She had to let the fog clear from her brain first before speaking. “Kissing you is like kissing my cousin.”
He unzipped her coat and slipped his hands inside. “Most unconventional family.” He kissed her again, this time tantalizing her with his tongue. She couldn’t help the moan that slipped from her lips.
She forced herself away from him. “Okay, I concede. Maybe kissing you is a little fun.” She touched her swollen lips. “But it has to stop. I’m not an affair-type girl. In fact, my Dating Card has been revoked. By me,” she added.
“Relax,” he said—the Big Bad Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood.
“Yeah, relaxing before got me into an atrocious marriage.”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “Put it out of your mind.” He kissed her again. This time his hands roamed over her, running up her sides, over her breasts. “If you want me to stop, I will. But I hope ye don’t.”
Deydie’s lecture on teats and milk came back to Cait, and she laughed. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “Time-out. I need to regather my convictions.”
She wasn’t the only one affected—he breathed hard himself.
“We need a diversion,” she said. “Let’s get to wrapping those Christmas presents.”
“Ye’re no fun at all,” he groaned.
“That’s not what you said a few minutes ago.” She turned and sashayed up the stairs.
The den had been packed full of sewing machines. A mound of overflowing sacks sat in one corner. On the desk lay rolls of wrapping paper, ribbons, bows, tape, and scissors.
“This is going to take all night,” she exclaimed from the doorway.
The Big Bad Wolf breathed down her neck. “I hope not.”
“Don’t get any ideas. I’m here to help with the presents. Not for you to get into my goodies.”
He laughed. “We’ll see.”
She walked to the center of the room with the boxes surrounding her. “You could’ve fed the whole town for what all this costs.”
He gave her a pointed look. “From what I hear, I don’t need to.”
She put her hands on her hips. “What did Amy tell you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m going to duct tape that girl’s mouth shut,” Cait mumbled. She tossed him a roll of wrapping paper. “Come on, Mr. Generous. Time to get to work.”
He tossed it back. “I’ll go get us something to drink.” And left.
“Men,” she complained to the room. “Always making themselves scarce when it’s time to wrap presents.” She sat on the floor and started with the first machine.
She’d finished with two before he returned with two steaming hot cocoas.
He set hers down beside her. “It’s the salty caramel kind. I hope you like it.”
“What I’d like here is some help.” She took a sip. “It’s delicious, though.”
He crossed over to the mound of sacks. “How about I get these organized into piles? Most of it’s for Mattie and Duncan.” He looked over at her. “I never got around to showing you what I got Duncan.”
“Because you were accosting me,” she whispered to her cocoa as she brought it to her lips again.
He pulled out a package. “It’s the latest satellite phone for the boat. I want Mattie and Duncan to always be connected.”
“What’s the story with you and Duncan?” she said. “Since I’m doing all the work here, you have to spill it.”
“In a nutshell? You know how kids are. When they’re young, you’re their hero; then they hit adolescence, and suddenly you’re the devil. But I think things really got complicated when Mattie came along. Ever since then, Duncan’s been really angry about me not being around when he was a kid.” Graham sat beside her and picked at the carpet. “I can respect he wants to be his own man. But he could give me a chance to make up for not being there. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.” Graham sighed.
She took his hand. “Anyone with half a brain can see that Duncan is a hell of a man, which means you’ve been a hell of a da.”
He gazed at her. “I was determined to never raise a child in the limelight. Those kids can get pretty screwed up. My own da kept Duncan here, and I got back as often as I could. When I was younger, though, I stayed very busy, one job after another. If I had to do it over, I would make different choices.”
“Such as?” she prompted.
“Long ago, when that producer discovered me and told me I’d be great on the big screen, I should’ve told him to go flush himself. I was so full of it back then. So cocky. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And it was a lark at first. I thought I’d do it for a while and then come home. But starring in Pride and Prejudice changed the course of everything forever. I had expected to parallel my father’s life—live here, be a fisherman. As it turned out, I became his polar opposite. I’d walk away from it all if I could, but too many people depend upon me.” He tilted his head, his eyes creasing with sadness.
