Blame It on Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  He handed off the robe as he took her jacket. “I’ll be back.” He hesitated at the door. “Before I come in, I’ll knock first. To make sure ye’re decent.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as he was out the door, she slipped off her shoes, wet socks, and pants. She wiggled into his robe and tightened the sash. The robe smelled of laundry detergent, a hint of smoke from the fireplace, and something irresistible. She inhaled deeply to take it in.

  But crushing on Tuck wasn’t productive. She decided to focus on her cold feet next. Her choices for warmth were digging through his armoire drawers for socks or putting her tootsies under his covers to get them off the cold stone floor.

  Hesitantly, she went to his bed. She stood at the side, chewing her bottom lip, until she decided on a plan. The second she heard Tuck’s warning knock, she’d jump out of bed, and pretend to be examining the quilt lying on top—the quilt, a combination of evergreens, bear paw patches, and appliquéd bears. She pulled back the blanket and climbed inside. She snuggled down, drawing the quilt up to her chin as she rubbed her icicled feet together.

  Tuck’s scent surrounded her. She closed her eyes and soaked him in. She wouldn’t allow exhaustion from this super long day and her current drowsiness to pull her into sleep, though. She’d stay alert, she’d listen for his knock, and in the meantime, she’d get warm.

  A moment later, she dropped off into the abyss of perfect slumber.

  * * *

  Tuck assessed the state of Ryn’s bed—a big wet spot had formed in the middle. No wonder she had been pounding on his door. He looked up at the ceiling, wishing the supplies for her roof had come a week ago. This could have been Willoughby’s home. Tuck certainly didn’t want his old friend to be in this predicament. Also, Tuck needed to find a way to carve out more time for home repairs, or else, the Whussedalians and the Laird would have his hide.

  He just wasn’t sure where that time was going to come from. At some point, something would have to give.

  Sighing, he pulled the bed over to the side and out of the way of the leak. From under the sink, he retrieved a bucket to capture the constant drip from the ceiling. As he pulled the quilt from the bed, the hanging on the wall caught his attention. This quilt was different with a tree seeming to grow out of the bottom blocks as if reaching up for the sky. For a moment, he wondered if this was the Goodbye quilt that Ryn had mentioned.

  He draped the wet quilt over two dining chairs to dry. When he went to take the sheets off, there lay a piece a jewelry. A charm? He picked it up, examining the silver swan. He shoved it in his pocket to give it back to Ryn. As he stripped the sheet, he wondered what he’d do with Ryn for the night. Maybe he could walk her back up to Kilheath and have her stay there. But the prospect of running into Maggie had him digging for other options.

  He arranged several other items in the room so they wouldn’t get wet. Finally, he turned out the light and went next door to his cottage. Keeping his word, he tapped lightly. He didn’t hear an answer. He knocked a little harder. When she didn’t call out, he cracked the door open and peeked inside.

  At first, he thought she’d left, but then he saw his quilt move. He stepped in, smiling…the lass had surprised him again. When he drew near, he saw she slept.

  Oh hell. It did something to him to see her like that. An innocent angel. Peaceful. And he wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside her and pull her close.

  Instead, he hung his coat by the door, retrieved a pair of sweatpants from the draw, and took an extra quilt from the armoire. He checked to make sure her eyes were closed before slipping off his dungarees and donning the sweatpants. Once again, the temptation to crawl in beside her flooded him, as if he was a dinghy engulfed by a rogue wave. And maybe if she’d been some other type of lass, he would have slipped in next to her and kissed her awake.

  He carried a chair over to where she slept and quietly sat, propping his feet up on the end of the bed. He noticed her shoes rested haphazardly under the frame and he bent down to straighten them for her. For a few more moments, he watched her sleep, then closed his eyes. Morning would be here soon.

  Tuck woke suddenly with the acute awareness of being watched. Darkness filled the window panes, but the hearth’s embers gave the room a soft glow. He tilted his head to look at Ryn, which caused a pain to shoot through his neck. Large men shouldn’t sleep in small chairs.

