Miranda seemed appeased and gave a small shrug of understanding. “You might have told me earlier,” she muttered.
“I tried. But now you know.” He motioned to her plate. “Your bangers and mash are getting cold.”
Miranda rolled her sausage away with her fork, frowning. “I would starve to death if I had to live here. Or I’d gain a hundred pounds.” She pushed her plate away, her cinnamon scone barely nibbled.
Max hurriedly ate, paid Claire for the excellent breakfast, and walked Miranda to the car. “I guess I should also prepare you for the factory. It’ll be like nothing you’ve ever seen.” As he drove, he told her about the sail-making business, the boat storage, even the workers. He just couldn’t bring himself to mention the abundance of Christmas trees, the one thing he couldn’t rationalize away.
Once inside the lobby, Miranda glanced around with disdain, but kept her opinions to herself as he asked Bonnie to let Pippa know they were there.
Alistair showed up a few minutes later. This was the same Alistair that he’d met, the one wearing the business suit, but this time her suit was plaid, driving home her heritage. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun as before, and he itched to pull the pins and let it cascade down over her shoulders. But he knew she had a point to prove. He stood back and let her have at it.
With a fake smile on her face, Pippa stuck out her hand as if she’d never spoken to Miranda in her life. “Welcome. I’m Alistair McDonnell. And ye must be Miranda Weymouth.” Pippa’s brogue was heavy, as if she was ladling out a thick stew—thick enough to choke Miranda.
Miranda, surprisingly, didn’t call Pippa on the carpet, but shook her hand as if nothing was amiss.
Max shrugged apologetically and fessed up. “I told Miranda about your split personality.”
“Persona,” Miranda corrected. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a woman.” She didn’t look as if she was ready to play nice with Pippa, just as though she could relate. “And where is Lachlan, your father? I assumed he would be here to greet me.”
Pippa glanced at Max first to see if he’d told her about the McDonnell—his injuries, his inability to heal.
He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Pippa faced Miranda. “My da has other things to tend to today.”
“I expect to meet with him soon,” Miranda said firmly.
Pippa shot her a glance that conveyed it would be over somebody’s dead body. “Shall we get on with it?”
Alistair gave them the grand tour, more professional than the one he’d received on his first day. Miranda seemed to be watching both him and NSV’s chief engineer closely as if trying to gauge what was really going on between them. Hell, if she found out, then he’d like to know, too.
After they hit the high points of the factory, Pippa guided them back to her office. The room had been straightened and a small table, looking suspiciously like the café table from Quilting Central, sat in the corner with three kitchen chairs around it. The place was still cluttered, but in better shape than when he’d first seen it.
Pippa gestured for them to sit. “Make yereself comfortable.”
Miranda pointed to the stack of papers on her desk. “Is that the contract?”
Pippa straightened. “Aye. I’m still working through it.”
“Perhaps I can meet with Lachlan and go over the high points with him.” Miranda’s offer was met with a stony glare.
“The McDonnell and I have it covered.”
Pippa might as well have said it aloud, because Max could plainly see it on her face . . . I’ll get back to ye in my own sweet time.
Miranda held her ground. “Then I want to see the subsea shutoff valve designs while I’m here.”
Taog popped his head in the office. “Pippa, if you’ve got a minute, I need ye in the machine shop.” His face reddened as if he’d only just noticed she had visitors. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Pippa grabbed her hard hat. “We were done here. Max, you know yere way out.” She stood at her office entrance and waited for them to pass. Then she pulled her door shut, twisted the knob as if to check that it locked, and left without another word to either of them.
As soon as Pippa was out of sight, Miranda turned on him. “McKinley, you better not have ruined this deal by dicking with the owner’s daughter.”
“I assure you, the deal is on track.” It has to be. “But as I said, I need a copy of the contract to make any headway.” He peered through the office window at the contract lying on Pippa’s desk.
Miranda started walking toward the double doors they’d come through. “You know all you need to know. Close this deal, or else.”
He was angry. Miranda, MTech, or both had sent him into battle without weapons . . . and expected him to be victorious! He stomped to the car.
He drove Miranda back to the town’s parking lot, where Ross, Ramsay, and Abraham stood in front of a truck that was at least sixty years old, examining it.
“I’ve got somewhere to be,” Max said. “Are you good on your own?”
“Of course,” Miranda snorted.
Max waited while she walked from the parking lot and out of sight before joining the other three. He would like nothing better than to find Pippa right now and get the damned deal settled, but he’d promised to help the men with the stage for the bachelor auction. God, Max hoped Miranda was back in the States before he had to prance across the stage in a skirt and be auctioned off. He wasn’t some juicy steak in the supermarket to be bought.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said to the men.
Ross nodded his head in the direction Miranda had gone. “Ye looked busy.”
“Aye,” Abraham added.
“So what is it that we’re looking at?” Max said.
Ross sighed impatiently. “It’s a truck.”
“Are ye sure?” Ramsay teased.
Ross clouted Ramsay on the shoulder. “I’m going to fix it up. I figure if my younger brother can start a new business, then I can, too. Of course, for me, the fishing comes first. But Armstrong Hauling has a nice ring to it.”
