Алисон Робертс – Twins For Christmas: A Little Christmas Magic / Lone Star Twins / A Family This Christmas (страница 17)
It was probably just as well that the gingerbread was destined to be only decorative if Emma’s baking skills were on a par with her cooking. The meals this week had been a fair step down from what his mother had left in the freezer. Not that the children had complained about the rather burnt sausages and that peculiar shepherd’s pie. Everything Emma did was wonderful in Poppy’s eyes and Oliver wasn’t allowed to go and play with the clockwork train until he’d finished his dinner so even the carrots were disappearing in record time these days.
Adam found himself smiling as he walked through the waiting room. Miss McClintock looked surprised but nodded back at him. Old Jock, who was sitting in the corner, disappeared further under the brim of his cap. The smile faded. Old Jock—the farmer who owned the land behind his where the skating pond was located—was as tough as old boots. What was he doing in here, waiting to see the doctor?
And had he really thought that work was the solution to forgetting about the ripples disrupting his personal life?
It didn’t help that Caitlin McMurray, the schoolteacher, came rushing in with a wailing small child even before he could call Joan McClintock into the consulting room.
‘It’s Ben,’ she said. ‘He jammed his finger in the art cupboard.’
‘Come straight in,’ Adam told her. ‘Eileen, could you call Ben’s mother, please, and get her to come in?’
‘I can stay with him for a bit.’ Caitlin had to raise her voice over the crying. ‘Emma’s practising carols with the children and the senior teacher’s keeping an eye on everything.’
Adam eyed the handkerchief tied around Ben’s finger. There was blood seeping through the makeshift dressing.
‘Let’s have a look at this finger, young man.’
‘No-o-o … It’s going to hurt.’
Distraction was needed. ‘Did our Oliver tell you about the train he found in our attic?’
‘Aye … but we didn’t believe him.’ Ben sniffed loudly. ‘He said it’s got a tunnel and a bridge even.’
‘Well, it’s true. It’s a bonny wee train. I played with it when I was a wee boy, too.’ Adam had the finger exposed now. A bit squashed but there were no bones broken. The pain was coming from the blood accumulating under the nail and that could be swiftly fixed with a heated needle.
‘And he says he’s bringing a donkey to the Christmas play.’
Adam raised his gaze to Caitlin’s. ‘Did the committee agree, then?’
‘Aye. And that’s not all. Have you heard about the recording?’
‘What recording?’
‘Moira Findlay heard about the children singing the carols and she came to listen. She says that Emma’s got the voice of an angel and she’s ne’er heard small children singing sae well. That’s when we got the
‘Oh?’ Adam struck a match to get the end of a sterile needle hot enough. Ben was watching suspiciously.
‘We’re going to make a CD of the carols. To sell and raise funds to help fix the village hall. Or get a new piano for the school. Maybe both. She’s amazing, isn’t she, Dr McAllister?’
‘It does sound like a grand idea. Moira’s a clever woman.’
‘Not Moira …’ Caitlin laughed. ‘I mean Emma. How lucky are we that she came to be the twins’ nanny?’
‘Look at that, Ben … Out the window … Was that a …
The split second it took for Ben to realise he’d been duped was enough to get near his nail with the needle and release the pressure. A single, outraged wail and then Ben stared at his finger and blinked in surprise.
‘Not so sore now?’ Adam swabbed it gently with some disinfectant. ‘We’ll put a nice big bandage on it and you can get back to singing your carols.’
With Emma.
‘I hear she sings like an angel,’ Joan McClintock informed him minutes later. ‘Eileen says she might be joining the choir.’
‘I don’t know that she’ll have time for that,’ Adam said. ‘And she’s only here until my mother gets back from Canada.’
‘Och, well … we’ll see about that, then, won’t we?’ The nod was knowing.
‘Aye. We will.’ Adam reached for the blood-pressure cuff. ‘Now, let’s see if that blood pressure’s come down a wee bit. Are you still getting the giddy spells?’
Even Old Jock had something to say about Emma when it came to his turn.
