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Praise for Alison Roberts:
‘Readers will be moved by this incredibly sweet story about a family that is created in the most unexpected way.’
—RT Book Reviews on THE HONOURABLE MAVERICK
‘I had never read anything by Alison Roberts prior to reading TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS, but after reading this enchanting novella I shall certainly add her name to my auto-buy list!’
—Cataromance.com on TWINS FOR CHRISTMAS
‘Ms Roberts produces her usual entertaining blend of medicine and romance in just the right proportion, with a brooding but compelling hero and both leads with secrets to hide.’
—Mills & Boon® website reader review on NURSE, NANNY … BRIDE!
‘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. 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.
Dear Reader
Many years ago, I lived in Scotland for two years. I loved getting out of Glasgow and into the country villages.
The gorgeous countryside is not unlike my home of New Zealand, but we don’t have the magic of the cobbled streets and ancient cottages.
Christmas here is in summer, of course, but I remember the winters in Scotland very well—when the cold and dark days made the lights brighter and the warmth of home so alluring.
What better setting for a Christmas story? Romance has a magic of its own, and so does Christmas. Mixing them together is a recipe for something special. I do hope you enjoy Adam and Emma’s story as much as I loved writing it.
Merry Christmas!
With love
Alison xxx
ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon® Medical Romances™.
As a qualified paramedic, she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending.
When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Dedication
For Becky—who will always be with me for Christmas,
no matter where she is.
With all my love.
Table of Contents
Cover
Praise for Alison Roberts
Excerpt
Dear Reader
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT EMMA SINCLAIR needed right now was a magic wand.
One that she could wave over the calendar on her wall and simply make the month of December vanish.
Turn it into January and the start of a new year. A new life.
Or not.
Maybe she could use the wand not to wish time away but to freeze it. To make it always early December, with her feeling so well she could imagine the last few years had been nothing more than a very bad dream.
It was getting a little stuffy in her tiny London apartment. Emma moved to crack open the window to let some fresh air in for a moment. Very fresh air. The sky was a dark slate and that cloud cover clearly swollen with moisture but it wasn’t likely to start falling as pretty snowflakes. A bit of stinging sleet, maybe. Or freezing fog.
London could be so grey at this time of year.
So bleak. It was only mid-afternoon but already there were lights on everywhere. In the street below and in the windows of the apartment buildings she looked out onto. Not just ordinary lights either. Some people already had their Christmas trees up and the row of shops at street level had them in their front windows with multi-coloured lights flashing and twinkling. Somebody was dressed as Father Christmas on the street, too, handing out flyers to passers-by, probably offering a discount on some seasonal service or product.
There were lots of people hurrying about their business, wrapped up in coats and scarfs. Umbrellas were opening as the clouds decided to let go of some of the moisture. Mothers made sure their prams were well covered and tried to juggle parcels and small children to keep them sheltered.
So many people.
Families.
Funny how a crowd could make you feel so much more alone.
The phone ringing was a welcome distraction.
‘Sharon … What’s the weather like in sunny California?’
‘Gorgeous. Doesn’t feel right when it’s December. And how did that happen? It feels like yesterday that I was having my summer wedding in good ol’ Blighty. Is it all grey and freezing?’
‘Sure is.’ She would need to remember to close the window as soon as she’d finished talking to her closest friend. She stepped closer to the friendly glow of her small, gas fire.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Right at this minute? I’m looking at one of your wedding photos on my mantelpiece. You were the world’s most beautiful bride. You look so happy.’
‘Aww … I had the best bridesmaid. That helped.’
Emma laughed. ‘You were marrying the love of your life—that’s what helped. How’s Andy?’
‘Gorgeous. We were talking about you last night and he told me to ring. We want you to come and have Christmas with us.’
‘Ohhh …’ The sound was a mix of frustration and regret. ‘I can’t. I have to be here for when they call me in. The three-month mark will be late December and they’ll have to squeeze me in when they get a space. Jack told me I’d better not go too far away.’
‘I feel awful I can’t be with you for that. It’s such a horrible procedure to have to go through on your own.’
‘I’ll cope.’
‘I want to be with you. To drive you home afterwards and make sure you take your painkillers.’