  While he rubbed his neck, he stared at the lass. Aye, the lassie was staring back. Not with sultry eyes, but wide-eyed as if a deer frozen by the sight of a gun barrel.

  Shite. With his feet propped the way they were, she surely felt blocked in. “Sorry.” He dropped them to the floor and scooted his chair away from the bed, giving her plenty of space.

  She sat up, rigid as a plank. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” She glanced from side to side. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  When she bit her lip like that, he wanted to kiss away her apology. “Don’t fash yereself.”

  She swung her legs over the side, talking fast. “I was looking at your quilt—”

  “And decided to take it for a test drive?” He laughed, trying to put her at ease.

  She stopped and stared at him once again. “I never meant to take your bed. I can go back to my cottage now.”

  He shook his head. “Stay put. Yere bed is waterlogged.”

  She glanced at the space on either side of her, as if his bed might swallow her whole. “But I can’t stay. This is your bed.”

  “I’m fine where I am.” He kept the crick in his neck to himself. A funny thought hit him and he said it just to get a rise out of her. “Unless ye’re willing to share.” He’d seen fire in the lass earlier and he was keen to see it again.

  But once again, she surprised him. She scooted over and patted the mattress in invitation.

  * * *

  Ryn never saw a man move so fast, as Tuck knocked over his chair trying to get away. It looked comical, enough to laugh, but actually, she was more insulted than entertained.

  Horrified, Tuck stared at her. “What’s wrong with ye? Inviting a stranger into yere bed!”

  As smooth as he was with the young woman at the café when Ryn had arrived, she was surprised by his reaction. She was certain he’d been offered into many women’s beds and at a much shorter acquaintance, too.

  Humiliated and embarrassed, Ryn frowned at his gorgeous face. “It’s not was you think. I figured if you were going to paw me, you would’ve tried something when you found me sleeping in your bed.” She being Goldilocks-to-his-big-bad-wolf…or something like that.

  She started to slide out again, this time on the opposite side of the mattress. The big Scot looked as if he wanted to bolt for the door.

  She put her hand up to make him stay. “Listen, I’ll just go back to my cottage and sleep in the chair like you’ve been doing. We’re going to have to get up soon anyway.”

  He stared at her as if contemplating the universe, remaining as silent as the chair lying sideways on the floor.

  She rolled her eyes and stood, but was quickly reminded of the cold stone floor. She scanned the room for her shoes.

  “They’re over here.” He leaned down and retrieved them from under the bed. But he didn’t give them back. His mouth fell into a frown as if it was ready to say something he didn’t quite approve of. “Stay. We can both share the bed.”

  The way he was looking at her, she figured he intended to stack the pillows between them as a barrier.

  The only explanation she could come up with, as she automatically climbed back into bed, was she’d never been this tired before. He took his place on the other side. She was buzzing with curiosity, wanting to catalogue his every move, though she shouldn’t. He was a big man, moving smoothly like the king lion of the pride. Her mind went all kinds of naughty places as curiosity hummed through her. What if he reached out and pulled her to him? As sleep deprived as she was, she didn’t have the willpower to stop what her inner hussy wanted.

/>   I better pretend he isn’t here. Which wasn’t easy! All her nerve endings tingled with hopeful anticipation.

  She wanted to turn and face him, to pretend they were cozy in this bed, sharing secrets. And share other things the dark of night brought on.

  “Goodnight, lass,” he rumbled.

  His voice made her tremble.

  “Are ye cold?” He shifted and she could tell he was pulling the covers off himself.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, as her eyes might give her yearning away. And dammit, if he did one more nice thing and decided to tuck the quilt in around her snuggly, her resolve to not be attracted to him would crumble. She might shamelessly throw herself at him and live with the embarrassment of being a complete tart later.

  But Tuck didn’t tuck the quilt around her. Hell, he barely got near her. He gently laid the quilt on top, as if she was as breakable as the wisps of hand-blown glass.

  She wanted to yell at him she wasn’t delicate. She was sturdy, dammit. And a woman! She turned to him, ready to make a declaration to let him know she could hold her own. But he was back on his side of the bed, hands stacked behind his head with his eyes closed shut.

