Meet Me in Scotland (15 page)

“Ye look a bit feverish,” Bethia said, amusement playing in her eyes. “The doc may need to give you a good going-over.”

Emma didn't dare look up to see Gabriel's reaction to Bethia's conniving. Emma was already smoldering—and in church, too. “Shouldn't we find our seats?”

She didn't wait for their answers, but took off for the sanctuary. Self-consciously, she made her way down the aisle and found a pew for her and Claire. Bethia walked past and sat with the other quilting ladies. Emma
expected to see Gabriel walk by next, but he didn't. As nonchalantly as she could, she glanced at the pews beside her, then behind. He wasn't seated anywhere.

Organ music began and the churchgoers stood. The choir entered from the narthex and processed down the aisle with Father Andrew leading the pack. The choir marched two by two, and that's when Emma finally saw Gabriel, the caboose of the choir, his baritone voice strong and clear
.
Emma tried not to meet his eyes as he came near, but she couldn't help it. He had the audacity to nod to her as he passed. Her face heated up again.

But not three steps later, she saw him smile and nod to Mattie, too. Maybe he was just friendly to everyone.

Father Andrew took the pulpit and began the service with a prayer. Emma probably should've bowed her head like the other parishioners, but instead she boldly studied Gabriel. He had his eyes shut, looking sinfully handsome in his choir robe. When the prayer was done, he said, “Amen,” with the rest of them.

Emma sat, but Gabriel stood and went to the lectern as Father Andrew took a seat off to the side. Claire slid in beside her.

“I finally found it,” she whispered.

Emma nodded toward Gabriel. “What's up?”

“It's the first reading,” Claire explained. Deydie turned around and glared them into silence.

Gabriel opened the Bible and read a passage. Emma stared at him in awe. He honest-to-God glowed. She looked around, but no one else seemed shocked at the transformation. He was no longer the rogue of his youth, the man who had slaked his lust at Claire's wedding. He was very much the sincere, mature adult. Was this who Gabriel MacGregor really was?

Seeing him like this did explain a lot. His reticence to seduce her. His care and compassion for others. His
insistence on fixing Claire and Dominic's marriage. Either Gabriel was a changed man or Emma had been wrong— incredibly wrong—all along.

He closed the Bible and strode back toward the choir. Emma forced herself to concentrate as Father Andrew gave a lovely sermon. The ritual of the service was beautiful and fascinating. The combination of the music, the prayers, and the simple but sincere sermon brought a peace over Emma. One she had never experienced before.

When the service was done, Claire excused herself to go speak with Moira. Although church had been surprisingly nice, Emma didn't feel comfortable hanging around afterward. Besides, someone should help Dominic with the lunch crowd. She wrapped her coat tightly around herself and rushed out the door. Three steps later, she slipped, her ankle twisting, and went down, her red heels no match for the icy boardwalk.

“Oh, mother bugger!” she shouted over the waves crashing against the retaining wall. She broke out in a sweat.

“Dammit, Emma.” Gabriel squatted down beside her.

“How did you get here so fast?” Her bottom hurt almost as much as her ankle. She must've cracked it against the concrete when she'd fallen.

“I was trying to catch up to you and couldn't get here fast enough to stop it.” He slipped off her shoe. With gentle hands he probed her ankle through her tights.

“Ouch.” She tried to push her skirt down to cover her thighs.

“Hold still.” Instead of examining her further, he scooped her into his arms and stood like she wasn't five foot eight and a healthy weight.

“What are you doing?” She wiggled in his arms, but that only made him hold her tighter. “Put me down.”

“Stop thrashing about. You need to be checked.”

Her ankle and backside hurt like a son-of-a-wanker . . . but it didn't stop her from instantly noticing how wonderful he smelled. Something woodsy, male, intoxicating. The combination of the real pain she felt mixed with Gabriel's scent was doing strange things to her. But despite everything, she relaxed a little in his arms and breathed him in. Soon enough she'd be out of his arms and at the surgery. She decided to be gutsy and take advantage of being held. She laid her head on his shoulder. “I'm a little dizzy,” she said by way of explanation.

