“Are you sure?” Amy said.
“Yes.”
“You’ll have to support his head like this.” Amy demonstrated how to cup his head to keep it from lolling.
Dom carefully took the child into his arms and held him close, looking down upon the wailing face. “You’re not such a tough guy.”
The baby stopped crying instantly and stared up at Dom like he was trying to bring him into focus.
“You need to learn that tough guys have respect for their madres. You love your mamma, don’t you, little guy?”
The baby just stared at him.
“I thought so.”
“That’s amazing,” Amy said breathlessly, in case her words might break the spell and make the babe scream again.
“Ye’ve got a gift, Dominic Russo,” Moira said.
He didn’t know what all the fuss was about. This baby stuff didn’t seem too hard. He just had to show him who was in charge. “Amy, I’ve got him if you want to get out for a while.” Dom took the child over to the rocking chair. “I think the two of us have come to an understanding.”
“I would like to go to the store and see how Dougal is doing. Maybe pick up the receipts so I can work on the books?” Amy looked questioningly at Moira.
“I’ll stay, too, in case his nappy needs changing.”
“Are you sure?” Amy said again.
“Go on now.”
“I’ll take my mobile. Do you promise, Moira, to call if he needs me?” Amy said.
“Bundle up,” Moira said firmly. “We don’t want you to catch a chill.”
“I won’t be gone long. I promise.” Amy grabbed her coat, kissed the baby’s head, and looked worried as hell, but finally went out the door.
“Tea?” Moira asked.
“We’re good.” He looked down at baby William, who had drifted off to sleep.
Moira busied herself around the cabin. She stripped the bed and started the sheets in the washer under the counter. She worked quietly and efficiently, just like she did for them at the restaurant. What a nice, helpful woman. He wondered why she wasn’t married yet. It probably had to do with her shyness.
Amy returned in short order, with color restored to her cheeks. The walk to and from the store had done her good. “Is he asleep?” she asked.
Moira finished with the bed, pulling the comforter over a clean pair of sheets. “Yes.” She turned to Dom. “Can you try to put the babe in the cradle without waking him?”
“No problem.” He rose steadily and confidently laid the little one down. William didn’t rouse.
Moira picked up her parka and handed Dominic his coat.
“Promise to call if you need anything,” Moira said.
“Sure.” Amy smiled that bright smile she’d had when Dom had first met her. “But, Dom, I’m putting you on speed dial.”
“He’s a fine boy,” Dom said, not knowing what else to say as he and Moira left. They walked back through town, Dom pulling the rope handle of the wagon behind him.
Suddenly Mrs. Bruce hailed him. “Oh, Dominic? Can you come in for a moment? I need help with my boy, too.”
“What the . . .” Dom said.
“Amy told me what you did for her screaming bairn. Guthrie’s colicky, too, though not as bad as the MacTavish baby.”
“How did—”
“News travels fast in Gandiegow,” Moira said quietly. She touched his arm. “I think you should help. Ye’ve got a gift.”
“So you say.”
“Will you?” Mrs. Bruce held the door wider, and the baby’s cries made Dom’s ears ring. “I’m about to lose my mind.”
“Sure.” What the hell? And he laughed. With the restaurant in the shitter, he was due for a career change, anyway.
From Italian chef to baby whisperer.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma didn’t understand why Gabriel insisted he follow her home from Inverness to Gandiegow. She’d finished dinner with an espresso, after all, and was perfectly fine to drive. She’d only yawned a few times during their meal. She gazed in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time in the past hour, and there he was—her guardian angel, Gabriel. Even though it irritated her, she had to admit it was comforting to know he was there, in case her car slid off the slippery roads.
Her thoughts drifted to the cabin they’d shared on her first night in Scotland. Oh, how things would go differently between them now. Now that she knew he was a bloody good kisser. For a moment, she allowed her fantasies free rein, but then stopped herself. Yes, they had chemistry between them. But she was a civilized woman and didn’t have to act on her baser desires. She forced him from her mind. Or at least she tried.
But for the rest of the trip back, she couldn’t help but replay the comfortable dinner they’d shared tonight. They seemed to always call a truce when sitting across the table from each other. There had to be a psychological reason why food brought them together. Was it because of their two best friends and the food that Dominic and Claire had fed them over the years? It was something to consider. She’d love to discuss it with someone—someone like Gabriel.
When they finally made it back to the village, it was late. Gabriel hopped out of his auto and was at her car door before she had time to grab her crutches from the passenger’s seat.
“Do you want me to carry you to the quilting dorm?” he asked.
“Of course not.” But her underarms ached and it wouldn’t have been awful to be in his strong arms again. “A woman has her pride, you know.”
“Sure. But my father would say, pride cometh before a fall.”
“Too late.” She lifted her bad ankle. “Already did that.”
“Aye.” He kept a slow pace beside her as she hobbled along on her crutches. “I’m just glad we’re finally on the same page, the same side now.”
“What?”
“You know, the Russos. That we’re both rooting for Claire to get herself a baby.”
Emma thought about Gabriel putting himself between Dominic and the townsfolk, protecting his foster brother. Since Gabriel had Dominic’s back, surely it wouldn’t hurt for him to know about the ledgers. “About that.” She hesitated.
