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
