Читать книгу Making Christmas Special Again / Their One-Night Christmas Gift - Karin Baine - Страница 15

‘ALL RIGHT IF I hang out with Euan and Fenella until we set off?’

‘Go for it,’ Esme chirped a bit too enthusiastically, trying to resist the urge to touch Max’s arm, his hand, his anything really because each time they so much as brushed a pinkie finger…fireworks. For her anyway. Twenty-four hours in and, despite her best efforts, that same heated attraction that had lit her up from the inside out the first time she’d laid eyes on him refused to be tamped down. If anything…it was worse.

She watched from a distance as Fenella and Euan showed Max the tricks they’d just learned in the clinic. They ‘shot’ their dogs to get them to play dead. He laughed appreciatively. Then they ‘shot’ him, after which he picked Euan up and tried to carry him away, only to have Euan’s dog cut in and ‘save’ him as they’d done in one of the practice sessions. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought he was a father trying to do his very best by his son. Did he want children of his own? Marriage? Though he came across as gruff and spiky with her, Fenella and Euan clearly adored him. They must think he was heaven sent. They probably thought a lot of things. None of which probably included being scooped up in his arms, flung onto a four-poster bed and having their wicked way with him.

Nope. She hadn’t thought of that once.

He glanced over and caught her eye. The gold sparks that lit up his brown eyes whenever he let himself relax became shadowed.

Well, then. At least she knew who, of the two of them, wasn’t fizzing with frissons.

‘Shall we get going?’ She rubbed her hands together then pointed towards the path they would be taking.

Max passed on the instructions to Euan and Fenella then walked over to her as if she were an obligation to fulfil.

Esme’s heart sank a little. She didn’t want to be an obligation. She wanted to be… Her breath formed into a little cloud as she huffed out a frustrated lungful of air. She wanted to be loved, that’s what she wanted. What she didn’t want was to have it be unreciprocated, so she needed to nip this whole light my fire vibe in the bud.

‘The place hasn’t changed much since I was here last,’ Max observed.

‘Oh, yes!’ She clipped Dougal’s lead onto his collar and tried to match Max’s long-legged stride. ‘I thought you’d mentioned you’d been to Heatherglen.’

He nodded soberly. ‘Twenty-three years ago.’

‘And how many days?’ She joked.

‘Seven.’ There wasn’t a trace of humour in his voice.

‘Sounds like quite a memory.’

‘It was. Is. My mum brought me here.’

About a thousand questions poured into her heart as he scanned the brightly decorated stalls surrounding the ice rink at the centre of the Christmas carnival. His eyes took on that faraway look she often saw in her brother when he was thinking of Nick or their father. It was almost as if she could see the memories shifting past his eyes. First the good ones…then the harsh reminder that there would never be more.

She’d been so gutted when Nick had been killed she’d entirely lost sight of who she was. Her father had become a workaholic. Charles had poured himself into med school as if his life had depended on it. Her mum had filled the empty hours with parties and, eventually, other men. She’d never felt more lonely.

She had became two people. A diligent student determined to become the very best vet she could be and a dedicated party girl who’d thought getting lost in the mayhem of yet another mad night out on the town was the only way to stem the grief she felt. Harding MacMillan, the leader of Glasgow’s most elite pack of party people, had sensed her weakness, her desperation to feel loved. She’d stepped straight into his web of lies and deceit, willing it to fill the dark void of loss in her heart.

‘Are the stables the only thing that you’ve revamped?’

Neutral territory. Phew.

‘Apart from some of the medical elements we’ve added to the castle, you’re exactly right.’ Esme pulled a knitted hat out of her pocket and put it on. ‘My parents were big fans of tradition so Charles and I tried to keep everything as it was. As you can see, the skating rink’s a bit bigger, but…’ she held her hands out as they approached the entryway to the carnival ‘…it’s still toffee apples, chainsaw sculptures and mulled wine for all!’

Euan ran over, with Ajax in tow. ‘Are we going in?’

