Bonnie Coburn watched through the pub’s window as Brodie passed. He seemed to be looking for something. Or someone. Maybe it was her. Probably not. Brodie was a tough one to pin down, but she’d tried. She’d flirted with him while wearing her sexiest of sweaters, and she caught him alone whenever she could. She’d even danced with him a time or two. The man was unshakable. She’d dubbed him Gandiegow’s most eligible bachelor, but she hoped not for long.
From her pocket, she lifted out her little notebook, the one she’d been writing in for months. She enjoyed playing the field, but looked forward to the coming year. Every four years she seriously thought about landing a man for good. Not just someone to keep her bed warm, but someone to take care of her for the rest of her life. Her looks were holding on, but they wouldn’t last forever.
February twenty-ninth was only two short months away. Not only was it Leap Year Day, but it was her birthday as well. The day belonged to her, the day she could do whatever the hell she wanted. She never paid any attention to those who said Leap Year Day was a bad day to be born . . . my own mum included. Bonnie cringed at the thought of Mum, smoking her cigarettes in their shabby flat in the bad part of Glasgow. Mum never worked, but depended on her boyfriends for cash and always waiting for her next date. Oh, how Mum thought it was a riot to only celebrate Bonnie’s birthday during a Leap Year, refusing to give her presents and a bit of cake on the other years to acknowledge her daughter getting older.
Bonnie knew she was pretty from the start. Mum’s lecher boyfriends noticed, always commenting on what a bonny lass she was. Being pretty when she was little was fine. She got an extra stick of gum or some chocolate for it. But as she began filling out, Mum’s boyfriends began giving her more attention than she wanted—chatting her up and pawing at her whenever they could.
A shiver ran through her. Bonnie had to remind herself she was grown now and safe here in Gandiegow. But the memories kept coming. Her mum saw, but didn’t step in and protect her from her bluidy boyfriends. Instead Mum blamed her for leading them on with her perky tits. On the day the worst of them threw Bonnie on her bed, she kicked and screamed her way from underneath his alcohol breath and groping hands, only to find her mum smoking a cigarette on the couch in the next room. Bonnie ran off then, leaving the gray of Glasgow behind, heading north.
She was barely thirteen when she stumbled her way into Gandiegow, ending up at Mrs. Coburn’s door. The old dear woman took Bonnie in, never telling her she was too pretty for her own good. From the start, Mrs. Coburn kept her safe. When Gandiegow came knocking, wanting to know exactly who the chit was, Mrs. Coburn backed up Bonnie when she’d told everyone her last name was Coburn, too, just like the woman who’d taken her in.
Mostly Bonnie kept the past where it belonged. But lately, questions of her mother had been bothering her. Aye, Mum didn’t deserve any kind of consideration. But the questions kept coming. Did her mum ever try to find her? Or had she been happy to be rid of the girl she’d seen as a burden and competition. But mostly, she wondered if her mum was still alive.
Without really meaning to, Bonnie left the view at the pub’s big window and went to the laptop propped open on the bar. Before she lost her nerve, she googled their old address. Maybe seeing a picture of the dump would remind her how horrible it had been and she’d give up these old, unproductive thoughts. But the rundown building had been gentrified, according to the first article to pop up. The bad side of Glasgow was becoming the hip place for the growing art community to live.
Next, she typed in her mother’s name to see where she lived now. As the page loaded, Bonnie expected to see a police report. Instead, it was the one thing she feared most. An obituary. With her hand shaking, she clicked the link.
WIGHTMAN, Anne, Suddenly at Glasgow Royal Infirmary . . .
Bonnie stopped when she read the date. Fifteen years ago. Her mother had been gone fifteen years. The few words about her mum said nothing about flowers or a service.
Bonnie choked on a sob. Her eyes fell on the small notebook which lay next to the laptop. The page was too blurry to read.
“Well, that’s that.” She wiped away the tears. Now she knew, but that didn’t change anything. Since she was a teen, she’d put miles between herself and the woman who birthed her . . . both in distance and in her heart.
“I’ve made something of myself,” Bonnie declared to the empty pub. She held two jobs—barmaid at The Fisherman and receptionist at the North Sea Valve Company. Her mother should’ve been so lucky. Gandiegow accepted Bonnie for who she was. They didn’t always think well of her, but they knew she was a hard worker. Lately, though, things had been changing, evolving, to where she was feeling more like a part of the community. The quilting ladies had even taught her how to sew. She was working on her third quilt and getting better with each one. But she had no mum to give a quilt to since Mrs. Coburn had died eight years ago. She’d been kind to Bonnie until the end, leaving her the small cottage, because Bonnie was the only family the old woman had.
