“All right.” He followed her into her room and helped her settle into the double bed, pulling the covers over her.
“Good night,” she said as he stood by the light switch.
He turned it off and she heard him go back in the bathroom. A few minutes later, she heard him come back in her room and climb into the bed directly across from hers.
“I meant there are plenty of beds in the other bedrooms.”
“I don’t like to sleep alone?” he offered.
“So I’ve heard,” she said, wrapping the covers more tightly around herself.
How in bloody hell am I supposed to get any sleep tonight with the sexiest man in Scotland not six feet away? All toasty in his bed . . . in matching pajama bottoms. Oh, gads!
She almost wished she was the type of woman who would have the nerve to crawl into his bed with him and take a trip around the world for the heck of it. But she wasn’t. Egghead Emma was much too smart to do something as stupid as that.
* * *
Gabriel came so close to turning her own words back on her. She had more of a reputation than he did when it came to not sleeping alone. At least he had to have some sort of connection with the women he’d slept with. Dominic made it sound like Emma was just out to do as many men as possible. Gabe still had a hard time believing it, especially after getting to know her better since she’d arrived here in Gandiegow.
He rolled onto his side, watching her from across the room, using the moonlight to make out her features. He’d done so well avoiding her the past several days. Yet here he was, only a couple of feet away from her now.
“You know,” he said, thinking to tease her, “maybe we should switch. This bed is too small for me.”
“Not on your life,” she said.
“Then what about making room for me over there?” He shouldn’t have said it, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Sorry. I have restless legs syndrome,” she quipped. “I’d keep you awake all night long,”
He groaned. Oh, God. He imagined all sorts of ways in which she’d keep him awake all night and RLS wasn’t one of them. Maybe her legs wrapped around him? Oh no. He grabbed his blanket and got out of bed.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I can’t take the heat, so I’m getting out of the kitchen,” he muttered.
“Huh?”
“I’m going to another bedroom to sleep.” He only made it a few steps.
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “I don’t like sleeping alone, either.”
Oh, hell. “Okay. I’ll stay for a while.” He sat at the bottom of her bed and pulled the cover from the lower part of her bad leg.
“What are you doing?”
“Shhh.” He carefully located her calf and began massaging it.
“You know,” she said softly, “you could always become a masseur if this doctoring thing doesn’t work out.”
He chuckled. “Thanks.”
For a moment, he allowed himself the fantasy of letting his hands roam higher. Maybe even crawling in beside her, kissing her, loving her until dawn. He’d have to be careful not to hurt her ankle. He’d be tender. Attentive. Anything to hear her moaning with satisfaction.
No.
He shook his head. He wouldn’t take advantage of her. He’d already done too much conniving. He’d insinuated himself into her bedroom. He was even rubbing her calf with not so honorable intentions.
He pulled the cover back over her foot.
“Don’t quit,” she pleaded.
“We both need our sleep.” Not that he’d be getting any with this hard-on. “Good night, Emma.” He picked up his quilt and went to the bedroom next door, leaving the doors open between them.
After he crawled in bed, he laid his hand on the wall, the wall they shared. “Call out if you need me.”
“I’ll be fine,” she answered back.
Gabe closed his eyes, but it didn’t do any good. He still saw her. Once again, he wondered: When would Emma be leaving his corner of Scotland?
He must’ve drifted off somewhere amid his thoughts, because he came awake with a start at the sound of a cry. He jumped out of bed, got tangled in the bedcovers, and stumbled. He ran into her room.
“Help!” she cried, thrashing about. “I’m drowning.”
He leaned over and shook her shoulders. “Emma, wake up.”
“Stop! Help!” she gasped.
He gathered her into his arms. “Wake up, luv. ’Tis only a dream.”
She came awake, her eyes wide in the moonlight. He stroked her hair down the length of her back, and she relaxed into him.
He kissed her temple and held her close. “What was that all about?” he whispered.
“Bad dream. My parents were in a speedboat,” she said breathlessly. “It was so real. I was tied to the boat like a skier, except I had no skis.”
“Oh, Emma,” he said.
“They drove the boat too fast and I couldn’t keep my head above the water. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t get them to stop.” A sob slipped out and she tried to stifle it.
“Shhh. It’s okay now. No boat. No water. It’s just you and me. Now scooch over.” He slid into the bed and pulled them under the covers until they were lying down. He tucked her in the crook of his arm with her head lying on his shoulder. “The bad dream is over. I’m here now.”
“It was so real. They weren’t paying any attention to me, even though they were the ones who’d tied me there. It didn’t make any sense.”
“I know, luv.” He caressed her arm. “Nightmares seldom do.”
She cuddled closer. “I know dreams can be the subconscious’ way of working out our problems.”
Is that why I keep dreaming of you in my arms, night after night?
“Do you think it was the phone call from earlier?” he offered.
“Probably.”
He rubbed circles onto her arm now. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes.” She paused for a second. “I don’t know.”
“What did they say? In the phone call, I mean.”