He stopped. “What?”
She came to a stop, too, leaning on her crutches. “The restaurant is in serious trouble, Gabriel. I saw the books. I’m no longer on Claire’s side. She has it all wrong. They can’t bring a baby into the world when their finances are so precarious.”
His eyes turned dark under the streetlamp. “Money be damned—they need this baby. A baby will glue those two together. Forever.”
She shivered. “Having a baby is no way to fix a marriage.” It was stupid to think it could.
“A baby is a blessing, and part of its job is to keep people together. The cold weather has clearly addled your brain. Let’s get you to the quilting dorm.” He started walking.
She caught up to him, maybe wielding her crutches a little too quickly on the snow and ice. He turned and reached out and steadied her from slipping again. But she wouldn’t thank him.
“Have you seen the latest divorce rates? Through the roof.” Her pitch sounded shrill to her ears, but she didn’t care. “Your logic is flawed. Bringing a child into a broken marriage isn’t good for anyone.”
He glared at her. “Dominic and Claire’s marriage is not broken.” Pain crossed Gabriel’s face like he had a stake in the Russos’ happiness. “Married couples have disagreements. They will work this out.”
They were outside the quilting dorm by now. “I think you’re wrong. Claire is being selfish, and Dominic is being sensible.”
“No, ye’re wrong. Ye know nothing about it.” His brogue seemed to have thickened. He looked like he wanted to shake her. Or maybe kiss her. Or maybe both. He opened the door for her instead. “Good night.”
“You�
��re being unreasonable.” She maneuvered herself inside. “Just like Claire.”
“And you wouldn’t know true love if it smacked you in the face.” With that he closed the door and wouldn’t let her get in the last word.
“Like you would,” she said to the empty entryway. “Jackass.”
She huffed off to get ready for bed. Their nice evening had been flushed down the toilet along with the little truce they’d had over their meal. So much for good food and good company.
She didn’t sleep well at all; she blamed the espresso. The next morning, she headed off to see Claire at the restaurant. She couldn’t help out with customers, but she could be there for moral support. She felt a little guilty for saying out loud that Claire was selfish, but she had no other explanation for why her best friend couldn’t see the cold, hard truth.
The breakfast crowd was thick and buzzing. Claire didn’t seem to be enjoying the extra sales of her scones or the nice things that the customers were saying.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked as Claire filled her coffee.
“I’m tired. Tired of everything.”
“Can we spend some time together today?” Emma asked. “I’ve missed you.”
“I promised to help out at Quilting Central. What about you?”
“Yes, I have the Gandiegow Doctor quilt to do.” Emma’s heart wasn’t in it. She wondered if she’d see Gabriel today, too. And if they would argue again. “I’m also going to try to meet with Mattie.”
“You’re seeing patients in Gandiegow now?” Claire asked.
“It’s a favor. Just an evaluation.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Between talking with Mattie’s old therapist and the research she’d done, she had a pretty good idea which direction to go with the boy.
But the meeting didn’t happen. Mattie had caught a cold, and Cait declared him housebound until he was better.
Instead of seeing Mattie, Emma sat behind her sewing machine all afternoon, wondering if Gabriel was ignoring her. Shouldn’t he check up on her injured ankle? But what she really hated was that she missed him. And that working on his damned quilt was making her a better and better quilter—that really annoyed her, too. Her skill was showing now in every stitch. And for what? A pigheaded doctor who didn’t care one fig about her. Pride wouldn’t let her screw up his quilt, though he didn’t deserve her effort. Even Deydie was impressed with her quality of work.
After she finished for the day at Quilting Central, she holed up at the dorm, working out a treatment plan for Mattie, preparing for when they did have their sessions together.
One day turned into two. In the morning she sat at the restaurant with Claire during the breakfast rush. Then in the afternoon she worked on the quilt. Then two days turned into three. Every evening, Emma and Claire dined at a different house by invitation, staying away from Dominic and the restaurant. Emma was getting more and more worried. Claire didn’t want to talk about it, and Emma could only watch as her best friend’s spirits sank.
Maybe Gabriel had it right. Maybe true love had to be saved at all costs. In her whole life, Emma had met only one couple she could say had the telltale marks of true love—and that was Claire and Dominic.
For the first time in her life, an empty place resided inside of her. Not the loneliness of her childhood growing up without loving, attentive parents. She’d come to terms with that long ago. This was new, different. It felt more like a hole had been chiseled in her chest, more specifically, right in the middle of her heart.
She sighed. For just this one moment, she would admit the truth. She wanted true love, too.
* * *
At the restaurant, Gabe unloaded the box onto the counter.
“What’s all that?” Dominic asked, coming from the kitchen into the dining area. He carried a tray with a stack of clean napkins and silverware to roll.
“Christmas decorations.” Gabe had found the box in the attic. Doc Fleming had left him a plethora of holiday decorations. “I thought we could spruce up the restaurant. Maybe that will bring in the business.”
Dominic picked up a stack of receipts. “Breakfast is going well.” His sarcasm was as thick as cranberry sauce.
