She wasn’t in there, either. He set down his bags and began unloading and sorting the supplies into three groups—restaurant fare, retreat fare, and crossovers. He stashed the cold items in the cooler, keeping an eye on the dining area, and began fixing the retreat’s lunch before starting the restaurant’s.
Just as he got into a chopping rhythm with the paring knife, Claire came into the kitchen with a load of dirty dishes. He braced himself. But she only beamed at him. No hostility, no latent sexuality. In the far depths of her eyes, and only for a second, he caught something that made him worry. But she seemed so like her old self and in a good mood that he chose to ignore it. Maybe she’d decided to come to her senses.
“Morning,” she said brightly. She leaned over to see what he was doing. “What do ye need help with first—the catering or the lunch prep?”
She dazzled him with nothing more than being herself. He looked down blankly at the knife in his hand and the chopped tomatoes on the cutting board and had to focus—yes, he’d been slicing them for the spring salad.
“I have it,” he finally replied, remembering to breathe. God, he’d better get laid soon or he might accidentally cut off an appendage while chopping vegetables. “You still have the breakfast crowd.”
“Are ye sure?” She looked the vision of sincerity.
He was glad she was done playing games. Thrilled to have his wife back. He was getting hard. “Yes, I’ve got it under control,” he heard himself saying. “Leave the dishes. I’ll take care of them later.” Right now he couldn’t be near her and get anything done.
Claire nodded and walked out of the kitchen, back to the dining area.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Tonight he would sleep in his own bed. Or, even better, he wouldn’t sleep at all.
He stared at the dishes in the oversized sink, then at all the food that needed to be prepared. “Horny bastard,” he said to himself.
He lit into the vegetables with a fury and soon had salad for the restaurant and the retreat. Next, he made thirty-five sandwiches, filling a large platter for the quilting women. All the work he had to do couldn’t stop the emotions bombarding him. He felt so thankful that this war of wills with Claire was finally over. He’d won.
But had he? She hadn’t said everything was back to normal. Fear swept through him.
Had she given up on him? He broke into a cold sweat.
But there was no time to find out. He put on the tortellini soup for the lunch crowd. By eleven thirty, he was ready. Thomas and Lochie stopped by with the cart to pick up the quilting retreat’s lunch. Dom made sure the trays were secure and settled, then grabbed his own trays to fill the side counter with today’s specials.
When he stepped into the dining area, he almost dropped his armload of food.
A packed house?
Every table filled?
Families. Couples. Every stool along the bar occupied.
Dom had expected there to be about the same number of people as yesterday, maybe fewer because of the extra hands needed at Quilting Central. He looked to Claire, dumbstruck. She didn’t look dumbstruck or shocked or confused at the turnabout in business. His wife had a triumphant gaze on her face.
“Claire,” Dominic growled. “May I see you in the kitchen?”
“Why, of course.” She sauntered past him, swishing her peasant skirt and apron as she passed.
On the other side of the door, where the whole town couldn’t hear, he pinned her against the wall with his gaze. His groin, though, wanted to pin her there with his body. “What is going on out there?”
“I don’t know what ye’re talking about.” Beaming with satisfaction, she tilted her head to the side with a grin.
“Why are all those people here?”
She walked over and ran a finger down his chest. “Be a good boy and don’t argue about a full house.” She walked on and picked up the next tray for the salad bar. “Do you want me to stay and help?” she said sweetly.
He needed space from her more than he needed her help. “No. Go.”
“Have it your way,” she said. “I’ll be upstairs in the shower, if you want me.”
Great. Just the image he didn’t need haunting him for the rest of the afternoon. He watched only a moment as she headed for the stairs, her hips swaying slightly. He went through the swinging doors to the dining room to deal with the locals.
It didn’t take long to figure out how she’d gotten them all there. When Leslie Murray stepped to the cash register, she gave him a sly smile.
“Och, Dominic.” She tsked and motioned to the room. “There’s no need to worry. You don’t have to be frightened of having a wee bairn. We’ll all be right here to help ye.” Leslie leaned in as if to share a secret. “Don’t forget that the tryin’ for a bairn is the fun part.”
Good God. What had Claire told these people?
One by one, the good people of Gandiegow winked at him and cajoled him. “Bairns are a gift from God,” one said. “It’d be grand to have a wee babe at the end of summer,” said another. By the time the last customer left, he wanted to wring Claire’s neck.
He stomped up the stairs, leaving his horny self behind. He marched into the bedroom just as Claire was slipping a dress over her smooth, curvy body—no bra, and only a scrap of hot pink lace for underwear.
His mouth went dry. For a long moment he could only stare, not remembering what it was he wanted to rail on her about.
Rail on her. Yes, that would be good. Lay her on the bed and rail on her. When he took a step toward her, she lifted the hem of her dress.
“Should I take this off?” she purred, sex and pheromones pouring off her. “Or do you want me to leave it on?”
That stopped him. Oh, she was sure of herself, wasn’t she? And after she’d embarrassed him in front of the whole town! Dominic ground out the words like he’d put them in a mortar and taken the pestle to them. “What did you tell them, Claire?”
