Читать книгу Rescued: Mother-To-Be - Trish Wylie - Страница 9

A GROWN, mature woman, in charge of her faculties really shouldn’t feel shyness. But it was like being fifteen all over again when she ventured into the house after dark.

All afternoon—while she’d made phone calls, arranged for vet visits, ordered wormers and checked feed store levels—her mind had been obsessed by one fleeting touch and a softly spoken confession.

Which had led her to ask several silent questions. The main one being: what had happened to him since he’d left?

Surely someone who looked the way he did hadn’t been lonely? At least not for long. Colleen remembered vividly how girls had gravitated towards him. She’d hated every single one of them back in the day.

And yet the look on his face when he’d spoken had reflected a deep sense of loneliness, almost of need. The part of her that had cared so much for him so many years ago desperately wanted to understand why. Not that there was anything she could do to help beyond listening—if he would deign to talk.

It was a complication she could have done without. One that held her own confession back when it really should be something she got out into the open. Sooner rather than later. Avoiding it just made it worse.

As she kicked off her boots at the back door an unfamiliar noise greeted her ears. And as she worked her way through the kitchen and along the hall it got louder, positively deafening by the time she reached the family room at the front of the house.

When she peeked around the half-open door she couldn’t help but smile.

Eamonn’s head was nodding up and down in time to the music, his hand absentmindedly playing an air guitar with one hand as he looked through the dusty box in front of him with the other.

And then his voice sounded, loud and distinctly off-key, as he joined in with the music.

Colleen hid her mouth behind her hand and giggled. She couldn’t help herself.

But he obviously hadn’t heard her. He shook his head again, the curls on his dark cap of hair shifting, and then he raised both hands above the box and drummed in time with the bass beat.

With her hand still covering her mouth she let her eyes move over him from her position of safety. From the shifting curls, down past his wide shoulders to his tapering waist and the rounded curve of his behind. And deep inside of herself a mischievous imp prayed he would wiggle it. Just the once. Please.

Of course he chose that moment to turn and look directly at her.

Her eyes shot up and met his.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his hands lowered to his sides, and he smiled a little ruefully before moving over to the old record player and turning down the volume.

After a brief clearing of his throat, his deep voice rumbled in the sudden quiet. ‘I found some of my old collection up in my room.’

She plucked up her courage and walked into the room. ‘So I heard. Nice singing, by the way.’

His shoulders shook briefly in silent laughter. ‘Never did have much of a singing voice.’

Moving around the end of the sofa, Colleen eased down onto the well-worn cushions, lifting her aching feet onto a generously stuffed footstool. Then she sighed contentedly as she slid down into a comfortable position, her stomach rising before her eyes.

She blinked a couple of times at the sight, still sometimes finding it hard to equate the sight of the bump with her own body.

Eamonn replaced the rock music with a softer track as he watched Colleen smooth her hand over her stomach from the corner of his eye. She did that a lot during the day, he’d noticed. With only a moment of hesitation he stepped over her feet and sat down beside her, his head tilting to rest on the sofa-back.

And they sat that way for a long time as the record played, static sounding between tracks.

It occurred to Eamonn that it was the longest time he’d ever spent completely silent in a woman’s company. And it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience.

Then, with a turn of his head in her direction, he caught sight of her poking her fingers against an irregular bump below her crimson shirt. Her fingers circled it, pushed a little, circled again. When he looked up at her face she had her eyes closed. But she was smiling a small, secretive smile.

His gaze back on her fingers, he asked in a low voice, ‘Is that a foot you’re pushing?’

‘I think so.’ She opened her eyes, tilted her head forwards, so that her chin rested on her chest, and looked down at her hand, smoothing the soft material around the small bump so it was more defined.

‘Doesn’t it hurt when that happens?’

Long lashes fluttered as she raised her eyes to his, surprised by the look of fascination she saw there. ‘Not as much as when the precious pushes its bottom out. That can be very uncomfortable.’

The golden flecks in his hazel eyes glowed warmly across at her. ‘Does he do that often?’

Colleen smiled an amused smile. ‘He? What makes you so sure the baby is a he?’

‘She, then?’ The corners of his mouth twitched, hinting at a smile being held inside. He did that a lot, she’d noticed. As if he always felt the need to keep himself in check, controlled. It made her ache to tease the smile out, to have him soften and relax when he was around her.