Some Like it Scottish (27 page)

“I'm here,” Harper encouraged.

Slowly, Kit told her sister everything that had happened since coming to Scotland. How Ramsay had sabotaged her, only to turn around and save the day. How attractive he was, not just physically but in the way he'd cared for her and comforted her . . . but couldn't be serious for two seconds in a row.

“And?” Harper prodded. “Did you go to bed together?”

Kit felt her face redden, glad for the darkness. She had always kept her sex life to herself, wanting to set a good example for her younger siblings.

“Well?” her sister said again.

“You're a nag.” But they were both adults and there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Maybe she should start treating Harper like an adult, too. “Yes, we slept together. I was working so hard and feeling stressed and Ramsay's just so damn sexy.” Kit sighed. “Now everything is so complicated.”

Harper got out of bed and padded across the room. “Scoot over.”

“Why?”

“I need to give you
the talk
,” Harper said.

“What talk?” But Kit did as her sister commanded.

“You know what talk
.
The one you gave to me and Bridget. I'm sure no one ever gave it to you.” Harper gave a little bark of laughter. “You were much too busy bossing the rest of us around to listen to a lecture.”

“Not bossing,” Kit corrected. “I was taking care of you.”

“Potato, po-tâ-to.”

“Your feet are cold,” Kit complained.

“Shh. I want you to pay attention. It's about sex.”

Kit groaned. “I know the speech. You don't have to tell me; I'm the one who invented it.”

“Tough. You're going to hear it anyway.” Harper cleared her throat. “Sex is much bigger and more important than how TV or the movies portray it. Sex is rich and deep and complicated.”

Yes, Kit had said this. She shook her head. She'd been so self-righteous when she'd passed along this wisdom to her sisters. So full of herself in her overresponsibility.

Harper took her hand and squeezed. “When you have
sex with a boy, there's a built-in emotional commitment. God made it that way to bind two people together. To be there for each other. To help each other. Because
life is hard
. You can't escape that feeling even if you think you're only having a fling.”

A fling.
Tears threatened Kit's eyes, her composure near crumbling. “Enough.”

Harper had no mercy. “You have to hear it all. You made Bridget and me listen to it, and you will, too.” She took a deep breath. “When you have sex, a little piece of your heart is left behind. Whether you want to leave it or not. So I beg you to be careful.” Harper squeezed her hand again. “There. How did I do?”

A tear slipped down Kit's cheek. “If only I'd been smart enough to remember this beforehand.”

“So how much of your heart did he take?” Harper asked.

But that wasn't the question. Ramsay hadn't taken her heart. The way he'd shot from the bed and out the door after sex, he clearly didn't want it.

“He didn't take anything from me.” Kit wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Yes, Kit was sure. A sob escaped from someplace deep inside and she curled into her sister. Harper held her tight.

“He didn't want me,” Kit cried. But whether he wanted her or not, her heart had stayed behind.

*   *   *

Ramsay sat on his boat. Alone. He stared out at the darkened sea, barely tolerating the moon as his companion. It was for the best that Kit had been gone when he got back to his bedroom. He had nothing to say to her. Then, or now.

He wasn't going to get married. Ever. He'd been firm
on that point his whole life. And didn't all women want to get married, no matter what they said? This was
his time
—his time to finally be independent and build up his own business—and he wasn't going to give up his freedom to some hell-bent matchmaker!

But Kit had changed something inside him. She'd weaseled her way into his heart—and he resented the hell out of her. No matter how irresistible she was.

He lobbed one of the life vests across the deck.

She didn't even like the water!
Aw, hell!
How could she ever love a fisherman?

If his own da had died at sea, he might not love it, either.

He trudged into the wheelhouse and plopped down in the captain's chair. What was he going to do?

Hell, he really liked having sex with Kit—he was getting a hard-on just thinking about it—but he didn't want the rest. Those errant thoughts about forever were just plain daft. They could have a bit of fun together, like she'd suggested, as long as she was here in Gandiegow. They could go at it, and leave their emotions at the door. Marriage was not required to have a good time, right?

Besides, they were from different worlds. She was the country club, and he was the pub. While she dined on caviar, he ate carp. She'd lived in a mansion and he'd lived his whole life in a cottage. She deserved some rich guy. Someone who could shower her with everything she wanted.

All the things Ramsay didn't have.

The thought depressed him.

He couldn't sit here all night, though. He'd promised another excursion tomorrow for the out-of-town bachelors, and he needed to leave a note for them at the dorm
with the details. He put the life vest away and stepped off his boat.