  No quilt covered him. She let her gaze freely run the length of him. Halfway down, she saw the one thing that could appease her bruised feelings.

  Tuck is attracted to me, too.

  Relief spread through her, though she shouldn’t care. History had a way of repeating itself, especially when it came to her and her affinity toward gorgeous men. Every bad relationship. Every heartache. Every letdown. All of it should’ve had her running for the hills.

  But instead, the only running that came to mind was the running of her hands over him. All over!

  “Damn little hussy,” she murmured to her impulsive inner self.

  “What?” Tuck said sleepily.

  Oh, God. She wanted to pull the quilt over her head and hide. “Umm—I said I’m feeling a little fussy.”

  “Right,” Tuck chuckled, as if he had her number.

  At least he had the decency to not open his eyes and see for himself that she was in a bad way.

  He sighed deeply. “Get some sleep.”

  Easier said than done. She shut her eyes, feeling frustrated with herself—for she hadn’t had any intimate contact with anyone in the last two years. A girl could get lonely. Strange how she hadn’t been tempted once, since she’d made her mind up to not get mixed up with men like him again. As she drifted off, she imagined she bravely travelled to his side of the bed and cuddled up to him, as he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder.

  Sometime later, she woke, feeling warm and safe, listening to her own heart beat in her ear. Slowly, she realized it wasn’t hers. But his! And she was draped over Tuck’s chest! She sat up quickly and his arm fell away from her shoulder. The action caused his hand to land on her hip. As she twisted to see his sleeping face, his fingers spontaneously enveloped her and squeezed, as if trying to pull her closer.

  She broke free and scooted off the end of the bed. Turning back around to check on him, she found him awake now.

  “Sorry,” he said, his voice full of gravel.

  She opened her mouth to say he didn’t look sorry in the least, but clamped her lips down tight.

  He looked relaxed, not in a hurry to get to the fishing grounds like he had yesterday. “Ye never told me what a Goodbye quilt is.” He gestured to the adjoining cottage as if it was here in the room with them. “The one hanging above the bed, is that it? That quilt wasn’t there before.”

  It made her feel ridiculously warm that Tuck had been paying attention to what she’d said. Usually, when men were this gorgeous, their hair gel blocked their capacity for caring about anything else beyond what they saw in the mirror.

  “Yes. That’s the Goodbye quilt.” Heat rose into her face. Why did she feel so self-conscious with Tuck?

  Maybe because I was cuddled up to him like he was a teddy bear. A very good-looking, sexy teddy bear!

  “It wasn’t me who wanted to hang the quilt there.” She sounded defensive, though his tone hadn’t been judgmental or condemning. She didn’t owe him an explanation, but she couldn’t stop her mouth from running out of control. “Sophie wanted it hung above the bed. I’m worried Maggie will think I was keeping it from her. But Sinnie said Maggie won’t mind.”

  Tuck’s eyebrows pinched together. “Sinnie’s right. Maggie has more pressing matters.”

  At least he didn’t seem as mad and upset as yesterday when Ryn had mentioned Maggie’s name.

  He sat up and scrubbed his beautiful face with his hands. “We should get ready to go.” He stared at her, waiting.

  Ryn realized she was staring at him as if he was the Greek god of gorgeousness. “Yes.” She scrambled for her shoes and slipped them on. “Do I have time to grab a quick shower?”

  He grinned, looking devilish, as if he might ask to join her. “Sure. Coffee or tea? I’ll make us something for the road.”

  She shook her head. “Neither. I’m more of a hot chocolate kind of girl.”

  Tuck grinned, as if she’d given him the right answer. “Ye’ll have to wait until we get to Gandiegow for hot chocolate. Quilting Central will have it. It’s fully stocked.”

  Ryn wanted to ask what Quilting Central was, but she was on the clock. “I’ll be quick.” She grabbed her coat and went next door. With her face hot from blushing, she barely noticed the cool bite of the April morning air. She hurried through her shower, experiencing the mother lode of all butterflies. She couldn’t help but feel excited for having slept in his arms. Her brain knew she was being ridiculous, but of course, her inner floozy wanted to keep reliving, over and over, the feeling of her body pressed against his.