Abraham guffawed. “There’s more rust and dents on the truck than McCurdy’s boat.”
“I’m not sure this heap can handle hauling a feather, the shape she’s in.” That remark got Ramsay another punch on the shoulder.
“We’re going to find out.” Ross opened the door. “Who’s riding to the mill with me to pick up wood?”
Ramsay took a step back, putting his hand to his ear. “I think I hear my wife calling. I’m coming, Kit!” he hollered back to the wind.
“Chicken shite,” Ross complained.
Abraham chuckled, walking away. “I’ve got to swab the deck of me boat. Looks like ye’re stuck with the Yank.”
“Get in,” Ross said, frowning at the backs of the other two men.
Max guessed the contract could wait another hour . . . if the damned truck didn’t break down and delay him further.
* * *
Freda hurried up to the porch of Thistle Glen Lodge, knowing this was the bravest thing she’d ever done. She tapped lightly on the door. She’d heard the whispers, people calling Miranda the Queen Shrew. Freda knew otherwise. Miranda was going to be her savior. She tapped harder.
Miranda finally opened the door with her mobile phone in hand, clearly irritated, and frowning. “Yes?”
“I’d like to speak with ye.” Freda looked down at her snow-covered boots, feeling more like Moira than herself right now.
Miranda didn’t budge with her hand on the door. “Go on.”
“May I come in?”
“This better not take long. I have calls to make.” Miranda opened the door wide and let Freda pass through. “What’s this about?”
While a disapproving Miranda watched, Freda slipped off her boots and left them in the
rubber tray to catch the melting snow. Her courage of a moment ago felt as if it was melting away, too.
Oh, dear. Maybe coming here was a mistake. She should leave. Instead she made herself stay rooted to the spot. “I’m Freda Douglas. My cottage is just down the way.”
Miranda gave her an impatient nod.
Freda hung her coat on a hook, wishing she was better able to tell people what she needed. She turned back to Miranda. “I want to get some advice from you.”
Miranda’s impatience seemed to be growing. “About what?”
Freda felt as if a lemon had gotten caught in her throat. But her need was greater than her fear. “How you were able to put your insecurities behind you and become confident.”
Miranda’s mouth fell open. For a second, Freda thought she might question her on how she knew.
But Miranda took a deep breath and wiped all emotion from her face. “So you want to gain confidence.” She paused for a long second, then smirked at her. “What do I get in return?”
That took Freda off guard. Gandiegow wasn’t a tit-for-tat community. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything that ye’d want.”
The American lass gave her a sly look. “Not true.”
“What do ye think that I have?”
Miranda led her into the living area, pointing for her to sit. “I’ll help you, if in return you help me with the town.”
“This town? What can you mean? I don’t have any . . . clout.” People barely noticed her. Most days Freda felt invisible. She’d known the McDonnell for her whole life—fifty-nine years—and not once had he really seen her. Why would anyone listen to what she had to say now?
“You have to help me convince the leaders of Gandiegow that a partnership with MTech would be good for everyone. A win-win.”
“Believe me. I have no influence.” Freda felt a little desperate. She’d come here with hope, but now she was going to leave empty-handed.
“Promise me that you’ll talk to your clansmen or whatever you call them.” Miranda waved irritably like Freda’s help was a done deal.
She sat there speechless, not knowing how to correct her or how to fix this.
Miranda studied her, putting a hand on her slender hip. “Is this confidence problem that you’re having about a man?” She shook her head. “Never mind. Of course it is. Who is he? A fisherman? A lumberjack? What’s his name?”
Freda wanted to crawl from the room. She couldn’t tell this woman about her deepest secret. The only person she’d confided in was Emma, and even then, she hadn’t given his name.
Miranda shrugged dismissively. “If you won’t tell me, then I can’t help.”
Freda was trapped. But she’d come this far to change her life. She had to go the rest of the way. “It’s the McDonnell. He’s the one who owns the factory.”
Miranda sneered. “Of course.”
“Do you know him?”
“A little.” Miranda got a gleam in her eye as she gave Freda the once-over. She didn’t seem to approve of even one inch of her. “Your hair is mousy.”
Freda reached up to touch her mane. She never gave her hair much thought. She knew the gray was coming in, but she wasn’t a spring lamb anymore.
“Stop acting like you might cry. Confidence is all about looking your best. You need a makeover,” Miranda said matter-of-factly. “A dye job for sure. A revealing dress. And for goodness’ sakes, put on some makeup. After I get done with you, you’ll have Lachlan eating out of your hand.”
Miranda had said Lachlan as if she knew him well . . . really well. Again, Freda had second thoughts about coming.
“But I came here to find out what you did,” Freda braved.
Miranda waved her off. “We’ll start with your hair. I assume there’s some place in town to buy dye. A drugstore, or what do you call it, a chemist?”
“The General Store has them.”
Miranda grabbed her purse and dug out a nail file. “You work on your nails while I find a decent color for that mop of yours.” She shook her head as though it was hopeless, but then shrugged on her coat and was gone.
