Twins For Christmas: A Little Christmas Magic / Lone Star Twins / A Family This Christmas. Alison Roberts
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of this step were more than a little scary.
‘Right, then.’ She reached for her wallet. ‘Come on. You can help me choose the best one.’
‘No.’
‘But, Daddy … I want Jemima to be in our play. Please …’
‘No.’ Adam’s fork clattered against his plate in the silence that followed the resoundingly negative response.
It was just as well that Emma had waited until dinner was almost finished before broaching the subject of including the largest family pet in the nativity play. Her appetite evaporated in the face of the atmosphere that instantly filled the McAllister kitchen—her favourite room in this grand old house. That single word had somehow created an impenetrable barrier and Adam was clearly angry. Was he even tasting the casserole he was forking into his mouth?
The last of the wonderful meals Catherine had left in the freezer, Emma had noted with some alarm. She would have to cook the evening meals herself from now on.
The children began simply pushing pieces of food around their plates with as little enthusiasm as Emma.
‘Eat your dinner,’ Adam ordered, ‘or there’ll be no ice cream.’
‘I don’t want ice cream.’ Poppy’s voice wobbled. ‘I want …’
No, Emma begged silently. Don’t say it.
‘I want Jemima to be in our play.’
Adam dropped his cutlery and his chair scraped back with a screech that made Emma flinch.
‘It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard,’ he snapped. ‘And it’s not going to happen. I don’t want to hear another word about it.’ The stern glare Poppy was being subjected to was transferred to Oliver. ‘From either of you.’
Then it was Emma’s turn to get the look. ‘I expect this was your idea in the first place?’
For a heartbeat she felt frightened. It wasn’t just about potentially getting fired from a job she was coming to love far more than she’d expected. It was more about the glimpse into what Adam McAllister would be like if he lost control. She was sensing the depth of emotion hidden away in this man for the first time and who knew what might happen if it broke through those rigid, self-imposed constraints?
But then Emma was aware of something she rarely felt.
Anger.
She could see that the children really were frightened. Sitting there, like small statues, with pale faces and probably holding their breath. Scared that their daddy didn’t love them any more because they’d done something bad.
Was it so bad to dream of doing something a bit out of the ordinary? Okay … a lot out of the ordinary, but this was about Christmas, wasn’t it? About making a little bit of magic?
So she held Adam’s angry glare and lifted her chin.
‘Yes,’ she said clearly. ‘It was my idea. And Caitlin McMurray loved it. She said she’d talk to the hall committee about getting permission and that she could probably arrange transport to get Jemima into the village for the evening.’
Adam was on his feet now. He crumpled his serviette into a ball and threw it down beside his unfinished plate of food.
‘Have you seen the state of the village hall? It’s crumbling inside. The floorboards all need replacing. Quite apart from the public-health issues of an animal needing to relieve itself indoors, there would be the danger of the floor giving way. Imagine the panic that would create? Not only could Jemima get injured but so could anybody who was unfortunate enough to be sitting anywhere nearby. Like my children. You’re suggesting that I allow you to put them in danger for the sake of a school play?’
‘It’s a Christmas play.’ Emma was not going to let her voice wobble like Poppy’s had but it was a close call. ‘It’s special.’
‘Ach …’ Adam turned and strode towards the door. ‘I’m going to find somewhere I can get away from this nonsense. And I don’t want to hear anything more about it. From any of you.’
Bob followed his master from the kitchen but his head was hanging low. Benji started to follow Bob but then stopped and slowly slunk back beneath the kitchen table.
Emma swallowed a gulp. She reached out with one hand to squeeze Poppy’s hand. She would have squeezed Oliver’s too, but he promptly put both his hands in his lap to avoid her touch.
‘It’s okay,’ she told them with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘Daddy just needs time to get used to the idea. He’s a little bit cross but he’ll get over it, you’ll see.’ She found a smile. ‘Why don’t we all have some ice cream?’
‘We’re not allowed,’ Oliver informed her. ‘We haven’t eaten all our vegetables.’
‘I’ll bet Benji would eat them if we put them in his dish.’
The children looked astonished. Was an adult actually suggesting something naughty?
It wasn’t the first time that Emma had been struck by how like his father Oliver was. He was deep, this little boy, and there was a sadness in him that shouldn’t be there. It made her heart ache.
‘Sometimes,’ she said softly, ‘we all need a cuddle. And having a treat like ice cream—it kind of gives us a cuddle from the inside and makes us feel better. A tummy cuddle.’
Poppy climbed off her chair and onto Emma’s lap. She wound her skinny arms around Emma’s neck and buried her face on her shoulder. Emma happily gathered the little girl closer and rocked her a little as she cuddled her. She held out her other arm in an invitation for Oliver to join them but he stayed where he was with his head bent as if he was staring at his hands.
They heard the roar from Adam all the way from the living room. Oh … dear Lord … Emma had forgotten the tree they’d installed in there as soon as they’d got home, thanks to the clever stand the Christmas-tree man had sold her along with the spruce the children had declared the best.
They could hear the furious footfalls as he came storming back into the kitchen.
‘Whose idea was that, as if I couldn’t guess?’
It was Emma receiving the full force of the glare this time.
‘It has to stop, do you hear me? I won’t have it.’ Adam didn’t have to reach far above his head to grab hold of one of the paper chains. And it didn’t take much of a tug to have it break and drift down in pieces.
‘We don’t do Christmas.’ He wasn’t shouting but the quiet words were chillingly final. ‘Not in this house.’
Poppy burst into tears. Oliver was staring at the falling paper chains and Emma just knew she was going to see this staunch little boy cry for the first time, too. But the sound that came out of his mouth was more like a cry of fear.
‘Daddy …’ His pointing was urgent and Emma turned her head automatically, in time to see the flames from the paper chain that had landed on top of the stove.
With a vehement curse Adam flung himself towards that side of the kitchen. He grabbed a tea towel, put it under the cold tap and then covered the pile of burning paper. It was all over in seconds.
Except that it wasn’t over. Both the children were sobbing and this time Oliver had no objection when Emma gathered him under her free arm and took both children out of the kitchen and away from their father.
They were still sobbing by the time she’d got them bathed and into bed. Poppy fell asleep almost instantly, totally worn out by her misery. When Emma went back to check on Oliver again, she found he was also asleep—a tight ball of child entirely covered by bedding, with only his nose poking out. She bent and kissed the cold little nose.