“So what’s going on between you and him?”
She spun her chair back to face forward. “Nothing.”
They were quiet for a long time. Finally, Ross broke the silence. “So what do we do now?”
“I’m not sure. I’m not ready to tell everyone that the wedding is off. Are ye?” She ran her hand over the controls. “The truth is that I don’t have the bandwidth. Do you mind if we keep this to ourselves for now?”
“Fine by me. The uproar this is going to cause will be quite unpleasant.”
“I know.”
Even though they’d settled the future between them, the wheelhouse felt the slightest bit awkward. She slipped from her chair, walked over to her lifelong friend, and considered clouting him on the shoulder for old time’s sake. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He seemed taken off guard at first, but then put his arms around her, too.
She grinned into his chest. “If I had to choose one person not to marry, ye know, I’d choose you every time.”
He shook his head, chuckling deeply, and patted her on the back. “And I’d choose ye, too, Pippa, you goofy lass.”
* * *
Miranda sipped a bit of ale, pleased with herself. She’d done the little Scottish girl a favor by waking her up to the cold hard facts of business. Sometimes a woman got used. Pippa would toughen up after this and not get taken again.
As a bonus, Miranda could have Max.
Sure, Miranda had been looking forward to seeing Lachlan again. In some corner of her mind, she may have imagined they could pick back up where they left off. He was a smart, commanding man, both in bed and in real life. But even if they did hook up, she had no intention of making a life here. Max was a much more appropriate choice.
The door to the pub opened and frumpy Freda appeared, planting herself near the entrance, next to an old guy who must be one of the fishermen. Freda’s platinum blond hair was gone, replaced with highlights and lowlights, and cropped neatly about her face. Miranda had to admit that her hair was attractive that way.
Freda slipped her coat off and Miranda saw that she was dressed differently, too. She had on a colorful, long-sleeved flowing blouse that was age-appropriate and attractive in a retiree sort of way.
What happened to the makeover I gave her?
Miranda turned away and spoke to the much-endowed barmaid, the one who doubled as the receptionist at NSV. “What’s your name?”
The woman came closer. “Bonnie.”
“Give me a whisky.” Miranda wondered when Max was coming back. She was feeling restless.
Bonnie poured her a finger’s worth into a tumbler. “How long are ye in town?”
Miranda wasn’t in the habit of talking to barkeeps but she’d already made an exception with Pippa tonight. “As long as it takes.”
Bonnie leaned on the bar. “Then ye’ll be here for the bachelor’s auction?”
“What bachelor’s auction?”
Bonnie pulled a flyer off the mirror behind the bar and handed it to her. “It’s all in good fun. I’ve been saving my money for one man in particular.” Bonnie nodded toward the entrance.
Max had returned, standing next to Freda, but in deep conversation with the old fisherman.
Certainly the barmaid didn’t mean the old man. “McKinley’s in the auction?”
“Aye.” A hungry gleam filled Bonnie’s eyes. “He’ll be worth every bit of cash I can pull together. Of course, I won’t be the only local lass bidding on Max McKinley. I’m pretty sure Pippa will use her last pound to get him.” Bonnie sighed. “But I’m going to at least try.”
“What makes you so sure that he’s going to do it?” Miranda asked.
“I’ve seen the list myself. And the pictures, too. Hell, I was there when the pictures were taken.” She got a satisfied smile on her face. “Take a look at the Kilts and Quilts blog if ye don’t believe me.”
At the bottom of the flyer was the address: www.KiltsAndQuilts.com.
“I will,” Miranda said.
“Max will be in the McKinley tartan, of course. Deydie has Sophie making it; she’s one of our local lasses, who recently married a laird.”
“The McKinley tartan?” Miranda asked.
“Deydie has everything organized over at Quilting Central. She’s letting us locals cheat a bit. She has swatches of every kilt and the name to go with it so we’ll know who we’re bidding on. The out-of-towners won’t have a clue.”
“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you know who you’re bidding on?” Miranda asked.
Bonnie laughed. “A curtain will be drawn halfway down, so when our lads come on stage, the only things we’ll see are their kilts and their legs. It makes for a bit of fun to auction them off that way. Don’t ye think?”
Miranda thought it was asinine. “So where are these swatches exactly?”
Bonnie stopped short and chewed on her lip as if she’d said too much. “Ye’re not a local. Deydie did, after all, only want us to know.”
“Don’t worry,” Miranda assured her. “I have nothing nefarious up my sleeve. I just wanted to see the different colors of plaid. I think Scotland’s system of the clans is very interesting.” What a line she was feeding this woman.
“Bonnie?” a man at the end of the bar called. “I need a refill.”
Bonnie looked relieved. “Sorry. Gotta go.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” Miranda swung back around, sipping her whisky, while eyeing her employee. She was clever enough to find out which tartan Max McKinley was going to wear, all on her own.
* * *
Pippa lay awake in her bed, listening, hating herself for waiting for Max to come home. He’d turned out to be a bastard like all the other bastards she’d known over the years. She should thank Miranda for clueing her in. But still, Pippa had her ear tuned to the third step from the top, the one that creaked when stepped upon. She pulled the clock over and gazed at the time. One a.m.
