Twins For Christmas. Alison Roberts
much back to full power. I’m just killing some time before I go to the school for carol practice.’
Sharon laughed. ‘I got your email. I can’t believe you’ve got involved with village life that fast. No … on second thoughts, it doesn’t surprise me at all. You’ll be starring in the Christmas pantomime by next week.’
‘No. That’s Ollie and Poppy. They’ve been chosen to be Joseph and Mary for the school nativity play. They’re so excited. I’m going to have to make costumes for them.’
‘Uh-oh … Do they know you can’t sew?’
Emma laughed. ‘No. They don’t even know I can’t cook yet. Their gran left so much food in the freezer I’ve been able to keep my lack of talent well hidden.’
‘Imagine if you gave the only doctor in town food poisoning?’
‘Hey … that only happened once. I give chicken a wide berth now.’
‘Good thinking. He wouldn’t be happy.’
‘He’s not happy anyway. Do you know I haven’t seen him smile once yet?’
‘He’s Scottish. He’s supposed to be dour.’
‘He still wears his wedding ring and it’s three years since his wife died.’
‘Hmm. He must have loved her.’
‘Who wouldn’t? From what I’ve heard, she was either a princess, an angel or some kind of saint.’
‘Nobody’s that perfect. People just forget the bad stuff when they’re dead.’
Emma smiled but couldn’t help wondering if Sharon would forget about the food poisoning incident if …
‘Oh, my God … what is that horrendous noise?’
Laughter chased away the dark thought. ‘There’s an old guy in a kilt near the Christmas tree. He’s warming up his bagpipes.’
‘What? Sounds like a tribe of donkeys braying.’
‘No. That’s even worse. You should hear Jemima waking us all up in the mornings. She’s very cute but remind me that I never want a donkey as a pet in the future, will you?’
‘What was that? I can hardly hear you.’
‘I’d better go, Sharon. I’m due at school. Talk soon. Love you.’
The piper was playing a real tune by the time Emma tucked her phone into her pocket and, instead of the brisk walk she had intended to get her circulation moving again, she sat there and listened for a minute.
It was such an evocative sound with a haunting edge that was a song of what … courage? Loneliness?
Maybe it was just the quintessential Scottishness of it but it made her think of Adam McAllister.
Did he ever wear a kilt?
The notion gave her an odd curl somewhere deep in her belly.
What was it about men in kilts that could be such a sexy image?
Or was it the image of Adam in the attire that was making her feel a little odd?
It was easy to dismiss such a ridiculous idea because something else was happening in her head.
Or maybe her heart.
Perhaps it was the Christmas tree she was looking at in combination with the haunting music. Or maybe it had something to do with that moment in her phone call to Sharon when she’d wondered if her friend would only remember the good things.
Whatever it was, Emma was facing the realisation that this could possibly be the last Christmas she would ever have.
And she was going to be sharing it with children who had no memory of what a happy, family Christmas should be all about.
With a man who couldn’t see how precious life was and how you had to catch joy—not shut it out or allow it to be dimmed by shadows.
The fey notion that fate had sent her here for a reason suddenly made sense. If this was going to be her last Christmas, how lucky was she that she could share it with Poppy and Oliver?
She was going to make this the best Christmas ever.
Starting with paper chains.
FLIGHTS OF FANCY first thing in the morning were a bit much but Emma seemed to have no control over this one.
Here she was, standing by the kitchen bench, breaking eggs, and a single glance over her shoulder to where the man of the house was having his breakfast had been enough to trigger it.
She could see Adam McAllister wearing a kilt. With his hair even longer than the current shaggy style so that dark, tangled waves kissed his shoulders. Standing in solitary splendour on the top of a hill, with a set of bagpipes tucked under his arm, offering a mournful lament to the universe. It was almost enough to bring a tear to her eyes. She certainly had to stifle a sigh.
In fact, Adam was wearing a dark jumper over his shirt and tie, buttering his toast and adding marmalade, just like any normal mortal. There was no excuse for the words that popped out of Emma’s mouth.
‘Is there a McAllister tartan?’
‘What?’ Adam’s hand stopped halfway towards his mug of tea. He sounded both impatient and bewildered.
Emma made herself walk to the fridge to get some milk for the eggs but she couldn’t look at Adam. She’d woken up a little nervous that this was the start of the weekend and she’d be seeing a lot more of the children’s father. She’d been hoping to impress him by how well she’d settled into this new job but she’d obviously annoyed him by asking a stupid question.
‘It’s just that I saw a man playing the bagpipes in the village yesterday and he was wearing a kilt. I know that the colours and patterns vary according to clan and I just wondered … Oh, help. Now she was prattling on. ‘If, you know, you had one for your family.’
‘Of course we do.’
‘Oh …’ Emma waited but that seemed to be the end to the conversation. ‘That’s nice.’ She poured milk into the bowl of eggs and started whisking them. The silence stretched on.
‘We’re a branch of Clan Donald,’ Adam said, with an air of having realised he might have been rude in giving such a terse response. ‘The tartan’s red and green with white stripes and a little bit of royal blue.’
‘Sounds lovely.’ Emma pressed her lips together but the question refused to stay unspoken. ‘Do you ever wear a kilt?’
‘Only for weddings.’ She could feel Adam glaring at her back. ‘And funerals.’
Oh …man. She took a deep breath. This was going to be a long weekend. ‘Would you like some scrambled eggs? I’m making them for Poppy and Ollie.’
‘No.’ Adam’s chair scraped as he pushed it back. ‘I’m due at the medical centre. We have a Saturday morning clinic until eleven and then I’ve got my house calls to make.’ Reaching for the crust of toast he’d left on his plate, Adam divided it and gave a piece to each of the dogs, who were flanking his chair. The action was as automatic as picking up his napkin to wipe his mouth and it made Emma feel better.
There was kindness lurking under that gruff exterior, wasn’t there?
She almost changed her mind as he went to the kitchen door and raised his voice.
‘Poppy—are you out of those pyjamas yet? Oliver—hurry up and find your chanter and don’t forget your music book this time.’
He turned back to pick