“They want me to fly to New York tomorrow for a TV appearance.” She sounded as meek as a mouse, which wasn’t like her. “They want me to apologize on camera for what I did.”
“No!” Gabe saw red. How dare they? He kissed the hair on her head fiercely. “I hope you told them where they could put that idea.”
“They’re my parents,” she said. “I’ve never told them no.”
He turned his head so he could see her better. “It’s just, ye’re a grown woman with a life of your own.”
“But they have a point. I hurt their brand. I owe it to them to fix things.”
“What do you want to do?” he asked.
“I’m still figuring that out.” She was quiet for a long moment.
“May I give you my opinion?”
She gave a small laugh. “It’s not like you to ask my permission.”
“I think you’re a talented therapist, Emma.” Pride swelled within him. “I’ve seen how you’ve handled Mattie and Sophie. You have the potential to help a great many people. The problem is that you’ve hidden your talents away. For some dumb reason, you think your parents are more important than you are. They aren’t. Just because they make the most noise and shine their light so annoyingly bright doesn’t mean that what you have to give the world is any less important. In my opinion, ye’re worth a million Eleanor Hamiltons and Dean Castles.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Yere parents shouldn’t be asking ye to serve their needs. No longer, is what I say. They can take care of themselves.”
She patted his chest. “You’re a good man, Gabriel.”
Her hand stilled. It was as though they simultaneously realized they were snuggled together like two turtledoves. The air became e
lectrically charged everywhere their skin touched. She turned toward him, sliding her hand up to his face, shifting her body, coming closer to his mouth. “Thank you,” she murmured. Then she kissed him.
The kiss wasn’t the inferno of perfect chemistry as before; it was so much more. Tender, sweet. Utterly consuming. It captivated him—hell, she captivated him like no other. He held back and let her lead; it wouldn’t be honorable if he seduced her after her bad dream. But that was exactly what she was doing to him.
She deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and shifted until she was on top of him—careful of her ankle, he noticed. She fit him absolutely perfectly in every way. His body molded to hers; her body molded to his. He thought he would die from restraint. He wanted nothing more than to roll her over and make love to her.
Just this once, he could let go and forget his convictions. Tomorrow he could go back to being a better man . . .
“No, Emma.” He pulled away, gasping for air. “We should stop.”
She laid her forehead on his, her breathing shallow, too, as if they’d both climbed a Highland mountain. “I know.” She rolled away from him.
Instantly he felt cold, but it was good. It cleared his head. If he’d let things continue down the path they’d been going, he would’ve been taking advantage of her and he would’ve let himself down in the process. He wanted to make love to her—but not at the risk of everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. His new life, his newfound principles. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.
She touched his arm. “Gabriel?”
He twisted toward her, expecting her to thank him again. “Yes?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
* * *
For the hundredth time, Claire glanced at Emma’s note lying on the cash register. It might as well have been a neon sign pointing to the neglect of her best friend.
Gone to New York to see my parents.
The note made Claire’s stomach ache—more guilt piled on the massive heap she’d already accumulated. The only reason Emma had come to Gandiegow in the first place was to get comfort from her best friend. Poor Emma. Claire had done nothing but dump her own problems on top of Emma’s mess of a life. Claire had let her down, plain and simple. She should be with her when she saw her parents, support her. But that was impossible. Even if she had the money for airfare, Emma wasn’t answering her phone or replying to her texts. Claire had no idea where she was in New York, how long she was going to be there, and if she was ever coming back to Gandiegow. What was Claire going to do?
Loneliness enveloped her. Which was crazy, since most of Gandiegow had paraded in and out of the restaurant all morning. The last of the customers were still sitting at the counter. Claire couldn’t wait to close up. But what would she do then? Hanging out at Quilting Central had become unbearable since she’d told the lie about Dominic. She certainly couldn’t stay here—Dominic would come in soon for the lunch shift. She missed him. But she couldn’t bear it if another one of the village mothers brought her child here for her husband to calm. She was still reeling from seeing him yesterday evening with a bairn tucked into his shoulder like it belonged there.
Her heart ached for him, for their life, and for their love. It had all come so easily up until now.
Finally the McDonnell and Mr. Sinclair paid for their coffee and scones and left, leaving Claire all alone. She went into the kitchen and ran the water in the sink. From behind her, she heard the swinging doors to the kitchen swoosh open. She turned around and Dominic was standing there with his damned piglet in his arms. Jealousy overtook her. And for a piglet, no less!
Dominic nodded toward her without anger, without yearning, like they were two acquaintances. She wondered at what point she’d lost the ability to make her husband ache for her. He tucked the pig into the box in the corner. Yet another baby he’s put to sleep.
“I thought you were going to keep the pig in the lean-to out back,” she said.
Dominic shook his head. “I saw the weather forecast. Porco stayed with me at Gabe’s last night.”
