Sweet Christmas Kisses (133 page)

But she only had eyes for Brodie, clinging to him as if she would never let him go, her face a picture of adoration.

"That's his wife?" Lucy asked dully, though she already knew the answer.

"She's his--"

But Lucy had already spun around and headed out the door behind her as quickly as she could move in high heels, humiliation washing through her in great waves.

It was bad enough that she'd come here, naively happy, a plain Jane from America who'd foolishly thought Brody was starting to love her.  But to see him in that incomparable woman's arms made it a hundred times worse. 

What had she been thinking?

Maybe the two of them were back together.  Maybe they'd never even split, and his wife had been anxiously waiting at home while he was off on his solitary sabbatical.

Maybe he would even bring her back to the cottage while he finished up his last weeks of writing.

Somewhere behind her she heard Ross calling her name, but she didn't want his pity, or any awkward efforts to explain.  She kicked off her shoes and ran like the wind across the snow-frosted grass to her car without looking back.  Then she locked the doors, and took off for Rosethorn.

On the way back she made two phone calls, then prayed she'd never see Brody again.

She'd set her alarm for five-thirty, wanting to slip away in the morning without any emotional explanations, but Maxie stood in front of the back door and whined sorrowfully when she edged past him with a carry-on bag and her laptop.  She put down her luggage and snuggled against his soft white fur one last time. 

"I'll come again someday, I promise," she whispered, willing away the burning sensation in her eyes as she left a note to Sorcha and Aileen on the kitchen table. "But you're best off here in the home you know."

She lingered for a moment outside the front door, staring at the plaque Aileen had promised would be a boon for finding a lifelong love if one only came to touch the plaque and recite the ancient words.

She hadn't believed such a fairytale, but now she rested her fingers on its Gaelic words "
Sàr gràdh is gu bràth"
and said a silent prayer.

****

The drive to the solicitor's office gave her time to regain her composure.  When he met her at the door at seven, looking bleary eyed and rumpled, she swept into his office and took a seat in front of his desk.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me this early," she said with a firm smile.  "As you know, today is December 15.  My month is up."

He frowned.  "I thought I'd heard that you planned to stay in Scotland for good."

She gave a slight shrug.  "I did, but my plans have changed.  I have commitments back home that I cannot ignore."

He sat silently for a long moment, then swiveled his chair around to face a four-drawer file cabinet and thumbed through a drawer full of folders.  He withdrew one, then swiveled back and laid it open on the desk.  "Maura wanted the will read to you after you'd had a chance to stay in her house for thirty days. That stipulation has been met."

"I will be given a copy of the will, correct?"

He nodded.

"Then can you just go over the high points?  And anything else I need to know before I leave?  I have to get down to Edinburgh, and it's a three hour drive. I have to return my rental car, and my plane leaves at noon.  I'll be cutting it pretty close."

He glowered at her.  "Are you sure this is wise?  You seem a bit...overwrought."

"Please, just tell me what I need to know."

"The house and its contents are all yours.  Now that you've met Maura's stipulation, you can run the B&B, choose to close it, or you are free to have a manager run the B&B if you wish.  Her will stipulates that the house cannot be sold to anyone who is not family."

"Is that even legal?"

"You can certainly choose to contest it in a court of law." He rifled through the papers in front of him.  "I recommend legal representation to help you sort out Scotland's stringent inheritance laws.  An heir has dispensation up to a certain level, but above that, is taxed at 40%.  Maura's estate exceeds that level by quite a bit."

Maybe it was the fact that she'd eaten nothing for breakfast, but Lucy suddenly felt faint.

"You can retain me as your solicitor, or find another on your own.  But one must be very careful to handle this with the utmost accuracy." He eyed her over the papers in his hand. "Because the government will uncover any attempts at defrauding it of its due."

"Yes...of course."

"Finally, Maeve's assets weren't only in physical property.  She was fairly well off, and invested wisely.  I think she ran the B&B in her home more for the company than the income." He tapped a pencil on the desk.  "Many years ago, she actually opened an account in a Scottish bank under your name, and had been gifting the maximum amount to you each year."  He slid a sealed bank statement across his desk towards her.  "This will give you the balance and account number."

