Blame It on Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  With all eyes on them, Tuck ushered her out. As the door closed behind them, the murmur of the quilters buzzed like a swarm of bees. She recognized the sound—gossip.

  She looked up at Tuck. “What was that about?”

  “I have no idea.” But something seemed off. Tuck may not have understood what was up with Andrew, but Ryn would’ve laid money on the fact Tuck knew why the quilters were up in arms and whispering about him.

  Ryn wished she could be like him—not intimidated. But she wasn’t built like that. Besides, she was a foreigner in a strange land, who had to depend on the kindness of said-strangers. She was, also, someone who longed for acceptance. Longed for people to love and care for her again. But she was a woman without a family or community. For a while this morning, she felt at home amongst the quilters. But now, she couldn’t help but worry about the change of events: Did I commit some forbidden Scottish faux pas? Because she certainly didn’t feel at home in Gandiegow any longer.

  11

  Tuck dropped his hand from Ryn’s back and kicked a rock from the path into the water. A nice metaphor for what the townsfolk would clearly like to do to him. “I should’ve warned ye.”

  “You think?” Ryn’s voice was pitched higher than usual. “That was so awkward. What did I do for them to turn against me?”

  “Ye were seen with me, ’tis all.” He was used to Gandiegow’s snub, but Ryn wasn’t.

  “I guess you did warn me a little. You said Gandiegow passes judgement quickly and holds grudges. But they were very nice to me earlier. Even Deydie. In her own way. Until, well, you know…”

  “You should consider yereself lucky. Not me. I screw up once—” more like ten times and then some “—and now I’m lower than a…” He stopped there. “Let’s just say I’m not Gandiegow’s favorite person.”

  “What about your brother? Does he feel that way about you, too?” She frowned. “Or is it just me he doesn’t like?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what his problem is. I haven’t a clue why he acted the way he did with you. He’s the nice one in the family. And to answer your first question…Andrew and Moira have stood by me, always believing the best of me.” Though no one else did.

  Ryn was looking at him. Not the look she gave him this morning when they were talking about how looks could be deceiving. She gazed at him now as if seeing the real him for the first time.

  When they got to the parking lot, he opened the car door for her. She seemed surprised and it kind of ticked him off—he had manners, dammit! He waited until she strapped herself in before shutting the door for her.

  He looked back one more time at Gandiegow before going to his side of the car. Tuck had left the envelope with all he’d earned the past couple of weeks at the parish house, feeling certain he hadn’t been seen. No one would think it strange if he went into Andrew’s house, as half of Tuck’s things were still there. The directions for Andrew on the outside of the envelope were clear: Money for John and Maggie Armstrong. Tuck had used his left hand to write the note so no hint of whom it had come from would be left behind. He was proud of his perfect plan to funnel money to the Armstrongs. Andrew could be trusted to make sure John got the money, and more than likely, Andrew would do it in a way where John wouldn’t be offended. Tuck knew John’s feelings on charity. Charity was for the weak and for those poor unlucky bastards who couldn’t fend for themselves.

  But Tuck felt haunted—both by John’s accident and by how Andrew had acted at Quilting Central. If Andrew’s strange behavior wasn’t due to the envelope lying in his open Bible, then what was it?

  Tuck shook off the feeling he’d missed something important and climbed into the car, ready to take Ryn back to Whussendale.

  As soon as he started the engine, Ryn turned to him and said, “How was the morning catch? The weather seemed good.”

  Her interest in his morning warmed him. “Better than usual,” he answered. “Both the weather and the catch.” He wondered if he should offer to take her out on the boat sometime.

  No! What a dumb idea. She was only here for a short visit. She meant to spend her time with Maggie, then be on her way. Crazily, that thought depressed him, so he put it from his mind.

  “How was yere morn? Was it hard to suffer through with Deydie?” he asked.

  “Once I got used to her, it was okay. She and Bethia put me in charge of working on a quilt Maggie had started.”

  Surprisingly, this time Tuck only had the slightest twinge when Maggie’s name was mentioned. Maybe it was because Ryn put him at ease.

