Aye, Gabe needed to spend time with his da, and at the same time, he almost couldn’t bear to leave Emma here in Gandiegow. Especially now that they’d come to an understanding. But this couldn’t be put off. He had to have a man-to-man talk with Casper MacGregor about Emma . . . and a certain opal ring.
Over the years, Da had tried to give him his mother’s engagement ring, in the hopes Gabe would finally settle down and take a wife. Da had liked Emma when they met at Dom and Claire’s wedding. Gabe was certain he’d approve.
In the depths of his heart, Gabe knew that Emma was the one. He’d meant what he said to her: He had no worries—he knew she’d come round.
They were perfect together. Now he only had to convince her to be his wife.
Chapter Nineteen
Emma sat behind the sewing machine at Quilting Central and picked up the final row of the Gandiegow Doctor quilt, feeling great satisfaction that her part would soon be done. Then Deydie would finally get off her back. Bethia assured Emma the doctor’s quilt would only need a day or so on the long-arm quilting machine. There was still plenty of time to get it finished for Christmas.
But this accomplishment didn’t exactly alleviate the anxiety she felt—Gabriel had been away for almost a fortnight, and she missed him—even though she didn’t want to. He’d gone to see his father, saying it was something he couldn’t put off, and then he’d had to extend his stay to rebuild the engine on his dad’s automobile—unplanned but necessary, he’d said in his voice mail. Day after day, he called or texted or sent word in some other fashion. Flowers, which had to have cost a fortune to deliver all the way out here. Some handwritten notes that he missed her. The most unexpected of all: a six-pack of specialty shampoos, each one with a different scent. Any other woman in the world would’ve been thrilled with his attention. But her emotions were a jumbled mess. She was confused. Scared.
At the same time, she had to admit she loved talking to him about all the little goings-on in Gandiegow, like the uproar over Father Andrew moving the date of the Christmas pageant—a cardinal sin, apparently. It had gone off without a hitch, but at Quilting Central they were still muttering about the nerve of the young priest in meddling with tradition. Emma was starting to appreciate the villagers’ devotion to tradition. She looked down at the tradition she was working on, the Gandiegow Doctor quilt.
But tradition wasn’t helping her make any decisions yet about her future. All she knew was that she wasn’t moving back to Los Angeles. Maybe she’d find a flat in London and give herself some time to think alone. Alone was not an easy commodity to come by here in Gandiegow.
Emma stitched the last seam, turned off the sewing machine, and handed off the quilt top to Deydie, who hovered nearby.
“It’s about damn time. I don’t think you could’ve gone any slower,” the old woman said with a toothy grin. She held it up. “I think ye’re going to be a hell of a quilter one day. Yere corners are damn near perfect.”
“Thank you.” Emma stood and stretched.
“Now get yere skinny arse over to the long-arm quilting machine and get it finished.” Deydie handed her back the quilt top and motioned to one of the massive eighteen-foot machines in the corner.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t know how to run one of those.”
Bethia put her arm around Emma’s shoulders. “It’s time you learned.” She guided her over to the machine, where Moira waited.
A simple lap-sized practice quilt was set up on the machine. Moira showed Emma how to hold and move the handlebars to achieve the proper stitching.
“The stitch regulator should keep the stitches nice and even,” Moira explained. “However, it’s important to be consistent with your motions. Let’s start with anchoring the quilt by stitching in the ditch—sewing directly in the seams. Then I’ll show you how to do a meandering stitch. Later we can work on more advanced techniques.”
“But what if I bungle it?” Emma chewed the inside of her cheek.
“This is only practice.”
At first Emma felt timid about managing the large machine, but it didn’t take long until she fell in love with it. The actual quilting of the three pieces—the quilt top, the batting, and the back—gave the final product another dimension, another layer, transforming it into art. Before she knew it, Moira was taking off the practice quilt and showing her how to load the three layers of the Gandiegow Doctor quilt onto the frame.
