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.

A Little Christmas Magic
Alison Roberts

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.

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.

‘This is perfect,’ Emma assured Catherine. A lot better than anything she’d be able to produce in the kitchen. Oh … help … Had she really made Adam believe she could cook in that interview? Her job in the restaurant had been limited to clearing tables and washing dishes. And had Catherine made that bread herself, too? Possibly even churned the butter, she thought as she accepted the blue and white dish being passed her way by Adam.

She didn’t need to cross that bridge quite yet, though. And maybe it was Catherine that Adam had inherited that fey ability to see things from. She was smiling at Emma as they all tucked into their dinners.

‘I’ve left lots of meals in the freezer and there’s a modern oven as well as the big stove, if you need it. The children get a hot lunch at school so you’ll only have to cope with breakfast for most of the time.’

‘Did the turkey for Christmas arrive?’ Adam asked.

‘Aye. It’s in the freezer as well. Don’t forget to take it out at least a couple of days early. Leave it in the big tub out in the dairy to thaw.’

‘I don’t like stew,’ Oliver announced a few minutes later. ‘It’s got carrots in it.’

‘Carrots are good for you,’ Emma offered. ‘They help you see in the dark.’

‘I don’t need to see in the dark,’ Oliver said with exaggerated patience. ‘I’m asleep.’

‘If you don’t eat your carrots,’ Adam said calmly, ‘there’ll be no ice cream.’

‘I don’t like ice cream.’

‘I do,’ Poppy sighed. ‘I love ice cream.’

‘Me, too,’ Emma said. She beamed at Poppy. Impossible not to fall in love with a child who was so prepared to love everything life had to offer. Poppy beamed back. Shifting her gaze back to her plate, Emma caught Adam staring at her but he quickly shifted his attention back to his son.

‘No television before bed, then,’ he said. ‘Vegetables are important.’

Catherine stood up to start clearing plates. ‘Can I leave you to do the children’s pudding?’ she asked Adam. ‘I’ll need to head away soon and I’d like to give Emma a tour of the house and show her where her room is.’

‘But Emma loves ice cream, too.’ The horrified look on Poppy’s face at the prospect of such an unwarranted punishment for someone stole another piece of Emma’s heart. Oliver might prove to be more of a challenge but she knew that she was going to love her time with Poppy.

‘I’ll come back,’ Emma promised. ‘Save me some, okay?’ She looked at Oliver, who was scowling down at his plate—the only one still on the table. He was pushing slices of carrot around with his fork. ‘And by then,’ she added casually, ‘you’ll have scoffed those carrots, Ollie, and I’ll be able to show you my guitar.’

A lightning-fast glance back as she left the kitchen revealed a fork laden with carrot slices making its way towards Oliver’s mouth and Emma hid a smile. Maybe the little boy wouldn’t be too much of a challenge after all.

The tour of the house was a whirlwind and it wasn’t just the speed of viewing the more formal rooms, like the lounge and library downstairs or the rapid climb to the upper level that had taken Emma’s breath away.

‘How old is the house?’

‘The main part dates back to the seventeenth century but there’s been a lot of additions and renovations, and thank goodness for that. I’d hate to be offering you a room that didn’t have an en suite bathroom.’ Down the end of a wide hallway that had dozens of framed photographs displayed, Catherine opened one of the dark oak doors. ‘And here it is.’

‘It’s gorgeous.’ Emma looked around the space that would be hers for the next few weeks. The brass bed had a pretty patchwork quilt. The fireplace was tiled in blue and white, which seemed to be a theme throughout the house, and any draught from the windows was kept at bay by the thick velvet curtains that Catherine whisked shut.

‘Poppy and Ollie’s rooms are next door and they have their own bathroom between them. There’s a playroom on this side and down the other hallway there are a couple of guest rooms and Adam’s room is at the end. Have a good explore tomorrow, when you’ve got some daylight.’ Catherine glanced at her watch. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to dash. I need to get home and collect my suitcase.’

‘Home? Don’t you live here?’

‘Not any more. I moved out when Adam and Tania got married. It’s been a family tradition for generations that the eldest son raises his family here. I have a cottage in the village.’

