Some Like it Scottish (30 page)

“The bottom of the ocean,” Kit said wryly.

“Mother texted yesterday to say she sold a Modigliani. The gallery is so impressed that they're making her manager.”

“But what about fall tuition?” Kit said.

Harper grabbed her purse and pulled out a bill, shaking it at her. “I took care of this myself.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did. You being overly responsible isn't helping anyone. If you do everything for everyone, you're cheating people of the opportunity to do things for themselves.” She shoved the tuition bill back in her purse. “Bridget and I talked. We love you for taking care of us when we were younger, but we are no longer accepting anything from you. Except sisterly love. You're done. Retired from being our keeper. We're going to stand on our own two feet—well, four feet between the two of us. But you know what I mean. Bridget applied for about a hundred scholarships. She got a few and will take out loans for the rest. Our little sister is proud of herself. Would you deny her that feeling of self-reliance? Well, I won't let you take that away from her. And I won't tolerate you doing it to me or Mom any longer, either. Your job of mothering,
and fathering
, the three of us is over.”

“Oh.” Kit had been so busy trying to make enough money for them all, that she hadn't seen the changes in her family. It looked like her mother had become successful in her own right. Her sisters had grown up. Heck, Harper was teaching her a lesson or two. Maybe it was time for Kit to take a step back and relax.

Kit was astonished. “How did you get so smart?”

“That's easy. By watching my big sister.” Harper hugged her. “Promise me that you'll stop being such a control freak and start enjoying your life.”

“I'll try.”

“Now we need to discuss something really important. What are you going to do about Ramsay?”

*   *   *

Ramsay cussed all the way to the hospital, the whole time he was being scanned, and all the way home in the car with his brothers. He'd never had a worse day in his whole life.

His boat! His
cranking
boat was gone. Sunk. But he was almost glad of it. It gave him something to focus on other than Kit. Her rejection was killing him. The future he could see so clearly was gone.

He'd finally said what was in his heart, and she'd stomped on it. The ring in his pocket felt like kryptonite. His love for her made him weak, and he would always be weak for her. No matter what. He hated that he couldn't hate her. But she had the right of it. She was too good for a fisherman. Too good for him.

John had been too chipper for Ramsay on the drive home. When his older brother pulled into Gandiegow's parking lot, he piped up, “We're here.”

“Captain Obvious,” Ramsay grumbled.

Ross opened his door and hopped out, but then turned back toward the opened window. “I'll run to Doc's and get a wheelchair.”

“You do and I'll break yere legs.” Ramsay opened his door. His head hurt like a son of a bitch, but he would walk home by his own devices.

John and Ross rushed to his side.

“Get off.” Ramsay pushed them away.

John gave him that older-brother glower. “The hospital said to watch you. And watch you we will.”

“Aye,” Ross concurred. “It'd be too much trouble otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” Ramsay said.

“Too much trouble to carry yere sorry arse up the bluff.”

But suddenly it was as if the three brothers were having a simultaneous memory—carrying their father's coffin up the bluff to the cemetery. The grief was almost palpable.

“We'll not do that again.” John's jaw was stiff, as if the words had jabbed him on the way out.

“Aye.” Ramsay would do as the hospital said. He'd caused enough worries for his family tonight. “How's Maggie?”

“I called her from the hospital. She's fine.”

“The babe?” Ramsay didn't want to be the cause of trouble for Maggie.

“The bairn's fine,” John said.

As they walked through the village, Ramsay couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering back to Kit. How was she doing after the ordeal she'd been through? He wanted to find her. But given her refusal of his proposal, he would respect her space.

He turned to Ross. “Will ye check in on Kit for me? Make sure she's all right?”

Ross looked at him, concerned. “Do ye not want to do it yereself? We could stop on the way.”

Ramsay didn't answer.

John gave Ross his
or else
tone. “Ross'll take care of it for you.”