  He turned the conversation to his adventures on the Isle of Lewis and his tales of Stornoway for the rest of the trip. She laughed at the predicaments he found himself in and he couldn’t help but think Ryn Breckenridge was the easiest lass he’d ever talked with. The time flew by. When Tuck pulled up to the wool mill and parked the car, he turned off the engine, shifted toward her, wanting to know more. “So tell me what is it ye do for a living?”

  “I own a graphic arts business.” She frowned. “I was doing pretty well, until…” she trailed off.

  “Ye know, only yesterday, Hugh mentioned he needed the wool mill’s logo updated. Ye should talk to him. See if ye could help him out.”

  Ryn looked up at him with grateful eyes. “That might be a better way to pay back his kindness, and Sophie’s, for letting me sleep in the potter’s cottage.”

  Tuck watched as Ryn’s gratitude reached her lips in the form of a smile. He had the strong urge to lean down and see how her lips fit against his.

  If he played this right, he might get a chance.

  He reached over and rested his hand over hers and unexpectedly his heart kicked up. Man, it was tapping out a rhythm he hadn’t felt before. “I’m concerned ye’ve developed a condition.”

  She didn’t move her hand away, but stared at his hand covering hers. “What condition?”

  He grinned at her. “Amnesia.”

  “What?” Her gaze drifted up to his face.

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did ye forget that ye slept in my cottage? And in my bed.”

  She looked away, but her hand was still under his.

  Because he had balls of steel—and he couldn’t help himself—he allowed his thumb to caress her palm. “Ye know, I’m not Hugh and Sophie.”

  “Hmmm?” she said distractedly.

  He’d bet next week’s wages at the wool mill she was feeling as heated up as he was. “Hugh and Sophie expect nothing in return for their kindness,” he said quietly. “But I expect repayment.”

  She turned to him then, her eyebrows pulled together, perplexed in her girl-next-door innocence. “What kind of payment?” Next she glanced at her bag as if she might pull out a fiver and hand it over. Caution grew on her face then, and he couldn’t help but smile internally. He could watch her forever as her emotions played out.

  She shrugged. “I guess you could sleep in my cottage, since I slept in yours?”

  What an excellent idea. But Tuck’s line of thinking included more benefits than a roof over his head and a quilt to spread over him. He imagined Ryn lying on her pillow with her hair fanned out. Automatically, Tuck reached over and touched her cinnamon-colored hair and was rewarded with how silky it felt. “Ah, lass, thank ye for the offer, but I have a more immediate way for ye to pay me back.” He poured it on thick, but what use was his vast experience with women if he couldn’t use what he’d learned?

  She shot him a stern teacher’s frown to his bad boy behavior. “Forget it. I’m not having sex with you.”

  He pretended to be shocked, but truthfully, he liked how she gave him hell—straightforward attitude, no wavering. “Nay, not sex.” Though the idea was tantalizing. “I was thinking of only a small token. A kiss.”

  He cupped her neck and leaned in, pulling her closer. She complied, and he should’ve gone in without hesitation. Instead, he stopped inches away, searching her eyes, wanting her permission first. This wasn’t normal for him. But nothing was
normal about how he felt around the American lass. As a rule, women were lined up outside his door, poised and ready for kissing. But not Ryn. She was different. And different felt good.

  Their fate hung in the balance while he waited, both of them gazing into each other’s eyes. He’d never been so exposed. And a funny thought hit him. By leaving his soul this wide open, she could see into his deepest self. He was like a pair of red-hearted skivvies hanging on the line, out for all the world to see. He could’ve stopped this madness by kissing her. He also could’ve pulled away and not found out how she tasted. He was in new territory, though, unwilling to end the magic, which had filled the interior of the car.

  Her eyes took in every detail of his—once, twice, and then a third time—before she finally nodded. “Okay.”

  Okay what? He’d forgotten the question. He’d gone from feeling vulnerable to sinking into a sort of contentment he hadn’t known existed.

  She closed her eyes and leaned in, reminding him of the permission he’d needed, and she kissed him first.