“What I like to do,” Moira instructed, after the quilt was in place, “is to think about the recipient of the quilt while I work on it. My mama taught me that when I was a wee lass. She said it was the perfect way to put extra love into whatever project we worked on.”
Talk about the wrong thing to say. Emma had always believed love was out of her grasp. She could recognize it—like in the case of Claire and Dominic—but she couldn’t fathom having it for herself. Even though Gabriel had said the L word to her, she didn’t dare think of him in that way. It was too far-fetched. Now Moira wanted her to do just that. Thinking about Gabriel only made Emma more nervous. It was bad enough worrying about screwing up his quilt, but now her hands shook as she pondered his smile, her stomach squeezing deliciously in on itself. Suddenly, she was reliving their lovemaking. The excitement. The thrill. It had been . . . perfect. He’d made her feel such joy, such safety. Such . . . what? Love? Could it be? Her knees trembled.
“I have to take a break.” She rushed off to the loo to pull herself together.
She collapsed into the overstuffed chair on the other side of the door and came to a major decision. Yes, she would get the quilt done. Because she’d promised. She had kept all of her promises since she’d come here, and then some. She’d helped Mattie and Sophie and Claire. Emma would finish up this quilt today, no matter what, and leave in the morning, before Gabriel returned. She’d go to London, check into a hotel, and spend Christmas quietly. By herself.
She trudged out of the restroom and back to the long-arm quilting machine, getting down to work. With Moira’s guidance, the quilting was indeed done by the end of the day. Moira had her cut a strip of fabric for the binding, showing her how to stitch it in place. The quilt was finished. All the ladies clapped and took a hundred pictures of Emma with the Gandiegow Doctor quilt. It brought tears to her eyes to think she would have to leave this place, but in her mind, she had no choice. She had to reclaim her life.
She hugged everyone because she knew this was goodbye. Sure, she’d come back to Gandiegow to visit Claire in the future, but this was the last time Emma would be a part of the community. She gave them one more wave and then went back to the quilting dorm to settle in to a quiet evening alone. She didn’t have the nerve to tell Claire tonight, but would tell her on her way out in the morning. Emma had to get back to reality and face the future. Gandiegow had been a respite from her life. Now it was time to move on.
But Emma felt terrible for her friend. Since Dom had been vindicated, the town had shunned Claire and her scones. But every day, almost on autopilot, Claire went to the kitchen and baked, anyway.
At the dorm, Emma pulled leftover tortellini from the fridge and heated it. Just like all the other nights since Gabriel had left, when she sat at the dining room table, she folded her hands together and said a prayer. She fumbled over the words, but she managed to give thanks for the food.
As she was about to take her first bite, though, the front door opened and Claire came down the hall. “Emma, are you here?”
“In the kitchen.” She shoveled in a bite and jumped up, thinking to grab a plate so Claire could join her.
But when her friend appeared, she had a suitcase in her hand.
Emma frowned at the large brown bag. “What are you doing?”
Claire dropped the suitcase on its side and crumpled into a chair. “I’m moving in with you.”
* * *
Dom didn’t understand it. He and Claire had lived in the same fla
t for the past two weeks but she hadn’t spoken a word to him. She didn’t seem angry, only subdued. No fire, no energy. This was not his Claire. They worked in the same kitchen, but she wasn’t really there. He’d never seen her like this. He had the urge to wrap his arms around her and tell her to come back to him, but she seemed to be slipping farther and farther away. She didn’t even comment when he brought Porco upstairs to sleep in the guest room with him.
Has she given up on me? On us?
He needed to talk to Gabe, but he wasn’t back yet. Maybe Ramsay would want to get a drink in the meantime. Dom hung up his apron, went into the dining room, and asked.
“Sure, mate,” Ramsay said. “I’m happy to throw back a few with you.”
“How’s the arm healing?” Dom asked.
He held it up. “Itches to high heaven.”
