“If you hit me one more time, I’m throwing you in the loch and telling everyone it’s a romantic gesture.”
“Like they’ll believe y—” Her eyes widened. “Oh!”
“Aye, oh.”
He’d tossed her into the loch during their wedding reception—and then followed her straight in. The stars had been out overhead, and their families had strung up fairy lights around the small picnic area. The townsfolk had provided the food, with everyone bringing their favorite dish, and her grandfather had played his guitar while people sang.
After their wedding ceremony in Gretna Green, he’d thought it the most romantic event of his life.
“Should we get a pie?” Katya gestured to Morag’s stand. “Then we can at least have a break from holding hands, and you can dry off your clammy palm.”
“I thought we could go to the pub and get a couple of cold drinks. It looks like it’s going to be a rare stinker of a sunny day.”
As they spoke, they each headed in a different direction, only to be pulled up short by their joined hands.
“Fine,” Katya gritted out. “We’ll go to the pub.”
“No, pies are okay by me.”
They swapped directions—with the same result. As they stood there, glaring at each other, Darach and Denise appeared in front of them.
“What are you doing?” Denise said through a smile that was all teeth. “You don’t look like you’re holding hands; you look like you’re handcuffed to each other.”
“This is weird,” Brodie complained. Then, noticing people nearby watching them, he threw back his head and laughed loudly, as though they’d told him a great joke.
Of course, that forced the rest of them to fake their own laughter.
“Nobody in their right mind is ever going to believe this act,” Darach said when they were done.
“Isn’t acting supposed to be in your genes?” Denise quietly demanded of Katya. “The two of you are completely wooden.
“If you want a proper actress, get my mother to hold his hand,” Katya hissed. “I don’t want to do it anyway.”
Brodie held up their joined hands and gave them a pointed look. “You think I want this?”
“Dear heavens above,” Denise snapped. “It isn’t difficult to pretend you’re hot for someone. Watch.” She turned to Darach, grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulled him down to her, and kissed the living daylights out of him.
While the crowd around them whooped and clapped, Brodie and Katya stood there, stunned.
When she was done, Denise patted a dazed Darach on the chest. “See?” she said to Brodie and Katya before looking up at Darach. “Did the earth move for you?”
“Uh, no,” the idiot said honestly, shutting down any hopes of a repeat performance. Had Brodie taught him nothing?
“Exactly.” Denise beamed at him. “We have no chemistry whatsoever, and yet, we managed to pull that off. Whereas you two have chemistry, and history, and experience with each other. So, make a bloody effort.” She hooked her hand through Darach’s arm. “You’re buying me a coffee,” she told him.
With a grin for Brodie, Darach let Denise lead him into the pub.
“She’s right,” Katya said with what could only be construed as grim determination. “We can do better. All we have to do is remember that the touching and kissing and sweet words mean nothing.”
“Because they do.”
“Exactly.” She tossed her long ponytail and straightened her back with determination. “Put your arm around my shoulders, and we’ll walk over to the knitting group.”
“You know, this whole thing would go a lot better if you’d stop telling me what to do. I know how to behave like I’m hot for someone.”
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Aye, really.”
They glared at each other.
“You are going to put your arm around my shoulders, aren’t you?” she demanded.
“Aye.” He let out a sigh and draped his arm around her.
Her hand slipped into the back pocket of his jeans. “Right, let’s go deal with Knit or Die.”
Three paces later, they tripped over each other and almost landed on top of the new vicar.
“Back to holding hands, it is.” Brodie gripped her hand firmly before striding across the cobblestone road toward Margaret Jamieson, who was studying them with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
“Remember,” Katya muttered, “you love me, all is forgiven, and we’ve realized we belong together. That’s what we’re going for and what we need to sell. We can do this.”
As her words sank in, something ripped open within Brodie, and it felt as though the world had tipped on its axis. Suddenly, putting one foot in front of the other proved to be much more difficult than it should have been, and despite being surrounded by the noise of a crowded street, all he could hear was Katya’s voice.
You love me. All is forgiven. We belong together.
It was as if those words had found something inside of him. Something that had been lost for such a long time, and that something grasped at her words like a lifeline. And from the way his heart raced, Brodie wasn’t sure it would be possible to ever let go of those words. Over and over, they repeated in his head like a mantra until they became embedded within his soul.
Could it be true? Was it even possible? Did he want it to be?
“Are you okay?” Katya whispered.
“Aye, aye, I’m fine. A wee bit lightheaded from lack of sleep.”
“Do I need to find you some coffee?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Good, because we have to focus on the mission. This is how we’re going to save our land and our future. It’s game time.”
But all Brodie could hear were the words echoing in his mind.
You love me. All is forgiven. We belong together.
Dear God, he hoped it was just delusional thinking brought on by exhaustion.
17
“So, you’re a couple again?” The leader of Invertary’s knitting group was clearly skeptical. “But you weren’t together yesterday, when we were trying to find him a mail-order bride? That was fast work.”