But it would be nice to have someone special to share her quilts with now.
Bonnie closed the lid on the laptop and took her list back to the table by the window. She’d written down the name of every bachelor in Gandiegow from eighteen years old to eighty. Any one of them could potentially be her future. But on Leap Year Day, Brodie would be the first one she would propose to—the best looking, the best provider. She’d even bought a new dress for the occasion. If he said no, she’d take his coin—as was Gandiegow’s tradition—and go on to the next one on the list. Tuck was second, though he wasn’t as steady as Brodie. But she’d ask anyway, as he was sure to tell her no, too.
She sighed. A girl could make a lot of money on Leap Year Day, a fiver for every rejection. But Bonnie wanted more than a little extra cash. She wanted a man to call her own.
She looked up to see three boats coming into the harbor and suddenly she felt hopeful. The hope spread all the way into her bones that this coming year . . . will be my year to land a husband.
* * *
Rachel watched Brodie leave, wanting to run after him and tell him the job Deydie had wrangled her into after the Christmas Eve service—accuse someone in Gandiegow of being a thief. Rachel had a belligerent thought. What if I decide not to go through with it?
Vivienne brought her back to the here-and-now by motioning to the room of quilters who were working furiously on last-minute presents. “This place wasn’t here six years ago.”
Deydie and the others had relocated a distance away, but kept watch as if her mother were a rare bird. It was probably her mother’s tartan outfit which had them staring so intently.
As Rachel guided her mother over to the tea and scone tray, she explained how she met Cait on the plane and how the Kilts and Quilts retreat was her brainchild. But she left off the bit about Graham.
Vivienne’s eyes lit up. “Cait? Graham Buchanan’s wife?” Rachel should’ve known her mother would be up on the latest in People magazine. “Will I get to meet him while I’m here?”
“I doubt it.” From what Rachel heard from the quilters, even though the biography had come out, they still fiercely protected him and his privacy. Deydie called him a son of Gandiegow.
Vivienne looked around. “Where’s my granddaughter?”
“At Abraham’s. Shall we go? We can take our scones with us.”
Her mother wrapped hers in a napkin. “They are delicious.”
“The best. From what I hear, Claire has a scone recipe for every day of the year.” Rachel grabbed her coat from the hook, but glanced anxiously at her sewing machine, where her mother’s patchwork quilt still needed a binding. She’d have to sneak back and finish it later. The two of them left, leaving the quilting ladies to watch them go.
Once outside, Rachel had to know. “What are you wearing?”
Vivienne looked down, admiring herself. “It’s Joe’s tartan.”
“I know it’s Joe’s tartan.” She’d made Abraham’s picture frame out of the same plaid.
Her mother continued on. “I ordered it a while back, and now I have an occasion to wear it.”
Rachel wanted to argue with her on that point, but she dropped the subject. “You didn’t call and say you were on your way. I was worried.”
“You always worry,” her mother scolded. “I’m fine. I wanted to surprise you.”
Yes, Rachel had been surprised . . . surprised to see Brodie and her mother together.
Vivienne sniffed and adjusted her gloves. “Brodie carried my things to Thistle Glen Lodge.” She frowned as if she wanted to complain about the service he’d provided, but apparently she’d decided to take the high road. “The quilting dorm is absolutely charming. It reminds a little of Sunnydale, don’t you think?”
“Yes. It does to me as well.” Rachel stepped up to Abraham’s cottage and opened the door. “We’re here.”
Vivienne raised a disapproving eyebrow.
That eyebrow always put Rachel on the defensive. “Abraham said for us to make ourselves at home.” Besides, he was too ill to get up and down to answer the door all day. She put it aside and hollered down the hall. “Hannah, guess who’s here?”
Her daughter came tearing out of the parlor with a wild and uncontained expression of joy on her face. “Grandma Vivienne!”
Hannah slammed into her grandmother and the two of them hugged.
This was why Rachel worked hard at not letting her mother get to her. Hannah loved her grandmother, and Vivienne was so good to Hannah that Rachel couldn’t stay upset with her mom for too long. Anyone who loved her daughter was special in Rachel’s book. Like Brodie, the voice at the back of her mind whispered.
