A Little Christmas Magic (12 page)

Part of it was hope. The kind of hope he’d felt when he’d persuaded Tania to marry him and come to live in his own little patch of the world? He’d thought that he’d never feel that kind of hope again. The one that suggested that he’d found all that he needed to keep him happy for the rest of his life. He’d been wrong that time but the hope had never been this strong, had it? It was time to put it all behind him. Time to take off the wedding ring that symbolised his entrapment in the past?

And Adam knew that part of it was also love. Maybe the biggest part. The kind of love he’d felt when he’d held his newborn babies for the first time. That almost desperate urge to protect them. To hold them and cherish them. For ever. He felt that urge about Emma now and it made him stroke her skin very lightly. Over her shoulder and along her collar bone. She had a tiny scar that interrupted the perfection of her smooth skin. Funny place for a scar—almost exactly where someone would have a central line inserted for a major medical procedure. He’d have to ask her some time how it came to be.

Emma shifted in his arms and made a tiny sound. She would wake soon. Maybe they would make love again. Even the thought of it stirred desire but Adam didn’t want her to wake just yet because he knew she wouldn’t sleep in his arms again tonight. She would creep back to her own room so that the children wouldn’t know she hadn’t been there all night.

To protect him—in case they said something at school
and then the whole village would know what was going on in the McAllister house?

Maybe it was to protect them—so that they wouldn’t get ideas that Emma might be in their lives for ever?

If they asked, he might tell them that he hoped she might be but hope wasn’t something to give lightly. He’d seen it in his mother’s face tonight. And his sister’s.

In the way they’d looked at each other as if they knew what was going on between him and Emma.

He would have seen it in his own face in the mirror all those years ago, when he’d been getting dressed for his wedding.

Hope was fragile. Like a glass bubble that could shatter all too easily. He hadn’t intended ever trying to hold one himself again but it had formed without him really noticing.

And now it was here.

And it was huge.

The days were passing in a blur.

There was so much to do. Emma had never been so busy in her life but she was loving every minute of it. Final rehearsals for the school’s Christmas production that would happen on Christmas Eve were in full swing. The junior-school trip to the recording studio had happened yesterday on the last day of school and the CDs were due to arrive today. There had been a picture of them all in the newspaper and already there were apparently orders coming in and people waiting to download the amateur production. Women in the village were not only smiling at Emma, they were
talking
to her. This was the most exciting thing that had happened in Braeburn since …

They never said what else had happened that was so
exciting but Emma had to wonder if it had been when their beloved doctor had brought his beautiful young wife home to his village.

Funny how a ghost could cast such a shadow but it wasn’t the only shadow Emma was aware of today.

The arrangements were all in place. Poppy was spending the day with Jeannie and Oliver was with Ben. Their mothers would take them to the play practice later and Caitlin had offered to take Poppy to her dance class, where they were also doing a final rehearsal for their upcoming appearance, and Adam would collect her. He would also take Oliver to his music lesson tomorrow morning to prepare for the junior pipers’ display. The Christmas Eve school production wasn’t just a nativity play from the youngest pupils. It was more like a talent show. A celebration of everything the village children had accomplished for their year.

Nobody seemed to mind that Emma was skipping town for a day and a night. She would be back in time. The knowing looks and veiled comments she’d received had let her know that they thought she was really going to Edinburgh to do some Christmas shopping. The way Mrs McAllister used to. And didn’t the bairns deserve something special? Their poor father never had the time to go far afield to create Christmas surprises but Emma was good at surprises, wasn’t she?

Oh, yes … the shadows were gathering and, as she sat alone in the train on the way to Edinburgh, they formed a black cloud that threatened a storm.

Had she made a terrible mistake in trying to create a perfect Christmas for the McAllister family? For herself?

She hadn’t intended falling in love with Adam but it had happened. And, if this was going to be her last Christmas, how magical was it to feel this happy?

This
loved.

She hadn’t intended to give Adam any more than the reminder of what it was like to let a woman close. To help him step forward from his grief. She hadn’t expected him to fall in love with
her.
Not that he’d said anything but she could feel it in every touch. Every kiss. She could see it in his eyes when she turned unexpectedly and found him looking at her.

What if she’d set him up to suffer loss all over again?

And at
Christmas
time?

No. She couldn’t afford to let a single bolt of lightning detach itself from that storm cloud. Jack was waiting for her to arrive at the infirmary. She would have the horrible test this afternoon, sleep off the effects of the drugs and then go back to Braeburn and enjoy every moment of this Christmas.