  God, the feel of her lips against his was heaven and she smelled great, too. Hallelujah broke out within the car, the angels singing, but the melody was probably only in his head. Warmth and gratification spread through him. He was alive, everything wonderful and right. Then, without breaking the kiss, she upped the game by scooting closer. One arm snaked around his neck and the other wrapped around his waist. Hell, he could break out into song now, too. The kiss was hot and sweet, long, and filled with the freshness of a first time. He could see the promise of things to come. He lost himself in it and didn’t care that he’d gone as sentimental as a cheesy Hallmark card.

  Normally, in this situation and at this point, Tuck would be working out how to get the woman into bed. But she was different. Unfamiliar calculations began firing upstairs: What is it about this lass? Crazy, hot sensations roiled through him. Kissing Ryn was leap years ahead of everyone else. No one made him feel this way. True, he’d been in a dating drought since John’s accident. That ill-fated morning had changed Tuck. He was different now. Perhaps, kissing from here on out would be different, too.

  Finally, she pulled away a little, keeping her eyes down, looking shy, but with a secretive smile lining her mouth. He held onto her, not letting her move any farther away. With nothing to lose, he lifted a lock of her hair to his nose and was rewarded with the scent of flowers from her shampoo.

  “Lilac?” He smiled, knowing the scent well—outside his bedroom window when he was a wee lad at his parents’ home. Later on as a teenager, the aroma of lilac had clung to him as he’d climbed out the window for late-night merry-making or a forbidden rendezvous.

  At the present, lilacs not only hung in the air, the scent tugged at Tuck, threatening to recall a buried memory. He wouldn’t dig. Especially, not now. He was too busy savoring how wonderful Ryn felt in his arms.

  “Yes, lilac,” she whispered, as if she was afraid the spell might break, too.

  But in that moment, things changed for Tuck, and he slightly pulled away from the smell of her hair.

  But the fragrance of lilac had liberated that niggling memory, and try as he may, he could no longer ignore it.

  Raw emotion knocked him from his mooring. His insides teetered. His senses went off-balance. Three unrelated things bounced around in his head, trying to piece themselves together to solve the puzzle—Ryn, lilacs, and timing.

  It was too early in the season for lilacs…the timing was off. With his life unsettled and in turmoil, the timing was off, too, especially to meet a lass like Ryn. Aye, that’s what’s bugging me. Now was the time for him to stay focused with his only objective to make money…so as to make amends to John and his family. The last thing Tuck needed was to take on a new lass—one who would demand his time and energy. He had to stop things between them right now. Timing was everything, but the timing was off.

  No, that’s not it. He sat back, staring at Ryn, becoming more aware that something bigger loomed, which warned him to keep his distance from her.

  Old treacherous feelings welled up inside. Loathing. Betrayal. Embarrassment. He’d been trying to outrun those feelings for what seemed like his whole life. But as he stared at Ryn, those deadweight emotions piled on, washing over him again and again, relentless crashing waves, not letting him catch his breath.

  Suddenly, it hit him, and Tuck understood what Andrew was about.

  The resemblance was uncanny! It was almost scary how one human being could look so much like another.

  Hell, why hadn’t he realized it before? Ryn had looked so familiar at first glance. Tuck shook his head, trying to un-see the similarities. And heaven help him, he wanted to get the smell of lilacs out of his nose, too. Lilacs smelled of betrayal.

  He was seventeen again with Elspeth crying, her hair smelling of lilacs. He’d done the right thing. But taking responsibility had only made his parents and everyone think less of him when he’d told them he’d gotten Elspeth pregnant. A week later, Elspeth had been a no show. He’d been left at the altar, holding a red rose. No news until later that night of what had happened. What she did, and the truth about what she’d allowed me to believe.

  “What’s wrong?” Ryn’s eyes were no longer gleaming and glistening like before. Now her face was filled with concern and worry for him.

  He wanted Ryn to stop. Just stop!

  He blinked. God, he couldn’t believe his eyes! He reached blindly for the door handle, trying to un-see the truth, but that little mother-effer came skidding and crashing through his mind, wreaking havoc like a hundred car pile-up.

