Читать книгу Her New Year Baby Surprise - Sue MacKay - Страница 12
ОглавлениеNIXON WRIGHT EASED himself onto the chair beside Emma’s bed, and, with his elbows on his knees, dropped his chin into the palms of his hands. The cyclist was in Theatre. He was done for the day. His own cycle at home beckoned but he’d told Emma he’d drop by before he left; hadn’t told her he needed to check on her for his own peace of mind.
Watching Emma as she slept tugged him deep inside. Her short, light breaths lifted an errant curl from one cheek, let it fall on the outward sigh. Dark shadows resembling bruises darkened the pale skin beneath her eyes, her coppery hair striking against those cheeks. She looked small and defenceless under the covers, bringing all his protective mechanisms to the fore, making him want to crawl onto the bed and hold her close, keep the world at bay until she was ready to face it again.
He’d never seen her so lost. Oh, sure, she’d deny that faster than a blink, but she was confused, dealing with emotions she knew and expected and didn’t want. She’d been brave today; so very, very brave. Not a hint of regret apparent, but there had to be a lot of tugging towards that baby going on inside.
Emma was a loving soul. Since he’d learned she was pregnant, he’d seen how she’d loved that baby growing inside her. Yet not once, even on those bleak days when she’d felt wobbly about it all—and there had been some, though she’d only ever talked to him about her feelings once—had she said anything to suggest she wouldn’t give up Grace to her rightful mother.
From what he’d seen, Emma and Abbie had a strong, unbreakable bond so that had never been going to happen. Apparently the two women had seen each other through some terrible times. Abbie’s husband had passed away from cancer, and from idle gossip in the department he knew Emma had been married to a violent man—which made him seethe with impotent fury just thinking about it. He shoved the anger aside. It had no place here, and if Emma had managed to walk away from that husband then he had no right resurrecting her history, if only in his head. She needed positive vibes.
Nixon’s heart expanded. If ever there was an amazing gift, Emma had given it to her friend. Her generosity knew no bounds, but in the coming days she’d need someone to lean on and he was putting his hand up. As the friend he’d already been for her.
Oh, really? some strange, illogical emotion deep inside asked.
His phone pinged with an incoming text. Nixon read the message his uncle Henry had sent to all the family.
Hope everyone has a lovely time at the birthday party in Wellington this weekend. I’ll be thinking of you. Sorry you can’t make it either, Nixon.
Henry could be joining his children and grandchildren if he eased up on his belief he was doing his family more good leaving them a large inheritance than using some of his money to be with them for special occasions. Instead, he ignored the pleas to spend the money now when everyone could enjoy the benefits.
Guilt snuck in. It was brought on because his uncle had taken him in when he was six and raised him with his cousins until he left school. Henry had never been generous with money and especially not with his heart, but Nixon had been fed, clothed in hand-me-downs and given shelter. He’d always be grateful, but he’d have been happy to go hungry if instead there’d been open and happy love such as he’d known in his six short years with his parents and brother before they died in a plane crash.
‘Nixon, your mum and dad and Davey are not coming home ever again.’
The terrifying words had cut him off from his family, from love and happiness. From ever giving his heart unconditionally again.
But had Henry giving him a roof over his head been his way of showing love? Fundamental perhaps, but that was his uncle’s approach.
Well, he could do the same. Nixon texted back.
Book flights and hotel. I’ll fix you up tonight.
Henry would go for the most expensive flights and hotel room, but, hey, those were the breaks. If it made his uncle happy then what did it matter? It was only money and he wasn’t short of a few dollars. These people were his only family. They had cared about him as one of their own, looked out for him when he hadn’t been able to grasp what not ever coming home again meant. If only Henry had shown his love with hugs and games and laughter as his own parents had, then he mightn’t have felt quite so lost and alone.
Nixon’s gaze drifted to Emma.
He’d cried off going away with his cousins and their kids, using a bike endurance he’d entered as his reason. While it was true, he’d also been reluctant to be out of town when Emma had her baby. He’d wanted to be around when it happened in case that despair and fear she’d once sobbed out onto his shoulder returned, stronger and harder to move past. He might’ve made sure she was all right when her waters broke and retrieved her bag from her car for her yet he’d waited ’til well after the birth to visit her, suddenly afraid of where his feelings about Emma were taking him. They’d become such great friends that he’d even felt grateful she’d turned him down for a date because when he walked away at the end of it, which he surely would have done, he’d have missed out on so much. While she was pregnant, he’d felt restrained about furthering their friendship. She’d had enough issues to deal with. But now where did they stand? He believed he didn’t want involvement, couldn’t risk his heart only to lose her when she decided she didn’t need him, but...
