Meet Me in Scotland Read online

  Good thing Deydie was there. She kept up a constant lecture. “If ye don’t work harder on the doctor’s quilt, we’ll just have to bundle up the pieces of fabric for the doc on Christmas day, and a two-hundred-year tradition will be broken.”

  “I would be happy to work on it”—that’s a stretch—“if you could run interference with your buddies. Have you not noticed? Everyone keeps distracting me from working on the quilt.”

  Deydie put her hand up like she didn’t want to hear it. “Stop yere whining. We all have to multitask.”

  Emma started to tell her that she couldn’t both sew and make eye contact with her patients.

  She stopped cold. Her patients. She’d only been kidding before when she’d thought about setting up office hours. But something shifted. She really was providing a service for these people, helping them, but with that thought, panic settled in. Followed by terror.

  No.

  Her new career path could not include the title of therapist.

  She’d sworn off therapy forever. If she did remain a therapist, then she would have to admit that she was her parents’ daughter. Bloody no.

  Deydie frowned at her. “What’s wrong with you? Ye’re as white as the backing on Bethia’s Garden quilt. Didn’t you eat?”

  Emma bit her bottom lip. “I’m fine.” She had to get the hell out of this town. They had her all topsy-turvy. Yes, that was what it was. It was all Gandiegow’s fault.

  At the factory, Ross met them at the door, looking a little shocked. “Well, this is a treat, Deydie. What can we do for you?”

  “Out of my way, Ross. I’m here to speak to Freda.” Deydie pushed past him and went through the big double doors.

  “What a sweet temperament that ole woman has, eh?” Ross grinned and pointed to the doors. “The McDonnell is waiting for you in his office. I’ll take you back.”

  Emma was led into the belly of the beast. The factory floor was littered with equipment, parts, and packaging, but Ross assured her that by spring the factory would be up and running.

  “Ah, here it is.” He opened the door for her and stood back. As soon as she crossed over the threshold, the door shut.

  She turned around to see what was going on and from the other side of the door came a scraping sound, like a large metal cabinet being dragged in front of the door, blocking it. “What in bloody hell . . .”

  “Ah, shit,” a familiar baritone burr said from within the office.

  She spun around and dropped her purse as Gabriel’s head peeked out from under the desk.

  “What are you doing here?” She bent down to pick up her personal items scattered on the floor between them.

  He reached for her wallet at the same time she did, and they almost conked heads.

  “I’m here because the McDonnell asked me to check the cables under his desk.” Gabriel picked up a couple of her pens and a pad of paper from the floor. “I believe someone is trying to bring us together, Emma. First Amy and now the McDonnell. The SOB.”

  “How are we going to convince them that their efforts are in vain? Whoever they may be?” She snatched a tampon from under the desk before Gabriel got to it and shoved it back in her purse.

  “I don’t know.” He picked up her hairbrush and dropped it in with the other contents.

  They both stood. But when he handed over the last item—her lip gloss—their fingers accidentally brushed together. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, she knew their hiatus from each other was over. Like the fibers of twisted yarn, their fingers intertwined while they gazed at each other. Something ignited then. They became like a lit match to dry tinder.

  He pulled her into his arms as she dropped her purse to the desk. She fisted his sweater in her hands and pulled him down to her lips for a long, overdue, smoldering kiss.

  She thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Even heard the choir singing.

  But it wasn’t a choir. Those are voices yelling.

  She heard the metal cabinet scraping away from the door. She did push away from him then as the door swung open.

  “Doc!” yelled Ross. “It’s Ramsay. His arm! He’s bleeding everywhere.”

  Instantly Gabriel reached in his pocket and pulled out his keys. He thrust them in Emma’s hand and said, “Get my medical bag out of the Land Rover.” He rushed off, following Ross.

  Emma ran from the office as best she could in her Aircast. When she came back with the doctor’s bag, she found a group huddled around Ramsay, who was leaning over a long conveyor in the center of the factory floor.

  “Emma, set the bag beside me.”

  Gabriel seemed in control and in command.