As he was passing Moira's house, he noticed something strange. Andrew was pacing back and forth on the porch, talking to himself. The Episcopal priest was usually so calm. But maybe this was the new Andrew—the one who'd looked ready to throw daggers at Davey for slipping away with Moira.

“Women,” Ramsay muttered. They made a man crazy.

He had taken one step toward Andrew when he heard shuffling and huffing behind him. He turned and groaned inwardly.
Deydie.
He wasn't in the mood for her right now, but it was too late to turn and walk away. He kept on up the short walk to Moira's door and said, “What's going on, Andrew?” As if Ramsay didn't know. “Did you forget where the parsonage was?”

Andrew looked up, startled, as if Ramsay had snuck up on him.

Deydie joined them, holding a whisky bottle in her hand. “I've come to have a dram with Kenneth,” she said. “What are you two doing here?”

“That's nice of ye. Kenneth will be pleased.” Ramsay hoped Deydie would go in so he could have a word with Andrew alone. The priest seemed to be in worse shape than earlier.

Deydie stacked her hands on her hips, her bottle firmly in her grasp. “I asked what you two were doing here.”

Ramsay opened his mouth to answer, but Andrew beat him to it.

“I'm here on business.”

“What kind of business?” Deydie huffed.

Andrew stood tall. “Kenneth has given me permission to ask Moira to marry me.”

“Aw, gawd,” Ramsay hissed. “Are ye nuts? No need to jump into the frying pan. Good grief, man, she only danced with the chap.”

“And left with him!” Andrew glared in a very un-priestlike fashion. “I never should've listened to you. I should've stopped her. Kit was right.”

“Kit?” Ramsay practically yelled. “What does she have to do with this?” She might be making his life miserable, but why was she interfering in Andrew's?

“Kit warned me. She told me to get off my duff and start wooing Moira properly. I didn't listen. And look what it got me.”

Deydie pounded Andrew on his back with her free hand. “It's about damned time you claimed that girl. You two have been mooning after each other for months.”

Ramsay grabbed his arm. “Don't rush into anything you might regret.”

Andrew shook him off. “I'm going to ask her. I'm going to make Moira mine.”

It was as if his words had made her appear; up the walk she came with Davey beside her. Thank God for the proximity of the crashing waves. Ramsay doubted Moira and Davey had heard what they'd been talking about. Maybe Ramsay could drag Andrew away before it was too late.

He grabbed Andrew's arm. “Come away.”

Andrew stood firm. “No. I'm doing this.”

Moira and her date were practically on the doorstep before she looked up and noticed them.

Andrew,
the fool
, put one foot forward and dropped to his knee. He held up a small ring box.

Moira froze, looking as shocked as Ramsay felt. Davey
tried to take a step between them as if to intervene, but Deydie blocked the large Scot.

“Moira?” Andrew jutted the box closer to her, his voice a mixture of nervousness and desperation. “Will ye marry me?”

Petrified, Moira shifted her gaze to each of their faces as if they could explain Andrew's crazy behavior. As the seconds wore on, her eyes widened, until finally her stone stature cracked. Shy Moira cried out and ran for the door, knocking the ring box from Andrew's outstretched hand.

Andrew's head dropped, followed by his shoulders, and finally his empty hand. Ramsay wanted to shake the priest. If the man was going to be stupid enough to propose, he probably should've planned it out better,
and not have it be a part of her date with another man!
Second, and more important, why would he want to get married anyway?

But Ramsay was no better. Only a few short hours ago, the thought of wedding bells and a happily-ever-after with Kit had been first and foremost on his mind. At least he'd kept his wits about him—unlike Andrew.

Davey had the decency and the composure to help Andrew to his feet.

But suddenly Andrew came alive. “Moira's my girl,” the pastor growled. Like the wrath of God, Andrew shot a left hook to Davey's jaw.

Davey staggered for a second, but regained his footing quickly. Ramsay moved to stop the next blow, but Davey didn't look as if he was going to retaliate.

He rubbed his injured jaw instead. “Ye might've sought Moira's opinion first on whether she was your girl or not,
Father
.”

The emphasis on
Father
did the trick. Andrew tugged uncomfortably at his cleric's collar as a crumpled expression of shame crowded his face. “I'm sorry. I never should've . . .” The words fell away from the man. In the next moment, the old Andrew emerged. “What I did was inexcusable. I ask you for your forgiveness.” Andrew stuck his hand out in offering.

