Читать книгу Mills and Boon Christmas Joy Collection - Liz Fielding - Страница 52

Thirty minutes later, Laura’s high-pitched cry, coming from the bedroom, sent the hairs on Bishop’s scalp standing on end and his feet hurling him out of his chair. His heart belting against his ribs, he tore through the open glass sliders, slammed through the main sitting room and bolted down the hall.

What the hell had happened?

When Bishop had stepped out of the shower earlier, he’d heard the main bedroom pipes still running. Laura loved her baths; she’d be a little longer yet. He’d thought about jumping back on his laptop and sorting out a few budget discrepancies but had opted for checking around the house instead, seeing if the outdoor pool and gutters were free for starters.

After finding the net in the pool house, he’d skimmed the outside pool assured in knowing that Laura would have someone coming out once a fortnight or so to keep an eye on its upkeep. Money wasn’t a problem. After their parents’ deaths, both Laura and Grace had received a good inheritance, and after the split he’d also passed on a generous monthly allowance. Lawyers had advised him to wait until after the divorce when a settlement could be drawn up, but he wanted to contribute. Last month, however, the divorce became final and the settlement was, well, settled. He’d given her this house and land. Knowing that he’d see ghosts in every corner, he would only have sold it anyway no matter how much he loved the area. Neither of them had been overly concerned about snakes or spiders, poisonous though many of them might be. After hearing Laura’s cry now, Bishop wondered if he needed to reconsider.

Had a deadly Brown crowded her into a corner? Had she fallen somehow again? Of course there was also the chance she’d gotten her memory back and, realizing she wanted to kill him for letting her make a fool of herself yesterday, had screamed out in blind rage.

Outside his home office, they collided. Her face was flushed, her legs temptingly long and tanned in a pair of white tennis shorts. She waved her hand in front of his face and squealed again. Not scared, not angry but rather…excited.

“They’re here!” She bounced on her toes. “They were here all along.”

He held her arms to steady her. “Hey, slow down. What’s here?”

“These.”

She wiggled a set of fingers. The gold and diamonds he’d slid onto her third finger two years ago sparkled in ribbons of morning light that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling eastern arch window.

“I must have taken them off before going to the hospital,” she told him. “I’m not sure why. I can’t remember any of it.”

He eased out the breath he’d been holding. No falls. No bites. Thank God. If she couldn’t remember taking her wedding rings off…

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered.

But, of course, it did. The doctor had said that with gentle prodding her memory should return. To his mind, bringing her back here to the scene of the crime ought to have been prodding enough. After a final argument, they’d barely exchanged a word for over a week until they’d run into each other on this very spot. After an awkward moment, he’d said he had work to do and pushed by. She’d told him he might as well live in the office—his office in town. Then she’d hic-cupped back a sob and said that she meant it. That he could pack his things and leave. Leave now. She couldn’t take this anymore and neither could he.

“Now it’s the weekend you can wear yours, too,” she was saying.

He came back to the present and his frown deepened. She was talking about his wedding ring?

“I understand you can’t wear it during the week,” she went on. “I know how you like to keep your hand in at the factory and accidents can happen. Rings can get caught. But on the weekends…” She bounced up and snatched a kiss from his cheek. “It’s only you and me.”

Over a year ago, he’d left his wedding band here. Actually, he’d thrown it in the fireplace before he’d stomped off. He’d always imagined that she’d built a roaring fire and had happily watched the gold circle melt into a shapeless blob. So how was he supposed to assure her that he’d wear it now?

But then her other hand came out, fist closed, palm up. When her fingers peeled back, the gold band he’d tossed into the fireplace a year ago gleamed up.

His heart lurched up the back of his throat. Dumbfounded, he shook his head. It couldn’t be.

Carefully, he collected the ring and inspected the inscription inside. Always and Forever.

His voice sounded as if it’d been dragged through molasses. “Where did you find them?”

“Where I always put them,” she said, studying both her rings and the gold band lying in the centre of her palm. “In my jewelry box.”

His stunned gaze went from the ring to his wife’s—his ex-wife’s face. Her jewelry box? Had she dug the ring out of the fireplace after he’d gone? There was no other explanation. And yet whenever he thought about the hurt and frustration, how he’d believed every loaded word that she’d said—

“Aren’t you going to put it on?” she asked.

