Love Came Just in Time

  “Oh, no,” Adam moaned. “Tell me there isn’t a she involved!”

  “I’ll call you in a few days. Maybe after the new year.”

  “Gideon, wait—”

  “Go home, Adam. It’s Christmas Eve. You need a holiday.”

  “What I’m going to need is a trip to hospital—thanks to the chest pains you’re causing—”

  Gideon hung up the phone and lowered himself onto a handy bench. Realizations of this magnitude were better digested while sitting. Yes, it was all becoming clear. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it before.

  He looked up at his dripping chauffeur. “Are there any shops still open? I need ingredients for a modest Christmas dinner and a few of the trimmings.”

  The boy nodded, his eyes wide.

  “Then let’s be off, shall we? I won’t spend much. That isn’t what’s important.”

  And now he knew what was.

  Chapter Eight

  MEGAN LOOKED AT the rain beating incessantly against the window. She’d been watching it from the same position for most of the day. Part of it was she couldn’t seem to get out of Gideon’s chair, and part of it was she just didn’t have the heart to move.

  It being shattered and lying all around her in pieces as it was.

  Well, it was getting close to dark now. Probably time to go and see what was in her kitchen. Somehow, she just couldn’t get enthusiastic about the thought of it being hers. She would never go into it that she didn’t see Gideon standing over the stove, coaxing his bannocks to cook properly and not scorch themselves.

  “Get over it, McKinnon,” she commanded herself sternly.

  She clawed her way out of the overstuffed chair and dragged herself through the entryway and down the hallway to the dining room. She walked over the place where Gideon had planted his face more than once. Then she gave herself a good shake. She couldn’t walk through the house and see him at every turn. He’d made his decision and it was blindingly clear that his priorities didn’t include her, despite his brief about-face. He was a workaholic. There was no changing him.

  She put her hand on the door, then froze. There was someone in the kitchen. More than one someone, if her ears weren’t deceiving her. She grabbed her trusty ornamental dagger from off the buffet and eased the door open the slightest bit.

  “I’ll go after him,” a voice said, in less than friendly tones. “I’ll teach him to break me wee granddaughter’s heart!”

  “Leave him be, ye blighted Scot! He’s regained his senses and gone off to do his manly labors!”

  “Och, and what more manly a labor is there than having a wife and bairns?” the first voice demanded. “Pebble countin’ ain’t the way to happiness!”

  There was a sudden ruckus and a great deal of gurgling. Megan feared murder, so she shoved open the door and leaped into the kitchen, her dagger bared and ready.

  “Eek!” the ghost dressed in knightly garb said, leaping back and tripping over his chair. He landed ungracefully on his backside.

  Megan froze, her eyes glued to the scene before her. There were three men in her kitchen, two of whom were dressed in kilts, one in chain mail. And she recognized all of them.

  “Ah,” she said, lowering her dagger and straightening up from her lunging position, “um, hello.”

  Hugh smiled and waved. The knight heaved himself to his feet with a grunt and frowned at her. Megan looked at the third ghost, the one with the commanding presence and very fancy kilt. A huge brooch of emeralds and silver fastened a scarf-like bit of cloth to his shoulder. Megan felt completely frumpy in her dress that was six inches too short. She gave the chief ghost a little wave.

  “Hi,” she said, whipping her hands behind her back to hide her dagger, “I’m Megan.” She wished she had a pocket to stash the knife in. It looked ridiculous compared to the swords the ghosts were packing.

  The head ghost made her a low bow. “Ambrose MacLeod, Laird of the Clan MacLeod, at your service.”

  “Okay,” Megan said slowly, giving in to the urge to drop a little curtsey.

  “He’s your granddaddy,” Hugh said, “on yer mama’s side.”

  “A bit removed,” Ambrose said modestly.

  “I see,” Megan said, wondering if her eyes were bulging as far out of her head as she thought they might be.

  “And I’d be your granddaddy on your papa’s side,” Hugh added proudly. “A wee bit removed,” he added, darting a glance at Ambrose.

