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bobbed her head. “It’s an honest way to spend yere days.”
    â€œYes, it is.” He thought about all the work his mom had put into the Texas Star quilt draped across his bed in his apartment. “By the way, I’m Max McKinley.” He held out his hand to her.
    â€œWe know who you are.” She crossed her arms over her large chest.
    He read the subtext well enough.
Gandiegow doesn’t warm to strangers easily.
    She moved her ham-sized hands to her hips. “Now, I’ll feed you because you’re hungry and because you’re going to help us, but that’s all. Best get to eating that stew.” She started to walk away but stopped. “I’m Deydie McCracken,” she added, begrudgingly.
    She left him and went to bark at a group of women who were apparently hanging a Christmas quilt all wrong on the far wall. The women spared a glance at him while doing as Deydie bid, seeming to take her gruffness in stride. He decided he would, too.
    He made himself comfortable on the oversized sofa and took a bite of stew. It was rich, hearty, and hit the spot.
    Deydie hollered to him from across the room. “Hurry up there. We’re having a quilting retreat this weekend. The last one before Christmas. We need the lights onthat tree before the needles fall off. And before I grow another year older.”
    He grinned at her.
    A woman in her mid-thirties made her way over to him. “Hi. I’m Cait Buchanan. Sorry about Deydie. She’s my gran . . . and a handful.” Her accent wasn’t quite Scottish, more a mixture between a brogue and his own American English.
    He put down his spoon and stuck out his hand. “Max McKinley. And don’t worry about Deydie. I like her. She reminds me of my own grandmother.”
    â€œGood. Because she seems to have taken to you, too.”
    â€œReally?” That’s
taken to
?
    â€œAye. She’s a funny ole bird.” Cait pointed to a young redheaded boy. “Mattie, come here.”
    The kid, maybe eight years old or so, dropped his backpack at the door.
    Cait smiled as he made his way over and put her hand on his shoulder as he stood near. “Mattie, this is Mr. McKinley. He’s come to do some work at the North Sea Valve Company. Say hello to him.”
    The kid seemed to regard Max for a long moment, making him wonder if the kid would say anything at all. Finally, he extended his small hand. “Hello.” His voice was quiet.
    Max took his hand and shook. “You’re a reserved young man.”
    Mattie tilted his face up to Cait. For a flash, she looked upset, but she pulled it together and smiled down at him. “Aye. A good trait. Sometimes it’s best to think a wee bit before we speak.”
    What did I say?
He should’ve wiped his feet, because apparently he’d stepped in it this time.
    But just like that, Cait must’ve forgiven him—her genuine smile returned. “We’re all glad ye’re in town. I’ll let you get back to your lunch. I only wanted to introduce myself.”
    He said good-bye and watched them walk away.
    As he took another bite of stew, another young woman, who’d been standing close enough to have heard the exchange, glided over to him. He wasn’t sure if she meant to speak to him because she kept her gaze plastered to the ground.
    Finally, she glanced up. “That wasn’t yere fault.” Her voice was soft, and he could tell she was painfully shy. “Ye couldn’t have known about Mattie and the accident.”
    He felt like a heel. “Mattie was in an accident?”
    â€œNay. He witnessed a boatful of men drowning.”
    Crap!
    The woman hesitated and then continued. “He’s had trouble speaking ever since. But he’s come a long way.”
    â€œThanks for filling me in.” He’d have to apologize to Cait and Mattie for any pain he caused. He didn’t seem to be making friends