She had to remember to post the CD she had burned last night, too. Not that it would reach Sharon by Christmas Day, of course, but that was okay. The collection of photographs and the song she had written for her best friend would arrive electronically on the right day. The CD was just a back-up. She’d made one for herself as well.

It was snowing again by the time Emma carried her small bag into the brightly lit entrance to the huge hospital. There was a massive Christmas tree in the foyer, covered in silver decorations—like theirs would have been if she and the children hadn’t painted all those balls. The girl at the reception desk was wearing a bright badge that had Rudolf the reindeer with a flashing red nose. Even the telephone she picked up to page Jack with was wrapped in tinsel.

And Jack’s smile when he saw her looked like Christmas. So warm. Full of hope? His hug was comforting.

‘Let’s get this over with, Emma. Are you ready?’

Emma could only nod. Her throat felt tight and tears stung the back of her eyes. Hope was like a bubble, wasn’t it?

A freshly blown one that caught all the colours of the rainbow and was so pretty that you wanted to catch it and keep it.

But it would only break if you tried.

T
HE HUM OF
conversation stopped. Even the small girls stopped skipping about and giggling.

‘Dr McAllister … What’s happened?’

‘Nothing’s happened. I’m just here to collect Poppy.’

‘Where’s Emma?’

‘She had to go to Edinburgh. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Oh … thank goodness for that.’ The young mothers shared relieved glances. ‘She’s not going to miss the performance, then. It wouldn’t be the same, would it, without her singing with the children?’

‘No.’

The mothers turned their attention to getting their daughters to change their shoes and put coats and hats on before going out into the snow. Having got over the surprise of seeing him at the dance class, nobody seemed to expect Adam to say anything else. People drifted away, leaving him alone with Poppy as he helped her with the laces on her dancing shoes. Because they were so used to giving him the space he’d always demanded by keeping people at a distance? Odd that it felt a little … disappointing?

At least the teacher came to talk to him.

‘Did ye get the note, Dr McAllister? About the kilt?’

‘Aye …’ There had been a note, hadn’t there? Weeks ago. Kylie had said something about needing to order a kilt for Poppy for her first dance performance but that had been about the time that his previous nanny had announced her pregnancy and intention of emigrating to Australia and life had suddenly become chaotic. He’d totally forgotten about it.

The teacher gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s no’ essential,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Poppy’s got a skirt she could wear. We can give her a tartan sash.’

‘But I want a kilt,’ Poppy said. She tugged on her father’s sleeve. ‘I
love
kilts, Daddy.’

‘We’ll find you a kilt, pet, I promise.’

How he was going to manage to keep that promise within the next forty-eight hours was beyond Adam at the moment but there were other things to deal with first. Like getting the children home and fed. Looking after the dogs and collecting the eggs from the hens and making sure Jemima had plenty of fresh hay. Poppy took the little donkey a carrot.

‘You’re going to be in our play,’ she said happily. ‘You have to be very good and then you’ll get more carrots.’

‘She
will
have to be very good,’ Adam agreed. He couldn’t help shaking his head as a wave of bemusement caught him off guard. Were they really going to transport Jemima into the village hall to star in the nativity play?

Extraordinary.

As astonishing as the person who’d made it happen, in fact.

Emma’s absence in the house that evening was far more noticeable than Adam had expected. It wasn’t just that he had so much more that he needed to do. Everywhere he turned, he could see things that made him think of Emma. The paper chains hanging from the beams in
the kitchen. The Christmas tree in the living room. The children asking for songs instead of a bedtime story.

He did his best but it wasn’t the same.

‘It’s okay,’ Oliver said kindly. ‘Emma will be back tomorrow.’

It wasn’t just the lack of music in the house that made it feel oddly quiet. The atmosphere was different. Emma didn’t have to be singing, did she? She only had to be present for there to be a unique energy in the house.

A promise of something good.

Joy, perhaps.

Or love …

To distract himself from what was missing, Adam went online to check out the availability of kilts for small girls. But even that reminded him of Emma. Of the conversation in the kitchen that first weekend she’d been here. When she’d asked him if there was a McAllister tartan and whether he ever wore a kilt.

He’d been terse, hadn’t he? Pushed her away, the way he always did when people got too close. It worked so well because they understood why he needed his space. Or they thought they did.

Emma hadn’t respected those boundaries, though. She’d pushed until he could see them for what they were. Prison bars keeping him in the past. Hurting his children.