But ask him why he’d felt he should be here and he couldn’t find a satisfactory answer. Emma didn’t need him at her side. They got along fine, and sometimes she opened up to him, though lately he’d pulled back, afraid of where this was headed.
Be honest. You like that she talks to you about things she can’t tell her best friend.
Yeah, well, all very good, but all the more reason to pull away. That thinking could lead to deeper involvement, a place he wasn’t planning on going. If he ever chanced falling in love with a special woman—Emma?—he’d want to be able to leap in, boots and all, heart and all, be open, have fun, share the highs and lows. He wouldn’t want to be this uptight, afraid version.
His phone received a text. Henry.
Thanks, lad. Appreciate it.
No problem.
Had Henry shut down on his open loving side when his wife died in childbirth? Gone further into the deep when Nixon’s mother died? Did he hold the same fears?
Oh, man.
Occasionally Nixon had wondered about this but had always shaken it off as wrong. He wasn’t Henry’s child, he’d inherited different genes, and his mother, Henry’s sister, had been a happy, always laughing person. From what he knew and remembered. None of this had crossed Nixon’s mind before. He could very possibly be a chip off the old block. Might’ve learned from his uncle how to hold everything in. They both kept their feelings close to their chests. Didn’t rush around hugging friends and family.
You hugged Emma earlier.
Yeah, well, Emma.
Now what? Carry on with no hope of it being anything more? Or try to let go of the restraints and open up, risk his heart and see where that led? Instantly his belly tightened and his heart slowed as though it were withdrawing from this crazy idea, protecting itself. It was far wiser to stick with the current way of doing things. But was that truly what he wanted?
‘You going to sit there staring at the floor all evening?’ Emma muttered from the bed.
‘It’s a damned nice floor.’ Grey vinyl wasn’t really his thing.
She chuckled.
That chuckle crept into places that had remained cold since the day the social worker had picked him up from school and delivered him to Uncle Henry. The warmth Emma engendered made going for a diversion imperative. He wasn’t ready to follow that warmth. ‘Easier than deciding who to employ for the summer rush.’
‘Which started a week ago, in case you hadn’t noticed. The day the spring rush finished.’ Emma shuffled up the bed, wincing. ‘We’ve already had numerous broken bodies in ED from mountain day trippers going off track and getting caught by unseasonal storms.’
‘I’ll never understand why visitors to the region don’t read the weather warnings.’ Nixon stood to arrange the pillows more comfortably behind her back. Doctor mode to the fore. Really? Yes, really. ‘Tell that to the CEO. We’re up to our ears in patients and he’s still saying wait. My problem is the doctor I want to take on won’t hang around for ever. She’s had another offer in Christchurch, a better one I suspect, but with a sister already working here she’d prefer our neck of the woods.’
‘The joys of being the boss. Glad I’m only a nurse.’
‘No such thing as just a nurse.’ Especially Emma, a dedicated carer if ever he’d met one. ‘How’s the body feeling?’
‘Like it fell off Ben Lomond, rolled down the mountain and finished up in a ravine. Just like your earlier patient.’
‘That good? Want to go mountain-bike riding tomorrow?’ he teased.
‘Sit on one of those hard, narrow bike seats after what I’ve been through?’ She shuddered and scrunched up her lovely face. ‘Haven’t you got work to do? Paperwork if nothing else.’
‘I’m done for the day.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘The weather forecast predicts no wind and warm temperatures. Perfect for hitting the trail out to Jack’s Point Pass.’
Emma shook her head at him. ‘Your calf muscles must hate you sometimes.’
If he were open to more than casual friendships, he’d suggest they pack a picnic and take Rosie up the track out of Arrowtown one day soon. If. A friendship on that scale with Emma and her daughter could eventually expose his need for more and as he was her boss that couldn’t happen. He never dated women he worked with. It got complicated when the three-date rule was enacted. He still didn’t understand why he’d asked her out that time. Except that she was gorgeous. ‘You decided where you’re going to spend tonight?’
‘I guess I’ll go out to the Valley. It’s the soft option but sometimes it’s nice to let Mum take over with Rosie. I kind of want my family around too.’
Not him. Friends only. Not so close they shared everything. ‘You don’t want to stay in town without Rosie, do you?’