‘I’m losing my puff,’ he told Adam. ‘And it’s no’ helping with the pipes. Yon lassie o’ yours saw me sittin’ down after I was playin’ in by the tree, like I always do at Christmastime. She tol’ me to come and see you.’
‘I’ll have a listen to your chest,’ Adam said. ‘Your dad had problems with his heart, didn’t he? We might do a test on that, too.’
‘Aye.’ Jock took his cap off. ‘You do what you need to, lad. That lassie said you’d find out what was ailin’ me.’
How could a complete stranger weave herself into the lives of other people so quickly? It seemed like the whole village was being touched by Emma’s arrival in Braeburn. Maybe she didn’t have a gypsy streak after all, because the sort of magic she was creating was more like that of a fairy.
A Christmas fairy.
And magic wasn’t the only thing she was weaving. On Saturday afternoon, when it had stopped raining, they had taken Jemima down into the orchard so that Oliver could practise leading her, with Poppy riding. Not only had their little donkey proved herself very co-operative, Emma had spotted the greenery amongst the bare branches of an old apple tree.
‘Is that mistletoe?
‘Aye. Looks like it.’
‘Can we pick it?’ Emma had asked. ‘For Christmas?’
‘It’s poisonous,’ Adam had told her. ‘Causes gastrointestinal and cardiovascular problems.’
‘We won’t
So here she was, sitting at the kitchen table under all the paper chains, after the children were in bed, cutting sprigs of the mistletoe and weaving them around a circle she’d made with some wire she’d unearthed out in the barn. Adam had poured himself a wee dram to finish the day with and he paused to watch what she was doing.
‘Where did it come from?’ she asked. ‘Do you know? The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe, that is.’
Kissing …
Adam stared down at Emma’s deft hands weaving the sprigs into place. And at the back of her head, where the light was creating those copper glints in her curls. He took a mouthful of his whisky.
‘It’s very old,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard that it got hung somewhere and the young men had the privilege of kissing the girls underneath it, but every time they did they had to pick one of the berries, and when the berries had all been picked, the privilege ceased.’
Emma held up the half-finished wreath with its clusters of waxy white berries. ‘It’s got a lot of them,’ she said, tilting her head to smile up at Adam.
That did it. The magic was too strong to resist. Adam put his glass down and then reached out and plucked one of the tiny berries from the wreath.
Emma’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t do that,’ she objected. ‘You haven’t kissed a girl.’
Adam didn’t say anything. He just leaned down until there was no mistaking his intention.
And Emma didn’t turn her face away. If anything, she tilted her chin so that her lips parted, and for a heartbeat—and then two—she held his gaze.
There was surprise in those blue eyes. She hadn’t expected this but, then, neither had Adam. And she could feel the magic, too—he was sure of that, because there was a kind of wonder in her eyes as well.
Joy was always lurking there, he suspected, but this was an invitation to share it. An invitation no man could resist.
The moment his lips touched Emma’s, the tiny white berry fell from his fingers and rolled somewhere under the table. Adam wasn’t aware of dropping it. He was aware of nothing but the softness of Emma’s lips and the silky feel of her curls as he cupped her head in his hand. And then he was aware of a desire for more than this kiss. A fierce shaft of desire that came from nowhere and with more force than he’d ever felt in his life.
He had to break the contact. Step back. Wonder how on earth he was going to deal with what had just happened when his senses were still reeling.
Emma’s eyes were closed. He liked it that she’d closed her eyes. And then she sighed happily and smiled. There was no embarrassment in her eyes when she opened them. No expectation that any explanation or apology was needed.
‘There you go,’ she said softly. ‘That’s where it came from, I guess. Mistletoe is magical. I’d better finish this and hang it somewhere safe.’
‘Aye.’ Adam drained the rest of his whisky and took the glass to the sink.
What did she mean by ‘safe’? Somewhere he couldn’t find it or somewhere he
He hoped she wanted to put it somewhere he could find it.
There were a lot of berries left on those twigs.
FOR THE FIRST time in her life Emma Sinclair understood why they called it ‘falling’ in love.
Because she could feel that her balance was teetering. That there was a chasm very nearby that she couldn’t afford to fall into. She could get hurt.