Twins For Christmas: A Little Christmas Magic / Lone Star Twins / A Family This Christmas
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‘Oh … how exciting.’ Emma couldn’t miss the play of emotion on the older woman’s face. ‘She’ll be so happy to have you there. I … I lost my mum last year and I miss her all the time but that’s when I’ll miss her the most, I think.’
When she had a baby? If she ever had a baby would be more truthful. But she’d said too much already, hadn’t she? Maybe revealed too much as well, judging by the searching look she was getting. Emma bit her lip but Catherine was smiling. Her eyes were full of sympathy and the touch on Emma’s arm was more like a reassuring squeeze.
‘Come with me, Emma. We’ll go and find that son of mine.’
Could she leave her backpack and guitar in the waiting room? About to step away, Emma caught another glare from Eileen that was punctuated by another eloquent sniff. Hastily, she picked up her luggage and followed Catherine across the waiting room and through another door. She was still trying to readjust her mental image of the children’s grandmother and, because she wasn’t watching, the guitar was at enough of a sideways angle to catch on the door in front of her so she almost fell into what was obviously a consulting room.
The man, who had one hip perched on the edge of a large wooden desk, jerked his head in her direction. The two children, who were on the floor in the middle of a game that involved a stethoscope and bandages, looked up and froze.
There was an awkward silence and Emma could feel herself blushing furiously as she manoeuvred herself into the room. What had possessed her to bring such an unwieldy extra piece of luggage, anyway? Did she think she might go busking in Braeburn’s village square if she didn’t land this gig of being a nanny?
What made it so much worse was that the doctor who’d sounded nice but brusque on the phone was just as different from what she’d imagined as the grandmother had been. The fuzzy image of a plump and fatherly country GP had just been bombed. Adam McAllister was tall and fit. More than fit. With his jet-black hair, olive skin and sharply defined angles of his face, he was probably one of the best-looking men Emma had ever seen.
Except that he was scowling. While his mother had surprised her by being so unexpectedly nice, the pendulum had swung in the opposite direction now. Adam McAllister looked uncompromising. Fierce. Angry even?
At her?
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, the words rushing out. ‘The train was … it was …’ Oh, help. He was looking at her as if he knew. Had he somehow managed to access her medical records or something?
‘The train’s always late.’ Catherine was pulling out a chair. She smiled down at the children. ‘What’s happened here? Has Poppy broken her leg again, Ollie?’
‘Aye. I’m fixing her.’ But the small boy’s attention was diverted now. ‘Who are you?’ he asked Emma. ‘And what’s that?’
‘I’m Emma. And this is my guitar case.’
‘I want to see.’
‘Maybe later.’ Adam McAllister’s offer did not sound promising. ‘Your gran’s going to take you to see the tree going up in a minute. And then you’re going home for your supper.’
‘After some proper introductions,’ Catherine said firmly. ‘Emma—this is Oliver and this is Poppy. Ollie and Poppy—this is Emma … Sinclair?’
‘Miss Sinclair,’ Adam corrected.
‘Emma’s fine,’ said Emma. ‘Hello, Poppy and Ollie. You’re twins, aren’t you?’
They stared at her. They had brown eyes like their father but their hair was much lighter. Poppy still had golden streaks in her long braids. She also had something clutched in her hand.
‘Is that Barbie?’
Poppy nodded. ‘She’s got a pony,’ she offered. ‘At home.’
‘Lucky Barbie. I love ponies.’
‘I’ve got a pony, too.’
‘Jemima’s not a pony,’ Oliver said. ‘She’s a donkey.’
Emma blinked. Catherine laughed. ‘Adam probably didn’t say much on the phone,’ she said, ‘but there are a few pets at home. Do you like animals?’
‘Yes. I had a job in a pet shop once. We had lots of puppies and kittens and rabbits. Oh, and hamsters and mice and rats, too.’
Poppy’s eyes were round. ‘I love puppies. And kittens.’
‘I love rats,’ Oliver said. ‘Can I have a rat, Daddy?’
‘We’ve probably got some out in the barn.’
‘I want one for a pet. Inside.’
‘No.’ The word was almost a sigh. ‘You can’t have a rat, Ollie.’