Emma stared at him, blinking twice and swallowing hard. ‘No.’ Another swallow. ‘I need to hug and touch her, or just watch over her. I need to be a mum tonight.’ Sadness flicked through her eyes and was gone.
It was hard not to reach for her hands, wrap his fingers around them and give her his warmth and strength. He all but sat on his hands in case Emma misinterpreted the gesture. ‘You are allowed to be shaken up by it all, you know? No one’s going to give you a hard time for feeling down about not having this time with Grace.’
Her left foot jiggled continuously as she nodded slowly. ‘I get that. But knowing that and experiencing it are different. I’m not saying I’d change a thing. Of course I wouldn’t. That baby’s always been Abbie’s. I don’t even want another child. I’ve got the most adorable daughter and no time or energy to spare for bringing up a second child.’ She stared out of the window.
She was an awesome mum, the kind he’d want for his children. If he was ever to have a family. He’d love his own kids, sometimes imagined holding his daughter, playing ball in the yard with his son, pouring into them all the love he knew he held inside. After he found the right woman and loved her to the edge and back—but that wasn’t happening. He was a screw-up, had loved his family too hard and deep so that the loss had cut the ground out from under him, left him unable to understand who he was any more. Left him afraid to love without reservation. Hence flings were the way to go. Fun, carefree and over before the trouble started.
Nixon’s heart pushed the barriers back in place that Emma didn’t know she’d shunted sideways. What was he thinking here? Get back on track. Concentrate on Emma and what she wanted. ‘Rosie’s a lucky girl with a great mum. What more does she need?’ Nixon felt that protective surge for Emma stir, the one that came to the fore at inopportune moments. It sat up and expanded into...? What? The need to look out for her shouldn’t cause this sense of leaning too far out over a cliff, of hovering on the point of no return.
Leave. Now. Go home and grab the bike, put in a couple of hours’ hard pedalling. Break out a sweat, make the muscles ache, and silence the infuriating brain.
His legs weren’t behaving; they were suddenly lifeless, keeping him stuck on the chair. As though they were saying Emma needed his strength at the moment and he couldn’t take it away, no matter the cost to him. Whatever the hell that cost might be. Just some strange, gut-tightening, emotion-expanding thing going on in his head, his body. His heart. His heart? Get away.
‘She’s unlucky not to have a dad.’ She blinked at him. ‘Forget I said that.’
Slap. Rosie’s father. Nixon slowly leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. Did she still love the guy? ‘How long were you married?’
‘Nearly three years.’ No emotion coloured her voice, or her gaze. None at all. Hiding her feelings?
Talk about derailing the conversation off post-birthing blues. Only problem was, he seemed to have hit as big a bump in the road. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘Why shouldn’t you? It’s no secret.’ Was that anger firing up in her eyes? ‘Broken marriages are as common as muck.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Alvin saved me the hassle of a divorce by getting himself killed in a pub brawl up north in Kaikohe.’ Emma’s mouth was tight.
‘Jeez, Emma, you’ve had a rough time of it.’
‘You have no idea.’
‘Yet look what you’ve done for Abbie. You’re tough, and kind, and full of love.’ That love word was cropping up a lot today. Best find another subject to talk about. For both their sakes. ‘Your mother coming back to get you or do you want me to drive you out to Gibbston Valley?’
She blinked, shuddered. Then finally dredged up a weak smile. ‘Would you?’ Relief began lightening those teal eyes, nudging aside the gloom that had overtaken her minutes ago. ‘If Mum comes she’ll bring Rosie and my girl has had more than enough excitement for all of us.’
An odd happiness filled him. Because she was accepting a ride with him? Pathetic. ‘Are you allowed to go yet?’
‘It’s entirely up to me. The midwife has done her final checks for the day and says she’ll see me tomorrow, so any time that suits you. I’ll have a quick shower and change into something half decent.’ She began easing off the bed, obviously feeling every movement.
Nixon stood up, rolled his shoulders. ‘I’ll go see how that cyclist’s doing. He should be out of surgery by now. Back in ten?’
‘Sure.’ She was already digging into her daypack for clothes.
Nixon found his patient’s orthopaedic surgeon writing up notes on the operation he’d just performed. ‘How’s our guy?’
‘That shoulder is nasty, and he’s in for a long haul getting back to—’ Cameron flicked his fingers in the air ‘—normal. The skull fracture’s of concern, though we’re fairly certain there’s no lasting brain injury. I’ll operate again tomorrow to insert rods in his leg and arm. He won’t be a happy chap when he comes round.’