So it had been a family home for generations? That would explain the astonishingly homely feel of the house. And the enormous collection of photographs. Emma followed Catherine back into the hallway. She bit her lip but her curiosity refused to subside.

‘Would it be awfully rude if I asked about … Tania?’

‘Of course not, pet.’ Catherine stopped in her tracks, turned her head to scrutinise the gallery of photographs and then pointed. ‘That’s her. I think that picture was taken on their honeymoon in the Maldives.’

A stunning beach scene. An even more stunning young woman with long, blonde hair and a model’s body frolicking in the surf. Laughing. The joy was unmistakeable and Emma could imagine Adam standing there with the camera, capturing such a happy moment with his new wife.

‘She’s beautiful.’

‘Aye …’ The word was a sigh. ‘Poppy has the look of her, I think. Ollie’s more like his dad.’

There were more photographs, of course. Emma spotted a wedding portrait, with Adam gazing adoringly at his bride. A lovely black and white image of Tania and the newborn twins and more with the babies as toddlers.

‘The bairns were only three when it happened,’ Catherine said softly. ‘They barely remember their mother so it’s good to have so many pictures for them.’

Emma swallowed hard. ‘What did happen?’

‘A terrible tragedy. Tania liked to do her Christmas shopping in Edinburgh and she’d stay in a B&B so she could get it all done in a couple of days. There was a fire that year and she was trapped. She didn’t get burned but they said she died of smoke inhalation.’

‘Right before Christmas? That’s so sad.’

‘Aye.’ Catherine caught her gaze for a long moment. There was a hint of warning in her gaze. And a plea. ‘You might need to be patient with Adam. It’s no’ an easy time of year for him.’

‘I can imagine.’ No wonder he seemed so terse and grumpy, Emma thought. Or that she had yet to see him smile. How hard would it be to have the whole world joyously celebrating family and times of togetherness when it marked the anniversary of losing a beautiful and beloved young wife? The mother of his children?

‘But Christmas is for the bairns, isn’t it?’ Catherine added. ‘And they’re old enough to see that their Christmas is no’ like all the other bairns in the village and that’s no’ really fair, is it?’

Emma held the older woman’s gaze. ‘I’ll do my best to make it a special Christmas for them,’ she promised.

‘Aye …’ Catherine patted her arm. ‘I’ve a feeling you might do just that. Thank you.’ Her smile was poignant. ‘The bairns think their mother is an angel who’s still looking after them. Maybe that was why you got sent to us.’

When his mother drove away from the house on the first leg of her journey to Canada, Adam was left standing on the front steps.

Stunned.

What had just happened here?

He’d been dreading this moment for months. Ever since he had learned of his sister’s due date and realised that—for the first time since Tania’s death—he might have to face this Christmas without the emotional support of the most important woman in his life. And worse, that the twins would be without their beloved grandmother, who was the one who insisted on making the day as special as possible for them.

He’d expected tears. Possibly tantrums, especially from Poppy, who simply adored her gran. Oliver was just as attached, of course, but he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve like Poppy. He was more like himself, in guarding his heart and not letting others see any private misery. His children were his life—both of them—but he did worry more about Ollie. Because he knew just how much misery it was possible to hide?

But the moment had come. They’d all been out there to say goodbye to Catherine. Even the unknown quantity that was the new arrival of the temporary nanny because his mother wouldn’t let her hang back from the family farewell. She’d been standing there beside the children—looking remarkably like a wayward, teenage sister—getting one of those warm hugs that Catherine was so good at. And then she’d whispered something in Ollie’s ear and his little boy had given a solemn nod and turned to lead the way back inside. Poppy had jumped up and down and tugged on Emma’s hand and she was bursting with excitement as she dragged Emma back up the steps.

‘We’re going to see the kit-ar,’ she informed Adam as they went past. ‘I love kit-ars.’

Benji had bounded in their wake, of course. It was Bob who was sitting by Adam’s feet and he saw the dog shiver. How long had he been standing here, wondering how on earth something he’d been dreading had turned out to be so easy?

Long enough for his dog to shiver noticeably.

‘Come on, then, old boy.’

Back in the warmth of the house, he pushed the heavy door closed and then he heard it.

The sound of music coming from the kitchen.

Expertly plucked guitar strings. A song being sung in a clear, sweet voice that filled the air and made it somehow more of a pleasure to breathe.

