“No,” she finally answered. “Truthfully, I just need you to walk me home.”
Ross glanced back in Max’s direction one more time and she couldn’t help but look back again, too. Max was rooted to the spot, his eyes glaring in their direction, as if he was a man who had a stake in what was going to happen next.
* * *
Max was a freaking idiot. It had been a long day, one hellish roller-coaster ride. He kicked the snow and walked away. There were a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t be interested in Pippa McDonnell. But the number one reason—no matter what she’d said—was that she belonged to the six-foot-something fisherman walking her home.
What did Ross Armstrong have that Max didn’t?
Pippa for one. A common heritage for another. A past. Everything. Plus the backing of the whole damned town!
Max better quit thinking with his groin. Pippa was the McDonnell’s daughter and chief engineer and nothing else. He blew out a deep breath. If only he could convince the monster in his chest that she wasn’t something special. Hell, he wanted nothing more than to call Ross out and fight for her.
Max couldn’t go back to the pub right now, not with Miranda still there. When would Deydie come to collect her? He walked on to the restaurant and hesitated at the door. But he couldn’t stand out in the cold all night. He hoped the place was deserted so he could brood alone.
It wasn’t.
A crowd sat around a group of tables that had been pushed together. He’d been introduced to them all at one time or another since he’d arrived, but he didn’t feel comfortable enough to do more than greet them politely. They were having none of it, however, and immediately waved him over.
He noticed Cait with Mattie. He still wanted to apologize for the remark he’d made to Mattie when they’d been introduced. But now wasn’t the time. He’d have to wait until he could catch Cait alone.
“Come and warm yereself,” Claire said cheerfully. “We were just stuffing envelopes for the bachelor auction.”
Andrew, the only adult male, looked at him imploringly, his eyes begging Max not to leave him alone with them.
Emma, the psychologist from England, confirmed it. “We were just counseling Father Andrew on what to do about Moira. Have a chair.”
Kit Armstrong—local matchmaker and sister-in-law to Ross—nodded her head. “Moira and Andrew are having some issues at the moment. We’re trying to help.”
Max didn’t move, not sure whether to sit or bolt for the door.
Cait stood and prodded her son, Mattie. “Fetch Mr. McKinley a mug and a plate so he can have tea and scones with us.”
Mattie nodded and left the table.
Cait came to Max and laid a hand on his arm. “I see it on yere face, and I don’t want you to worry about before. There are no hard feelings. Ye didn’t know.”
The rest of the table looked at him questioningly, but thankfully they didn’t pry. Apparently they had their hands full with Andrew.
Max nodded to Cait. “All right then.”
She dropped her hand and took her place back at the table.
Amy from the store scooted over and made room for Max. “Sit here. We were giving Andrew some ideas of what he could do to repair things with Moira.”
Max glanced in Andrew’s direction, thinking they should leave the poor bastard alone. He parked himself at the table and nodded to the priest in a show of solidarity.
Mattie appeared at his side with a plate and a teacup. “Here, Mr. McKinley.” His voice was as quiet as before, but steady.
Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing and smiled at Mattie affectionately. Max had to hand it to Gandiegow—they sure knew how to support and love one another.
Cait seemed overcome by the moment, too. She grabbed Emma’s hand and squeezed. “I’m going to miss you all.”
“Going on a trip?” Max asked, only to be friendly.
Everyone looked a bit startled, but Cait recovered quickly.
“My husband is out of town on business. An extended stay. Mattie and I are going to go back with him when he returns.”
Emma patted Cait’s arm, and then hugged Mattie. “But they’re going to call often. Right, Mattie?”
“Aye,” he said in his small voice. “And Skype.”
“And Skype.” Emma smiled at the boy. In the next second, she swiveled toward Max, eyeing him. “You’re a man,” she said in her London accent. “Would you jump in and fight for the woman you love or would you let love slip away?”
Oh, God. What had he gotten himself into? Was it too late to make a run for it?
The others looked at him expectantly. Stalling, Max cleared his throat. He so wanted to tell them to leave Andrew alone, and himself, but he was no match for this many female Scottish warriors.
Amy shoved envelopes, a sponge, and a ramekin of water at him. “Seal these while you give us yere opinion.”
“Go on,” Claire encouraged.
“I don’t know anything about it,” Max said, hoping to get them off the scent.
Emma gazed at him matter-of-factly. “Andrew says otherwise. When we insisted he had to talk to someone, the good Father said he’d discussed his problem with you the other day.”
He gave Andrew a what the hell? glare. What happened to the bro code?
Claire smiled encouragingly as she poured him a cup of dark, hot liquid from the carafe. Cait put two scones on his plate and pushed it toward him, with an expectant gaze.
Max cleared his throat again. “I think everyone should give Andrew and Moira some space to work things out for themselves.”
Kit seemed to take umbrage. “I know from experience that these two need some assistance to get back on track.”
“Well, I’ve tried talking to Moira,” Amy said, “but she’s being stubborn and won’t say a word of what’s going on.”