  “Can you hand me items as I need them?” He didn’t wait for her answer as he pulled out rubber gloves and shoved his hands in them. He examined Ramsay’s arm. “Saline solution first.”

  Emma handed it to him and he poured it into the wound.

  “Oh, mother ducker, that’s cold,” Ramsay said, gritting his teeth.

  The McDonnell brought him a chair. “Sit. You look a little pale.” He placed a box under Ramsay’s arm to catch the blood and brought another chair. “For you, Doc.”

  “Is he going to be all right?” Ross asked.

  Ramsay looked up at his brother and gave him a weak smile. “Stop yere fashing like an old hag. I’ll be fine. It’s just a wee cut.”

  To Emma, it didn’t look wee at all. The gash was long and deep, ugly, angry tissue bulged out as Gabriel continued to flush the wound with solution.

  “Ye’re the clumsiest oaf I’ve ever seen,” Ross said, clearly worried for his brother.

  “Shut yere trap,” Ramsay said, grinning over his shoulder.

  Without looking up, Gabriel asked, “How did it happen?”

  “I dropped my wrench and put my arm through the conveyor trying to catch it. Unfortunately, while it was running.”

  “Gauze, Emma,” Gabriel said.

  She handed it to him and he patted the area dry.

  “My suture kit is in the inside pocket.”

  Ross paced back and forth. “Och, most fishermen get tangled up in the nets, but not my brother. He’s bested by a conveyor.”

  She located the kit and noticed the McDonnell, Deydie, and Freda wiping blood from the equipment.

  Gabriel reached in the bag and pulled out two vials and a syringe. “Lidocaine and something to keep it from burning.” He turned away from Ramsay as he partially filled the syringes, as if his full-grown patient couldn’t handle the sight of a needle. Then Gabriel injected both along the edge of the laceration. He discarded his rubber gloves, put on new ones, then organized his equipment.

  “Will it leave a scar?” Ramsay asked. “Scars are pure gold with the women.”

  Ross swatted him hard on the back. “Ye’ll never change, will ye?”

  “Yes, you’ll have a scar. Now hold still.” Gabriel went to work, sewing up Ramsay’s arm with stitches held together with little knots.

  Deydie hovered, watching avidly. Gabriel had to ask her repeatedly to step out of his light.

  “Those are some nice stitches there.” Admiration resounded through Deydie’s scraggly voice. “Stitches as even as any quilter’s.”

  Gabriel spoke to the McDonnell. “Can you get Ramsay some water? He’ll need it to take an antibiotic now.”

  “I’ll not need it, Doc,” Ramsay said. “I’m tougher than nails.”

  “Ye’re a sissy,” Ross scoffed.

  “Ramsay, you’ll do as you’re told. Keep those sutures dry. And stay off the boat.” Gabriel made it sound as if there’d be an ass kicking if he didn’t follow his orders to the letter.

  “Aye,” Ramsay acquiesced.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Ross concurred.

  “Good.” He turned toward Emma and pointed to a box in the bag. “Can you get t
he bandages for me?”

  She nodded. She’d never thought of being a nurse before, but she liked being his. She found the small box of sterile dressing and handed it over. Within a few minutes, Gabriel was done. He wrote down directions on how to care for the wound and made Ramsay promise to call tonight if there were any problems.

  “Ross, drive him home,” Gabriel finished.

  “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.” The McDonnell shoved the last of the bloody paper towels into a garbage bag. “Let’s see if the pub will open early for us.”

  “Good idea,” Ramsay said, grinning despite the blood staining the front of his shirt and pants.

  “Not you.” Gabriel glared at Ross. “Make him rest. I mean it. Tie him down, if need be.”

  Ross shook Gabriel’s hand. “Ye’re my kind of doctor.”

  Deydie was all beams for the doc, as well. “The first round’s on me.”

  The Gandiegowans’ mouths opened in shocked amazement.

  The McDonnell found his voice first. “In all the years I’ve known ye, ye’ve never offered to buy a round of drinks.”

