Meet Me in Scotland Page 21

  Everyone? She shook her head, opening her eyes, and found he was gazing into hers. It was too much, so she closed them again, getting lost in the magic of his caress.

  “Share your secret with me,” he went on in his deep burr.

  She sighed. “I guess I’m just in the right place at the right time. Unlike the past three years.” Then she thought out loud. “I never should’ve been a marriage counselor. I don’t even believe in the institution.”

  He stopped massaging.

  She opened her eyes again. “Keep going. You’re working out all the soreness.”

  He frowned at her with a disappointed expression and stood, towering over her. “Ye’re wrong about marriage, Emma. It’s the foundation of a fulfilling life. Everything builds upon it.”

  She scoffed.

  He pulled a chair so close to hers that when he sat, she could smell his woodsy aftershave. “Marriage is a public declaration that you love each other.” He stared deep into her eyes, searching hers, almost as if he were using his powers to sway her into seeing it his way. “Weddings bring the community into the relationship. Everyone at the wedding has a responsibility to help the couple stay together. Like you and I do with Dom and Claire.” He nodded as if that fact couldn’t be argued. “Marriage is about bringing people together so they won’t have to go it alone. Life is hard. It’s nice to know someone is there by yere side, sharing the load.” He leaned in, his face the picture of earnestness. “Don’t you want someone to grow old with? That one person who will love you forever?” He looked like he wanted it more than anything else in the world.

  “Gabriel,” she said, “what you’re asking me to believe in doesn’t really exist.” But as soon as she said it, she began to doubt herself.

  He reached out, captured her hand, and held it tight. “Marriage is the best place to raise children—where parents can model love and commitment. And, in turn, their love and commitment reassure their children that they are safe and will be protected from the outside world. I know there are a lot of divorces out there. But real love does exist. I’ve seen it. At my father’s church, there are couples who’ve been married forever; they got it right. And up until now, Dominic and Claire had it right, too. I’m sure all couples go through a rocky patch. This is theirs. I think you and I have a responsibility to lift them up and carry them over their rough spot. Don’t you?”

  She stared down at Gabriel’s hand linked to hers. “I used to think Claire and Dom were the exception. . . . But with them falling apart, now I don’t know if such a thing is possible for anyone. I am sure that bringing a baby into poverty is wrong. It just won’t work.”

  He stood up. “Money isn’t everything.” He turned and walked away. “I’m going to get us some dinner.”

  He got away too fast; otherwise she would’ve tripped him with her crutches for good measure. “You haven’t convinced me of anything,” she hollered, as he went down the hall. But he did have her thinking. Maybe even softening in her convictions. It was almost as if his views on marriage were either starting to rub off on her, or strong enough for the both of them to believe in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There had been talk of it all over town. Claire absentmindedly rearranged her scone recipes on the table at Quilting Central, thinking about what the other ladies had said. She just didn’t believe it. Dominic quieted colicky William? How could that be?

  Dominic had never been particularly interested in small children. Actually, more standoffish on the occasions when they’d been around a toddler or two. Where had he acquired this skill?

  Bethia touched her arm. “It’ll be all right, Claire. We’ll get Dominic straightened out.”

  “Damned right we will.” Deydie swept the clipped threads into a pile on the floor. “Ye’re as skinny as a needle. Ye need meat on your bones. Don’t know what yere husband was thinking.”

  Claire felt her cheeks flush. She opened her mouth to come clean about the lie, but the door to Quilting Central blew open.

  Mrs. Lister stood there, holding a screaming baby in one arm with a four-year-old hanging on to the other. “Bethia, can I leave Agnes here with you? Stephen is at it again. I’m going to run him over to the restaurant and have Dominic get him to sleep. With Big Stephen out on the boat, I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I don’t get some sleep.”

  Bethia pushed herself up from the table and spoke above the wailing baby. “We’ll have a grand time.” She took the little girl’s hand and led her to the tray of sandwiches. “When Dominic gets the babe down, you nap, too. I’ll drop her home later.” Mrs. Lister nodded and hustled out with Stephen screaming.

