She focused at the spot just beyond his shoulder. “Stop for a second. There’s something I must tell you before you meet my da.”
The doorbell rang. Impatiently, Pippa turned and answered it.
Freda Douglas stood in the entryway with a sheepish smile on her face, holding one of her pots of soup. Freda was as interesting as the worn wallpaper in the hall, but had been a part of Pippa’s life for as long as she could remember.
“’Tis for you and the McDonnell.” Freda started to step in.
Pippa stopped her by taking the soup tureen. “I’d ask you to stay but we’re busy right now.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the Yank behind her.
“Aye. Tell yere da I’ll call on him tomorrow.”
“Thanks for the soup.” Pippa closed the door, feeling a smidge bad for the look on Freda’s disappointed face, but she had bigger fish to fry right now.
She set the tureen on the foyer table and turned back to Max.
“As I was saying”—she chewed on her lower lip—“there’s something you need to know. My father isn’t well. He’s had an accident.” She wouldn’t tell Max everything—there was no need.
His eyebrows cinched in concern. There was also a hint of why wasn’t I told before written across his face. “What kind of accident?”
It was none of his damn business. She glowered at him. “Don’t say anything to upset my da, do you hear?” She picked up the soup and marched away toward the parlor. She didn’t give a crank that she hadn’t informed MTech beforehand about the McDonnell, and that she was running NSV now. If they’d known, the vultures would’ve sent ten executives to pick away at her father’s carcass instead of just one.
Max grasped her arm. “Hold on a second.”
Pippa stopped and glared at him.
“What’s going on? Am I here under false pretenses? Does NSV want a partnership or not?”
She wanted him to unhand her. His touch was unnerving and it sent a warning sensation down to her very bones. She had to be careful with this one. She needed to keep MTech interested without NSV appearing weak. She couldn’t let on that they were the only firm willing to work fast . . . fast enough to save the factory. All the other potential investors wanted to wait until after next quarter.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. If only it were.
“Is your father still the decision maker?”
“He’s perfectly in his right mind. Now come along and don’t keep him waiting.”
Pippa stepped into the parlor. Her da seemed a bit better this evening. He rested in his wheelchair in front of the fireplace, one foot and one arm in casts with metal pins surgically placed in both appendages. Ribs had been cracked and his back messed up during the accident, too. A can of oxygen sat in the corner but her father refused to use it.
“Crusty ole bastard.” Pippa walked over and kissed the top of her da’s head before laying a protective hand on his shoulder.
The McDonnell peered over his glasses. “Is this him?” He motioned to Max. “Come closer so I can get a good look at ye.”
Get a good read on him was more like it. Max McKinley would be toast then.
The McDonnell had the gift—he could discover a person’s character within the blink of a gannet’s eye. It didn’t matter that her father was injured, he could still recognize a bullshitter from a kilometer off. Da would get to the bottom of things.
“Sit here beside me.” The McDonnell motioned to the love seat next to his wheelchair.
Confidently, Max walked over, acting as if he had nothing to hide.
He stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” And the two shook.
At one time, Pippa had been sure she had the gift, too. But that was before she’d had any real dealings with the opposite sex in the romance department. As it stood, her track record was horrendous at best, and she no longer trusted herself when it came to choosing men. Heck, she no longer trusted men, as a rule. Except her da.
For a long moment, the McDonnell gazed into Max’s eyes. He finished with a satisfied nod.
“Well?” Pippa asked.
“Your fears are unfounded, daughter. He’ll do nothing to hurt us.” Da gave her a look of finality like there would be no more said on the matter.
“Fine.” She felt dismissed and looked up to see Max frowning at her as though he understood her depth of mistrust.
Her father held out his design notebook for the Yank. “Take a look at what I’ve been working on. It’s an idea I had this afternoon for a new control valve. Tell me what you think.”
Pippa blocked Max as he reached for it. “Don’t, Da.” She glared at her father. The American was the wolf in sheep’s clothing, no matter what her father might have seen in his heart.
Max tilted his head toward her. “She’s right. If your chief engineer isn’t comfortable with me seeing your designs, then I don’t want to see them either. Besides, I came here tonight to show you something—just some little improvements—things you could implement now at your plant to increase your efficiency.”
Her da nodded, satisfied with the interaction, and set his notebook on the side table. Max didn’t even glance toward it, which must’ve taken a Herculean dose of self-control. Everyone knew the McDonnell had vision when it came to engineering innovation.
“I’ll get you both something to drink if you promise, Da, not to give away the farm before I return.”
“Don’t worry, daughter.”
Before she left altogether, she addressed their guest. “And you, Mr. McKinley, don’t start talking about those plant improvements without me.”
Max smiled at her and she felt discombobulated and a wee bit uncomfortable. She made her way to the kitchen to pour them all a soft drink. For the hundredth time today, it hit her that maybe inviting the American to dinner wasn’t such a good idea.
