Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emma covered her mouth, trying to hide the jaw-cracking yawn behind her hand. The cozy atmosphere of the lantern-lit pub didn’t help shake her weariness. Mouth-watering scents warmed the golden glow of the lights. The savory aroma of sizzling beef, brown soda bread toasting, and frying onions and potatoes filled the air. She was too exhausted. Her stomach didn’t even react with a quiet gurgle. She could fold her arms, lay down her head and be snoring on the table within minutes.
“Am I that boring?” Alex returned to the table with two tall glasses brimming with an ominous coffee-colored liquid topped with thick rich foam.
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” Emma frowned at the glass he slid in front of her. “If that’s ale, I’m not sure alcohol is such a good idea for lunch.”
“It’s no’ ale. It’s Guinness. I’ll watch o’er ye.” Alex nodded toward the glass. “‘Tis a fine brew from Dublin, Ireland. It’ll cure what ails ye. My da used to say that’s why they call it stout.”
“You definitely need to stick to medicine. You’ll starve to death if you switch to comedy.” Emma sniffed at the glass, wrinkling her nose at the pungent, fermented aroma wafting up from the cream-colored foam.
She took a sip and studied Alex’s blinding smile. He didn’t seem quite so irritating when his face lit up with genuine friendliness and not a sarcastic smirk. She cringed as the strong brew settled across her taste buds. “Ew. Sorry. No insult to Ireland or its breweries but I can’t drink that.” She almost gagged on the fermented taste filling her mouth while the foam dissolved across her tongue. Fighting against the urge to wipe her tongue on her napkin, Emma rolled it against the roof of her mouth instead. “Could I just have a cup of tea?”
Alex chuckled and motioned for the barkeep. He appeared in an instant with a large round tray bearing a squat brown teapot, a cup, and a server filled with round, caramel-colored biscuits. “I thought ye might feel that way so I had him have the tea at the ready.”
Was he being thoughtful? Had aliens swooped down and taken over Alex Mackenzie’s body? Emma peered closer at the dark-haired man with the indescribable blue eyes. “Why are you being so nice?”
“Isn’t that the purpose of our forced togetherness?” Alex sipped a long draught of the black liquid in the tall pilsner, seeming to relish the strong bitter taste.
“Apparently.” Emma dipped a shortbread in her tea and nibbled at one corner of the buttery, tea-soaked cookie.
Setting his glass aside, Alex leaned forward and helped himself to one of the shortbreads. “Do ye not agree that the children will be much more comfortable if the two doctors at the clinic are not at war with one another?”
“I don’t know about the children, but I know Moira will appreciate the atmosphere a lot better.” Emma watched in disbelief as Alex washed down the cookie with his Guinness. “There is no possible way that can taste good.”
“It depends on how hungry ye are.” Alex winked as he wolfed down another cookie. “I want to be your friend, Emma. I’m man enough to admit I started us off on the wrong foot. Do ye think we can call a truce?”
A truce. What possibilities could there be in a truce? Emma allowed herself to relax in the mesmerizing depths of that sparkling midnight gaze. She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her time on the Isle of Lewis in a much less conflicted atmosphere. Uneasiness nudged her like a rude child. A truce at the clinic would be especially nice since she had enough conflict right at home. She stretched her open hand across the table and nodded. “Agreed. Truce.”
As soon as Alex closed his hand around hers, the back of her neck stung as though zapped with a heated laser. A throaty growl rumbled behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
“Ye have no rights to this woman. I advise ye to withdraw your hand.”
“Alex meet Torin. Torin meet Alex.” With a resigned sigh as she released Alex’s hand, Emma grabbed another cookie and popped it into her mouth.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the woman and I are having a friendly lunch to learn more about one another. Who the hell are you?” Alex white-knuckled both hands atop the table on either side of his drink.
“She told ye.” Torin edged closer to the table, flexing a muscular warning with his tattooed forearms folded across his puffed chest.
“Would ye care to explain?” Alex cocked a dark brow in Torin’s direction while he fixed a narrow-eyed glare on Emma.
“There is no possible way I can explain Torin,” Emma replied as she gathered up her purse. “If you figure him out, maybe you could let me know.” Sliding out of the bench behind the crowded table, she shoved past Torin’s tensed body. “I’m going back to the clinic. I don’t have time for these games.”
“I will see ye at home, little Emma.” Torin scowled down at Alex as he spoke, territorial challenge flashing in his eyes.
“Stop calling me little Emma!” Slapping some money down on the table, Emma shot Torin a drop-dead glare. “I’ll see you back at the clinic, Alex. I’m sorry our lunch was interrupted.”
“You live with this man?” Alex jerked his chin toward Torin as he rose from his seat.
“Not really. It’s complicated.” Emma was going to kill Torin. Once they returned to the solitude of the cabin, she was going to wrap her hands around his tattooed neck and throttle him until his eyes rolled back in his head. Yep. She was going to kill him.
As if reading her mind, Torin grinned and offered her his hand. “Shall I take ye home now, little Emma? We’ll see if ye can carry out your plans.”
Alex glared first at Torin than shifted his accusing stare to Emma. “Apparently, I misjudged your situation here on the island, Dr. Maxwell. I assumed ye were lonely and in need of friendship.”
“I am not lonely.” Emma hissed through gritted teeth. Why did everyone always think she was lonely? And Alex made it sound as though he were a predator sizing up his prey and then doing her some kind of favor. “And I’m always happy to make new friends even though some of them have turned out to be a royal pain in the ass.” Yanking her purse higher on her shoulder, she poked Torin in the chest. “Don’t you dare show up at my cottage tonight or I swear I’ll snap your neck.”
Rage roared through her veins as she stomped toward the door but it didn’t roar loud enough to drown out Torin’s reply behind her: “I look forward to the battle—my fiery Emma.”