Bright sunlight flooded Kirsty’s bedroom and tugged her out of a deep sleep. She stretched languorously across her bed and stopped dead at a wall of muscle. Lake was still there and it was morning. Daylight. There was nowhere to hide. He was lying on his back, stark naked, with one arm hanging off the bed. Even in his sleep he made her mouth water. She was of half a mind to wake him and tell him his technique was rusty again—that seemed to get good results—but it was too bright in the room. He would see her. All of her. Instead she crept out of bed and slipped into her green satin dressing gown. She pulled it tight around her, aware that it was stupid to be this self-conscious with a man who knew her body intimately. By touch if not by sight.
“Lake,” she said as she prodded his side. “Lake.”
Unable to stop herself, the prod turned into a caress over the ridges in his stomach. She sighed. A strong hand wrapped around her wrist and yanked her back into bed. Kirsty squealed as Lake wrapped an arm around her and held her tight.
“I’m not ready to get out of bed,” he told her.
His voice was gruff with sleep. It was cute.
“I told you last night that you had to leave before sunrise,” she complained.
“And I ignored you.”
“But...” she started to explain.
Instead she found herself kissing the impossible man. Kissing and wanting. Her leg draped over his hip even though her brain was telling her that it was daylight and things were different now. He grunted his approval and slid a hand under the dressing gown to caress her backside. He pressed towards her and she could feel all of him—morning ready and wanting her.
“You need to go,” she said when she came up for air. But her heart wasn’t in it.
“Don’t want to,” he said as his lips found her neck.
He was making her dizzy again.
“Seriously. It’s daylight. We have things to do.”
“I’m doing them,” he mumbled against her skin.
He was the most frustrating man she’d ever met. Kirsty smiled in spite of herself. His hand covered her breast and she grinned with pleasure. Oh, she wanted him badly. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to be seen. With difficulty, she disentangled herself, scrambled over the bed and stood beside it. On the far side from Lake.
“If you get up fast, I’ll make you breakfast.”
He looked down at himself, then cocked an eyebrow at her.
“I’m already up.”
Kirsty rolled her eyes.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you want me.”
She turned away. Lake let out an almighty growl.
“I was showing you how much I want you, woman,” he shouted after her.
Grinning, Kirsty went to put on the coffee pot.
“I’ll have to sneak you out the back door,” she told him when he came into the kitchen.
He’d only managed to pull on his jeans, and he hadn’t even bothered to button them. A vision of herself trailing her tongue down his chest to that button popped into her mind. Her gaze followed the path she would take and she sighed. When she looked up he was smiling at her, his eyes dark.
“Want to cancel the day and go back to bed? You can blindfold me if you don’t want me to see anything.” He held out his hands in front of him, crossed at the wrists. “You can tie them if you don’t want me to touch.”
Oh, oh, oh, the things those words did to her. She shut her eyes to block out the pictures, but they were still in her head.
“You’re leaving,” she said, disgusted to find her voice croaked. “By the back door.”
He looked like he knew better, but he conceded. For now.
“I’m starving,” he said as he plopped into one of the stools at the breakfast counter. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Sausage, eggs, black pudding, toast and beans.”
“Ah, the Scottish heart attack.”
“Do you want this food or not?” She waved a silicon fish slice at him.
“Yes. I want the food. Then I want to go back to bed.”
Kirsty sighed with exasperation, but grinned when she turned back to the frying pan. He helped himself to some of the juice she’d placed on the counter. He was entirely out of place in her world. Too big. Too manly. Too muscled. Everything about him screamed that he expected the world to adapt to him and not the other way around.
“So, where do we stand on the therapy list?” he said.
“It’s done.” The last thing she wanted was to discuss her little cupboard episode.
“I’d better look and see.”
“Only if you want to be wearing the frying pan.”
He held his hand up in surrender.
“You’re full of attitude this morning, Kirsty Campbell. I’d ask what’s gotten into you, but I already know.”
