Meet Me in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

Gabriel.

  He’d changed into a black shirt and black pants, and wore a satisfied grin. On closer inspection, she realized his eyes weren’t on her face, but on her clinging, still-ocean-wet blouse.

  The glint in his eyes danced. “Did I miss the announcement?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll play along. What announcement?”

  “The wet-T-shirt contest. Or, in your case, the wet-blouse contest.”

  She dropped her head to stare at her own chest. Sure enough, her nipples pushed against her damp blouse with so-very-happy-to-see-Gabriel enthusiasm. As she tugged the wet fabric away from her breasts, her cheeks burst into flaming, high-octane embarrassment. All the while, she cursed herself for not wearing a camisole underneath.

  “Why are you here?” she growled, despite the fact that a real lady didn’t growl.

  He steered her in front of the roaring fire. “Ye’ve got nothing there to be ashamed of.” He motioned to her blouse. “Quite the opposite, actually. Besides, I’m a doctor. I’ve seen plenty of breasts.”

  “You’re a rogue,” she muttered.

  He gave her a strange look, like maybe she was right, all the smile leaving his eyes. He nodded and gave her what almost could’ve been a bow. “If you’ll forgive me.” He motioned to the other man in the room. “I must catch George—George Campbell, the local tinker. His brother, Kenneth, needs him to stop by.” Sure enough, the older gentleman was putting his tools away.

  “Wait!” she said, then felt instantly mortified. Proper English ladies didn’t shout after gentlemen either. Then again, Gabriel is no gentleman.

  “Yes,” Gabriel said.

  She took a bite of crow. “I’m sorry about before.”

  He raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. “For what?”

  She shifted from one foot to the other. “I shouldn’t have said fathers were optional.”

  “Glad to hear LA hasn’t turned you into an airhead.”

  Emma decided he deserved a small explanation. “My mother tried to convince me that fathers weren’t necessary. Hence my father’s absence during my own childhood. If anyone understands the importance of fathers, it’s me.” She had an empty hole in the middle of her chest where she knew her father should be.

  Pity filled Gabriel’s eyes. She hated being pitied more than being called Princess.

  “But I’ve turned out just fine,” she said, with added steel in her voice. “Actually, better than fine.”

  “Aye. You have, Emma.” Compassionate Gabriel was patronizing her and unbalancing her all at the same time. Go Get ’Em Gabriel would’ve been easier to take.

  She had to stop him. “You may go now.” She dropped her head, effectively making her gesture do double duty—pointing out that George was headed toward the door and dismissing Gabriel with a nod.

  It worked. Gabriel’s compassion paled, and in its place anger flashed. He nodded again, doing that eighteenth-century-bow thing. He sauntered away, taking his blue eyes with him. She watched as he walked to the door. And jumped when Deydie spoke.

  “Making googly eyes at the doc, are ye?” Deydie made a sour face at Gabriel’s backside.

  Bethia tsked her friend. “Be charitable, Deydie. He’s our healer.”

  Emma couldn’t help but glance once more as Gabriel and George walked out of Quilting Central together. Her face felt flushed, hot, and bothered. Hightailing it to the beach is looking better and better. “I’m not making googly eyes at anyone,” she declared to the old women beside her.

  Bethia patted her hand. “It’s best not to protest too much, dear.”

  Deydie, the Scottish warrior, stood directly in front of Emma. “I made myself clear. That lad’s an outsider.”

  Emma hated to tangle with the locals, but they were missing something very important here. “I’m an outsider, too.”

  Emma always had been and it was okay with her. From family. From school. From work. Actually, she was more comfortable being an outsider than belonging. She had accepted that was her place in life.

  “Nay,” Bethia corrected. “Ye’re family.”

  “Aye,” Deydie concurred. Her voice carried no hint that she had softened in any way, but simply had accepted that things were the way that they were.

  Bethia gently took Emma’s arm and pulled her closer. “Ye’re Claire’s oldest friend. That makes you one of us.”

  Emma became even more unnerved. Normally, people didn’t welcome her. They usually stood back and regarded her with skepticism. Starting with her parents.

  Something had to be wrong with these two if they wanted to include her.

  Deydie took Emma’s other arm. “Come and meet the other women.” A group waited for her.

  All of a sudden, Emma felt swallowed up, claustrophobic. She had to make a run for it before she was asked to do something else that made her uncomfortable. First it was Gabriel insisting she fix Claire and Dominic’s marriage. Now it was the women of Gandiegow who wanted her to become one of them.

  Emma stepped away. She knew it was rude but she couldn’t get out of Quilting Central fast enough. Not even long enough to give Deydie and Bethia a proper goodbye or a nod of thanks for the dry towel and warm fire. She hustled to the door and went back out into the cold. Claire was the only real relationship Emma needed, and she wanted to keep it that way. Any more than that, and she wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  * * *

  Claire watched the timer in the flat’s kitchen, anticipating her evening. Her marriage might be a little sour right now, but nothing would stop the excitement growing inside of her. As she bent over the oven and pulled out the cranberry scones, Emma appeared, quite wilted. Claire gave her friend her best Scottish smile. “I’m so glad ye’re back. Can you adjust that cooling rack so I can set these there?”

  Emma shot her a quizzical frown. “Why aren’t you helping Dominic with the dinner prep? We always help Dominic. I thought that was one of your golden rules.”

  “Nay,” Claire said, “not tonight. He’ll have to go it alone. I made you a sandwich. You’d better eat before we go.” She pointed to the refrigerator.

  Emma gave her a sidelong glance. “What do you mean, before we go? Why are you bailing on Dominic?”

  Claire shrugged.

  “You two have argued before but you were still able to work together.”

  It did feel strange not to be downstairs in the thick of the dinner. But Claire had an important date tonight. She felt as giddy as if she’d landed a new prizewinning scone recipe.

  Emma motioned to the cooling pan. “And what is all this?”

  “Scones.”

  “I can see that. But what about your other golden rule? Everything fresh-baked in the morning?”

  “Oh, these aren’t for the restaurant,” Claire clarified.

  “Then who are they for?”

  She smiled. “We’re calling on Amy and Coll.” And baby William. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on that bairn.

  “And they are?”

  “The MacTavishes. Gandiegow’s newest parents,” Claire confessed.

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Emma Castle. This is what we do in small towns. We take care of one another.” Claire pointed to the table where she had stockpiled canned food, vegetables, and baked goods. Yes, it was enough for twenty people, but Amy and Coll could use the provisions.

  That’s when Emma’s overall appearance registered with Claire. “What happened to you?”

  “Tidal wave,” Emma said flatly.

  “Well, go change. We need to get going.” Claire stacked the warm scones into a basket as Emma left the kitchen.

  When Emma came back, she looked warmer, dressed in dark corduroys and a green sweater.

  “Your hair is still curly,” Claire pointed out. “I thought you hated it l
ike that.”

  “I used the blow-dryer, but I need to wash out the salt water. I figured we didn’t have time for that.”

  “You figured right.”

  Claire and Emma loaded the groceries into sacks and carried them down the stairs. When they got to the restaurant, Dominic trudged through the kitchen’s swinging doors, carrying a knife, cutting board, and prosciutto. Claire stopped breathing. Even after all these years, she still had it bad for her Italian meatball. For a second, their eyes met like they had thousands of times before—a recognition of the souls. But then Dominic masked his emotions and Claire could only see disdain. Or maybe it was disappointment. Either way it felt like he’d carved out a piece of her heart with the knife he held. But she wouldn’t let him see; she came from a long line of strong Scottish women, dammit.

  One of Emma’s bags slipped and instantly Dominic rushed to her rescue, leaving his knife on the chopping block, catching the sack before it hit the floor.

  “Thank you, Dominic,” Emma said, still the polite lass she always was.

  “Not a problem.” Dominic opened the door for them. But as Claire walked through, he gave her a pointed look for leaving him in the lurch. “You’re not going to reconsider?”

  “Are you?” Claire shot back, knowing they spoke of entirely different things.

  Emma touched Claire’s arm. “Go on without me. I’ll stay and help Dominic.”

  Claire opened her mouth, but Dominic jumped in first.

  “No, Emma. I’ll be all right. Gabe said he’ll be here soon to help.”

  Why did a pink blush fill Emma’s cheeks? Claire would have to remember to ask her about that later.

  Dominic went inside, leaving them to get the bags settled into the wagon.

  “Claire, this is a lot of food,” Emma said. “I’m surprised Dominic didn’t complain about you giving away the restaurant’s goods.”

  “You know Dominic. He’s passionate about feeding people.” In this one area only, Dominic didn’t hold the financial reins so tightly. It was important for her husband to feed people, whether they could afford it or not. To him, food equaled love. And no one loved like Dominic Russo.

  Claire stared at the restaurant door and longed to run back inside and tell Dominic that she wanted things to go back to the way they were. But in the next second, wanting her own baby outweighed that urge—stronger than ever. She took it as a sign she shouldn’t give in. Dominic would have to be the one to cave. He needed to give her a baby. She could feel she was right all the way to her toes. And her toes never lied.

  With the wagon filled, she and Emma each grabbed a side of the rope handle and dragged the goods across the village to the one-room cottage of baby William. Coll answered the door and ushered them in. He took care of the groceries while Claire introduced Emma to Amy.

  Since she and Dominic had arrived in Gandiegow six weeks ago, Claire had spent a lot of time with Amy in the small cottage. This cottage had no room for a large crib, changing table, or other extras; just a small two-person table, two chairs, and one cradle beside the bed. Propped up on top of the poinsettia quilt was her new friend, Amy, with her cropped dark hair held back with a headband. The wee one was at her breast.

  Claire went straight to the baby and ran her fingers lightly over his whisper-soft hair as he nursed. She wondered if their own baby would have dark hair like Dominic’s or turn out to be a carrottop like herself.

  “Ah, Amy, ye did well,” Claire said. “He’s so beautiful.” She turned to Emma. “Get over here and see the wee lad.” Her friend stood over by the door as if worried about the babe’s privacy. Which is ridiculous.

  Amy looked at Emma and smiled. “’Tis okay. He’s just having his dinner.”

  Emma nodded and walked toward them. Claire grabbed her arm and dragged her closer.

  “Isn’t he something, Emms?” Claire couldn’t help but gush. Her praise made Amy beam.

  Emma clasped her hands in front of her. “He is beautiful. I’ve never seen so much hair on a baby before,” Emma said.

  “He looks like he’s wearing a baby wig, doesn’t he?” Amy laughed.

  “Aye,” Claire said. Baby William’s eyes were shut as he fed. “It’s remarkable, isn’t it, that one so young knows how to get his food? He’s lovely, Amy.”

  Claire turned to Coll, who wore a goofy grin. “Och, Coll, with that grand smile on your face, you’re acting as if you’re the one who invented childbirth yourself.”

  “He’s a strapping lad,” Coll said proudly.

  All of Claire’s emotions burbled out. “We’re going to have a baby, too.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news,” Amy exclaimed. “When are you due?”

  Claire felt stupid, but she stood her ground. “Well, Dominic will have to deposit some sperm first.”

  Coll, who’d just brought his mug to his lips, choked on his tea.

  Amy laughed. “I’m sure that’ll be no problem for Dominic.”

  Coll came to Amy and kissed her head. “If you’re sure it’s all right, then?” He looked at the doorway, as if he were being called off to war.

  Amy turned to Claire and Emma to explain. “Coll wants to make sure the shipment came in correctly at the pub today.” She turned back to her husband. “You go. I’ll be fine. Claire and Emma will sit with me until I get tired.”

  “Aye,” Claire said. “We’ve nowhere to be.”

  Emma’s eyes called her a liar. Okay, maybe they should be helping Dominic with the dinner hour, but visiting the new baby during his dinner hour seemed much more important.

  With one more glance back, Coll eased through the doorway and left.

  A surge of jealousy overcame Claire. It rankled that Amy got to have a baby in her early twenties. Claire would be thirty-one on her next birthday. It wasn’t fair. At this rate, Amy would be a grandmother before Claire’s first bairn was born.

  The baby let go of the breast and Amy repositioned him on her shoulder.

  “Here, let me,” Claire said.

  “Thanks, if you don’t mind. I could use a quick trip to the loo.”

  “Not at all.” She eased the baby from Amy’s arms and held him close, swaying, gently patting his back.

  Emma looked embarrassed as Amy refastened her nursing bra, but had the sense to help Amy from the bed.

  “Thanks,” Amy said. “I’m a little sore. And stiff.” She hobbled off to the bathroom.

  Emma turned on Claire. “I don’t like that look in your eye.”

  “What look?” Claire gazed down at baby William and placed a kiss on his precious forehead. He smelled great. He felt perfect in her arms, too. Amy was a lucky duck. If something happened to Coll, Amy would have a bairn to remember him by. Just like Mama had had her when Papa had died.

  Amy returned from the loo and offered to make tea, but Emma insisted on waiting on her instead. Which was good, because Claire had no intention of putting down the sweet babe.

  “I hope my auntie can come and see the wee one before the end of the week. Her neighbor said she’d give her a ride from Fairge, but her neighbor has been under the weather.”

  Emma brought a cup of steaming-hot tea to Amy. “I hope her neighbor doesn’t have anything contagious.”

  “I think we’re safe. I believe it’s gout,” Amy said.

  Claire cooed and hummed to baby William as his mama recounted every detail of the labor and delivery for them. Claire only half listened—that Amy MacTavish surely did love to talk.

  “So we named him William after my da,” Amy finished. “Of course, the Gabriel part is after our doc.”

  “What was that?” Emma perked up like a dog who’d heard squirrel.

  “William Gabriel MacTavish,” Amy said. “Have you not been listening?” She smiled at Emma good-naturedly.

  Claire wondered what was wrong with Emma. She su
ddenly looked like the walls had closed in. Was Emma holding her breath?

  “Are you okay?” Claire asked.

  “Yes, well, I’m just surprised,” Emma finally said. “About naming the baby after Gabriel.”

  “Doc MacGregor was incredible. So gentle. So understanding. He was wonderful to me. But more importantly, he kept Coll from passing out.” Amy laughed, but then yawned. “We’re so lucky to have him here in Gandiegow.”

  “Claire,” Emma prodded, “we should let Amy rest while the baby sleeps.”

  “But you haven’t even held him,” Claire argued.

  Emma raised an eyebrow at her. “Like there was ever a chance of that?”

  “Fine.” Reluctantly, Claire handed baby William back to his mother. Amy tucked him into her arms and gazed down at him lovingly.

  “He really is beautiful, isn’t he?” Amy said.

  “Aye,” Claire answered, unable to keep the longing from her voice.

  Emma grabbed their coats. It took all of Claire’s strength to drag herself from the cottage, away from the newborn.

  To hell with Dominic’s obsession with the restaurant’s books. She understood the state of their finances perfectly, but there were more important things in life than turning a profit. Claire would just have to convince him to man up and give her what she wanted. And it wouldn’t cost him a cent.

  * * *

  When Emma and Claire got back to the restaurant, all the customers were gone. Dominic was nowhere in sight, but Gabriel was there, clearing tables. He said hello to Claire but didn’t make eye contact with Emma. It stung, but she guessed he was still angry from earlier when she’d dismissed him from her presence at Quilting Central. She glanced at him once more, then followed Claire upstairs to the flat.

  Once inside, Claire stripped off her coat. “I think I’ll go soak in the tub.” She hugged Emma. “That was a nice evening. Don’t you think?”

  Emma thought they should be downstairs, helping with the dinner dishes. “Sure,” she finally answered. “Nice.”

  Claire glided down the hallway and disappeared into the loo.

  As Emma settled onto the sofa, the door creaked open to the flat. She turned around to see Dominic in the doorway, looking haggard, which wasn’t easy for the big, hearty Italian that he was. She stood.