Bishop opened his mouth, ready to say no way. The divorce was done and dusted, no matter what she might think. But for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a way out. He could hedge but what would that accomplish? Only suspicion on her part. Agitation on his.

She’d remember soon enough. Until then…

He gave a stilted nod, lifted his left hand and Laura held the band over his fingertip, ready to push it on. For a moment his thoughts wavered. What does it matter? Then, This has gone far enough. But then the ring pushed up over his knuckle and Laura’s eyes were sparkling all the more.

Grace had implied this might be a second chance. The idea had seemed absurd yesterday, particularly coming from his arch nemesis. And yet this morning, being back in this house, spending the night in that bed, having this ring on his finger…

Bishop shook himself.

No. It was crazy. Not possible. Not happening.

“What would you like to do today?”

His gaze jumped from his finger to her beautiful animated face. The lilac-colored top she wore was cut tastefully but, to his current way of thinking, provocatively low.

He swallowed deeply. “What did you have in mind?”

“Want to teach me to play chess? You said you would.”

He’d already taught her and she’d proven a quick study. He’d thought about letting her win a couple of times, but she was too clever to fool that way. She’d vowed that she’d beat him fair and square one day. If they sat down at that chessboard now, would she remember the moves he’d taught her, or had that part of her memory been wiped clean, too?

He ushered her into his office, to the chess set he’d left behind. “What do you know about the game?”

“There are bishops.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Right.”

“White moves first.”

“Right again.”

Maybe she did subconsciously remember their lessons, which, most likely, meant she would remember more. And that was good, right?

He twirled that band around his finger—still a perfect fit—and sat behind the black. She took the chair behind the white.

He tapped the piece sitting directly in front of the black king. “This is a pawn.”

“They move one space at a time.”

“Only forward.”

“Except when taking a piece, then they move diagonally.”

“Perhaps we should do away with the lesson and start a game.”

She laughed and the sound tinkled through him. “Oh, Bishop, everyone knows that.”

“What else do you know?”

“I know the castle—”

“Rook.”

“—gets to move across and up and down. That the horse is the prettiest piece and the queen is the most powerful.”

He relaxed back in his seat. That was more like it. “That doesn’t sound very technical.”

“Tell me…is it as difficult to play as everyone says?”

“Only if you can’t guess the other person’s move before they make it.”

He knew what came next in their game…every step, every misfire, after she’d let him know she’d changed her mind and wanted to conceive their own child, irrespective of any health concerns.

No matter the challenge he’d met it head-on, strategized, worked out the kinks and had always stayed one step ahead. Except where their marriage had been concerned. And that black mark had always stung. Always would.

Unless…

Puzzled, Laura was looking over the board. “Know the person’s move before they make it? How are you supposed to do that?”

He shaped two fingers down the sides of the black queen. “By skill,” he said, “and luck. And sometimes even by accident.”

When Bishop had to take a phone call midway through their first chess lesson, Laura decided to stretch her legs. She headed off to the kitchen, poured a drink and told herself that getting a handle on the basics of the game shouldn’t be too difficult. And once she was up to speed, no doubt Bishop would enjoy the competition.

She’d spent time playing cards whenever she’d been in the hospital in the cardio ward—sometimes with the nurses if she couldn’t sleep, more often with the other kids. But, before yesterday’s incident, she hadn’t spent time in a hospital bed in years. She’d had a defibrillator fitted and was on a low dosage medication, which kept her well.

The condition had been passed on through her mother’s side. An aunt had died unexpectedly in her teens and that’s when the family had been tested and the condition diagnosed. But Laura suspected that Bishop’s own family history had as much, if not more, to do with his pro-adoption stand.

He’d been the twin who’d survived and she didn’t need to ask if he felt guilty about it. Bishop had told her briefly about the story surrounding his birth and the subsequent death of his baby brother. When she’d tried to delve deeper, he’d withdrawn, other than to say he’d heard enough about it from his parents growing up. Laura had envisaged a boy fighting not to be overshadowed by his mother’s and father’s ongoing grief. But Arlene and George Bishop had seemed pleasant enough, even welcoming, at their wedding. They’d said how proud they were of their only son and that they wished they lived closer; they’d moved clear across the country to Perth five years ago. But they intended to keep in touch and had asked that the newlyweds do the same. Laura got the impression there wasn’t so much of a rift between parents and son as a gradual drifting apart that had, over time, come to be accepted.

