Читать книгу Falling For The Single Dad - Jessica Hart, Caroline Anderson - Страница 14

‘HOUSTON, we have a problem.’

It was the evening, and she’d spent the day dodging her children every time she’d fed the baby, while he’d struggled to keep them entertained and out of mischief.

Which, to give him credit, he’d managed very well, but it was getting silly, and she’d had a lot of time to think about it.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. ‘Want to elaborate?’

‘This feeding thing. It’s not going to work. Not long term. I shouldn’t have started it, it’s my own fault, but now I have, I have to find the way out.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ he asked, his eyes troubled. ‘Any ideas?’

‘I’m going to see if I can get hold of a breast pump. I’ve used one before, when I had Freddie, because I had tons of milk and they were desperate in our local special care baby unit.’

He nodded, and she realised he would have known about it from his time there with Kizzy. His next words confirmed it. ‘They had one in our SCBU,’ he said, smiling crookedly. ‘That’s where Kizzy’s milk came from—they called the thing Daisy. I doubt if you’d get one like that, though.’

‘Oh, no, but I’m sure there’s one I can get to use at home, but I don’t know where from. I’m going to talk to the health visitor in the morning. I know her—she’ll sort it if she can. But once your house is decorated, you’ll be moving back, and we’re going to have a problem if she still wants me. We have to wean her off me, Harry—and fast.’

He was frowning. ‘So what’s the plan? Give her bottles with your milk in until she gets used to the bottle again, then switch back to formula?’

She nodded. ‘That’s the idea.’

He pressed his lips together, ran a hand through his hair and nodded agreement. ‘Yeah. Well, it makes sense. I can’t expect you to do it for ever. Or at all.’

She sensed there was something he wasn’t saying, but she didn’t push it because she didn’t want to be talked out of it. Wouldn’t be talked out of it. No matter how sorry she felt for Kizzy.

‘Can I borrow your computer and go online?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Sure.’

She watched him leave the room, and dropped her head back with a sigh. How on earth had she got herself in this mess?

Five minutes later he stuck his head round the door. ‘Come and see,’ he said, and she got up and followed him to her study.

‘Breast pumps,’ he said, pointing at the computer with the air of a magician. ‘Manual, electric, single, double—tons of stuff. Bras to hold them in place so you can work while you do it—whatever. Order what you want—and get the works. It comes next-day delivery and I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.’

The stuff turned up the following afternoon, and she disappeared with it to experiment. He tried not to think about it. He was getting fixated, and it was ridiculous.

‘Hey, Freddie, come here, little man. Let’s put some more suncream on you and you need that hat on.’

‘No!’ he screamed, throwing himself over backwards and flailing. ‘Not hat! Not cream! Go’ way!’

A window flew open upstairs and Em leant out, clutching a towel to her chest. ‘Is he OK?’

‘He’s fine. He doesn’t want sunblock.’

‘Bribe him,’ she advised, and shut the window.

Huh? Bribe him? A nineteen-month-old baby? With what?

‘He likes bananas,’ Beth said softly in his ear, and giggled. ‘So do I. And biscuits.’ Specially chocolate ones.’

‘Is that right?’ he said, slinging an arm round her skinny little shoulders and hugging her. ‘And I suppose you want one, too?’

‘Course,’ she said, wriggling free and grabbing his hand. ‘C’mon. Freddie, let’s get a biscuit.’

‘No! Want Mummy!’ Freddie yelled, and Beth just shrugged and headed up the path to the kitchen, towing Harry in her wake.

‘No biscuit if you don’t come. Or banana. Come on, Harry. Let’s have a tea party. We’ll make some for Mummy, too.’

So he went with her—no choice, really, unless he let go of her hand, which he was curiously reluctant to do—and they made tea and put biscuits and fruit out on plates while he watched Freddie out of the window to make sure he didn’t come to any harm.

He’d rolled onto his front, and he was still sobbing, but at least now he was in the shade and he wouldn’t come to any harm.

‘What’s Mummy doing?’ Beth asked while she was arranging the biscuits for the fourth time.

