Gabriel’s fingers halted. “I’m not playing handsies. I’m examining Emma’s ankle. She should’ve come by the surgery already.”
“It looks fine to me,” Deydie said, though the ankle was clearly black-and-blue.
Gabriel reached for the bandage and rewrapped Emma’s foot. “I’ll bring by some Epsom salts for your soak.”
“Ye most certainly will not.” Deydie put her hands on her wide hips. “It’s not proper for you to be at the dorm.”
“You forget you put me there when I first arrived. Besides, Emma is a grown woman,” Gabriel argued.
“And I’m right here,” Emma interjected. She turned on Deydie. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.”
Deydie jabbed a finger at him. “He has more than doctoring on his mind.”
“I promise I can handle it.” Emma turned on Gabriel, and she, too, saw his sly grin. “And you, Dr. MacGregor. I’ll get my own Epsom salts, thank you very much.”
He didn’t look deterred. She’d have to try another tactic. The massage was nice, but it was time to put him in his place. “You may go.”
Yes, her upper-crust dismissal did exactly what she’d intended it to do: ticked him off royally. His anger gave her something else to focus on besides how good his hands had felt on her leg. She could grow attached to a man with hands like that.
“I have things to do,” he said stiffly, like leaving was his idea and not hers.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She turned back to her machine and picked up two pieces of blue batik fabric. It took every scrap of her energy to not watch him as he stomped to the door. Or limp after him to apologize.
Claire broke away from Ailsa and Aileen and hurried over to her. “What was that all about?”
Deydie and her salty tongue beat Emma to it. “The doc was taking liberties.”
Claire burst into laughter. “Gabriel has been known to do that a time or two. But never with Emma.”
It stung. But it was true.
Deydie chewed on her lip. “Well, maybe me old eyes saw it all wrong.”
Now Emma wanted to correct them both. In fact, she wanted to shout it to the whole blooming room: Egghead Emma and the gorgeous doctor had shared two earth-shattering kisses.
But who was she kidding? They wouldn’t believe her.
“Back off, please. I need some space,” Emma said. “I’m trying to make a quilt here.”
She put the presser foot down and started sewing, ignoring them. What did they know, anyway?
She worked for the next several hours, keeping her hands busy with Gabriel’s quilt and forcing her thoughts to Mattie’s first session.
At 3:10 p.m., Cait brought Mattie to her.
“Hi, Mattie.” Emma shut off her machine. “Are you feeling better?”
He nodded. While she stacked up the blocks, he threw away the pile of extra threads she’d accumulated throughout the day. In a perfect world, she would’ve chosen his house on the bluff for their therapy sessions, because he would’ve been most relaxed there. But her dependency on the crutches wouldn’t allow it.
“Are you ready to head to the dorm?” Earlier, everything had been organized. Claire had set out a tray with snacks and Emma had laid out drawing materials—pencils, markers, finger paints, and paper.
As they made their way down the boardwalk, Mattie kept glancing over at her with a pinch between his eyebrows.
She stopped and gave him her full attention. “Are you worried about me falling again?”
He nodded.
“I promise I won’t.” She smoothed back his hair. “I’m pretty good on the crutches now.” Emma made a mental note to have Cait meet her at the dorm in the future—for Mattie’s sake.
At the quilting dorm, he held open the door for her and seemed relieved when she finally settled herself at the table.
“Grab a snack and get comfortable.” She poured them both a glass of milk. He fixed them each a plate with two cookies.
She plugged her smartphone into the speakers and started the classical music. His face scrunched up.
“Not your cup of tea?” she asked.
He shrugged.
“Eat up.” She found a pop station, and he looked happier. So far, so good. When they finished with their snacks, Emma got down to business.
“I know you’ve done a lot of play therapy with Dr. Geoffrey. I’ve got a new game. What do you think about making ourselves into superheroes?” She gave him a sheet of paper. “We have plenty of stuff to draw and paint with. Remember, with your superpowers, you can achieve anything. So in your drawing, Super Emma wants to see what you want to get out of therapy. I’ll do the same. When we’re finished, we can compare.”
Mattie pulled the paper in front of himself. Determinedly, he drew three smiling people: a man, a woman, and a child who wore a cape. The child had his mouth open as if he were speaking. The family stood at the edge of the ocean, a boat off in the distance.
Emma drew a stick figure of herself holding a boy’s hand. The boy had a smile on his face. In the background, she drew a lot of stick figures to represent all of Gandiegow around them, supporting them.
“Are you ready to trade?”
He gave her his picture, and she pushed her page toward him.
“Oh, Mattie, this is so good.” She was impressed how he was able to articulate through his drawing what he wanted. He wanted to be able to speak. “Take a look at mine, and then we’re going to make up stories about our superheroes on the page.”
He leaned over and examined her drawing.
“I’ve never been a good artist. But can you see that Super Emma only wants her patient to be a happy camper?”
He nodded.
She tapped his drawing. “Well, Super Mattie has already accomplished some great things with his powers. He already has a happy family. I’ve seen how your mum looks at you—as if you invented sunshine.”
