To Scotland With Love (28 page)

“Caitie.” He wanted to both yell at her until she left forever and kiss her so she never would. “We should talk.”

She looked startled. She pushed back her hair uncomfortably, her eyes darting from side to side. “Let me get some coffee first.”

He couldn't help but memorize her every movement. How she latched onto her coffee mug for dear life, how generously she took her cream and sugar, but mostly how lovely she looked this morning.

She seemed to be taking her time, stalling. Gathering her thoughts or gathering her courage—he couldn't tell which.

Stiffly, as if she'd been filled with concrete, she
plodded across the room and took the chair opposite him. She sipped her coffee, not meeting his eyes.

Finally, she looked up. They both spoke at once.

“Caitie—”

“Graham, I—”

He motioned for her to go first.

Frowning at her coffee cup, she ran her finger along the rim. “I never wrote that article.” She expelled a long breath. “Don't get me wrong. I meant to. But when I got to know you . . . and, of course, Mattie and Duncan . . .”

Her forehead furrowed into deeper lines. He wanted to reach out and console her, but didn't.

She stared at her coffee mug, almost talking to it instead of him. “I was going to confess everything to you. I just needed a little courage. And then, well, everything got worse. Duncan . . .” She trailed off. “I never meant for you to find the notebooks the way you did. I never meant to add to your pain.” Her voice broke, but she went on. “You and Duncan and Mattie have been so good to me.” She looked up at him then, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I just couldn't betray you. Not even to save myself.”

Something inside him split open. She'd sacrificed herself
for him and his family
?

She swiped at a second tear. “I'm so sorry, Graham. Can you ever forgive me?”

He reached over to only touch her hand, to give her comfort and to stop her tears. But he couldn't help himself. He pulled her over onto his lap.

She gasped. For the second time this morning, he'd shocked the hell out of her. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his neck with a little sob.

God, she felt so good. So right. He savored her for a long moment.

He leaned her away so he could see her face. He pushed her hair behind her ear, forcing her to look at him. “Nay, lass. 'Tis partly my fault. I should've let you explain. I know you tried. I was a jerk.”

She opened her mouth to defend him.

He laid a finger across her lips. “Shh. I was grief-stricken. Still am.”

“I know. Me too.”

“But we're going to get through this. We're going to be okay. Just like you told Mattie.” Her words had soothed him then, even though they'd been meant for his grandson.

“Then you and I are okay?” she whispered, searching his eyes. “Are we friends again?”

“Nay,” he said. “I don't need more friends.”

Surprise and hurt registered in her whole body. She tried to pull away. “But—”

He cupped her face and kissed her deeply—trying to show her what he felt, how his feelings went way beyond friendship. However, the kiss wasn't enough. He stood, pulling her to her feet, wanting more of her body pressed against him. She clung to his neck, kissing him back, and then she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Aye,” he growled into her lips. He would carry her upstairs and he would show her how much he cared for her. And he'd finally tell her that he loved her like Duncan had told him to. In time, Graham knew he could make her love him back.

As he started for the stairs, his mobile rang with his agent's ring tone. Graham let it go to voice mail, ignoring
the fact that Sid wouldn't call him at this hour and certainly not the morning after Duncan's funeral.

His phone rang again. “Let me shut it off.”

Caitie reluctantly slipped from his arms. “It's okay if you need to take the call.”

“Nay. I've more important things.” He shot her a smoky look.
Much more important.
But the phone stopped ringing. As he pulled it from his pocket, it dinged with a text. He read the message:

Urgent! Call me now!!!

“Dammit.” Graham sighed heavily. “I have to call Sid.” He gazed over at Caitie. He was already missing her body.

“It's okay.” Her face was bright, her lips rosy from kissing him.

“Just give me a moment. I promise.” He grabbed her hand, not letting her go too far away, and rang up his damn agent. “Your timing stinks.”

Sid cleared his throat. “I didn't want to bother you, but there's news that couldn't wait.”

“Get on with it,” Graham said.

“It's the last script
.
”

He couldn't imagine why Sid would bring it up now. “I turned it down, remember? That ship has sailed.”

“Not exactly,” Sid said. “Craig backed out and shooting has already begun. The studio wants you. They've always wanted you.”

A million thoughts converged in Graham's head.
But Duncan was buried only yesterday. Caitie and Mattie. My life here.

Sid read his mind. “I know it's a lot to ask. Especially with . . .” He let the words die off. “But the studio is losing a half mil a day in New Zealand. They could really use you now. Can you get to Inverness and fly out in a few hours?”