  Ambrose nodded to Hugh, then turned and nodded to the knight who had plunked himself down into a chair. “This is Fulbert de Piaget. He’s Gideon’s uncle.”

  “Several times removed,” Megan surmised.

  “Aye,” Fulbert grumbled.

  Megan leaned back against the door frame. “Well, he’s off to do his business. Aren’t you happy about that?”

  “Of course I am,” Fulbert retorted, scowling. “He does mighty important work, missy!”

  “And he misses out on life because of it,” Ambrose said, sitting down heavily. “Come, Megan, and join us. We’ve puzzled our heads sore trying to understand the lad and I’ve no more mind to speak of him. We’ll speak instead of your plans for the inn.”

  Megan soon found herself sitting in a circle with three hale and hearty ghosts, listening to them discuss what could be done with the inn now that a member of the family finally had it back in her possession.

  “Then you don’t mind?” she asked Ambrose.

  “Mind?” Fulbert snorted. “Missy, we saw to the deed ourselves!”

  “And you don’t mind?” she asked, turning to Gideon’s grumbly ancestor.

  Fulbert looked at her from under his bushy eyebrows. “I’m wed to your blasted aunt, gel. I’ll learn to put up with you soon enough.”

  Hugh whipped out his sword. “Keep a civil tongue, ye blighted—”

  “It’s okay,” Megan said, holding up her hand. “He doesn’t have to like me. Maybe it runs in the family.”

  Hugh looked at her and his bright blue eyes filled with tears. “I think Gideon liked ye fine, Megan lass. He’s just a bit off in the head.”

  Even Fulbert seemed to have nothing to say to that.

  “Plans for the inn,” Ambrose broke in. “What do you think, my dear, about this modern fascination with the past? I daresay we could make use of it. After all, we’re quite conversant with many decades of traditions.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” she said, feeling the faintest glimmer of enthusiasm. “You mean, period costumes and traditional holiday celebrations?”

  Hugh elbowed Fulbert. “She’s a quick one, she is. That’s me wee granddaughter, ye stubborn Brit.”

  Megan smiled at him, then turned back to Ambrose. “It would have to be small scale, until I have more money to invest in it.”

  And with that, they were off and running. Megan listened to ideas fly between her ancestors and wished she’d had a tape recorder. She hardly had time to wonder if they could be recorded before she found herself swept into a maelstrom of ideas. And if she only put into practice a fraction of them, she would be busy for the rest of her days.

  Which was a good thing, since she would have all that time on her hands.

  She refused to think about Gideon. And about how much she would have loved to share this with him. And about how adorable he would have looked in a kilt.

  And just before she was tired enough to lean her head back against the chair, she looked at Ambrose and decided, based on the twinkle in his eye, that he had been the one to rustle up the purple elf shoes.

  And that was almost enough to make her fall asleep with a smile on her face.

  SHE WOKE LATER, stiff and sore. The kitchen was lit with a single candle burning low on the table. There was no sign of the chairs that had been occupied by three spirits earlier, nor was there any sign of their silver mugs or the keg Fulbert seemed to have produced from thin air. Megan blinked. She was tempted to think she’d dreamed it all, but the memories were too fresh in her mind. At least her relat
ives cleaned up after themselves.

  She stretched, then froze. Was that a noise?

  “Hugh? Ambrose?” She looked over her shoulder. “Fulbert?”

  There it was again. And it wasn’t coming from the kitchen.

  Megan took her dagger in hand and went out into the dining room.

  “Anyone here?” she asked.

  The noise stopped abruptly.

  That was enough to spook her. She peeked out into the dimly lit hallway. There, over the McKinnon coat of arms was a sword reminiscent of Hugh’s. It would be a far sight more protection than the little unsharpened dagger she held. She slipped out into the hallway, laid the dagger on the reception desk and tiptoed over to the sword.