Esme smiled at his undisguised enthusiasm. If Max had been anything like this as a kid, no wonder the memories had stuck. ‘We’re going to save the Christmas carnival for another time, if that’s all right. We’ll definitely have a go as we need to help you operate in crowds and tricky situations together. We’ll also head into town one day. Maybe take you to the Christmas market. And there’s always the Living Nativity to think about. Who thinks Max would make an excellent Joseph?’ Esme shot him a playful smirk. Her first in the past twenty-four hours.

He shot a ‘yeah, right’ look back at her and there it was…that buzz of connection that crackled between them like electricity. If a right place and a right time for a kiss presented itself…

This way danger lay.

Esme nodded at the dogs. ‘Are you two all right with them? Happy with the training so far?’

A chorus of ‘Yes’ and enthusiastic ‘More than’ filled the wintry air. Esme and Margaret had already done a lot of one-to-one work with them. Esme focused on the drills Fenella’s seizure dog knew whilst Margaret had been tasked with showing Euan all the tricks of the trade his dog could help him with when he was feeling panicky or depressed.

The grin on Euan’s face near enough hit ear to ear. ‘I love him!’ He dropped down low so he was eye to eye with the golden Labrador he had been assigned. ‘Ajax and I are going to rule the world!’

Esme laughed good-naturedly. ‘How about we see how the two of you do on a woodland walk first? Plenty of distractions out there. Squirrels, hares, deer. Maybe reindeer.’

Ajax gave Euan’s face a lick and when he raised a paw to shake hands with the boy, he laughed without an ounce of the self-consciousness he’d arrived with. Now, that was satisfying.

‘Do I have to keep my dog on a lead?’ Fenella asked.

Esme nodded. ‘Everything we’re going to be doing for the next week ensures you are developing a relationship with your dog.’

‘Do you think Ajax would like cake?’ Euan’s gaze travelled over to a parade of food stalls at the Christmas carnival. ‘I love cake.’

Esme laughed. ‘Cake is definitely not on their menu. Think of Ajax as an athlete. You want him to be in top health, right?’ Euan nodded solemnly and blocked Ajax’s view of the cake stall. It was easy to see he would let no harm come to his new furry friend.

Esme pointed to a path leading off into the woods. ‘I thought we could go down to the pond for now. Another big lure for Labs and goldendoodles. Even in the winter. But remember! You’re in charge. Let’s see how well you two can do at making sure they resist all of the temptations along the way.’

She held out a lead to Max. At the end of the lead was Dougal wearing yet another Christmas jumper. ‘Happy to tag along with me and Wylie as back-up?’

Wylie was a huge old St Bernard who leant in protectively towards Esme’s leg. When Max didn’t immediately take the lead, a thought struck her. ‘Are you all right with dogs? I can’t believe I didn’t ask. With Plants to Paws I just assumed.’

‘No, it’s not that.’

‘What is it?’

Max tilted his head towards Wylie. ‘Loyalty. Hard to find it these days.’

The click and cinch of eye contact that followed hit Esme hard and fast.

From the shift in his stature she knew in her very core that Max felt it, too.

When she finally spoke, she barely recognised her own voice. ‘Should we get a move on? I think Fenella’s got an appointment with one of the physios in an hour or so.’

Esme set off at a crisp pace, reminding herself with each step that Max wasn’t here to find a new girlfriend. He was here to make sure his charity didn’t get paved over. Eyes on the prize. Just like her ex had had his eyes on her family money. Suddenly, the air felt a little bit chillier.

‘What sort of behaviour do they have to exhibit to be a service dog?’ Max’s attempt to start up some casual chitchat wasn’t exactly stellar but it would definitely beat the ice-queen vibes coming from Esme.

Esme briefly considered the two dogs walking beside them. ‘Probably the same traits it takes to be a good soldier. Commitment. Hard work. Intelligence.’ She glanced at him. ‘You were in the services, weren’t you?’