“Nothing much. That you might be scared of becoming a da. It’s pretty common. They all understood.” She smiled at him prettily.
“It was a dirty trick,” he muttered. “Just because you wrangled them into being here today doesn’t mean we’ll have money in the coffers tomorrow to support a child.” He wouldn’t admit to her that what she had told the village rang a little true. He might be scared. And why not? Any sane person should be scared of that kind of financial burden. When a child came into the world, a world of responsibility came with it. A child would depend on him to care for it, to provide for it. Forever. But what if something happened to him? To Claire, too? His mother had left him when he needed her most. No home. A confused teen. The MacGregor family had taken him in, God bless them, but it hadn’t been the same as having your own madre. He wished he could see her just one more time.
He shook his head vehemently. “You shouldn’t have done it, Claire. You shouldn’t have dragged the village into it.”
“Ye’re right. I shouldn’t have had to.” She dropped the hem and advanced on him. “Ye’re a bonehead, Dominic Russo.” She stepped past him and out the door.
Her perfume remained behind.
* * *
Throughout the afternoon, Emma noticed Caitie watching her, always with a pleasant smile on her face but too busy with the retreat to break away. At precisely three o’clock, though, she saw the woman make her way purposefully to Emma. She didn’t look a thing like her grandmother, Deydie, but she sure had a gleam in her eye that Emma recognized, one that had favor written all over it.
She introduced herself as Cait in a Scots-American accent and shook her hand. “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.”
“Sure.” Emma turned off her machine, expecting Cait to take the seat beside her.
But she stayed on her feet. “It’s about Mattie. Have you met him, my adopted son?”
“
No.” Emma rose, but got that creeping feeling she was going to be put in an awkward situation. Surely she wouldn’t be asked to babysit.
Cait motioned to the overstuffed sofa. “Let’s go sit by the fire and I’ll tell you his story.” She took her arm and guided her to the hearth.
Emma gazed around at all the Gandiegow quilters, and they all had eyes on her. Of course. What else could she expect from a close-knit community? They must’ve known about this little ambush beforehand. At least that’s what it was feeling like. She had the urge to dig in her heels and put a stop to whatever she was being dragged into. Mattie’s story might lead to something worse than babysitting.
As Cait got comfortable, she gave her a wistful smile. “Mattie is a great kid. My husband is Mattie’s grandda. He’s gone a lot on business.”
Emma nodded.
“About two years ago, Mattie witnessed a terrible accident off the rocks just outside the cove. Tragically, all the fishermen on board the vessel drowned. Then his own da died of leukemia.”
“How awful. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Cait touched Emma’s arm. “Thank you. We’re doing better—adjusting, accepting. It’s Mattie, though. He’s spoken only a few words since the drowning. We had him in therapy during the summer break and it helped. Before my husband left this last time, Mattie even whispered goodbye to him. We were thrilled. He seems to be coping and adapting to life without Duncan—his da.”
Yes, Duncan’s Den, one of the quilting dorms.
“We want Mattie to continue therapy.”
“Therapy can be a comfort.” Emma didn’t exactly believe it, but thought she should say it, anyway.
“But here’s the problem. Mattie’s therapist has suspended his practice to finish working on his book.”
Uh-oh.
“Which brings me to you. Claire told me ye’re a therapist.”
No.
“I spoke with my husband on the phone last night and he’s as excited as I am that you’ve come to our little corner of Scotland.”
She must’ve seen the panicked expression on Emma’s face, because Cait’s words picked up speed. “I know you’re on holiday, but we were hoping you would at least meet Mattie. Evaluate him.”
Emma clasped her hands in her lap. “I don’t know what to say.”
Cait stared her down, giving her this knowing look.
Bloody hell. Cait must know. Sure. She would’ve checked out Emma, her credentials, and her background. That meant that she knew about the series of papers Emma had written early in her graduate studies about children and effective therapeutic techniques.
Right now, Emma worked hard to keep a smile plastered on her face. She’d given up her interest in child psychology when her mother had pooh-poohed it. The expectation was for Emma to be a marriage therapist, end of story. She’d done what her mother expected. And look what it got her.
Cait’s eyebrows furrowed. “We wouldn’t expect you to do this for free, of course. We would pay you double the normal rate, as you would be doing us a favor.”
Emma formed her words carefully. “Did Claire also tell you I’m taking a break from counseling?” Like, a forever break. She glanced over at her sewing machine and the partially finished quilt. She’d gained a lot of confidence making blocks, but her confidence as a counselor was shot.
The door flew open, and Moira came in with a kid who had dark red hair.
Cait grinned at him. “Oh, there’s Mattie now.”
Yeah, like that wasn’t planned. She wondered if Gabriel knew about this, too.
Cait grabbed her hand. “Emma, please. I know I’ve put you on the spot, but just take a minute to meet him. Then give yourself a little time to get to know him. I can’t tell you how important it is to the whole town to get Mattie back to where he was—or at least a little closer.”