Where was he?
Dread was tucked around her as if it were a quilt. Only a quilt didn’t make her queasy.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She crawled out of bed and dressed in jeans, a thick sweater, and warm socks. She had to know. She opened her door quietly and made her way down the steps, skipping the third one from the top. At the front door, she quietly slipped into her boots and snuck out into the night.
She knew what she would find at Thistle Glen Lodge, but knowing didn’t stop her. She had to see for herself. When she caught Max in Miranda’s bed, then Pippa would truly be able to let him go, once and for all.
Keeping to the shadows, she stole across town, though who would be out at this hour and in this cold weather was beyond her. Only the completely deranged. Acid churned in Pippa’s stomach, but she moved on.
When she got to the quilting dorm, sure enough, the light was on in the back bedroom. She tried looking in the window, but the double-lined curtains were pulled tight. Pippa went around front and quietly opened the front door and tiptoed inside.
She heard Miranda talking. She inched forward.
“Yes, Roger. Of course, I can cut my vacation short and go to France.”
Pippa peeked in the room. Miranda’s back was to her and she was packing her suitcase. No one else was there.
“I’ll leave in the morning.” Miranda hung up and laid her phone on her bed, next to her folded slacks.
Relief swept through Pippa, but other emotions nipped on its heels. Limbo. She’d both wanted and not wanted Max to be there. If he’d been there, then she could write him off forever. But now?
She sagged and backed away silently, ashamed for coming. She wasn’t the kind of lass to lurk outside of bedrooms and spy.
As she made her way home, the question that had kept her awake came back to her full-force. Where is Max?
* * *
>
Max woke on Andrew’s sofa with a helluva hangover, a crick in his neck, and the smell of coffee in the air. He wondered if he could lie here forever and not rejoin the human race. He should’ve found a way to get out of this godforsaken town last night instead of finding Andrew and tying one on. The nice thing about his new friend, he hadn’t probed, hadn’t asked why Max had near poisoned himself with alcohol.
Max tried rolling to his side, but the pounding in his head stopped him. One thing was for sure, he would do whatever it took to avoid Pippa today. Whatever they’d had—a good time or something more serious—was over. The end. The thought made his chest ache.
The Episcopal priest wandered into the tidy living room. “Ye look terrible.” He set a mug on the coffee table, and went to stand near the fireplace. He pointed at his cup. “God’s brew. Drink up.”
“Thanks.” Max dropped his feet to the floor and made his way upright, cringing. “And thanks for letting me crash here last night.” He picked up the mug and took a sip.
Andrew nodded and drank, too. “What’s on yere list for today?”
“Tying up loose ends.”
Last night after Pippa had dropped the E-bomb—engagement—there was no way he could go back to her house . . . sober, anyway. But then when he was drunk, he knew he couldn’t go that way either. This morning, he’d make his way to her house and clear his things out. Move back to the pub—the McDonnell or no. “I better get going.” Surely Pippa was at the factory by now. He didn’t want to go to her house, but he might as well get it over with. He couldn’t feel any worse than he did already.
“If ye’re hungry, scones are wrapped in foil on the stove. Help yereself. Stay as long as ye like. I have a visit to make first thing this morning.”
Max nodded, but he shouldn’t have. Pain ripped through his head.
Andrew said good-bye and left him alone. Max finished his coffee, folded the quilt, and put it at the end of the couch. He found his coat in the hall closet and his boots on the rug by the door.
Surprisingly, the crisp air outside soothed his head. At Pippa’s door, he hesitated only a moment before going inside. The house was quiet. He started to peek in on the McDonnell in the den when Pippa appeared at the end of the hall.
She stopped short as if he were an apparition.
He put his hand up. “Don’t worry. I’m only here to get my things and then I’ll be gone.”
Panic filled her face and he didn’t know why. She didn’t care about him. She was Ross’s problem now.
But Max couldn’t stand to see her upset. “I’m moving, but only back to the pub.”
Relief washed the panic away. But then she schooled her emotions. “I see. What about my da?”
Max walked toward her, speaking more softly. “What about him?”
“He wants ye here.”
Max was directly in front of her now. God, he loved the slew of freckles across her nose. He shifted his eyes to hers. “I’ll handle your father.” He tried not to think about the consequences, how the MTech deal might be affected if he didn’t do exactly as the McDonnell wanted. Would he encourage Pippa to call the whole thing off? But Max had to think about himself, too, and how he would be affected if he stayed.
“Then ye better go speak with him. He should be awake.”
But before he could head to the den, he received a text. He glanced at his phone. “Miranda’s off to France.”
“Good.” But Pippa didn’t seem surprised by the news.
“MTech has its sights set on a small valve company near Paris.” Another company to buy and dismantle.
She headed for the stairs. “Ye go talk to my father. I have to change. I’m needed at the factory.” She ran up the steps and out of sight.
Max tapped on the den door and peeked in when he didn’t get an answer. The McDonnell sat in his wheelchair staring out the window.
He knocked harder and stepped in. “Morning, sir.” This conversation was going to be damned awkward, but by God, he could avoid only one McDonnell at a time. And he needed to set the older man straight.