He smiled at her like he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“Right.” It was too early to ask him about the boat in his drawing. But in future sessions they would come back to his picture to dig deeper and also use the drawing to gauge their progress.
“Are you ready to make up a story and have our superheroes solve all kinds of problems?”
His eyes twinkled.
“In a small town, not so very far away, there was a—”
The front door opened.
“Emma, are you here?” Gabriel hollered.
“We’re in the dining room.” She would’ve liked to have headed him off at the pass, but she didn’t even get her crutches in hand before he sauntered into the room.
“Don’t get up,” he said. “I brought your Epsom salts.” He looked about. “Hey, Mattie.” His expression changed as he took in the scene. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The boy jumped up and pulled him over to the table, shoving a clean sheet of paper in front of him.
“Oh no,” Gabriel said. “I’m here on doctoring business.” He held up the salts.
Mattie opened his mouth and a very soft and very breathy sound came out. “Stay.”
Emma was stunned, but she had to hand it to Gabriel—he didn’t make a fuss. He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Gabriel smiled at Mattie. “Emma would have to say it’s okay.” They both turned to her.
“First of all, we’re being superheroes, so it’s Super Emma. And I guess it would be all right.” Gabriel did, after all, have professional training. What else could she say? They’d ganged up on her, too.
Gabriel ruffled the boy’s hair. “Let me get Emma’s ankle soaking in some water. Then I’ll put you both to shame. I’m the world’s best finger painter.” He left the room.
“I bet he’s fibbing,” Emma said.
Mattie grinned and set up a
spot for Gabriel. It gave her a moment to wonder what it was about Gabriel that put Mattie at ease, comfortable enough to speak. Was it because he reminded him of his father, who had passed away? Or perhaps his grandfather?
The doctor returned with a pan of water and set it at her feet. He squatted down and undressed her ankle, as gently as if she were a hummingbird. He placed her foot into the warm bath salts.
“There.” He sat beside Mattie, directly across from her. “Now what should I draw?”
“You have to show us what superpower you’d have.”
“Ah, that’s easy. Prepare yourself to be amazed.”
He poured the three primary colors onto the page and swirled them around with his fingers until he had a brown mess. “Ta-da. What’d I tell you? My superpower is that I’m an amazing artist!” He grinned at her, then at Mattie, waiting for his reaction.
Mattie’s shoulders shook with silent giggles. It was so infectious that Emma giggled, too.
Gabriel held the page up, the paint running down it. “I tell you, it’s good enough to hang in a museum.”
Mattie shoved his new completed picture in front of Gabriel. It was a decent enough interpretation of the house next door. He’d spelled out DUNCAN’S DEN on the bottom. Mattie’s old house.
That sobered things up.
Gabriel looked from the picture to the boy. “That’s really good, Mattie. You did a fine job.”
The boy beamed.
Emma wiped her hands and looked at her phone for the time. She’d told Cait they’d be done at four. “We should clean up.”
Gabriel took her hand. “You’re soaking. Mattie and I have this.” He dropped it but his painted handprint, his mark, remained behind on her.
She gazed down at her hand, a little mesmerized, but snapped out of it quickly enough.
“All right. But you two had better do a good job. I don’t want Deydie to yell at me if you don’t.”
Mattie nodded with understanding.
Just as the boys finished tidying up, Cait arrived with Dingus on a leash. The dog immediately jumped up on Mattie.
“Can you take him outside?” she said to the boy.
Mattie wiggled into his coat and grabbed the leash from her.
“Thanks, kiddo,” she said, as the dog ran out the door, pulling Mattie. “How did it go?”
Emma sat back in her chair. “He said the word stay.”
Cait smiled at her warmly. “I knew you’d be good for him.”
“Gabriel was the one who got him to talk. Mattie said the word to him.”
“It was a team effort,” Gabriel corrected.
“Well, I’m thrilled. Graham—his grandda—will be, too.” Cait pulled them both into a hug, Emma sitting in her chair, Gabriel hovering above her. “Monday after school, then?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “Monday.”
“I’d better go see where those two ran off to.” Cait pulled her gloves back on and walked down the hallway, leaving Emma and Gabriel alone.
* * *
Dominic sat at the small desk and entered the last several days of receipts—all of them from Claire’s shift, of course, none from his own. He had made his way up to the flat as soon as he saw Claire go into Quilting Central. He needed time with the restaurant’s books—alone—and had waited until the coast was clear.
When he was done, he turned to stare out at the sea through the frosted window. Despite the treatment he’d received from the townsfolk, there were so many advantages to living in Gandiegow. For one, he liked living close to the ocean—the vastness and continuity of it calmed him. It was proof, right outside his door, that God existed. Secondly, Gandiegow’s smallness gave him the chance to really get to know his customers. And he loved living where people understood and appreciated being close to the source of their food. Buying fresh fish from the fishermen’s boats had only been a pipe dream when he worked in the big city. But here the fishermen would sometimes even bring in their catch for Dom to cook and serve up right away for them and their families.
At least when he’d had customers.