John's protectiveness was irritating, but Ramsay's pounding head kept him from saying so.

When Ramsay stepped into the cottage, Dand barreled toward him. John and Ross caught him by the arms and backed him up.

“But I want to hug Uncle Skipper,” Dand complained.

“Uncle Skipper?” Ramsay headed for the sofa but wasn't quick enough.

Dand broke free and ran back to him, tugging on his hand. “Da said ye've graduated from Swab to Skipper.”

Ramsay turned a questioning gaze on John.

“Aye. And not because ye got yere own boat.”

Suddenly, everything came into focus for Ramsay. He'd had it wrong all along. He didn't need his brothers' approval to have his independence. He just needed to claim it. Live it. And he had. He would always be their little brother, but he was also their equal.

John stuck out his hand, but when Ramsay went to clasp it, John pulled him into a fierce hug. “I love ye. I don't know what we would've done if you'd been lost.”

Dand tackled their legs with a fierce hug. too.

“Break up the lovefest.” Ross pounded them both on the back. “Or ye'll make me cry.”

“Are you hungry, Ramsay?” Maggie had appeared. She leaned up and kissed John. “Thanks for calling from the hospital. I let Harper know Ramsay's okay. Is it all right if he eats?”

Ramsay broke apart from his brothers and went to Maggie, giving her a quick hug. “I haven't had a chance to tell you how happy I am about the babe. Ross, John, and I are going to take over all your housekeeping duties. You've done a grand job of taking care of us, and now it's our turn to take care of you.” She'd had such a rough go of it when she'd lost the other babes. Ramsay turned to the other men in the room. “Agreed?”

The other two nodded.

“Ye're one with the speeches,” she said. “Tell me then, what are ye going to do about our matchmaker?”

That shut him up. “I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed.”

John blocked the hallway.

“What are you about? Going to tuck me in?” Ramsay steadied himself with a hand on the back of the chair.

John didn't budge. “The hospital said you should stay up a few more hours.”

Ross piped up from the other side of the room. “We'll both sit up with you.”

“Gawd. I'm not a bairn.”

“No. But yere brothers are going to sit with you anyway. Ross, make him some tea. Dand, get Skipper his fishing magazine over there.” John turned to Maggie. “Wife, off to bed with ye. I'll get Dand settled.”

“But—” Maggie started.

John took two steps and kissed her soundly on the mouth. Ramsay assumed it was to shut her up, but it was also a reminder of how much his brother loved his wife. The kind of love their parents had had. The love of a lifetime. Like the love he had for Kit. She belonged here with him. But she'd slipped through his hands.

After the kiss, Maggie waved to them all. “Good night then.” She sauntered off to bed.

John threw Dand over his shoulder, tickling him. “And you, my little sea monster, it's off to bed with you, too.” He carried him away as well.

Ramsay sat on the couch, willing his headache to go away. He wanted the thoughts of Kit to go away, too. But he wasn't getting what he wanted.

Ross set a mug down for him on the side table. “In all seriousness, what are you going to do about Kit? Ye're not going to let her go back to America, are ye?”

So much for not thinking about her. “What do you expect me to do?” He pulled out the ring box and held it up. “She said
no.
”

Ross took the box and opened it up. “So you actually did it.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

But Ross was a bastard and plowed ahead anyway. “In the old days, you would've just snatched your bride and run off with her. And keep her away until she accepts you as her husband.”

“Aye. Now it's called kidnapping and punishable by law.” Ramsay turned away from his brother's gaze. “Look, she's made up her mind. We all have to accept it. She's going back to America and that's the end of it.”

Ross snapped the box shut. “Ye're giving up too easy.”

But Ross didn't understand that when you loved someone, you would do anything to make her happy, even let her go. Kit didn't want him. Whether it killed him or not, he was letting her go home.

After Dand was in bed, John rejoined them. The three of them talked about fishing, but avoided the elephant in the room—Ramsay's sunk boat.