‘But why not?’ With a bandage unfurling in his hand to roll across the floor, Oliver scrambled to his feet. ‘You said I could tell you what I wanted most for Christmas. And I want a rat.’
‘They smell bad.’ Emma had been the cause of what was becoming a family disagreement. She needed to do something. ‘And they’ve got long tails that are all bald and pink and … icky.’
‘Icky?’ Adam was looking at her as if she was suddenly speaking Swahili.
‘Icky,’ Poppy repeated. She giggled. ‘Icky, icky, icky.’
‘You’re icky,’ Oliver told her.
‘No. You are.’
‘Time to go,’ Catherine decreed. ‘You’ve met Emma and she’s met you. Now it’s time for her to talk to Daddy.’
In the flurry of putting on coats and hats and gathering schoolbags, Catherine found time to squeeze Emma’s hand.
‘I do hope you’ll still be here when I get back,’ she said softly. ‘I’d like the chance to get to know you better.’
She managed to say something to Adam as well, just before she ushered the children out of the room. Emma couldn’t hear what she said but, as she sank into the chair as the door closed behind Catherine, he was still scowling at her.
Strength. That was what he needed.
This was his one shot at finding the help he needed so that his mother would not cancel her trip to Canada and this young woman was clearly … He closed his eyes for as long as it took to draw in a new breath. A complete flake?
She looked like a refugee from the sixties or something, carrying a guitar and a backpack. So pale he could almost count the freckles scattered over her nose and she was thin enough to have a waif-like air that probably made her look a lot younger than she was. And what was it with those oversized clothes? It reminded him of when Poppy clopped around the house with her feet in a pair of her grandmother’s high-heeled shoes and a dress that was trailing around her ankles.
She was so obviously unsuitable that it was deeply disappointing. He’d have to go through the motions of an interview, though—if only to have ammunition for the argument he’d have to have with his mother later. Her whispered impression had been very succinct.
She’s lovely. Give her the job, Adam.
How had this musically inclined waif managed to impress Catherine so much in such a short time?
‘So …’ He did his best to summon a smile. ‘You’re fond of animals, then?’
‘Mmm.’ She was smiling back at him. She had blue eyes, he noted. And brown curls that had a reddish glint where the light caught them. ‘I am.’
‘And children?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘I like children, too.’
‘Do you have any experience with them?’
‘I’ve taught music classes. And … and I had a job working with children over a Christmas period a while back. I loved it.’
Because she’d never quite grown up herself? How many adults would use a word like ‘icky’ with such relish?
‘But you’ve never been a nanny?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any younger brothers or sisters? Friends who have small children?’
‘N-no.’ The smile was fading now.
‘Do you have a full driver’s licence?’
‘Yes. I’ve got a motorbike licence, too.’
The image of this child-woman astride a powerful two-wheeled machine was disconcerting.
‘I’ve even got a heavy-vehicle licence. I had a job driving a bus once.’
Maybe that image was even more of a worry. How had she had the strength to even turn such a large wheel? Or was it the overlarge sleeves on her pullover that made her arms look so frail?
‘Can you cook?’
‘Well … I did have a job in a restaurant once. I—’
But Adam was shaking his head. ‘How old are you, Emma?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
Really? Only a few years younger than he was? Hard to believe but the surprise wasn’t enough to disturb his train of thought. ‘Just how many jobs have you had?’
‘I don’t know,’ Emma admitted. ‘Quite a lot. I tend to like part-time or temporary work. That’s why this job appealed so much. It’s only for a few weeks, isn’t it?’
‘Aye.’ But just because he only needed help on a temporary basis it didn’t mean that he wanted to employ someone who was incapable of commitment or even reliability, did it?
Perhaps he should have tried to find something permanent instead of a stop-gap, but who went looking to move and start a new position in the weeks right before Christmas? How many people wanted to move to an isolated Scottish village anyway?
His mother was due to drive to Edinburgh tonight, ready for an early departure tomorrow. If he didn’t take a chance on Emma, she would cancel her trip and she’d miss the birth of her new grandchild. She’d be miserable and Adam would feel guilty and the children would pick up on the tension and it could quite likely spoil Christmas for all of them. Not that Adam had found much joy in the season in recent years but the children were his priority now, weren’t they?
And Emma had made Poppy giggle with that ridiculous word.