  She eased it down. And the point immediately made a whumping noise as it fell against the carpet. It was, however, not as heavy as she feared. She hoisted it, took up the stance she’d seen Hugh and Fulbert take when they’d been trying to decapitate each other upstairs, then walked softly to the library.

  Something was shuffling inside.

  Megan didn’t give herself time to think. She flung open the door and jumped inside, brandishing her blade.

  Gideon whirled around in surprise, stumbled backward, and went down heavily into a Christmas tree.

  “Ouch, damn it! I’m being poked everywhere!”

  Megan tossed the blade onto the couch and ran to help him. She pulled him up, then turned him around and picked out bits of ornament and tree parts that had somehow found their way into his backside.

  “You scared me to death,” he exclaimed. “You could have cut my head off with that thing!”

  “Nice to see you too,” she said, with a scowl. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t a burglar?”

  “Decorating?”

  Megan tried to resurrect the tree Gideon had sat on. It had been a rather small one to start with and Gideon hadn’t done it any favors. She let it flop back to the ground, then stared down at it.

  “It was a nice thought,” she said quietly.

  “It took me a long time to find the right one,” he said, taking her hand. “A very long time.”

  She met his gaze. “It did?”

  “It did.” He led her over to the chair of no return, snagging a shopping bag on his way. He sat and pulled her onto his lap. “Here. These things will explain it better than I could.” He reached for his bag and dumped its contents into her arms. He held up an unwrapped umbrella, then set it aside. “You didn’t need to open that. It’s just to get you up to the castle, so you can put that job behind you before we start on the inn.”

  Before we start on the inn. Megan was just certain she’d heard him wrong. She frowned.

  “What about your emergency?” she demanded.

  “I took care of it.”

  She frowned some more, just to let him know where she stood. “Did it take all afternoon?”

  “It took about five minutes. The rest of the time I was looking for things for you.”

  “Well,” she said, feeling rather at a loss. There she’d been griping about him to her ancestors, and he’d been hunting up presents. “That sheds a different light on things.”

  “I thought it might.” He smiled. “Aren’t you interested in what I got you? And the humiliation I went through whilst shopping in yellow tights and purple shoes?”

  Megan felt her heart soften even more. Gideon had tried to spruce up the library with his little tree and he had left his dignity behind to shop for something to put under it for her. It merited at least a second glance at what was piled in her lap.

  There were four packages of various sizes. She immediately zeroed in on the very small, very ring-like looking box, then forced herself to look at something else. It couldn’t be what its size screamed it might be. Megan looked at Gideon from under her eyebrows and saw a twinkle in his eyes, as if he had an impressive secret he couldn’t wait to share.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened up a long, slender package—and held up a paintbrush.

  “To use in our redecorating,” he said.

  “Our redecorating?” she asked.

  “I told you I’d offer my humble services, didn’t I?”

  That was before he’d hiked right on out of there—but then he’d hiked right back in again. Megan held up the brush and considered.

  “It’s a really small brush, Gideon.”

  “Then I guess it will take a long time, won’t it?”

  “Hmmm,” she said. On the surface that looked good, but what was his definition of time spent? Would he be there for two or three days, consider his decorating contribution fulfilled, then toddle off merrily to London ? She set the paintbrush aside. No sense jumping to any conclusions quite yet.

  She chose another hastily wrapped gift, convinced Gideon had done the wrapping honors himself.

  “Interesting,” she said, holding up rubber gloves.

  “So I don’t get dishpan hands while I’m washing up after supper,” Gideon said, with a smile.

  “Well,” she said. A man didn’t buy yellow rubber gloves if he didn’t plan on using them, did he? And these weren’t the wimpy kind that supermarkets sold; these were heavy-duty, dabble-in-toxic-waste-and-not-ruin-your-fingernail-polish kind of gloves. These were gloves meant for more than just a handful of dips into sudsy water. Did he plan on doing dishes for more than just the weekend?

