Can't Tie Me Down! (Sinclair Sisters 1)

“I don’t like Glasgow. I don’t know,” Gladys said.

“The art gallery!” Reggie shouted. “Kelvingrove. Go see some art. And the Transport Museum, it’s over the road from the art.”

“Good thinking,” Mairi said.

“Don’t worry,” someone called out. “We have Google Maps.”

“I’ve got the Rough Guide.” Another voice added.

“We can do some shopping, for our girl.” A boyfriend shouted from inside a van.

“Now I think I’m going to vomit,” Keir said.

“Failing that,” Reggie shouted, “you can take a boat down the Clyde. First one who makes it back to their own country wins.”

“Reggie!” Mairi and Gladys said in unison.

Keir held out his hand to the guy for a brotherly fist bump.

Reggie stared at it. “What the hell are you doing now?”

Keir folded his arms again and watched Mairi’s fan club climb back into their vehicles.

“Should we tell the wee guy riding a hairdryer on wheels that it will never make it to Glasgow?” Albert said as he watched the man climb onto his scooter.

“I think we should let him discover that by himself,” Keir said.

“Okay, let’s go.” Mairi hooked her arm with Gladys’. “Who’s riding with the boys?”

Everyone looked at Keir. “No. Just no. It’s my car. I’m driving.”

Reggie pursed his lips. “It’ll be a squeeze, but the three of us will be fine in the back. You’re in the middle,” he said to Gladys, who giggled.

“Nothing new there.” She gave him a wink, and Keir gagged.

The men helped Gladys climb into the back of the SUV before they climbed in on either side of her. Albert said something about killing time in the car with some “necking,” which made Gladys giggle again. As soon as he heard those words, Keir adjusted his rearview mirror to make sure he couldn’t see anything that went on in the back seat. That was the kind of trauma a person never recovered from.

“I’ve got special road music for you.” Mairi produced her phone and plugged it into his dash.

A few seconds later, the car was filled with the dulcet tones of Val Doonican singing all about ‘Delaney's Donkey,’ and just like that, Keir was thrown back into easy listening from the fifties. It had not been the high point of popular culture.

“This is payback for walking out that night, isn’t it?” Keir said as he pulled out of the rest home carpark.

“Would I do that?” Mairi smiled innocently.

“In a second.”

In the back of the car, the trio started to sing along with Val. Behind the SUV, a convoy of mismatched vehicles followed them—with a guy on a scooter bringing up the rear. With a shake of his head, Keir put the car in gear and pointed it toward Glasgow.

“Thanks for taking us,” Mairi said, so softly that he wasn’t certain he’d heard her. “It’s easier on Gladys than going by bus.”

“Anytime, Rusty,” Keir said, and was surprised when she didn’t correct him for using the name from their past.

When he glanced over at her, she was pointedly staring out of the window, and for the first time since they’d climbed out of bed this morning, Keir relaxed.

Chapter 7

Mairi settled Gladys in the treatment room on the first floor of the Beatson Cancer Hospital in Glasgow’s West End. Gladys was her usual stoic self as she sat back in her chair while the nurse hooked her up to an IV and attached the bag of chemo.