Andrew seemed to be hurrying through stuffing his envelopes so he could get the heck out of there.
Max looked down at the stack of flyers in the middle of the table. “Maybe Moira needs a push to make a decision.”
Kind of like Pippa had made her decision tonight—she chose Ross over him.
“What do you mean?” Emma asked.
He glanced over at Andrew as if to apologize while picking up the auction flyer absentmindedly. “Maybe Andrew needs to put himself back on the market and let the chips fall as they may.” He set the flyer in front of Emma.
Amy whacked Max on the back good-naturedly. “That’s a brilliant idea. Absolutely brilliant.”
Andrew looked horrified, but finally found his voice. “Ye think I should put myself into the bachelor auction?”
Max held his gaze. “What could it hurt?”
Andrew frowned at him fiercely. “I could get bought by another woman. Then where would we be?”
Max shook his head. “If Moira doesn’t at least try for you, well, then, I think she’s sending you a strong message, man.”
Andrew looked heartsick.
“Well, then, it’s settled. Father Andrew is going on the list.” Amy pulled a piece of paper from a pile and wrote the pastor’s name at the bottom.
Something caught Max’s eye—specifically his name on the list. He took the paper from her, and there it was in black and white—MAX MCKINLEY.
“What the . . .”
Amy laughed. “Ye didn’t know?”
“Of course I didn’t know.”
Claire relieved him of the sheet of paper. “We all thought you looked very sexy in yere kilt, brooding like that.”
Pippa. The factory. Her camera. Oh, God!
“When was she going to tell me?” Max didn’t expect them to reply. He stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse. I’m off to get some answers.” From Pippa. And have it out with her now!
* * *
Pippa sat
at the kitchen table with the box of financial papers that she’d been sorting through for weeks. At every turn, she found more and more evidence that her father hadn’t told her the truth. In her hand now she held the note that was the tipping point. Da had mortgaged their house to make payroll for the factory.
She slumped back in her chair. She was finding out that maybe her father wasn’t exactly the man she thought he was.
She should’ve just gone on to bed after Ross walked her home. Or she should’ve read a book. Anything, except come across this. Another payment on the second mortgage was coming due. How was Pippa going to cover that?
Tears ran down her cheeks, but she was mad as hell. The pressure was killing her. She couldn’t take one more thing going wrong. Not tonight.
There was a light rap at the back door and then it opened. Pippa rose, expecting any one of the Gandiegowans who came and went from their house. She didn’t expect, though, to see Max.
He looked ready to go to war with her, his face hard, his stare dark. But then it seemed as if his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, perhaps each one of her tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away.
“Oh, hell.” He pulled his wool cap off, crossed the room to her, and gathered her into his arms. “Ross didn’t do anything to hurt you, did he?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good. I’d hate to get into a fistfight here in Scotland.”
She’d cried only a handful of times in her life, and two of those times had been since Max McKinley had arrived in Gandiegow. Did he have this effect on all women, making them break down into a blubbering mess, or was it only her?
Max held her tight. “Can you tell me what’s wrong then?” His voice sounded thick with emotion. He stroked her hair.
She didn’t speak, only buried herself deeper in his embrace.
He led them over to a chair. When he sat, he pulled her onto his lap. “Spill it.” His words were gentle, but firm.
He seemed to know just the right tone to take with her. She slipped into the chair next to him, but he kept his arm around the back of it, as if to show he was there in case she needed to be held again.
She couldn’t tell him everything. Max was still MTech after all. But she could share with him how the pressure was getting to her about her da’s medical issues . . . that without her da helping, the weight of the burden fell on her.
“I thought I’d figured it all out. I asked MTech to come back to the table to talk about a partnership. I set up the bachelor auction to pay for a specialist for Da. But as soon as I figure out one thing, another problem pops up.”
Max stroked her hand. “So at least you putting me up for auction is for a good cause?”
She faced him, feeling terrible. “I should’ve talked to you sooner about it. I just hadn’t gotten around to breaking the bad news. Ye’re not too mad, are you?”
“I’ll live.”
“Ye don’t mind wearing the kilt again?”
“I figured as much.”
“And that the ladies will be ogling you like ye’re a tasty meat pie?”
He laughed. “Great.”
“But ye’ll do it for Da?”
He leaned over and brushed his lips across hers. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
She slipped back onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck. For a long moment, she gazed into his perfect eyes. She still couldn’t be with him, but she could show him how much she appreciated his sacrifice. She leaned down and kissed him.
He tasted as enticing as scones. And he tasted like Max. It was that thought that had her deepening the kiss. Without any effort at all, she was completely wrapped up in him. And nothing could make her pull away from kissing him right now.
“Pippa?” her da called from the den. “Are ye there? I need a pain pill and some more water.”
She rested her forehead on Max’s. “Aye, I’m here, Da. I’ll bring it right in.”
Max rubbed noses with her. “I better go.”