Kirsty ignored him.
When she put his plate on the counter in front of him, Lake’s arm snaked out to wind around her waist.
“I like this.” He rubbed the satin cloth of her gown between his finger and thumb.
Kirsty watched him in fascination. He touched the hollow of her throat and ran his fingers lightly down the opening of her dressing gown to between her breasts.
“I like this a lot.”
Kirsty pulled free before she gave into her urges and threw herself at the man. She’d dealt with enough for one night. She wasn’t going to overload herself by being naked in daylight. That could wait for another day. She stumbled over nothing on the floor at the surprise that she was even considering another day. She chewed her lip.
“What’s bothering you now?” he asked as he wolfed down his food.
She looked at him for a moment, debating the wisdom of telling him.
“Do you want to see me again?”
He stopped eating.
“I want to see all of you, all of the time,” he told her.
“I mean, do you want to sleep with me again?”
“Kirsty, I wanted to sleep with you about twenty minutes ago but you wouldn’t let me.”
There was that.
“I’m trying to decide if I want to see you again,” she said.
Lake choked on a piece of sausage. When he’d recovered, he smiled a little cockily.
“Of course you do,” he said.
Kirsty folded her arms over her dressing gown and leaned against the counter.
“Maybe I don’t,” she said.
“Oh, but you do.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You’re really cheesing me off now,” she said.
He shrugged and shook his head like she was the mystery.
“I’m going for a shower,” Kirsty declared.
As she stomped past him, he grabbed her and kissed her hard. Kissed her until her nails were digging into his shoulders and she was rubbing against him like a cat.
“Point made,” she said when he stopped.
Feeling a little dazed, she headed to the bathroom.
“Can I eat your breakfast?” he called after her.
She didn’t bother answering him. He was going to do it anyway—to save it from getting cold.
“I don’t see why I have to leave,” Lake told her as she herded him down the stairs and into the shop.
“For one thing, you don’t live here, you live over there. For another, Magenta will be here soon and I don’t want her to find you here.”
He was not persuaded.
“Put a notice on the window, write ‘gone fishing’ or something and we’ll go back to bed.” He turned towards her at the bottom of the stairs, making her stop short against him. “You know you want to,” he teased.
His hand cupped her breast as he kissed her neck. She swayed. Heck yes, she wanted to. But she wasn’t going to.
“See,” she said as she pushed him through the door and into the shop. “This is self-control. Pay attention. You might develop some one day.”
He grumbled all the way through the shop to the office and the back door. As he entered her office, he
stilled, every muscle in his body tense.
“What is it?” Kirsty said.
He pushed the door open cautiously.
“Someone has been here,” he said.
“What?” Kirsty pushed past him and into the room.
The back door was slightly ajar. Lake scanned the room. Everything about him signalled “high alert”.
“Look around,” he told her. “What’s missing?”
He strode to the door and examined the lock.
“The lingerie for the show is gone.”
She pointed at the table. Kirsty wanted to wail.
“Check the computer,” Lake said evenly. “Make sure no one got into your bank account. Check the till. Make sure the money is still in it.”
Kirsty did as she was told while Lake searched the yard outside the back door.
“Everything is still here,” she said once she’d been through it all. “It’s only the lingerie that’s missing.”
“There are wheel tracks outside the back door. Looks like someone put the stuff in a shopping trolley.”
Kirsty folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“I didn’t do this,” he told her. “I was busy. I was with you. Remember?”
“You could have organised it.”
“Think about it for a minute. If I was behind this, would I have made such a piss-poor job of it?”
“It seems to me that whoever did this was quite successful.” She waved at the empty table. “My lingerie is gone. How can I do the show without it?”
“Get some more delivered.”
“Three weeks before Christmas?” she screeched. “I’ll be lucky to get it by February.”
He shrugged.
“You can borrow some of mine.”
“The second-rate stuff you don’t want to use? No thank you.”