‘Um—feeding Kizzy, I think,’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t go upstairs, but she just carried on arranging the biscuits until she was satisfied.

‘There. Shall we take them in the garden and wait for Mummy?’

‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘Have you got a picnic blanket?’

Her eyes lit up. ‘So we can have a picnic under the tree! Um—Mummy has—it’s upstairs, I’ll get it,’ she said, and before he could stop her, she was gone.

He groaned inwardly, but there was no point going after her and, anyway, he couldn’t take his eyes off Freddie that long. Hopefully Emily would have finished by now…

‘What are you doing?’

Emily looked up at Beth, standing in the doorway swinging on the doorhandle and watching her, and gave up.

‘Kizzy needs milk, but she doesn’t like the milk from the shops, and she hasn’t got a mummy.’

‘So are you giving her your milk?’

‘Yes. Like I did when Freddie was small, and I went to the hospital and gave them milk for the tiny babies so they could have it in their bottles.’

‘Because Kizzy’s tiny, isn’t she?’

Emily nodded.

‘So why don’t you just feed her like Freddie?’ she asked, looking puzzled.

Why not, indeed? Except that she wasn’t her child, and cradling her that close, suckling her, was going to make it all the harder when Harry took her away.

‘Because I can’t. Harry needs to move back to his house when it’s decorated, and I’ve got to work. And I don’t want to be up all night, I’m tired.’

‘Oh. Won’t she mind?’

Probably, but it was tough. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she said firmly, hoping it was true. ‘Did you come upstairs for anything in particular?’

‘Picnic blanket. Harry and me made biscuits and bananas and tea and juice—oh, and strawberries. We’re having a picnic in the garden. Are you coming, Mummy?’

Made biscuits? She would have smelt it. Probably just poetic licence. ‘In a minute,’ she said, eyeing the reservoir and wondering if it would be enough. ‘Take the blanket down and I’ll be down soon.’

Although not that soon. She filled a bottle, then washed out the machine, put the parts into fresh sterilising solution and right on cue, Kizzy started to cry.

The acid test, she thought, and, scooping the baby up, she offered her the teat, squeezing a little milk out so she knew it wasn’t formula, but Kizzy wasn’t fooled and she spat the teat out.

Great.

Emily didn’t know what she was doing. If only she hadn’t started this. Well, it was time it stopped. Harry could feed her. Maybe that would work better.

She took Kizzy down, handed her and the bottle over and gave him a crooked smile. ‘Yours, I think,’ she said, and, scooping Freddie up, she hugged him and kissed his sticky, chocolaty little face. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ she said, and he snuggled into her and wiped chocolate all over her front.

She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Harry and Kizzy would manage to get the milk down her neck and she could take a back seat.

‘Is that my tea?’ she asked, and Beth nodded.

‘It’s not very hot.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ she said firmly, and, turning her back on Harry and the baby, she sipped her tea, nibbled a biscuit—not home made, she noticed—and tuned out the sound of Kizzy fussing.

And then, miraculously, there was peace.

The screaming stopped, there was a suckling noise from behind her, and she felt her shoulders drop about a foot.

Finally.

‘Thank you.’

She looked up and smiled at Harry. He was hesitating in the doorway, his eyes studying the gadget, and he shifted awkwardly, jerking his head towards the pump.

‘So how does it work?’

Strangely shy suddenly, she showed him the instructions, showed him the bra which held the breast shields in place while the pump was working, and how the milk was collected, and his brows clumped together in a frown.

‘I had no idea it was so complicated,’ he said. ‘Hell, Em, I’m sorry. It’s a real drag having to do all that.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said, all too conscious of the fact that he’d never asked her to start this.

‘But it’s going to take so much time—all the sterilising and stuff, never mind the time linked up to the pump.’

‘Well, that’s OK. You’ll have plenty of opportunity in between milking times to hose down the parlour,’ she said with a grin, and his face dropped.

‘Me? You want me to wash it out and sterilise it and stuff?’

‘Well, why not? She’s your baby. I’m just the dairy cow—and, no, you can’t call me Daisy,’ she added, and his mouth quirked in a smile.

