‘Well, it’s true. It’s a bonny wee train. I played with it when I was a wee boy, too.’ Adam had the finger exposed now. A bit squashed but there were no bones broken. The pain was coming from the blood accumulating under the nail and that could be swiftly fixed with a heated needle.

‘And he says he’s bringing a donkey to the Christmas play.’

Adam raised his gaze to Caitlin’s. ‘Did the committee agree, then?’

‘Aye. And that’s not all. Have you heard about the recording?’

‘What recording?’

‘Moira Findlay heard about the children singing the carols and she came to listen. She says that Emma’s got the voice of an angel and she’s ne’er heard small children singing sae well. That’s when we got the idea.’

‘Oh?’ Adam struck a match to get the end of a sterile needle hot enough. Ben was watching suspiciously.

‘We’re going to make a CD of the carols. To sell and raise funds to help fix the village hall. Or get a new piano for the school. Maybe both. She’s amazing, isn’t she, Dr McAllister?’

‘It does sound like a grand idea. Moira’s a clever woman.’

‘Not Moira …’ Caitlin laughed. ‘I mean Emma. How lucky are we that she came to be the twins’ nanny?’

‘Look at that, Ben … Out the window … Was that a … reindeer?’

The split second it took for Ben to realise he’d been duped was enough to get near his nail with the needle and release the pressure. A single, outraged wail and then Ben stared at his finger and blinked in surprise.

‘Not so sore now?’ Adam swabbed it gently with some disinfectant. ‘We’ll put a nice big bandage on it and you can get back to singing your carols.’

With Emma.

‘I hear she sings like an angel,’ Joan McClintock informed him minutes later. ‘Eileen says she might be joining the choir.’

‘I don’t know that she’ll have time for that,’ Adam said. ‘And she’s only here until my mother gets back from Canada.’

‘Och, well … we’ll see about that, then, won’t we?’ The nod was knowing.

‘Aye. We will.’ Adam reached for the blood-pressure cuff. ‘Now, let’s see if that blood pressure’s come down a wee bit. Are you still getting the giddy spells?’

Even Old Jock had something to say about Emma when it came to his turn.

‘I’m losing my puff,’ he told Adam. ‘And it’s no’ helping with the pipes. Yon lassie o’ yours saw me sittin’ down after I was playin’ in by the tree, like I always do at Christmastime. She tol’ me to come and see you.’

‘I’ll have a listen to your chest,’ Adam said. ‘Your dad had problems with his heart, didn’t he? We might do a test on that, too.’

‘Aye.’ Jock took his cap off. ‘You do what you need to, lad. That lassie said you’d find out what was ailin’ me.’

How could a complete stranger weave herself into the lives of other people so quickly? It seemed like the whole village was being touched by Emma’s arrival in Braeburn. Maybe she didn’t have a gypsy streak after all, because the sort of magic she was creating was more like that of a fairy.

A Christmas fairy.

And magic wasn’t the only thing she was weaving. On Saturday afternoon, when it had stopped raining, they had taken Jemima down into the orchard so that Oliver could practise leading her, with Poppy riding. Not only had their little donkey proved herself very co-operative, Emma had spotted the greenery amongst the bare branches of an old apple tree.

‘Is that mistletoe? Real mistletoe?’

‘Aye. Looks like it.’

‘Can we pick it?’ Emma had asked. ‘For Christmas?’

‘It’s poisonous,’ Adam had told her. ‘Causes gastrointestinal and cardiovascular problems.’

‘We won’t eat it, silly.’ Emma had laughed. ‘I’m going to make a wreath.’

So here she was, sitting at the kitchen table under all the paper chains, after the children were in bed, cutting sprigs of the mistletoe and weaving them around a circle she’d made with some wire she’d unearthed out in the barn. Adam had poured himself a wee dram to finish the day with and he paused to watch what she was doing.

‘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’s deft hands weaving the sprigs into place. And 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.

He had to break the contact. Step back. Wonder how on earth he was going to deal with what had just happened when his senses were still reeling.

Emma’s eyes were closed. He liked it that she’d closed her eyes. And then she sighed happily and smiled. There was no embarrassment in her eyes when she opened them. No expectation that any explanation or apology was needed.

‘There you go,’ she said softly. ‘That’s where it came from, I guess. Mistletoe is magical. I’d better finish this and hang it somewhere safe.’

‘Aye.’ Adam drained the rest of his whisky and took the glass to the sink.

What did she mean by ‘safe’? Somewhere he couldn’t find it or somewhere he could?

He hoped she wanted to put it somewhere he could find it.

There were a lot of berries left on those twigs.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOR THE FIRST time in her life Emma Sinclair understood why they called it ‘falling’ in love.