He found a specialist shop and clicked on the Clan Donald tartan. There was a children’s section and he found a clan kilt in a new tartan that had been designed in recent years. With a purple background and small gold, red and green stripes, it was far more feminine than the dark colours of the kilt he had hanging in his own wardrobe. It would be perfect for Poppy. It seemed to be in stock in the right size but could they deliver it in time? Adam took note of the phone number. He’d give them a
call tomorrow morning after he’d dropped Ollie at his music lesson.

With his hands still hovering over the keyboard, Adam caught the glint that the screen light coaxed from the dull gold band on his finger. It wasn’t just the personal barriers he’d erected that were prison bars keeping him in the past, was it?

With a movement familiar enough to be automatic he used his thumb to touch the metal. Did he rub it as a reassuring link to a past he wasn’t permitted to forget or was he actually trying to hide it?

On impulse, he closed the fingers of his right hand over the ring and gave it a tug. It didn’t budge. He tried twisting it and it moved a little. Enough to make him get up abruptly and startle the dogs, who followed him curiously into the bathroom where he lathered his hands with soap until he could move the ring more freely. It took some effort to get it over his knuckle but—suddenly—it was off.

He was holding the symbol of his past and his failed marriage and the tragedy of losing his wife and … And he had no idea what to do with it now. The thought of taking it up the back of Old Jock’s farm and hurling it into the pond was appealing. Just as well it was so late and the pond was frozen over anyway. Back in the library to shut down the computer, Adam dropped the ring into a drawer of his desk.

Walking up the stairs to bed, he was again aware of Emma’s absence and this time it came with a yearning ache because he was going to his bed alone. He paused for a moment, in the spot where he’d first heard the haunting notes of that song coming from her room late at night, catching his breath as he realised how much he was missing her.

His left hand was curled, his thumb rubbing the empty place where the ring had been. There was nothing there to touch. Nothing to hide.

Or should that be no
where
to hide?

It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed that he’d taken his ring off. Eileen’s sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. There would be talk, of course, but he suspected that the consensus of the village women would be that three years’ mourning was more than enough. He had done his duty and upheld the myth that the marriage had been too perfect to move on from and he’d done it for long enough to ensure that the children were protected. They would always have their ‘angel’ mother but they deserved more than that in their lives. Someone real, who made their lives more joyful.

Would the villagers go further and speculate how much influence Emma’s presence had had on his decision?

Probably.

Did he mind?

If he did, he’d get used to it—the way he had got used to carrying the burden of the truth alone. Maybe—hopefully—he’d have to, because he had made more than one decision tonight. He was going to ask Emma to stay in Braeburn longer and he was pretty confident that she would agree. He’d had the strong impression today that she didn’t really want to go. She’d seemed reluctant to even go to that job interview in the end. And it was good that she had gone because it gave her options. And if she chose to stay, it would be because she really wanted to.

If she did want to stay, he could start hoping for something more permanent. Not just for the children—he wanted that for himself as well.

The hotel in Edinburgh was a lovely old sandstone building that had been close enough to the hospital to make it the ideal place for Emma to spend the night and sleep off the effects of the drugs she’d been given for her procedure.

Not that she’d slept particularly well. Despite being only two days before Christmas, the hotel was very quiet, which should have been a bonus but it made Emma feel lonely. She missed the sound of children nearby. Even more, she missed being near Adam. So much that it was a physical ache that had nothing to do with the holes that had been bored into her hip bone. She longed for the sound of his voice. The way his presence filled a room. Just a shared look would have been enough—to see the warmth in those gorgeous, dark eyes and the promise that always seemed to be there now.

Oh … help. It was going to be very hard to leave, wasn’t it?

At least she could distract herself with some Christmas shopping this morning. She wanted to find something special for Poppy and Oliver. And for Adam. Something that they’d keep for ever and it would remind them of her?

She needed something for Jack as well. He’d gone to a lot of effort to ensure she didn’t have the results of this test as a dark cloud hanging over her future for any longer than was absolutely necessary and, as usual, he’d done his best to make the procedure as painless as possible. A bottle of really nice Scotch, perhaps? She could give it to him later because they’d arranged to meet in the hospital café for a coffee before she drove back to Braeburn. Just a quick check, Jack had said—to see that there were no complications from the test. And the results of the blood tests would be back by then, although the examination
of her bone marrow would take up to seven days. From past experience, however, Emma knew that the preliminary results could arrive within forty eight hours and, so far, they’d always been an accurate prediction of what lay ahead.

