one of ours.”
Aye. Harry would have to bed down here until his father could be located. Brodie would help with the search tomorrow.
He went to the parlor and found Harry making a boat out of a leftover piece of wrapping paper. “Come in the kitchen and make a plate.”
Harry set the finished boat on the side table next to Abraham’s spot. Brodie was impressed with the kid’s artistic skills.
“Listen, Harry, ye’ll sleep here tonight. We have an extra bedroom upstairs.”
Harry stared at him. “Why are ye doing this? Feeding me. Giving me a place to stay.” He twisted, looking at his quilt, but he didn’t mention the present Rachel had given him.
Brodie was straight with the kid. “Ye’ll be staying here until ye can locate yere father so I can keep an eye on ye.”
Harry nodded as if the explanation seemed fair.
Truthfully, the kid didn’t give off bad vibes. It was clear Hannah liked him.
Abraham was fine with the kid being here, too. Grandda, though, had a history of taking in strays . . . such as Joe and himself, and a few vagrants who had passed through over the years. They’d have room in the cottage, as Hannah and Vivienne would be back at the quilting dorm tonight. From nowhere, a flash of disappointment hit Brodie. Tonight he wouldn’t be under the same roof as Rachel, or the same bed.
But he corrected his thinking quickly. Rachel was his past. Today was an exception for Abraham’s sake, but come tomorrow, Brodie was going to keep his distance from the woman who had obliterated his heart. Love me, Brodie. He hoped she would go home soon so he could get back to his quiet life and stop hearing her in his head.
Brodie pointed the way to the kitchen. “This way.” He followed Harry down the hall.
As it turned out, Harry, Hannah, and all her dolls had a grand picnic on the floor, which entertained Grandda. Harry quickly made himself a paper hat to wear, as was the tradition in all of Scotland for the Christmas dinner. Brodie stuck his paper hat on his head and pulled a chair over in the corner to watch as Vivienne had a serious conversation with Rachel. Every once in a while, the two would glance in his direction. Vivienne wore a superior my-daughter’s-too-good-for-the-likes-of-you expression while Rachel’s hand gripped the locket around her neck.
“Brodie?” Hannah said, drawing his attention away. “Where’s yere mum? Where’s Auntie?”
“Uh, home I guess.” The lass sure had a way of taking him off guard.
“Auntie?” Vivienne seemed to be taken off guard, too.
“My daughter, Robena,” Grandda explained. “Brodie’s mum.”
“But it’s Christmas,” Hannah said. “Why isna she here? Mommy says we’re supposed to be with family at Christmas.”
Rachel glanced at Vivienne as if she were Exhibit A. She then turned her gaze on him as if Hannah had a point. He couldn’t believe she had no intention of bailing him out. After all, this was her daughter that was vexing him.
“Well, lass, it’s complicated,” Brodie admitted.
Harry shifted uncomfortably and Brodie felt like an arse. The lad’s mother had recently passed and Harry would probably give anything for another Christmas with her, and here Brodie was saying it was complicated. He expected, to Harry, no complication would’ve kept him from his mother today.
“I’ll call her later,” Brodie said, trying to appease the child and take the focus off himself.
“I want her to come see us today. I like Auntie.” The lass was relentless. “I bet she has a Christmas present for ye.”
He doubted it. Brodie wasn’t a verra good son. But it wasn’t necessarily his fault. He just couldn’t get over his unforgiveness. “We’ll see.”
Hannah rose and came to him, cupping his shoulder and laying her head on his arm. She was an expert when it came to persuasion, and if it had been anyone else but the lass who asked . . .
“I’ll go call her now.”
“Yippee!” Hannah returned to her place on the quilt, dropping back into her cross-legged position on the floor.
Brodie set his half-eaten plate on his chair and went into the kitchen to ring his mother, not exactly sure what he was going to say.
“Mum?” he said when she picked up.
“Brodie?” She seemed as puzzled as he was by the call. “Is everything all right? Is Da okay?”
“Aye. Everything’s fine. I was wondering, well, Hannah actually, if ye were free to stop by later. For a cup of Christmas punch?” He felt awkward and lame as if this were the first time he’d ever used a phone.
There was silence on the other end.
Brodie knew why she hesitated. “Ask Keith if he’d like to come, too.” Brodie never thought he’d utter those words. Keith had taken his mother away from him, and that was something a son could never forget.
They discussed and set a time. Brodie hung up and realized—with the disgust of a lad trying to be a man—that his hand was shaking. He was amazed at the lengths he would go to please that little girl in the other room. First a barrette in his hair and now this.