Because she could feel that her balance was teetering. That there was a chasm very nearby that she couldn’t afford to fall into. She could get hurt.

Or hurt someone else.

Poppy and Oliver perhaps?

Or Adam?

Her hands stilled in their task of hemming, sinking to end up in the folds of the silky blue dress puddled in her lap, as she stared through the window. It was snowing, she realised with a childish bubble of excitement.

And then she remembered the kiss yet again and the bubble exploded into something decidedly more adult and compelling.

Desire—pure and simple.

Except it wasn’t that simple, was it? Oh, she’d noticed how good looking Adam McAllister was in the first moments of meeting him but she’d been a little afraid of him, too, if she was honest. The fierceness of him. The gruffness that came across as anger. The hidden depths that she’d glimpsed on that awful night when he’d ripped down the paper chains and caused the fire. And now she could add the capacity for passion into what this man was keeping hidden because she’d felt it in the touch of his lips.

She’d glimpsed the softer side to him as well, in the love he had for his children and the bond he had with his dogs. Pulling her gaze away from the softly drifting snowflakes, Emma glanced towards the fire. Benji lay on his back like a puppy, his speckled belly exposed, but Bob had his nose on his paws and he was watching Emma. She could swear that the old dog knew exactly what she was thinking and that the liquid gaze was encouraging.

He’s worth loving, it seemed to say. You won’t be sorry.

‘But I can’t, Bob.’ Emma actually spoke aloud. ‘I’m only here for a little bit longer.’

Time didn’t matter to dogs, though, did it? They took their joy as it appeared, with no questions asked. Even if they were old or sick, they could still be in the moment and experience that joy a hundred per cent.

People could learn a lot from dogs. Especially people who could be facing a terminal illness?

What if she let herself fall for Adam—even if it was only for a blink in time? It wasn’t just for the small McAllister family that she’d resolved to make this the best-ever Christmas for, was it?

If it was going to be her last Christmas, shouldn’t she make it the best ever one for herself, too?

‘It’s been such a long time, Bob,’ she whispered.

Such a long time since she had been loved …

Dear Lord, but it was tempting.

Bob’s ears were pricked now. He looked like he was asking her a question and Emma found herself smiling at the dog. No—she didn’t have to disappear right after Christmas, when Catherine McAllister returned, did she? Adam was still going to need a nanny and it wasn’t as if she had another job prospect lined up. She didn’t need to work at all, in actual fact, because the small inheritance from her mother would be enough for quite some time.

But she couldn’t offer Adam anything real. She didn’t do that kind of commitment. How could she, when she couldn’t offer any guarantee of permanence? When, instead, she could be sentencing someone to share things no one would choose to share.

And he wouldn’t want it anyway, would he? The blue of the fabric in her lap seemed to glow more brightly. How could anyone compete with the ghost of the perfect wife and mother? The love of his life that had been tragically ripped away from him and their beloved children?

The recently changed ring tone on her phone was for Christmas and Bob got to his feet as ‘Jingle Bells’ began. It was getting louder by the time Emma found the phone beneath the shimmery blue fabric.

‘It’ll be Sharon, I expect,’ she said, as Bob gave her hand a helpful nudge.

Except it wasn’t.

‘Jack …’ It was such a surprise to hear from him. A shock even, because it pulled her back instantly to somewhere she’d managed to distract herself from completely in the last couple of weeks.

‘Hey, Emma. How’s it going up there in the wilds of Scotland?’

‘It’s snowing,’ she told him happily. ‘And it’s just gorgeous. What’s it like in London?’

‘Cold and grey. No snow. That’s why I thought I’d pop up for a visit next week.’

‘What?’ Emma blinked. The relationship was a complicated mix sometimes and she wasn’t sure if he was wearing his ‘close friend’ or ‘oncologist’ hat right now. ‘Why?’

‘I’m meeting with an oncology guru who happens to be over from the States, tracing his family tree. I must have told you about that international research project we’re both involved in. Jenny says I bore everyone with it.’ He chuckled, unrepentant. ‘Anyway, I said I’d fly up for the day and then I had this idea and got hold of a mate who works in the infirmary in Edinburgh. I pulled a few strings but … how would you feel about having your BMT and maybe getting the results by Christmas?’

‘Oh …’ Emma had to swallow hard. The unpleasant prospect of having a bone-marrow aspiration done for testing had been off her agenda until she got back to London. ‘I’m … not sure how I feel about that, Jack. I …’ Oh, help. She could hear the wobble in her voice that threatened tears. ‘I was trying to forget about it, you know? To make this Christmas really special, in case … in case …’

‘I know.’ There was a short silence and then Jack’s voice was gentle. ‘Things are going to shut down for a while down here, what with Christmas and then New Year. And the baby’s not far off making an appearance, which could complicate things a bit for me, but it’s entirely your call. It was just an idea.’