After a while, Ross and John both fell asleep, but Ramsay couldn't, his thoughts churning like a restless sea. He sat on the couch where he and Kit had held each other and slept. Before the sunrise, he stood and stretched.

John roused and stood also. “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to get ready for the day,” Ramsay said.

John shook his head as if Ramsay was Dand with a harebrained idea. “Nay. You're staying home. You'll not be fishing with us today.”

“But I'm fine,” Ramsay lied. His head hurt like an anchor had fallen on it. But if he didn't go fishing, what would he do? “I won't sit here all day.”

“What are you two girls bickering about?” Ross wiped a bit of drool from his mouth.

“Ye're staying home, Ramsay.” John crossed his arms over his chest. “That's final. The hospital said for ye to take a few days off to rest.”

“Ye're sounding like a broken record, brother.” Ramsay exhaled, in no mood to do more than complain. “What do you expect me to do with my time?”

“Ross, go get Skipper's present,” John said.

“Are ye sure this is the right time?” Ross questioned. “I mean, well, ye know . . .”

John raised an eyebrow and Ross went to the hall closet and pulled out a large paper bag.

John took it and handed the bag to Ramsay. “We had it made for you. We thought we'd give it to you at the christening.”

“What is it?” Ramsay wasn't in the right frame of mind for a frigging gift, and he started to give it back.

“Open it,” John said.

Ramsay looked inside and pulled out the wooden cross, which was nearly identical to the cross hanging on their family fishing boat. He stared at it for a long moment, not knowing how he was supposed to feel. He ran his hand over the wood.
John had given him his own cross?
Did this mean that he forgave him for starting his own business? Ramsay glanced up at his eldest brother. “Why?”
And why now?
Ramsay had nowhere to hang it. His wonder and amazement turned into anger. He glared at John. Was he just rubbing it in?

But Ross broke into his thoughts by taking the cross from Ramsay. “We went to Abraham Clacher and had him make it for ye in his woodshop.”

John removed the cross from Ross's hands. “You want to know what ye're going to do with your time now,
Skipper?” He passed the cross back to Ramsay. “Ye're going to figure out how to get yereself another boat.”

Bastard.
“So much for ignoring the elephant in the room,” Ramsay grumbled and frowned at John. “My life savings are at the bottom of the Pirate's Cove. The insurance won't give me enough to get another boat like her.”

John pierced him with that older brother glare that had been around since the day that Ramsay had been born. “You were smart enough to come up with this fishing business. Ye're smart enough to come up with another boat.” John ran a hand through his hair. “You've got vision, Ramsay. And ambition. See your way out of this mess and move forward.”

“Easy for you to say. Yere head isn't being crushed by a vise.”

John laid a paternal hand on his shoulder, just like their father would have done if he'd been here. “I have confidence in you. We all do.”

Ramsay expected Ross to make some smartass comment, but he only nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Fine. I'll think my way out. Don't you have some fishing to do?”

“That's the spirit, Swa— I mean, Skipper,” Ross said.

Ramsay trudged off to his room, propped the cross up on his dresser, and shut the door. He stretched out on his bed, nearly overwrought with grief. To make it worse,
her
things were still here—her hairbrush on the dresser, her clothes in his closet, and the scent of her on his pillow. He didn't want any of it here. At the same time, he didn't want them gone, either.

He didn't want her gone.

But that was a done deal. He had no choice but to
accept it. He closed his eyes, and despite being cranking tired, he couldn't go to sleep. For a long while, random thoughts of Kit, his boat, and his family rattled around in his brain. He finally got frustrated and opened his eyes. He glanced over at the cross. And then, as if the Almighty had used the hammer himself, an idea hit him square on the head. A bluidy brilliant idea! He could get back into the fishing tourism game.

The only problem was he was going to have to speak with the matchmaker to make it happen.