  She frowned at each one of them. “I’m only paying for the four of ye, not the whole village.” She patted her pocket. “Quilting has been damned good to me this year. And I think we could all use a dram.”

  “Sure,” Gabriel said, smiling back at them.

  Emma had the distinct feeling things were going to get better now for Gabriel. Who would’ve guessed that to be accepted as the town’s doctor, all you had to do was know how to wield a needle—and get the nod from the head quilter.

  * * *

  Gabe left the factory, driving the short distance back to Gandiegow alone in the old Land Rover. He felt conflicted, elated, and confused. It felt so good and so right to hold Emma in his arms and to finally kiss her again. But was that only because he’d made her the forbidden fruit?

  He wanted a woman who was easy to be around, with no baggage to overcome. A sweet, small-town Scottish lass, not a Brit who had a condo in Los Angeles. Emma didn’t fit the bill. She was London—pedicures and the shopping scene. He was dirt under the nails and a whisky by the fire. They belonged to two different worlds. But that London girl sure knows how to kiss.

  He pulled into the parking lot with the others. Deydie and Emma got out of the Audi. Ross helped his brother from their car. The McDonnell and Freda ambled over to Gabe.

  “Doc?” Ramsay waved with his good arm. “Are ye sure I can’t have just one drink?”

  “Go home, Ramsay,” Gabe said, joining the group.

  Ramsay’s color looked better, but it would still be a rough night for him.

  The McDonnell pointed to the pub. “Ready to down a few?”

  Gabe wondered if he should check in on Dom first. But when they walked into the pub, his foster brother was already at the bar.

  Gabe joined him. “It’s a little early for you to be here, isn’t it?”

  Emma and Deydie sidled up to Dominic, as well.

  Dominic raised his glass to Gabe. “It’s a good hiding place from the mammas. A guy needs a break now and then from babysitting.”

  “Aye. But what about the restaurant?” Gabe asked.

  “I’ll head back in a little bit,” Dom said. “But you and I both know it’s a lost cause. A few fishermen aren’t going to turn the place around. If only Claire had been patient. If she hadn’t told those lies, we might’ve been able to think of having a baby in a year or two. Now I don’t see it happening.” Dom shrugged, defeated.

  Deydie grabbed Dom’s arm and spun him to face her, scowling. “What lies?”

  Gabe and Dom had finally found out from Ramsay what Claire had said to the quilters.

  Dom frowned at Deydie. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Deydie glared at him. “Matters to me. Are ye saying that ye’re not worried about yere wife getting fat and becoming one of us old fishwives?” Her voice rumbled throughout the pub as the McDonnell and Freda joined them.

  Dominic shook his head. “That’s the farthest thing from my mind. Claire could weigh four hundred pounds for all I care. I wouldn’t love her less.”

  Deydie prodded him more. “So, the reason you won’t let Claire have a bairn has to do with money?”

  “Yes. Can’t raise a family without it.” Dominic frowned, pausing a second. “And, to be truthful, I was worried I wouldn’t be good with little ones. But the women, they say I have a gift.”

  Deydie’s face was redder than Gabe’s Santa cap. “I’m going to take my broom to that lass’s backside, I am. Lyin’ to us the way she did.” Deydie dug in her pocket, pulled out pound notes, and slammed them on the bar. “Get some drinks. I have a debt to repay.”

  * * *

  Claire hurried to Quilting Central on a mission. Emma and Gabriel should be well on their way to being back together by now, even though Claire hadn’t heard a word from the McDonnell. Maybe Emma and Gabriel hadn’t come up for air since being locked in his office. Now it was high time for Claire to quit thinking about them and straighten out her own mess. She had to come clean with the quilters of Gandiegow.

  But when she walked in to Quilting Central, she felt something was wrong. Everyone looked up like normal, but instead of being happy to see her, they frowned. Some even glowered.

  Deydie lumbered over to her, Bethia hot on her tail. “So have you come to tell us more of your stories?”

  Claire had been ready to confess, but it was entirely another thing to have Deydie glaring at her with her mind already made up.