“What can I say?” Katya was fed up with wearing a fake smile. Her face hurt. “The heart wants what the heart wants. It’s destiny, and the stars aligned for us. It’s as though we were meant to be together…again.”
Shona McBride, who sat in the deckchair beside Margaret’s, cupped a hand behind her ear. “Sorry, can you speak up? I think I might have missed one of the clichés you just spouted.”
The row of retired women, all wearing matching T-shirts with the words Knit or Die across their chests, giggled like schoolgirls. They’d lined their deckchairs up right across the road, from the bottom of the high street to the lochside, and it looked like they were in it for the long haul. They had flasks at their feet, and plastic containers filled with home baking were doing the rounds. And the knitting needles were clacking busily.
“At least you’ve got the weather for your protest,” Brodie said inanely.
“You want to discuss the weather now?” Margaret cocked her head at him in disgust.
Brodie was right, though—it was a perfect Scottish summer’s day. The sky was blue, the sun was out, and the loch sparkled. The green hills that cradled Invertary seemed to almost gleam in the morning light. The only thing ruining the picturesque sight was the line of traffic backed up down the road.
Bus and truck drivers honked their horns and shouted, but the people in cars and the tourists on the buses happily abandoned their vehicles to go for a wander through town. There was plenty to keep them occupied while they waited for the road to clear because Invertary knew how to put on a protest. As well as the pie stall, a coffee stand, and a breakfast special at the pub, entrepreneurial artists were selling their work by the side of the loch. There was even a piper out on a boat, and Katya spotted a member of her brother’s band busking on a corner.
“I’ve got to ask,” Brodie said to Margaret. “Why are you knitting with wire instead of wool?”
“We’re making a fence,” she said. “A woman in the islands did it, and we thought it sounded like a great idea. We plan on stringing this across the road when we can’t be here.”
“Um,” Brodie said. “You realize somebody could easily move it out of the way, right?”
“Not the way we’ll fix it to the road, they won’t.” Margaret looked determined.
“What happens if you get the pedestrian crossing before you can use the fence you’re knitting?”
“Don’t worry.” Margaret narrowed her eyes. “We’ll find a use for it. Ever since we started yarn bombing and took to protesting, we’ve discovered nothing is wasted. Last month, we protested the lack of services in town for pregnant women by sending all the booties we’ve knitted over the years to the regional health board. So, I’m sure we’ll find a use for a wire fence.”
The woman in the chair beside Shona elbowed her and jerked her head toward Brodie. “Is this the stripper?”
“I’m going to go with no,” Shona said wryly. “This is my sister-in-law, April. She heads up the new chapter of Knit or Die in Fort William and was really looking forward to supporting Brodie’s latest business venture.”
April McBride leaned forward in her chair with an air of solemnity that made Katya think the woman was about to impart some great wisdom. “We’re calling our group Knit or Die Harder.” She beamed.
“I still strip.” Brodie remained straight-faced. “But only for Katya.”
“Anybody else feel like vomiting?” Margaret Jamieson said as she stood. She tucked her knitting into the chair behind her and pointed at Brodie and Katya. “You two, follow me.” And then she marched over to the stone wall at the edge of the loch.
Once they reached the wall, Margaret turned her back on the town, folded her arms, and stared down Brodie and Katya. “Spill,” she ordered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Agitated, Katya shook off Brodie’s hold to reach up and tighten her ponytail.
“I’m talking about you two hardly being able to look each other in the eye, let alone hold hands. If you’re back together, then I’m the queen of Scotland.”
Brodie leaned against the wall and smiled. “That’s harsh, Margaret. Can’t you see our love is eternal?”
“So’s your bullshit.” Margaret gave them a firm, motherly look that almost made Katya want to blurt out their secret.
Man, she was good. No wonder her daughter, Kirsty, never got away with anything when she was growing up. “You use that look on your grandkids too, don’t you?” Katya said, impressed. “I bet you know everything that’s going on in Kirsty’s house.”
Margaret’s grin was broad. “Don’t think you can distract me. I know a scheme when I see one, and you two are definitely up to something. If you tell me, we might be able to help.”
Katya shared a look with Brodie, who shrugged. His hands were in the pockets of his jeans, his white T-shirt dazzling in the sun. If he was as tense as her, it didn’t show. Which, for some utterly illogical reason, made her want to smack him.
With a sigh, Katya decided they could confide in Margaret. But as she opened her mouth to speak, she spotted Kitty Baxter’s foreman loitering at the edge of the protest, his attention firmly focused on Brodie and Katya. The spies were out.
“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Katya said. “You should be happy we’re back together; you always said we were made for each other.”
“Aye, I’ve been known to say a lot of things. So, I guess this new romance means you’ll be turning your land into an airport, then.” Margaret folded her arms over her shirt. Yep, there was no way of getting anything past the woman. “We couldn’t exactly miss the plane Katya drove through town. Pity you’d already started on your house, Brodie. Seems such a shame to waste all that work.”
