Page 56

I shrug, aiming for casual. “Fine by me.”

David gives me an amused look that I choose to ignore. “Well, then. I’ll leave you two to . . . discuss the case.”

He winks at Cat, who rolls her eyes but smiles. After thanking him again for his help, we see him to the door.

Once his car disappears down the dirt track, Cat and I are left alone. The cottage suddenly feels smaller, more intimate.

“Cup of tea?” I offer, keen for something to do with my hands.

“Sure.” Cat follows me back to the kitchen and drops back into her seat while I fill the kettle. I can feel her watching me as I move around, pulling out mugs and teabags. “So,” she says after a bit. “Your maw.”

I pause, my back to her. “What about her?”

“When we were at the clootie well, you mentioned she treated you differently from Johnny. David filled in some more gaps today, about how she was young when she had you, how she felt trapped.”

I turn slowly and lean back against the counter. “Did he now?”

“I’m just trying to understand you better.” Cat’s voice is soft, lacking the flirtatious edge of our earlier interactions. “After everything today, don’t you think I’ve earned a little trust?”

The kettle clicks off. I pour water into the mugs, buying myself some time. “What do you want to know?” I ask finally.

“Did she really blame you for everything?”

I hand her a mug and take a seat across from her at the table. “Pretty much. If Johnny broke something, it was my fault for not watching him properly. If the house was a mess, it was because I was too destructive. If she was unhappy . . .” I trail off and take a sip of tea.

“And your da?”

“Never took my side. Not once.” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “Still doesn’t.”

Cat studies me over the rim of her mug. “And that’s why this accusation hits you so hard? Because it’s happening all over again—being blamed for something you didn’t do?”

I stare at her, surprised by her insight. “Aye. Something like that.”

She reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. The touch is gentle, undemanding. “We’re going to fix this, Robbie. I promise.”

“I know.” And I do. Somehow, this woman who bounced into my life with her dimples and her ridiculous flirting has become one of the few people I actually trust.

Cat withdraws her hand, but her eyes stay on mine. “About the knickers David spotted in your garage . . .”

The abrupt change of subject catches me off-guard. “What about them?”

“When David mentioned them yesterday, I thought you were going to combust from embarrassment.” A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. “What exactly have you been doing with them, Robbie MacDonald?”

Images flash through my mind—her on her knees in the woods, the silky fabric pressed to my face, my hand wrapped around myself in the darkness of my bedroom. I clear my throat. “I thought we’d moved past this.”

“Past what?”

“This.” I gesture vaguely between us. “The flirting. The games.”

“Who says I’m playing games?” Cat’s voice drops lower, and she leans forwards slightly. “Maybe I just like you.”

I snort. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know more than you think,” she counters. “I know you saved my brother’s life. I know you gave up fighting after you saw death up close. I know you’re talented at repairing things that seem broken beyond saving.” She pauses, her eyes meeting mine with unexpected intensity. “And I know you’re not the bad boy everyone thinks you are.”

I look away, uncomfortable with how accurately she’s seeing me. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I see something worth sticking around for.”