Mattie wandered into the kitchen wearing his Thor pajamas and sat at the kitchen table, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

“I'll need to talk to my family first.” Graham left it at that and hung up.

He wrapped his arm around Caitie's shoulder and turned to his grandson, frowning, no time to put a good face on it. “Mattie, how would you like to go with me on location to New Zealand?”

Mattie shook his head, mirroring his frown back to him.

Graham couldn't walk away and leave him and Caitie, not now. “It's a beautiful country. We'll get you a tutor. We'll be together all the time.”

Mattie ran to Caitie and anchored himself to her with his arms.

Caitie let go of Graham and hugged the boy back, looking at Graham with curiosity. Suddenly, the light came on in her eyes.

“Ohmigosh.” She was so excited. “It's the script you turned down, isn't it?” Her smile channeled the sun. “Oh, Graham, you have to take it.”

He grimaced. “I can't leave.”
Not without Mattie, and not without you.

Mattie unlatched himself from Caitie and walked over to him and tugged on his hand. Mattie's little eyes were filled with encouragement.

Caitie tilted her head to the side. “I think he's telling
you, Grandda, that you can't turn this down. You have to do it.”

“But what about things here?” Graham said. “I have responsibilities.”
And you.

Caitie put her hands on her hips, reminding him of an irate Deydie. “Exactly why Duncan asked me to be your backup.” She cringed a little at saying Duncan's name but then screwed a smile on her face and turned to Mattie. “I've been asked to take the best job in the world—hanging out with you—and he”—she pointed at Graham accusingly—“has a problem with it. Doesn't he think I'm capable of doing a good job?”

Mattie went back to her and hugged her protectively this time.

To see his grandson so attached to Caitie . . . His heart swelled. He was attached to her, too.

“Well,” said Graham. “I see things are under control here. I best go pack.” He wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but he couldn't just drop the
L
word and walk out. It wouldn't be fair to her. He had to show her that he meant it. He had to do it right. His need to tell her would have to wait.

C
ait sat with Mattie at the breakfast table in their pajamas with bowls of oatmeal in front of them and a calendar between. Five weeks and one day had passed. She tapped next Wednesday. “So, let's see if we're on the same page. Grandda told you he might get to come home next week, too, huh?”

The boy nodded and pointed to Wednesday, also.

She nodded back. “Just checking. Making sure he's telling us both the same story.”

Mattie took her hand and smiled with a glint in his eyes. If he wasn't her silent kiddo, she was sure he would be outright laughing at her nervousness. Since the day Graham left, she'd been jumpy and anxious, her life so unsettled.

“I'll be fine,” she said, trying to convince Mattie. Or maybe she was trying to convince herself.

Oh, sure, Graham called most days. She would put Mattie on first. Her boy would nod or shake his head but had said nothing since Duncan's death. Cait wasn't going to press the kid on it. She knew when he had something to say, he'd say it. After his time with his grandda on the phone, Mattie would hand it back to her. And then she
would stupidly waste every second of her precious time with Graham, trying to decipher his words, looking for hidden clues.

“I miss you.”
He loves me.

“The shooting schedule is gruesome.”
He loves me not.

“The sunset this morn reminded me of you.”
He loves me.

“I don't know when I can come home.”
He loves me not.

She was a ridiculous emotional wreck. She didn't know where she stood with Graham, and it made her batshit crazy. Why couldn't she just be happy and let the rest go?

Last year at this time, she'd had nothing. But now she had a true family—her gran and Mattie. She had her community, too. The quilting ladies and the whole darn town had embedded themselves in Cait's heart and were a treasure to her now. She didn't dare put Graham into the mix. She wasn't a superstitious person, but she wasn't taking any chances either by making assumptions.

She had also found the one thing that had eluded her for so long—real love. Not that use-and-abuse crap she'd sold out for before. What she felt for Graham went way beyond anything she'd ever experienced or expected. She should be happy that he'd forgiven her. But she wanted more. It took every bit of restraint she had not to yell at Graham whenever he called.
I love you, you idiot. Do you love me back?

She touched the calendar again. “Besides Grandda coming home, next week is our first retreat. We'll have to make sure he stays out of sight. Hopefully, in the future, we can plan better. I'm worried about the food, too,
Mattie. Just that part of it is a lot of work. It might be time for Gandiegow to get a restaurant. Then, during quilting retreats, the restaurant can do the catering and we can worry about keeping the quilters busy.”