That delicious sound of his daughter’s merriment echoed somewhere in the back of his head and it was enough to soften the disappointment that Emma was so unsuitable.
‘It is only for a few weeks,’ he heard himself saying aloud. ‘But … ach …’ The sound encompassed both defeat and frustration. How bad could it be? He really only needed a babysitter for the hours he had to be at work. ‘Fine. The job’s yours if you want it, Emma.’
‘Oh …’ Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Yes. Please. But … don’t you have other people to interview?’
‘You were the last.’ She didn’t need to know that she had also been the first, did she? ‘I’ll lock up here and then we’ll head off.’ He looked at the unusual luggage on the floor beside Emma’s chair. ‘Is that all you’ll need?’
She nodded.
‘And you don’t mind being here over the Christmas period? You don’t have family who will be missing you?’
‘No.’ She shook her head this time and dipped her chin so that her gaze was hidden, as if she didn’t want him to see how she felt about that.
Maybe it stirred too many memories that were too painful—like it did for him? An emotional cocktail of grief and anger that the season of goodwill and family togetherness only served to exacerbate? The thought gave him an odd moment of feeling potentially connected to this pale stranger in her oversized clothes. Or maybe it was the poignant tilt of her head as she looked down.
He shook off the unwelcome sensation. He had more than enough people to worry about, without adding someone else. Emma’s job was to make life easier for him for a little while, not to complicate it any further.
‘Right, then.’ His movements were brisk as he logged out of his computer and flicked off the desk lamp. ‘It’s getting late. I suppose I’d better take you home.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE DARKNESS OF a winter’s night engulfed the vehicle as it left the outskirts of Braeburn village behind.
Emma eyed the dashboard radio controls longingly. Driving anywhere without music was an alien experience for her but Dr McAllister clearly wasn’t going to allow distractions while he was driving. Fair enough. It was raining hard now and the lights were catching a mist of white speckles that suggested it was trying to turn into sleet.
Would conversation also be deemed a distraction? She risked a sideways glance and had to tilt her chin upwards. Even sitting down, Adam McAllister was tall. Well over six feet. Walking beside him into the clinic’s car park had made Emma feel very small. He hadn’t said anything then either, apart from an offer to carry her bag, which had sounded more like a command than an invitation.
Clearly she hadn’t really made a good impression on her new employer but at least he was prepared to give her a chance. Any optimism that she could change his mind was fading now, however, as she took in a profile that was stern enough to suggest an inability to suffer fools gladly.
Imagine running the gauntlet of that snappy little terrier of a receptionist in order to see such an unapproachable GP? You’d have to be really sick, Emma decided. And I’ll bet his patients never forget to take their pills.
‘What?’
The terse query was enough to make Emma jump. Coupled with the effect of Adam taking his eyes off the road to glare at her for a second, it actually made her heart skip a beat, but the fear that she might have spoken aloud was forgotten as fast as it had appeared.
In the dim reflected light of the dashboard controls, Adam’s eyes looked black under equally dark brows. His hair was long enough to be a little unruly and a single lock had detached itself from the rest to flop across his forehead. The crazy desire to reach out and put that curl back where it belonged was so inappropriate that Emma caught her breath in an audible gasp.
She must have sounded as if she’d suddenly decided she might be in the company of an axe murderer, given the way those dark brows lifted. With his gaze safely back on the road, Adam sounded vaguely uncomfortable with the effect he’d had.
‘I thought I heard you say something,’ he muttered. ‘About the hills.’
‘Oh …’ Emma turned to stare ahead through the windscreen but her gaze caught Adam’s hand on the steering-wheel as she did so. He had long fingers and neatly cut nails and … dear Lord … a wedding ring? Why hadn’t he mentioned his wife? Why hadn’t she been at the interview instead of his mother? Confused, Emma struggled to find a response to his comment. ‘It is hilly, isn’t it? Do you live far from the village?’
‘Only another mile or so. Don’t worry, you’ll have a car to use.’
‘Wow … that’s great.’ Personal transport was an unexpected bonus. ‘Thank you.’