Another silence as Emma’s mind raced. She would be thinking about it again now, wouldn’t she? Distraction would get harder. It could spoil things.

She heard Jack clear his throat. ‘How ‘bout this for another idea? Get the test done and, if the result comes through in time and it’s what we hope it’s going to be, I can give it to you as your Christmas present. And we can all really celebrate.’

He was including Sharon in that ‘we’. They’d got on famously from the moment they’d first met and had worked closely together to get Emma through the toughest of times.

‘And if it isn’t?’ Emma’s voice was so soft she didn’t think Jack would hear her but he did.

‘Then we’ll deal with it. After Christmas.’

Emma closed her eyes. That errant thought that she could perhaps stay in Braeburn longer than originally intended was still lurking in the back of her head and it would be much more convenient to pop over to Edinburgh for the test than go all the way back to London. And the result of that test couldn’t possibly be devastating, could it, given that she was feeling so good at the moment? The physical exhaustion that used to ambush her all the time had virtually disappeared so she knew she was getting stronger every day. How amazing would it be to get confirmation of something so wonderful as a Christmas gift?

‘Okay … Let me find a pen and paper and I’ll take down the details.’

It was proving to be a long day for Adam. Another one where it was difficult to separate his professional and personal lives.

He couldn’t blame his patients for making Emma’s presence felt in his consulting room or when he was making his house calls, though. No … it was his own disobedient mind.

Or maybe he should blame his body.

He hadn’t touched a woman in that way since his wife had died. Hadn’t even thought of touching like that, let alone kissing someone.

And it wouldn’t go away. The memory of how soft her lips had been. How sweet the taste of her had been. The shaft of desire for more that had been sharp enough to be both a physical and emotional pain.

Maybe that was what was making his mouth go a little dry at intervals today and increasing his heart rate until he could feel it thumping against his ribs. Too much adrenaline being produced. And why?

He knew if he looked a little more closely, he would know exactly why.

Fear.

Fear of being inadequate.

What man wouldn’t have lost confidence? Especially when avoidance had been the defence method of choice and it was now ingrained as a way of life? His children, his work and his community. Those were the things he could do and do well. Being a husband or even a lover?

That was what he wasn’t so sure of any more.

He’d always been good at avoidance, too. Even way back he’d made allowances for Tania’s dissatisfaction. She was a city girl, born and bred, so of course she found a small village like Braeburn boring to the point of suffocation.

Emma was a city girl, too, wasn’t she? She seemed to love village life but it was just a change for her. A very temporary change. Maybe the novelty would wear off.

Adam drove back to the medical centre that afternoon after visiting a sick baby on a farm that lay on the very outskirts of his practice area. It was starting to snow lightly and the stone walls and hedgerows looked like they were being dusted with icing sugar. The fairy-lights on the village shops were twinkling merrily and the tree in the square couldn’t have looked any more perfect.

He could see Old Jock over by the pub with his bagpipes under his arm. Hopefully, he’d go in by the fire and have a wee dram instead of getting too cold, serenading the village. He’d have to chase up those test results when he got back to his office. Something was going on with Jock and while nothing obvious had been noticeable when he’d examined the older man the other day, Adam wasn’t happy about it.

He cared deeply about the people of Braeburn. His people. It wasn’t just the physical beauty of this place that made it paradise for those who could see it. It was the embrace of a community tight enough to seem like an extended family with both its positive—supportive—side and the more negative—intrusive—one.

Eileen was in position, as always, guarding the reception desk, when he got back to the medical centre.

‘Any calls while I’ve been out?’

‘No’ yet.’ Eileen clicked her tongue. ‘There will be, mind … It’s snowing.’

‘Aye.’

‘Someone will fall over and break something, you mark my words.’

Adam smiled and Eileen looked shocked.

‘It’s no laughin’ matter, Dr McAllister.’

‘No.’

But the smile still lingered as he went into his office to make some calls. He needed to chase up Old Jock’s results and ring to see how the Jessops’ premature baby was doing. Still touch and go as far as he knew, but at least the little scrap was hanging in there.

And then he would be able to go home to be with his children and his dogs. And Emma … His home. His family.

It felt like the first time in his adult life that Adam wanted to be at home as much as he wanted to be at work.

Or was that unfair?

The twins had only been babies and then toddlers while Tania had been alive. Even with the help of a nanny it had been exhausting. It was no wonder that she’d demanded to be spoilt in the times he wasn’t at work. To be taken out for a candlelit dinner or away to Edinburgh or London for a shopping spree. Away from home. Away from Braeburn. Away from their children …

But he couldn’t deny that it had felt so much more like a family since Emma had come into their lives. There was music in the house. A Christmas tree in the living room. Secrets being planned and the excitement of the upcoming Christmas production that was making life crazily busy all of a sudden.