“Come meet Grandda,” Hannah said, pulling Vivienne’s hand.
Vivienne glanced back at Rachel. “When did she start speaking with a Scottish accent?”
“The moment she stepped foot in Gandiegow,” Rachel replied.
“Well, she is Joe’s daughter,” Vivienne added, always on Joe’s side, always defending him.
Rachel took the comment as another jab, though. Every now and then, her mother would hint that Joe might still be alive if Rachel had been a better wife and worked harder on their marriage. But Vivienne didn’t know everything about Joe.
“Grandda, this is my grandma Vivienne.”
Abraham looked up and laughed. “I know yere gran. Vivienne, come closer and let me see what ye’re wearing. The MacFarlane tartan?”
“In honor of Joe,” Vivienne said. “Do you like it?”
Abraham nodded. “It pleases me. Some might say ye shouldn’t wear it because ye’re not a Clacher, like me and Joe, and this little one here, but I say it’s grand. Perfectly grand.”
Hannah tugged on her grandmother’s hand to get her attention. “I’m spending the night at Grandda’s tonight. He says Father Christmas is stopping here with presents for me!” She beamed up at Vivienne. “Gran, ye’ll be staying here with us.”
“Gran?” her mother said to Rachel. “Since when am I Gran?”
Rachel shrugged. “I guess starting right now.”
Vivienne slipped off her coat and sat on the sofa with Hannah hopping between her two grandparents, putting on quite the show. Rachel spied the near empty plate of Christmas cookies, which explained part of her daughter’s hyperactivity.
The front door opened and closed. Rachel held her breath.
Brodie peeked in, looking uncomfortable. “I’m back, Grandda.”
“Come greet Rachel’s mother,” Abraham said.
Vivienne put her hand up. “It’s okay. We’ve already spoken. Brodie helped me get my bags to the quilting dorm.”
“If ye’ll excuse me.” Brodie left the room and hastened up the stairs.
Rachel understood . . . there were way too many Granger women in one room for him. Maybe too many in Scotland. “I’ll fix us some tea. Mom, are you hungry? That scone couldn’t have filled you up.”
Hannah picked up the nearly empty cookie plate and held it out to Vivienne precariously. “Here are the biscuits, Gran. They’re yummy.”
Rachel reached over and rescued the stoneware from sheer disaster. “I’ll bring a tray in a minute. Abraham, is there anything besides tea that I can get you?”
The old man beamed at Hannah and the room in general. “I’ve got all I need.”
Forty-five minutes later over Hannah’s commotion in the parlor, Rachel heard Brodie come down the stairs. He headed straight out the front door without saying boo to anyone. Was this an omen of things to come? But it’s Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t at least some of her dreams come true on this night of all nights?
But the dreaded task of accusing one of the congregation after church floated back into her head and landed with a thump in the pit of her stomach. “We better get to Thistle Glen Lodge to clean up and get changed.”
Abraham shifted toward her. “But ye’ll be back here after the service. We’ll have a light supper. Brodie arranged it with Dominic ages ago. Then tomorrow is the big feast.” He winked at Hannah. “I had Brodie increase our order because the little one can sure pack it away.”
“Oh, Grandda,” Hannah said, smiling. “I don’t eat that much.”
As the three of them walked back to Thistle Glen Lodge, Rachel’s nerves were getting the best of her. She glanced over at the boats tied up at the dock, wondering if she could stow away in one of them until Christmas was over. She really didn’t want to make that damned announcement.
As if she’d summoned him, Brodie stepped from the wheelhouse onto the deck of his boat. Their eyes locked, and once again, she didn’t understand how he could disregard their connection.
Vivienne followed where she gazed, then back to Rachel, raising that eyebrow. Apparently, Rachel and Brodie’s connection was obvious to her mother.
Hannah skipped ahead to the path leading between the buildings.
Vivienne watched and waited until her little ears were out of range. “So you’ve taken up with him again.”
If only that were true. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mother.”
“I must’ve hit the nail on the head if I’m Mother now.”
Brodie walked off in the opposite direction, toward home.
For a moment, Rachel considered confiding in her mom—she did want a relationship with Brodie . . . but he wasn’t interested. But what good would the admission do? It had only caused friction between her and her mom six years ago.
Vivienne raised her nose in the air. “The truth is, darling, I don’t believe Brodie is good enough for you. He never has been.”