Conversely, she and Grace had been so very close, to each other and to their parents. The sisters were devastated when first their father had died in a vehicle accident then cancer had taken their mum—a melanoma discovered too late. But as much as the sisters still figured in each other’s lives, it was no secret that Bishop thought Grace wielded too big of an influence over Laura.

But what was too much? They were close, always had been. Grace had her own family—a four-year-old boy and a three-year-old girl—but she’d always let Laura know she was welcome in her home at any time for any reason. If Grace had been a little outspoken about her concerns before the wedding, it was because she believed no one loved and cared for her sister more than she did.

If Bishop’s twin had lived, perhaps Bishop would better understand the sisters’ situation. They said twins shared a special connection. Maybe Bishop was somehow aware of that connection and missed it more than he knew.

When she’d finished her ice water and Bishop was still on the phone, talking about the sale of something or other, Laura decided to take in some fresh air. She’d had enough of chess for one day.

Outside, the sun spread a warm golden hue over the spires of the eucalypts and pines. She peeled off her cardigan and, marveling at their balance, studied a koala and her baby dozing high up in the fork of a tree. Beyond that clump of gray-green trees lay the rock bricks and planks that made up the northern footbridge.

Her stomach gave a mighty kick. She winced and slid her foot back.

The fall—before and after—she couldn’t recall, but it’d be a long while before she crossed that bridge again. Had she been trying to see something over the edge? Had a lizard scuttled up and scared her from behind? Had she slipped on the dew—

A flash—a fuzzy freeze frame—flicked on in her mind. The image… She couldn’t hold on to it long enough, but the residue of the pain hit her first in the lungs and then lower. Holding her belly, she flinched. When she opened her eyes, her brow was damp with perspiration. She eyed the bridge, shuddered to her toes, and promptly set off in the other direction.

She was headed toward the gazebo when Bishop caught up. The planes of his face were hard in their naturally attractive way, but his blue eyes shone with relief. His hands caught her bare shoulders and urged her near. The heat of his touch, the sincerity in his eyes, left her feeling warm and loved all over.

“I couldn’t find you,” he said in a low, graveled voice. “I was worried.”

“It looked so beautiful out here and I didn’t know how long you’d be on that call. It sounded important.”

His hands slid down her arms then dropped away altogether. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he answered. “I’m thinking of selling the company.”

Laura’s breath caught. She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. He was so proud of what he’d built from scratch. He had plans to expand even more.

“When did this happen?”

“I’ve been mulling over it for a while.”

But selling his company was unthinkable. He was so capable and responsible…still she had to ask the obvious question. “Are you in financial trouble?”

He began walking down a slate path lined with gold and lavender wild flowers. “Just thinking I might want to try something new.”

“Do you think you’d be away from home more often? Not that it would matter,” she added quickly. “I’d be okay. It’s just if you were…well, I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. Someone to keep me company through the day.”

He nodded slowly, considering. “I think a dog is a good idea.”

“Really?”

He smiled. His eyes were so bright in the spring sunshine, they glittered like a pair of cut jewels. “We’ll do some research.”

The urge overtook her. She threw her arms around him and kissed his bristled cheek. She loved his weekend shadow, the sexy roughness against her lips, the graze when he gifted her one of his delectable morning kisses.

“For some reason I thought you’d say no.”

“What will you call him?” he asked, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as they continued down the sweet-smelling path that led to the gazebo. The white lattice was patterned with a riot of cardinal creeper blooms, deep vibrant scarlet in color. Beautifully fragrant, too.

“I’d have to see him, or her, first,” she told him. “I’ve never thought you could name a member of the family until it arrived.”

On their way up to the gazebo platform, his step faltered and Laura gnawed her lip. As lead-ins went, it’d been a clumsy one, but they had to talk about it sometime.

When he sat down on the surrounding bench, she positioned herself close beside him and folded a fallen lock away from his brow.

