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CHAPTER ELEVEN

TWO NIGHTS LATER, Tyler wasn’t settling in his cot as he usually did after a bath and a story; he was just grizzling and looking unhappy. It didn’t look like teething, because although his cheeks were red he wasn’t dribbling. Emmy laid her fingertips against his forehead and bit her lip. He felt a bit too hot for her liking.

Where was the thermometer?

She looked through the top drawer of Tyler’s dressing table. Ally had shown it to her when she’d bought it. All she had to do now was put a thin plastic cone over the tip of the digital thermometer, place it in the baby’s ear, and press a button.

Except she couldn’t get the thermometer to switch on.

Oh, no. And she had a nasty feeling that they didn’t have any spare batteries that would fit.

Although it was her night on duty, she wanted a second opinion—especially as the thermometer was out of action.

‘Shh, sweetie, we’ll do something to make you feel better,’ she said, scooping the baby up and holding him close. She carried him down to the living room, where Dylan was working on his laptop.

‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ she said, ‘but I need a second opinion.’

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘The thermometer battery’s run out and we don’t have a spare. Does Tyler feel hot to you, or am I just being paranoid?’

He felt the baby’s forehead. ‘No, he feels hot to me, too. What do we do now? Where’s the book?’ He grabbed The Baby Bible and looked something up in the index. He frowned as he swiftly read the relevant page. ‘Do we have any baby paracetamol?’

‘It’s in the kitchen with the medicine cabinet.’

‘Good. We need to give him that to help bring his temperature down, and while that’s working we have to strip him down to his vest and sponge him down with tepid water.’ He held out his arms for the baby. ‘I’ll give him a cuddle and sing to him while you go and get the stuff. I’ll meet you in the bathroom.’

The baby was still crying softly when Emmy came upstairs with the baby paracetamol and the syringe. Dylan had taken the babygro off and was rocking Tyler and singing to him.

Dylan glanced at the syringe and his eyes widened. ‘What, we have to give him an injection?’

‘No. The instructions say it’s easier to give medicine to babies with an oral syringe than a spoon,’ she explained.

‘Right.’

Between them, they managed to administer the medicine, then sponged the baby with tepid water.

‘Sorry, I interrupted you from your work.’ She blew out a breath. ‘It’s my shift, and I should be able to cope. It’s just... This is what keeps me awake at night. I worry about him. I worry that every cough and sneeze will turn into meningitis. That he’ll die and it’ll be all my fault for not looking after him properly.’

‘Emmy, he doesn’t have meningitis. He doesn’t have a rash.’

‘There isn’t one at first. We could blink and he’ll be covered in purple stuff that won’t go away when you press a glass against it.’ She’d read all the books. She knew the signs. And she had nightmares about it. Terror that made her breathing go shallow.

‘We’re both keeping an eye on him, so we won’t miss anything between us.’ He rested his fingertips against her cheek, his touch calming her. ‘Deep breaths, Emmy. He’s not going to die and you’re doing a great job of looking after him. And don’t apologise for interrupting me.’ He cradled the baby tenderly. ‘He’s not well, and he needs to come first. I would’ve done the same if it was my shift.’

‘I’ll get him a drink of cooled boiled water. It might help him feel better.’

‘Good idea. It must be some sort of bug. There are quite a few people at work with rotten colds.’ He looked stricken. ‘Oh, no. I probably brought the germs home with me.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault, Dylan. He could have caught a virus absolutely anywhere.’

Three hours later, the baby was fast asleep, but Emmy was still worried about him. ‘I think I’ll sleep in his room tonight.’

‘You’re not going to get a lot of rest on the floor,’ Dylan pointed out.

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Or maybe I’ll bring him in with me. Except I’m a bit scared of rolling over in the night and squishing him.’

He looked at her. ‘If it was my shift tonight, you still wouldn’t be able to sleep because you’d be worrying about him, right?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he warned, ‘but maybe we could both look after him, tonight. I do trust you—of course I do—but this is the first time he’s been ill since we’ve been looking after him, and it worries me.’

‘Me, too,’ she admitted.

‘We could take two-hour shifts, so one of us stays awake and keeps an eye on him while the other of us has a nap,’ he suggested

She nodded. ‘But it isn’t fair to keep moving him between our rooms—and, as you said, the nursery floor isn’t that comfortable.’ The sensible course was obvious. But actually saying it... She took a deep breath. ‘OK. Your bed or mine?’

Dylan gave her a rueful smile. ‘I never thought I’d hear those words from you, Em.’

‘Believe you me, I never thought I’d say them to you,’ she said dryly. ‘And this is only because we both need to look after him. I’m not coming on to you.’ Though even as she said it, she felt her face flood with colour. She was horribly aware that, in another life, she would be coming on to Dylan—because she liked the man he’d become. And she definitely found him attractive.