Rachel tamped down the truth to keep it from bubbling up. Now wasn’t the time to bring up Joe’s shortcomings—his wandering eye and philandering body parts. Sure, Rachel had stood up to a few people here in Gandiegow, but confronting her mother seemed impossible. Mom was a force of nature, and if Rachel was being completely honest, she didn’t want to disappoint her. Vivienne loved Joe. But if her mother knew the truth, she’d be just as upset with Rachel for putting up with a man who stepped out on her. It was best to let it go. Water under the bridge. Joe was dead.
“Can we talk about something else?”
Her mother told her about all the gifts in her suitcase that she’d bought for Hannah in Edinburgh. “I’m having a coat and hat made in her father’s tartan, too. I need to get her measurements while I’m here. Can we do that at Quilting Central? I want her to have it for when she gets home to Chicago.”
But the thought of going home wasn’t appealing to Rachel. In fact, it made her a little sick to her stomach. Sure, she had challenges here—Brodie not forgiving her and Deydie giving her a hard time every other second. But the village was once again feeling like home. The way it had six years ago when she’d been here before.
But then Rachel remembered what lay ahead for her in an hour from now. The community was going to hate her for sure after this.
* * *
Back at the cottage, Brodie cleaned up for the Christmas Eve service as quickly as he could so he could see to his grandfather before heading out. Though Grandda was a little better today, Doc insisted he needed to stay out of the cold and rest at home. While Brodie was cutting slices of cheese for his grandfather, Dominic knocked on the back door and stepped in.
Brodie had to do a double take. He had a tray of sandwiches in his hands, but strapped to his chest was baby Nessa. “Ye have a helper, I see.”
“Claire needed an extra minute so Nessa decided to come along on the delivery. Here, let’s get the sandwiches put away.”
Brodie took the tray and slid it into the refrigerator while Nessa laughed at the silly face he made at her.
“Basil soup is in the wagon. Do you mind getting it? Just plug in the Crock-Pot and it’ll be hot for later.”
“I appreciate this. Especially making extra at the last minute.”
“No problem. So how are you holding up with having so much family in town?”
Brodie skipped over the question. “We both better hurry so we aren’t late for the service.”
Dominic and Nessa left. Brodie finished slicing cheese and set the tray next to Abraham. “I’ll be back soon.”
Grandda nodded and Brodie left, too.
If he timed this just right, Rachel and her family would already be seated at the kirk before he arrived. If Grandda were there, he’d insist the Granger females join him in the family pew. But as it was, Rachel didn’t know where his family had sat for generations.
When the service was about to start, he slipped inside. But when he looked into the sanctuary, he didn’t see Rachel, her mother, or Hannah. Father Andrew nodded as if he better take his seat. But before Brodie stepped in, the door to the kirk flew open and Hannah came tripping in, unzipping her coat. She wore a red velvet dress, black tights, and black patent leather shoes. When she saw Brodie, she broke into a huge grin.
“I ran so I wouldn’t be late,” she said too loudly for church, but the starting music drowned out her last words. She rushed to Brodie and hugged him. He couldn’t help himself; he scooped her into his arms. The lass has gotten under my skin.
“Are ye ready to sit?” he said quietly.
“Aye.”
The door opened and the two well-put-together Granger women came in gracefully. Abraham was right; Vivienne Granger was handsome. And her daughter was lethal. Was Rachel trying to kill him with how good she looked in black velvet?
Vivienne set her overnight case at the entrance, but not before giving Brodie a disapproving nod. Brodie walked down the aisle, figuring the women would follow him since he was carrying the girl. It wasn’t until all eyes were on him before he realized he should’ve had Hannah walk on her own. The way the villagers were watching him, they were certainly placing bets on when he and Rachel would wed.
But that wasn’t his only issue. By carrying Hannah in, he’d ordained where all four of them were to sit. He put the little lass down at his family pew. He started to tell her to slide in but that would leave him sitting next to one of the Granger women. He took his seat first, then Hannah, Vivienne, and Rachel. With them lined up all cozy like this, speculation would run rampant.
They rose immediately as the processional started. Brodie sang “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful” from memory, using the familiar song to calm the tension caused by his pew mates.
Vivienne tugged on Rachel’s arm. “There’s Graham Buchanan.”
Graham and Mattie scooted in next to Cait directly in front of them.
“I know, Mom,” Rachel whispered back. “Don’t make a big deal.”
