Meet Me in Scotland Page 24

  He gently pushed her shoulder back against the wall, trapping her there. He bent his tall stature to her level, making eye contact, searching her face. “But if there were any other way . . .”

  She stepped out from his large hands. “You can’t do that, Gabriel. You can’t just seduce me with your eyes and not expect me to want you back.”

  Anger crossed his face. “I could say the same of you, lass.”

  “Maybe you should’ve sent someone else to pick me up from the airport.”

  “Maybe.” He slung her bag over his other shoulder. “But you’re stuck with me. Get over it.”

  Everything had gotten turned upside down. Moments ago, she’d been happy to be back in Scotland. Thrilled to see him. But in a matter of minutes, she wished she were anywhere but here.

  They walked to the Land Rover in an uncomfortable silence. It didn’t get better once they were in the vehicle. He looked like he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. Deposit her at the quilting dorm. Steer clear of her at all costs. Now and forever. Amen.

  She didn’t know why it hurt so much. Egghead Emma should’ve known better than to open up and let him in. She’d given him a wide berth for the past ten years. What was another decade without him?

  Just thinking about Gabriel’s easy smile not being in her life made her physically ill.

  “Pull over,” she said.

  He did, bringing the auto to a stop. She stumbled out, leaned against the car, and sucked in the cold Highland air.

  He came up beside her and laid a hand on her back. “What can I do to help?”

  She shook her head, afraid to say anything lest a sob escape from her soul. After a long minute she spoke. “I’m okay.” I’m not. “Let’s get to Gandiegow.”

  Back in the car, he wouldn’t leave her alone. “Is it your stomach? Your head?”

  “It’s probably jet lag.”

  “Tell me where it hurts,” he insisted. “How am I supposed to diagnose you if you won’t talk to me?”

  “I don’t want to be diagnosed. Just drive.” She was afraid of what it really was and refused to name it. She didn’t believe in love—at least not in the way that others blindly accepted its existence. Emma believed in cold, hard facts. And the fact was that Claire and Dominic had the only healthy relationship she’d ever seen.

  “Ha,” she said bitterly. Look at the Russos now.

  “What?” Gabriel said.

  “Leave me be.” She closed her eyes and laid her head against the window. A tear slipped out. She quickly brushed it away before it went down her cheek.

  “Ah, bluidy hell,” he muttered. “I made you cry.”

  Like a flash, her emotions shifted from hurt to I’m going to strangle him if he utters another word. “You’ve gone batty. Maybe your guilty conscious is making you see things.”

  “What do I have to be guilty of? Having principles?”

  “No, for leading me on.” For kissing her like he wanted her. For making her fall for him and his bloody charms. Wanker. Then she got madder. “Are you trying to imply that I don’t have principles?”

  He raised a knowing eyebrow.

  “Hell and damnation,” she muttered. Claire must’ve told Dominic, and Dominic must’ve told Gabriel about the made-up trysts. Her embarrassment knew no bounds. He wouldn’t believe her denials, so she decided to use those stories for their intended purpose—as her shield. “You’re so right,” she said. “Best not to get mixed up with me, big boy. I’ve had a lot of men to compare you to. You might not measure up.”

  Oh, my mother would be so proud of me right now, Emma thought. She hated herself for playing this part, for humiliating herself—once again. But her days of being honest with Gabriel were over.

  * * *

  Gabe gripped the steering wheel so hard, it was a wonder it didn’t crumble. He glared at the road in front of him. Now he was the one to feel ill. He’d always thought Claire’s stories about Emma were totally exaggerated. For the first time, he could see that Emma Castle was indeed her mother’s daughter. He had to believe it now—Emma always told him the truth, no matter what. He had to accept that she honestly didn’t believe in love. She was only interested in sex for sex’s sake.

  He finally had to face his own truth, and it had been coming for some time now. He’d been trying to turn sophisticated, worldly Emma Castle into a sweet Scottish lass. It wouldn’t work. Now he had to stop trying. He wished Emma well, but he had to let her go.