He nodded. She’d obviously done her research. ‘Army. Twelve years.’

‘As a medic or a soldier?’

‘Started as a soldier but worked my way into the Royal Army Medical Corps.’ He hadn’t been able to stand waiting for someone else to help when one of his fellow soldiers had been injured. Mashing your hand on top of a wound rarely helped. Telling them you were there for them counted for something. Listening to their final goodbyes. As a nineteen-year-old soldier with his own emotional scars, Max had wanted something practical he could do. Medicine had rescued him from the deep morass of helplessness he’d felt ever since the Dictator had entered his and his mum’s lives.

‘You must’ve seen a lot of awful things,’ Esme said.

He nodded and scrubbed at the back of his neck. They all had. At least he’d been able to walk off the plane when they’d landed back in Scotland.

‘Have you chatted with Andy at all?’

Max had heard Euan introducing his dog to him the first night. ‘The chap in the wheelchair?’

Esme nodded.

‘Euan and he seemed to have struck up a friendship and I didn’t want to interfere. He has that ex-military look about him.’

‘Army. He was one of my brother’s best friends.’

‘Charles?’

‘No. Nick.’ An air of sadness cloaked her words. She shot him a sad smile. ‘You aren’t really friends with the internet, are you?’

He shook his head. ‘Not really. For twelve years I lived and breathed the military and since then I’ve been deeply involved in the A and E unit. The internet fuels gossip. I don’t like gossip.’

She huffed out a disbelieving laugh. ‘That would make you a rare breed.’

Shards of pain lanced through those pure blue eyes of hers and if he were the sort of man who knew how to make them go away, he would’ve. It was a cruel reminder that the only thing he’d learnt over the years was how to push people away.

‘Nick was my older brother. Much older. He was in a canine dog squad in the army and one day… Christmas Eve, actually…things didn’t go so well.’

All the little pieces he’d been trying to put together fell into place. The castle as a rehab centre. The rescued mutts. The repurposed search and rescue dogs. Those intense looks she sometimes had when she held a dog close. All of this was for their brother.

‘He must’ve been an amazing man.’

‘He was my hero.’

The depth of emotion in her voice punched him right in the solar plexus, loosening up the muscles that held his own story deeply embedded in his heart. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. That he understood pain and loss. His mum had been his best friend up until when his stepdad had entered their lives. A man whose method of putting a relatively wayward kid back on track was to ship him out to a military academy instead of letting him live in their new home, as promised. How the same man had verbally subdued his jolly, full-of-life mother into being little more than a timorous mouse, frightened to say or do anything that might embarrass her social-climber husband. As the dark thoughts accumulated, Dougal nosed his thigh. He gave the dog’s head a scrub. The pooch definitely had a sensitive side. That was for sure.

As if the move had also jostled Esme, she gave herself a little shake, popped on a smile and asked, ‘What made you choose the Clydebank Hospital? Pretty rough area of town.’

‘It’s where I grew up.’

‘Oh. Um…are your parents still there?’

‘Nah.’ He cleared his throat because it still choked him up to say the words. ‘My mum passed. Three years ago now.’

There was no point in mentioning his father. Step or otherwise. Neither had treated his mum the way she’d deserved.

Cancer had stolen his chance to give her the house he had bought for her. It’d taken him twelve years of service to buy it outright. He’d meant it to be a refuge from the Dictator and his constant micromanagement. As far as Max knew, he’d never laid a hand on her, but guys like that knew how to bruise and hurt in other ways. Gavin had been chipping away at his mother’s self-worth for years. He hadn’t wanted a wife. He’d wanted someone to feel small so he could feel big. It was a miracle she’d had any confidence left at all in the end. Or the generosity in her heart to forgive a man he didn’t think he ever could forgive.

At least her battle with cancer had been swift. A cruel mercy. The day she’d died, Max had put the house on the market. He’d thought of making it a shelter, but he simply hadn’t had the funding to keep one up and running. He’d used the money to establish Plants to Paws instead. His mum had loved gardening. It had been the one place she’d known her husband couldn’t fault her.