Brodie had to admire Rachel that she took the town’s commitment to Graham seriously. Vivienne would not win any points by trying to get Graham’s autograph during the Christmas Eve service.
Brodie put the two women to his left out of his mind. When the service was nearly over, Father Andrew nodded. At first Brodie thought it was to him, but then Graham leaned over and kissed a surprised Cait, before he and Mattie rose and walked to the front.
“We have a special treat this evening,” Andrew said, beaming as if handing out Christmas presents to one and all. “Two of our parishioners have asked if they may do a duet.”
The congregation was as shocked as Cait, and whispering broke out throughout the kirk.
Andrew held up his hand and the room went quiet as the music began.
Mattie solemnly looked up at his grandfather Graham, and Graham nodded back to him.
“Silent night,” Mattie sang, his voice soft and his pitch true. “Holy night. All is calm. All is bright.”
Graham joined in, smiling at them all, but tears had come to everyone’s eyes. Even Brodie’s.
Hannah pulled his arm. “Why is everyone crying?”
Brodie kissed the top of her head. “Because we’re happy.” Mattie had come a long way after enduring so much. To hear him sing, and to know he was healing, was the best Christmas present Gandiegow could ever receive.
When they got to the last verse of the song, Mattie sang by himself again for a few lines, but then he and Graham raised their arms to have everyone join in. The town sang, but amid the joy of the Christmas miracle, noses were being blown throughout the sanctuary.
When they were done, Cait stepped out of the pew and Mattie flew into her arms. “Merry Christmas,” he said quietly.
Graham laid a hand on Cait’s shoulder as the three of them sat back down.
Andrew tucked his handkerchief in his pocket. “All rise for the final prayer.”
When he finished, Brodie expected the music for the recessional to begin, but instead, Andrew called for announcements, not something that was usually done on Christmas Eve.
Brodie was even more surprised when Rachel’s hand timidly rose.
“Here.”
Andrew motioned her to come to the front.
Rachel glanced around nervously while standing. As she scooted out, his locket swung from side to side. God, what was she up to?
She made it to the lectern, but then froze. “I, ah—”
“Louder,” Deydie hollered from her row with the quilting ladies.
Rachel glared at the older woman as if she was undaunted by her or anyone else. Finally, she looked at the rest of them with fierce determination. “As you all know, several things have gone missing around Gandiegow. I’ve been appointed to get to the bottom of one piece of the puzzle.”
The pews lit up with chatter.
Rachel held up her hand. “Does anyone in this room wear a size forty-four boot?”
Brodie wore a forty-six.
Rachel looked around and seemed relieved that no one wore that size.
But a deep voice said, “I wear a forty-four.” Tuck rose from his seat and the room gasped.
“Dumb luck,” Rachel muttered with a frown on her face, but then brightened as if an idea struck her. “Anyone else? Surely, Tuck isn’t the only one in Gandiegow who wears a forty-four.”
The crowd glanced from one to the other, silently, but then accusing chatter began to buzz around the room like a swarm of killer hornets.
Rachel looked in Brodie’s direction as if she was hoping for his support. She shook her head to convey the news was bad.
Brodie didn’t believe for a second Tuck would steal anything, even the wellies, though the bloke’s boots had seen better days.
Rachel put her hand up to silence the room, but then she looked to Tuck. “Do you mind staying after for a minute?” She nodded toward the Narthex.
“Sure.” Tuck sat. He was frowning, too. He had to know what this was about with all the gossip which had been going around . . . unless the man was deaf.
“Thank you.” Rachel ducked her head and made her way back to her seat. Father Andrew called out for the last hymn to begin. Brodie didn’t sing, but kept glancing at Rachel to make sure she was all right.
And because he didn’t trust Tuck for other reasons besides a damned pair of missing wellies, Brodie was going to stay afterward, too.
When the song was over, Brodie filed out with the rest of them where a group—Deydie, Bethia, Amy, Father Andrew, and Moira—had gathered in the Narthex. The head quilter was sending the gawkers along their way by glaring at whoever wanted to hang around to see what would happen to Tuck.
As Rachel left the sanctuary, she turned to Vivienne. “Can you take Hannah to Abraham’s and tell him we’ll be along shortly? I’ll bring your overnight bag.” She glanced to where it sat by the door.
Vivienne nodded, but she wasn’t really paying much attention as she was watching Graham come up the aisle.