‘I know. It’ll be okay, Sharn.’
‘You could put it off until the new year … I’m sure that adorable Dr Jack of yours would be happy to oblige.’
Emma had closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. ‘The waiting’s hard enough without making it longer. I … don’t think I could handle that.’
‘I understand … It’s rotten timing but the sooner it happens, the better. You’ll let me know, won’t you? The instant you have news?’
‘Of course. You’ll be the first to know.’
‘It’ll be good news. I’m totally sure of that.’
‘No. It won’t be good.’ Emma had to swallow hard now. ‘It’ll either be the best news ever or the worst. No middle ground this time. If it hasn’t worked it’s the end of the road. Nothing more they can do. Just a matter of time …’
Her words went all wobbly and Emma kicked herself mentally for giving in to voicing her deepest fear. Maybe the uncharacteristic weakness had sneaked up on her because her gaze was resting on other photographs on her mantelpiece. The father she’d lost long ago. Her beloved mother who’d died just over a year ago now.
‘You need distraction,’ Sharon told her. ‘Being cooped up all by yourself isn’t helping.’
‘You’re right. I’m thinking of getting a job.’
‘Really? Are you feeling that good?’
‘I am. And there are plenty of temporary jobs that come up at this time of year. Do you remember the year that I was an elf?’
‘One of Santa’s helpers.’ Sharon was laughing. ‘I’m sure I’ve got a photo of you in that outfit somewhere. I’d better not show it to Andy or he might think he married the wrong girl.’
‘Yeah, right …’ But Emma was grinning. ‘Or I could busk …’ She shifted her gaze to a far corner of the room. ‘My poor guitar’s just gathering dust at the moment.’
‘Sounds cold. Being an elf would be more fun.’
‘Yeah …’ It was getting cold in the apartment now. Definitely time to close the window. To get moving properly, even. ‘You know what? I’m going to go down to the corner shop and get some papers. See what’s being advertised under the situations vacant.’
‘Go, you! Keep me posted.’
‘I will.’
‘Love you. Miss you heaps.’
‘Same.’
When the call ended, all Emma could hear was the soft hiss of her fire and the patter of rain on the window. After the joy of conversation it was an unpleasant quietness.
A very lonely one.
Threatening. If she stayed in here it would pull her back into her pity party so allowing it to continue wasn’t an option. Latching the window, Emma shrugged into her warmest coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. She slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up her umbrella as she let herself out the door. She wouldn’t get the papers at the corner store. She’d walk all the way to the high street and get the bonus of a decent bit of exercise on her mission.
‘Ouch … That hurts, Daddy.’
‘Sorry, pet.’
Adam McAllister suppressed a growl of frustration. Fine blonde hair was refusing to co-operate. How could his fingers be so deft when it came to removing a foreign object or stitching up a wound so that it barely left a scar but be seemingly incapable of braiding a small girl’s hair?
‘How about a wee ponytail instead?’
‘No.’ The headshake pulled the almost finished braid from his fingers and what had already been accomplished unravelled at the speed of light. ‘Jeannie always has plaits and I want to look the same.’
‘Dad? Where’s my shoe?’
‘Where you left it, I expect, Ollie.’ Adam picked up the hairbrush again and the movement made him notice the face of his watch. ‘It’ll have to be a ponytail, Poppy, otherwise you’re going to be late for school and I’ll be in trouble with Mrs Stewart at the clinic. The waiting room will be full of cross people asking where their doctor’s got to.’
Poppy burst into tears.
A crashing sound came from the living room, accompanied by a wail from her twin, Oliver. ‘It wasn’t my fault. It just falled over and now it’s broken …’
The wind must have caught the front door to make it slam so loudly. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. The roads are so icy and old Jock was blocking the road with his tractor, helping someone whose wheels were in the ditch. I …’ She stopped talking, taking in the scene of chaos in the kitchen.
‘I take it she’s gone, then?’
‘Aye …’ Gratefully, Adam pushed the hairbrush into his mother’s hand. ‘I’ve almost got the bags ready. I’d better go and see what Ollie’s broken.’
‘Little minx. I can’t believe she’s run off like that. With no notice.’