He needed to bring up his relationship to Gavin before a single penny came his way from Esme, but for now he was enjoying the thoughtful silence she’d chosen in lieu of asking, And your dad? Like her therapy dogs, she seemed to know when to push and when to back off. If he wasn’t careful he’d be pouring out all his secrets but he knew more than most that putting his heart in someone else’s hands was always a bad idea. So he followed Esme’s earlier lead and sidestepped the real stuff.

‘Where’d you find this cheeky chappie?’ He pointed at Dougal.

‘A couple of our staffers found him. Cass and Lyle. Someone had abandoned the poor wee thing.’ She gave the dog a goofy grin and he barked his approbation. ‘Up until a few days ago he was staying with our physio, Flora, but she’s moving in with Aksel—the new vet—and they already have an assistance dog for his daughter, so…’ Esme looked up to the wintry sky as if for inspiration.

‘Because he’s so young and such a little scruffball we weren’t sure he’d be up for much training, but he seems pretty adaptable. Aksel caught him trying to purr next to a cat the other day.’ She laughed, her features softening as she unclipped his lead and gave him a bit of a cuddle. ‘Poor Dougal. He deserves someone who will love him exactly the way he is. A little broken. A lot in need of love.’

Something told Max she was describing herself. She sure as hell was describing him. Though he could hardly believe the words as they came out of his mouth, he said them anyway. ‘Want to talk about it?’

‘About Dougal?’ Esme knew he’d been asking about her, but she was hardly going to pour her heart out to a man who had more control over her emotions than she cared to admit. ‘Nothing to say really. His past is a mystery.’ Her eyes flicked towards Max. A bit like you. Adopting what she hoped was a fun, interested look, she asked, ‘So what’s your kilt like? I’m not familiar with the Kirkpatrick tartan.’

‘Probably because it’s Lowland. I’m guessing the Ross-Wylde tartan is—forgive the pun—cut from a different cloth.’

It was as it happened. Highlander through and through. But that didn’t mean he could tar her with a brush of superiority. ‘I don’t use my name to get things I haven’t earned.’

His eyes widened. There had definitely been bite to her bark and Max wasn’t a man to stand around getting attacked. ‘You certainly seem happy to use it when it comes to flinging your money about.’

Everything in her stilled.

‘Don’t say that.’

Max’s spine realigned into ramrod position. ‘Sore point?’

‘Something like that.’

She saw him reeling through the possibilities of what could make the poor little rich girl so touchy about money. When she failed to explain he asked, ‘Is this why you fund the charities through the ball instead of donating it all yourself? Gives you a bit of emotional clearance so you don’t have to feel responsible for anyone and they don’t have to come crawling to you for more?’

He was hitting close to the bone. Too close. And he wasn’t bothering to sugar-coat it.

She flicked her hair out of her eyes and tucked it back underneath her hat.

‘How I run the foundation is nothing for you to worry about, Max. It’s a charity event, not a Princess Charming Ball.’ Instead of stropping off, which she should have done, she lashed out, ‘And don’t think for a minute I need to find a male version of Cinderella to make me happy.’

‘No?’ countered Max, the space between them diminishing as the heated intensity between them increased. ‘What do you need to make you happy?’

Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear her own thoughts let alone the sounds around them.

Someone like you?

‘Max!’ Euan was running towards them. ‘Come fast! It’s Fenella!’

Max took off with the practised speed of an athlete. Esme scooped up Dougal’s lead and, as best she could, ran behind, silently adding, Make self immune to grumpy but sexy Scottish doctors to her list of things to do.

When Max reached the clearing, he could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Fenella’s dog, Nora, was nudging herself under Fenella’s head as she came to the end of a seizure.

‘She was fitting, Doc.’ Euan said, breathless and a bit pale from fright. ‘I stuck my glove in her mouth so she wouldn’t bite her tongue or anything, but she spat it out. Too mucky, I guess.’