“McKinley.” The McDonnell nodded to the doorway. “She’s gone then? I got the feeling she wanted to dodge ye at all costs. Did ye two have a row?”
Yes, we had a row! She freaking wants to marry someone else! Max gave a noncommittal grunt instead and then chose the chair directly across from the McDonnell.
“We need to talk.” Gone was the McDonnell’s anger of yesterday. He seemed more subdued.
Max schooled his features. “Yes, sir, we do.”
“Don’t call me sir. Call me Lachlan.”
Max leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers, not knowing how to start.
The older man began first. “I wanted to thank ye.”
Max jerked upright. “For what?” For making love to his daughter? “I haven’t done anything that deserves thanks.”
“I know about the auction and why it’s taking place.” The McDonnell picked up his glass of water and gulped. “Abraham let it slip. But it wasn’t until last night that I heard ye were in it, too.” The McDonnell looked directly into Max’s eyes. “And ye, of all people, didn’t have to be part of it.”
Max felt uncomfortable, wishing for a way to escape.
The McDonnell raised a hand. “That’s all I wanted.”
Max understood what the words had cost the McDonnell and he had to say something, even if it was a lie. “I’m glad to do it.” And suddenly, Max was surprised that he was. He’d come to care for Pippa’s father, actually all the people of Gandiegow. He admired their close-knit community. It was only right to band together with them to help this proud man.
The McDonnell tilted his head to the side. “Ye had something to say as well?”
Might as well get it over with. “Yes, sir. I mean, Lachlan, sir.” God, he was fumbling over his words like a scared teenager. “I hope you know that I respect you, but sir, I’m not going to stay here at your house. I can’t.”
For the moment, the McDonnell lifted his eyebrow as if stronger men wouldn’t dare go against him.
“I’m moving back to the room over the pub.”
The McDonnell deflated. “I guessed ye would.”
Pippa walked into the room. She seemed to take in the scene and glared at Max as if he’d caused more injury to her father. “Da, I’m off. I’ll take out the garbage on the way. Mr. McKinley?”
Max exhaled. “Fine. I’m leaving. Good-bye, Lachlan.”
Pippa’s glare intensified.
Max walked from the room. She waited until they were out the front door before railing on him.
“What did ye do to my da? What did ye say?”
Max wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she forgot all about Ross and being engaged. Instead, he reached out and carefully wound her scarf around her neck, knowing exactly how she would react. She stilled. Max had thrown her off guard, but only to prove a point.
“Maybe it’s time to admit that Ross isn’t the right man for you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Over the next week or so, Max saw Pippa, but they didn’t speak. He was a freaking saint, giving Pippa the space she’d asked for. Seeing her and not being with her was hell. Maybe he should’ve gone back to Houston while MTech’s legal team and Pippa hashed out the final negotiations. But he didn’t want to miss being here if he was needed. But if he’d thought sleeping across town would keep him from agonizing over her, he’d been dead wrong.
He’d seen her at the factory while he helped Taog in the machine shop. He’d caught glimpses of her at the restaurant and around town. Pippa had even ruined church for him, the one place that should be a sanctuary from hurt and pain. But at the Christmas pageant, he’d watched as Pippa sat with Ross and his family. It had been pure torture. Max looked for signs, actions,
anything, trying to figure out if Pippa was truly meant for Ross. He saw none of it.
Max trudged into Quilting Central with his borrowed tools, ready to meet up with Abraham Clacher to finish up the stage. But as he made his way to the back, he overheard Bethia talking to Deydie.
“I’ve handed out the assignments for the big wedding.”
Ross and Pippa’s wedding?
“Which ones?” Deydie asked.
“Claire will bake the cake. Amy is looking into decorations. Maggie is working on an invitation list.”
“Good. Good.” Deydie patted her dress pocket. “I have a few chores to hand off meself.”
This wasn’t the first whisper of something big that was about to happen, but it was the most definitive. He needed out of here. There was only so much a man could take. He crouched down, grabbed a nail, set it, and pounded the hell out of it.
The door to Quilting Central opened, and as his lousy luck would have it, Pippa waltzed in. He stopped and watched as she made her way to her sewing machine across the room.
Abraham cleared his throat.
“Fine,” Max groused. He picked up another nail, placed it, and whacked it. He just didn’t understand himself. Why did her engagement feel like a betrayal? He’d known from the beginning that Pippa and Ross were promised to each other.
But he knew why. She told me outright she wasn’t going to marry him! Max grabbed another nail and abused the lumber with his hammer, doing his best to ignore her.
He heard his name. When he looked up, Ailsa and Aileen, the twins, were making their way over. Ailsa handed him a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” He opened it. There was an address on the inside.
“Deydie asked us to take care of a few things,” she said.
Aileen took over. “We wondered if ye’d be willing to run an errand for us . . . to Inverness.”
“It’ll be ready when you get there. It’s just some fabric we need,” Ailsa said.
Max wiped the dust from his jeans. A little road trip might be just what he needed. He looked to Abraham, who was listening.
“Go on, Yank. I can finish this up without ye.”
The Accidental Scot Page 22