‘She’s nineteen. In love. Getting pregnant probably made the decision a wee bit urgent.’
‘What’s pregnant?’ Poppy had stopped crying and was standing very still while her grandmother rapidly braided her hair.
‘It means that you’re going to have a baby.’
‘Auntie Marion’s going to have a baby.’
‘Aye … she is. So’s Kylie.’
‘But Kylie looks after us. She’s coming back, isn’t she?’
‘No. She’s going to Australia—where her boyfriend comes from.’
‘What’s Australia?’
‘It’s a country a long way away.’ Adam had gone as far as the door to see that the standard lamp had fallen in the living room, sweeping a photograph from the corner of the mantelpiece onto the hearth. Nothing life-threatening. He could sort it out later when he had a minute to spare. Stooping, he picked up an abandoned shoe.
‘Ollie? Where are you? It’s time for school.’
A small, tousled head with wide eyes appeared slowly from behind the sofa.
‘Come and see your gran. You need your hair brushed too.’
‘It’s even further away than Canada.’ By some miracle, his mother had found ribbons to tie on the ends of Poppy’s plaits. ‘Where Aunty Marion lives.’
She looked up as Adam came back with Oliver in tow but then her gaze shifted to take in the pile of books and papers on one end of the kitchen table. A milky spoon from a bowl of cereal was sitting on top of a school book. Turning her head to look at the dishes piled up on the kitchen bench, she clicked her tongue.
‘I can’t do it,’ Catherine McAllister said. ‘I’m no’ going to take off for Canada and leave you to cope with this lot alone.’
‘You have to. Marion needs you. The bairn’s due next week.’
‘She’ll understand.’
‘This is my sister we’re talking about.’ Adam’s smile was wry. ‘She’d never talk to me again. She’d say I’ve had years of your help and she only needs you for a few weeks. It’s not her fault my nanny’s run off to Australia.’
Catherine raised her gaze to the old clock on the wall. ‘You’d better go, son. Or you’ll be getting the evil eye from Eileen Stewart. She’s bad enough when an emergency comes in and puts out all the waiting times. I’ll get these wee lambs off to school.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Adam pushed his arms into the sleeves of a coat that hadn’t made it off the back of a kitchen chair last night. ‘And you’re not to even think of cancelling your trip. I’ve got ads in papers everywhere for a temporary nanny. I’ll find help for while you’re away at least, and then we can worry about something more permanent.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ Catherine sounded unconvinced. ‘My flight’s not till Tuesday. If you haven’t found help by then, I’m staying and that’s an end to the matter.’
The train from London to Edinburgh arrived on time. The connecting train Emma needed to get out into the middle of a Scottish nowhere was clearly less reliable. The wicked draught coming into the waiting room was chilling her to the bone and Emma huddled between the backpack full of clothes and her guitar case.
How crazy was this?
But that Dr McAllister had sounded so enthusiastic on the phone yesterday. Said he’d pay for her travel if she could come up for an interview and he was sure she’d be suitable so she might as well bring what she needed for the next few weeks and that way, if she was happy to take the position, she wouldn’t need to go all the way back to London again.
And it all sounded so perfect. She already had the image of a pretty, old Scottish village with the stone buildings softened by a layer of fluffy snow and the sound of Christmas carols being sung by rosy-cheeked village children. What better place to spend these few weeks of the unbearable waiting? It wasn’t as if she would have the responsibility of caring for a tiny baby or something. Looking after six-year-old twins—how hard could that be?
A piercing whistle and then a squeal of brakes announced the arrival of her new train. Emma picked up the straps of her backpack with one hand and the handle of the guitar case with the other. Then she put it down again to fish in her coat pocket. To make sure she had the appointment details for the meeting later this afternoon.
Yes. Four p.m. at the medical centre in the village of Braeburn. Only a short walk from the station, apparently. Across the square at the end of the high street and down the street. She couldn’t miss it but if she got as far as the village hall she needed to turn around. She’d be able to meet not only the nice-sounding doctor but the children and their grandmother.
Gathering her courage, Emma got herself and her belongings stowed into an eerily empty train carriage. Braeburn didn’t appear to be a very popular destination. With no one to distract her with conversation, there was plenty of time to think about what lay ahead in her immediate future.