“Leave him alone, Mom,” Rachel said. “I mean it.”
“I just want an introduction,” Vivienne whined, sounding an awful lot like Hannah.
“No. It’s Christmas. You’ll let him be. Abraham is waiting for Hannah.”
But apparently there were more sights for Vivienne to appreciate. Behind Graham were Gabriel and his father.
“Oh, my.” Vivienne fanned herself. “Now, who’s that fine specimen? The older one, of course.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Leave him alone, too.”
Hannah put her hand on her grandmother. “We better go, Gran.” Clearly, she was the adult between the two of them.
“Very well.” Vivienne turned away and they walked out.
“I’m going to have to put a leash on her,” Rachel muttered.
Brodie stood close. “How come ye made the announcement?”
“The quilters made me their talking head. I’m expendable, you see?”
No, he didn’t see at all. Brodie laid his hand on her back—for only a moment—to get her moving toward the lynch mob. When Tuck came into the lobby area, he frowned at the assembly. The bloke made his way over, shaking his head.
Deydie harrumphed at the sight of him. “Ye may resemble yere brother, the good Father, but ye’re nothing like him. He wouldn’t be stealing from the townsfolk, and he would’ve been here for yere wedding.”
Tuck put his hand up, courtroom style. “I didn’t do anything. I swear.”
Andrew appeared pained that his brother had said swear within the walls of the kirk.
“I promise,” Tuck amended. “I didn’t take the wellies or anything else ye want to accuse me of doing.”
Hesitating, Moira moved slightly forward, keeping her eyes on the ground. “Tuck is eating plenty at home. I’m certain he hasn’t been taking the food.”
Brodie knew why Rachel didn’t say anything about the plate she’d left out. She had nothing to report definitively. He planned to fix that problem later tonight, though.
“Well, I think ye did the thieving,” Deydie said as the resident Scrooge. “But let’s take a vote on it. Who thinks Tuck is the thief?” She raised her old hand in the air.
Everyone else looked embarrassed, leaving their arms at their sides.
“He didn’t do it,” Andrew said. He gripped Tuck’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “I know my brother.”
Deydie wrapped her coat around her tighter then pointed a finger at the accused. “I’ll be watching ye.” She spun around and waddled out the door.
The rest of the group disbanded with a few attempts at Happy Christmas but the sentiment fell flat. Amy and Moira retrieved a bag and brought it over.
Amy presented the shopping bag to Rachel. “For you. We thought ye would need it.”
Rachel looked a little hesitant to take the sack. He couldn’t blame her. He still couldn’t believe the quilting ladies had forced Rachel into making that blasted announcement. She finally took the bag. “Thank you.”
“Look inside. Moira and I finished it.”
Rachel’s gaze questioned her, but then she opened the bag and pulled out the patchwork quilt he’d seen earlier.
Moira gave her a weak smile. “We knew ye wouldn’t have time to complete it for yere mum before tomorrow morn.”
“Thank you both. So much.” Rachel looked as if she meant it. “This was so thoughtful.”
Amy beamed brightly. “It was the least we could do. Happy Christmas.” The two of them left together.
Brodie took the quilt from Rachel and put it back in the bag. He nodded that they should go, too. At the door, he grabbed Vivienne’s overnight case. When they were away from the kirk, he spoke. “Ye shouldn’t have been the one to get up there.” He didn’t need to explain what he was talking about.
Rachel shrugged. “Deydie implied she’d ease up on me if I did. What a crazy ordeal. Tuck did not do it.”
“I noticed you didn’t say anything.”
“My vote didn’t count. I was just the messenger, not the judge and jury. Besides, I don’t know anything for sure.”
Exactly what he thought.
She stopped. “But as soon as I catch the little thief, I’m going to drag him to Deydie and then make the old quilter apologize to Tuck.”
He laughed, imagining Rachel pulling the man by his ear all the way to Deydie’s doorstep, but his merriment died when he thought about Rachel standing up for Tuck. “Do ye care for the man?” Brodie hadn’t been with Rachel every second of the day. Had she formed a relationship with Tuck when he wasn’t around? But the locket still hung around her neck and the sight of it slightly eased his growing panic.
She was giving him a weird frown as if she wanted to burrow into his head and figure out what he was thinking. “I don’t even know Tuck,” was her answer.
“But ye’d like to.” Brodie was seething a tad more than he wanted to admit.