A childish song, he realised as he stepped closer to the bright glow of the kitchen door. A nonsense song with tongue-twister words about a copper coffee-pot.

And it wasn’t just Emma singing. Poppy was getting the words wrong and giggling but Oliver must have learned the song at school because he was joining in part of the chorus.

Not very loudly but he knew his son’s voice.

He stopped again. Puzzled.

What was it about this girl?

His mother had seen it instantly. Poppy was prepared to love everybody. But Ollie …?

How on earth had she put her hands on a key to that little heart so quickly?

Adam shook his head and Bob lay down and put his nose on his paws to wait.

He knew when something big was changing. And he knew that it took longer for his master to recognise any joyful possibilities that something new could offer. His job was simply to keep him company while he had a little think about it all.

CHAPTER THREE

‘SO MRS MCALLISTER’S likin’ Canada, then?’

‘Aye.’ Adam glanced over his shoulder, reaching for the file on the end of Eileen’s desk, as his next patient joined him for the short walk to his consulting room. The waiting area was still full, and while the women amongst the group seemed busy with their knitting or magazines, he knew perfectly well that they’d all been discussing his business while he’d been taking Shona Legg’s blood tests.

Or, to be more accurate, they’d been comparing notes on the new arrival in the village. Emma had been here for a few days now and there was nothing like a bit of new blood to stimulate opinions.

Eileen had overheard the comment by way of greeting from the elderly woman who was moving slowly beside him. She sniffed audibly.

‘Don’t hold wi’ havin’ Christmas in foreign parts,’ he heard her mutter. ‘It’s no’ natural to be away from your home.’

Adam suppressed a sigh as Miss McClintock’s progress slowed even more as she turned her head. ‘Canada’s no’ so foreign,’ she informed Eileen. ‘And Christmas is about people, no’ places. Dr McAllister’s sister’s there and she’s having a bairn. It’s where the first Mrs McAllister should be.’

‘Come in, Joan.’ Adam closed the door firmly behind them. ‘And tell me what’s brought you here today.’

‘I’m a bit peaky is all.’

‘Oh?’ Adam smiled encouragingly but his heart was sinking. It had been, ever since that reference to the first Mrs McAllister. The title had come from the need to distinguish Catherine from the new woman with the same name—Tania. This was really what that overfull waiting room was about, wasn’t it? It had happened all those years ago, too, when he’d brought his new wife home from the bright lights of Edinburgh. Who knew what interesting piece of information he might let slip when faced with the relentless curiosity of people who’d known him all his life?

They loved him. He knew that. They’d been prepared to accept and admire Tania, too, despite her being a foreigner from the bright lights of Edinburgh, and the excitement that her pregnancy and the birth of the twins had generated had kept the older biddies happy for months. So had the tragedy of her death. They’d closed ranks around him now and anyone who might pose even the smallest threat was going to be regarded with deep suspicion.

How on earth was Emma coping with that side of village life?

‘What sort of peaky?’

Joan McClintock removed her hat. Adam obediently took it and placed it on his desk as she began unwinding her hand-knitted scarf from around her neck.

‘I don’t feel quite right,’ his patient said vaguely. ‘A wee bit giddy in my head when I stand up sometimes.’

Adam’s nod was brisk. Blood pressure first, then. Possibly an ECG to check for an arrhythmia. At the very least a review of the medications Joan was taking. It was unlikely he’d be finished within the fifteen-minute slot that Eileen would have allocated in her appointment schedule but he would have to try.

‘I saw the bairns in the square yesterday,’ Joan told him as he helped her off with her thick coat. ‘Watching the decorations go up on the tree. It’s such a blessing they don’t remember, isn’t it?’

‘Aye.’ The agreement was as terse as Adam could make it without causing offence. A warning that discussing his private life was not an option. ‘No, you don’t need to take off your cardigan, Joan. We can just roll up your sleeve for me to do your blood pressure.’

It was a blessing that his children couldn’t remember the dreadful Christmas of three years ago. Had Emma been given the story in lurid detail, as she’d done her chores in the village over the last few days? December wasn’t just about a season of goodwill in Braeburn. It marked the season of remembrance for Tania McAllister.

