His Miracle Bride

Why had he bought a house with so many bedrooms? Had he thought of having a big family himself?

He really was…

A hunk. The thought of him pacing back and forth above her head with a baby cradled against his shoulder…

It was a very, very sexy image.

Whoa. ‘That’s exactly the attitude that gets you into trouble over and over again,’ she scolded herself. ‘And that’s the scary thing about staying. He’s extraordinarily attractive and he’s up to his eyeballs in domesticity, and you feel sorry for him, and if you’re not careful you’ll be installed as chief cook and bottle washer with your only payment a bit of snogging on the side.

‘He hasn’t got time for snogging.

‘Just as well.’ She said it out loud.

His footsteps paused right above her head. ‘I know it itches,’ she heard him say. ‘But we all need to sleep.’

A whimper.

‘In with me again? Bess, we need to cut this out.’

He was more than a hunk, she decided. He was gorgeous.

And up to his neck in kids.

‘So go to bed and stop thinking about him,’ she told herself, and crossed to the window to pull the blind.

There was a cow six inches from her nose.

She managed to stay silent. The cow gazed in, and she felt extraordinarily pleased with herself that she hadn’t yelped. The last thing she needed was for Pierce to come racing downstairs because she was scared of a cow. The cow was outside and she was inside.

Fine.

It was a very large cow.

Its face was enormous. And its eyes looked sort of wild. It wasn’t placidly gazing. Its head was moving back and forth, as if it was terrified.

Did cows get scared?

Upstairs Bessy started howling again. Obviously not even the enticement of sleeping with Pierce could placate her.

There was a moment’s silence as Bessy paused for breath to start the next yowl.

‘Git out.’

For a moment she thought she was imagining things. Who…?

‘Git out of our garden.’ It was a child’s voice, yelling. It sounded like an attempt to be commanding, but there was an edge of fear showing through.

She pulled up the window—just a little—not so much that the cow could put its head in. The cow had shifted aside, turning to face whoever was shouting.

The moon was almost full. She could see clearly into the garden.

It was seven-year-old Donald. The skinny one with the scared eyes and the look that said he distrusted the world. The rest of the kids had enjoyed painting this afternoon, but Donald had painted like he was performing a duty. He looked like a kid who was waiting for the axe to fall.

‘What are you doing out there?’ she called, and the cow turned to look at her. Still with the wild eyes.

It was a really big cow.

Huge.

‘It shouldn’t be in the garden,’ Donald said, struggling to sound brave. ‘Someone’s left the gate open. I saw it out the window. It’ll eat the rose Pierce planted when our mum died.’ He hiccupped on a sob, bravery disappearing. ‘I’m shooing it out the gate, but it won’t go.’

‘Donald, you’re too little be shooing cows. I’ll get Pierce.’

‘He’s busy with Bessy.’ She saw his small shoulders stiffen in resolution. ‘And I’m not too little. I can do it.’

‘But—’

‘Git on out,’ Donald said, but he’d moved backwards behind a camellia bush and she could no longer see him.

Despite his defiance, he sounded terrified.

Cows are harmless, she told herself, recalling the words of her farming-type friend.

Right.

She’d go upstairs and offer to take Bessy while Pierce sorted this, she thought, but Bessy’s howls were becoming frantic.

Two perils. Crying baby. Or cow.

Each equally daunting.

‘Shoo,’ Donald yelled but the cow didn’t move.

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