Slowly, she stood, wiping her hands on her jeans before reaching for the dress. Cheeks flushed, she held it against herself.
“It’s gorgeous,” Katya said in a hushed tone. “Isn’t it, Brodie?”
He couldn’t see the dress. All he could see was the woman holding it, the woman who was born to be his and that he’d somehow managed to drive from his life. Even though they’d both made mistakes, he knew his were the greater because he’d thrown who she was back in her face and told her it wasn’t good enough for him.
“Brodie?” Wide eyes caught his.
“Aye, you’re beautiful.”
She chuckled. “You mean the dress.”
No, he didn’t. Not a dress on the planet could do her justice.
Katya grasped the full skirt and swished it about. “I can’t believe this was a German parachute. Mum, I’m going to need this for my museum.”
Delia Savage was no fool and she quickly pried the dress from Katya’s hands, knowing her daughter would release it for fear of damaging it, and then she packed it back into the suitcase.
“You can have it after you’re married in it,” Delia said firmly.
Katya gaped at her. “Mum, I can’t wear that to get married; it’s a piece of history.” She looked to Brodie for support.
“Katya’s got a point,” he said. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to it. Anyway, there’s no rush to get a dress. We haven’t even agreed to renew our vows.” That was the wrong thing to say, and Brodie knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.
The mothers glared at him as Fraser muttered, “Well, there’s a surprise.”
“That’s it!” Brodie’s da slammed his cutlery down on the table. “What is your problem, Fraser? It’s been snide comments, bad attitude, and not-so-subtle tartan messages ever since we got here. Don’t think we don’t know you wear that kilt to funerals. Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and say what’s on your mind?”
“Oh no,” Katya hissed.
“Da,” Brodie started, but his father was already on his feet.
“No.” He pointed at Brodie. “This is between me and Katya’s father. If you’ve got something to say, Fraser, say it.”
Fraser pointed at Brodie too. “You heard him, same as me. He doesn’t want to renew his vows, which means he’s no more serious about their marriage this time round than he was the first.”
“That’s not true. Brodie wants things to work, don’t you, son?”
“Sure he does,” Fraser said with heavy sarcasm.
“This isn’t about what Brodie said, is it?” His da rolled up his sleeves. “You think my son isn’t good enough for your girl. That’s what your problem is, isn’t it?”
“Well, now that you mention it.” Fraser pushed back his chair and stood, towering over Brodie’s da. He slammed his palms down on the table. “That’s exactly what I think. If he’d been good enough for her to begin with, he’d have gone with her when she left town.”
“She didn’t leave town,” his da shouted. “She left him.” He thrust an arm out to Brodie. “If you want to attribute blame, at least put it where it belongs.”
“Who wants pudding?” Delia said gaily while gathering up the half-full dinner plates.
“We should go,” Brodie’s ma said as she stood. “Joseph, there will be no fighting today. We came here to celebrate our children sorting their lives out. This is a good thing. It isn’t something to fight about.”
“Aye,” Fraser sneered at Brodie’s da, “away you go home. The MacGregors aren’t welcome here anyway. Not until your boy apologizes to my daughter and vows to make up for all the years he forced her to spend alone, without a husband to look out for her. A married man doesn’t desert his wife.”
“No”—Brodie’s father went face-to-mid-chest with Fraser—“in the Savage family, they stick by them no matter how crazy they are. But then, the Savage men have always been a few sandwiches short of a picnic themselves.”
Delia gasped at being called crazy.
“It’s only his anger talking,” Brodie’s ma said.
“I think you’d better go,” Delia said softly.
“Let’s all go.” Katya stood, grabbed Brodie’s hand, and headed for the door.
“You’d best apologize for upsetting my wife.” Fraser puffed out his chest as he growled at Brodie’s da. “At least she doesn’t spend all her time at mass, praying her wild sons don’t knock up one of the many girls that traipse through their bedrooms.”
“Are you calling my sons sluts?”
“If the shoe fits!”
That’s when Brodie’s da let out a war cry that would have made any Highlander proud and launched his fist at Fraser’s head. His father was small but mean, and he had rage on his side. His fist connected, and Fraser staggered before shaking it off. Then, with a roar, he rugby tackled Brodie’s da and took them both down in the middle of the three Formica tables, which folded like paper.
Food flew everywhere, landing on the furniture and walls. Delia and Brodie’s ma clung to each other as they screamed. And, of course, Katya threw herself into the fight to try to separate the men.
“Brodie! Do something!” his ma yelled.
He did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed Katya around the waist with one arm and hauled her away from the fight before she got hurt. Then he stalked out the kitchen door, grabbed the garden hose, went back inside, and hosed down their fathers—all while carrying a struggling Katya under his arm like a rugby ball.
The fighting ended with the cold blast. Both men lay on their backs, panting from being too unfit to fight in the first place. Delia tiptoed through the debris and adjusted Fraser’s kilt, which had flipped up while he’d rolled around on the floor. The sight was not only disturbing but also a reminder to everyone in the room that you really shouldn’t fight with your dangly bits flying around. That bruise would take a while to heal, and Fraser would be walking funny until it did.
