once you’ve picked them.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘It’s how we introduce the dogs to the patients before training at Heatherglen gets under way. It gives me a good feel for who they are before they arrive. If you could take part in the calls, that would be greatly appreciated.’
‘Why do you need me?’
Esme bridled. If he was going to persist in questioning every single thing she said and did, she was right to keep him away from Heatherglen. ‘If a couple of video conferences and formal wear is too much of a sacrifice to secure two free, incredibly talented service dogs for patients who would normally have to wait years to receive one… I completely understand.’ She gave him her most nonchalant smile, hoping it disguised just how intense she was finding all of this. The penetrating looks. The pointed questions. The downright yumminess of him. The last time someone had had this visceral effect on her… Oof… She shuddered as she felt Max’s dark eyes continue to bore into her.
‘Why do I need formal wear for a conference call?’
‘It’s for the Christmas ball. You’re req—’ She stopped herself from saying required. She didn’t like being bossed around and had the very clear impression he didn’t either. ‘It’s really useful if the founder of the charity comes along and speaks with the donors.’
‘Schmooze, you mean.’ A flash of a smile appeared. ‘You might want to reconsider that. It’s not really my forte.’
‘So I noticed,’ she said dryly.
He laughed and once again that strangely comfortable feeling she got from banter with him made the day seem a bit less cold.
‘I can pick any patients I want?’ He asked.
‘Doctor’s choice.’ She nodded. ‘The harder the better.’
Her eyes dropped to just below his waist.
Oh, good grief.
Work. She should think of work. Work was not sexy. Complicated patients to match to hard-working service dogs. Also not sexy. Big brothers. They definitely weren’t sexy. Work, complicated patients and big brothers. Okay. Her heart rate began to decelerate. She liked bringing in clients Charles knew nothing about. He was far too serious for his own good and this was her annual chance to pop a little spontaneity into his life. And her own.
She followed his gaze as it drifted across to the hospital, his mind obviously spinning with options.
She got the feeling he was going to test her. Good. Maybe this would be the year that signing over the proceeds from the charity ball gave her back that magical feeling she’d lost all those years ago when her brother had been killed in action, she’d married a hustler and just about everything else in her life had imploded.
‘You’re not going to bend on the Christmas ball thing, are you?’ A smile teased at the corners of his mouth.
‘Nope!’ She grinned. ‘And let me know if you don’t have a tuxedo. You’ll need one for the ball.’ She gave him what she hoped was a neutral top-to-toe scan. ‘You’d probably fit into one of my brother’s if you don’t have one. I’m sure we could stuff socks in the shoulders if you don’t fill it out.’
What was she on? He’d make a fig leaf look good. Which was an image she really shouldn’t let float around her head quite as gaily as it was.
‘If I go formal, I wear a kilt, thank you very much.’
A kilt! Yum. She had a weakness for a Scotsman in formal kilted attire. Her brain instantly started undressing and redressing him. What she saw she liked very much. Too much. Was it too late to uninvite him to the ball as well?
Yes. Yes, it was. Besides, as much as seeing Max Kirkpatrick in a kilt could very well tip her into the danger zone of dating outside her brother’s ‘pre-approved’ choices…she needed him. The donors loved hearing about the charities from the founder.
‘A kilt will do very nicely,’ she said primly.
He gave her a sharp sidelong glance as if he’d been following her complicated train of thought, then took a step back and said, rather formally for someone who’d just been flinging about witty banter, ‘In which case, Ms Ross-Wylde, I’d be delighted to accept your offer to participate in two phone calls and the ball.’
It was a pointed comment. One that made it clear he’d understood loud and clear she hadn’t asked him up to Heatherglen. A wash of disappointment swept through Esme so hard and fast she barely managed to keep her smile pinned in place as she rejigged her vision of what the next few weeks held in store. Training patients. Absolutely normal. The hectic build-up to Christmas. Ditto. The Christmas carnival being set up out at the front of the castle that would, once again, be a good opportunity to practise with the dogs and their handlers.
It was ridiculous of her to have imagined for as much as a second that she might finally make good on that fantasy to skate by moonlight, hand in hand, with someone who genuinely liked her for herself. Let alone share a starlit kiss.
‘Delightful.’ Brisk efficiency was the only way she’d get out of this garden with a modicum of her dignity intact. She called Skye to her side. ‘We’ll expect them on the fifteenth and you on the twenty-third in Glasgow.’
She turned and gave a wave over her shoulder so he wouldn’t see the smile drop from her lips.
Stupid, stupid girl. The last time she’d let her heart rule her actions she’d ended up humiliated and alone. She’d been a fool for letting herself think that Max Kirkpatrick could be the one who would bring that sparkle of joy back into Christmas.
MAX WASN’T SURE who was more nervous. Him or the twelve-year-old kid squirming like a wriggly octopus on the wheelchair beside him. His eyes flicked to the chair behind them. Euan’s mum was there. Carly. Timid as ever. Gnawing on a non-existent fingernail, her eyes darting around the office he’d managed to commandeer for the video call.
The poor woman. She didn’t look as though she’d had a good night’s sleep in years. The same as his mum back in the pre-dictator days. Getting Carly here today had been a feat and a half. How on earth she was going to get two weeks off work was beyond him.
‘You ready for this?’ Max asked. He wasn’t. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, but he definitely wasn’t used to erotic dreams. Or a guilty conscience. There was a hell of a lot more information he should’ve told Esme that would’ve explained his spiky behaviour when she’d appeared at Plants to Paws last week, but having jammed himself into an emotion-proof vest quite a few years back, sharing didn’t come easily. Sharing meant being closer to someone. Opening up his heart. There was no point in doing that because he’d learnt more than most that opening up your heart and trusting a person meant someone else got to kick the door shut.
It had happened with Gavin. And with his fiancée. Now very much an ex-fiancée. And out on the battlefields of Afghanistan where lives had been lost because he’d trusted his commanding officer and not his gut.
He gave Euan and Carly as reassuring a