K
it had a terrible night's sleep—and she didn't need anyone to interpret the nightmare she'd had. She dreamed her sisters and mother were in a dinghy during a storm, being swept out to sea. Every time Kit tried to throw them a line, they insisted they didn't need her help. Kit woke up tired, confused, and feeling displaced in her own life.

But Ramsay was alive. Thank God! Though the thought of him made her want to fall apart again.

Today was the last day of the retreat. Tomorrow, all her clients were supposed to head home. She doubted they were all going, judging by the hormones bouncing around between them and their local fishermen. For these shy women to take a stand like they had, they must really have it bad for their men. Kit understood.

But what a failure she had turned out to be as a matchmaker. But at least her clients—correction, former clients—were happy. Most of them, anyway. Colin and Mercedes—the one match she could possibly claim—were talking of seeing each other again. But in truth, Kit couldn't even take credit for that one as Ramsay had chosen Colin for the mixer.

At Quilting Central everything was going along
smoothly. No one needed a thing from her. It seemed that everyone had grown beyond her help. It was damned uncomfortable not to feel needed. What was she supposed to do with her life now?

Well, at least she had one thing to look forward to today. Art McKay was coming. He'd decided he could use Kit's help to find a woman near his age. The Real Men of Scotland operation was kaput, but she could do this one last thing for Art and call it a day . . . or call it
forever
in Scotland.

*   *   *

When Ramsay woke up, the sun was high in the sky. He hadn't slept this late since . . . well, he couldn't remember when. His head still pounded, but he didn't have time to worry over it now. Quickly, he readied for the day, preparing himself to talk to Kit.

He'd get what he wanted from her and get out of there fast.

Ramsay went to Quilting Central first, sure Kit would be there. But when he walked in, he didn't see her.

Harper came over to him. “She's not here. And get that look off your face. She didn't steal away in the night. She's at the quilting dorm.”

He hadn't realized that he'd been holding his breath. “Thanks.”

He rushed to Thistle Glen Lodge
.
He was hurrying because he needed information from Kit, and maybe because he was anxious to see her and to make sure she was okay. But he would get the phone number from her and get the hell away before he was down on his knee, proposing again like some pathetic sap. He wouldn't beg, even though it might be the last time he'd ever see her.

The last time.

He slowed his pace, that thought jelling around in him, suffocating him. But he trudged on.

At the dorm, he walked right in, heading down the hallway, determined to get this over with. As he stepped into the living room, he made his presence known, in case any of the other women were still there. “Is everyone decent?”

He stopped short, trying hard to register what he was seeing. They both looked up at him. Kit sat at the small desk by the wall with a man leaning over her shoulder—way too close.

The man was Art MacKay. The reason Ramsay had wanted to see Kit.

Kit looked from him to Art, then back to him. Her cheeks turned pink. “I'm helping Art plan his trip to the States.”

Aw, hell.
It was exactly as he'd once suspected. Kit wasn't daft. She and Art were a perfect match. Their thirty years' age difference was no hindrance; they had loads in common.

Ramsay spun around. He didn't need this. He walked away.

“Wait!” Kit shouted.

“Why?” Ramsay said, still walking. “I give ye two my bleeding blessing.” He made it outside and sucked in much-needed air, leaning a hand against the dorm's stone wall. He hoped to heaven that she would end up breaking Art's heart, too. Because right now, that was the only thing keeping him from breaking Art's jaw.

The door opened, and for a moment he thought it was Kit running after him. But it was the bluidy wealthy Scot.

“What do you want?” Ramsay said. Couldn't the guy leave him in peace to lick his wounds alone?

“We have business to discuss.”

Ramsay had hoped so, at least when he'd
thought
he'd come up with a solution to get past his drowned boat. But the only business to be discussed now was whether it should be pistols or swords at dawn.

Ramsay put his hands up. “We've nothing to talk about.” He couldn't partner with Art. Not now. He couldn't ask Art to finance a new boat for him.

“I heard about your vessel,” Art said.