His mother was lucky she was in Canada. She was getting a reprieve from being the unspoken centre of attention when family was being celebrated. Away from a village where Christmas had a distinct flavour of being a shrine to someone who had been elevated to the status of a saint.

Dear Lord … if they only knew the truth …

But he hadn’t known so why should they? Oh, they’d all seen how she’d escaped the village more and more often but, while eyebrows had been raised about her time away from the children, it had been accepted as part of a glamorous woman’s life and it had been forgiven and forgotten after her tragic death.

What none of them knew was that she probably hadn’t been alone on any of those trips away.

He’d only found out because fate had stepped in and provided the evidence and Adam had made sure that the scandalous information had gone no further.

Maybe that was the real blessing here. That the village—and therefore his children—would never know.

It was his burden and that was only fair, wasn’t it? If he’d been a better husband, Tania wouldn’t have needed anyone else. And it was a burden he was getting used to carrying. In many ways it was getting easier and he could hope that some time in the future he’d be able to cope with this particular time of year. Enjoying it was too much to ever hope for but another few weeks and things could get back to normal. A normality he would never have chosen, of course, but he could live with it.

He had no choice.

‘That English lassie was wi’ them.’ Joan only just managed to wait until Adam was removing the stethoscope from his ears. ‘I hear she’s made friends with Caitlin McMurray at the school?’

His grunt was intended to express a lack of interest in his temporary nanny’s social life. Why did some people assume that a monosyllabic response simply needed more effort on their part?

‘I hear she’s been singing.’

‘Aye.’ Adam was still having difficulty getting used to the sound of Emma singing. She did it all the time. When she was busy with some mundane task, like doing the dishes or sorting laundry, and a session of songs with the children was already a favourite part of their evening routine. She probably thought the nursery wing was far enough away from the rest of the house for him not to notice but she was wrong. He’d heard her late last night, too, well after the children were sound asleep. Alone in her room, playing her guitar and singing softly.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the sound. It was just … different. Nothing like normal.

‘She’s no’ a teacher.’ Joan clicked her tongue. ‘What’s she doing at the school every day?’

It was the tone that did it. Adam was jolted out of his automatic defence mechanisms by the unexpected urge to defend his new employee. ‘She has been a music teacher and she plays the guitar. The school’s piano is apparently broken and the children want to learn carols. Now … stand up, please, Joan. I’m going to take your blood pressure again to see if position makes any difference.’

Joan levered her ample frame out of the chair. ‘We knew about the piano. The committee’s talking about whether to use the hall fund to replace it, but if we don’t fix the hall it’s going to get condemned and what would we do without the village hall? Where would the children put on their Christmas play?’

Adam resorted to his customary grunt and put the earpieces of his stethoscope into place to signal an end to the conversation. As he held the disc over Joan’s elbow and pumped up the cuff, he took a quick glance at the clock on his wall and remembered the number of people in the waiting room.

It was going to be a long day.

The conversation stopped as soon as Emma entered the general store that was between the greengrocer and the bakery. She lifted her chin and put on her brightest smile.

‘Good morning. I’m looking for some coloured paper. Do you have the kind that’s sticky on the back?’

The blank stare made Emma reconsider her decision to shop in the village instead of driving for half an hour to get to the nearest larger town. It wasn’t easy to keep the smile on her face.

‘I want to make paper chains,’ she explained. ‘For Christmas decorations.’

The women exchanged heavily significant glances.

‘Christmas decorations?’ one of them murmured. ‘In Dr McAllister’s hoose?’

The subtext was in capital letters. You couldn’t really celebrate Christmas in the McAllister house. Not without being duly reluctant anyway. Even the children were all too aware of that and it wasn’t fair. She’d taken them to watch the big tree in the square being decorated yesterday and Poppy’s eyes had been huge.

‘I love Christmas trees,’ she’d whispered. ‘They’re so pretty.’

‘We’ll make your Christmas tree just as pretty at home, you’ll see.’

‘We don’t have a tree at home,’ Oliver had said. ‘Gran says it’s because it makes Dad sad.’

‘It makes me sad,’ Poppy had said, ‘not having a tree.’

Emma had lain awake last night, mulling this over. She was here for the children, wasn’t she? And she was here for Christmas.

And Christmas was for children.

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