The soft snort sounded exasperated. ‘You’ll need it. There’s a lot of driving involved in getting the children to where they need to be. Poppy has a Highland dance class once a week and Oliver is starting drumming lessons in addition to his bagpipes class. On top of that, the school does a nativity play and there’ll be rehearsals almost every day after school. You’ll also be responsible for grocery shopping and other chores, like going to the vet. One of the dogs is having treatment at the moment for a foot injury.’
Emma was trying to listen carefully to her job description but she was still thinking about the mysteriously absent wife. And then it was too easy to get distracted by the cadence of Adam’s deep voice and the gorgeous accent. She only realised she was smiling when she caught the movement of his head as it turned in her direction again. Hastily, she rearranged her face.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope it’s nothing serious.’
‘A torn pad, that’s all. But I didn’t notice in time and it got infected.’
Although it looked like they were in the middle of nowhere, Adam put the indicator on and slowed the vehicle, turning through a gap in a tall stone wall. The headlights shone on what looked like a scene from a gothic movie, with the bare branches of massive old trees twisting out to meet each other and create a tunnel—the smaller branches like claws reaching out towards Emma. She shivered.
‘It’ll be warm inside.’
Startled, Emma looked sideways but Adam was concentrating on driving around the biggest lumps the tree roots were making in the driveway. He couldn’t possibly have seen her shiver unless he had exceptionally acute peripheral vision. She hadn’t forgotten the way he’d looked at her in his clinic either … as if he knew something she’d rather he didn’t know.
A prickle of sensation ran down her spine. She really needed to curb her overactive imagination. Any minute now and she’d have Mrs McAllister buried somewhere down that spooky driveway and she’d be going into the rather forbidding-looking two-storeyed stone farmhouse to find it devoid of a friendly grandmother or any children. There would just be a dark hallway and a ticking grandfather clock and Dr McAllister would shut the door behind her and turn the lock and say—
‘So … here we are, then.’
She made an odd squeaking sound as Adam took on his role in her wild train of thought with such perfect timing but then the absurdity of it all surfaced and she had to stop herself laughing aloud.
And then—unexpectedly—she got a rush of pure relief. She’d come here in the hope of finding a distraction from the fear of waiting for news that would have her imagining only her own funeral. Well … she’d already succeeded, hadn’t she? She hadn’t given her upcoming tests a moment’s thought since she’d arrived in Braeburn.
She found herself beaming at her new employer. ‘I’m excited,’ she confessed. ‘I do love starting a new job.’
‘So it would seem,’ Adam said drily. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’
He led Emma in to the vaulted hallway of the house his family had owned for generations, making a mental note not to forget to wind the grandfather clock this week, heading straight for the door from which the most light was spilling, along with the sound of voices and laughter.
The kitchen. The heart of his home.
Halfway there they were mobbed by the dogs, who gave their master only a perfunctory welcome before investigating the interesting new arrival. Adam paused to watch the effect, knowing that if Emma had been less than honest about liking animals, it would show up in a matter of seconds. And if she didn’t like dogs, she probably didn’t like children either and he’d know if he’d made a huge mistake in bringing her into his home.
Almost knocked off her feet by fluffy paws being planted on her stomach, Emma gave a startled exclamation but then her voice was stern.
‘Paws on the floor, please,’ she commanded. ‘And then I can pat you.’
Amazingly, the dogs sat promptly, gazing adoringly up at the newcomer. Emma dropped to her haunches, abandoning her guitar case in favour of cuddling the animals. Getting her face washed enthusiastically, she was laughing as she looked up at Adam.
‘They’re gorgeous. And so … hairy.’
‘That’s Benji. He’s a beardie. And Bob’s the Border collie.’ Part of him wanted to smile back at Emma but another part was fighting a sense of … disappointment? His new employee had passed this test with flying colours, hadn’t she?
It looked like he was stuck with her for the foreseeable future.
The children weren’t far behind the dogs.
‘Emma—Emma! Gran says you’re going to be looking after us now.’ With practised ease, Poppy squeezed past the dogs to grab Emma’s hand. ‘Come with me. I want to show you Barbie’s pony. And her caravan. And her swimming pool.’
Oliver eyed the guitar case and then his father. ‘It’s “later” now, isn’t it, Dad?’
‘Ach …’ Catherine came out of the kitchen door, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Let’s give Emma a wee bit o’ time to get settled, shall we? Come on. All of you. Supper’s almost ready.’
