Read To Scotland With Love for Free Online

her from all sides.
    Depression weighed her down. Deydie’s fault.
    Her heart raced. Graham’s fault.
    But he’d always made her heart race. Along with the other 3.4 billion women in the world.
    Cait pushed away from the door and went to inspect the window. It looked fine to her, but what did she know about seals? He just seemed too casual about being up here. Even weirder, she could almost feel his presence still in the room. Or at least she could still smell his spicy cologne.
    She checked for her journal underneath the mattress. Still there. She pulled it out and sprawled out on the bed. Thank God for this private space.
    She wrote down how good Graham smelled. How his eyes hooded when he was up to something. How he knew and understood her grandmother, even cowering from her. Cait wouldn’t fault him for that. The Hulk wouldn’t be a match for Deydie either when she was in one of her moods.
    Graham Buchanan was a bit of a mystery, though, wasn’t he? Cait’s idea for a story changed from discovering why Graham liked to disappear to what made Graham Buchanan tick.
    She heard the door downstairs slam and voices rise up to her. Pretty soon pots and pans clanged in the kitchen. She scooted down further in her bed and closed her eyes.
    She wouldn’t let Deydie or Graham get to her. Tomorrow would be better. She couldn’t expect her prickly gran to change. It was up to Cait to repair their relationship. She’d screwed up today and she’d just have to try harder tomorrow. The wind howled outside and Cait drifted off to sleep.
    * * *
    Cait jumped awake as soon as the bagpipe bellowed its first wailing note. The window shook, and the floor shuddered. She felt dislodged from her senses, not completely certain of where or who she was. When the next note ripped through her, she slipped on her shoes and went downstairs to rip the bagpipe player a new one.
    When she got to the bottom of the steps, she couldn’t believe her eyes. The pub was packed from front to back and side to side with unruly Scots. Standing on a chair by the door was the man playing the pipes, Mr. Graham Buchanan himself. He had on a black Balmoral cap, an ancient Buchanan plaid kilt, and a codpiece, big and shiny. His eyes were closed as he started the next song, “Amazing Grace.”
The men in the pub removed their hats and sang along.
    Unwilling to interrupt the song played at her mother’s funeral, Cait sat on the step and listened to Graham execute the melody with depth and soul. As if he’d been cued, when he hit the last note, he found her with his eyes.
    He seemed to twinkle all over and to be on fire at the same time. Strange, he didn’t look like the actor anymore; he looked even more alive. She’d found another piece tothe puzzle that was Graham. This was his town, his people. He was at home here. They could turn out the light and the room would be sufficiently lit with Graham’s glow.
    He laid the pipes in the chair and came straight to her.
    She wished she’d at least run a comb through her hair or checked for smeared mascara before barging down the steps.
    By the look in his eyes, he didn’t care. “Did you rest well?”
    His words brought her back to her chief complaint. “Yes, until you decided to go all
Brigadoon
on me.”
    â€œI don’t get to practice much. It’s against the rules at my flat in Glasgow.”
    â€œSorry. Can’t hear you.” She put her hands to her ears. “I’m a bit deaf at the moment.”
    â€œVery funny, you. How about a drink? It’s on the house.”
    â€œIt should be,” she hollered above the growing noise of the crowd.
    She followed him over to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle of Scotch.
    â€œLocal stuff?”
    â€œOnly the best. MacPherson over there has a distillery near Fairge.” Graham poured them both a glass, then held his up to MacPherson in salute.
    She stared at the