“What does Gabriel think of the pig staying above the surgery?” It was better to speak of the pig than to pine over how ruggedly handsome her husband looked this morning as he donned his crisp white apron. Or to think about how he should’ve been home last night in bed, beside her.
Dominic turned to her, looking determined. “Claire, I have something to say.”
Her heart leapt. He was finally going to end this feud between them.
“It’s about Gabriel and Emma.”
Her hopes plummeted and her gaze dropped to the floor, lest he see her hurt. She screwed a frown on her face and lifted her head. “What about them?” She sounded bitter, but there was nothing she could do about it.
“I think Gabe is getting attached to Emma.”
“What? No. Ye’re crazy. Gabe has never liked Emma. Think back to all the times he wouldn’t come over if he knew she was to be there.”
“Something is happening between them. And I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to ruin it for him.”
She felt like he’d taken the paring knife to her heart. Did he think so little of her? “Why would I do anything to ruin it?”
Dominic leaned against the cutting counter, looking gorgeous but serious. “I know how fond you are of Gabe. But I’m worried about you exacting revenge on him because he convinced some of the fishermen to return to the restaurant for lunch and dinner.”
“I would never exact revenge on Gabriel.” She was glad the fishermen were eating Dominic’s food, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Her husband, though, gave her a hard stare, as if he didn’t believe it.
Claire huffed. “Well, I know for a fact that Emma thinks more of the mud on the bottom of her shoes than she does of Gabriel.”
“I believe you have it wrong. Have you not seen what passes between them? I’m just asking you to stay out of it, is all. Let nature take its course. Gabe deserves to be happy.” He stared at her for a long moment.
“Go ahead and say it, Dominic. At least one of ye men deserves to be.” She grabbed her coat off the hook, trying not to cry in front of him, and practically ran from the building.
At one time and not so long ago, she and Dominic had been the perfect couple—always in sync, always in tune with each other, always passionately in love. Their relationship now felt like a war zone. How had it come to this? She knew their finances were crap, but it didn’t take much to live here in Gandiegow and raise a babe. The tears ran down her face and she tried to wipe them away before anyone passing saw her misery. What if she never got Dominic back? What if she’d ruined it?
In another minute Claire found herself in front of the kirk. She stepped inside, intending to light a candle for their relationship, but Father Andrew was there, winding garland around the candles.
“How are ye today?” Father Andrew asked.
“Fine,” Claire answered automatically. “Do you need a hand?”
“Aye. I didn’t know this was a two-person project until I started.”
She grabbed the other end of the garland and wound it through the candles on her end while he did the same from his side. The church was quiet, solemn, perfect for Claire to reflect on her sins. She had the sudden urge to confess everything, especially throwing Dominic under the proverbial bus for the villagers to run over. She opened her mouth to say something when the door rushed open. Moira dusted the snow off her jacket and stomped her feet.
Father Andrew smiled. “I’m glad you could make it. Are the rest coming?”
Moira nodded just as the door opened again. Deydie, Bethia, Rhona, Claire’s second cousin Freda, and what felt like the whole damned town flooded in. Why were they here? This isn’t Sunday.
The women took off their coats, and Deydie took charge. “Okay, ladi
es, let’s get to polishing those pews. Ailsa and Aileen, I want you to work on the floors. Make them sparkle, dammit.”
Father Andrew shook his head. But everyone accepted that Deydie would always be Deydie. Not even God would take on the task of changing her.
Father Andrew turned back to Claire and explained. “The town cleans God’s house once a month.” He beamed at all of them.
Bethia nodded to Claire. “Many hands make light work.”
Claire finished with the garland. She had every intention of sneaking out the front until Deydie snatched her arm and shoved a dust rag in her hand.
“Ye get to work on the altar. Make it shine, lass.”
Claire took the rag and went down the aisle, her sins feeling larger and heavier than ever.
* * *
Emma woke up in her hotel in New York and struggled into the outfit her mother wanted her to wear. As soon as she was dressed, she and her crutches were whisked away in a limo to the television studio. In her hand she held the itinerary her parents had sent her, the script she was to memorize, and answers to the most likely questions. At the studio, hairdressers, makeup artists, and producers awaited to ready her for her appearance. She was so jet-lagged she couldn’t see straight. When she was introduced to come onstage, there sat her father, looking perfectly Hollywood, his black hair with just enough silver in it to show he could be trusted by one and all. Emma knew differently. He shot her a look that said she’d better not screw this up with Dr. Hill, the famous television psychologist.
Dean Castle spoke first about how children can lose their way and how children often feel the need to rebel against their parents. He spoke about how he and Eleanor, Emma’s mother, planned to help Emma through her current lapse in judgment. They were going to spearhead her therapy and get her on the right track so she could help couples in no time, contributing once again to the psychological community.
Emma wanted to vomit. Thank God they went to commercial break, or she might have spewed on her father’s polished Italian loafers. Without the cameras rolling, her father’s veneer of parental love fell away. He gave her a disappointed frown, then spoke to the producer, not looking back in his daughter’s direction again.
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