Davey straightened and took it,
the decent bloke
. “That was a hell of a punch. Did you box in seminary?”

The two walked off the porch together, leaving Ramsay alone with Deydie.

“Bonehead,” she cursed.

“Which one?” Ramsay knew which he'd choose.

“All of yees.”

Ramsay frowned down at the fierce woman. “Why are you including me? I didn't do anything.”

“Exactly. You didn't do anything.” She stared at him hard. “But if ye didn't do anything, then why does the matchmaker look like someone's filleted her heart? She's a good girl—and a decent seamstress. I don't care if she is an outsider, wee Ramsay, ye never should've broken her heart.”

Ramsay's insides roared. “I didn't break anything.” He wanted to tell Deydie that it was
Kit's
idea to have a bit of fun. He wanted to tell Deydie that he'd fallen much harder for the matchmaker than she had for him. But he didn't explain himself . . . He couldn't. “Aw, hell.”

He stomped off the porch, barely able to draw a breath, as he left Deydie behind.

Whether he wanted to or not, he'd have to go home tonight and talk to Kit—make sure she was okay.
Even though I'm not
. Probably wouldn't be ever again. She'd changed everything. His life had gotten so confusing. But
first he had to go to the men's dorm and tell them what time to be at the boat in the morning.

He tramped the rest of the way through town, Deydie's words pounding his brain like a series of rogue waves. Outside Duncan's Den, he heard a muffled conversation—two familiar voices—coming from the open window of Thistle Glen Lodge next door. He went nearer and listened.

“He didn't want me,” rang out, a cry in the night.

What?
But I do want you.

His chest ached. He'd hurt
his sprite
and that was the last thing he'd wanted to do. Hell, he'd take a thousand harpoons to the chest to make her stop crying. He'd sail to the ends of the earth for her to smile. He'd die for that woman.

A warm feeling spread through him and settled into his heart. Suddenly his whole world shifted and he knew what he had to do.

T
he next morning Kit stood in the bathroom at the quilting dorm, staring into the blasted mirror, examining herself in Harper's borrowed clothes. She was more than glad Maggie had given her a pass on making breakfast today. Heck, if Kit had shown up at the Armstrongs' looking as she did, she might have frightened the bejeebers out of them. Her face was puffed up like a muskrat's, even worse than when she'd gotten poison ivy as a kid; she was highly allergic.

But no allergy had caused these puffy eyes. She couldn't even blame Ramsay in the light of day. It was her own stupid fault. One of those lessons in life she never wanted to repeat. Ever. If she did decide to date again, it would be with her own species, not with some highly testosteroned Scot. Until she got back to the U.S.,
shields were up.
Thank God she was leaving soon.

The girls had two days left of the retreat—today and tomorrow, and then they were flying home. Her bachelors were supposed to spend one more night. The plan had been to have everyone paired up by now, with these two days scheduled to give them more time to get to know one
another better. But that plan was history. She sighed. She would have to double down on her efforts in Alaska to recoup what she'd lost by trying to make a go of it here in Scotland.

Kit applied Harper's makeup to her poor face. Maybe if she drank a gallon of water, it would wash away the evidence of last night's tears. But makeup and hydrating wouldn't help her pathetic heart. But she wouldn't think on it again. Ramsay was ancient history as far as she was concerned.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Harper's gentle voice. “Are you ready to go?”

“I'm coming.” Kit gave herself one more look and plastered a smile on her face.

Only two of her clients had made it home last night. They trooped with her and Harper to Quilting Central. The others would hopefully be along soon. Kit wasn't looking forward to explaining the missing American girls to the quilters of Gandiegow. Deydie would probably blame Kit for corrupting the fishermen.

By the front door of Quilting Central, Lochie was in a full-on lip-lock with Morgan.

“Break it up, you two,” Harper said. “I don't want to have to turn the fire hose on you.”

Lochie pulled away. “I'll be back for lunch, lass.” He gave her a quick kiss and was gone.

“I hope that wasn't code,” Kit said pointedly.

Morgan didn't answer in words, only gave her a shy grin as she opened the door and went inside.

Kit stopped Harper. “Do I look okay?”

Harper put an arm around her shoulders. “Just remember that you're a force to be reckoned with and you'll be fine.”

Kit leaned her head on her sister's shoulder. “I was hoping that my reflection had lied.”

“You're my big sister and I love you.” Harper squeezed her. “But you look like the devil this morning. Get in there and show them what true grit is. It's a woman rising up from the ashes and becoming stronger.”

“You sound like a Hallmark movie. But thanks for the effort.”