  Deydie whacked Claire’s backside with the broom. “Close yere mouth. Ye look like a gaping fish.”

  “But—”

  “Go see for yereself if ye don’t believe it.” Deydie swept on.

  Claire sat there for a minute longer and then dumped her recipes back into her bag. “I guess I’d better. Seeing is believing.”

  * * *

  Gabe stepped outside, filling his lungs with cold air. He certainly never worried about being bored around Emma. First, she acts like the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and in the next second she says something stupid like she doesn’t believe in marriage. What was he supposed to do with that? And why did he feel the need to convince her, anyway? He headed toward the restaurant at a brisk pace, confused as ever.

  Just as he reached the door, Claire came up behind him.

  “Are you here to get dinner, too?” he asked.

  “Nay. I’ve come to seek the truth.” She walked in ahead of him.

  Although all the lights were on, Dominic wasn’t in the dining room. Gabriel and Claire walked toward the kitchen. He held the swinging doors open for her, but she stopped midstride at the threshold. Gabriel couldn’t believe his eyes, either. Dominic had a baby asleep on his shoulder while with his free hand he stirred the simmering sauce on the stove. He glanced over at Gabe, not acknowledging Claire.

  “Don’t ask. Even though there’ll be no customers again tonight, it’s just hard to break old habits. Like cooking dinner.” He didn’t say anything about the babe as he shifted the spoon to the rest, then pinched several spices and sprinkled them in the sauce.

  Gabe stepped around Claire, who was standing as still as a pillar of salt. “Well, you’ll have two orders at least. Mine and Emma’s.”

  Dominic returned to stirring. “Fill a pot with water, will you?”

  “Sure.” Gabe went to the sink and washed his hands.

  Claire took another step into the kitchen. “How? When?” she sputtered. “Why?”

  “Not so loud, Claire,” Dominic chided. “The baby’s sleeping.”

  “But . . .” she tried. “Only a little bit ago that baby was screaming like there’d be no Christmas. How did you do it? How did you calm him?”

  He shrugged, the baby remaining as relaxed as a bobber on the water. “Babies can smell fear, I guess.”

  “But . . .” Claire’s eyes were misting up.

  “I’m not afraid of a few tears,” he said pointedly. He wasn’t speaking only of babies.

  Gabe saw anger flash in Claire’s eyes as he carried the full pot of water to the stove.

  “I’m not crying,” she insisted.

  Dominic nodded toward the child. “And this doesn’t change anything.”

  The bell over the front entry rang. Then a voice hollered out, “Dominic, are you here? We’re hungry.”

  Dominic looked at Gabe quizzically. Without asking permission, he transferred the babe to Gabe’s shoulder and went to the dining room. Gabe and Claire followed.

  Five fishermen stood there—Ramsay and Ross Armstrong, Thomas and Lochie, and Abraham Clacher, an old bachelor fisherman, who was holding a gutted fish in his hand.

  Deydie appeared at their side and pushed her way forward. �
��What are ye all doing here?”

  Abraham ignored her and heaved the fish at Dom. “Make sure to put extra butter on it when you throw it on the grill.”

  Gabe knew that Dom would’ve normally told the old man where he could shove his cooking instructions—he was the chef—but he looked too stunned to do more than to take the fish.

  “I’ll have whatever Italian dish ye’re cooking up in there,” Ross said, glancing over at Deydie nervously. “Smells good.”

  Ramsay nodded. “Aye. The same for me.”

  Claire seemed at odds with herself, a myriad of emotions playing on her face as she looked from Dom’s relieved expression to the cocky grins on the fishermen’s satisfied faces.

  Deydie had no such dilemma. She thrust her hands on her hips. “I saw ye all coming this direction. Ramsay Armstrong, does Maggie know ye’re here?”

  “I’m a grown man. My sister-in-law doesn’t own me. I eat where I please.” He cut a glance at Gabe.