“I know what would help,” she said seductively.
“Yeah?” He perked up. “Some serious necking?”
She held out the wrapping paper. “A little manual labor.”
He chucked her under the chin. “Always full of sauce, aren’t ye?”
“Yup,” she replied. “I come by it honestly. Deydie’s my gran.”
* * *
Cait actually made it back to Deydie’s that night and into her trundle bed. The next morning, the day before Christmas Eve, she woke to the smell of coffee, the aroma of fresh-baked scones, and Dingus licking her face. “Stop it,” she chortled. “You’re not my alarm clock.”
He wagged his tail in reply.
Deydie hovered over the table with her hand made into a fist. “Ye better get yere arse up.” She punched the dough in front of her with the force of a sledgehammer, making Cait glad she wasn’t the flour and yeast. “We’ve got to get the baking done today.”
Cait rolled over and snuggled with the puppy. “Don’t you ever enjoy a little lie-in?”
“Not when there’s work to be done.” Another oomph to the dough. “And there’s always—”
“Work to be done. Yeah, yeah, I know.” Cait chanced a glance at her gran.
Ever consistent, Deydie delivered one of her withering glares.
Cait pushed herself into an upright position. “No need to get your panties in a twist. I’m getting my arse up.” The dog barked happily.
The morning and early afternoon flew by, her gran taking Christmas baking to a whole new level—an obsessive-compulsive one. It wasn’t so bad spending time with Deydie, working side by side. They made enough butter-laden baked goods to clog the arteries of the whole northern coast of Scotland. They’d gotten into a sort of rhythm with the flour, the sugar, the shortening, coming together to make something special from the separate ingredients.
While Cait braided the last fruit-infused dough into a Christmas stollen, she wished she and Deydie had become like the dough, weaved inexplicably together, become a real family. But they hadn’t.
By late afternoon, the table was covered in loaves of fresh bread, mounds of decorated cookies, and a line of Christmas stollen that Santa would’ve been proud of.
“Mind now, we’ll be up early,” her cranky gran commanded, as she handed Cait the plastic wrap. “We have a lot to do.”
Cait tore off a sheet. “And today was a respite?”
“Don’t be fresh,” Deydie growled.
They had a light supper, and before Cait knew it, the old woman was ushering her off to bed like she was six years old again.
Even though Cait was exhausted, she lay in bed for a long time thinking about things she shouldn’t. At odd times throughout the day, she’d had these unbearable twinges of hope come over her, a sweet and sappy anticipation, wond
ering if Graham would make an appearance. Just to see his face would’ve been enough to keep her from missing him, the handsome dog. How he’d weaseled his way into her life and into her thoughts was beyond her. But as the sky darkened outside and no one had knocked on the door, her twinges had faded into a dark despair. Cait punched her pillow and rolled over, determined to get some much-needed sleep.
In the wee hours of the morning, Dingus whined and Cait got up and took him out. No sooner had she gotten back into bed than Deydie was poking her awake.
“Up with ye. We’ve got calls to make today,” the old woman said.
Cait’s groggy mind didn’t understand. “Phone calls?”
“No, ye silly girl.” Deydie’s voice was barbed. “Calls to the infirm and homebound. We’re sharing our Christmas joy.”
Christmas joy? It sounded like six months’ hard labor. Cait just wanted to sleep a while longer, but she dragged herself out of bed anyway. “I need caffeine.”
“I’ll make tea while you dress. Hurry now,” her gran nagged.
“All right already.” Cait dressed in her chestnut wool slacks, mocha turtleneck, and walnut-colored mukluks. The browns made her light blue eyes stand out. By the time she’d finished, Deydie had a mug ready for her. Breakfast consisted of one cherry scone from yesterday’s cooking frenzy and half of a banger.