He took a deep breath and walked back to the parlor, surprisingly feeling lighter. Before he could even sit down, Hannah was hounding him.
“Well? Is she coming?”
“Aye. Seven o’clock. To have some Christmas punch.” Brodie took his plate in his hands and sat down.
“Good.” Hannah gathered up her dolls and stood.
Brodie figured Rachel had told her she was to take a nap. But he should’ve known better. When it came to Hannah, he could never guess what she was up to next.
* * *
Rachel sighed. Ever since she’d mentioned to her daughter that they’d visit the cemetery, Hannah had been chatting about it, but hadn’t shown any real interest. Rachel wanted to tell her not today, but all the experts said when it came to children and a dead parent, it was important to let the child take the lead.
Hannah gave one of her digging-my-heels-in stares. “It’s Christmas Day and Daddy’s lonely. He needs to see all my new dolls so he’ll feel better.”
Brodie mumbled under his breath. “The lass is quite the negotiator.” He seemed to be enjoying Rachel’s discomfort. Perhaps because now the tables were turned on her.
Vivienne went to the window and pulled back the curtain. “The weather seems calm. Taking her now might be a good idea.” Her mother wasn’t just remembering the gale force wind on the day of her and Joe’s wedding. Rachel had discussed what she’d learned from books and speaking with professionals about how to raise her child without her father. “If you went now, you could be back before Brodie’s parents arrived.”
Brodie recoiled. He opened his mouth and then shut it.
“Keith isn’t Brodie’s father,” Rachel interjected. “He’s his stepfather.”
Brodie’s glower said stepfather wasn’t much better.
“Here. Give me your dolls and go get your boots on.” Rachel set her plate on the side table. She gathered the dolls from Hannah for the trip up the bluff. She couldn’t help remembering and feeling a little sick about what Brodie had revealed about Joe’s past when they last visited the cemetery. “I’ll put these in your backpack, okay?”
“Brodie has to go with us,” Hannah announced. “Otherwise, my dolls might be sad that Daddy’s dead.”
That makes no sense, Rachel thought. Brodie’s dumbfounded stare at her daughter and then at her held the exact same sentiment.
Vivienne’s frown said she’d changed her mind about the weather being congenial. But in the next second, her mom plastered a smile on her face. “You go. Harry and I will clean up the dishes.”
Rachel was proud of her mom for putting Hannah first and relieved her mother wasn’t going to make a big deal about Brodie going along. Vivienne really was good to them. But those warm feelings were easily tripped up. As her mother leaned over to pick up Abraham’s dishes, she shot Rachel a sideways glance. She might as well have shaken her finger and said what was on her mind . . . you better watch yourself with him.
Rachel turned away, but only to find Harry staring at Hannah with sad compassion. Those two had more in common than sharing a picnic on the parlor floor . . . they both had lost a parent.
Finally, Rachel glanced at Brodie to see how he felt about going with them. He didn’t look happy, but he stood as if he had no choice in the matter. She felt sorry for how miserable she’d made him. He’d be ecstatic when they left town as he’d gotten stuck with so much more than he’d bargained for when they’d pulled into Gandiegow.
In the foyer, Rachel loaded Hannah’s dolls into her backpack. Brodie took the pack from her while she slipped into her coat. Instead of returning it, he hiked the strap up on his shoulder.
Rachel stifled a laugh. “You look ridiculous.” But he was the most attractive man she’d ever met . . . both inside and out.
“What?” he asked, looking down as if he’d spilled food down his front.
“The backpack. I never imagined you as a pink backpack kind of guy.”
He shrugged good-naturedly and then squatted down to make sure Hannah’s boots were on correctly, her coat was buttoned up to her collar, and her hat was securely on her head. When he seemed satisfied, they left.
What a strange procession they made. As they walked up the bluff, she and Brodie were silent, each holding one of Hannah’s hands, while her daughter sang a tune to herself between them. The song was about dollies and graves, and Daddy being happy. Where the path narrowed in places, Hannah let go of Rachel, keeping ahold of Brodie. It was another little poke to Rachel’s heart that her daughter was growing a little beyond her and at times preferred someone else.
At the edge of the cemetery, Rachel could glimpse something on Joe’s grave. As they approached, a wreath came into view, one with a bright tartan ribbon. She glanced over at Brodie but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Is that Daddy’s tombstone?”
“Yes. The one with the pretty wreath on it,” Rachel said, preparing herself for anything. Tears, anger, complacency—she didn’t know what to expect from her daughter.
Hannah gazed up to Brodie, her eyes bright. “Do ye think Father Christmas left the wreath for my da?”