Honestly, MI5 had nothing on the women of Knit or Die. If there was a secret to unearth, they would find it. Then they’d cover it in multi-colored knitting and complain loudly about it at the next town council meeting.
Before Katya could say anything, Brodie answered, “Now, what makes you think we aren’t building the house? We can’t live with my brothers forever, you know. Anyway, Katya said she loved the architectural plans Conall drew up.” His eyes sparkled at her, daring her to argue. The ass.
Katya gave him the evil eye before smiling at Margaret. “He’s having you on. Of course, we’re building a museum and runway on the land. Brodie doesn’t want all the hard work I did while I was away—finding the plane and gathering info for the museum—to be put to waste. Do you, darling?”
He oozed charm as he spoke to Margaret. “Katya’s only saying that because she’s worried what people will think when they find out she’s gone off the memorial museum idea. After spending ten years obsessing about all that crap, she’s fed up with it and wants to set up home on our land, in our new house, and start popping out babies. I told her not to worry. I’m sure the council will put up a plaque somewhere to remember her great-granny.”
Katya clenched her hands into fists as she fought to keep a smile on her face. One she was sure must have appeared utterly feral, but it was the best she could manage. “I think Brodie slept through part of our discussion about the future. I definitely want a plaque, but the museum and tourist flights are still going ahead. And our land is the perfect location for both.”
“You’re right; I don’t remember agreeing to that. Plus, I don’t think you’re being realistic. It’ll be a bit tricky to fit in the cockpit when you’re heavily pregnant,” Brodie mused. “Maybe Dougal could park your plane outside his new conference center, where everybody can admire it. Wait a minute, I know a guy who could dip it in bronze and turn it into a proper relic.”
Now he was really pissing her off. “My plane isn’t a relic. It’s a piece of living history.”
“It’s a piece of barely functional history. I’m no’ even sure you’d get insurance to cover flying it.” Brodie shook his head as though amused. “Have you thought this out, Kat? It’s good we’re back together because you need a sensible influence in your life. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”
“Trust me, the insurance company won’t have a problem with the plane. There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s perfectly safe. In fact, why don’t I take you up in it to prove it?”
“I’ll give that some consideration.” He shared a bemused look with Margaret. “The Savages and their wild ideas… It sure keeps life interesting, I’ll tell you.”
A red haze spread across Katya’s gaze. Brodie knew he was pushing one of her hot buttons. She’d spent her entire life listening to how irresponsible and weird her family was and how she’d grow up to be exactly like them. When he’d accused her of the same thing before she left, she’d been devastated. Now he was making her mad.
“I’m curious,” he said, clearly oblivious to the rage bubbling inside her, “how you’re planning to get this new business off the ground. Pun intended. Where’s the startup money coming from?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with you,” Katya growled.
“If he’s going to be your husband again,” Margaret said, reminding Katya that the knitting group leader was still there, “then I expect it has a lot to do with him.”
Katya forced through gritted teeth, “The bank will snap up the opportunity to support a new business in Invertary—one that not only attracts tourists but also honors a local war hero’s legacy.”
“The bank might ask how you’ll make money out of the business once it’s started.” Brodie raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that plane of yours only seats two people, and one of them has to be the pilot. You plan to take all these tourists up there one at a time? Not very efficient business practice, is it?”
He looked so pleased with himself, so smug and superior, that Katya snapped. Before she’d even realized she was going to
do it, she pushed hard in the middle of his chest and toppled him into the loch.
There was a loud splash accompanied by shocked gasps.
Katya’s anger disappeared in a flash, and she swallowed a groan. So much for convincing the town they were in love.
The women of Knit or Die rushed to the wall and peered over to see if Brodie was okay.
“We’re still working out a few kinks in our relationship,” Katya told them as his head bobbed above the water.
Brodie trudged up the main street to his office, soaked jeans rubbing like sandpaper in places no sandpaper should ever touch. At least it was summer. The last time Kat shoved him into the loch, it’d been the middle of winter, and he’d almost died of hypothermia on the way home.
“You can tell that girl of yours is back,” one of the old men who played dominoes at the pub called out to him as he passed. “Feels like old times, seeing you like that!” And then he cackled so hard it turned into a cough.
Brodie wasn’t amused. All he wanted to do was get to his office, change into his spare clothes, and mentally prepare himself for the next encounter with his loving wife.
“The first person to make a smart-arsed comment dies,” Brodie said as he pushed through the door to their company office.
Fortunately, Darach was the only brother present. Unfortunately, he was having tea with their da.
His father, who was the shortest man in the family, barely topping five-foot-eight, looked him up and down over the rim of his mug. “Felt like an early morning swim, son?”
His entire family thought they were comedians. “Katya shoved me into the loch.” Brodie opened the bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out some clothes. “I need to change before I lose all the skin off my balls.” With that, he turned and headed for the bathroom at the back of the building.
He should have known he’d find his da waiting for him when he came out into the back office. The fact his chair blocked Brodie’s path to the front office made it clear he wanted to talk.
Come Fly With Me Page 13