The idea came to him from somewhere out of left field.

Did Emma really love being here as much as she seemed to?

Could she be persuaded to stay longer?

It wasn’t fear that made his heart rate pick up this time. It was something far more positive but still enough to make him feel oddly nervous. Hope, perhaps?

Amazingly, the snow hadn’t been enough to stop the playing of the pipes that Emma was coming to rely on as being a highlight of her new daily routine. It had stopped falling for the moment and the roads were still clear but it was breathtakingly cold and she couldn’t sit on the bench because it would be damp even if she swept off the thin white covering.

The village centre was busy. There was a delicious smell coming from the bakery and a cluster of people outside the general store. The women saw her walk past and, instead of pretending not to, one of them nodded in her direction. The acknowledgement came without a smile but it was enough to make Emma grin and wave back. Maybe if she stopped wearing her silly Tibetan hat, she would get a smile next time.

The pipes sounded a little strange today. Had it been harder to warm them up because it was so cold? Sharon would say that some of those notes sounded like a cat being skinned alive and she wouldn’t be far wrong.

No wonder the man in the kilt stopped and lowered his instrument to stare at it in dismay.

But … to drop it?

Emma was just registering how wrong the scene in front of her was when she saw the man crumple and fall. Dropping her guitar case, she ran towards him. She’d done a first-aid course before she’d got sick herself. She knew to turn him over and check to see if he was breathing and try to see if he had a pulse.

To start CPR and shout for help.

‘Get Dr McAllister,’ she heard someone shout. ‘Tell him it’s Old Jock who needs him.’

‘Call an ambulance,’ someone else said. ‘He looks right poorly …’

It didn’t seem like any time at all until the gathering crowd of onlookers parted for Adam’s arrival. He was out of breath and carrying his bag in one hand and a large piece of equipment in the other. His ferocious-looking receptionist wasn’t far behind either, cradling an oxygen cylinder in her arms.

‘You’re doing a good job, Emma. Can you keep it up while I get organised?’

‘Sure.’ Emma ignored the pain from the icy cobbles beneath her knees. She bit her lip and concentrated on where she had her hands—in the middle of the chest—and how hard and fast to push.

Had it been only a matter of weeks ago that expending this much energy would have been impossible? She just had to keep it up. The last thing Adam needed right now was to have someone else collapsing.

‘Okay—stop for a moment.’ The buttons on the man’s waistcoat popped as Adam ripped it open. The buttons on a shirt went the same way but the singlet beneath needed a cut with shears before it would tear. And then Adam attached sticky pads to the bony chest and turned to look at the screen on the equipment he’d brought.

‘Move right back, Emma. Make sure you’re not touching him. I’m going to give him a shock.’

Emma—and all those watching—got a shock as well, seeing the body jerk in front of them, but she didn’t have time to wallow in feeling horrified.

‘Start compressions again,’ Adam ordered.

‘I can help the lassie.’ A big man was kneeling beside her. ‘I’ve learned how to do this.’

‘Good man, Bryan. Emma—can you hold this, please? And come up by his head. I need a hand to get a tube in so we can breathe for him.’

The next few minutes were a blur. How could Adam stay so calm? He slipped a tube down the man’s throat and attached it to a bag that he showed Emma how to squeeze. He put an IV line into an arm and drew up and administered drugs without any discernible shake to his hands.

Emma was shaking like a leaf now from a combination of the horror and the cold.

‘Can someone ring and find out how far away the ambulance is?’

‘They’re sending a helicopter,’ someone said moments later. ‘It’s going to land on the school field. They need people to check that there are no loose objects the snow might be hiding.’

Several people peeled away from the anxious group. ‘We’ll do that,’ a man called. ‘And warn the bairns what’s going to happen.’

Emma fought off a wave of dizziness. She focused on holding the bag and squeezing it. Counting to ten slowly and then squeezing it again.

‘You’re doing really well.’

The words were quiet. Only Emma and the big man doing the compressions would have heard it. Bryan didn’t look up from his task but Emma did. She met Adam’s dark gaze and found encouragement there. Pride even?

She had to swallow an unexpected lump in her throat.

‘Do … do we need to send someone to find blankets? It’s s-so cold …’

‘It’s a good thing for Old Jock,’ Adam said. ‘Sometimes we make patients cold deliberately to protect them from the effects of a cardiac arrest.’ He looked away. ‘I’ll take over in a sec, Bryan. Stand clear, both of you, now. I’m going to try another shock.’

Everyone had to be holding their breath to account for the silence that followed after the warning alarm and then the clunk of the machine delivering its charge. They could hear the beat of the approaching helicopter. And then another sound, much closer. A steady blip, blip, blip that was coming from the machine.

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