“Good news travels fast.”
Bastard.
“Did Kit have you on speed dial?” Why would she tell him anyway? Guilt for turning his proposal down? Or to emasculate him further?

Art looked confused. “I don't know what you're speaking of, lad. I heard about your loss at the restaurant when I arrived this morning.”

Now Ramsay was the one confused. “The restaurant? Why are you in town?” Did he really want to hear how he'd come to town to sweep the matchmaker off her feet?

“Kit and I had an appointment to meet today.”

“An appointment?”

“Aye. I have business in Boston and thought I would use her services to meet a couple of eligible women.”

“Then ye're not here for Kit?”

Art laughed. “Nay. I'm here
because
of Kit. She wanted to get everything arranged before she left.”

There it was again—talk of Kit leaving. And once again, Ramsay couldn't breathe.

“About yere boat?” Art said.

“What about it? It's sitting at the bottom of Pirate's Cove.”

“I've a proposition for you.”

For a brief moment, Ramsay considered telling him to shove off, but he jammed his hands in his pockets. “I'm listening.”

“I was intrigued by your guided fishing tour business. I'd like a piece of the action.”

This was the reason Ramsay wanted Art's phone number to begin with. Ramsay's mood lightened infinitesimally. But had Kit told him that he needed Art's help? Charity? A handout?

“Did Kit put you up to this?” Ramsay asked roughly.

“Not at all. I've been thinking about it since your visit. I believe your idea is pure gold. I ran some numbers on the projected growth of the quilting retreats and I think you have a very viable business.”

“Except that the
Lil Sister
sits on the ocean floor.”

“Yes, 'tis a shame. But I would like to partner with you. I provide the boat . . . you do all the work.” Art chuckled. “It sounds like it would lend itself to both of our strengths.”

“But—”

“After you get the kinks worked out—schedules, pricing, maintenance—then we could expand. Maybe have a small fleet of boats, up and down the coast, and enlist some of the other fishermen in the area. Maybe some retired fishermen would be interested?”

Ramsay ran a hand through his hair. It was almost perfect. “I only have one problem with what ye're offering,” he said. “I don't want to seem ungrateful . . . but I can't work with you holding the purse strings. That's the whole reason I went into business for myself.”

“Nay. I've been thinking this through all morning. I'll finance the first boat, but over time, you'll acquire full ownership of it.” Art held out the folder he was carrying.
“I brought a proposal with me. Of course, it'll have to be altered to include a new boat.”

The fact that Art had understood that Ramsay would have to own the boat eventually spoke volumes. Only another Scot would know how important that point was.

Art stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Ramsay took the folder and shook his hand. “If it all works out on paper.”

“Good man. And it will. A good deal is where both parties walk away feeling like they won.”

Was it completely nuts that Ramsay wanted to rush back in the door and tell Kit the good news? Would he always have this urge to share his life with her? Ramsay's dream had righted itself in the blink of an eye . . . or at least part of it. The most important piece still eluded him—Kit, becoming his wife.

Art motioned down the boardwalk. “I'm sure the pub isn't open yet, but let's go to the restaurant and discuss our deal over coffee and scones.”

Ramsay looked one more time at the dorm longingly, but left with Art. Once at the restaurant and seated, the door blew open and Deydie rushed in, storming straight to their table.

“There you are!” she said. “What did ye do to the matchmaker?”

Hell
.

Deydie slammed her hands on her hips. “She's upset about something. I saw her last night. Ye're the one who stole the light from her eyes.” Deydie speared him with her glare. “I'll take my broom to ye, wee Ramsay.”

Ramsay opened his mouth to tell the town's matriarch that it was none of her business, but decided the truth would be better instead. “Yere broom won't be needed,
Deydie. I proposed to the lass and she shut me out cold. So . . . no. I am not the one who
stole the light from her eyes.”
Ramsay hated to think of hurt settling into his sprite's green eyes, instead of the sparkle that he'd come to love. But she'd been clear that she didn't want any part of him.