  Deydie turned her glare on Gabe. “Ye’ve had a hand in this, haven’t ye?”

  Gabe didn’t admit to anything, only readjusted the lad on his shoulder. If Deydie hadn’t been glaring at him so, he might’ve been able to relish the feel of a sleeping babe in his arms.

  Claire slunk out the front door, glancing at Dom longingly. Dominic took the fishermen’s orders with pleasure shining on his face.

  “We’ll just see about this,” Deydie huffed. Then she stomped toward the door, too.

  Gabe went into the kitchen with Dominic right behind him.

  He pounded Gabe on the back. “Looks like I owe you, brother.” He laid the fish on the counter. “And if Deydie’s glare was any indication, whatever you did to get them here was at great peril, too.”

  “What do we do about the baby?” Gabe asked. “I have to get food back to Emma.”

  Dominic narrowed his gaze at Gabe for a long moment, but then said nothing. Finally, he pointed to a pallet in the corner. “Lay him over there. His mamma will be by to get him later.”

  There was a squeal in the opposite corner. For a moment, Gabe wondered if there was a second baby under Dom’s care. But it didn’t exactly sound like a bairn. “What’s that?”

  Dominic looked up and smiled. “That’s Porco, the pig.”

  Gabe laid the child down and then went to the opposite corner of the kitchen to the cardboard box. Sure enough, a pink piglet was stretched out on a blanket. “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Pork cutlets.” But an unsure frown crossed Dom’s face.

  “I doubt it.” Gabe remembered what had happened when Dom had tried to raise a chicken, a turkey, and a duck. None of the poultry made it to the table, either, but a local petting zoo in Glasgow had been thrilled.

  “It’s an economical solution,” Dom said. “Raise fresh food, serve it to the customers.”

  “The water’s boiling.” Gabe went to the cooler and pulled out the leftover lasagna and the roasted vegetables. After he sacked everything, he turned to Dom. “Write this up for me, will you? I’ll be by tomorrow to pay.”

  Dom waved him off. “It’s on the house.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Gabe headed out of the kitchen. He waved to the fishermen as he hurried out the door.

  But out front, he didn’t head down the boardwalk. Impulsively, he took the path behind the restaurant.

  He would make an overnight bag for himself. He would stay at the dorm with Emma again. He felt like a prat for leaving her to her own devices for the past three days with her foot sore and swollen. It would only be for a couple of days, until she could put a little weight on it again. Or until she was well enough to go back to Claire’s. To devil with how Deydie felt about it, too. Gabe was Emma’s doctor, and she needed him.

  It didn’t take long to gather his shaving cream, toothbrush, and clothes. As an afterthought, he picked out his favorite CDs to play during dinner, and grabbed a bottle of wine for them to share.

  When he got back to the dorm, Emma was stretched out on the couch, her cell phone to her ear, and a cup of tea on the side table. “I have to go, Mum. The food is here. Yes, I’ll let you know. Bye.” She glanced at the load in his arms. “What’s all that?”

  “Dinner,” he answered.

  “In a duffel bag?”

  He dropped the bag. “I’m going to stay here for a couple of days to watch over you.”

  “Gabe, you’re off your trolley.” She held up her teacup. “I can manage fine on my own. I’ve been alone for the past three days and I’m getting along famously.”

  “Your foot should be better by now. I want to keep an eye on you. We might need another X-ray of that ankle,” he said.

  “Then I’ll ask Claire to come stay with me.”

  “Do you really want to bother Claire in the middle of the night if you need something? With her getting up so early?” Gabe walked past her. “I’ll warm up the lasagna and bring your plate to you. We can eat in front of the fire tonight. But first, music.”

  He went to the stereo, ignoring her muttered protests about not being in the mood, and inserted the CDs. It didn’t take long for him to fix their food and get a picnic set up for them in front of the hearth. He sat next to her and stretched out his hand.

  As if it were second nature now, she automatically took his in hers. He bowed his head and said grace. Afterward, he poured them each a glass of wine and handed one to her.