  But how could he do that? He’d grown attached to her, and life without her would be like losing his leg. Or my heart.

  Well, as long as Emma was in Gandiegow, he would just have to stay busy helping others, more than ever before. He’d be so booked that he wouldn’t have time to notice her, to see how beautiful she looked, or worry about what she was doing. He wouldn’t have time to miss her at all. Emma would be just another one of the quilting ladies, as far as he was concerned.

  Satisfied, he turned on the radio and sang along. When they arrived in Gandiegow, he took Emma’s things to the quilting dorm but remained aloof, thinking about all the things he could do with his time now that he wouldn’t be spending it with her.

  Ross and Ramsay would help him scrounge up more work on the boats. Then there was always the factory. Surely the McDonnell could give him more to do.

  Staying busy would be just the thing to get Gabe’s priorities back in line and help him to forget about his damnable crush on Emma Castle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Claire sighed resignedly, resting her head in her hands and watching Emma at the next table over. For the past two days, Emma had sat there like some lovesick seal whose mate had swum off without her. She kept staring at the door to Quilting Central, even though Gabriel had left some twenty minutes ago.

  And it irked, really irked her that Dominic had been right about Emma having a thing for Gabriel. Claire thought she’d never see the day when Emma Castle would be cowed by love. If it wasn’t love, it sure was one helluva crush. Emma had been moping around ever since returning from New York. So much so, in fact, that she’d barely questioned Claire about her supposed disappearance.

  Claire had been wrong about Gabriel, too. He seemed to be in just as much a state over Emma, although he hid it well by keeping his distance from all of them.

  How had Dominic seen it before her? Had Dominic always been this astute when it came to matters of the heart? She’d certainly never given him credit in the emotional department. Maybe she was the bonehead and not him.

  Moira slipped in beside her. “Hey, Claire.”

  Claire frowned at Emma a second longer, then gave Moira her complete attention. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to say something about Dominic.” Moira spoke so quietly that Claire wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

  “What about him?” She couldn’t share one of his secret recipes; he’d chop her in two. She also didn’t feel like talking about her husband, as chagrined as she felt now.

  “I know folks were upset about what he said to ye. But in good conscience I have to say I think he’s a remarkable man. I’m ever so grateful for all he’s done for us. I thought you should know.”

  “What do you mean all he’s done?”

  “The way he’s been feeding the village.” Moira kept her eyes glued to the lint on her jeans. “He’s helped so many of us that I’m sure we’ll have a better Christmas because of him.”

  Claire felt like a heel. Yes, she was the bonehead. Why had she tried to punish him?

  “Ye’re a lucky woman, Claire Douglas Russo. It’s more than me that’s sayin’ it.” Moira stood up. “I’d better go. My da is expecting me.”

  Claire gaped at her. Moira was quiet, but she sure had a way of getting her point across. Claire realized that even if she couldn’t save her marriage, she had to fix things between the village and Dominic.
She didn’t know how to go about it without being skewered by the villagers, but she would have to come up with a plan. Claire grabbed her coat and headed back to the restaurant.

  She found Dominic in the storeroom, taking inventory on a yellow pad. She wasn’t surprised to see him; his pig was sleeping in his box in the back corner of the kitchen. She grabbed her white pad and began making a list of the things she needed for her scones, keeping one eye on Dom.

  He glanced over at her. “Have you given any thought to what I said about Gabe and Emma?”

  “Aye.” Why did he only want to talk of them?

  “Gabe has turned as pleasant as a riled polar bear this past week. Do you know what’s going on?” He gave her a pointed look like she had been the one to upturn the sugar canister.

  She waved him off. “I didn’t do anything. Emma’s not saying much, either. She’s been too busy moping. She said something about being on opposite sides but wouldn’t elaborate.”

  Dom put down his pad and fully turned to her. “Maybe it’s time you and I stepped in. If we can get them to work together, then maybe they can work out their differences and Gabe will be tolerable again.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let me call Amy first. To see if she’ll help. She owes me. Then we’ll work out the details.”