They started Christmas Eve morning by dropping off the puppy with Moira, along with a fresh loaf of bread. They spent the rest of the day going from house to house. Deydie insisted Cait pull the wagon with the boxes of goodies, her gran cackling every time the wagon slipped off the icy path. Some of the people they visited got lap quilts and loaves of bread, others only Christmas cookies. It seemed to Cait that Deydie was an unlikely Santa, but she took her job seriously, barking orders at her elf, Cait, every chance she got. The more her not-quite-five-foot gran ordered her about, the happier she seemed.
Christmas Eve had awakened all of Gandiegow. Normally, the streets were empty in the middle of the day, but not today. Everyone was out. With the number of people coming and going to the store, it should’ve had a revolving door. Others hung garlands as last-minute decorations outside their homes. Even more folks stood about calling, “Happy Christmas to ye,” to passersby, the harsh weather not stopping their cheer. A real Norman Rockwell Christmas.
But it was all bittersweet. Everywhere they went, Cait felt her mama. The folks of Gandiegow talked about Nora as if she were making Christmas cookies in the cottage around the corner with the bright blue door. Didn’t these people know that her mama was dead? Hearing Nora’s name both hurt and soothed at the same time. After Mama died, her father had never mentioned her again. Cait, so alone and new to America, had sometimes wondered if she’d only imagined the mother her father had forgotten. But here in Gandiegow, Mama was remembered. And remembered fondly. Was it hard for Deydie to face her dead daughter’s memory day in and day out? Or did it make her feel better? Cait began to feel it was almost too much. She wanted to hide under one of Deydie’s quilts and never come out. Instead, she walked on behind her gran, pulling the wagon.
Deydie Claus ended her route back at Moira’s house. The twins had arrived and were sitting with Kenneth. Deydie and Cait stayed only long enough to make sure they weren’t needed and to get Dingus. But before they left, Cait felt compelled to hug Moira. She wanted to tell her everything would be okay, except she wasn’t sure it would.
On the way back to the cottage, Cait once again longed for Graham. It’d been two whole days, and she wanted to see him, talk to him. She wished he’d been there to see Deydie hold the sick Bruce baby or hear how Deydie had sung Christmas songs with the tone-deaf Mr. Menzies. Or see how the townsfolk had stepped outside for a kind word or a wave as they passed with their Christmas wagon. She could almost see Graham’s eyes twinkle with the telling. Cait’s erratic brain had gone into automatic journalist mode, cataloging little snippets for him all day long. How stupid. She should give herself one hell of a shake for being so foolish. Why would he care how her day went, anyway? She was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her.
By the time they got back to the cottage, it was already dark and it was only three thirty. Cait tried to unwind in front of the fire while Deydie warmed the leftover Cullen skink soup for their dinner. Cait took deep, relaxing breaths, recentering herself as she’d learned in yoga class.
No surprise, her gran didn’t cooperate with Cait’s mental health moment.
“Get that last loaf of bread,” Deydie demanded. “We’ll need to hurry through our dinner to get to Mass and the Christmas pageant by five.”
It’d completely slipped Cait’s mind. The thought of entering the church made her stomach churn even worse. The last time she’d walked into a church was the last time she’d seen her mama. Nora had lain in a plain wooden casket, dressed in white, looking like an angel taking a nap, not dead at all. But when her da made her kiss her mother, she’d felt nothing but cold; none of Mama’s warmth and softness was there. That’s when it hit home. Mama was gone forever. Cait didn’t hear one word of the service that followed. She simply stared at the cross, wondering why her beautiful mother had to die and nobody was doing anything about the pain she was feeling.
“Caitie?” Her gran snapped her fingers, waiting for the missing loaf. “What’s got into ye?”
“Nothing,” was all Cait said. She’d have to glue her game face on for Gandiegow tonight, or else all would know she had no intentions of cutting God any slack.