‘Sorry. I didn’t think. Of course I’ll do it. Just one thing?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Can I call you Buttercup?’

He ducked out of reach, laughing, and she stood up and grabbed a cushion and lobbed it at him just as he turned the corner into the hall.

It bounced off the wall, and she heard the sound of his retreating chuckle, then the noise of the kettle boiling. Two minutes later he was back with a cup of tea for her.

‘Kids are all settled. Anything I can do for you?’

A massage, to take the kinks out of her neck from falling asleep in the chair this morning after she’d fed Kizzy?

She shook her head. ‘No. I’m fine.’

‘You don’t look fine, you look tense,’ he said, and, turning her round in her swivel chair, he put his big, gentle hands on her shoulders and squeezed. ‘Tight as a bowstring,’ he said, tutting, and worked the muscles carefully.

Bliss. It was absolute bliss. The only thing that could be better would be if they were lying down, and then when he’d massaged her shoulders, he’d run his hands down her back, over her bottom, her legs, then back up, really slowly, teasing, slipping his finger under the elastic of her knickers and running it round, just enough to torment her. Then he’d roll her on her back and start again, kneading—

‘Are you OK?’

Oh, lord, had she really groaned aloud?

‘I’m fine. Sorry, bit tight there,’ she flannelled, wondering if she’d get away with it. He paused a moment longer, then his fingers started working again and she let her breath go in a long, silent sigh.

‘Better?’

Was she imagining it, or was his voice a little husky? No. Don’t be silly, she told herself. You’re imagining it.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, and wondered if her voice was a little off kilter or if she was just imagining that, too. But then she turned to smile her thanks, and met his unguarded eyes.

Need.

That was what she saw. Need, and hunger, and reluctance. Well, she knew all about that. All of them, in fact. Just at the moment reluctance was way down her list, but it was still there, smothered by the need and hunger and the unrequited ache that had been there for what seemed like half her lifetime.

Was half her lifetime.

Oh, hell.

She turned back to the desk. ‘I’d better drink my tea,’ she said, a touch unsteadily. ‘It’ll be cold. Thanks for the massage—I’ll be able to put in another couple of hours at the drawing board now.’

She felt him hesitate, then with a murmured, ‘See you later, then,’ he went out and closed the door softly behind him.

She sagged against the desk and closed her eyes. Why? Why on earth had he had to come back and torment her like this? And why was it all so incredibly complicated?

She straightened up, pulled the file towards her and sorted through the pages, considering the next project she had to do for Nick. She couldn’t afford to think about Harry now. She had work to do, to earn her living. And Harry Kavenagh was just a distraction she could do without.

He shouldn’t have touched her.

Just the feel of her shoulders, tense under his hands at first, then gradually relaxing, and that little moan—hell, he’d nearly lost it.

Bit tight? Rubbish. She’d been utterly floppy and she’d only tensed up again after she’d made that needy little noise.

And her eyes, when she’d turned—wary, longing—he had no idea how he’d got out of there. If she hadn’t turned away when she had, God knows what would have happened.

He snorted. Well, of course she’d realised that. That was why she’d turned back to her desk, because she’d realised that if she kept looking at him like that, he would have lost it.

Might still.

He growled with frustration and checked his watch. Eight-thirty. He’d fed Kizzy at seven-thirty. With any luck he’d got another hour, at least. He tapped on the study door and opened it a crack.

‘Are you OK if I go for a walk? Kizzy should be all right for a bit.’

‘Sure,’ she said, her voice a little strained. ‘Take your mobile.’

‘Done,’ he said, and went out into the blissful evening. It was gorgeous—a light breeze to take away the heat of the day, the sun low in the sky, creeping down to the horizon. He walked to the clifftop and sat watching the sun brush the sky with colour. It was the wrong way round for a sunset, of course, facing east as it did, but sunrise would be glorious.

If he was up one night, woken by Kizzy, he might bring her here and let her see the dawn.

He glanced at his watch, surprised at how dark it had become, and realised he’d been longer than he’d meant to be. Still, his phone hadn’t rung, so Kizzy hadn’t woken.

Unless Em just hadn’t phoned him.

He jogged back and arrived just as she began to whimper.

