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