Kit didn't need to worry how she looked because she was barely noticed. A going-away party for Rhona, their retired teacher, was in full swing when they went inside. But Rhona's send-off to Dundee wasn't the only thing going on.

The building was abuzz with what had happened last night between Moira and Andrew. Amy gave Kit and Harper the heads-up as soon as they were inside. Even her clients were talking about it. Half of them thought it was terribly romantic of Andrew to propose like he did. The other half were in Moira's camp, agreeing they would be taken aback, too.

Moira was nowhere to be seen. She must've understood what kind of stir this would cause in their small community.
Poor Moira. And poor Andrew.

The door to Quilting Central opened and the whole room went quiet. Kit glanced back over her shoulder to see the reason.
Poor Andrew
stood awkwardly in the doorway, until his eyes landed on her. With each step toward her, his pained face relaxed a little more.

Andrew sat down next to her. “We need to talk.”

The whole room seemed to lean in closer so they wouldn't miss a word.

Kit turned off her machine. “Let's go to the restaurant for a scone and a cup of tea.” She tilted her head toward
the room, indicating the prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

As soon as they were on the other side of the door away from the quilters, Andrew started. “You were right.”

Kit kept quiet; it wouldn't do any good to rub it in.

“I should've listened to you.”

“Why don't you tell me your version of what happened? Everyone has a slightly different story,” she said kindly.

He told her about talking to Kenneth, Moira's father, and waiting around on the porch for Moira to show up. Kit almost stumbled when he mentioned Ramsay was there, too.

“Oh?” She stared straight ahead. Her cheeks, though, were on fire. “What did he say?”

“He tried to talk me out of proposing.”

Of course he did.

Andrew stopped just inside the restaurant's door and ran a hand through his hair. “I've ruined it with Moira. I don't know what I'm going to do.”

Kit laid a hand on his arm. “All is not lost. Let's sit down and talk.”

He gave her a weak smile. “I wish I'd listened to you.”

She tried to fortify him with a nod.

After Claire brought them their tea and scones, Andrew seemed to have no appetite.

“What am I going to do?” he said. “I've lost her.”

“You haven't lost anything. You just scared her.”

He shook his head.

“I know you care about Moira or else you wouldn't have done what you did. But what I need to know is if you're really the right kind of man for her. I understand
shy women. They need someone to appreciate them for who they are. They don't want to be changed or pushed past their comfort zone.” Moira was one of the shyest women Kit had ever met and that was saying something.

Andrew scooted his chair closer. “Finding Moira a man who can appreciate her isn't the problem. I'm that man! How do we make her love me back?”

Kit crossed her arms and studied Andrew. He truly was a man in love. Where there was love, there was hope. “Are you willing to try something different?”

“Anything.”

“Forget the current screwed-up dating scene. Have you thought about courting her? I could facilitate.”

She knew she'd just complicated things for herself. She was leaving soon. But in this day and age, there were ways to be present without her physically being here in Gandiegow.

Andrew's eyebrows were pinched together. “Courting?”

“I know. People don't use the word very often anymore.” Text-messaged hookups were in vogue and the thought of them turned Kit's stomach. Her generation was confused about what real dating was. Real dating involved face-to-face communication, standing strong, showing your feelings even with the possibility of rejection.

A painful lesson I learned last night
. She had given herself to Ramsay—body and soul—but he had rejected her. This experience would make her stronger and she would not be sorry for it. At least she'd tried.

She shook off her own heartache. She was going to take Andrew and Moira back to a simpler time—when there were constructs to dating, when things were clearer.
“But I have a feeling that Moira, if she isn't too gun-shy now, will be interested in the idea of a real courtship.”

Andrew scooted his chair toward Kit. “What would I have to do?” For the first time since last night, he looked hopeful.

“To begin with, you're going to have to cool your jets.” Kit patted his hand kindly. “Next, you're going to have to write Moira a letter of apology.”

“For being an unmitigated arse?”

Kit laughed. “Exactly.” She got serious quickly, though. “Be mindful in your letter not to scare her off any further. Do not spout your undying love.”

“I understand.”

“If she accepts your apology, then I'll speak with Moira about a proper courtship. No more proposals on the porch. You will have to take it slow. One step at a time. No getting overzealous again, skipping the holding hands phase and going straight to a handfasting. My hope is that you'll be able to woo her to the place where she can hear your feelings without being overwhelmed.” Kit wouldn't tell him that she was pretty certain that Moira loved him, too. But like a graceful doe, she had to be coaxed out into the open to be comfortable exploring those feelings.