"Finally, there are her financial assets---stocks, bonds, money market and checking."  He handed over another sheet of paper with a summary.  "You will easily be able to cover the inheritance taxes, with a very nice nest egg left over.  You are now a rather wealthy woman."

Lucy sat back in her chair,  "I'm completely overwhelmed.  I was worried about the taxes, but this is beyond anything I imagined."

Simpson handed her a copy of the will, then folded his hands on the desk.  "Can I ask what your plans are for the future?"

"I...I don't know.  I was so very happy here...but then I learned things that would make it difficult for me to stay.  But I do know that I want to keep the house, furnished as is.  And I want Sorcha and Aileen to live there as long as they wish.  I imagine I'll come back to see them quite often."

"I hope you'll come back to stay.  Whatever happened to upset you, balance it against the wonderful gift your Aunt Maura has bequeathed you.  A lovely home, beautiful heirlooms. You're a remarkably lucky woman, Lucy.  I hope you will deal with it all wisely."

****

"I found your Lucy Davis to be a fascinating young woman," Ross drawled over breakfast the next morning.

"She was here?" Brodie stared blindly at the front page of the Daily Record, but couldn't make his eyes focus on a single word.  She hadn't come at the time she'd planned, and he'd started to worry...and then, he started to think about that estate agent at her house and had decided that she'd changed her mind altogether.  "I didn't see her."

"She wasn't here long.  You probably missed her because Trisha was draped all over you like a dead octopus at the time."

"Thanks for the lovely imagine, bro.  I asked both you and Mum not to invite her."

"You know, I was rather surprised. Lucy seemed to think our family served as groundskeepers here.  Apparently you weren't very forthcoming."

"I didn't think it was relevant.  This is your ball game, not mine."

"So obviously she isn't after our money.  Whatever could interest her if not that?"

Brodie glared at him over the top of the paper.  "She's not that kind of girl."

"Not like Trisha, you mean?"  Ross grew thoughtful.  "Sounds like a point in her favor."

"If you're going to blather on, I'm leaving."

Ross ignored him.  "When you arrived, you said your new little friend was selling her aunt's house and moving to the States.  Is that right?  After playing you along?  She told me that she loves Scotland and she isn't selling it."  He shrugged.  "But she looked pretty heartbroken when Trisha put on her show, and she took off like a rocket.  I'll bet that if she was planning to stick around she has changed her plans in a hurry.  So long, surly Scot.  Helloooo, America."

Brodie looked up and was surprised to see genuine concern in his brother's eyes.

"I think she's a really sweet girl," Ross added. "And if you let this one get away, you're a bigger fool than I thought."

Lucy huddled with her luggage and stared bleakly at the arrivals and departures screen.

Her last minute ticket had cost three times as much as the trip coming to Scotland, but now her plane had been delayed coming from Amsterdam due to mechanical problems, and apparently they had recurred by the time it landed in Edinburgh.

After four delay announcements the entire flight had been cancelled and there wouldn't be any other flights with open seats for another four hours.  Which now meant she would miss her flight from Amsterdam to Chicago.

Why couldn't flying be easy anymore?  And yet...this had been a blessing.

She'd been sitting here for hours and the wait had offered a lot of time to think.

Fleeing to Chicago had been the easy way out.  A way to forget.  A way to avoid the pain of seeing Brody with his impossibly gorgeous wife.  Even if she'd misunderstood the situation at the party, seeing them together had been a hard lesson learned.  He clearly rated caviar, while Lucy knew she was just plain old American peanut butter and jelly. 

What in the world had she been thinking, falling for a drop-dead gorgeous guy like him?

Suddenly exhausted by her late night, early morning and the stress of rushing to get here, she leaned her head against the wall and whispered a silent prayer.  Please Lord, help make the right decision here...

And with that prayer, a sense of peace flowed through her. 

Maura had given her an incredible gift--and flying off to America over a broken heart would be an incredibly foolish thing to do.  She was a big girl.  One with plenty of experience in the broken heart department, and she could handle herself just fine.

Someone sat next to her, jostling her elbow and taking up way too much space.

She shifted away, but the person just seemed to follow, and leaned against her arm again.

"Are ye going anywhere fun?"

At the deep, familiar deep voice and Scottish burr, her eyes shot open and she nearly fell out of her chair.  Sure enough, Brody was looking down at her with laughter in his eyes and a crooked smile that sent warmth wrapping around her heart.

"Wh-what are you doing here?  You're married."

"Divorced.  My mother invited Trisha to our little gathering, not me.  And it will be a long time before I forgive either one of them."

She eyed him with suspicion.  "But why did you come here?  Trisha is unbelievably gorgeous.  I can't ever measure up to that.  I can't be her."

He closed his eyes briefly. "And for that, thank you God.  I don't want what she is.  I did at one time, when I was young and stupid and thought beauty was its own reward.  But it's not."

"No?"

"You're far more beautiful, because it's inside and out.  Because it's real, not paints and dyes and hours in front of a mirror.   You're intelligent and fun and ye make me laugh.  Ye make me want to be with ye 'til the end of time, because ye challenge me.  Ye make me try to be better.  And I know that if ye get on that plane and don't come back, you'll leave a hole in my heart the size of Loch Ness."

"That's pretty big," she murmured, trying to stifle a sudden burst of laughter.  Trying to guard her bruised heart from breaking all over again.  "Really?"

 Then she look up into his beautiful, rugged face and knew she was lost.

She'd dreamed of being a part of a real family Christmas all her life. 

With only her mother, it had always been a quiet holiday.  The same tired Christmas tree on an end table.  Chinese take-out for supper on Christmas Eve. An exchange of three presents each. 

Then her mother, tired from her long days at work, would go to bed at nine and Lucy would quietly slip back out to the living room, where she would watch old classic Christmas movies on television and then dream of being part of  big family like George Bailey's in  It's a Wonderful Life.

After she was grown, she'd tried for more--by inviting other single friends over for a festive meal, or accepting invitations when invited.  She'd begged her mom to come for a holiday visits, though that rarely happened.

Now, standing in the open archway between the dining room and the lounge at Rosethorn, she could only stare in wonder, her heart so full it felt as if it could burst.

"We've done a good job of it, aye?" Aileen smiled as she stood next to Lucy and surveyed their handiwork.

"Never better."  Sorcha straightened a crimson bow fastened to the pine garland wound around the banister of the open staircase, then struck a match and re-lit a candle on the small table nestled into the curve of the stairs. "But we'd best get back into the kitchen, Aileen, if we're to be having early supper before Christmas Eve services."

"I'll help," Lucy said.  But she lingered just another moment to turn around slowly and take it all in.  "I wish you could be with us, Mom...and Maura too," she whispered.

The fragrant Christmas tree in the corner was over fifteen feet tall; its white Christmas tree lights sparkling like a thousand stars among its branches. Decorated with ivory and gold brocade ribbon, glittering strands of gold beads and fragile vintage ornaments, it stood guard over the presents lovingly placed beneath.

And the rest of the main floor was just as beautiful, decorated with the collection of vintage nativity sets Lucy had found upstairs.  Garland and ribbons and delicate Christmas figurines from the 1800's.  And candles.... dozens of candles flickering on the fireplace mantle and throughout the room.

Someone knocked at the front door and Maxie launched from his warm spot in front of the fireplace, barking madly, his tail wagging furiously as he ran to paw at the door.

Lucy joined him, took a peek through the vertical sidelight next to the door, then opened it wide.  "Merry Christmas!"

Her father stood still for a moment, his gaze taking her all in.  Then he shifted his armload of presents and embraced her in a one-armed hug.  "Merry Christmas to you, Lucy."

She ushered him in and helped him with the presents and his coat, then led him into the lounge.  "What do you think?"