“I don’t want us to be afraid of what might go wrong,” she said, “when it has to be better to think about everything that can go right.”

When he only looked away, Laura chewed her bottom lip again. After considering her next words, she delivered them as carefully as she could.

“I know it must have been hard when your brother died.”

“We were newborns,” he said, his brow creasing as he found her gaze. “And that has nothing to do with us.”

“I was only trying to talk—” But the line of his jaw was drawn so tight, his eyes suddenly looked so shuttered. Knowing when to back off, she ordered her locked muscles to relax. “I know you don’t like talking about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Bishop drove a hand through his hair and groaned. She was dead-on. He didn’t like discussing his twin. It dredged up feelings he’d rather not entertain. Feelings of guilt and helplessness and, the real kicker, loss.

But looking at Laura and her bowed head now, Bishop felt something inside of him shift. They’d never really talked about it during their marriage. If she wanted to discuss it now, hell, maybe he ought to. Perhaps something would tip off her memory and he would be on his way—out of the damnable bittersweet mess.

“We were identical,” he began, letting his threaded hands fall between his open thighs. “I got most of the nourishment before we were born. The other twin—”

“Your brother.”

“—died four days later.”

“And you feel bad about that.”

He felt an urge to explain that it wasn’t his fault. That was life and his parents had never held it against him. But they had been the half truths he’d told her the first time.

Hell, his parents had made him live through that time every birthday, every Christmas, first day of school, on Easter egg hunts, at graduation. If only your brother were here. How sad your twin isn’t at your side today.

Okay. He got it. He respected their regrets and dedication to the son they’d lost. But just for once in his life he’d have liked to achieve and be noticed without mention of that incident.

He blew out a breath and admitted, “Yeah. If ever I think about it, I feel…bad.”

Laura was nodding. “My mother felt bad about passing on her heart condition. Until I told her I was so grateful she had me and if the price was having a metal bit in my chest and taking some medication, that wasn’t too high.”

“But when you were conceived your mother didn’t know the risk.” He and Laura had been aware. Therefore they’d had a duty to act responsibly.

“I’m glad my mother didn’t know about her condition,” Laura said. “And she admitted she was glad she didn’t, either. She always said her children were her life.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. What mother wouldn’t be proud to have such a beautiful daughter? And Grace? Well, Grace might be a witch but, after her comment yesterday about second chances, the vote was out. Even if it was too little too late. He wished they’d had her support when it mattered.

“And all this,” he said, getting to the heart of the matter, “is leading up to the fact that you want to have a family the old-fashioned way.”

Her eyes glistened with innocent hope. “I really do.”

The last time they’d had this conversation almost two years ago, he’d agreed. Laura had been thrilled and within weeks had confirmed her pregnancy. It should have been all rainbows and happy families from there on in.

Far from it.

He didn’t know which had been worse. Watching his mother trying to hide her pain for years after his brother had died, or going through Laura’s pain after her miscarriage. If he’d stuck to his guns and had said it was adoption or nothing, would she have told him to go? Or would they be happy now with a healthy baby, a healthy past, present and, hopefully, future?

“So…what do you think?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to shut down the conversation once and for all, but then he saw the hope swimming in her eyes and the steam went out of his argument. He held his breath, considered the options.

There weren’t any.

“I think…”

Her lips curved up. “Yes?”

“I think we need to think about it more,” he ended.

Her smile wavered and her eyes dulled over, but then the disappointment faded from her expression, replaced by the inherent optimism he’d always loved.

She pointed her white-sandaled toes out and flipped them prettily in the air. “The Nutcracker’s playing in town,” she said, changing the subject. “Tonight would be sold out but I wonder if we could get tickets for tomorrow.” The ballet?

The last time they’d gone they’d had an argument. One of his more notable clients and his wife had witnessed the scene. Bishop wasn’t a fan of tutus and tights at the best of times. After that night he’d sworn never to sit through another Fouetté en tournant as long as he lived.

Sensing his reluctance, Laura let her toes drift down. “I know ballet’s not your thing…”

“No, it’s not. But it is yours,” he added.

Going to Sydney tomorrow evening would leave them with another twenty-four hours in this environment. If a few lightbulbs went off…if he were lucky… Hell, they might not get to the ballet at all.