With a sigh Dom checked their balance one more time. He had just enough to pay the farmer for the special order he’d committed to weeks ago, something he had hoped would kick off the first in a long line of self-sustaining ventures for the restaurant. He should really cancel the order, but the local farmers were struggling, and Dom understood firsthand what one canceled order could mean: life or death to a small business.
So, it was time to pick up the weaned piglet that awaited him. Dom planned to use kitchen scraps from the restaurant to feed him, and outside the restaurant he’d readied a lean-to near the dryer vent, which would keep the little porker warm. He had imagined taking the pig to the school as a way to teach children about animal husbandry, and then, when the time came, he would serve fresh pork to his customers.
Claire crossed his mind for the hundredth time that day. He’d wanted to surprise her with his latest idea, but that was before everything went to crap between them. In times past, she’d always understood his passion about food; shoot, she’d shared that passion. Her support always meant so much to him. But this was something he’d have to do alone.
He checked his watch. Time to go. He grabbed the checkbook and his coat. He would be back in no time at all. With his pig.
* * *
Emma took her foot out of the pan and watched as Gabriel opened his mouth. She put up her hand. “Not a word, Dr. MacGregor. The water is cooling off.”
She wanted to quiz him on where he’d been the past few days and ask him if he’d ditched her on purpose. But she couldn’t; he’d think she’d missed him. Missed his face. His smile. And how comfortable he made her feel.
Gabriel grabbed a towel and wrapped her foot in it gently. “I’ll dump this out. Let’s soak it again in another hour.”
“You said three times a day,” she complained.
“We’re making up for lost time.” He gave her a comical frown. “Castle, you make a horrible patient.”
“I do not.” But he was halfway out of the room with the pan of water by then.
She rearranged the art supplies, keeping herself busy, trying not to wonder what would happen next. Would Gabriel stay or would he go?
He came back in. “Well?”
“Well.” What could she say? Please don’t leave. Keep me company.
He sat down at the table across from her and appeared ready to speak. But in that moment, the front door to the dorm opened. He jumped to his feet, as if they had been caught in the act, and went to stand in the doorway to the kitchen.
“Miz Castle, are you here?”
“In the dining room,” Emma called out loud enough for the woman to hear down the hall.
Two women came in, one twenty, the other in her forties. They looked so much alike that they had to be related.
“Miz Castle, I’m Annie and this is my daughter, Sophie.” Annie had worry lines between her eyebrows, while Sophie’s face was a mixture of listlessness and discomfort. “I’ve come to see what you can do for Sophie.”
Gabriel looked from one woman to the other, frowning. Emma understood. Shouldn’t the doctor be the first person to turn to for help?
Annie was no dummy and nodded toward Gabriel. “No disrespect to the doc. It’s not a body problem, ye see. Sophie just isn’t herself.”
The young woman looked even more uncomfortable but didn’t object.
“Sophie,” Emma said, “may I ask what’s bothering you?”
Sophie shrugged and turned away.
“Maybe I should leave,” Gabriel said.
“No, stay,” Emma said. “We may need your expertise, as well.” There. That should appease him and help establish his bona fides.
“Aye,” said Annie. “We need all the help we can get. Me and her father don’t know what to
do. Sophie is usually so cheerful. But then when the days get short . . .” She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “I don’t know what it is. But like clockwork, it seems, when the cold and snow hit, she gets the terrible blues. She’s got no energy and all she wants to do is sleep.”
Pretty cut-and-dried; Emma saw Gabriel’s comprehension, as well, but he nodded as if to defer to her. The expert.
“I believe it’s SAD,” Emma said.
Annie frowned at her like she was a little off her rocker. “Aye, ’tis sad.”
“Sorry. I meant seasonal affective disorder.”
“I don’t understand.”
Emma explained. “It’s a type of depression that occurs at the same time every year, most frequently the winter, probably due to a lack of sunlight. We can help her with bright-light therapy.” She looked up at Gabriel.
“I can order a lamp for her. She might also benefit from a course of melatonin, but I’d have to evaluate her first.”
“Thank you, Dr. MacGregor,” Emma said, setting the precedent.
“Aye, thank you, Doc.” Annie made a kind of curtsy to Gabriel, but then took Emma’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, too, Miz Castle.”
“Please call me Emma.”
They talked for a few minutes, setting a time for Sophie to meet with her.
At last the woman said goodbye and took her daughter’s arm, heading them down the hallway. After the front door shut, quiet ensued for a long moment.
Gabriel leaned against the doorframe. “I think maybe I should make an appointment with you, too.”
“What are you talking about? She was just looking for a little advice.”
He pushed himself away from the frame and walked toward her.
Unwittingly, she held her breath.
“It’s like this.” He squatted down by her foot again. “I’ve been here more than three months and have done everything I can to ingratiate myself with these people.” He picked up her leg and massaged her calf once again, making it hard for her to concentrate.
She closed her eyes. “Your hands have definitely ingratiated themselves with me.”
He continued on. “What magic do you hold, Emma Castle, that everyone here loves you instantly?”
Meet Me in Scotland Page 20