  Claire smiled. It was the first time in a while that she’d seen the old gleam in her husband’s eyes. Not for her, mind you, and it hurt that she wasn’t the one who’d put it there. But the truth was that she wanted Dominic to be happy—whether she made him that way or not.

  * * *

  Emma sat across from Mattie at the dining room table in the quilting dorm. He put his hand in the fabric bag again and drew out another old-fashioned key.

  “Is it the key to one of your happy words?” She was thrilled to have come up with this game, because Mattie seemed to have taken to it. There was no pressure; he could decide whether to speak or not.

  He smiled at her, holding the key in the air. “Grandda,” he said quietly.

  “Is the magic-key game your favorite?”

  He nodded. He’d said seven words this session, using all the keys. Next time they met, she’d tell him the magic keys were so magical that they could be used over and over again in the same session.

  Cait helloed from the door and came into the dining room with Dingus pulling on the leash. “Are you ready to go, little monkey?”

  Mattie threw himself at her while Dingus jumped up on him. “Mama,” he said.

  Cait gasped and hugged him back, then looked over at Emma, mouthing Thank you. “Get your coat,” she said to Mattie. “Can you let Dingus run a little outside while I talk to Miss Emma?”

  Mattie smiled up at her, but before he grabbed his coat, he threw himself at Emma, too. She caught him in a hug. This boy was the one bright spot in her life. Her mother had been wrong about children; they were a blessing, not a hindrance. A minute later, Mattie was out of her arms and out the door.

  Cait took Mattie’s chair. “I don’t know what to say. I knew you’d help him, but I never imagined he could make this much progress so quickly.”

  Emma beamed at her. “I know. It’s remarkable. He said seven words today. Including grandda. Will his grandfather make it home for Christmas?”

  Cait took Emma’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ve got to tell you something about his grandfather.”

  God, Emma hoped it wasn’t bad news. Mattie had had enough sorrow in his life.

  Cait smiled at her. “Don’t worry. It’s just a secret, one that few people know.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mattie’s grandda is Graham Buchanan.”

  Emma tried to process her words. Surely she’d heard wrong. Graham Buchanan? “As in the movie star? No.”

  “Aye. He’s working on a film in New Zealand and will be home in a week.”

  “No,” Emma said again. “Here in Gandiegow?”

  “Yes.”

  “But no one’s said a word. Not Claire. Not Dominic.” Not Gabriel. “No one.”

  “Because we all protect him.” Cait laughed as if that statement was an inside joke. “But the news is coming out. I wrote Graham’s biography and the book will be out next year. And to keep the disruption to a minimum for Gandiegow, when the book is released, Mattie and I will join Graham in New Zealand while the clamor dies down.” She gave Emma’s hand another squeeze. “Can I count on you to keep our secret, too?”

  “Heavens, yes. Gladly.” Emma understood what it was like to live in a famous family, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. “But if it’s been kept a secret for so long, why let it out of the bag?”

  “Graham made that decision for a lot a reasons. I agree with him that it’s best to do it this way, where we can control when and how it happens. And prepare for it. I knew you’d understand.” She gave her hand one more squeeze and then stood. “I’d best go find out what those two ragamuffins are up to.”

  “Cait?” Emma said. “I think that boy of yours is special.”

  “I know.” Cait shot her one more smile and then left.

  Emma barely got a contented sigh in when her phone beeped. So much for basking in the moment. She checked the text. Amy.

  I really need help. I’m struggling with depression. Come in when you get here.

  Postpartum depression could take down the best of them. Emma rose and limped across the room to get her coat.