‘Milk’s in the microwave,’ Em told him, meeting him in the hall.

‘Thanks.’ He ran up and lifted the baby into his arms, and she snuggled into him, her little mouth working, feeling the material of his T-shirt and growing impatient.

‘Sorry, baby. Do I smell wrong? Never mind. Come on, let’s go and find some milk for you.’

Em was waiting for him, handing him the bottle and going back into the study and shutting the door. Just as well. A little space would do them both good at the moment.

He fed the baby, persevering through her fussing until she took the bottle in the end and settled down to suck, then he bathed and changed her and put her to bed.

Ten. Just in time for the news, he thought, and watched it in silence on the edge of his seat, saw friends of his reporting from places he knew well, read between the lines, guessed the things they weren’t telling or had been ordered not to report.

Did they miss him? Were they all having to work extra shifts, or were there things not being given coverage because he wasn’t there? Maybe some youngster was getting his first chance. Or hers. There were plenty of women now out there working in the field, covering stories every bit as dangerous as the ones he covered.

He laughed softly to himself and shook his head. The most dangerous thing he had to do at the moment was dodge one of Kizzy’s special nappies.

Or Emily. Keeping out of her way, keeping the simmering need between them under control because frankly things were complicated enough without that. And then she stuck her head round the door.

‘I’m off to bed now. The breast pump’s in the sink—it needs washing up and putting in the sterilising solution. There are four bottles in the fridge—should see her through. ’ Night.’

‘Good night,’ he said automatically, and switched off the television. They’d got onto the local news, and he didn’t need to know about the local protests about a meat-rendering plant and the woman who’d had her dog stolen.

So he went into the kitchen and picked up the breast pump. Warm. It was still warm, the bits that went over her nipples still holding her body heat, the reservoir warm from the milk.

And he had to wash it, knowing where it had been, aching to have touched her as closely as these bits of plastic.

Dear God, he was losing it. It was just an ordinary, everyday thing, and he was turning it into something huge.

Because it was.

He didn’t know anybody else who would have done it for Kizzy, and it brought a lump to his throat. He didn’t want to be there in the kitchen. He wanted to be upstairs with Em, cradling her in his arms, holding her close to his heart, listening as her breathing slowed into sleep, but he didn’t have the right.

He didn’t have any rights.

He washed it up, put it in the solution, checked the bottles and went upstairs to bed.

Kizzy slept right through to four, and when she woke she snuggled down into his arms and fell asleep again, so he went down to the kitchen, warmed the bottle and went back up, laid her carefully down on the bed and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, wrapped her in her fleecy blanket and went down, took the bottle and headed for the cliff.

‘We should just make the sunrise,’ he told her, and as they turned the corner, he saw the first tiny rim of gold creep over the horizon.

‘Look, Kizzy,’ he said, holding her up, and she opened her eyes and stared up at him and smiled.

She smiled at him! Her first smile!

He sat down on the damp grass, cradled her close and lifted the bottle to her mouth, and she took it without a murmur, while he sat there and watched the new day dawn and marvelled at her smile.

‘Harry?’

He turned in the bedroom doorway, his face perturbed. ‘Em—I’m sorry, did I disturb you?’

‘Not really. I heard the door go. I was worried. Is everything OK?’

He nodded, his face somehow lit from within. ‘She smiled at me,’ he said in wonder. ‘I took her out to watch the dawn and she smiled at me.’

Oh, she remembered that so well—the first time Beth and Freddie had smiled at her. Such a wonderful gift. Of course, Kizzy was very young, so it might have been wind, but she wasn’t going to spoil his moment. And she’d been staring more and more intently, so it could easily have been a proper smile.

‘That’s lovely,’ she said softly, and reached out her finger to stroke it down the baby’s downy cheek. ‘Did she take the feed?’

He nodded, and she felt a strange mixture of emotions. Relief, of course, but also—regret? Really?

‘I’m just going to change her and put her down. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea, as you’re up?’

She nodded. ‘That would be nice. In fact, why don’t I make it while you do the baby?’ she offered, and he smiled gratefully and went into the bedroom to change her.