Freda felt a little sick. This wasn’t what she had wanted. But maybe this was the first step that Miranda had taken to change herself.
Freda settled herself on the love seat and looked at her fingernails. It had to be a process. If filing her nails was going to change her destiny, then she would manicure herself until she was perfect.
* * *
Pippa tried concentrating after Max and Miranda left, but her emotions were everywhere. She ate lunch with Murdoch and Taog, but even their bickering couldn’t distract her. She worked on the books in the afternoon, but knocked off early. When she got home, Da was asleep in his wheelchair, his lunch tray beside him. Freda was nowhere in sight. She wondered how long Da had been alone.
A rap sounded on the door. Pippa went to answer it. A strange woman with platinum blond hair stood there. It took a good minute for Pippa to realize it was Freda.
Freda with makeup caked on her face.
Freda squeezed into a black wraparound dress, her boobs nearly exposed, and with a trench coat hung over her shoulders.
Freda looking absolutely miserable.
“What the . . .” Pippa was at a loss for words.
Freda trembled, but seemed determined. “I came to see Lachlan.”
Pippa had never heard Freda call her da by his Christian name.
“Nay. Stay right here.”
“But—”
Pippa shut the door. She hated to do it, but there was no way she was letting her da see Freda made up like a tart.
“Who is it?” The McDonnell called out in a scratchy voice. “Has Freda come to sit with me?”
Pippa ran into the room. “Nay, Da.” She grabbed the contract and laid it beside her father, a hundred thoughts roiling through her head. “I’ve got to run. Do you mind taking a look at the contract while I’m gone?”
He looked a little confused, but finally nodded.
She kissed his head, grabbed her coat, and ran back to the door. She found Freda shivering even more.
“Come.” Pippa took her arm. “We’re going to get you back to your cottage.” Before anyone sees you.
Pippa steadied Freda while they walked to her house. She wondered if Freda had ever worn heels this high in her life. And she wondered who had lent them to her.
Once inside her small fisherman’s cabin, Pippa had a plan. “Go change into something comfortable. We’re going to Inverness to get this fixed.”
Freda stood there, defeated. “I knew I looked awful . . . but Miranda said I looked irresistible.”
“Miranda?” Pippa didn’t mean to screech, but it sure came out that way. She had the urge to find Miranda and give her a makeover! But Pippa wouldn’t abandon Freda. “Why would you let her do this to you?”
Freda looked down at her hands. “I don’t want to say.”
Pippa pulled her over to the couch and sat with her. She grabbed the quilt from the back and wrapped Freda in it. The woman she’d known her whole life, the woman who’d cared for her through everything, looked so small and low now.
Pippa said it for her. “Ye did it to get my da to notice ye, didn’t ye?” She wrapped her arm around Freda’s shoulders.
Freda let out a sob, then another, and then she let go while Pippa held her.
Freda had been the one Pippa had run to when the baby whale had died on their beach. She’d cried in Freda’s arms until she could cry no more. Freda had put bandages on her knees. Hemmed her skirts for the céilidhs. Fed her soup when she was sick. Had been a true constant in her life.
The realization hit Pippa over the head like a falling mast. Freda has been the mother I never had.
Pippa was ashamed that she’d never noticed before. Ashamed she’d never told Freda how much she l
oved her. How much she meant to her. How the world was a better place because she was in it.
Pippa was as bad as her da. She wiped away her own tears and squeezed the woman who had done so much for her. “I love you, Freda. Ye’re the best person I know.”
Freda cried harder.
“Come now. You and I are going to dry these tears. Ye’re going to get that damned makeup off your face. After you’ve changed, we’re going to Inverness and fix the mess that Miranda made of yere hair. We’ll buy you some new clothes. And if my da doesn’t notice ye then, I’m going to find a harpoon and shoot him in the backside. Bluidy blind bastard.”
Freda laughed through her tears. “Really?”
“Hurry now. I’ll make a hair appointment while ye change.”
Freda slipped off the high heels and stood. “Pippa?” She paused for a moment. “I love you, too, lass. Always have.”
Pippa smiled at her. “Go on now, or you might have to live with that hair color forever.”
Freda hurried from the room.
“And burn that dress,” Pippa hollered, laughing. She fell back on the cushions.
Huh, she was okay with Freda having feelings for her father. Better than okay. Even Kit their local matchmaker couldn’t have found her da a better match. And her da better agree, too! The second thing that hit Pippa was that Freda—who had settled her whole life—apparently wanted more. A wave of protectiveness came over Pippa. How could anyone even consider transforming one of the nicest, sweetest people on the planet into a parody of a sexy woman? Miranda should be strung up.
But right now, Pippa had a hair appointment to make. She also called Bethia and asked her to check in on her da.
On the drive into Inverness, Pippa shared with Freda what she’d learned while living in Edinburgh on her own. “Self-confidence is really one of the most attractive assets anyone can have.”
“I figured that,” Freda said sheepishly. “That was why I went to Miranda in the first place. I could tell she had transformed herself from a scared lamb into a mighty tigress.” Pippa didn’t know about that, but she kept her opinion to herself. “She said a makeover would give me the self-confidence I needed.”
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