  Within minutes, she was out the door, hurrying down the boardwalk as fast as she could. Since returning from New York, she’d hobbled to the restaurant in the morning for her tea and scones; then she would rush off to Quilting Central to work on the Gandiegow Doctor quilt. Not that she particularly wanted that task, but she had agreed to do it. She might be a liar, but she wasn’t a shirker. Unfortunately, as soon as she would get her sewing machine turned on and her pieces lined up, one of the villagers would invariably come over, sit down, and bend her ear. She’d counseled Mrs. Bruce about dealing with one of her strong-willed children. She’d spoken with Freda confidentially about how to love another when that love wasn’t returned. She’d encouraged Maxie to talk to her husband about their bedroom problems instead of sweeping them under the rug. Emma knew Quilting Central wasn’t the best place to practice psychology. She’d joked to herself that if the villagers didn’t quit soon, she’d have to find a spare building and set up proper office hours instead.

  The trek to Amy’s gave her too much time to think. Emma had only gotten a few glimpses of Gabriel—at a distance as he went into the doctor’s surgery, or those rare times when he came into Quilting Central either to work on the long-arm quilting machine or to find one of the villagers. It was always painful to see him. But it hurt even more that he was avoiding her, never meeting her eyes, and certainly offering no words to her, kind or otherwise.

  She arrived. Emma knocked on Amy’s door and went in as instructed. She looked around. The baby was asleep in his cradle beside the bed. Emma saw Amy slide a magazine under the covers and don an unhappy, faraway expression. Her first impression? That Amy had not only misdiagnosed herself, but that there was mischief afoot. She walked over to the bed and sat down beside her.

  “What’s going on?” Emma said. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m just so depressed.” The cheerful Amy was a terrible actor. “You know, with Coll being gone and all.”

  Emma knew Claire had arranged around-the-clock help for Amy and that things had been going well. Amy had even ventured out several times to the store by herself and to Quilting Central. She wasn’t depressed—she was up to something. Emma could feel it in her bones.

  There was a knock at the door, and Gabriel came in. He looked just as surprised to see Emma as she was to see him.

  Amy popped up out of bed. “Bathroom break.” She hustled off to the loo.

  Emma felt all jitter
y, like she was about to jump out of her skin.

  Gabriel stood at the door, frowning. “I was told there was an emergency here.”

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I fear it’s nothing more than a little conniving by the natives.”

  “I see.” He seemed to be soaking her in, but then his expression turned to stone. “I’ll be going, then.” He reached for the door handle but stopped. “Remind Amy about what happened when the boy cried wolf.”

  Emma opened her mouth to say that she would, but Gabriel was already gone.

  Amy came out of the bathroom sheepishly. “I’m feeling better. I think I’ll lie down while the babe is asleep.”

  Emma grabbed her coat and nodded, too afraid of what she might say. But once she was outside, she wondered who else might have been in on the plan to throw her and Gabriel together.

  The next day, she went to Quilting Central earlier than usual, hoping to get more work done on the Gandiegow Doctor quilt. But instead of sewing, she had two separate hour-long conversations with Gandiegowans about their troubles. As she turned on her sewing machine, she received a text from the McDonnell.

  Can you stop by the factory for a wee chat?

  Emma was immediately suspicious, as she’d never had more than a hallo or a goodbye from the larger-than-life Scot. Especially after yesterday’s debacle at Amy’s. But she couldn’t refuse him if he did indeed need her, could she?

  When? she texted back.

  The McDonnell wrote: Be here at two sharp, my afternoon break.

  She checked her watch, then grabbed her coat.

  “Where are you off to, missy?” Deydie stood over her with her hands on her hips.

  Emma shut off her machine and rose. “I have an appointment at the North Sea Valve Company.” She’d have to hurry if she was going to check out a car from the store and make it to the factory on time.

  “I’ll go with ye. I need to speak with Freda. She seems to be spending all her time there these days.” Deydie waddled off after her coat.

  Emma no longer needed her crutches, but she still wasn’t completely back to normal. She and Deydie hurried to the store as fast as they could manage and got the Audi that Emma had taken to Inverness. Unfortunately, images of Gabriel sauntered through her mind—how safe she’d felt with him in his Land Rover behind her.