Emily went downstairs, put the kettle on and made the tea, and she was just at the foot of the stairs when he came out of the baby’s room and pulled the door to.

‘Ah, cheers,’ he murmured, and ran lightly down, smiling at her.

‘So where did you go?’ she asked, curious about his sudden urge for the dawn.

‘The cliff top. I took the bottle and fed her while I watched the sun come up. It was gorgeous. Beautiful. You would have loved it.’

She would have. Sitting on the cliff top with him, leaning against him and watching for that first sliver of gold—they’d done that on the morning of his grandmother’s funeral, and then that night, in the summerhouse, he’d kissed her as he’d never kissed her before, with a wildness and desperation that had nearly pushed them over the edge.

Did he remember? Yes, of course he did. He’d mentioned it already, when he’d talked about the creaking garden gate; she’d said they’d been kids, and he’d said not the last time. So clearly he remembered it.

She handed him his tea and curled up on the chair—safest, really, considering how vulnerable she was to him—and he sat in the corner of the sofa opposite and drank his tea and watched her as the sun slowly pushed back the night and the shadows receded.

‘I ought to go back to bed and catch a few more minutes—Freddie’ll be up soon,’ she said, putting down her mug and standing up, and with a fleeting smile she turned on her heel and left him while she still had the determination to do it.

She was out for the count. Not surprising, really, considering how much sleep she’d lost over the last couple of nights, but as he was up anyway with Kizzy, it was no hardship to give Freddie a hug and change his nappy—quite a different proposition to Kizzy’s!—and take him downstairs for his juice.

Two babies, he thought, and had to stifle a slightly hysterical laugh. Him, the greatest bachelor of all time, changing nappies at six-thirty in the morning?

His mother would be stunned.

He realised with something akin to astonishment that he hadn’t told them yet—not about Carmen, not about his marriage, and certainly not about Kizzy.

Perhaps he should. Give them an opportunity to gloat. They’d probably earned it, he’d given them a hard enough time when he’d been growing up.

And whose fault was that? an inner voice asked. Yours, for being bored and understimulated by parents that didn’t bother, or theirs, for neglecting your basic need for human interaction?

Well, he was getting plenty of human interaction now, both at work and at home—and there was that word again.

‘San’ castle,’ Freddie demanded.

‘How about breakfast first?’ he suggested evenly. ‘Want some eggy bread? Or toast and honey?’

‘Eggy b’ed.’

‘OK. I tell you what, you drink your juice and watch the telly with me, and I’ll give Kizzy her milk, and then we’ll have eggy bread. OK?’

‘’K,’ Freddie said round the spout of the feeder cup, and snuggled up under his arm and watched him feed the baby.

He looked exhausted.

He was dozing on the sofa, Kizzy sleeping in the crook of his arm, Freddie next to him watching baby-telly in the crook of his other arm, and Emily felt a wave of emotion that she didn’t want to examine too closely for fear of what she’d find.

‘Hi, baby,’ she said softly, and Freddie lifted his head and gave her his gorgeous beaming smile and held out his arms. She scooped him up, hugged him close and sat down on the chair with him without a word, so as to not disturb Harry. She didn’t like leaving Kizzy there like that, in case he rolled over or moved and dropped her, but the first sign of movement and she’d be there.

Plus, of course, it gave her the perfect excuse to study him as he slept.

He was rumpled and tousled and gorgeous, she thought, his jaw dark with stubble, his lashes dark crescents against his cheeks. His nose had been broken at some time, leaving a little bump in the middle, and there was a faint scar slicing through the stubble—from a knife blade? Could be. It wouldn’t surprise her, the places he ended up and the trouble he seemed to find.

What was that saying? Don’t borrow trouble, it’ll find you soon enough—or something like that? It certainly found Harry—or he found it. As a child he’d been a dare-devil, and as an adult—well, she couldn’t bear to think about the things he’d done in the course of his career as a TV world affairs correspondent.

Still, it was over now. She was sure he’d still travel the world, but once he’d worked his notice, hopefully his life should be a whole lot safer.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d find that life in Yoxburgh wasn’t so bad after all…