Adam left the backpack he’d been carrying beside the clock. Poppy kept hold of Emma’s hand to show her where to go, with Benji following as closely as possible. Oliver picked up the guitar case, which was as big as he was, and struggled in their wake. Bob stayed sitting and held up a bandaged paw.
‘I know.’ Adam stooped to scratch the hopefully pricked ears. ‘I need to take care of that paw but it’ll have to be later. It’s a bit of a circus for now.’
Like his life. A juggling act. One that entailed keeping far too many balls in the air without dropping them. There was no applause for keeping them going either—just the prospect of disaster if they got dropped.
After the spooky driveway and the austere outlines of the huge, old stone farmhouse, walking into the kitchen was so far towards the other end of a welcoming spectrum that it was almost overwhelming.
A crackling open fire at one end of the room made it so warm Emma knew she’d have to take her pullover off very soon. The lights gave the oak cabinetry a golden glow and there was an amazing smell of something hot and meaty that made her mouth water. Good grief … she couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually felt hungry.
‘Look …’ Poppy pointed to a fridge that was covered with pieces of paper and photographs held in place by small magnets. ‘I drawed that. It’s my mummy. She’s got wings because she’s an angel.’
‘Oh?’ The statement had been completely matter-of-fact but Emma wasn’t sure how to take it. Was Mummy exceptionally kind or was she dead? Catherine was busy putting oven gloves on and didn’t seem to have overheard the comment and she didn’t like to ask Poppy. No doubt she would find out in good time.
‘I drawed this one, too. It’s Daddy and Bob and Benji.’
‘It’s very good. They all look very happy.’
Not that Emma could imagine Adam actually having such a wide grin on his face. Glancing back, she saw him standing in the doorway, all but glowering at the scene in front of him. She also saw Oliver bumping the guitar case on the flagstone floor.
‘That’s a bit heavy for you.’ Easing out of Poppy’s firm grip on her hand, Emma went to rescue the guitar. ‘I’ll put it over here for now, yes?’
‘No,’ Oliver said. ‘I want to see.’ With his eyebrows fiercely frowning like that, he looked remarkably similar to his father.
‘It’s time to eat,’ Catherine told him. ‘Poor Emma’s been travelling all day and she must be famished. And then I’m going to show her to her room and drive all the way to Edinburgh to the airport.’
Poppy’s face fell dramatically. ‘But I don’t want you to go, Granny. You’ll miss Christmas.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Catherine was opening a door on the stove that was set into an old chimney lined with blue and white tiles. She took out a cast-iron pot that looked as old as the kitchen and carried it to the table. ‘They have Christmas in Canada too, you know. I’ll be calling you and telling you all about your new wee cousin.’
‘We can video chat.’ Adam moved to the table and picked up a bread knife. He began slicing the crusty loaf on a thick wooden board. ‘You’ll be able to see the bairn as well.’
Poppy sniffed loudly. Emma took hold of her hand again and bent to whisper in her ear. ‘Can you show me where to sit? It’s such a big table.’
‘You can sit beside me.’
In a short space of time Emma was installed on one of the old, oak chairs beside Poppy, with Oliver and Catherine on the other side of the table. Adam was at the top. Past him, she could see the dogs stretched out in front of the fire, with her guitar case propped against the wall nearby, looking as out of place as she was.
Except, oddly, she didn’t feel out of place at all. She looked up at the whitewashed ceiling with its dramatic dark beams, across at the pretty tiles around the stove and the cluster of antique kettles and pots on the floor beside it. The room could have been part of a museum, except that it was so alive with the feeling of family.
It wasn’t just the fridge that was covered with works of art and photographs. There was a huge corkboard on the wall and a bookshelf that had framed photographs amongst the books and a shelf clearly devoted to things the children had made, like an odd-looking robot constructed out of cardboard boxes and tubes and a chunky effort in clay that could possibly represent Benji. Or maybe Daddy.
‘It’s only stew, I’m sorry,’ Catherine said, as she ladled an aromatic mix of meat and vegetables onto Emma’s plate. ‘I forgot that we might be welcoming a visitor today.’
A visitor? The feeling of family was so strong Emma had forgotten that that was what she was. How could anyone not feel completely at home in here? And the food was delicious.