* * *
Graham got back to the house empty-handed and frustrated after spending a good portion of the day in Inverness. He’d been there for an hour, going from shop to shop, before he realized what he was doing—hunting for a present for Caitie. He started kicking himself for acting like a pining fool until he figured out his motive. He wanted a present for her only because she’d been so good to his family. And when he found that present, it would be from all the Buchanan men and not just him.
The last two days, he’d stayed away on purpose. He’d wanted to prove to himself he didn’t need her. Caitie made him laugh, sure, and he wanted a physical relationship with her—who wouldn’t? God, she was sexy as hell. It was okay to enjoy her company, the way her smile comforted him and how her smart-aleck cracks made him feel like a normal guy. Not something he experienced out in the real world. But it wasn’t like he depended on her. He was just fine by himself.
He made himself a Scotch on the rocks and took it upstairs to the den. If it had been anyone else but Caitie, he would’ve bought a piece of jewelry and that would’ve been the end of it. But Caitie only wore a small locket on a chain around her slender neck and a pair of simple stud earrings. Both seemed to be part of her, like the mole on her right forearm or the dimple on her left cheek when she smiled. Generic jewelry for Caitie just wouldn’t cut it. Maybe he would order her something special from the Internet. But he just didn’t know what.
The den looked empty now with all the wrapped presents downstairs in the parlor. He pulled a photo album from the shelf and sat at the desk. He still had a few minutes before he had to get ready for the Christmas pageant.
Many of the pictures were of his da and him, ones his mother had taken with their old camera. Others were of Gandiegowans—Deydie, Bethia, Freda, Kenneth, The McDonnell, Pippa, and Claire. Some of these townsfolk were still here, some gone to other locales now.
And there it was. Graham had almost missed it. A Christmas present for Caitie.
He pulled the album closer and examined the photograph: Caitie and her mother—a young Nora smiling, holding a toddler with mischief written all over her face. Graham carefully removed the picture and walked around the house, searching for a frame from his own collection. He found the perfect one—an antique mahogany that held a photo of him at eight, holding up a nine-kilogram cod, one that had given him a hell of a fight.
He removed his picture and posit
ioned Caitie’s photo in the matting. On a whim, he returned his boyhood picture so it sat behind hers. After locating the wrapping paper Caitie had liked best, he gently wrapped up the present.
For long minutes he sat at the desk and sipped his drink, staring at the gift. He’d had a successful day. Besides finding her the perfect present, he had finally figured out what he was about. He wasn’t some lovesick pup or attached to Caitie in any way; he was just attracted to her, nothing else, and the same was true of her. He felt confident they could keep it loose between them. They could have the physical relationship he’d been fantasizing about, and nobody would get hurt. He walked from the room and turned out the light. It was time to get ready for the service at the church and spend the rest of the evening with Caitie.
Chapter Fourteen
Cait laughed at the sight of Deydie hurrying to Saint Henry’s Episcopal Church as if rushing to witness the actual birth of Jesus.
“I need to get there early for Rhona,” her gran called over her rounded shoulder. “Now stop yere lollygagging.”
Cait would’ve liked to skip church. It would’ve been nice to sit this one out, just stay by the fire with Dingus instead of torturing herself by going. She caught up with her gran anyway.
Deydie elbowed her. “Now, listen up. I know we’re an Episcopalian community and all, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t accept outsiders.”
“What are you talking about?” Cait asked, pulling her bronze scarf tighter around her neck.
“It’s Ailsa and Aileen. They’re Catholic.” Deydie lowered her voice, as if the word were a bit daring to utter. “But they’re good quilters. And because we don’t have their church here, they come to our Mass.” Her gran looked over at Cait as if she might do something rash, like block the doorway when the twins tried to enter.
Deydie added, “I just thought ye should know.”
To Scotland With Love Page 15
