Meet Me in Scotland (25 page)

“Need company?” Father Andrew asked.

She hadn't heard him approach. “Yes.”

He sat in the pew beside her. “Do you want to talk or would you rather sit here quietly?”

“I could use a sounding board, if that's okay.”

“Go on.” He was a kind man.

“I don't know what to do,” Claire said. “When we moved here, I was certain
now
was the time to have a baby. It's been more than a certainty; it's more like an obsession. I'm afraid if it doesn't happen soon, I'll never have Dominic's baby. But I just have to.” It might've been the stillness of the church, but for the first time, Claire realized how frantic she sounded.

Father Andrew gave her an understanding look. “Sometimes what we want isn't exactly what we need.”

She frowned. “I know. It's crazy. But I have such a foreboding that if I don't get pregnant, something terrible is going to happen.”

“Oh?” Father Andrew said in invitation.

“It sounds completely irrational now that I've said it out loud. But I can't make the panic go away.” But talking about it helped her get a grip on her feelings, more than she'd had since moving home. “No one should bring a baby into the world because of anxiety. How do I make it stop?”

Father Andrew gazed up at the cross hanging over the altar as if the answer lay there. Finally, he spoke. “We all get anxious but we don't always recognize the real reasons. Sometimes we have to dig deep to find the truth.”

“But what do I do in the meantime while I'm figuring it out?” She was afraid she'd always feel like this, that the unsettling ache would never go away.

“Step into the light, Claire. Have you ever heard that
old saying ‘
Fear is a darkroom where negatives are developed
'?
Have faith everything will turn out okay.”

“Words are easy, Father. But living it is a whole other matter.”

Father Andrew smiled. “Very true. But just give it a try. Send fear on a holiday. And while it's gone, clean house. Maybe when fear gets back, there won't be room for it in your life anymore. Maybe you'll have replaced it with other things.”

“Like love?” She nodded toward him. “Thanks, Father.”

*   *   *

As Gabe waited at the bar for his drink, he was more than a little conflicted. Kissing Emma in the McDonnell's office had been the most natural thing in the world. He couldn't have stopped himself, even if he'd wanted to. It scared the shit out of him that he had no control over himself where she was concerned. Maybe he would have to face the truth. His resolve meant nothing when it came to her. He could believe himself a big, strapping Scot all he wanted, but the truth was, whenever she was near, he was a pussy-whipped laddie. And she didn't even know how she affected him.

He stayed at the bar even after his drink was set before him. He knocked it back and ordered another. He glanced over at the table where the McDonnell
was telling a raucous story to Freda, Dom, and Emma. Emma was laughing so hard that she was holding her stomach while her eyes filled with mirthful tears.

But he couldn't sit over here by himself forever. When his drink came, he stood to join the others like a man. A proud Scot.

The door to the pub flew open and Thomas burst in.

“Dominic,” he said, “you're needed at the restaurant.”

Dom jumped to his feet. “Is there a problem?”

“I'll say,” Thomas said. “You have a crowd. Hungry
quilters aren't the most patient and reasonable of people.”

“What?” Dom said, rooted to the spot.

Thomas motioned for him to come. “If you know what's good for you, you'll get your arse over there. And you'd better bring help.”

Gabe downed his drink and set his glass on the bar, feeling a sense of relief. Today wasn't the day to let his principles fly to the wind after all. He felt good as he went to the door but caught something disturbing out of the corner of his eye—Emma was following Dom, too. Gabe should've expected it. Little Miss Priss would push up her sleeves and get messy—chopping vegetables, waiting tables, and anything else a good Scottish lass with a limp would do.
Dammit.

At the restaurant, though, Emma's sprained ankle sequestered her to a stool in the kitchen with a knife and a pile of garlic and onions. Dominic put Gabe to work right next to her, chopping tomatoes for the next batch of homemade sauce. Even though it was painful to be so close to Emma and not touch her, it was worth the large smile on Dominic's face. To be making food for the whole village again made his brother happy. And Gabe, too. But . . . he could smell the peach scent of her shampoo from where he stood.
For the luvagod, how many different, good-smelling shampoos does she own?

“What's wrong?” Emma said. “Why are you frowning?”

He wouldn't look over; he was the moth to a flame when it came to her. He kept his head down and sliced. “Nothing. I'm just concentrating.” Only a few hours ago—before Ramsay's accident—Gabe had held her in his arms and kissed her,
really kissed
. But he still had no answers. He moved farther down the counter, away from
her. After a few moments, even that was too close. He took off his apron and threw it on the counter.