“What do you want me to do?” he said, sounding irritated. “I keep telling you—I didn’t do this.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I bet you know who did,” she said.
They looked at each other.
“Betty,” Lake said.
Kirsty nodded.
“I’m going to kill her this time,” he said.
“I’ll help.”
Kirsty went to fetch her coat.
“I’m not telling you anything,” Betty said. “You can cart me off to jail, but these lips are sealed.”
Kirsty looked at Officer Donaldson hopefully. He sighed.
“I can’t put her in jail without any proof,” he said.
“Ha!” said Betty.
“I should have phoned the vicar. He would have been more use,” Kirsty grumbled.
“Feel free,” said the town’s entire police force.
“What exactly do you think that old fart will do?” Betty said defiantly. “If he isn’t fit for a round of slap and tickle, he isn’t going to help you here.”
Kirsty and Officer Donaldson made retching noises while Lake shook his head slightly.
“My ears are going to shrivel and fall off just from hearing that,” Kirsty said.
“Look,” Officer Donaldson said. “Unless you can get me some proof that Betty stole your underwear, there isn’t a lot I can do here.”
“Can’t you search the place?” Kirsty said.
“You search the place. I’ve got better things to do. Rip the house apart. It will only improve the decor.” Officer Donaldson sounded beyond fed up and Kirsty almost felt sorry for him.
“That’s rude,” Betty said from her state-of-the-art La-Z-Boy chair. “If anyone messes up my house, I’ll sue.”
The police officer looked towards heaven.
“You’ve got the wrong idea about Scottish law,” he told her. “You can’t sue about anything that takes your fancy. You’ve been watching too many American TV shows.” He turned to Kirsty and Lake. “Do what you have to,” he said. “But if you injure her, try to hide the evidence. That would be a boatload of paperwork that I don’t need. I’m already up to my ears with the Christmas Market.”
Lake nodded once at the officer.
“I’m out of here,” Donaldson said. “Some of the kids have been messing around at the Baxter farm. If I find out my sisters are involved, you’ll be missing two models for your show.” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair before putting his hat back on. “I’m aging before my time,” he told them by way of goodbye.
When he was gone Kirsty turned to Betty.
“There are no witnesses now.” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not afraid to hurt you to get the information I need.”
Betty scoffed.
“Who are you kidding, Kirsty Campbell? I could take you in a fight any day.”
Her words might have been more impressive if her stubby wee legs weren’t dangling over the edge of her footrest as she talked. Kirsty wasn’t going to be intimidated by a woman who practically needed a ladder to get in her chair.
“And another thing,” Betty said. “What do you call him if not a witness?”
She pointed at Lake where he was leaning against Betty’s 1970s orange sideboard. Lake smiled darkly.
“I’m not a witness,” he said. “I’m on her side for this one. Taking the underwear was underhanded.”
“This is war, laddie,” Betty shouted.
“Ha!” Kirsty said. “So you admit it. You did take the lingerie.”
She folded her arms and glared down at Invertary’s most annoying resident.
“What if I did?” Betty said, sticking her stubby wee nose in the air. “There’s nothing you can do about it, and you sure as heck won’t ever find the stuff.”
She grinned a wide, toothless grin, which made Kirsty scan the room for sight of her teeth. With Betty, you never knew where her teeth would turn up next. She had a terrible habit of taking them out when they annoyed her and forgetting where she put them. It paid to be vigilant whenever she was in gummy mode.
“We need to search the place,” Lake said with a sigh.
“And you!” Betty pointed at him as she gave him the evil eye. “You are a traitor! You’re helping the enemy. You should be hung, drawn and quartered.”
She tried to fold her arms over her ample belly, but didn’t quite make it. Lake pushed away from the sideboard and looked at Kirsty.
“I’ll take the bedroom, you start in here.”
They looked around Betty’s tiny living room, every single inch stuffed with furniture and every single surface packed with tacky fairy ornaments. Kirsty grimaced.
“Surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide it here?” she said.
“I couldn’t even begin to guess how stupid she is,” Lake said.
Betty made an unidentifiable noise.
“I’m declaring my own war,” she said. “I’m now officially at war with the both of you.”
Lake shook his head.
“I’ll be in the bedroom.” He disappeared up the hall.
“You’re a mean old fart,” Kirsty told Betty, who thought that was great and grinned widely.
Which, in turn, reminded Kirsty to be on the lookout for teeth.
After two hours of searching, they were no closer to finding the missing underwear. Lake was traumatised by the experience. He’d seen things in Betty’s closets that he never wanted to see again. The most offensive thing had been what she did to the cardboard cut-out she’d stolen. It was now standing in her kitchen wearing a pink flowery pinny and bright red lipstick.
“That isn’t funny,” Lake said when he saw it.
Those cut-outs cost money.
“It kind of is,” Kirsty said with a grin.
“You’re a big girl’s blouse who can’t wage a decent war,” Betty told him. “Take a good look. That’s what you’re like on the inside. All this muscle and moody attitude is only for show.”
“We should have gagged her,” Lake said.
“It’s not too late,” Kirsty said.
They both looked at Betty, who had turned the searc
h into an afternoon’s entertainment. On the table beside her chair she had biscuits, tea, cake and a camera. She said she was documenting their abuse for the lawyer nephew. Lake wasn’t worried. She didn’t have a clue how to use the camera. She’d had it backwards on one occasion and nearly blinded herself with the flash.
“Come on, old lady,” he said. “Tell us where to find the underwear and we can move on from this.”
“Not on your nelly.”
“Maybe it’s with her friends or family?” Lake said to Kirsty, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the middle of the fairy cave living room.
“Betty doesn’t have family or friends,” Kirsty said.
Lake turned to Betty, who was trying to look her usual defiant self—but not before Lake saw the effect that statement had had on her. Damn if she didn’t look hurt and lonely. His shoulders slumped slightly.
“Look.” He turned to Kirsty. “Why don’t you go back to the shop and I’ll deal with this. She’s my responsibility.”
Betty visibly perked up.
“It’s my lingerie,” Kirsty said. “I can’t have a show without it.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Lake said. “Go. I’ll let you know what I find.”
There was a flicker of uncertainty in Kirsty’s eyes.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But don’t go easy on her.”
“I won’t.” And before Kirsty could stop him, he leaned in to kiss her.
He wanted her to know that the theft hadn’t changed a thing between them. The shop and whatever it was they were doing were separate issues.
“I wish my eyesight had gone years ago to save me from seeing these things,” Betty said.
Kirsty gave him a bashful little smile, scowled at Betty and left.
Lake looked at his underwear mascot and sighed. He was pretty sure that when you had kids you got them as a baby, and by the time you hit the difficult teenage years you were used to them. With Betty, he’d skipped all that and gained an unruly teenager that looked like Yoda. If he’d known that buying a shop for his sister also meant he bought Betty, he would have thought long and hard about it. Lake sat in one of the over-soft sofas that were designed to swallow you whole.
“What are we going to do about this?” he said.
“Nothing. I did what I had to.”
“You have to give her the underwear back.”
“No. I don’t.”
Lake was seriously close to losing his cool. In the army they’d called him “Lake Placid”, because nothing made him lose control. Twenty years of high-pressure situations paled in comparison to one morning stuck in Betty’s house.
“You need to tell me where it is.” He had to work at keeping his voice calm. “We need two lingerie shops in the show. That’s how the publicity was planned. If she doesn’t show, then we won’t benefit.”
Something flickered in Betty’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but he hoped it was a sign she was cracking.
“She needs to be out of the show, son,” Betty said. “If she wins the war, then our shop will shut and you’ll go away.”
Her lip quivered slightly and the wind went out of Lake.