That last addition of the grandmother to the interview panel was the one that made her a little uneasy. Her imagination could conjure up a fierce, elderly Scot with no trouble at all. Short and wiry, with a hairnet keeping the corrugated-iron waves of her hair in place and a disapproving glare that would miss nothing remotely unsuitable about an applicant.
She’d be the one to convince.
Emma rested her head back on the faded seat and watched green hills and paddocks and the occasional river drift past. Beautiful country. A long, long way from London and big hospitals and fear of what the new year might bring.
She couldn’t go back.
She had to get this job. It would be a reprieve from the fear. Time out. A family to spend Christmas with even, and wouldn’t that be magic?
A touch to her hair reassured her that the unruly curls were suitably restrained. How good was it that her hair had grown back so enthusiastically after all the chemo? It would have been better to have had the time to buy some new clothes, though. She didn’t have a skirt or dress to her name and, having lost so much weight, she was swimming in her jeans and pullover. Hardly the outfit to make much of an impression with but it was personality that mattered, wasn’t it?
And this Dr McAllister sounded perfectly nice, with his deep voice and broad Scottish accent. A bit brusque maybe. Possibly a little terse after she’d replayed the conversation in her head a few times but he’d definitely sounded keen.
Almost … desperate?
Maybe the children were little monsters that ate nannies for breakfast and the granny would be glaring at her from a corner and constantly criticising her every move. And the doctor would take one look at her and ask what on earth she was thinking—that she could look after his precious children when it was obvious how sick she was herself?
No. Emma slammed a mental door shut on her unfortunately vivid imagination.
Fate was bringing her here. It had been the first advertisement she’d seen and, when she’d rung, the phone had been answered virtually on the first ring. She hadn’t even had to queue for a train ticket. It felt like it was meant to happen.
She needed a bit of faith, that was all. Hardly surprising that that particular mental resource was somewhat depleted at the moment but it felt good to scrape a bit up and hang onto it.
Very good indeed.
It felt remarkably like hope.
The village was every bit as pretty as she had imagined with stone buildings and cobbled streets. Not that Emma had time to admire more than a passing impression because the train had been a bit late and now she had to hurry. That it was much darker for the time of day and probably a lot colder than London didn’t seem to matter when the brightly lit shop windows revealed colourful decorations already in place.
She found herself smiling when she hurried past a pub called simply The Inn, which had sprigs of holly on the door framing a handwritten sign that said, ‘There’s plenty of room.’ Maybe the innkeeper with the sense of humour was one of the group of people under the streetlamps, installing a massive Christmas tree in the village square that needed men with ropes and a lot of shouting in a brogue so thick it sounded like a foreign language.
Her heart sank, however, when she entered the medical centre and the grandmother of her imagination fixed her with a look that could probably strip paint.
‘D’ye have an appointment? The doctor’s no’ got time for extras unless it’s an emergency. Clinic hours are over.’
The bell on the door behind Emma clanged again before the grandmother had finished speaking and her attempt to decipher more than half the words she had just heard was interrupted by a woman’s voice.
‘I’ll take care o’ this, Eileen. We’re expecting Emma.’
Her jaw dropping, Emma turned to face an elegantly dressed and very beautiful older woman, who was smiling warmly. ‘I take it you are Emma?’
‘Um … yes. And you’re …?’
‘Catherine McAllister. Adam’s mother.’ She looked past Emma’s shoulder. ‘Is Adam in, Eileen?’
‘Aye. The wee bairns as well.’ The sniff was disapproving. ‘I’ve told the doctor it’s no’ a good idea, having bairns in there. They’ll break something. Or—’
‘Why don’t you head off early, Eileen?’ Catherine was still smiling. ‘I know how busy you must be at the moment. Isn’t there a choir practice this evening?’
‘Aye … well, if you’re sure, Mrs McAllister.’
‘I’m just sorry I won’t be here to hear all the Christmas carols.’
‘It’s tomorrow you leave, aye?’
‘Mmm. I hope so.’ She turned back to Emma. ‘Adam’s sister is having her first baby. In Canada.’
‘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.