  How could he not have noticed before? The resemblance was uncanny…and cruel. A feral growl tore his insides as he turned away. Ryn didn’t just look like his ex- fiancée.

  Ryn is Elspeth’s dead ringer!

  12

  Ryn clutched Tuck’s hand, hoping to reverse the sudden shift in his mood. But the second his eyes—which were filled with loathing and animosity—fell on her, she dropped her grip. She scooted back and waited for Tuck to tell her what was wrong. Instead, he exited the car, slamming the door behind him, making her wince.

  “What just happened?” she asked the universe. She fell back against the seat with a heavy sigh, watching through the semi-fogged-up window as Tuck stomped away.

  Not again. “I’m such an idiot.”

  She and Tuck had just shared the most amazing kiss—powerful, mind-blowing. She felt certain his world had been rocked, too. But the whole debacle was a repeat of every relationship she’d ever had. She’d let herself be sucked in by his charm and good looks. And what did it get her? Nothing. Except he glared at her as if she’d sprouted horns and mauled him.

  Ryn felt paralyzed, her ego mowed down, and she stared into the nothingness of her lonely existence. Finally, she got out of the car and dragged herself toward her cozy cottage.

  Before going in, though, she hesitated outside, wanting to go to Tuck’s door and ask him, What the hell was that all about?

  But she couldn’t knock. She’d awoken an awful beast within him. Whoever said women were moody didn’t have a clue. Tuck had just proven that men’s moods could shift without warning—doing a one-eighty in a heartbeat.

  The pure vehemence in his gaze haunted Ryn. She opened her door to escape inside. The moment still felt shockingly fresh. And honestly, she didn’t want to see him. Not now. She could only withstand so much rejection in one night.

  She left her things by the door and made a beeline for the wall—the one she shared with Tuck. She laid her hand on it as if searching for signs of life. Was he lounging right now in the bed she’d slept in last night? Was he laughing at her for being such a fool?

  Her head fell against the wall and she whispered to herself, “Kathryn Iona Breckenridge, you were right about him. He’s exactly the same as all the other lying-cheating-good-looking-good-for-nothing bastards that you’ve dated.”

  Yes, the friendly, easy-going wolf had lured her in, but then like all the o
ther bastardly wolves, Tuck had revealed his bastardly true colors. Exactly the reason she’d come up with her True Colors quilt. The design was meant to remind Ryn of her past relationships. From bright to dark. Deadly and unexpected as a lightning bolt. The quilt also represented how she was to stay alert, centered as the circles on the quilt, with her only objective to remain true to herself.

  Her heart ached. No more!

  She wouldn’t be suckered again. She’d remain diligent. Her attraction to him had masked the truth about the man. Yes, she was programmed for the likes of Tuck, but she was long past due to switch the channel. Time to come up with a healthier way to live. Mom always told her candy would rot her teeth. If only Ryn had been warned that eye-candy could break her heart.

  She scanned the room, only now noticing how things had changed. The waterlogged mattress had been removed and in its place was a new one, wrapped in plastic. Clean sheets and a new pillow sat on the table. She glanced up and the ceiling had been fixed as well.

  She pushed away from the wall and picked up her things by the door. Time to put any notions she had about Tuck away for good. No matter the kiss had been phenomenal. “I mean it,” she said firmly to the room, but it wasn’t a convincing performance. She tried again. “I have too much to worry about with the retreat to keep thinking about Tuck.” Or any of the rest of the bastards who’d toyed with her heart.

  There was a knock on the door. In unison, her breath caught and her heart jumped. Adrenaline and endorphins flooded her system as she rushed to the door. He’s come to apologize! She was acting way too eager, but dammit, she just couldn’t help herself.

  She flung open the door and a smiling Sophie stood there, holding a folded patchwork quilt. As Ryn’s brain processed the information, her soaring heart turned belly-up and dropped to the floor, shot down cold with the arrow of disappointment.

  Sophie’s smile fell away and concern filled her face. “May I come in?”