‘He’s lucky to be alive. That was some fall.’
Cameron stretched in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. ‘You cyclists certainly keep me busy. Shoulders are my expertise these days. You still as crazy on your bike as you were when you first arrived in town?’
Nixon grinned. ‘What’s crazy about racing down a mountain on two wheels? It’s an adrenalin fix like no other.’ He loved it, needed it at times. Used it to pretend all was right in his world.
‘Could also be the end of you, is what else it is,’ Cameron retorted. ‘Your family ever worry about you?’
There was another question behind the obvious one. ‘They’re long used to me doing hair-raising sports.’ His cousins had more than enough to focus on with their families and jobs without worrying about him.
‘You ever think you should slow down?’
‘Yeah, but then I get on the bike and that idea goes out the window.’ If the worst happened then he wasn’t hurting anyone else, because there was no one close enough to be affected if he didn’t come home one day as his family hadn’t. His cousins would miss him, as would Henry, but not in a life-stopping, future-changing way. He’d chosen to live like this. If he couldn’t have love then he’d have adventure.
‘You’re mad.’ Cameron was studying him far too closely. ‘Find another fix, something less dangerous. Collect stamps or play bowls. Or...’ and the guy drew a breath, warning Nixon he wasn’t going to like this next pearl of wisdom ‘...a woman. As in a woman you go home to every night. They can be as addictive as anything else out there.’
‘Bikes are cheaper to run,’ he flipped back.
‘You don’t mean that.’
Did the guy ever give up? Nixon put some grit in his voice. ‘You’re right, I don’t. What I meant is I’m not getting involved with anyone. End of.’ He headed for the door. Time to collect Emma, whether she was ready or not. And that’s not getting involved?
‘Nixon,’ Cameron called after him. ‘Give me five and we’ll go across the road for a beer. I promise to drop the subject of looking after your bones.’
‘Sorry, already got some place I need to be.’
Disappointment warred with annoyance in Cameron’s eyes. ‘It’s only a beer, not a lifetime commitment.’
Blast. He did not want to get offside with the man. ‘I’m taking Emma out to her family in the Valley.’ Don’t you say a bloody word.
But he should’ve known better. This was Cameron. ‘Watch out for her family. They don’t like men hanging around their Emma.’ Then he was busy filling in paperwork.
Dismissed. That was how Nixon felt. Cameron had got the last annoying word in. Except he was glad to learn there were people looking out for his friend. After the mistake her husband had turned out to be, it was only right her family would check out any bloke Emma became interested in. He could handle that. Besides, he was only her boss and a casual friend wanting to see her home.
Wasn’t he?
If that was the case, why was he rushing up the stairs to the maternity ward with fingers crossed that Emma’s mother hadn’t come to pick her up? He’d be free to hit the road on his bike, put some wind through his hair if she had.
Yeah, but he wanted to be the one driving Emma out to Gibbston Valley tonight.
Glad Cameron wasn’t around to hear that one. He’d be laughing for days.
* * *
Emma stepped into her parents’ dining room and shook her head at her mother. The solid wood dining table was all but bending under the weight of food. ‘I had a baby, I didn’t run a marathon.’
‘Everyone’s here,’ was her mother’s explanation, meaning her brothers’ girlfriends were hanging around too.
As long as she wasn’t in for a grilling about her feelings for the baby, she was okay with their presence. They might keep the boys quiet. And she had wanted to wrap herself in family, right? What about Nixon? He’d chatted all the way out, saving her the need to fill in the gaps. Yet she’d known if she’d wanted to broach the events of her day he’d have given her one hundred per cent focus. She was glad she had accepted his offer of a lift, and what better way to thank him than dinner? Her mother would never, ever, not have enough food prepared to feed everyone twice over, so Emma turned to Nixon. ‘Don’t even try to get out of staying for dinner. Mum can be stubborn if she has to.’
‘I do have to get back to town.’ His gaze was cruising the banquet of cold cuts and salads of every variety imaginable.
‘Might as well eat here as there.’ Emma would swear he was drooling.
‘But—’ Nixon seemed to be having a battle with his stomach. He cut a look to her mother. ‘Okay. Thank you for inviting me, Kathy.’
Technically she hadn’t, but then she expected people to stay. Her favourite saying was ‘Everyone gets hungry, I enjoy plugging the gaps.’