“I'm going to go check on Ramsay.” He practically sprinted to the door.

*   *   *

Dom watched Gabe leave the kitchen, worried about him. Emma looked like she might cry, and Dom was sure it had nothing to do with the onions.

At that moment, Claire slunk in and took up her old spot in his kitchen as the sous chef. He didn't comment on it, but he hadn't gotten over what she'd done to him and the restaurant. When Emma hobbled off to the storeroom, Dom cornered his wife.

“Those two are still miserable,” Dom said. Claire looked miserable, too, but he did his best to ignore it. “I have a new plan.”

“Sure. Why not?” Claire said tonelessly.

“These are drastic times.” Dominic laid fresh basil on the chopping block. “You and I should help alleviate the stress between them.”

“How's that?” She passed him the olive oil.

“Because we've been at odds, they've had to take sides. We don't have any choice left. We'll have to pretend we're back together for their sake. Act like we've patched things up. It's the only way to get those two back on the same page.”

She lit up. “Does that mean ye're moving back to the flat?”

“Yes, but it doesn't mean I'm giving in, Claire.”

Her face fell. “Okay. So, what do you get out of this?”

“I want Gabe to be happy. Those two belong together. He loves her.”

“Well, Emma definitely has feelings for him.” Claire chewed on her lip. “Though she's too afraid of love to admit it.”

“Then you'll help me with this?”

“Aye.”

“Good. We'll break it to them tonight after we close. We'll have to
act
like we're back together. Can you do that?”

“Fine.” Claire shoved the garlic bread in the oven.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Yeah, I'm a real peach.”

G
abe stared at the text message from Dom.

Come to the restaurant. I need help.

Gabe felt a little guilty. He hadn't come back for the dinner rush. He'd had an excuse—checking Ramsay's injury. But then he'd stayed for dinner at the Armstrongs', at the insistence of the brothers three. But staying away had served Gabe's purposes more than his patient's—Ramsay was doing fine. Gabe, on the other hand, wasn't. Every time he had to be near Emma and couldn't touch her, it felt like he was taking a scalpel to the chest.

He grabbed his coat and left to see what Dom needed, hoping to God Emma was gone for the evening.

When Gabe rounded the corner of the building, though, he spotted her arriving at the restaurant's door, too. Her beautiful green eyes turned suspicious as he got closer.

He reached for the knob. “What are you doing out and about?”

“I've been summoned.” She held up her phone.

“Me, too.”

He gazed at her plaid-booted feet. “I see you're out of your Aircast and keeping warm.”

“You didn't add
and being sensible
.” She said the last mimicking his deep voice. She tilted her head to the side and smiled. One gloved hand touched his arm and she spoke quietly. “I have to admit that the doctor was right. Here in Gandiegow, sturdy boots are much safer than heels. No matter how stylish those heels are. Thank you for my new boots. I'm very fond of them.” She clunked the heels together like they were Dorothy's ruby slippers.

His heart gave a little jolt. It wasn't the first heart palpitation he'd had around her, either. In fact, it had become quite the habit. He didn't need an EKG, but he needed something. “Don't mention it.” He sucked in a deep breath, getting his bearings, and opened the door. “Shall we?”

She passed through. But when they stepped into the empty dining area, Dom wasn't there.

“Kitchen?” Emma asked.

“Let's go see.”

Halfway across the room, Gabe saw Claire's head appear through the crack of the swinging double doors, then vanish. There were whispering voices, then shuffling.

“What in the name of Prince Albert . . .” Emma had the same quizzical look on her face that he imagined was on his.

They advanced across the dining area. Gabe held open the swinging doors, but she stopped so suddenly, he ran into her. He peeked over and saw—Claire and Dominic were in a clinch, kissing.

Grinning, Gabe turned to Emma to see if she was as elated as he. Surprisingly, she was frowning.

“Why can't you be happy for them?” he whispered as he stepped around her and went farther into the room.

“Well, it's about damn time,” Gabe said.

The Russos broke apart.

“So you two are back together, huh?” Emma's voice held sarcasm and misgiving. Gabe didn't understand why she didn't believe it.

“Aye.” Claire wiped her swollen red lips.

“I have to check the sauce.” Dom looked uncomfortable, not meeting any of their eyes.

Hell, Gabe understood.
What man likes being caught in the act? Even tough guys get embarrassed.