It was a bit painful to walk this morning but a couple of painkillers along with her breakfast and she’d be fine to wander through the lovely boutique shops on the Royal Mile and Grassmarket. A quick coffee with Jack and then she could be on her way, heading back to Braeburn. She wished she could just get on the train and start travelling now. Not that she’d make it back in time for the big dress rehearsal of the play but at least she’d be going in the right direction.

On the way back to the people she had already come to love so deeply.

Caitlin McMurray was coping with at least fifteen overexcited children by the time Adam dropped Poppy and Oliver at the school.

‘Och … here’s our wee Mary and Joseph.’ Caitlin looked relieved. ‘Where are our shepherds? Over
here
, Jamie, thank you. No—we’re not getting the paints out.’ She grinned at Adam. ‘Don’t you love the silly season?’

Adam smiled back. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to help. I need to get to the clinic and see if anyone needs me.’

Except that he found someone who needed him even before he got as far as the clinic. Joan McClintock, almost buried in her cold-weather clothes, was standing outside the church.

‘How are you, Joan?’

‘Och … you know, Doctor. I’ve been better.’

‘Still feeling peaky?’

‘Aye …’

‘You’re sounding a bit short o’ puff.’ Automatically, Adam reached for Joan’s hand, negotiating the heavy coat cuff and a woollen glove to find her pulse.

‘Aye … I am at that. Must be the cold.’

‘Come into the clinic with me. I’d like to check your blood pressure.’

‘Och, I didn’t want to be a bother, Dr McAllister.’

‘It’s no bother, Joan.’ She was looking pale, Adam thought, and there was something about her that was ringing alarm bells. Made him think of Old Jock, who’d also been a bit ‘short o’ puff’ shortly before he’d collapsed and nearly died.

There were two people in the waiting room but Eileen took one look at her friend’s face and made no comment about a disruption to the morning’s timetable.

‘Och, Joan … you’re no’ looking right. It’s a good thing you’re here to see the doctor.’

His elderly patient’s blood pressure wasn’t concerning and her pulse seemed steady enough but Adam still wasn’t happy.

‘Is there anything else happening, Joan? You’ve no’ got any chest pain or nausea or anything?’

‘Noo … I’ve just … I don’
feel
right, you know?’

‘Aye. I’m going to do a twelve-lead ECG.’ He knew it would be a mission to get down to skin and attach all the electrodes but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. It was quite possible for someone to be having a heart attack with almost no symptoms—especially a stoic, elderly woman.

Sure enough, the ECG trace showed unmistakeable evidence that Joan was, indeed, in the early stages of a heart attack. She needed to get to a hospital with catheter lab facilities as soon as possible.

‘I’m going to send you into hospital,’ Adam told her,
after carefully explaining what he’d found. ‘The sooner you get treatment, the less damage there will be to your heart. I’ll get Eileen to call an ambulance.’

‘I’m no’ going in any ambulance.’ Joan was already pulling her clothes back on. ‘I’m fine, Doctor.’

‘You’re not fine, Joan. Here—I want you to chew up these aspirin tablets and wash them down with some water.’

But Joan was too upset to co-operate. Her shortness of breath was increasing and Adam knew that a panic attack was not only imminent but would be the worst thing for her, given that the blood supply to her heart was already compromised.

‘All right. No ambulance. I’ll talk to Eileen and we’ll find someone who can drive you.’

‘No …’ Joan’s face crumpled. ‘It’s been snowing … it’s dangerous … I don’t trust
anyone
… to drive me
anywhere
…’

Her breath was coming in short gasps now and she had a hand pressed to the centre of her chest. He had to break this cycle before a catastrophe happened—but how?

Adam took hold of Joan’s hand with both of his. ‘Do you trust
me
, Joan?’

‘Oh … aye, Doctor. Of course I do.’

‘Would you let
me
drive you to the hospital?’

‘But—’

‘Wait here. I’ve going to have a wee word with Eileen and we’ll get everything sorted. And then I’m going to pop a wee needle in your hand and give you something to help you relax.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘It’s all going to be all right, Joan. You just need to let me look after you.’

Amazingly, Eileen didn’t look remotely outraged at the prospect of having to reschedule the waiting patients and neither of them seemed bothered about the inconvenience.
Perhaps the drama of Old Jock’s narrow escape was fresh enough to have everyone watching out for each other.