During their meal, she did a better job of keeping an emotional distance from the Yank. While they sipped tea afterward, Max laid out his ideas—booting up the offline conveyor to move parts from one side of the factory to the other, revamping how they pressure-tested their valves, and installing a few radio frequency transmitters to remotely track their whole process. She hated to admit it, but she was impressed. Scots were world-renowned engineers and it irked that an American had swooped in and shown them a thing or two.
She noticed her father was looking peaked and uncomfortable. He fumbled while putting down his teacup and he had gray circles under his eyes. The evening had drained him.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s time for your medicine, don’t you think? One painkiller or two?”
“Just one. Maybe bring my oxygen into the den as well?” He shifted toward Max. “I sleep in the den. Can’t manage the stairs with my banged-up body.”
She stood but Max beat her to it, positioning himself behind the wheelchair.
“You point the way, sir. I promise to give you a smooth ride.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my da by myself.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “But apparently not capable of taking help from others.”
Her father chuckled. “He’s got yere number, daughter. I believe ye’ve finally met your match.”
Max balked at the words, but recovered quickly, grabbing the oxygen can and tucking it under his arm as he began rolling her da toward the doorway.
“Suck-up,” Pippa muttered, making sure the Yank heard her.
He had the audacity to grin.
Her da turned his head slightly to address her. “The lad will help with the kitchen before you walk him home. While ye’re out, daughter, stop by Bethia’s and pick up the herbal tea she’s fashioned for me.”
Pippa wanted to argue. She didn’t need or want any help in the kitchen, and Mr. McKinley certainly didn’t need an escort to find his
way back to the pub. But she kept quiet. Her father had a tendency to read more into matters than was actually there.
“Fine,” she finally said.
“That’s my good lass.” Her da and the interloper disappeared down the hallway together.
* * *
Max helped the McDonnell onto the chaise lounge and propped pillows where the older man directed, putting them behind his head and under his injured arm and leg.
“What else can I do for you?” Max asked.
“Set that glass of water over here next to me on the side table.” The McDonnell laid his head back and sighed. “And one more favor.”
“Anything.”
“Look after Pippa while ye’re here. She works too hard and I’m in no condition to help or to stop her.” Worry camped in the older man’s eyes.
It seemed a strange request. Max had spent enough time today with the people of Gandiegow to know they were protective as hell when it came to her.
In any case, from what Max had seen, Pippa wasn’t the type of woman who would accept assistance. Especially from him. But nevertheless, he answered, “I’ll do my best.”
“Off with ye now,” the McDonnell said gently. “She’ll have that kitchen tamed and spotless before you can even get in there.”
“Yes, sir.” Max left and went to NSV’s chief engineer.
She was banging pots and pans around in the sink and muttering loud enough that the neighbors could’ve heard. “Never needed a man to help before. Why would I need one now?”
Max cleared his throat. “Wash or dry?”
She flinched, and then regained her composure. “Wash,” she said firmly. “Ye’ve no idea where the dishes go.”
He pushed up his sleeves, took his place at the sink, and contemplated whether or not to ask about her father’s condition. Max waited a full minute for her to say something or at least give an explanation as to why he hadn’t been told. When she didn’t, he turned to a safe subject instead. “Tomorrow, I could get the offline conveyor up and going. I have plenty of controls experience to give you a hand.”
By the stubborn set of her jaw, he didn’t think she’d accept his help.
Finally, she turned to him. “Actually, that would be grand. I have an appointment in the morning, but afterward we can discuss further what MTech has in mind.”
Max rinsed the platter and handed it to her. “What about your father? Shouldn’t I discuss the deal with him at the same time?”
“Nay. Tomorrow’s not good.” She gave him no other explanation. As she dried, she seemed to be wrestling with the universe.
Alistair Philippa McDonnell was an interesting creature. She acted as tough as any roughneck on an oil rig but had a vulnerability that made him want to wrap her in his arms and tell her it would be okay. Which was ridiculous on so many levels. He shook the thought away and concentrated on the next dish.
With both of them working, it didn’t take long to get the kitchen back in order and the counters wiped clean. Pippa set items out for tea in the morning. The act seemed so domestic and natural that Max uncharacteristically wished he had someone at his apartment to share a cup of coffee or tea with in the morning before heading off to work.
He banished the idea. Marriage and family were for people like his brother or sister, but not for him. He was happily married to his career—liked his independence. And planned to keep his life just as it was.
Pippa held the swinging kitchen door open. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” He made his way down the hall to the front.
She retrieved their coats from the closet. He started to reach out and help her, but she shied away from him, slipping into her parka herself. Fine. Apparently, chivalry is dead in Scotland.
He slipped into his down jacket and put on his hat. “So what is this tea your father wants you to pick up?”
Pippa walked onto the porch and waited for him. “Our Bethia has recently become a certified herbalist—at seventy-five, no less. She’s one of the ladies from Quilting Central.”