“I guess,” Rachel said. “I want to get to know everyone in Gandiegow. I like it here. I always have.”
But Brodie felt stuck on the fact that she wanted to get to know Tuck. Was it his fault, because he’d built a wall of unforgiveness between him and her?
“We’re here.” Rachel didn’t go in, but grabbed his arm. “Thank you for staying behind with me at church. I wasn’t sure what was expected of me at the inquisition, but I was relieved you were there with me.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek.
He soaked it up, her hand resting on his arm, and her lips on his face. When she pulled away, he felt cheated. The only explanation he could give himself for what happened next was because it was Christmas Eve. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her as if a bushel of mistletoe hung above their heads. Being the one to initiate the kiss was a heady feeling of power, and he understood why Rachel was forever stepping in and making the first move. But when she tried to deepen the kiss, he came to his senses, breaking away. He was breathless and feeling confused. His resentment toward Rachel was all he had, and he clung to it the way Hannah clung to her guzzy. Unfortunately, Rachel’s goodness was seeping into him and chipping away at the hard feelings he held for her.
I’m not supposed to care about ye.
“They’re waiting.” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed half the rocks on the beach. He opened the door and let her go in first. He seriously considered not entering at all, but he couldn’t leave Grandda on Christmas Eve.
They hung up their coats in silence. There was nothing for him to say. He should apologize for kissing her, because he had no plans of rekindling what had started six years ago. He’d kissed her because it felt good to do so. End of story. It wasn’t a damned proposal. He handed her the bag containing the patchwork quilt.
“I’ll get it wrapped.” She ran up the stairs.
Vivienne and Hannah had transformed the parlor into a party place by having the food laid out on the side table. Soft Christmas music played in the background. Brodie couldn’t help marveling how the all-male fisherman’s cottage had turned into a warm home, making Brodie homesick for his boyhood, his mother, and the time before his da had died.
Rachel came into the parlor as Vivienne was stepping out. “I was just headed to the kitchen to get the plates.”
“I’ll get them,” Rachel said, and she was gone.
Vivienne accused him with her eyes. “What’s wrong with her?”
He shrugged and took his place beside his grandfather. “Are ye ready for Christmas, Hannah? Have ye been a good girl this year?” He thought about the presents he’d bought. Aye, he’d overdone it, but he might not get another chance to spoil the little lass who’d stolen his heart.
Rachel carried in a stack of plates and set them next to the food. It was more plates than they would use, and for a moment, Brodie wondered if she’d invited guests. But the second she started filling her plate, he knew. He made his way to her as she was slipping from the room with a heaping helping of sandwiches and vegetables.
“Who’s that for?” he asked her backside as she walked down the hall.
She spun around. “For me. A snack for later. I thought I’d put it in the refrigerator.”
He followed her into the kitchen and found her pulling out the plastic wrap to cover the plate. “Are ye planning to be hungry in the middle of the night then?”
She squeezed the plate in the frig before turning on him. “Are you offering to build up my appetite?”
Now there’s an idea. But he ignored her proposition, or at least he tried. Once a thought like that took hold, well, even Lou Ferrigno would have a mighty hard time shaking it off.
Without answering her, he went back to the parlor, wishing he hadn’t followed her. He made himself a plate and sat in the corner to eat. But if he thought he would be left alone to brood, he was wrong. Hannah pulled him over to sit next to her. On the other side, she’d put up Joe’s picture, as if they were having another blasted tea party.
But the lass was so funny and entertaining that after a while he settled down and enjoyed the evening. He and Hannah made hats for all of them to wear for their Christmas Day meal as Vivienne told them of her travels. Hannah didn’t seem to be winding down, but Rachel started preparing the lass for bed.
“Did you see what I brought?” Rachel pulled out ’Twas the Night Before Christmas. “I’ll read this to you before I leave.”
“Nay.” Hannah grabbed the book from her mother. Before he knew what had happened, she’d dropped it into his lap. “Brodie’s going to read to me.”
For the first time since the kiss on the porch, Rachel looked directly at him. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He sat on the couch and Hannah climbed up beside him, laying her head on his arm. He couldn’t help comparing this moment to Christmases in the past. This Christmas Eve had turned into something more than having a dram of whisky by the fire. He glanced over at Grandda, who appeared to be having the time of his life.
Suddenly, Brodie was surprised at how he felt. He was glad the Granger women had come for the holiday.