‘You brought Emma out. It’s the least I could do.’ Her mum’s smile was genuine. No hidden agenda, no lurking doubts, no worries about Nixon being with her daughter.
Oh, boy. This was getting tricky. She didn’t need her mum getting all fired up about a man in her life. If, and that was a huge if, she stepped out into the dating world, she would not introduce the poor guy to her family until she was absolutely certain he could take the grilling that would come his way, but one glance at Nixon and she knew he’d handle it, might even expect it. Not that he’d be getting the opportunity. Dinner now and then he’d be racing back to town, away from her family and any risk of being slowly pulled in by the mantle known as the Hayes blanket—so called by one of the many strays her parents had taken in throughout her life. Not that Nixon was a stray. Just a little adrift. Alone.
Emma sighed. It was out of her hands. ‘Sorry we’re late, Mum, but I slept longer than I intended.’
Remember, Mum, he’s my boss, not a potential lover. Definitely not a future husband.
One of those had already been one too many. She would never marry again, even if—heaven forbid—she did fall in love and move in with a guy. She was Emma Hayes for ever.
Her mother shrugged. ‘No problem.’
Oh, boy, again. Emma spun away from her mother’s knowing look and said, ‘Nixon, you’d better meet everyone else.’
‘Why does that sound like a threat?’ he asked, sounding and looking as comfortable as any man could when about to walk into the bull’s paddock. Could he be a skilled bull tamer? She was about to find out.
Out on the back deck she said, ‘Hey, Dad, everyone, I’d like you to meet Nixon from work. He gave me a ride out here,’ she added pointlessly, more in a pickle than Nixon appeared to be.
‘Nixon,’ Rosie shrieked from the swing. ‘You came.’
‘Hey, Rosie. Of course I did.’
The handshakes were testing, and the locked-eye looks were designed to undermine any man not strong enough to withstand a tsunami of questions and probes.
Nixon took it all on the chin, smiling and individually acknowledging her father and brothers, Shaun and Daniel, then the girlfriends. ‘Glad to know we’re all on the same side when it comes to Emma.’
That had each of them tipping their heads back and staring at him before smiles broke out on their faces, as if they shared some man secret or something. Even Shaun’s girlfriend was getting in on the act. Emma had the distinct feeling she’d missed the point and should head back inside to help her mother. At least she’d feel at home in the large, country-style kitchen with her mum, her lack of cooking skills excepted.
‘Hey, Em, how’re you feeling?’ Daniel asked, not quite taking his probing gaze off Nixon. ‘I presume you’re sore.’
‘Tired, and still all right with what I’ve done,’ she said pointedly. Just in case there were any misconceptions going round that she might be howling on the inside for baby Grace. Right now it was the physical aspects of giving birth making her uncomfortable. A dull, throbbing ache in places best not sat on or pressed too hard a constant reminder that her day hadn’t been about helping patients and all about giving Abbie a daughter. ‘I’m going inside.’
Don’t kill Nixon, or hold him over a flame while I’m gone.
‘Nixon would probably enjoy a beer.’ Her parents might own a vineyard but beer was the preferred pre-dinner beverage with the men.
‘I like him,’ her mum told her the moment she’d checked Nixon hadn’t followed Emma back to the kitchen. ‘He comes across as solid and kind and honest.’
That made him sound a tad boring, and Nixon was anything but. ‘All of the above as well as a bit of a daredevil on his bike apparently. Also, he backs people when they’re being wronged.’ As he had her when one of the nurses had criticised her for carrying Abbie’s baby. That day, she’d heard for the first and only time real anger in Nixon’s voice, seen it in his tense body and taut shoulders. That was when their friendship had taken a step further along the sliding scale of acquaintances to soulmates. It also helped that he was deep, funny, and a little bit lonely. And, damn it, sexy. There, she’d admitted it again. And he still wasn’t going to become anything more than who he already was. A friendly, caring boss. Saying it often enough would stop these errant thoughts popping up. Thinking of him as sexy was not a good move. But how to stop?
Little crinkles appeared at the corners of her mother’s eyes. ‘Just how friendly are you two?’
‘Drop it, Mum. Please? I’m tired and sore and want to eat dinner before hitting the pillow.’ Suddenly, curling up in her old bed, curtains shut tight, pillow tugged around her neck, and her eyes and ears closed so she became completely and utterly alone was all she wanted. To try and relax, to let go all pretence that today had been easy. To be able to study every moment again, to look at everything from all angles without anyone twittering in her ear saying how great she was for what she’d done. She wanted to hold the unabridged facts and emotions and absorb the truth of it all. Only then would she fully accept the birth was over, Grace was not hers, and she had her own life to be getting on with.