Which was why she found her most frumpy pair of pyjamas before she showered, just to make the point that there was nothing sexual about this. She felt amazingly shy as she changed into her nightwear—which was ridiculous, considering that she was covered from head to toe and she knew that Dylan had seen more of her body when she was wearing a dress. Even so, she kept the bedside light on its lowest setting.

There was a knock on the door.

And how stupid that her heart missed a beat.

‘Come in,’ she called, hoping that her voice didn’t sound as husky and nervous to him as it did to her.

He walked in wearing just a pair of pyjama bottoms, carrying the sleeping baby.

‘I, um, don’t tend to wear a pyjama top because I get too hot at night. Is that a problem for you?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ She really hoped he hadn’t heard that little shiver in her voice. Too hot at night. Oh-h-h. He looked amazingly hot right now. She could really see that he worked out at the gym regularly because his muscles were beautifully sculpted; he had good abs and strong arms, and he wouldn’t have looked out of place in a perfume ad. Especially dressed the way he was, right now.

And that was totally inappropriate. He was here in her bedroom because Tyler was sick and they were sharing his care, that was all.

‘Which side of the bed do you prefer to sleep on?’ he asked.

‘The right side—nearest the door,’ she said.

‘Fine by me.’ He pulled the covers back and gently laid Tyler in the middle of the bed. He touched the baby’s forehead and grimaced. ‘He still feels hot.’

‘We’d better not put a cover over him, then.’

They both climbed into bed, on either side of the baby.

‘Poor little mite,’ Emmy said softly. ‘I wish I could have that high temperature for him.’

‘Me, too,’ Dylan said. ‘It’s weird how protective I feel about him. I never thought I’d ever feel this way about a baby.’

It was as if Tyler were their natural child, Emmy thought. She wasn’t his birth mother, but she was in the position of his mother, now, and she loved him deeply. Dylan clearly felt the same way, as if he were Tyler’s real father.

‘We’re privileged,’ she said softly.

‘Yes, we are.’ He paused. ‘Shall I take the first shift while you try to get some sleep for a couple of hours? I’ll wake you when it’s your turn.’

‘OK. Thanks, Dylan. I appreciate the backup.’

‘You’d have done the same if it’d been my turn to look after him,’ he said. ‘Try to get some sleep.’

She turned over so her back was to him, but she was so aware of him. He was in her bed, barely an arm’s reach away. And if Tyler hadn’t been there...

No, no and no. She was not going to allow herself to think about the possibilities.

Eventually Emmy managed to get to sleep. Then she became aware of someone stroking her arm and shaking her shoulder very gently. ‘Emmy? Wake up.’

‘Uhh.’ It took a second for her to think why Dylan would be shaking her awake; then she remembered and sat up with a jolt. ‘Is Tyler OK?’

‘He’s still a bit warm, but I put a single sheet over him because his legs and arms seemed a bit cold.’

‘Good idea. You get some sleep now. I’ll stay awake.’

Still feeling groggy, she placed her fingertips on Tyler’s forehead. Dylan’s assessment was spot on.

She was glad that Dylan turned his back to her to go to sleep, because she really didn’t want him to catch her looking lustfully at him. Even his back was beautiful. She itched to sketch him, though it was years since she’d taken her Art A level and sketched a life model. Apart from those brief sketches she’d made of Tyler, she’d stuck mainly to abstracts and the designs for her jewellery. But Dylan was beautiful. He’d be a joy to sketch. She fixed the picture in her mind, intending to indulge herself later, then watched Tyler sleeping. The baby looked angelic with that mop of dark curls; and she was glad to see, even in the low light in the room, that his cheeks didn’t look quite so red.

In his sleep, Dylan shifted to face her. In repose, he looked younger. It took Emmy a while to realise what the difference was, and then she worked it out: he didn’t have that slight air of wariness she was used to.

Someone had hurt him pretty deeply, Emmy was sure. Nadine was the obvious candidate, but Emmy had a feeling that it went deeper than that. Why had he been so resistant to the idea of having a child of his own? Had he had a rotten childhood?

Not that he’d tell her, she knew. Even if she asked him straight out. He was way too private for that, and it was surprising that he’d already let this much slip to her.

Finally her two-hour watch was over. She checked Tyler’s temperature again. Good. It was definitely going down. She reached over to lay a hand on Dylan’s arm. His skin felt so good against her fingertips. Soft and smooth. Tempting her to explore further.

Get a grip, Emmy Jacobs, she lambasted herself silently. This isn’t about you.

She patted his arm lightly, but it didn’t wake him at all. She shook his shoulder, and there was still no response. Dylan was clearly in a really deep sleep. And he had taken the first shift; he must’ve been exhausted. She decided to leave him sleeping for another hour, then tried to wake him again. This time, she climbed out of bed and went round to his side, so she could shake him harder without waking the baby.