Andrew took Kit's hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. I'll do whatever you say, whatever I have to do to win Moira.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Kit saw three people wander into the restaurant. Three wellies-wearing someones she knew well. The brothers Armstrong.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. As Ramsay barreled toward them, Andrew took his hand away.

Ramsay didn't look his playful self. He looked like a
pissed-off dog whose bone had been stolen by another. “Are ye out proposing to every woman in town,
Father
?”

Andrew stood. “Kit was just giving me some helpful advice.”

Ramsay postured like he might do something foolish.

Kit stepped in his path. “Don't.” But Ramsay wasn't her problem anymore. If he wanted to call out the local pastor, then fine. It had nothing to do with her.

She dropped her hand. “Never mind. Do what you want.” She stepped around him and went for the door. Before she left, though, she turned back to Andrew. “Bring the letter to Quilting Central. I'll deliver it to Moira.”

He nodded.

She tried not to look at Ramsay, but her worthless willpower glanced at him anyway, looking for signs of life—for signs that he pined after his lost kitten the way she pined after him.

But he was still glowering at the Episcopal priest. Just as she was turning away, Ramsay shifted and speared her with his gaze.

“We have things to discuss,” he growled.

“I don't think so.” She had a business to run. She didn't have time to be an emotional wreck.

She left without saying more. She would not cry over Ramsay again. She couldn't.

She lifted her head high and headed for Quilting Central, striding down the boardwalk at a clip. Life had been so much simpler when she was only worrying about other people's love lives . . . instead of her own.

*   *   *

Ramsay watched her go, the light inside him seeming to go with her. “Ye're lucky ye let go of her when ye did.”
The pastor would've had a hard time turning his Bible pages with a broken hand come Sunday morning.

Ross slapped Ramsay on the back. “Stop threatening Andrew
.
And pick up the tab for his breakfast for being such an arse.”

He snatched up the bill. “Sorry, Andrew.”

“It's already forgotten.” But Andrew had a look on his face that said he completely understood.

Ramsay needed to collect the bachelors for their boat ride. “Claire, can I have a box of scones to go?”

Claire nodded and loaded up his food.

Ramsay wouldn't bemoan the fact that he was living his dream of starting his own tourist business, but he really wanted to get things straightened out with Kit.

Andrew had been the perfect example of what could happen if a man let his emotions get the best of him—he could do something stupid. Ramsay wouldn't hurry off after Kit. He would take his time. He needed to plan it out to the last detail. If he did that, nothing could go wrong.

Ramsay stared at the door again. Gawd, he didn't deserve her. He'd tried to sabotage her and had teased her within an inch of her life. How he'd ever gotten her to look his way, let alone give him the honor of going to bed with him, heaven only knew. No, he didn't deserve her, but God willing, he'd spend the rest of his life trying to.

There were so many decisions to make. Where would they live? How soon could they book the church? Would he have time today to make it to Inverness to get a ring?

“I'll meet up with you later,” John said. “There's something I need to do.”

As John left, Ramsay noticed his other brother giving him a goofy grin. “What?” he said to Ross.

“Oh, I was just thinking what a close call it was for you. It's best you made nice with the priest,” Ross said, as if he had wisdom beyond his years.

They were back to talking about Andrew?
“Why's that?”

Ross laughed. “He could refuse to marry ye when you walk the matchmaker down the aisle.”

“Shut up.”

But Ross was right. Ramsay would have to watch himself. Things were finally falling into place, and he didn't want to mess it up.
Everything will have to be perfect to make Kit mine
.

*   *   *

John caught up to Kit as she reached for the door to Quilting Central. “Can I talk to ye for a minute?”

“Sure.” Hopefully, he didn't want to talk about Ramsay. Kit didn't think she was up for that.

He pointed to the bench next to the door. “You were missed at breakfast this morning.” He sat beside her.

She nodded, not willing to talk about why she couldn't stay at their house any longer.

John rested his arms on his legs, his hands clasped, and looked out at the sea. “I wanted to talk to you about your business. I'm hoping the Armstrongs are still in your good graces and we can continue to taxi you around for the rest of your trip.”

Ugh, this was awkward for both of them, but Kit understood that he was looking out for his family, especially with another baby on the way. She laid a hand on his arm. “Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have any more business here in Scotland. It's been pretty much a disaster since day one.”
On both a professional and a personal level
. “Things have not gone as planned. I'm going to have to cut my losses.”
And run.