“I’m going away anyway, Betty,” Lake told her. “This was never a permanent thing for me. I plan to sell the shop as soon as I can. I have a business opportunity waiting for me and if I don’t buy in by the new year, I lose my chance.”
Her wee shoulders slumped. Suddenly, she looked all of her eighty-six years.
“You can’t sell the shop,” she said.
“I’m not cut out to sell lingerie,” he said softly. “I’m more suited to a security business. I have the skills for that. I want to do it. I’m looking forward to doing it.”
“But you like it here in Invertary, I can tell,” she said.
Lake smiled at her.
“Yeah, I like it here. It’s a whole lot more interesting than I thought it would be, but I also like the idea of running my own security company.”
She looked straight at him, her eyes wide and her heart laid bare. Lake shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Nobody else includes me,” she said. “Everybody thinks I’m old and useless.”
“That’s not true. People don’t include you because you’re mean and have a sick sense of humour.”
“I have a superior sense of humour, son. It goes over their heads.”
He smiled at her.
“I can’t stay in Invertary, Betty. You know that.”
“You could if you wanted to. You could start a security business here.”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
“No. It would be better.”
Lake smiled at her. He didn’t say anything.
“We did have fun, though, didn’t we?” she said.
Lake felt his breakfast bubble in his stomach.
“Yeah, we did.” For some reason he wanted to put his arm around her, but that would have humiliated both of them. “Now.” He cleared his throat. “Are you going to give Kirsty back her underwear?”
“Not on your life,” she said with her trademark evil grin. “You’ll have to prise it from my cold, dead hands. And, much to everybody’s disappointment, that won’t be for a while yet.”
Lake sat back in the marshmallow couch and felt something dig into his back.
“You’re bloody impossible,” he told her.
She grinned with pride. Lake reached behind him to pull out the thing that was prodding his back. It was Betty’s teeth.
“Excellent,” she said. “I’ve been looking for those. Be a dear and give them a wash.”
Lake hung his head and sighed.
“It could be worse,” Magenta said when Kirsty made it back to the shop.
Kirsty felt her eyebrows rise.
“How, exactly?” she said.
“After everything you’ve done the past couple of weeks you could have landed in jail. As it is, you only lost your underwear.”
“I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.”
“Yes, but get some perspective. Jail. Missing lingerie. I know what I’d rather have happen.”
She had a point.
“All the effort I put in to fighting Lake was pointless,” Kirsty said. “If I can’t take part in the show then Lake has won. I’m rubbish at war.”
“Not everything was a disaster,” Magenta said mischievously.
Kirsty eyed her curiously.
“What have you been up to?”
“Well, I didn’t want all those pictures we Photoshopped to go to waste, so I’ve been spreading them around the web. Look.” She handed her phone to Kirsty.
There was a Facebook page entitled “The real Lake Benson”. Kirsty started to laugh. The photo of Lake with a huge beer belly was particularly entertaining.
“Feel better?” Magenta said.
“A little. Still, it doesn’t solve the problem of a fashion show and no fashion.”
She plopped into her desk chair and stared at the walls.
“I’ll leave you to think about it,” Magenta said.
She gave Kirsty a pitying smile before she went back into the shop.
Kirsty sighed heavily. She wasn’t hopeful that Lake would find her missing underwear. She’d known Betty a lot longer than he had and knew how stubborn she could be. She needed a backup plan, and fast. As the first winter snows began to fall on Invertary, Kirsty spent her time calling all of her suppliers. The answer was the same across the board—it wasn’t possible to get the lingerie she needed in the time she needed it. In frustration, Kirsty stared at the walls in her design space.
Using her own work would be beyond crazy. There wasn’t enough of it for a start, and it was too fragmented to form a collection. As she scanned her drawings on the wall, her eye hit on one in particular. She unpinned it. An idea began to form, which was closely followed by a bubble of excitement. Before she could talk herself out of it, she snatched up her coat, called to Magenta that she was going out and went to
see her mother.