“Can we go now?” Brodie asked Katya.
“Get the dress first,” she said.
“No!” Delia ran for the suitcase. “No wedding. No dress.”
“Let’s go,” Brodie said, knowing full well they didn’t have a chance in hell of getting the dress out of Delia’s grasp.
Still carrying Katya, he strode out the back door, thinking it was safer than trying to get past the mess on the kitchen floor.
“You can put me down now.”
“I don’t think so.” He headed for his car. “You’ll just go back in there and try to get the dress, which will start another fight. It’s safer if I keep hold of you until we’re far, far away from here.”
“Brodie,” she said with faux innocence that set off all his alarm bells, “since we’re already in a fake relationship, do you think it would be terrible of us to have a fake wedding ceremony so I could get my hands on that dress?”
Brodie opened the passenger door of his SUV, put her on the seat, and shut the door. Then he hung his head with a sigh. There was no denying the whole Savage family was batshit crazy.
Although, to be fair, the MacGregors weren’t much better.
28
February 1946
Scotland
* * *
For the first time in her life, Natasha was in love.
And it wasn’t with her husband.
Although there had never been anything more than a piece of paper joining her to Ben, she still felt tremendous guilt over having feelings for another man. Especially since it wasn’t just any other man; it was Ben’s best friend.
As far as she knew, outside of herself, only Ben was aware of the marriage certificate he kept at the farm. To the folk of Invertary, she wasn’t Mrs. Baxter; she was Natasha Klimova—a Lithuanian refugee Ben met in Germany and helped relocate to Scotland.
From the day they’d arrived in town and Ben’s friends had welcomed him back over drinks at the pub, they’d gone their separate ways. Ben to his farm and Natasha to a boarding hous
e in town, where she rented a room from a widow with two teenage girls.
If she saw Ben at all, it was after dark—when he sought her out to talk about the memories tormenting him. Although Natasha desperately wanted to put the war behind her, she would never have refused Ben’s need for a confidant. Not when she owed him her life.
Ben would talk for hours during those nighttime visits, their conversation spiraling down into the dark, murky places of conflict. The only topic off-limits was Natasha’s desire for a divorce. No matter when she brought up the subject, he’d stop talking, get up, and leave. She was in a no-man’s-land, where Ben would neither acknowledge their marriage nor end it.
As the weeks passed, Natasha came to believe Ben saw no need for a divorce because, in his mind, their marriage wasn’t real. That’s when she stopped asking and, like Ben, pretended the piece of paper tying them together didn’t exist.
Which is how she ended up spending more time than was sensible with an oversized Scot who never talked about anything serious and went out of his way to make her laugh.
“What are you thinking?” Tom lazed in the chair opposite her, beside the open fire in the pub.
It was Sunday afternoon and his day off. Although, if there was a problem at the Baxters’ farm, everyone knew where to find him.
The dancing flames from the fire made his russet hair glow like a beacon against the backdrop of their wintry view of the loch. Snow painted the hills white, the water was gray, and a pale sky sat heavily over the town. Being from Russia, Natasha was used to the snow, but there it had meant freezing and fighting to survive. In Scotland, it was a thing of intimacy and beauty.
She smiled over at him as she sipped her hot toddy. “I was thinking how beautiful this place is.”
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he teased. “Here I was, under the assumption you were thinking about me.”
Natasha hid her smile behind her drink. “You’re beautiful too.”
It was hard not to laugh when he turned a little green. “Men aren’t beautiful, Nat. They’re handsome or dashing, never beautiful.”
“What about pretty?” She fought to remain solemn, which was always difficult around Tom.
“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, glancing around the pub. As usual, there was no true irritation in his tone. He was playing with her, and she loved every minute of it. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation, woman? If anyone asks, I’m going to tell them your words are getting lost in translation, and what you really meant to say was I’m rugged and masculine.”
“Of course,” she said pretending solemnity. “I often do mix up my words. Sometimes I forget them altogether. Right now, I can’t remember the word I’d use to describe you. It means sweet, entertaining, delightful….”
“Charming.” His smile was cocky.
“No,” she said slowly. “I think it’s…annoying! Yes, that’s it.” She beamed at him.
His eyes sparkled with merriment. “Annoying, am I? And here I’d brought you a surprise. I think I’ll just keep it for myself now.”
“Surprise?” Natasha looked around but saw nothing. Over the weeks they’d spent time together, he’d brought her several surprises. All of them wonderful. Sometimes he saved up his rations and delighted her with a special meal, while another time, he’d found a smooth, colorful pebble, which he presented to her with the same flare another man would use for diamonds.
She glanced down at her wrist and his last gift—a cuff bracelet he’d fashioned from an old silver fork he’d found at a market. One end was the ornate stem of the fork, and for the other, he’d curled the tines to form a flower-like design. It was unique and wonderful. For a big, physical man, he had the eye and talents of an artist.
“Aye, surprise,” he said with amusement. “It’s a shame I’ll have to forget all about it now because annoying men don’t give surprises to their girl.”