She didn’t want him to. She wanted him to stay so she could kiss him some more. “Aye. I guess ye better.” She climbed off his lap and went to tend to her father.
Chapter Eleven
Max woke in the morning with Pippa still on his mind. Holding her last night, comforting her, had affected him even more than the steamy kisses they’d shared before. She was twisting up his insides in ways he never thought possible.
Right now, he had the dreaded job of meeting with Miranda. He quickly readied for the day. If it had been any other job site, Max would’ve donned his business suit and tie again. He thought about texting Miranda, telling her to dress casual this morning, too, but she was all business all the time.
At the Glen Thistle Lodge quilting dorm, which was nothing more than a bungalow, Max rapped on the door. Miranda opened it right away. She was wearing a relentless navy pantsuit, a high-necked blouse, bloodred lipstick, and a frown.
She pierced him with her gaze. “What took you so long? And what are you wearing?”
He chose to ignore both statements. “I thought we’d go to the restaurant first and discuss our plan of action.” His objective . . . getting Miranda to divulge the details of the contract.
She slipped on her trench coat and grabbed her expensive briefcase. “We’ll have to eat quickly. I want that meeting with Lachlan McDonnell today. He’s not answering his cell. Do you have another number for him?”
“No.” There was no way that he was letting Miranda near the McDonnell in his current condition.
“Never mind. We’re expected at the factory this morning, anyway.”
“Expected?” Max said, stunned.
“Yes. I e-mailed Alistair last night and it’s all set.” She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “When you didn’t arrange the meeting, I did. I’m getting a little tired of doing your job for you, Max. What have you been doing since you got here, besides the scullery maid?” She put her hand up. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
She clipped past him and out the door.
Great. He pointed out the direction of the restaurant and they were off. He treaded beside her except in the places where the path was too narrow, where only one person could pass at a time. But he was determined to have a serious talk with Miranda before they went to the factory.
When Max walked into the restaurant, Claire waved hello. “What can I get ye? Two morning specials?”
Miranda ignored her and seated herself.
“Sounds good, Claire.” He started over to Miranda, but was called away.
“Yank?” One of three men at the far table motioned to him. Max didn’t know his name, but he knew the other two—Ross and Ramsay Armstrong.
“Miranda, I’ll be a minute.” He left her and went to the men. “Yes?”
“I’m Abraham Clacher. These two—”
“We’ve met,” said Ross.
“Oh, that’s right. Ross was the one who told me ye was good with a hammer. Deydie asked me to build a platform or a stage, something for that bachelor auction.” The old man chuckled, but then it turned into a cough.
Ramsay pounded the elderly guy on the back.
“What Abraham is wondering,” said Ross, “is if you’re up to helping us build this thing.”
Ross turned a paper napkin toward him, on which was sketched the general shape and dimensions.
“Are you going to be auctioned off as well, Ross?” Hell, Max sounded nosy, and it was none of his business, but he was curious if he’d gotten wrangled into it, too.
Ross’s frown deepened. “Aye. I’ve been enlisted.”
Ramsay cuffed him on the arm. “See what happens when you dawdle? Ye should’ve married Pippa years ago. Now ye’re going to end up being some boy-toy for a Glaswegian widow.”
“Leave off.” Ross looked as though he might punch hi
s brother back, but not in the arm, and not in jest.
“I know how you feel,” Max muttered. He picked up the napkin and examined it. He set it back on the table and pulled out a pen, adding height to the stage’s drawing and four steps leading up. “What if we do this?”
Claire passed by and tapped him on the shoulder. “Yere food’s ready. But more important, yere lady is impatient.”
Max spun around. Sure enough, Miranda was cutting a glare at him that should’ve cleaved him in two. “We’ll have to pick this back up later.”
Abraham leaned around Max and nodded. “Aye.”
Max joined Miranda.
“What was that all about? You seem awfully cozy here among these people.” She made it sound unsavory. “You were sent here to do a job. Or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten. But how am I supposed to do my job if you preempt me and send over a contract I know nothing about?” There. He’d laid it on the table.
“I don’t know why you haven’t received your copy, Max.”
He didn’t believe her. She was stonewalling.
Max would have to make Pippa listen to reason. She had to let him read her copy.
Thinking of Pippa brought the issue of Alistair to the forefront. “There’s something you need to know before we go to the factory today.”
She glanced at his clothing. “What, that you’ve contracted yourself out as one of their hired hands?”
He wouldn’t tell her about the times he’d helped at NSV.
“It’s about Alistair.” He paused for a second. “You’ve already met her.”
“What are you talking about? Alistair isn’t a woman.”
She most certainly is. Max could still feel her on his lips. “Pippa is Alistair McDonnell. Alistair Philippa McDonnell.”
Miranda looked horrified. “What?”
“Using the name Alistair makes it easier for her to navigate in the business world. She pulled the same trick on me. I didn’t want you to walk in there and be surprised like I was.”
The Accidental Scot Page 15