The two of them plodded off to the pub. Dom felt comfortable with Ramsay. Not only had he turned out to be a good chap for supporting him at the restaurant, but they’d had some good conversation, too. Dom told him his worries about Claire.
Ramsay was quiet for a long moment. “I remember Claire as a girl. She’s always been a hotheaded lass—no offense.”
“None taken. I know my wife.”
“Let’s face it.” Ramsay grinned. “Most of us Scots aren’t exactly reserved.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I remember Maggie, John’s wife, going through something similar. She got all quiet after her grandmother died. That was the woman who’d raised her. She just needed some time to work through her feelings, I think.”
Was it that simple? Was the move back to Gandiegow making Claire miss her mother? Dom didn’t want to say it out loud, but was afraid it was something else. What if Claire was working up the nerve to sever their relationship for good? What if she wanted a divorce?
Ramsay clapped him on the back. “Ye’ve nothing to worry about. Claire loves you. I’m sure of it. Come, now. Your drink is on me.”
Over a dram, they talked of fishing and the weather, and then Ramsay had to call it a night, as he had an early date with the nets in the morn. Dom left, too, not in the mood for the crowd that was ramping up.
When he got back to the flat, he started to go peek in at Claire while she slept, but a slip of paper on the writing desk caught his eye. Dread came over him, but he walked over and read the words, anyway.
I need some time. I’ve moved in with Emma.
* * *
“What?” Emma couldn’t believe it. “This doesn’t make any sense. You know why you’ve been feeling frantic. So why aren’t you at home trying to fix things with Dominic?”
Claire pushed her hair out of her face. “Because I have to fix me first. Dominic deserves a wife who isn’t mental.”
Emma pulled a face. “You’re not mental. Did you at least talk to him and let him know why things happened the way they did?”
“No. I couldn’t. I can barely even think of it yet. I miss my parents so.”
“Ah, sweeting.” Emma went to her and put her arm around her shoulder. “I’ll make you a cup of tea and then we’ll talk. All right?”
But before Claire could answer, another visitor arrived. He didn’t call out, but she heard the heavy footsteps as they made their way down the hallway. Emma’s first thought was that it was Dominic come to retrieve his wife. But Gabriel appeared.
Her breath got trapped in her lungs and her heart broke out into a glorious chorus. She turned all tapioca pudding on the inside and gave him a weak smile.
“Hallo, Emma.” His burr was like a soothing bath, washing over her. “I just arrived home and hoped we could have a nightcap together.”
“Uhhh,” she managed, not exactly the articulate lady she liked to think she was.
He glanced around, realizing they weren’t alone. “Hey, Claire.” He nodded to her.
Claire looked from one to the other. “Let’s not do tea, Emma. I’m not in the mood to talk, anyway. I’ll just go to bed.”
Emma turned to Gabriel. “Claire just got here.” She nodded in the direction of her suitcase.
Claire shook her head and stood. “You go on. I’m tired. You and I, we’ll chat tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?” Emma asked, searching Claire’s face.
Claire hugged her tight. “Have fun,” she whispered into her ear.
Emma watched as Claire grabbed the suitcase and disappeared down the hallway to the bedrooms. Anxiety for Claire should’ve outweighed her excitement at seeing Gabriel, but her insides were doing a dance.
“Come back to the doctor’s quarters with me.”
She stared at her own clasped hands. She had to tell him she was leaving Gandiegow in the morning. It would be safer to do it here.
She looked up to find him gazing back. “Bloody hell.” Who am I kidding? She wanted him, wanted to go to bed with him one last time before she left. It would make a nice Christmas present for herself, a memory to pull out on the lonely nights ahead.
“Yes, I’ll go with you. For a drink,” she made sure to add.
“Get your coat.”
Outside, the village paths were empty except for the two of them. Twinkling Christmas lights bounced off the water and lit their way. It was both enchanting and magical. She repeated to herself over and over that it was only sex they were headed for. Great sex . . . but still just a romp in the bedroom all the same.