Brodie nodded. “I expect he did.”
Hannah reached for the backpack and he handed it over. She slipped it on her shoulders and ran the last few feet to the grave. Immediately, she dropped the bag to the ground, unzipped it, and pulled out a doll.
“Hi, Daddy. I mean Da. This is Dolly. I got her from my new friend, Glenna. Her da is the church’s pastor.” She looked back to Brodie, a frown between her brows.
“Kirk,” he corrected.
Hannah nodded solemnly as she was committing the Scottish word to heart. “Aye. The kirk’s pastor.” She told Joe all about going to school and playing with Mattie and Dand afterward at Grandda’s cottage.
Hannah pulled out another doll while shoving Dolly back in. Brodie took the backpack, wiped snow from the bottom, and stood back. Hannah introduced all her dolls, telling a story with each one. She was so animated that Rachel was beginning to believe Joe was sitting atop his tombstone, listening while he sipped a pop.
When each of Hannah’s dolls had a chance to meet Joe, she turned back to her. “Mommy, do you have anythin’ ye want to say to Da?”
Not really; she’d said all she wanted to say before, but Rachel stepped forward anyway. “I hope you’re having a great time in heaven.”
Hannah took her hand and squeezed. But then she dropped it and went to Brodie. “Up.”
He reached down and lifted her into his arms. “I’m gonna have to teach ye a new Scottish word, lass. It’s a verra important one.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “What is it?” She yawned.
“The word is please. We use it often here.”
“Okay.”
He chuckled and held her close.
Hannah’s eyes were closed before they were out of the cemetery. Rachel’s heart was warmed by how wonderful this rugged fisherman was to her daughter. Which would be fine if he wanted Rachel as much as she wanted him. Another chip fell off her heart. If he didn’t stop being so great, she knew she would never recover from loving him. Forever was a long time to go for a woman with a broken heart.
* * *
As Brodie laid Hannah in the room upstairs, he wondered that the lass didn’t rouse, not even a little. Christmas had been overly exciting for her. Being around her had been quite the education, and had given him a glimpse into having a family of his own.
Back downstairs, Abraham was dozing in his chair, while Rachel, Vivienne, and Harry were set up in the kitchen. All a bit too cozy for Brodie right now. He grabbed his coat and headed to the boat.
He needed fresh air and open spaces before the next ordeal. Brodie was dreading his mother and Keith coming over, but this was how it was with Rachel and Hannah in town, being dragged into one exploit or another. He would give them today, but tomorrow the agony would stop. He would no longer need to spend time with Rachel. Soon, when she was gone, he could resume his old life.
A pang hit his chest. He was going to miss the little princess. Hannah was something special, but he’d have to give her up. Spending time with Hannah meant sharing the same air as Hannah’s mother. He couldn’t take another day of being near Rachel and not want to really be with her.
He walked to the dock and back
to kill time. When he saw his mother and her husband on the walkway, moving toward Abraham’s side of town, Brodie returned home and hung his coat. He touched Grandda’s shoulder to wake him. “Mum’ll be here in a moment.”
As if Hannah had an internal alarm set to guests o’clock, she padded downstairs and into the parlor, crawling up beside Abraham. “Did I miss Auntie?”
“Nay.”
There was a light tap at the door. A second later, they’d let themselves in.
Rachel and Vivienne met his mother and Keith in the hallway. He should’ve been the one to introduce Vivienne to his mother, and Keith to everyone else, but Brodie stayed put in the parlor, feeling as stubborn as ever.
Keith stepped into the room first. “Brodie.”
“Keith.” Brodie was done making conversation with his mother’s husband.
Robena came in behind him, glancing around carefully as if the furniture might bite. She wasn’t ready for the little body that slammed into her. Brodie had to reach out a hand to steady his mother.
“Auntie!” Hannah cried. “Ye came.”
“Aye,” his mother said, laughing. “That I did.”
Brodie couldn’t ever remember his mother laughing in Abraham’s house.
Keith strode to Abraham confidently and stuck out his hand. “Happy Christmas.”
Abraham shook it heartily. “And to ye.” Grandda had always seemed more comfortable around Keith than his own daughter. “How’s farm life treating ye?”
Keith chuckled. “Cold as fishing, but not nearly as wet.”
Abraham returned the joviality by smiling happily.
Brodie’s unease was worth whatever happiness Grandda got out of the day.
Hannah dragged Robena over to Abraham.
“Wish him a Merry Christmas,” Hannah insisted.
Rachel intervened. “Miss bossy britches, mind your manners.”
It Happened in Scotland Page 23
