Stone Guardian by Maeve Greyson

Realization washed over her in a sudden aha moment. This guy wasn’t some over-protective volunteer. Pursing her lips, she turned toward her belligerent tour guide glowering at the door. “You’re Alexander Mackenzie, aren’t you?”
    “That would be Dr. Alexander Mackenzie, if ye dinna mind. And of course, I have the papers to back up the title if ye wish to examine them for authenticity.”
    Emma lowered her chin and returned to rummaging in the ancient metal storage cabinet bolted to the farthest wall. Great. She and her new colleague had gotten off to a roaring start. “That won’t be necessary, Dr. Mackenzie. And you can call me Dr. Maxwell.”
    “I distinctly heard Moira and Alfred refer to ye as Dr. Emma.”
    “That term is reserved for friendly people.”
    When no hissing retort returned fire, Emma emerged from nosing through the depths of the cabinet to discover Dr. Smart-ass had disappeared from the doorway. “Well, we’re destined to be the best of friends, aren’t we?” The shaggy teddy bear propped on the shelf just stared back at her with shining black button eyes.
    “Dr. Emma.” Scooting through the partially opened doorway, Moira cast a nervous glance over her shoulder back into the adjacent hallway. “What in the world did ye say to Dr. Mac?” Her forehead creased with worry lines; Moira caught one corner of her lower lip between her teeth while knotting both hands in the folds of the white apron she’d wrapped about her ample waist.
    Emma studied Moira nervously fidgeting at the door and sorted through her choices. Should she catch Moira in the middle of this territorial spat or have mercy on the poor old soul? After taking in the high color on Moira’s flushed cheeks and the ever-deepening creases marching across the older woman’s pale forehead: mercy won out.
    “I just introduced myself. Why?” Emma closed the slightly warped doors to the metal cabinet. With a grunt, she leaned against the cockeyed door to the right and kicked the bottom corner with the ball of her foot to get the stubborn latching mechanism to catch. “How old is this thing?” Emma stole another glance at Moira’s tensed face and read it like the ticker readout across the bottom of a satellite news channel: Trouble in Isle of Lewis clinic. Local prima donna physician threatened by interloper from USA. Catastrophic war inevitable.
    Moira nodded toward the cabinet with a stiff jerk of her head. “That cupboard was left from the days of the barracks. We just repainted it.” A despondent sigh escaped from between her thin, painted lips. “Now Dr. Emma, ye must understand Dr. Mac only wants to get to know ye. He was very anxious about your arrival. He truly looked forward to working with a fine doctor from the United States.”
    “Oh I can tell. He relayed that message loud and clear.” Emma yanked the plastic off the table and wadded it up into a ball. She might save this plastic. It was just about big enough to shrink-wrap Dr. Smart-ass in and might even hold his ego too. If he changed his attitude, she might be nice and even punch out a few air holes.
    As though reading her mind, Moira hurried to gather the plastic away from Emma, bobbing her head until the heavily shellacked curls surrounding her face threatened to escape their sprayed confinement. “Please try and understand. Our Dr. Mac cares deeply about the clinic and above all else, ye must understand he truly is a simple man. No matter how much ye educate them and try to tame them, they’re still silly fools when it comes to speaking what’s in their hearts. Please try to see past what comes out of his mouth. I promise ye, he’s a good man. He’s just set his heart on the success of this clinic and dedicated his life to the health and well-being of the folk on this island. Sometimes he lets his drive to make this clinic survive push everything else into the background—including manners.”
    Poor Moira. A nagging stab of remorse tugged at Emma’s