  Though she seldom wore make-up, she quickly applied some from her small stash. She spent more time with her hair than usual, too. She knew what she did—primped for him, and she hated herself for it. She’d sworn off the old pattern, yet she couldn’t stop herself from ramping up into the silly-boy-crazy-girl she’d once been.

  Twenty minutes later, she was back at his door, knocking. When he opened it, her stomach tightened. Oh, good grief!

  He handed her a piece of paper and she had to stop herself from grinning stupidly. It’s not a love note. This same kind of giddy craziness was what had gotten her in over her head and in trouble in the past. Thank goodness, he didn’t notice.

  “I know ye have yere GPS,” he said. “But I’ve drawn ye a map, in case it doesn’t work.”

  The map was more detailed than she expected, since she hadn’t been gone that long. “This is amazing. You’re a gifted artist.” Along the route, he’d drawn a landmark for where she should make each turn—a castle ruins, a sheep field guarded by a rock wall, a distillery.

  He ignored her gifted artist comment. “I’ve written my mobile number on the bottom. Go ahead and type it in. Call me, so I’ll have yeres also. The Laird wouldn’t like it much if I lost ye since he put me in charge of ye today.”

  She pulled out her phone and did as he requested. His phone bleeped, and with a mischievous grin on his face, he typed something in before saving her as a contact.

  She leaned over, trying to glance at his screen, but he pulled it away.

  “What did you type in there for me?”

  “Never ye mind. We better go. I’ve fish to catch.” He handed her a set of keys. “I’ll take the van. You take the car. Oh, before I forget.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out something. “Here. I found this in your bed. I assume it’s yours.”

  She took the charm. “Yes. It’s my swan.” Actually it was her mother’s. Ryn looked down at her bracelet and saw the empty loop, where the swan should be. She’d have to fix it later. She weakly smiled up at him. “Thanks.” And slipped the swan into the side pocket of her bag, zipping it up securely.

  “Ready?” He put his hand on her back to guide her out.

  Because she had the self-control of a randy monkey, she leaned back into his light
touch. Maybe she should join a twelve-step program, like AA. Did they have Gorgeous Men Anonymous? She definitely needed it as she certainly had developed a crush on him.

  It was early morning, yet it felt like the middle of the night. Everything glistened from last night’s rain, though nothing fell from the star-studded sky now. Ryn was caught up in her own thoughts, trying to rationalize why she was behaving like she was. Especially since she’d done so well the last couple of years. She glanced over at Tuck and once again an overwhelming whoosh of attraction hit her. She was glad for the silence. And gladder still, when they made it back to Kilheath Castle where both of the vehicles sat.

  Tuck went to the white van, but stopped before getting in. “Are ye sure ye’ll be all right on yere own?”

  “Aye,” she said, using her best Scottish burr, trying to lighten her own frame of mind.

  But her Scottish play-acting only made him frown, as if an old memory tried to burrow its way into his temple. “Stay alert and be ready for anything—coos on the highway, water over the road…anything.”

  “You worry too much,” she said with her plain-Jane Midwest accent. But she couldn’t help but think he was thoughtful for worrying about her. As Tuck nodded and got into his vehicle, she searched her own memories. Had any of her past gorgeous men been as considerate as Tuck?

  It took several miles before she got comfortable with driving on the opposite side of the road. It helped to have Tuck directly in front of her. He seemed to be taking it slow to make sure she didn’t lose sight of him.

  Ryn knew they were close to their destination, when Tuck slowed as they went down a very steep hill. She rode the brakes and hoped like crazy those suckers held so she wouldn’t land up in the ocean. Relief swept over her as she pulled into a parking lot, where she positioned her car next to the white van in the still dark morning.

  She turned off the engine and got out of the car. Tuck did the same, but then leaned over and gazed down the walkway which bordered the sea. He seemed conflicted. “I’m not sure what to do with ye. The lights are off at Quilting Central.”