“We just have to get back the lunch and dinner regulars.”
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” Dom sat at the counter and prepared the silverware.
In the center of each table Gabe set a miniature wreath, and in the center of the wreath he set a votive. At a smirk from Dom, he said, “You know how much I like the holidays.”
“Martha Stewart.”
“Grinch,” Gabe countered back. Unconsciously he glanced around, looking for Emma on her crutches. Crap, he’d done it again. Even though he’d managed to stay away from Emma for the past few days, she was always on his mind. It wasn’t easy avoiding her in such a small town. Lucky for him, he had the restaurant to hide out in, at least during lunch and dinner. The rest of the time, Gabe spent on the Armstrong brothers’ boat, helping repair their engine. Oh, and of course, he’d stayed busy at the office. Not.
A twinge of guilt hit him. He should have been checking Emma’s ankle. But being near her drove him nuts. Still, he had a responsibility.
Dom ambled off into the kitchen and came back a while later with a large sack that he dropped next to Gabe. “You might as well deliver these to the fishermen at the dock while you’re there. No sense in food going to waste.”
Gabe finished decorating the last table, put on his coat, and grabbed the sack of sandwiches. “I’ll see you back here for dinner.”
“Sure,” Dom said. “It’ll be just you and me again.”
Gabe would see about that. When he got to the dock, he stopped by every tied-up vessel and handed out food. “Compliments of Dominic Russo.” None of them turned down the sandwiches, which Gabe thought was encouraging.
When he climbed aboard the Armstrongs’ boat, he found only Ramsay there. “Where are the other two?” Gabe asked.
“John slipped home to see his wife, Maggie.” Ramsay waggled his eyebrows. “Ross ran up to the North Sea Valve Company to help the McDonnell. Ye’re stuck with me.”
“Here.” Gabe tossed him a sandwich. “Last one. Now hand me that wrench and we’ll see if we can’t get this engine running.”
Ramsay handed him the tool before tearing open the paper to get to the food. He took a bite. “Aw, hell, this is good.”
“Enjoy it now. The restaurant won’t be here long.” Gabe undid one of the bolts and then the next.
“What do you mean?” Ramsay said around another bite.
“I mean Dominic will have to shut down, since he doesn’t have enough customers.” Gabe looked up at him pointedly. “Lunch and dinner pay the bills.”
Ramsay put his hands up. “Don’t blame me. My sister-in-law said she’d skin us alive if we went in there for anything other than breakfast.”
“What did Dominic ever do to all of you?” Gabe knew what he himself had done to them—he’d had the audacity to take their beloved doc’s place. But Dominic? He’d done nothing more than feed them well.
“Maggie said that Olive said that Rosemary told her that Dominic had disrespected the women of Gandiegow.”
“Horseshit,” Gabe said. “That can’t be true.”
“Try telling that to Maggie.”
Gabe frowned. “Oh, I see how it is here in Gandiegow. The women tell the men what to do?”
“Nay.” Ramsay’s face turned red.
Gabe went on. “I can see why John might want to do as his wife bids, because he shares a warm bed with Maggie, but I’m not sure why you and Ross would follow her orders.” Gabe paused for effect. “I know for a fact that in the rest of Scotland, single men do as they damn well please.” He knew he wasn’t playing fair, but hell, the women of Gandiegow hadn’t played fair with Dominic, either.
Gabe shrugged and went b
ack to the engine, but caught the expression on Ramsay’s face as he angrily tore off another bite of sandwich.
Good. Maybe the restaurant wasn’t sunk after all.
* * *
The next day, just as Emma got settled behind her sewing machine with her crutches balanced against the chair next to hers, Gabriel sauntered in like the king of Quilting Central. He didn’t look right or left but came directly to her and moved her crutches, taking the seat beside her. Without saying a word, he turned her chair to face him and carefully lifted her leg, resting it on his thigh. If she so much as shifted her bad foot, she could’ve caressed his crotch with the wiggle of her toes.
She brought her eyes up to meet him. “What are you doing, Gabriel?” Her voice sounded frantic to her ears, though she tried to keep herself together. Hard to do when Dr. Handsome was fondling her leg.
He slipped off her thick wool sock. “Doing my job. Checking up on my patient.”
She mustered up some sarcasm. “The saintly country doctor, eh?” He undid the clasps of the Ace bandage and began unwrapping. She tried to look indifferent, but there was just something titillating about having her foot in his lap.
“Have you been applying heat?” His burr felt as warm as her thick wool sock.
“No.” But she sure felt bloody hot all over right now. He’d be blind not to see her fiery blush.
“You should.”
She felt lightheaded. “I should what?”
“Apply heat. Three times a day.” He ran his hand gently across her ankle, then farther up, his hands doing a slow rub on her calf.
She couldn’t help herself; she closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re good at this.” It didn’t matter that his hands had practiced this particular skill on hundreds of women, maybe thousands. He’d perfected the hell out of it.
“I’m just trying to increase the circulation in your foot to speed up the recovery.”
“Don’t stop.” It felt like he was seducing her, and it was working.
There was a loud harrumph over Emma’s left shoulder.
“Stop playing handsies with her foot,” Deydie commanded.
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