  “I—I . . . ” Claire tried.

  “I—I, nothing,” Deydie barked.

  Bethia laid a hand on Deydie’s arm. “That’s enough. Give her a moment to collect her thoughts.”

  “Time to make up more lies, I’ll wager,” Deydie argued.

  “I’m sorry,” Claire managed. “I was coming here to tell you all the truth. I never meant to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

  The others had ventured over. Rhona spoke up. “But is that how you feel about us fishwives?” The crowd leaned in for the answer. “Dowdy? Fat?”

  Claire wanted to crawl under the nearest sewing table. She laid her hand on her stomach. “I’m worried, is all. Baking and tasting the scones every day are taking their toll. I’m afraid if I get pregnant, well, that I won’t be able to lose the baby weight.”

  One or two nodded in understanding, but the majority of them shook their heads like they didn’t believe her.

  “I’ve been a dimwitted prat,” she said. “I’ve not been a good wife to Dominic, and I’ve been a terrible friend to you.” She gestured to the group. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “There will be consequences,” Deydie said. “Consequences.”

  Deydie went to the hook by the door and grabbed her coat. All the other women followed, each one filing out of Quilting Central. Claire was left alone in the building, her tears sliding down her face. “I know there are consequences.” Because she’d become the loneliest lass in the whole of Scotland.

  She grabbed her coat and trudged off with no destination in mind. Once again she found herself outside of the church. She went straight to the sanctuary and sat in the front pew. For a long time she stared at the Advent candles, understanding their purpose to mark the coming of Christmas. This year, though, felt less like a celebration and more like a disaster.

  “Need company?” Father Andrew asked.

  She hadn’t heard him approach. “Yes.”

  He sat in the pew beside her. “Do you want to talk or would you rather sit here quietly?”

  “I could use a sounding board, if that’s okay.”

  “Go on.” He was a kind man.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Claire said. “When we moved here, I was certain now was the time to have a baby. It’s been more than a certainty; it’s more l
ike an obsession. I’m afraid if it doesn’t happen soon, I’ll never have Dominic’s baby. But I just have to.” It might’ve been the stillness of the church, but for the first time, Claire realized how frantic she sounded.

  Father Andrew gave her an understanding look. “Sometimes what we want isn’t exactly what we need.”

  She frowned. “I know. It’s crazy. But I have such a foreboding that if I don’t get pregnant, something terrible is going to happen.”

  “Oh?” Father Andrew said in invitation.

  “It sounds completely irrational now that I’ve said it out loud. But I can’t make the panic go away.” But talking about it helped her get a grip on her feelings, more than she’d had since moving home. “No one should bring a baby into the world because of anxiety. How do I make it stop?”

  Father Andrew gazed up at the cross hanging over the altar as if the answer lay there. Finally, he spoke. “We all get anxious but we don’t always recognize the real reasons. Sometimes we have to dig deep to find the truth.”

  “But what do I do in the meantime while I’m figuring it out?” She was afraid she’d always feel like this, that the unsettling ache would never go away.

  “Step into the light, Claire. Have you ever heard that old saying ‘Fear is a darkroom where negatives are developed’? Have faith everything will turn out okay.”

  “Words are easy, Father. But living it is a whole other matter.”

  Father Andrew smiled. “Very true. But just give it a try. Send fear on a holiday. And while it’s gone, clean house. Maybe when fear gets back, there won’t be room for it in your life anymore. Maybe you’ll have replaced it with other things.”

  “Like love?” She nodded toward him. “Thanks, Father.”

  * * *

  As Gabe waited at the bar for his drink, he was more than a little conflicted. Kissing Emma in the McDonnell’s office had been the most natural thing in the world. He couldn’t have stopped himself, even if he’d wanted to. It scared the shit out of him that he had no control over himself where she was concerned. Maybe he would have to face the truth. His resolve meant nothing when it came to her. He could believe himself a big, strapping Scot all he wanted, but the truth was, whenever she was near, he was a pussy-whipped laddie. And she didn’t even know how she affected him.