Off Kilter. Donna Kauffman
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opened before he could respond.
Katie stuck her blond head in first, a smile on her face. “I heard a rumor that the finalists have been chosen! Or, should I say, finalist?”
“Go away.”
She just laughed. “Ha! So you are the chosen one. I knew it! Lemme see!”
She came dancing into the office and he barely had time to snatch the packet off his desk and out of her reach before she lunged for it. “What do you mean, you knew it?” He frowned. “Don’t tell me Tessa went and announced it at Angus’s or something.”
“Since when does anyone have to make an announcement around here for word to get out? Actually, Tessa didn’t say anything. If you want to blame someone, you can aim that at Blaine. And he only told me. So far,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Blaine?” He turned his chair to face her directly. “How the hell—”
“From Kira.”
“Kira?” He leaned back in his chair. “What did she say?”
Katie shook her head, a look of pity on her face. “You were all ready to throw Blaine under the bus before I even explained, but I bring up Kira and suddenly you’re all thoughtful and open to listening.”
“Because Blaine loves gossip second only to … well, nothing, as far as I can tell. And Kira wouldn’t hurt a soul, much less blurt out something like that, to someone like him.”
“Careful,” she warned, her smile still warm, but a bit of steel entering those dark blue eyes of hers.
Though Roan definitely enjoyed having a new friend and sisterly playmate with whom he could enjoy viewing the world around him, he was also well aware that he was second—third in line, actually—for her affections. Right after her soon-to-be-spouse, Graham … and her lifelong friend and former fiancé, Blaine Sheffield.
He held up his hand. “I’m sorry. Even though you know I’m not saying anything that’s not true.”
The storm clouds cleared and she nodded as she grinned. “I know. He really is hopeless. He’s just insatiably curious about … well, everything. And, you know, go with your strength, right?” She held her hand up to stall his rejoinder. “Anyway, the story is that Kira was on her way here with the goods—”
“Kira dropped them off?”
The pitying look returned. “Seriously, you should see yourself right now. It’s as if you’ve been told someone took your present from under the tree before you’d had a chance to shake it. How is it a man as confident as you won’t just walk up and ask the woman out, for God’s sake?”
“Like I said before, it’s complicated. And I’m not going to talk about it,” he added, with enough warning in his voice to make sure she understood he wasn’t simply baiting her. Kira had been back since the spring before last, but she’d not been the delightful girl he’d remembered growing up with, at least not upon her immediate return. In fact, she’d looked downright … ravaged. She hadn’t talked much to anyone, taking refuge, instead, in her grandmother’s old croft, spending all her time making it livable again. Then she’d surprised everyone by re-birthing the unique weaving her direct lineage of MacLeods had been well-known for. Even the best of the island gossips had only been able to learn that her life in London, including her marriage to a university professor, had come to a bad end, and that she’d returned home to get on her feet once again.
The last thing she’d needed then was a childhood friend hitting on her, not that he’d have intruded on her solitude during those early days. But he’d always had a soft spot for her growing up, and that soft spot, it seemed, was still there. Though she’d kept mostly to herself, he’d become sort of a self-appointed protector. She didn’t know it, but he’d kept watch over her, in a general, non-stalkerish way, and … more or less made sure she was okay. She’d begun weaving a month or so after her return, and her work was the means by which he had made contact with her; it was strictly professional. She’d never encouraged his attention, or that of anyone else, as far as he knew. And he’d know. He’d made it his business to know.
He’d watched as she’d come back into her own, observed the color returning to her fair skin, the vibrancy in her voice as she interacted with the other villagers, and the light sparkling in her lovely, hazel eyes. But even as she’d healed, there was no indication she was viewing their personal interactions as anything but professional inquiries as to her work output and when it would be ready for sale. Roan well knew all the signs when a woman was interested in him. She exhibited none of them.
So … he didn’t go there. Not with her. Not for fear of being shot down, per se. But because he didn’t want to put any awkwardness between them, or harm what rapport they did have. Losing that would matter to him. So … he simply didn’t ask for more—not without some indication it would be welcomed. He consoled himself that she wasn’t encouraging interaction of that kind with anyone on the island.
He was biding his time. It wasn’t as if there was anyone else sparking an interest.
Tessa’s scowling face and wild red curls flashed through his mind, but he promptly dismissed that subconscious blip. She’d sparked his notice, all right, but not in a good way.
“So, what happened with Kira and Blaine?” he asked Katie as much because he wanted to know, as to banish thoughts of Tessa. Again.
“She was on her way here, but stopped in at Mildred Anne’s to pick up some dye for a new weaving design she’s hatching. Blaine was there, and they struck up a conversation.”
“And?”
“And, what? If Blaine wants to know things, he has a way of getting people to talk. If Sheffield-McAuley had ever bothered to figure out his strengths and exploit them, who knows the things he might have accomplished—which, you know, you could do, too. He’s very useful. Instead of disparaging him or underestimating him, you should consider how he could help you, industry-wise. He’s a very smart guy.”
“I’m sure he is. Speaking of Sheffield-McAuley, when is Blaine going back to your family’s firm?”
She just rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Possibly about the same time I do. Never. By following me here, he’s managed to break free, just like I did. That freedom is amazing and not a little terrifying. But while I have a path laid out for me now, he doesn’t. He has dreams, goals, ones he’s craved for a very long time, and I have no doubt, at some point, he’s going to follow them, and be ridiculously successful. But you have to understand we just escaped a life of familial tyranny, so until we’ve figured out exactly where we stand with our respective mummies and daddies,” she went on, adopting a credible Scot accent, “‘tis no’ likely he’ll be headin’ anywhere.” She propped her hands on his desk. “In the meantime, be smart and use his mad information-gathering skills to help grow your market.”
“I’ve got my hands full with your mad skills—”
“Hey,” she said, pretending to be affronted, “my new site concepts are going to revolutionize how you do your custom ordering and you know it. Blaine, on the other hand, could probably dig up markets you haven’t even considered. In fact, just before the wedding apocalypse, he’d surprised me with his ideas on expanding Sheffield’s hold on the custom sloop and catamaran market.”
Roan didn’t point out that marketing yachts to rich people was slightly different from finding toeholds in the global traditional artisan craft market, mostly because she was likely right where Blaine was concerned. “I thought you had him working on the whole Iain story. Has he found out anything yet?”
“He’s working with Shay, actually.”
Roan’s brows lifted. “Shay? Our Shay?”
“Um, yeah,” she said, looking at him quizzically. “What other Shay do we have?”
“None, I just”—he shook his head—“I can’t