  “What should we toast to?” he asked.

  She frowned at him. “For the warden to go home and leave the prisoner to her own devices.”

  Her hair had fallen in front of her face and he pushed it back over her shoulder. “The warden shouldn’t have left the prisoner alone in the first place.”

  She gave him a sheepish look.

  He clinked her glass. “To good company, it is.”

  “You’re an exasperating man.”

  “And you’re a delight. Now dig in.”

  As they ate, they both praised Dom’s excellent pasta, and, once again, shared a pleasant meal. Gabe mused that eating was perhaps the best thing that they did together. Except maybe kissing. He put her lips out of his mind and told her about the pig at the restaurant. He explained his sunny forecast for the pig’s future and long life. Emma’s laugh was infectious. Once again he wished for a woman in his life to share all his meals with. A nice Scottish girl, with a big appetite, who knew how to laugh.

  * * *

  In the loo, Emma rested on the side of the tub, stalling. She should’ve been readying herself for bed, but her nerves were trying to get the best of her. She hollered through the door, “It’s ridiculous for you to stay here with me.”

  He laughed. “Ye’re repeating yourself, lass. Time to come up with some new material.”

  The last time he’d spent the night with her, she’d accosted him. And at the cabin in the woods, that hadn’t been tiddlywinks she’d been holding in her hand when she woke up in the morning. God only knew what she would do to him this night.

  “Please, Gabriel,” she tried, checking her fingernails.

  “Begging doesn’t become ye. At the count of three, I’m coming in to brush my teeth. One . . .”

  “Go away.” She hopped to her good foot and grabbed the red plaid nightshirt from the towel rack. She stripped off her sweater and bra as fast as she could.

  “Two.”

  “Give me a minute.” She pulled the nightshirt over her head. It wasn’t hers—she’d found it lying on top of her things—but she wasn’t going to say no to it. It was definitely warmer than any of her silk pajamas. She’d have to pay Gabriel back for the nightshirt and the boots and the socks—all the things he’d bought for her. She splashed water on her face and reached out for the hand towel.

  “Three.” The door opened, and she got a handful of Scot. “Whoa.”

  She jerked her ha
nd away. “Dammit, Gabriel.”

  “I counted slowly.” He handed her the towel.

  “Have you never heard of privacy?” She scrubbed her face, too embarrassed to look up at him just yet. When she did, she stopped in midscrub. She gaped at his pants. The exact match to her nightshirt.

  “I . . . you . . .” she sputtered.

  “Ye look nice, Emma.” He wore a black T-shirt, too, but she couldn’t stop staring at his pajama bottoms.

  She held the nightshirt fabric away from her body. “This is yours?” It was too intimate.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I worry you’re not warm enough at night. I thought I would share.”

  Not warm enough? She was sizzling on the inside at his words and caressed on the outside everywhere his shirt touched her skin. “But—”

  He stepped around her and grabbed her toothpaste. “I have to get up early. Ramsay wants me at their boat before they take off. In case they have any problems with the engine.”

  She leaned against the wall. “You don’t mind that they are taking advantage of you? That you’re their mechanic?”

  “Hell, Emma, if it weren’t for the extra little jobs about town, I’d go nuts for lack of anything to do.”

  Well, that explained why he was giving her ankle extra attention—he was bored. The thought helped to settle her nerves and, at the same time, oddly angered her. She grabbed her crutches and stumbled from the restroom.

  Instantly he was there, steadying her. How many times had he done that for her since she’d come to Scotland? She was used to being on her own, independent, doing things for herself. His support felt both weird and comforting. Maybe she shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine with dinner. She stared down at her feet.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  “Yes.” That’s what it was.

  “I’ll help you into bed,” he said.

  She looked up at him then. “Where will you sleep? Where did you sleep the other night?” The night I kissed you senseless.

  “The sofa.”

  “The love seat? No, Gabriel.” She frowned at him. “There are plenty of beds, upstairs and down.”