But Kit had stroked his hair when they were in the life raft.

And she'd looked longingly at him only a while ago in the quilting dorm.

Deydie harrumphed. “Well, then, that damned lass needs her head examined.”

Art cleared his throat. “If I'm not mistaken, I believe Kit has had time to rethink her position. She acts like a woman with regrets.”

Ramsay pounded the table. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Deydie barked, “that you should get off your arse and go ask her again.”

*   *   *

Kit sat alone for a long time at the dorm before trudging back to Quilting Central. When she opened the door, it seemed as if the whole town was there again. The fishermen with her clients. The bachelors with the local girls. Her one match of Colin and Mercedes. And a multitude of other quilters.

The room went quiet as Deydie waddled toward her. “It's about damn time you showed up. We were going to start dredging the bay.”

“Is this another lynching?” Kit asked lightheartedly, but half serious, too. What could she have done this time to make everyone gather like this?

Deydie took her arm and dragged her up front to a
lone chair. “Here. Sit. We've something for ye.” The old woman pushed her into the seat. “Now don't move.”

Kit's client Morgan came up to her with a plain white box wrapped with a single scrap of fabric, tied in a bow. The rest of her clients—Gretchen had finally shown up, too—came up also and gathered around her.

Kit took the box from Morgan. “What's all this?”

“Just open it and see.”

Smiling, Kit pulled the bow and the tie fell away. “I don't know why you did this.” She tugged off the top and set it on the ground beside her. She pushed the tissue paper away . . . and found her grandmother's quilt. Or its identical twin.

“Well?” Deydie groused.

“Omigod.” Kit stood on shaky legs and unfolded the quilt. “How did you do this?”

“It was yere girls from America. They did it.” Deydie cleared her throat. “With a little help from the rest of us. We're calling it the Gandiegow Matchmaker quilt.”

Her clients-turned-friends smiled at her with sincerity. Kit stared at each one in disbelief. She finally found her voice.

“Come here.” She gathered them in a group hug.

They all spoke at once. “You never gave up on us.” “You were so sure we would find our soul mates.” “We are so grateful.” At the same time, they clamored to tell her what hand they'd each had in making her grandmother's look-alike quilt.

Deydie pushed Harper into the circle. “Yere sister here has a real knack with the longarm quilting machine. She manhandled that monster into submission.”

Kit hugged Harper extra hard. “I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too.”

In the next second, Deydie was shooing everyone back to their places. “The party's over. Now everyone get back to work. Those projects aren't going to finish themselves.”

Quilting Central went back to its normal activities. Harper and Kit went to her sewing machine. “I better get the rest of this stuff packed away.” Her nautical quilt pieces would be going home with her. A reminder of her time in Gandiegow. She had more than the quilt pieces to take back with her. The thought of Ramsay lived in her heart.

But as she stacked the pieces together, another crowd formed around her—the bachelors and her American clients.

Davey held out a check. “We thought we should pay you now, as some of us have plans for the rest of the day.” Sinnie stood beside him, looking up at him with a huge smile on her face.

Huh? She hadn't see that one coming, either.

Kit became even more speechless as a dozen checks were thrust at her, along with thanks for helping them.

“But it's undeserved.” She'd gotten it all wrong in Scotland.

“No.” Morgan stood beside Lochie, who wrapped an arm around her waist. “We think you handled it brilliantly.” She gazed up at her fisherman.

Kit was so confused. Only ten minutes ago, she'd thought her business in Scotland was dead. Instead of dead, she now had double the revenue? “But—”

“Hold up there, missy.” Deydie came at her, waving a spiral notebook. Kit was a little worried the old woman was going to give her quilting homework to take back with her to the States. “There's a little matter of business we need to handle.”

Was that black notebook filled with more expenses for Kit to pay? She should probably just sign the backs of the checks and hand them over to Deydie now.