Twins For Christmas: A Little Christmas Magic / Lone Star Twins / A Family This Christmas

The arrangements were all in place. Poppy was spending the day with Jeannie and Oliver was with Ben. Their mothers would take them to the play practice later and Caitlin had offered to take Poppy to her dance class, where they were also doing a final rehearsal for their upcoming appearance, and Adam would collect her. He would also take Oliver to his music lesson tomorrow morning to prepare for the junior pipers’ display. The Christmas Eve school production wasn’t just a nativity play from the youngest pupils. It was more like a talent show. A celebration of everything the village children had accomplished for their year.

Nobody seemed to mind that Emma was skipping town for a day and a night. She would be back in time. The knowing looks and veiled comments she’d received had let her know that they thought she was really going to Edinburgh to do some Christmas shopping. The way Mrs McAllister used to. And didn’t the bairns deserve something special? Their poor father never had the time to go far afield to create Christmas surprises but Emma was good at surprises, wasn’t she?

Oh, yes … the shadows were gathering and, as she sat alone in the train on the way to Edinburgh, they formed a black cloud that threatened a storm.

Had she made a terrible mistake in trying to create a perfect Christmas for the McAllister family? For herself?

She hadn’t intended falling in love with Adam but it had happened. And, if this was going to be her last Christmas, how magical was it to feel this happy?

This loved.

She hadn’t intended to give Adam any more than the reminder of what it was like to let a woman close. To help him step forward from his grief. She hadn’t expected him to fall in love with her. Not that he’d said anything but she could feel it in every touch. Every kiss. She could see it in his eyes when she turned unexpectedly and found him looking at her.

What if she’d set him up to suffer loss all over again?

And at Christmastime?

No. She couldn’t afford to let a single bolt of lightning detach itself from that storm cloud. Jack was waiting for her to arrive at the infirmary. She would have the horrible test this afternoon, sleep off the effects of the drugs and then go back to Braeburn and enjoy every moment of this Christmas.

She had to remember to post the CD she had burned last night, too. Not that it would reach Sharon by Christmas Day, of course, but that was okay. The collection of photographs and the song she had written for her best friend would arrive electronically on the right day. The CD was just a back-up. She’d made one for herself as well.

It was snowing again by the time Emma carried her small bag into the brightly lit entrance to the huge hospital. There was a massive Christmas tree in the foyer, covered in silver decorations—like theirs would have been if she and the children hadn’t painted all those balls. The girl at the reception desk was wearing a bright badge that had Rudolf the reindeer with a flashing red nose. Even the telephone she picked up to page Jack with was wrapped in tinsel.

And Jack’s smile when he saw her looked like Christmas. So warm. Full of hope? His hug was comforting.

‘Let’s get this over with, Emma. Are you ready?’

Emma could only nod. Her throat felt tight and tears stung the back of her eyes. Hope was like a bubble, wasn’t it?

A freshly blown one that caught all the colours of the rainbow and was so pretty that you wanted to catch it and keep it.

But it would only break if you tried.

CHAPTER NINE (#u17272c76-63e4-59e3-bc93-a8ee25d373a1)

THE HUM OF conversation stopped. Even the small girls stopped skipping about and giggling.

‘Dr McAllister … What’s happened?’

‘Nothing’s happened. I’m just here to collect Poppy.’

‘Where’s Emma?’

‘She had to go to Edinburgh. She’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Oh … thank goodness for that.’ The young mothers shared relieved glances. ‘She’s not going to miss the performance, then. It wouldn’t be the same, would it, without her singing with the children?’

‘No.’

The mothers turned their attention to getting their daughters to change their shoes and put coats and hats on before going out into the snow. Having got over the surprise of seeing him at the dance class, nobody seemed to expect Adam to say anything else. People drifted away, leaving him alone with Poppy as he helped her with the laces on her dancing shoes. Because they were so used to giving him the space he’d always demanded by keeping people at a distance? Odd that it felt a little … disappointing?

At least the teacher came to talk to him.

‘Did ye get the note, Dr McAllister? About the kilt?’

‘Aye …’ There had been a note, hadn’t there? Weeks ago. Kylie had said something about needing to order a kilt for Poppy for her first dance performance but that had been about the time that his previous nanny had announced her pregnancy and intention of emigrating to Australia and life had suddenly become chaotic. He’d totally forgotten about it.

The teacher gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s no’ essential,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Poppy’s got a skirt she could wear. We can give her a tartan sash.’

‘But I want a kilt,’ Poppy said. She tugged on her father’s sleeve. ‘I love kilts, Daddy.’

‘We’ll find you a kilt, pet, I promise.’

How he was going to manage to keep that promise within the next forty-eight hours was beyond Adam at the moment but there were other things to deal with first. Like getting the children home and fed. Looking after the dogs and collecting the eggs from the hens and making sure Jemima had plenty of fresh hay. Poppy took the little donkey a carrot.

‘You’re going to be in our play,’ she said happily. ‘You have to be very good and then you’ll get more carrots.’

‘She will have to be very good,’ Adam agreed. He couldn’t help shaking his head as a wave of bemusement caught him off guard. Were they really going to transport Jemima into the village hall to star in the nativity play?

Extraordinary.

As astonishing as the person who’d made it happen, in fact.

Emma’s absence in the house that evening was far more noticeable than Adam had expected. It wasn’t just that he had so much more that he needed to do. Everywhere he turned, he could see things that made him think of Emma. The paper chains hanging from the beams in the kitchen. The Christmas tree in the living room. The children asking for songs instead of a bedtime story.

He did his best but it wasn’t the same.

‘It’s okay,’ Oliver said kindly. ‘Emma will be back tomorrow.’

It wasn’t just the lack of music in the house that made it feel oddly quiet. The atmosphere was different. Emma didn’t have to be singing, did she? She only had to be present for there to be a unique energy in the house.

A promise of something good.

Joy, perhaps.

Or love …

To distract himself from what was missing, Adam went online to check out the availability of kilts for small girls. But even that reminded him of Emma. Of the conversation in the kitchen that first weekend she’d been here. When she’d asked him if there was a McAllister tartan and whether he ever wore a kilt.

He’d been terse, hadn’t he? Pushed her away, the way he always did when people got too close. It worked so well because they understood why he needed his space. Or they thought they did.

Emma hadn’t respected those boundaries, though. She’d pushed until he could see them for what they were. Prison bars keeping him in the past. Hurting his children.

He found a specialist shop and clicked on the Clan Donald tartan. There was a children’s section and he found a clan kilt in a new tartan that had been designed in recent years. With a purple background and small gold, red and green stripes, it was far more feminine than the dark colours of the kilt he had hanging in his own wardrobe. It would be perfect for Poppy. It seemed to be in stock in the right size but could they deliver it in time? Adam took note of the phone number. He’d give them a call tomorrow morning after he’d dropped Ollie at his music lesson.

With his hands still hovering over the keyboard, Adam caught the glint that the screen light coaxed from the dull gold band on his finger. It wasn’t just the personal barriers he’d erected that were prison bars keeping him in the past, was it?

With a movement familiar enough to be automatic he used his thumb to touch the metal. Did he rub it as a reassuring link to a past he wasn’t permitted to forget or was he actually trying to hide it?