“So, how did this happen?” For the tone Emma gave them, she might as well have been wearing a white wig and holding a gavel in her hand. “Worked out all your problems?”

Gabe wanted to shake Emma; she was seriously starting to ruin his good mood. He spoke to her firmly. “I think that's obvious,
luv
. These two have decided to bury the hatchet.”

“Aye,” Claire agreed.

“The hatchet,” Emma murmured. The expression on her face said she saw a handle sticking out of someone's back. “And you, Dominic?” She pinned him with her accusing tone. “You've decided it's time to have a baby, then?”

Dom glanced up at his name but quickly went back to the sauce.

Ah, hell.
Gabe was starting to get a clue, too, but he wasn't giving up hope just yet.

“We're still working through the issues. But we're getting there.” Claire sounded a little unsure of herself, but she'd jumped in and defended her husband, which was a good sign.

“You're moving back home, Dom?” Gabe said.

Claire looked desperate, and Dominic shifted uneasily. He glanced over at his wife, not smiling. “Yes, Gabe. You'll have the doctor's quarters all to yourself again.”

Emma grabbed Gabe's arm and dragged him into the dining area.

“Why, Emma?” he said, once they were alone. “Why aren't you happy for them?”

“If they're telling the truth about being back together, then I'm the Queen of England.”

Gabe leaned against the counter. “Listen, Your Royal Highness, it's a start. You know as well as I do that changing one's behavior can change one's thought patterns. Sometimes pretending you like someone can turn into the truth.”

She frowned at him but wouldn't give him an inch.

“With my da being a pastor, I grew up under the scrutiny of a lot of people. Most of them were friendly, but some were downright busybodies. Da knew the parishioners were driving me crazy. One day he sat me down and gave me this spot-on advice: ‘Just pretend. Treat each one like you care for them. Like they're a close friend. One day, you'll wake up and find that you're no longer pretending
.
'”

She sat on one of the barstools and swiveled away from him. Gabe swiveled her back.

He squatted down to her eye level. “I don't care if Dominic and Claire's problems are ironed out or not. I only care that they are at least trying. Dom moving back to the flat is a good start.”

“It's a lie, though.”

“I feel the same way you do about lying.” He brushed back the hair from her face. “At least you and I are always square with each other. No lies here.” He motioned to the space between them.

A funny look crossed her face, but he chose to ignore it. He felt too happy about the Russos' progress. He wouldn't let her suspicion ruin it.

“And what about the strange ‘setups' over the last few
days, pushing us together? I'm sure those two have been behind it. It's ridiculous, isn't it?”

“I don't know. But let's go back to my place, pop open a bottle of champagne, and discuss it there,” he suggested. “I want to take a look at your ankle, anyway.” And because he wasn't a saint, but a mere mortal man, he thought of other parts of her body he'd like to examine, too.

He didn't give her a choice about coming with him. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. At that moment, something changed. It was as if a spotlight had landed on Emma or as if for the first time he saw the truth.

I don't want a Scottish lass.

I want this English filly.

He wanted a relationship with Emma Castle—prim-and-proper Emma. He'd avoided his feelings for her long enough. Ten years too long. He wanted to dive in and see where the two of them would end up. He cared about Emma and planned to show her just how much. To hell with her cynicism about love. To hell with how many men she'd had in her bed. It didn't matter one whit. What mattered was their future together.

He didn't let go of her hand but stood gazing into her eyes. He wouldn't tell her right here and now how he felt, but he knew it flowed from him, because she stared back at him in wonder. For a long moment they stood like that. But they must've inched closer together, because he was leaning down to kiss her, to really kiss her—with everything he felt, playing no games, with no hesitation—when the front door to the restaurant burst open.

“Just the man I was looking for.”

Gabe turned and found Father Andrew grinning at him. Gabe pulled away from Emma but held on to her elbow, not letting her get away.

“We're going caroling and we need our favorite
baritone.” Father Andrew held the door wide for the group of Gandiegowans who filed in behind the Episcopal priest.

“It's a beautiful night,” Ailsa said.

“A beautiful night,” Aileen echoed.

Gabe looked down at Emma. “What do you say?”

“Do you have any songbooks?”

Ailsa skipped over to Emma, producing a small booklet from her pocket. “I have one right here.”

Emma thanked her and took it.

“Hold on to my arm for support,” Gabe advised. “I still want you to keep as much weight off that ankle as possible.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He just couldn't help himself.