“I met her today,” he said as they made their way down the boardwalk. “Deydie’s sidekick, right?”
“Aye. Doc MacGregor talked her into it. With Bethia on call, it gives the doc a chance to get away now and then. As we speak, Doc’s in Edinburgh with his da, something about minor surgery.”
“So what has Bethia prescribed?” he asked.
“She’s concocted a remedy for my da that she hopes will help heal his bones. She’s done wonders for others in the village.” Pippa got this worried look on her face and he wanted to reach over and smooth out the pinched line between her eyebrows.
“Your father, what’s going on? How did he get injured? Is he going to be okay?”
She gave an evasive shrug. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice caught on the end. “It’s hard to see Da so . . . so . . . He’s the strongest man I know.” She seemed to crumple.
He didn’t know what to do and was surprised by how deeply he felt her pain. Irrationally, he wanted to hold her. But he couldn’t do that—her independent streak was wider than the ocean before them. In the next second, she confirmed it, straightening into a rigid pillar, back to being strong and prickly.
“I’m not normally so—”
“Human?” he said, cutting her off. “It’s okay.”
She pushed her curls back, glaring at him.
He didn’t back down. “You care about your father and there’s nothing wrong with needing someone to talk to or to lean on every now and then. I get the feeling you’re used to being the shoulder to lean on and not having one for yourself.”
“Don’t pretend you know me, Mr. McKinley. Ye’re here to conduct business, not to be my therapist.”
She was right. He didn’t know her, but for some reason he wanted to. He wouldn’t admit he’d spent a major portion of the day thinking about her. Things that didn’t have to do with engineering either. He wanted to peel back her armor and see what lay beneath. Find just the right spot to touch her and drive her crazy. To have those long legs of hers wrapped around him . . .
He ran a hand through his hair and forgave himself for objectifying this intelligent woman. He was only male, after all, but not caveman enough to act on his basic urges. He was here to negotiate MTech’s deal. Not to get her into bed. Or even offer comfort, for that matter. She had a whole town to do that for her. Max had been stupid. “You’re right. Sorry. I don’t know you.”
She seemed satisfied, and then glanced at the house they just passed.
He stopped. “Is that where Bethia lives?”
“Aye,” she replied.
“It’s getting late. Go ahead and get the tea now.”
“Fine.” At the rate that she took off up Bethia’s walk, he wondered if she might be embarrassed to be seen with him.
After a few moments of knocking, the old woman came to the door. She leaned out and peered at him and then went back to talking to Pippa. A few minutes later, Pippa rejoined him on the sidewalk with a small bag in hand.
“All right then.” Max wheeled around in the opposite direction, toward her house with the red roof and the green door.
Pippa grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? That’s not the way to the pub.”
“I know.”
She bristled. “You’re a regular cowboy, aren’t you? I don’t need an escort to make it home. A woman has a weak moment about her da and you think—”
“Stop right there. There’s no way in the world that anyone could accuse you of being weak. I want to walk you home, is all.” It would make him feel better to know she made it home safe and sound. But he didn’t dare voice that out loud.
As she marched ahead of him, she muttered to herself above the crash of the waves and whistle of the wind. “Been handling Gandiegow in the dark my whole life. Even as a wee lass.”
Her brogue seemed thicker when she was angry.
Max caught up with her and they plodded along in silence. At her door, as he opened his mouth to tell her good night, he sneezed.
“Bless you,” she grumbled.
He coughed, not able to stifle it.
“Are you okay?” She wore a troubled frown.
“I’m fine.” But he sneezed again.
Her expression deepened into concern, looking much like she had over her dad earlier.
Max reached around and opened the door for her. “Stop worrying. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’m not worried,” she snapped. “It’s just we have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“I’ll come by and get you at the pub,” she reminded him. “You might as well ride with me to the factory. Save petrol. Save the planet, and all.”
He sneezed again. “Sounds good.”
“Are you sure you aren’t getting sick?”
“I’m great.” He stepped off the porch. “See you in the morning.”
But, he suddenly realized, he didn’t feel great. Burning the candle at both ends this past week, plus jet lag, plus cold wet feet this morning and his breezy kilt, had finally caught up with him. He felt achy. He dragged himself back to the pub and fell into bed. But his sleep was fitful. He just couldn’t stop shivering.
* * *
The next morning, with extra coffee in hand, Pippa stomped her way up the pub stairs, grumbling. “I can’t believe I have to go looking for him. He should be waiting at the front door for me.”
Granted, they hadn’t agreed to meet on the main level, but she’d assumed she wouldn’t have to rouse the Yank from his bed. “Does MTech want to do business with North Sea Valve or not?” She knocked on Max’s door.
No answer. She peered down the hallway at the loo, where the door stood wide. “Where is that skiver?” She knocked again, and heard a groan.
Chapter Four
Pippa cracked the door open and saw Max twisted in his blankets with his arm over his eyes. He groaned again.
The Accidental Scot Page 5