The poor kid. He had listened to her ramble on about the retreat for the last five weeks. But thank God for Kilts & Quilts. It had kept her mind occupied—up to a point. Deydie, the quilting ladies, and all of Gandiegow had pitched in, and it looked as if the first retreat would be a success. She was grateful the arrangements had been time-consuming; they'd kept her from fixating on her love life. Or non–love life. Without Kilts & Quilts, the town would've had to institutionalize her for fretting and worrying over where she stood with Graham.

She'd even made a quilt for him and called it the Gandiegow Star. It reminded her of him—masculine in its earth tones. The star center was surrounded by rugged log cabin blocks, a layer of protection for him from the outside world. In the evenings, when she got too lonely for Graham, she'd give in and pop in one of his movies. Then, for two hours, she'd let herself wallow in loneliness. Never longer than two hours and never when Mattie was around.

Cait jumped out of her seat to grab another cup of coffee. She should cut down on the caffeine, but she had little willpower these days. Halfway to the Keurig, she got sidetracked. “I'd better get the stew started in the Crock-Pot,” she said to Mattie.

He took another bite of oatmeal while she went to the fridge and pulled carrots from the crisper. The back door opened and she hollered from the other side of the fridge door, “Gran, can you pull out the Crock-Pot while you're there?”

But when she closed the door and saw who held the slow cooker, Cait dropped her carrots. They scattered all over the floor like pickup sticks.

Graham set the appliance down while she soaked him in. Every last glorious bit of him. He'd gotten sun, his tan bringing out the gold flecks in his brown eyes. His hair had grown, and she longed to run her fingers through it. She wanted to run into his big strong arms, but the little squirt beat her to it. Which was probably best. If she'd learned nothing else, it was best to test the waters first before jumping in.
Less likely to get pulled under and drowned
.

Graham held the boy tight, closing his eyes. Finally, he looked up and found her. Mattie wiggled out of his arms and pulled Graham to Cait.

They stood toe to toe, an electric current flowing between them. Self-preservation kept her rooted to her spot. She had the most to lose because she was the one who loved.

“And you, Lady Caitriona, don't you want to give this lost actor a big hello hug?”

Her heart lurched.
Wanting a hug doesn't mean he loves me.
Instead of flying into his arms, she knelt down to deal with the sprawled carrots. She kept her eyes to the floor but spoke to him, giving him a little of Deydie's attitude. “Why didn't you call and let us know you were back? We could've planned a homecoming.”

“The only homecoming I need, lass, is to see the two of you.”

She rose with her pitiful carrots and met his eyes. “Does this mean you're done filming?”

“We finished three days ago,” he announced.

Both she and Mattie frowned, but Cait spoke for the
both of them as she dropped the carrots into the sink. “And you didn't think to come home sooner? There are people here missing you.”

“Are there, now?” He chuckled.

Cait corrected herself. “I mean Mattie. He needs his grandda. Where have you been?”

“Top secret.” Graham winked at Mattie and then grabbed Cait and kissed her soundly.

Before she could completely register the fireworks igniting all over her body, he set her back on her wobbly legs and stepped away. She couldn't even sputter out a coherent response.

Graham grinned at her as if he were the laird, acting as if he owned her, the castle, and the keep. “I suggest you get ready for the day.”

She glanced down at her Care Bears pajamas absentmindedly. He'd befuddled her for sure. There was something she had to do today, something important.

He carried on, smiling at her. “You have a quilting retreat soon. Don't you need to run along?”

Her brain cleared and she felt stupid. “Well, that was a fine hello,” she muttered. She didn't like being dismissed but left graciously, taking her coffee mug upstairs with her. While she showered, she worried over how all of this would play out. Would her heart ever quit skipping beats when Graham was near? Sometime today though, she'd have to corner him for a talk.

After drying her hair and spending more time on her makeup than she had in the last five weeks, she went looking for the men of the house, her stomach in a twirl of nerves. She found them in the upstairs den. They both jumped when she opened the door, and Graham slammed the desk drawer shut.

“What do you have there?” she inquired.

“A gift for Dingus,” Graham said, and the dog's ears perked up.

“Fine. Don't tell me. I'll be at Quilting Central with the other ladies.”

“Take your time,” Graham singsonged. “Don't worry about us.”

Mattie giggled.

He'd never done that before.

“Well,” she hedged. “I'll be going, then.”

“Don't let the door hit you on the—”

She closed the door, so she couldn't hear the rest.

* * *

Cait sat next to Deydie at Quilting Central, trying to concentrate on the lunch menu for the retreat. It'd been an hour since she'd seen Graham and Mattie, and with every passing minute, she became more and more obsessed with what might or might not be happening with Graham.