They bundled up, and Dom and Claire waved to them as they set off. Gabe couldn't have been happier; he'd never felt more blessed in his whole life. He'd finally found that special woman he'd been hoping for. Funny that it'd been Emma all along.

They walked through town, stopping at each house. They were greeted warmly, sometimes with a Christmas cookie or a hot cocoa. More often than not, one or all of the inhabitants of the house would grab their coats and join them. They were quite a crowd by the time they were finishing up. With Emma walking and singing beside him, he felt completely content with the world.

Finally, they ended up at the pub, cold but happy. At the bar, the bartender filled shot glasses with Glenfiddich. Gabe was in high spirits. He couldn't wait to take Emma back to his place and tell her how he felt, and then kiss her until she had the exact same feelings for him.

As Father Andrew raised his glass in a toast, two bundled-up strangers stepped into the pub. At the same moment, Emma paled to the color of frost. Gabe grabbed her arm, afraid she might wilt further.

“What's wrong, lass?” he said, pulling her in to his side.

She nodded in the newcomers' direction. “My parents.”

He looked again and, sure enough, he recognized Eleanor Hamilton and Dean Castle. They were older than they appeared on television—probably because there were no makeup artists nearby. Also, it was hard work traveling to the northeast coast of Scotland in the dead of winter.

“What are they doing here?” Emma mumbled. She left his side and wove her way toward them.

He went after her. He'd saved her once before from them and he intended to do it again.

There were no hugs and no pleasant expressions of love from the parents to the daughter. Gabe noticed Emma had plastered a fake smile on her face for them. He came up beside her and rested his hand on her back for support.

Eleanor held out a stack of papers. “We brought another copy of the contract. We needed to make sure it reached you safely.”

Eleanor said it as though Scotland was a jungle inhabited by savages. Maybe she was right, considering how protective he felt for Emma right now. She seemed to be shrinking before his eyes.

He stepped in front of her and held out his hand to Dean. “Dr. Gabriel MacGregor. Special friend to your daughter.”

Emma had enough gumption left to kick him discreetly in the calf.

Dean eyed him closely. “I see.” But he finally took Gabe's hand and shook it.

Gabe turned to Eleanor and made sure his brogue was thick as haggis for her benefit. “I've seen ye're show.” If she thought he was going to follow that up with a compliment she was mistaken. He put out his hand to her to see if she would take it. “Nice to meet ye.”

Eleanor eventually offered her fingertips for him to shake.

“Shall we go someplace quiet?” Gabe gestured toward the door.

“That won't be necessary.” Eleanor stepped around Gabe, thrusting the papers out again. “We just need you to sign this, Emma.”

“Mum, I've been too busy to go over it.” Emma looked worn-out and her emotions were ragged.

“I assure you that everything is in order,” her mother insisted.

“Here. Let me hold those.” Gabe relieved the papers from Eleanor's grasp. “Since you don't want to talk, we'll be on our way. I need to examine Emma's ankle at my office.”

Stiffly, Eleanor adjusted the fingers of her gloves in an effort to remove them.

“Will you stay the night?” Emma asked meekly. “I'm at the quilting dorm. There's plenty of room.” She sounded like a hopeful child.

“Absolutely not.” Eleanor sniffed. “We're needed back in London. The cabbie is waiting in the parking lot.”

“About those papers,” Dean said.

“Don't worry yereself,” Gabe interjected. “I'll make sure she takes care of them.”

Emma shot Gabe a disapproving look, for she must've figured out how he wanted her to take care of them—in the hearth with a blazing fire.

“There's a fax machine at Quilting Central,” Emma offered weakly. “I promise to be in touch.”

Gabe was proud of her that she didn't commit to signing them.

Eleanor drew back on her gloves. “This is important, Emma. You owe us.” Without another word, she turned on her heels and walked out, with Dean close behind.

Gabe rolled the papers and shoved them in his coat pocket before slipping his arm around Emma's waist. He found her trembling. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, “Let's go back to my place.”

She nodded, and he guided her to the door. Once outside, she looked up the walk that led to the parking lot. Her parents had already rounded the corner and were gone. Gabe squeezed Emma to him, trying to transfer his strength to her.

At the doctor's quarters, he let her in and followed her up the stairs. Now he would have the chance to tell her how he felt. And how he wanted to be closer to her. He waited until they were in the parlor, standing in front of the Christmas tree, directly under the mistletoe. As he opened his mouth to confess all, Emma threw herself into his arms, nearly tackling him, and kissed the holy holly out of him.