Her mother’s arm was around her shoulder, tugging her close to that chest she’d always gone to in times of sadness growing up. ‘Give yourself time, Em.’
‘Can everyone see through me?’ Blink, blink.
‘We know you well.’ Her mum’s smile was lopsided. ‘I’m thinking Nixon might too.’
Her shoulders sagged. Her mum was not one for letting go a bone once it was between her jaws. She conceded, ‘He does seem more understanding than most men I’ve met.’
‘Which makes him a treasure.’
Emma slipped free and slid her hands down her tee shirt over her heavy, full breasts and onto her flabby stomach. ‘He doesn’t belong in the local museum, nor does he have a place in my life. Nor I in his. We’re too different. Seriously, Mum, I want you to drop this because nothing is going to come of it. I don’t want it to. I’m not ready to get involved with a man again.’ She only had to shut her eyes and she could see Alvin’s rage as his fist slammed into her stomach. Until images like that one went away, she’d never be ready to give her heart again or to put her safety in another man’s hands. Though if there was one thing she knew for certain it was that Nixon would not hurt her physically.
‘I want you to be happy.’ Her mum always got the last word. Or so she thought.
‘Me too, Mum. Me too. And you know what? I am. I don’t need a man to make me happy. I have to do that for myself otherwise I have nothing to offer.’
‘Fair enough.’
Huh? The fact that was all her mum was saying rang alarm bells. The subject of Nixon was clearly not over, merely on the shelf for another day.
Over dinner, Nixon answered questions about himself without giving too much away—a fact the male members of her family seemed to grasp and accept. The guy was allowed his privacy as long as it didn’t hurt Emma, was the silent message. It didn’t matter that Emma reiterated bluntly that they had no right subjecting her friend to this. She was ignored. Her brothers and her father could be pains in the backside, and yet she understood they worried about her. These were the men who had run Alvin out of town with the promise of pain if he ever so much as thought about returning. So, sorry, Nixon, but welcome to my family. Take them as you find them, or leave.
Glancing across the table, she met his scrutiny and knew he’d received her message loud and clear even when she’d been staring at her clasped hands in her lap. He nodded, smiled that smile that lately had begun taking on a tummy-tugging element, and remained in his seat. He was staying.
The only problem was that tummy-tugging smile caused an ache in her solar plexus. Post-birth pains? Not likely to be anything else. Not longing for something special with Nixon? Emma pushed her plate aside still over half full. ‘My appetite’s done a bunk.’
Shaun stopped eating to stare at her. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
She shook her head. ‘Favourite food and all, I can’t take another mouthful.’ Something was cutting off her throat, refusing to allow food past, and what little had gone down before was bricks in her stomach.
‘Nixon, you’re a doctor. Take her temperature,’ said her smart-ass brother, Daniel.
Nixon was still watching her; summing her up, she suspected. There was that astute, didn’t-miss-a-thing glint in his gaze. ‘You’re all right?’ he asked quietly, making her brother sound louder than ever.
‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus, but medically I’m fine. Think I’ll go to bed. Sorry to be disappearing on you, Nixon, when you’ve only just met this lot, but I doubt I can keep my eyes open much longer.’
‘We’ll look after him.’ Shaun grinned.
That was what she was afraid of. ‘Don’t feel bad if you want to bolt while you can,’ she told Nixon as she clambered to her feet.
‘I’ve had a glimpse of what’s for dessert and I’m staying.’ His smile was soft and enveloped her in hope and a longing for what she’d sworn off. A good sleep and she’d be back on track, no left-field ideas knocking her sideways.
Through the haze filling her skull she heard her father say, ‘In other words, he’s no coward, this friend of yours.’
Thanks, Dad.
At the moment, she needed reminding of that as much as her mum did. Especially while this longing for something—someone—squeezed her tight and forced the air from her lungs. ‘Goodnight everyone,’ she muttered as she headed down the hall, aiming for the bathroom, ignoring the tears pouring down her face.
Crying wasn’t a rarity for her. There’d been too many times when she’d not been able to stop in the past.
But not knowing why she was crying was new. And unsettling. All in all, it had been a huge day. Now she wanted it gone, finished, wrapped up and delivered, like the baby, and tomorrow’s sun coming up, bringing the beginning of the rest of her life.