Deydie’s voice reverberated in Emma’s head. Ye’re one of us. If Emma really was considered to be part of Gandiegow, then she would have to at least meet the boy.
“All right,” she finally said. “But I can’t make any promises.”
Cait squeezed her hand and stood. “You’re a godsend.”
As Moira and the child walked over, Emma became more tightly wound. She was afraid she’d be like a spring and pop out of her seat and flee out the door. She wasn’t a therapist anymore. Why did these people keep putting her in these uncomfortable situations?
Cait hugged Mattie to her side and spoke to him. “This is Emma Castle.”
He nodded, not looking unhappy to meet her. He hesitated for a second, then stepped out of his mother’s arms and produced his hand for Emma to shake. Very grown-up for one so young.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mattie.” What else could she say to the child?
Cait pointed to the kitchen area. “How about you and Emma have a cookie while I get the next workshop going?”
Mattie regarded her closely, and Emma realized she’d have to watch herself with this one. Those big eyes of his caught everything.
“Yes, that would be nice.” When Emma rose, Mattie surprised her by putting his hand in hers and leading her away.
Okay, now what was she supposed to do? Research had proven that children were not little adults; children used completely different thought patterns. And what little she knew about trauma-induced mutism she could fit on an index card. They all acted like she had no choice but to step in and fix Mattie. Did his mother not know that Emma could do more harm than good? She would have to get Cait to sign an informed-consent waiver before she did anything.
They grabbed a cookie each and cups of cocoa, then sat at a small round table nearby. She didn’t get a chance to say a word to the boy because Deydie rushed over.
“Mattie, run up to the big house and let out that dog. I’ve been too busy to get back up there.”
He glanced at his cup of cocoa.
“Drink up,” the old woman said. “But hurry. If that dog poops on your grandda’s clean floor, I’ll take the broom to him. Now get going.”
Relief swept over Emma that she wouldn’t have to do this right now. She didn’t like being unprepared, let alone being put on the spot. She really needed time to process Cait’s request.
Deydie nudged her. “You go with him. I expect you back here later, though. Lots of work to do.” She looked none too happy about it. “Nothing wrong with the boy,” she muttered to herself.
Mattie looked over the edge of his mug for Emma’s reaction as he took a big gulp. She made sure to keep her attitude in check about the expectations being laid upon her. All the Gandiegow quilters were still watching her. The connivers. They wanted her to perform a miracle. And that just gave her one more thing to worry about.
The two of them grabbed their coats and stepped out into the cold. It wasn’t quite three thirty, but it was already getting dark. Some early Christmas decorations had been hung up by the businesses on the boardwalk while Emma was sewing up a storm today. The hours behind the sewing machine had kept her brain occupied, but now she couldn’t help but wonder what Gabriel had been up to. She hadn’t seen him at the restaurant this morning, either.
She gazed down at Mattie, feeling awkward as they ambled along in silence. She wasn’t sure what to do. Was it better to remain quiet or to make small talk? She would feel so much better once she had the chance to do a little research on his condition. They walked all the way to the end of town and then Mattie pointed to the path leading up behind the last cottage.
“Do you live up there?” she asked.
He nodded. That was the end of the short conversation. She followed him up the path to an honest-to-goodness mansion, a stone castle, really, which had been built close to some ruins. What a beautiful setting, she thought. . . . Until under the outside light of the back door, she saw a familiar man knocking.
Chapter Nine
Gabe k
nocked on the door and stood back, waiting. This was probably a dumb idea. If Deydie answered the door and gave him another earful, he wasn’t sure his residual headache would allow him to be polite. Ramsay had drunk him under the table last night. He knocked again.
He’d promised Mattie he would stop by and get him. He needed to keep that promise. He’d spent all day at the factory again, which hadn’t exactly occupied his mind as much as he’d hoped. He was sure that walking with Mattie would be just the thing to clear his head. Besides, he liked the kid.
The snow crunched behind him and he turned around. He couldn’t believe he’d made them both materialize.
Emma brushed back her hair and squared her shoulders, but she wasn’t fooling him. He clearly saw the relief spreading over her face at the sight of him. His chest expanded—confusing—but he was glad to see her, too. And he shouldn’t be.
“Hallo. What are you two up to?” Gabe asked.
Mattie tilted his head up to Emma.
She cleared her throat. “I walked Mattie home.”
“I see.” He gave her a quizzical look, but she didn’t explain further. By her uncomfortable behavior, she must’ve been wrangled into evaluating Mattie.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Gabe pointedly.
“Mattie and I have a sort of guy thing we’re supposed to do together,” he said.
“Well, I’d better leave you to it.” She looked ready to sprint down the bluff.
Mattie reached over and snatched her hand, stilling her.
“I don’t think ye’re allowed to leave,” Gabe said, smiling. “What do you say, Mattie—should we take her along?”
Mattie nodded but reached for the door handle. Gabe looked to Emma for an explanation.
“He’s supposed to take the dog out.” The words barely slipped from her mouth before the sheltie bolted from the house.
Meet Me in Scotland Page 13