In response, Dylan reached out to her and mumbled something she didn’t quite catch. It sounded like ‘Mmm, Dee’.

‘Dylan,’ she said in an urgent whisper.

‘Mmm,’ he muttered. This time, he actually pulled her into his arms and snuggled closer.

Oh, help.

If it weren’t for the baby lying next to him, she could be oh, so tempted. All she had to do was to move her head slightly and her mouth would touch against his. She could kiss him awake. See where it led them.

But he’d said ‘Dee’, and she had a nasty feeling that he was dreaming about his ex. Mmm, Dee. Nadine. They sounded the same, mumbled in sleep. And how stupid she was to think that Dylan would get over his wife that quickly. He was obviously still in love with his ex. Yes, there was a definite attraction between the two of them, but physical attraction wasn’t enough. Her relationships never lasted. If she had a fling with Dylan, it would make everything way too complicated. She really couldn’t do this.

She managed to resist the temptation—only just—and wriggled out of his arms.

‘Dylan,’ she said, more loudly this time.

He woke with a start and looked at her in utter confusion. Then his expression cleared as he obviously remembered where he was and why. ‘How’s Tyler?’

‘Still a little bit warm, but nowhere near as hot as he was. He’s asleep.’

‘Good. Is it three o’clock?’

‘Four.’

He looked shocked. ‘You were supposed to wake me at three.’

‘Dylan, you sleep like a log. I couldn’t wake you.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. OK. I’ll take the next three hours and I’ll wake you at seven, not six, OK?’

‘OK.’ She was still feeling slightly lightheaded; but that had to be from lack of sleep. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way Dylan had pulled her into his arms and held her close. Did it?

* * *

Emmy looked absolutely shattered, Dylan thought—and no wonder, since her shift had lasted longer than his. He felt guilty about it, and lapsed into silence to let her sleep. He touched Tyler’s forehead, just to check; she was right, the baby felt cooler.

He shifted onto his side to watch the baby. Emmy had turned away from him to sleep, but he could still feel her warmth in his arms. When she’d woken him, for a moment he’d been confused and thought he was back in his old house, the one he’d shared with Nadine before he’d moved into the Docklands flat. It had seemed natural to draw her closer, hold her.

Hopefully she’d forget about that by the morning. He didn’t want her to think he was coming on to her, because it could make things so awkward between them. And he didn’t want it to go back to the bad old days, when they hadn’t got on.

Funny, sharing a house with Emmy hadn’t been like sharing with Nadine, even in the early days when he and Nadine had been happy. With Emmy, he didn’t feel any pressure. He didn’t have anything to live up to, because they’d started from the lowest possible point and thought the worst of each other.

And these past few months had been a revelation. He’d been so sure that he didn’t want a family. That he didn’t want to risk things going wrong and for his child to grow up as unhappy as he’d been. Even when Nadine had given him an ultimatum, his feelings hadn’t changed and he knew he’d made the right decision.

Yet, ever since he’d become a stand-in father, things had been different. Over the months, he’d grown to love his godson. He loved seeing all the little changes every day, hearing the little boy’s vocabulary grow from a simple da-da, ba-ba, through to ‘Dih-dih’ for Dylan and ‘Ehhhm,’ for Emmy, and sounds that resembled real words—like the time in the butterfly house when Emmy had been convinced that he’d said ‘fish’. He enjoyed seeing Tyler’s anticipation as they read through a story and were about to reach his favourite bits. He enjoyed the simple clapping games Emmy had taught him to play with the little boy.

And Emmy herself...

There was the rub.

She was Tyler’s stand-in mother. Dylan’s co-guardian and housemate.

They were well on the way to becoming friends. He enjoyed her company, and he thought she enjoyed his, too. And, although they’d agreed to have alternate weekends off from childcare, in recent weeks they’d ended up spending a fair bit of those weekends together.

It felt like being a family. What he’d always said he didn’t want. And what he’d discovered that, actually, yes, he did want. Very much indeed.

She shifted in bed, turning to face him, and he held his breath.

Spiky Emmy, the cynical and brittle woman he’d loathed so much in the past, wasn’t here. This was sweet, gentle, soft Emmy. Vulnerable Emmy, who’d had her confidence chipped away by exes who couldn’t see her for who she was, only what they wanted her to be. Emmy, who didn’t really believe in herself.

Dylan could see her for who she was. And he liked her. More than liked her.

But could he ask her to take a chance with him—to make their unexpected family a real one?

It would be a risk. A huge risk. It had gone wrong with Nadine; he couldn’t make any promises that he’d get it right, second time round, with Emmy. And he knew she shared similar fears, given that she’d been let down in the past.

Somehow he’d have to overcome those fears. Teach her that he wasn’t like the men she’d dated before: that he saw her for who she was and he liked her just the way she was. And then maybe, just maybe, they’d stand a chance.