Читать книгу Midwife's Mistletoe Baby - Fiona McArthur - Страница 9

Nine months later.

Looking for Maeve.

RAYNE’S MOTHER DIED of a heroin overdose on the fifteenth of December. He was released from prison the day after, when the posted envelope of papers arrived at the Santa Monica police station, and he put his head in his hands at his inability to save her. The authorities hadn’t been apologetic—he should have proclaimed his innocence, but he’d just refused to speak.

Her last written words to him …

My Rayne

I love you. You are my shining star. I would never have survived in prison but it seems I can’t survive on the outside either with you in there. I’m so sorry it took me so long to fix it.

With the other letter and proof of her guilt she’d kept, the charges on Rayne were dropped and he buried her a week later in Santa Monica. It had been the only place she’d known some happiness, and it was fine to leave her there in peace.

He had detoured to see his old boss, who had been devastated by the charges against him, explained briefly that he’d known she wouldn’t survive in jail, and the man promised to start proceedings for the restoration of his licence to practise. Undo what damage he could, and as he’d been able to keep most of the sensation out of the papers, that was no mean offer.

Then Rayne gave all his mother’s clothes and belongings to the Goodwill Society and ordered her the biggest monumental angel he could for the top of her grave. It would have made her smile.

Then he put the house up for sale and bought a ticket for Australia and Maeve. The woman he couldn’t forget after just one night. Not because he was looking for happily ever after but because he owed it to her and Simon to explain. And if he was going to start a new life he had to know what was left of his old one. If anything.

All he knew was the man he was now was no fit partner for Maeve and he had no doubt Simon would say the same.

On arrival it had taken him two days of dogged investigation before he’d traced Maeve to Lyrebird Lake and he would have thought of it earlier if he’d allowed himself to think of Simon first.

Simon’s birth father lived there and Simon often spent Christmas with them—he should have remembered that. With Maeve’s mother in the US it made sense she was with her brother.

Who knew if she’d say yes to seeing him after the way he’d left, if either of them would? He guessed he couldn’t blame them when they didn’t know the facts, but he had to know they were both all right. Maybe he should have opened the letters Maeve had sent and not refused the phone calls Simon had tried, but staying isolated from others and keeping the outside world out of his head had been the only way he’d got through it.

Looked down at the wad of letters in his hand and decided against opening the letters now in case she refused to see him in writing.

Two hundred miles away from Lyrebird Lake, and driving just over the legal speed limit, Rayne pressed a little harder on the accelerator pedal. The black Chev, a souped-up version of his first car from years ago, throttled back with a throaty grumble.

He didn’t even know if Maeve had a partner, had maybe even married, but he had to find out. She would refuse to see him. It was ridiculous to be propelled on with great urgency when it had been so long, but he was. He should wait until after the holiday season but he couldn’t.

The picture in his head of her leaning against the doorframe as he’d been led away had tortured him since that night. The fact that he’d finally discovered the woman he needed to make him whole had been there all the time in his past, and he’d let her down in the most cowardly way by not telling her what would happen.

He couldn’t forgive himself so how did he think that Maeve and her brother would forgive him? All he just knew was he had to find her and explain. Try to explain.

So clearly he remembered her vulnerability before he’d carried her up those stairs. Blindingly he saw her need to see herself the way he saw her. Perhaps it was too late.

If she had moved on, then he would have to go, but he needed her to know the fault was all his before they said a final goodbye. It wasn’t too late to at least tell her she couldn’t have been more perfect on that night all those months ago.

A police highway patrol car passed in the opposite direction. The officer glanced across at him and Rayne slowed. Stupid. To arrive minutes later after nine months wouldn’t make the difference but if he was pulled over for speeding then the whole catastrophe could start again. International drivers licence. Passports. He didn’t want the hassle.

It was lucky the salesman had filled the fuel tank last night because he’d only just realised it was early Christmas morning. Every fuel stop was shut. He had no food or drinks except the water he’d brought with him. Big deal except he was gatecrashing Simon’s family at a time visitors didn’t usually drop in. Hopefully the rest of the family weren’t assembled when he arrived.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He remembered Simon taking him home to his other parents’ one year while they’d been in high school. Rayne’s mother had ended up in rehab over the holiday break, it had always been the hardest time of the year for her to stay straight, and his friend, Simon, had come to check on him.

He’d been sixteen and sitting quietly watching television when Simon had knocked at the door, scolded him for not letting him know, and dragged him reluctantly back to his house for the best Christmas he’d ever had.

Simon’s parents had ensured he’d had a small Christmas sack at the end of his bed on Christmas morning and Maeve had made him a card and given him a Cellophane bag of coconut ice she’d made for everyone that year. He’d loved the confectionary ever since.

Well, here he was again, gatecrashing. Unwanted.

It was anything but funny. The truly ridiculous part was that in his head he’d had an unwilling relationship with Maeve for the last nine months. She’d made an irreversible imprint on him in those hours he’d held her in his arms. Blown him away, and he was still in pieces from it. He’d kept telling himself they’d only connected in his last desperate attempt to hold onto someone good before the bad came but he had no doubt she would always hold a sacred piece of his heart.

In prison he’d separated his old life out of his head. Had kept it from being contaminated by his present. Refused any visitors and stored the mail. But when his defences had been down, when he’d drifted off to sleep, Maeve had slid in beside him, been with him in the morning when he’d woken up, and at night when he’d dreamt. He’d had no control over that.

But he’d changed. Hardened. Couldn’t help being affected by the experience, and she didn’t need a man like he’d become—so he doubted he’d stay. Just explain and then head back to Sydney to sort out his life. Start fresh when he could find some momentum for beginning. Wasn’t even sure he would return to paediatrics. Felt the need for something physical. Something to use up the coil of explosive energy he’d been accumulating over the last nine months.

So maybe he’d go somewhere in between for a while where he could just soak up nature and the great outdoors now that he had the freedom to enjoy it.

Funny how things were never as important until you couldn’t have them. He’d lusted after a timeless rainforest, or a deserted mountain stream, or a lighthouse with endless ocean to soothe his soul.

Or Maeve, a voice whispered. No.