The women of Knit Or Die were in their usual spot at the back of her mother’s shop and they didn’t seem too happy to see her.
“If you’ve come here with more plans for illegal activity you can leave right now,” said Shona.
“I nearly died of a heart attack during that break-in,” Jean complained. “Not to mention it’s a miracle I’m still in one piece. I can’t pass a shop window without breaking out in a rash.”
“Don’t worry,” Heather told her. “It could have happened to anyone. I would have run through the window too if Betty was chasing me.”
Jean didn’t look so sure.
“I’m not cut out for a life of crime,” Jean complained, and no one disagreed with her.
“I don’t have any more illegal plans in mind,” Kirsty told them. “But I do need your help.”
They waited while her mother got her a cup of tea. The sound of the knitting needles clacking away soothed the nerves of everyone in the room. Once the mugs of tea had arrived it was time to talk.
“I have a bit of a problem with the lingerie for the runway show,” Kirsty told them. “Betty stole it.”
There were gasps all around and the knitting stopped. Instead everyone reached for the plate of chocolate biscuits that had appeared in the middle of the table.
“Are you thinking about a hitman?” Shona asked.
“No!” Kirsty stared at her.
“What?” Shona shrugged. “It seemed the logical next step to me.”
“Where would we even find a hitman?” Kirsty’s mother said.
“I hear you can get them on the internet,” Shona said. “Or in one of those dodgy pubs in Glasgow.”
“I don’t need a hitman,” Kirsty said. “I need help with sewing.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to put together a show based on my own work, and I can’t sew it all in the time I have left. The fashion show is in ten days. The town is already filling up with tourists. If I don’t get help to sew, I’ll need to pull out and Lake will win.”
There were cries of outrage.
“We can’t have that.” Her mother leaned over the table to pat her hand. “Of course we can help sew—can’t we, girls?”
“Absolutely,” they agreed.
Kirsty felt the tension go out of her shoulders as she smiled back at them.
“We can call ourselves Sew Or Die,” Jean said.
Heather nodded. “Sew Or Die—Organised For Fashion,” she amended.
“You realise the acronym is ‘SOD OFF’?” Shona told her.
Heather grinned widely.
“I know,” she said.
“Okay,” Kirsty said loudly to get their attention yet again. “I have another problem. I don’t have any material and I don’t have time to go to Glasgow to get any.” She turned to her mother. “Do you still have that tartan stuff you bought years ago?”
Her mother thought hard.
“I think so.”
She disappeared into the back of the shop, and after a while she came out with a roll of red tartan cotton, which came straight from the punk era.
“Perfect,” Kirsty said, and gave her mum a hug. “I’m going to need other things too. Bra clasps, lace, that sort of thing.”
Her mother motioned to the shop.
“You can use whatever you find,” she said. “And what I don’t have I’m sure Shona has. She’s been stocking up on craft supplies for thirty years.”
“One garage and an attic full of it. I bet I have everything you need.”
Kirsty grinned widely at the women.
“Fantastic,” she said. “When can we start?”
“We’ll go get our sewing machines,” Heather said. “You get the sketches sorted and cut out the pieces you need. Jean is a dab hand at pattern making if that helps.”
Jean nodded as the women collected their coats and disappeared.
“This is going to be great,” her mother said once they were gone.
“My only hope is that we can pull it off.”
Kirsty reached up to rub the tension out of her neck and stilled. She was wearing her open-necked dress—only she’d forgotten to put on a scarf. For the first time since the accident, she was walking around with the scars on her neck showing. For a second she wasn’t sure what she thought about that, and then, with a slow smile, she decided it was okay. No one had commented. No one had even noticed. Spontaneously, she pulled her mother into a big hug.
“What’s this for?” her mother said. “Not that I mind!”
“Just love you,” Kirsty said as she grinned over the top of her head.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN