She harrumphed. “That we’d better get inside. My feet are freezing. And besides, Dom is expecting your help.”
“Fine, but we’re not through speaking of this.” Gabriel opened the door and let her walk in.
Sure enough, the crowd had not dissipated; in fact, it looked larger. Villagers stood around the cash register like a mob, boxing Dominic in and bending his ear. He had a fierce Italian grimace on his face, as though he were trying to smile through some kind of jaw pain.
“Come on.” Gabriel steered Emma by the elbow over to the group.
“It’s time to start a family, lad,” a tall Scotsman said. “A bairn will help to settle you in. It’ll make a man of ye.”
Dominic looked like he might take a swing at the guy, but said nothing.
“A wee babe is nothing to fash yereself over. I’m certain he’ll grow into a great one such as yereself.” A round woman caressed Dominic’s biceps.
Dom flinched.
Gabriel put himself between them and his foster brother. “Sorry, but I think it’s time to close up now, folks. Dom has to get food ready for the retreat.”
Emma saw the outrage on every Gandiegowan’s face. What right did he have to tell them what to do? He was an outsider.
She smiled sweetly at the townsfolk. “Dominic has promised to teach me how to make pasta carbonara.” Not looking back, she grabbed Dominic’s arm and dragged him through the swinging kitchen doors, leaving Gabriel to herd the others out the front.
Once on the other side, Dominic hung his head.
“Cheer up, old chap.” Emma patted him on the back. “You can stand strong against them. It’s only a hundred to one.” She smiled at him, but he only stared back.
“Correction: a hundred to two.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze as Gabriel came through the swinging doors. He looked at her hand on Dominic’s arm and a strange look crossed his face.
For a second she thought Gabriel was jealous, but that was laughable. She rolled her eyes at him. “Push up your sleeves and get started on those dishes while I scrape.”
Gabriel frowned at her but spoke to Dominic. “Emma and I have it from here. You head back to my place for some peace and quiet.” He motioned to the exit.
Dominic nodded and pushed himself away from the prep table and through the swinging doors.
“I’ll lock up behind him.” Gabriel followed him out.
Emma leaned toward the door so she could hear what Gabriel said to his foster brother.
“God doesn’t pile on more than we can carry.”
If only that were true. Emma feared Dominic might be crushed under the weight of this load.
Chapter Ten
Gabe paused at the locked door of the restaurant for a long minute, jealousy poking at him like a very large, very painful hypodermic. Emma’s hand resting on Dominic’s arm almost got Dom punched. It didn’t matter that she was only consoling him. The lion inside Gabe wanted to pounce. Was he going mental?
All he knew was that he didn’t want her touching another man. Gabe wanted her soft touch for himself. Her tender words. Her understanding eyes. Maybe he was mental. Emma should put her therapeutic talents to work on him. Gabe imagined lying on her office couch. Maybe with her on top. Or with her underneath. It didn’t matter.
Dammit. He shouldn’t feel this way. He’d settled it earlier with Emma by the cemetery. Their kiss had been a one-off.
But then he’d almost kissed her again.
Gabe was a prick. Dom—his brother—needed his help and understanding, not his petty jealousy. Gabe pushed away from the door and walked back into the kitchen. Emma glanced over her shoulder and once again his breath caught. Right then and there he came to a decision. He’d have to take a break from this town. Meet other people. Maybe go to a bar in Inverness. Anything to keep him from ravishing Emma. When was she leaving Scotland, anyway?
She turned back around, her long, luscious hair cascading down her back. As she bent over the sink, unwanted, lustful thoughts slammed into his chest again. If only he could sidle up behind her and nuzzle her neck and do all sorts of wild, unmentionable things to her body.
Instead, he grabbed a towel and picked up a large stockpot to dry. He heard her muttering to herself.
“It’s now or never.” She wiped her soapy hands on her apron with her eyes fastened to the floor.
“Emma, are you okay?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her head, then brought her eyes up to meet his. She looked both frightened and determined. As she took a step toward him, she untied the apron and let it fall to the floor.
He backed up. “What are you doing?”
She came closer. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
Surely it wasn’t one of her mother’s asinine techniques. He took another step back, gripping the large metal pot in front of him. “What about the dishes?”
She only smiled. For the first time, he actually believed the rumors he’d heard about her. Dom had told him that, according to Claire, Emma had been with dozens of men, that she was a master seductress. The gleam in Emma’s eyes said she was on a mission and that mission was him.
Gabe wasn’t the type of man to back away from a woman. Hell, he was the type of man to take charge and have her begging for more. But that look in Emma’s eye said he might be the one doing the begging for a change. And for a second, he wanted to see where this might lead.
But no. He couldn’t let this happen.
“Emma, stop,” he tried. He bumped into the chopping block.
She took the last step toward him, relieved him of the stockpot, and rested her body between his thighs. God, she was killing him. He couldn’t breathe. She sighed as her arms snaked up around his neck. Involuntarily, he bent his head down.
Coll busted through the doors. “Doc MacGregor? Amy needs you.”
* * *
Emma dropped her arms and stepped away, mortified. Her face felt like she’d singed it on the hot grill. She turned toward the sink.
Gabriel cleared his throat as if getting his bearings also. “Sure, Coll. I’ll get my bag and meet you there.”
She heard Coll leave.
“Emma?”
“I’ll be fine. Just go.” She couldn’t look over at Gabriel. “I hope everything is all right.”
“Aye.” He waited a second longer.
She kept staring at the sink and didn’t get the courage to turn back around until she heard him leave through the double swinging doors.
She was such an idiot. A failure. Egghead Emma had no skills when it came to seducing a man. Especially a man like Gabriel. Book smarts only got a woman so far. She never should’ve tried.
“Imbecile.” She picked up the apron off the floor and shoved it into the basket with the dirty towels. She would keep her mind on the job at hand.
Wash the dishes.
Wipe the counters.
Get the heck out of Gandiegow as fast as I can.
But it wasn’t that easy. She glanced over at Mattie’s folder on the stool. It felt like a ball and chain right now. But if she jumped right in—talked to the other therapist, did a little research, met with Mattie a few times—her obligation would be satisfied. Then nothing would be holding her to this town.
Except for Claire.
Bloody hell.
Emma scoured the dishes within an inch of their lives, running the water as hot as she could stand. The only thing she lacked at this moment was a strategy to get her through her stay in Scotland. Tonight, after she finished up at the restaurant, she would figure out a way to make it easy on herself. Something short of taking a cold swim in the ocean every time her thoughts landed on the town’s doctor.
She picked up the last dish, the stockpot Gabriel had dried, and held it close.
She wasn’t one of Gab
riel MacGregor’s bubbleheaded groupies, those girls who succumbed to him at a single word uttered in his sexy baritone burr. For one thing, Emma was smart. But how smart had it been to put the moves on Gabriel. Playing with fire. It was stupid to tempt her psyche into thinking she could kiss him again and come away unscathed. The one skill she had going for her was self-control. She could choose where she spent her time while she was forced to remain here. She would do what she’d done for the past ten years. Avoid the doctor at all costs.
She hung the stockpot on the rack and trudged up the stairs. Gandiegow was a small town. She wouldn’t be able to completely dodge Gabriel, but she could make certain they weren’t alone again. Emma let herself into the flat and collapsed on the couch.
Not five minutes later, the apartment door opened and Claire sauntered in. “Hiya.”
Emma sat up straight. “Can we talk for a minute? I noticed you with the quilting ladies tonight. What was that all about?”
Claire didn’t meet her eyes. “Just a bit of gossip.” She produced a yawn. “I’d better get to bed. The scones wait—”
“For no one,” Emma finished. “Yes, I know. But what is going on?”
“Don’t worry yereself with it. It’s only a bit of harmless chitchat.”
“Clairrrre,” Emma warned.
“Let it go, Emma.” She flounced off to the bathroom, closing the door on the subject with a whoosh.
That girl is up to something. Emma just didn’t know what.
That night, Emma wanted to sleep, but she was so restless. And when she did drift off, it was one crazy dream after another. Flooded kitchens. Her hands bruised from sewing piles of quilt blocks. And the worst were the hooded eyes of a particular Scottish warrior who kissed her until she liquefied into a hot toddy. Then the church bells were ringing.
She turned off the alarm and dragged herself out of bed to help Claire in the kitchen. An hour later, Moira stopped by to pick up breakfast for the retreatgoers, who would be heading home soon. Just as the third batch of scones came out of the oven, the fishermen showed up. Not a few, like on the other day, but droves of them.
“This is strange,” Emma remarked. Claire only smiled.
Thirty minutes later, more Gandiegowans descended upon the restaurant.
“Claire, we’re here.” The woman waved as she came through the doorway. “We stand behind you, lass, in yere hour of need.”
* * *
Claire dodged Emma’s questioning eyes. She didn’t need to explain anything to her. Besides, she wouldn’t understand that Dominic needed to be brought down a peg for not coming back to their bed and giving Claire the baby she desperately wanted. The sour faces of the Gandiegowans around her guaranteed that her husband would pay dearly. She feared a lynching might be in the works.
Guilt coated her like the icing on her cinnamon scones.
So she’d fibbed to the villagers. So what? Even if he hadn’t said A baby will make you fat, turn you into an old fishwife—the first thing that had popped into her head—he was being just as awful to her. She was so angry at her husband; she just hadn’t realized how angry it would make the women of the town. But it was only a wee stretch of the truth, wasn’t it? She ran a hand over her stomach. She would get fat after having a baby. Surely Dominic worried about that, too.
Emma delivered three cups of coffee for the Armstrong brothers—John, Ross, and Ramsay—and then barreled in Claire’s direction.
“Why are all these people here?” Emma whispered.
Claire shrugged. “I told you the Highland air makes them hungry.”
Emma pulled her over to the side, frowning. “You know what I mean. What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
Emma slammed her hands on her hips. “Don’t insult me. I know you better than anyone.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “I may have mentioned to them—” The timer went off in the kitchen. “Gotta run.” She bolted. Emma tried to follow but, thank God, she was waylaid by Lochie and Thomas. Maybe Lochie would recite more poetry, and Emma would forget about questioning her further.
Claire carried fresh-out-of-the-oven scones to the dining area and delivered them off the baking sheet to the growing crowd. If this restaurant was back in Glasgow, the Health and Safety Executive would’ve shut them down for exceeding the legal number of patrons. But this was Gandiegow, her home, her people.
Moira slipped back into the restaurant and grabbed an apron and an order pad.
Claire set the baking sheet on the counter. “Has the bus left with the quilters, then?”
“Aye,” Moira said. “I’ll be able to work for a bit, but then I’ll need to get home to my da. He didn’t have a good night.”
Claire patted her arm. “We’ll be okay if you need to go to him now.”
“I’ll only stay a while. I would like to drop a scone by to Da before I go to church, though.”
“That would be fine, Moira.” Claire had always seen herself as long-suffering, growing up without her own da. But she’d had Emma and an easy life compared to the toils of Moira.
Moira’s father, Kenneth Campbell, hadn’t completely recovered from a fishing accident and lingered painfully between infections. But he was a lesson for all. That man had the most optimistic outlook for one so sick. Claire had seen him smile through the pain, time and again, while she delivered food to them at the cottage.
She should do more for Moira than give her a part-time job and friendship. Maybe she could help her ease out of herself, possibly even help her find a man.
Just then she noticed Emma, eyes narrowed, headed in her direction. Claire didn’t wait around for more of her best friend’s questions. She hightailed it to the kitchen through the swinging double doors.
And ran smack-dab into Dominic’s powerful chest. Claire looked up into his caramel-colored eyes. He smelled wonderful. But she was angry with him.
He stepped back and frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m grand. Thanks for asking.” A month ago, he would’ve jumped at the chance to pull her into his arms for a midmorning kiss. It hurt that he didn’t now.
He walked away into the storeroom while she stared after him. Damn.
She trudged back into the dining room and spoke to the room. “Time to close up, folks.”
Emma sidled up to her and glanced at her watch. “It’s early still.”
“Not if we’re going to make it to church on time.”
“I’ll just stay here and clean up,” Emma said.
Claire touched her arm. “Everyone attends church in Gandiegow. No exceptions.”
* * *
Emma ran upstairs and put on her best dress. Everyone attends church. No exceptions. She took extra time fixing her hair. Not because Gabriel would be there, but because she wasn’t sure what the churchgoing etiquette was here in Gandiegow. She’d been to church only a handful of times in her life—Claire’s wedding and a couple of funerals. She knew she would feel as out of place as she had in the past. Dressing nicely, looking her best, always helped her cope with the unknown. She wasn’t trying to attract anyone.
Claire rushed past the open door of the restroom. “Ye’ll have to go without me. I can’t find my shoe.”
“I’ll help you look,” Emma offered, anything to delay.
“No, go. It’s best if Deydie only takes her broom to me, instead of to the both of us.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Hurry,” Claire said.
Emma slipped on her red pumps, pretty sure they wouldn’t be the best thing to wear along the slick boardwalk. But she would be careful. She grabbed her red purse and headed out.
The walk was indeed slippery, but she made it to church and inside on time. Bethia greeted her with “How are ye this fine morn?” Then she looked down and frowned at Emma’s shoes.
“I know,” Emma said,
trying to head off the reprimand.
“Pretty can be dangerous here, lass. We have to be practical.”
“Bethia, don’t waste yere breath.” Gabriel’s voice pulsed from over Emma’s right shoulder. “The lass doesna have a practical bone in her body.”
Emma spun around. “Why are you so obsessed with my feet?”
“Apparently, you’ve never seen frostbitten toes.” He raised a superior eyebrow.
Bethia chortled. “Or perhaps he’s one of those lads who fancies feet.”
Gabriel shook his head. “Just concerned for another human being’s welfare is all.”
“Well, you can stop being concerned about me. I’m grand.” But her insides warmed that Gabriel cared for her. Her face turned as red as the heels she wore and the red clutch purse she held.
“Ye look a bit feverish,” Bethia said, amusement playing in her eyes. “The doc may need to give you a good going-over.”
Emma didn’t dare look up to see Gabriel’s reaction to Bethia’s conniving. Emma was already smoldering—and in church, too. “Shouldn’t we find our seats?”
She didn’t wait for their answers, but took off for the sanctuary. Self-consciously, she made her way down the aisle and found a pew for her and Claire. Bethia walked past and sat with the other quilting ladies. Emma expected to see Gabriel walk by next, but he didn’t. As nonchalantly as she could, she glanced at the pews beside her, then behind. He wasn’t seated anywhere.
Organ music began and the churchgoers stood. The choir entered from the narthex and processed down the aisle with Father Andrew leading the pack. The choir marched two by two, and that’s when Emma finally saw Gabriel, the caboose of the choir, his baritone voice strong and clear. Emma tried not to meet his eyes as he came near, but she couldn’t help it. He had the audacity to nod to her as he passed. Her face heated up again.
But not three steps later, she saw him smile and nod to Mattie, too. Maybe he was just friendly to everyone.
Father Andrew took the pulpit and began the service with a prayer. Emma probably should’ve bowed her head like the other parishioners, but instead she boldly studied Gabriel. He had his eyes shut, looking sinfully handsome in his choir robe. When the prayer was done, he said, “Amen,” with the rest of them.
Meet Me in Scotland Page 15