He held open the door to the doctor’s quarters and she went up the stairs. She made no pretense but headed straight to his room, a woman on a mission.
“What about that drink?”
“Forget the drink.” She concentrated on undoing the buttons of her blouse.
He stood there in disbelief as her clothes hit the floor.
She glanced over at him. “Either close your mouth, Gabriel, or get over here and put it to good use.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he growled. He crossed the room in two steps and took her into his arms, kissing her. She tugged at his clothes.
“What about foreplay?” he asked, as his lips traveled to her neck.
“Overrated.” She pushed his pants to the floor; he stepped out of them.
She backed away and lay on the bed, needing their bodies connected as much as she needed to breathe.
Naked himself, he stood over her and gazed down. “Ye’re so beautiful, lass.”
She just wanted to feel, not think. “Less talk, Doctor, and more action.”
He grabbed a condom, put it on, and came to her. Like a good Scottish warrior, he plundered her, making her gasp with joy—they were finally back together. All the days they’d been apart fell away. All her misgivings disappeared. In this moment, she didn’t feel confused or scared. She just was.
He murmured Gaelic to her, kissing and touching every part of her body, but it was as if he’d gotten it backward. He didn’t need to woo her with his ancient words and loving hands. She was already his.
“Tha gaol agam ort,” he said tenderly.
She understood him perfectly; he’d told her he loved her again. But Emma, she couldn’t put two words together to save her naked British hide. She was close to the edge—and then suddenly went over the top.
“That’s right, my luv,” he said, caressing her face.
He hadn’t come with her, she noticed as her spasms subsided and he began nibbling on her ear. He started a new rhythm between them, slow and languorous.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“Shhh.” She’d missed him, too.
But she wanted to concentrate on what he was doing to her; it felt nice. She loved how he made love to her.
Nice became heated. Heated turned into all-out need. His breathing became ragged and his composure slipped away. This time he got caught up in his own game and he wouldn’t be denied. As she rocked with him, she
saw the pain of pleasure on his face. She loved to see him lose control, his hips frantic to meet hers. She opened wider to him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled him deeper inside. It turned her on like nothing else to feel his strength, to know she was the one to bring him to completion.
“Emma,” he groaned. “Oh, God, Emma.” It sounded like a fervent prayer. He hovered above her and she hugged herself to him, not ever wanting to let go.
From nowhere, a sob slipped out and then another. She couldn’t stop herself and she couldn’t explain to him what she felt. What they shared was beyond anything she ever could’ve imagined. The pure joy of feeling complete, knowing it was the two of them together that created something so beautiful and wonderful.
He looked down at her with concern and rolled to his side, pulling her to him. “Don’t cry, luv. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m all right.” I’m not. The tears wouldn’t stop. She’d gone to bed with him hoping for a physical connection. He’d given her so much more. He’d touched her in a much deeper way than the physical. It would take her some time to recover from it, if ever.
He held her close and murmured more Gaelic to her. Eventually, she relaxed and became drowsy.
“Sleep, my luv,” he said.
And she did.
Chapter Twenty
Once again in the wee hours of the morning, Emma snuck out of Gabriel’s bed. She felt a mixture of elation and embarrassment at what had transpired between them last night. I cried! She still couldn’t believe it. Then she’d slept like a satisfied baby. She had to speak with Claire. That was the only way Emma was going to figure out what was going on between her and Gabriel.
Emma dressed quietly and stole out of the doctor’s quarters. She found Claire in the restaurant kitchen, as expected, but she wasn’t making scones.
“What gives?” Emma asked. “Why aren’t you up to your elbows in flour by now?”
“I’ve come to my senses. We have plenty of scones in the freezer to heat. That is, if anyone cares to show up.” Claire plastered on a brave smile. “How did you and Gabriel get on last night?” She put her hand up. “Before I hear any details, I need to warn you: You’d better not break his heart. You may be my best friend, but the world needs more men like him. He’s a decent guy.”
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