  “And this is a cookbook,” Gideon said, relieving her of the gloves and handing her a heavy package instead. “I perused the index already and I think there are several things we could actually succeed in making. I was somewhat alarmed by the quantity of raw ingredients required, but I decided that together we might have a go at it. What do you think?”

  “Ah,” Megan said, stunned, “um, well.” She unwrapped in a daze. Based on their previous forays into the kitchen, the gift of a cookbook was not something to be taken lightly. Especially one that required them to make things from scratch. “It sounds pretty time-consuming,” she said. “Not exactly a single weekend project.”

  “I know,” he said, smiling widely. “It will be brilliant fun, don’t you think? All that time together in the kitchen, bonding over bouillabaisse?”

  Megan clutched the cookbook, looked at her errant business mogul and wondered if one too many equipment disasters had finally forced him to relinquish his tenuous grasp on sanity.

  “Gideon,” she said slowly, wanting to make sure he understood each word, “when in the world are you going to have time for all of this?”

  “I’ll make time.”

  “You can’t. You’re the president of an international company.”

  “I’ll manage it.”

  “You hobnob with billionaires!”

  “I know.”

  Megan gritted her teeth. He was wearing a cheesy grin, and that annoying twinkle was still stuck in his eyes.

  “You don’t have time to cook,” Megan said. “That’s why you have a chef.”

  “We’ll send him on holiday.”

  It was time for the killing blow. He would have to admit his true intentions sooner or later, and this was guaranteed to force him to face reality.

  “You wouldn’t last a week up here,” she said. “You can’t live without your laptop.”

  Gideon calmly took her face in his hands, leaned up and kissed her softly.

  “Yes, I can,” he said, his smile sweet and gentle. “I realized when I left that what I was heading toward was far less important than what I’d left behind.”

  It started to sink in. He was serious. Megan felt her eyes begin to water.

  “I can live without the company, Megan, but I can’t live without you.”

  He proceeded to hand her the little box she’d been so carefully avoiding. Megan clutched it. She didn’t dare open it.

  “A new marble for my collection?” she asked, trying to smile.

  Gideon only laughed. “Hardly.”

  Megan looked at him and saw nothing but love in his eyes and tenderness in his expr
ession. He covered her hand with his own comfortable, companionable hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “Open it, please,” he said softly. “Quickly, so I’ll know if I’ve just made a great fool of myself.”

  Megan opened the box to reveal a slim gold band. At least she thought it was a slim gold band. She could hardly see it for her tears.

  “Oh, Gideon.”

  “It’s just a placeholder,” he said. “Thorpewold isn’t exactly a buzzing metropolis.”

  “No, it’s beautiful.”

  He ducked to catch her gaze. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be perfect,” he admitted, “but you’ve seen quite a bit of me at my worst. I’ll still have to work, but I’ll work less. Much less.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up. “I know you won’t marry me for my money or my title, and that will confuse my father greatly, but,” he said, with a smile, “will you marry me for my time? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Somehow, I imagine you will,” she said, returning his smile. “And yes,” she added, “I will marry you.”

  And then she learned just how much time he planned on lavishing on her as he took many, many minutes to kiss her breathless.

  “If we could get out of this damned chair,” he said, when he came up for air a very long while later, “we could adjourn to another room and see how much more time we could spend at this. I mean, after all, we’re engaged now, and there really isn’t any reason . . .”

  “Why, there’ll be none of that!” Hugh gasped. He appeared behind the chair and looked down at Gideon with marked disapproval. “Imagine that! The thought of visitin’ me wee one’s marriage bed ’afore the ceremony!”

  Gideon blinked. “What did you say?”

  Megan shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Gideon scratched his head, then shrugged. “Well, what do you think—ouch, damn it!”

  Hugh had given Gideon what Megan could only term a thorough boxing of the ears.

  Gideon looked down at her hands that were captured handily enough in his own, then raised his gaze to hers slowly.

  “You didn’t do that,” he stated.

  “ ’Fraid not.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you would know who had, would you?”