There'd been a lot of buzz about his return, all the quilting ladies questioning her twice as to how he looked, what he'd said, and what his plans were now. Cait had wanted to yell,
How the hell should I know?
The seconds ticked by on the wall clock, going way too slowly for her anxious emotions.

Through Mattie, she was tied inextricably to Graham. But what did that mean? Would they marry like Duncan had requested?
But what about love?
her heart cried.

She took a deep breath and went through it all again in her mind. She now had a good life here and a new career with Kilts & Quilts. Quilting Central had plenty of tables for sewing machines and enough room for any- and everyone to stop by and sew—lots of good
old-fashioned community in progress. Cait put her pen down and gazed around the room, shaking her head at the funny truth of it all. While she had been trying to restore the village back to its former glory, Gandiegow had restored her.

And if today had been any other day, if
himself
hadn't materialized out of thin air, Cait knew the buzz of women around her would give her great satisfaction. But she was way too jumpy. Graham had turned her into a mess.

Cait laid a hand on her gran's shoulder to ease her nerves. Deydie glanced over at her and didn't even attempt to swat her hand away.

“I'm grateful for you, you know. You're my rock,” Cait said.

“Aye, I'm that and more. This old Rock of Gibraltar, though, is feeling a bit of her age today. This chilly May weather has seeped into me bones. Can ye get me a fresh cup of tea?” Deydie shot her a craggle-toothed smile, the smile Cait had waited for since she'd come home to Scotland.

Before she could get the tea, though, the door to Quilting Central blew opened, and all the women looked up. It was Graham and Mattie. The ladies launched out of their chairs to greet him.

“It's great to be home,” he said to the crowd. He'd traded in his khakis and polo for a kilt, a light wool sweater, and a pair of heavy black boots.

Cait stayed in her seat but had zero self-control. She blurted out her question when she should've kept her mouth shut. “What's the occasion? Why the kilt?”

Graham
tsk
ed at her. “Can't a Scot be a Scot?” he countered back.

“I guess.” She put her head down and concentrated on the lunch menu, trying not to overheat because of him in that Buchanan kilt.

“Caitie, I'll have a word,” he drawled.

She frowned at him. “I'm in the middle of something.” She went back to her work.

“Go for a walk with me.”

She had two choices—keep her butt glued to the seat or bound out the door after him like she was Dingus.

“Oh, all right.” Dingus she would be, dammit. She capped her pen and grabbed her jacket.

Outside the door, she expected him to get right to it, the reason for the walk, but he remained silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked at him. He made her feel warm and cozy despite the cool breeze off the ocean. She still didn't know where she stood, and it was driving her crazy. He led her onto the weathered dock.

Graham looked out to the sea and cleared his throat. “I've got a project for you to do.”

His smug expression annoyed her.

“Could you get someone else to do it?” she said. “I'm swamped with the upcoming retreat.”

“It's a writing project,” he enticed.

Her face went hot with shame. A writing project had gotten her into a whole lot of trouble with him before.

“Aren't you even a little curious?”

“Go ahead and tell me if you must.” But he had piqued her interest.

“I need my official biography written.”

“Really?” She was more than a little shocked. He'd always kept his personal life personal, as far away from the media as possible.

“Aye. And I want you to be the one who writes it. Call it
Lost Actor—Found
, if you want
.
Isn't that what you were going to call the article about me?”

A little more guilt hit her, but she recovered. “I think the cool wind under your skirt has you a bit cracked. No pun intended,” she added.

He acted like he hadn't heard her and grabbed her hand, dragging her farther out onto the pier while talking over his shoulder. “Sid thinks it should be about my struggle to come to grips with my life and my profession. I think it should be about my roots and what it took for me to get real with the world.”

She frowned and felt a smartass comment coming on. “Seriously, you'd better go in and warm up in front of the fire. Or lie down. I'm worried about you.”

“I want to dedicate it to Duncan.”

“Oh.” That shut her up. She tugged back at his hand, and they stopped.

He turned and gave her a sad, knowing smile, like he knew what she felt. He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, grazing her cheek with his fingers. An innocent touch, but it had her body sizzling just the same. God, she'd missed him so much.

He went on. “I thought the proceeds from the book should go into a scholarship fund for all the fishermen's kids of Scotland. Help give them a leg up.”

“I love the idea, but when—?” she started.

He cut her off. “But we can't start on it until after the wedding.”

Her breathing came to a complete stop. No words would come out. Finally, she regained control over her vocal cords. “What wedding?”
Just to be clear.

He shook his head. “You know very well, Caitriona Macleod, what wedding I'm talking about.”