“I didn't see you hit your head.” He turned to look at her, which put their faces very close together. He seemed to be breathing her in as well. His eyes dilated.

“Well, I didn't hit my head.” But being so close to him made her light-headed, something she wouldn't admit.

“I see,” he said in a teasing manner.

“I must be dizzy from the pain in my ankle. And my bottom.”

“I'll check your
bottom
out later.” He had a slight grin on his face. “In private.”

“Stop it. We were just in church. You were a saint in there.”

Seriousness shrouded his face. “You have a way of leading me astray,” he admitted, the teasing gone, the determined Gabriel fully returned. “I'm a God-fearing man, Emma—weak, maybe, but certainly not dead.”

Had he just admitted he was weak for her? A little sizzle shot through her. Then he walked right past the path leading to the surgery.

She lifted her head. “Where are you taking me?”

“To Inverness. You need an X-ray,” he said.

“I'm fine.” But it did feel like her ankle had swelled to the size of a beach ball in a matter of minutes.

He guided her head back to his shoulder. “I'm the doctor. We're going to get it checked out properly.”

When they arrived at his Land Rover, he put her down. “Lean against me while I unlock the door.”

She did as he said. Instead of letting her hobble into the vehicle herself, he picked her up again and tucked her into the backseat. She reached for the seat belt, but he was already on it and buckled her in.

“I'm not completely helpless.”

He shot her a look that said she most certainly was. “Elevate your foot.” He shut her door. He came back with an ice pack and handed it to her. “It's for your ankle.”

She remembered the makeshift ice pack he'd made by hand for her after their accident. “Since when do you keep ice packs in your vehicle?”

“Since you came to town.” Gabriel reached over the seat to readjust the pack over her injury.

Her ankle hurt, but she was definitely distracted. So much for her plan to keep her distance from Dr. Gabriel MacGregor.

*   *   *

Dom left church after Communion, not waiting for the final prayer. God understood chefs. He had to get back to Gabe's and unload his refrigerator.

Dom had stayed up half the night chopping veggies and generally prepping for today's lunch. He wouldn't be caught off guard again. Today he was ready for the appetites of the good people of Gandiegow.

It didn't take long to get everything over to the restaurant, start pots heating on the stove, and get the salads lined up in the cooler. Gabe should be here any minute to help, as promised. And Claire—
who knows?
He had
no idea if she meant to help him today at the restaurant or not.

Dom went to stand by the door, ready to open it for the after-church flood. The Highlanders really knew how to eat. Through the paned glass he only saw the waves bobbing the tied-up boats by the dock. He grabbed his coat, stepped outside, and gazed down the boardwalk. No one milled about. The final announcements at church must be running long.

He lumbered back to the kitchen to stir the sauce and waited. He watched the clock for twenty minutes. As the seconds passed, a harsh reality set in. He had a pretty good idea who might've orchestrated this boycott.

Once again he grabbed his coat and headed out into the cold. He knew of only one place to find his wife. When he got to the door of Quilting Central, he could smell the food. It hit him like a punch in the stomach—the aroma savory, but the betrayal thick.

He opened the door and stepped inside. The whole town was there. Including his wife. The chatter ceased and all eyes fell on him. Their frowns, too. Except for the one person he sought. She gave him a smug
And I showed you
face.

The punch in the stomach a moment ago felt like child's play compared to his wife's antipathy toward him right now. Dominic only stayed a second, just enough time to feel the gravity of the message being conveyed by one and all.
The ranks have been closed.
You're not one of us.