Her stomach flipped over, doing somersaults inside of her. “Your girl?”
“Aye.” His dark eyes dared her to disagree.
Natasha wet suddenly dry lips and changed the subject. “I fixed a broken generator today, and Mr. McPherson told me I was the best hire he’d ever made.” She felt giddy at the memory. Who knew a degree in engineering would be more appreciated in a small-town repair shop than in the factories of Moscow?
“I told you he’d recognize an asset when he saw one.” Pride shone in Tom’s face and her heart melted even further.
“I misspoke earlier when I said annoying. I definitely meant charming.” She batted her lashes at him, knowing he’d find her lack of acting ability funny.
Sure enough, he threw back his head and roared with laughter, making everyone around him grin and chuckle. That was Tom. He spread joy wherever he went.
“Well, seeing as you think I’m charming, I’d best put in some effort at being exactly that.” He got out of his armchair. “Wait here,” he ordered before heading to the bar.
Natasha watched eagerly as he whispered to the barman, who reached under the bar and pulled out a brown paper package. It was large and, judging by the way he carried it, soft.
They attracted curious looks as Tom sauntered back.
“There you go,” he said gruffly as he handed it over. “The surprise I’ve been saving.”
“Should I open it here?” She held the package with reverence. Without even knowing what was inside, it was already precious to her.
“There’s nothing embarrassing in there, which means it’s fine to open in public.” He picked up his whisky glass from the low table between them and settled back into his chair. His suggestive gaze made her wonder exactly what kind of gifts he planned to give her in private. Over the past few weeks, it had become more difficult to resist the temptation of Tom’s kisses and taking things further with him. Like everything else he did, Tom was gifted at making her melt with the merest touch.
Her cheeks burning, she untied the string, coiled it up and placed it on the table. Then, taking care not to damage the paper, she unwrapped the rest of his surprise. She gasped, her eyes shooting to Tom’s as she whispered his name.
His features softening, he gestured with his drink. “Try it on.”
Natasha’s hands trembled as she lifted the blue tweed coat out of its wrapping. “It’s new,” she whispered. It must have taken the bulk of his clothing rations and some under-the-table dealings to get it.
“Aye, it is. Came all the way from Harris, an’ all.” She must have looked blank because he added, “That’s an island off the west coast of Scotland. They make tweed.”
“Oh, it’s wonderful, Tom.”
“Put it on, so we can see if it fits.” His voice was low and husky.
Hesitantly, because she knew they’d drawn an audience, she unbuttoned the double row of buttons that ran down the front of the coat before standing to try it on.
Tom stood with her and took the coat from her hands. “Let me,” he said, holding it out for her.
She turned her back to him and slipped her arms into the sleeves, feeling the comfort of his large frame behind her. Shielding her. Warming her right to the core of her being. The coat fit to perfection, buttoning up to her throat and hanging down to below her knees. As well as the double row of buttons, it nipped in at the waist with a matching belt. When she reached for it, Tom gently turned her to face him.
And right there, in front of everyone, he fastened her coat and tied the belt.
“I’d say it fits fine,” he said once he was done, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion just for her.
“Thank you, Tom, I love it.”
“I hope it’s no’ the only thing you love, Nat,” he said softly.
“No.” She blinked back tears as emotion overwhelmed her. “It’s not the only thing. It’s not even the thing I love most in the world.”
He cupped her cheek. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Oh, how she wished they were alone so she could walk into his arms and let his lips take hers.
Instead, his hand dropped away, and to stop herself from reaching for him, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her perfect new coat. Only to find something already in them. In one was a pair of woolen gloves—in the same shade of blue as her coat. And in the other…
“Tom.” His name was a gasp as she stared down at the gold ring in her palm.
“It was my mother’s,” he said, suddenly very serious for a man who always laughed.
As the pub fell silent, Tom plucked the ring from her palm and went down on one knee in front of her.
Tears streamed down her face now, and no amount of blinking would make them stop.
“Shh, this won’t hurt a bit.” He winked at her, and she found herself laughing through the tears.
Tom cleared his throat and spoke with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. “Natasha Klimova, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
There were so many things she should have said, not least of all explaining she was already married and she’d been born in Russia, not Lithuania as he believed. If he wanted to marry her, he should know what he was getting—and she was no prize. However, as all those thoughts rushed through her mind, Natasha opened her mouth and said the only thing that truly mattered—“Yes.”
And Tom slipped the ring onto her finger.
29
“I thought lunch went pretty well, all things considered.” Katya relaxed back into the passenger seat of Brodie’s SUV and let him drive her through town. Her mind was still on the wedding dress, but she figured he wasn’t up to helping her liberate it from her parents’ house, which made her keep quiet about it.
For now.
She was pretty sure she could talk him into a heist later.
“They were an embarrassment,” Brodie grumbled.
He wasn’t wrong, but seeing as they’d long ago agreed never to apologize for anything their families said or did, that embarrassment had nothing to do with them. If their parents wanted to behave like toddlers, it was on them.
Come Fly With Me Page 21