‘It’s all right, pal.’ Max dropped to his knees and did a quick check of Fenella’s vitals. ‘You’ve done the right thing in finding me. From the look of things, Nora here knows what she’s doing.’

‘Absolutely.’ Euan looked awestruck. ‘I know we saw her in the practice hall, but this was the real thing. It was like she knew it was going to happen.’ He looked up as Esme jogged into the clearing. ‘Did you know Nora makes herself into a cushion?’

Esme gave Nora a quick pet and a treat as Fenella slowly came to. ‘Absolutely. That’s what she’s trained to do.’

Max helped Fenella sit up. ‘You all right there, hun?’

The post-ictal phase was always a bit tricky. The person who’d had the seizure could feel perfectly fine or often exhibit signs similar to those of a stroke. Headaches, slurred speech, nausea and fatigue. In rare cases, some epileptics could suffer from post-ictal psychosis and suffer from paranoia or extreme fear. Usually the anomaly occurred in people who weren’t taking their medication.

‘Yes, I…’ Fenella looked a bit confused and then, when her eyes lit on Nora, it was as if everything pinged into place. ‘I felt a bit woozy and the next thing I knew, this one was being my pillow.’ She ran her hand through the dog’s fur and automatically reached to her pocket to get her a treat. ‘Good girl. You’re a clever girlie, aren’t you?’

‘She was!’ Euan jumped in. ‘Out of, like, absolutely nowhere you fainted. But you weren’t fainting. You were having a seizure, I guess, and it was like Nora knew exactly what to do. She broke your fall. Then she stuck herself under your head while you were fitting. No offence, but it was really cool.’

Max glanced across at Esme. She looked concerned for Fenella but pleased her new service dog had fallen straight into her new role. She was actively avoiding eye contact with him. Served him right. He’d been an ass. Sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He should tell her about Gavin. It would break just about every rule in his play-your-cards-close-to-your-chest handbook, but he felt he owed it to her to even the emotional playing field. He got it. Sometimes things were personal. Luckily for his emotional armour, taking caring of Fenella took precedence.

‘Did you take your AEDs?’ Max asked. Anti-epileptic drugs helped but weren’t a failsafe, especially if they weren’t taken regularly or weren’t the right dosage. Having seen her in his A and E several times for sprains and cuts sustained while she’d been fitting, he knew she had struggled for years to find the right balance of medication.

‘Yes.’ She looked away, rubbing her elbow.

It didn’t sound like a one hundred percent yes, but he wasn’t going to embarrass her in front of everyone if there was a story behind her not taking it. Or, as was often the case, she might need to change meds. They weren’t a one-pill-fits-all type of medicine.

‘Did you hurt yourself?’

‘No more than usual.’ She held up a lightly scraped hand then qualified her answer. ‘I probably would’ve cracked my head on a stone or something if it hadn’t been for Nora.’ She wrapped her arm round the dog and nuzzled her face into the fluffy goldendoodle’s coat. After a few moments, Max quietly asked, ‘What do you think set this one off?’

Fenella shot him a sheepish look. ‘Lack of sleep most likely. I’ve been so excited the past few days, I’ve hardly slept a wink.’

He nodded. ‘Perhaps it’d be best if we all head back to…um…’

‘The castle?’ filled in Esme, with the ease of someone who’d grown up in one.

Had it been more burden than blessing?

Esme glanced at her watch. ‘Max mentioned you have an appointment with Flora, our physio. Shall we head back, get you a cup of tea and some quiet time before then?’

Fenella nodded, grunting a little as she sat up properly. Max reached out to steady her. Poor woman. Had to be tough being taken by surprise by seizures just when you thought you were having the time of your life.

‘Are you two still all right having your dogs with you in your rooms? We can take them back to the kennels for the afternoon if you need a break.’

They both asked if they could have their dogs stay with them. Esme grinned a naughty little sister grin.