Dom turned and left. He hadn't belonged anywhere in a long time. Not since he was fifteen. Not since his madre had died. She'd worked so hard, leaving their village in Italy when he was six for a better life, better opportunities. He remembered how proud his mama was
to have her own little Italian restaurant in Edinburgh. And then for her to die so suddenly—sixteen years later, Dom still felt the loss. Gabe's dad had tried to make Dom feel at home, welcomed, but the truth was that Dom had felt like an outsider since the day he'd stepped foot in Scotland. He was still the olive-skinned new kid at school. Gabe had been a true friend through the years, of course. And then there was Claire. When he'd met her, everything changed. She made the world feel right again. He was at peace. As though he'd come home at last.

But since coming here to Gandiegow, it had all gone to hell.

He kicked a chunk of ice off the ledge of the boardwalk into the water. Well, Claire had done it now. She'd caused real financial damage to the restaurant. Possibly the final nail in the coffin. But that feeling of desperation was nothing compared to his greater worry. Where was their marriage headed?

For a long time, he stood outside the restaurant, leaning over the railing, watching as the chunk of ice got smaller and pulled farther and farther out to sea.

*   *   *

Gabe glanced over at Emma as she dozed in the front seat beside him. According to the scan, her ankle wasn't broken but badly sprained. The first thing he planned to do once he got to Gandiegow: buy her a pair of boots. And ice grippers. Maybe even bubble wrap to keep her safe.

It was dark by the time the Land Rover descended the hill into Gandiegow. The few Christmas lights really added to the exterior charm of the village. The interior charm still needed work, as far as he was concerned. When he shut off the engine, Emma roused.

“Are we here?”

Damn, she looked beautiful when she woke up. “Aye, we're home.”

She scrunched up her face like she took umbrage with the word
home
.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get you settled in for the night.” He jumped out and went around to her side of the car. He slid his arms under her legs and lifted her out.

“What are you doing? I have crutches.”

“I'm not going to chance it. I can't afford to spend all my time at the hospital in Inverness, getting you back to rights. Now put your arms around my neck.”

She frowned at him stubbornly.

“It's easier to carry you that way than throwing you over my shoulder.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“Haven't you seen me heft one of Dom's hundred-pound sack of potatoes?” he warned.

She slid her arms around his neck. She didn't put her head on his shoulder like earlier, and he was disappointed.

“How am I supposed to manage the stairs to Claire's flat?” she asked.

“You're not. You're going to have to stay at the quilting dorm.”

“Have you cleared it with the ladies?”

No, he hadn't. “It won't be a problem.”

“What about my crutches?”

“After I get you settled, I'll come back for them.”

As they walked by the restaurant, he noticed the lights were off.

“I wonder what's going on there,” she said.

“I'll check into it. But first—”

“You'll get me settled into the quilting dorm. I know.” She laid her head down on him then but popped back up. “I'm just resting, so don't get the wrong idea.”

He gently laid her head back on his shoulder. “I dinna say a word. Ye've had a tough day.” She'd handled the
accident and subsequent trip to the hospital well. He admired that about her. She might come off as a princess, but she had the fortitude of a royal trooper.

He got her to Thistle Glen Lodge
and hated to put her down, but he did, carefully, on the sofa by the hearth. “What do you need first—a warm fire, food, or drink?”

“Crutches,” she said matter-of-factly.

“A drink it is. You have to stay hydrated to keep the swelling down.” He walked into the kitchen.

She spoke loud enough for him to hear. “Maybe we should've had your hearing tested while we were at the hospital, Gabriel. I can manage on my own. I've managed for my entire life.”

He came back in with her water. “And you've done a fine job of it, too.” He gazed down at her wrapped ankle.

“I need the crutches. I need to get to the loo.”

He scooped her up again, and she gasped.

“You are not taking me to the restroom.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her.

She swatted at him. “Put me down.”

“Be calm,” he said. “I'll get you there, but I won't stay.”

“Some things a lady just has to do for herself,” she muttered.

In the restroom, he righted her on one foot, then went for a chair to set in front of her. “Use the chair for balance. Call out when you're done. I'm going to see if the ladies left any food in the refrigerator.” He shut the door to give her privacy.

A few minutes later, he heard the sink running and then she hollered, “I'm ready.”

He carried her back to the couch.