Which did beg the question, ‘Is that not de rigueur?’ Max asked, sotto voce. ‘Having the dogs in the clinic?’

‘Oh, it is,’ she answered breezily. ‘It just annoys my brother. Speaking of him, if he has time later on, Fenella, it might be a good idea for you to meet Charles and talk through your medications.’

‘It’s just the one right now. I’m sure it’s fine.’ Fenella looked uncomfortable about the suggestion, which instantly put Max’s protective streak into high gear.

‘Does he know much about epilepsy?’ Max asked. A bit too defensively from the look of Esme’s own bristly demeanour.

‘He’s a neurologist, so he’s pretty good at understanding why brains work the way they do. I’m not criticising any of the medical treatment you’ve received at the Clydebank, Fenella. They obviously have specialists there who are helping you and Max, here, of course. I’m just covering our bases as you are our guest. We want to make sure you receive all the treatment you need. If there’s anything we can do—’

‘Don’t worry.’ Max helped Fenella get back to her feet. ‘Easy does it, lassie. Why don’t we take this step by step and get this woman some rest first?’

He tried to block out the sharp looks Esme kept sending him, but the odd one or two pierced straight through to his conscience. Now he definitely owed her an apology. What had got into him? Accusing her of flinging gold coins at people for her own amusement. Dismissing her sensible offer of a fresh set of eyes on Fenella’s case.

If she knew even half of the reasons why he swung from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other she’d…hell, he didn’t know. Send him packing most likely. It seemed to be the remit.

His stepfather had lured him in with all the bells and whistles that had appealed to a twelve-year-old kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Tickets to premier league football matches, nights out at the scary films his mother couldn’t bear, slap-up meals at the finest burger joints in town. It had been kid heaven. Until it hadn’t been. And had set him up for a lifetime of keeping people at arm’s length until they proved they were the real deal.

Ironically, it had been Gavin’s constant demands that he ‘earn his keep’ that had pushed him so hard in the military. Had made him the top-rate soldier and surgeon he knew he’d been. Gavin hadn’t thought he had what it took? He’d vowed to show him.

He would have as well if he hadn’t had a conscience. Or carried around those little-kid hopes and dreams that one day he’d be good enough. Worth loving. He supposed it had been that same little boy’s belief in love that had made him blind to his fiancée’s affair. Being so oblivious had made him feel every bit as weak as he’d felt when Gavin had shipped him off to military academy, instead of taking him to their new home, as he’d promised.

A few more proofs that truth and justice rarely reigned—dodgy commanding officers, innocents rigged up with IEDs, the cruelty of poverty had closed the book on the matter. Being wary of whatever met his eye was his modus operandi. Being suspicious of whatever touched his heart was critical. It hadn’t exactly made him A-list boyfriend material. A handful of one-night stands he wished he hadn’t had had been the clincher. So life as the Monk had begun. Which, of course, immediately made him think of all the people who were relying on him back at the Clyde to save Plants to Paws.

His conscience gave him a sharp kick in the posterior. His emotional baggage shouldn’t be a factor. Normally it wasn’t. Not with the chaos he encountered in A and E every day. And yet…here it was, front and centre. His hypersensitivity did beg the question, did he want Esme to think well of him?

He stuffed his hand through his hair. No need to ponder that one. It was an unequivocal yes. Which meant the next week was going to hoist this festive season up amongst the worst ever.

You could try being nice.

‘Go on, then,’ he said when Esme shot him another look. ‘Give your brother a call.’

And there it was. The first chink in his ‘don’t ask for help’ armour. If you don’t ask, you don’t need. And if you don’t need, you’re never disappointed. It was a little pact he’d made with himself when the Dictator had asked him to put a value on himself the very first Christmas they’d spent together. Turned out the pair of them had disagreed.

It hadn’t been a very nice Christmas.

When Esme’s smile of thanks hit him on full beam, he began to wonder if his pact had flaws.