Her New Year Baby Surprise

‘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.

CHAPTER THREE

‘GRACE’S FACE IS red but she’s pretty.’ Rosie bounced up and down in her car seat as much as the safety belts allowed while they headed to school for a special trip to see the llamas.

‘Isn’t she?’ Emma swallowed a yawn. There’d been little deep sleep last night, more a smattering of moments of not being aware and many long, agonising minutes of being fully alert and trying to ignore the emptiness in her heart. No, not in her heart because the baby would always be in her life one way or another. In her maternal soul, perhaps. She had carried the child and her body wasn’t ready to let her forget it. But she would—in the nicest possible way. During the pregnancy, she’d talked to other women around the country who’d been a mummy tummy and everyone had said they’d been able to move past this feeling within a few weeks. It’d continue to give her nudges but those would come less often as time passed. It seemed that women who were able to interact with the baby had better outcomes more quickly.

Her phone played ‘Jingle Bells’, and Rosie clapped her hands. ‘Santa’s coming to town. He’s bringing me presents.’

A glance at the screen. Nixon. Pulling over to the side of the road, she answered. ‘Hi.’ Why are you calling me? You don’t usually get in touch outside work. ‘You got home all right after the inquisition?’

Maybe he was phoning to demand compensation.

A deep-bellied laugh rumbled into her ear, and sent waves of warmth—make that heat—to her toes and tummy. No, couldn’t be. This was Nixon, Mr Super Avoidance. And she was Ms Super Avoidance. Concentrate. Nixon’s talking.

‘Checking how you are this morning.’

‘Doing good.’

‘I hope you’re not rushing things. You’re officially on leave now.’

‘Thanks. Hopefully I’ll be up to light duties and part-time hours not too far away. I’ll get sick of my own company pretty damned soon I reckon.’ Through sheer determination, her body would handle returning to the department more easily than her head and heart.

His boss voice switched off. ‘Where are you now?’

Did it matter? Nixon didn’t usually want to know what she did in her own time. It wasn’t as though she was leading an exciting double life. No, she was a single mother of a loud and boisterous five-year-old, nothing more. Or less. But it was kind of nice he cared. ‘I’m dropping Rosie at school to go on a short trip to see llamas.’

‘On a Saturday?’

‘It was meant to be last Wednesday but weather wrecked the plans. The kids were so disappointed the trip is happening today with some parents going along as help. I’m sure they’re going to hear all about the new baby.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘Had to happen. It’s not as though people didn’t know I was pregnant with Abbie’s baby. Though there is the sister factor to work out. Are these girls sisters or not? Abbie and I reckon they are.’ They’d sort it but not today. Today she couldn’t make Rosie’s toast without burning it, twice.

‘Rosie’s a bit young to understand any of that,’ Nixon surmised.

‘Bang on.’ He wasn’t having any trouble with straight thinking, so she couldn’t blame the hot weather for the mess in her head. ‘Rosie met Grace and had a cuddle as soon as Daniel dropped us off this morning. There was no stopping the little minx from racing straight inside where Abbie was happy to oblige.’ Emma released a tired giggle. ‘You’ll never believe who else was visiting, looking like he’d already received his Christmas present. Callum.’ The speed at which Abbie’s life had turned around was mindboggling. And wonderful. ‘He’s proposed, and Abbie’s accepted.’ Lucky girl. What a day she’d had yesterday. ‘Everything’s coming together for her at last.’ Her sigh was not filled with envy. Okay, maybe a teeny bit.

‘Fantastic news. They’re meant for each other.’

‘They are. Callum’s besotted with Grace. Anyone would think she was his and he’d done all the hard yards.’

‘We blokes are like that.’ Then Nixon dropped a surprise. ‘Are you going to be home around lunchtime? Thought I’d call by, check out my nurse and make sure she’s getting back on her feet.’

‘I was never off them.’ Not true. There’d been hours lying and panting and pushing, but she knew what he meant. He’d said my nurse. Disappointment slowed her heart. Which was plain dumb. She was one of his staff. Just because he’d driven her home—probably because she worked with him—and stayed for a meal didn’t mean she could expect something else. Then again, he was coming to visit her. Why this sudden yearning for more? For more with Nixon? Then it hit her. Avoidance. By trying not to think too much about Grace her head was filling up with thoughts about Nixon. That was all there was to these ideas and longings. Might be better to let Grace, and the sense of loss that snuck up on her when she wasn’t looking, get in so she could deal with it and move on, no Nixon thoughts in sight.

‘Hello?’

Where was she? Apart from parked outside the youth hostel. Nixon, and something about lunchtime and a visit. ‘I’m here.’

‘Say no if it’s inconvenient.’ He paused, then seemed to be drawing a big breath. What was coming? ‘I’ve still got a shoulder available if you need one.’

Tears pricked her eyelids. How about right now? ‘Th-thanks.’

‘And a box of tissues,’ he said in a low voice as if he really needed her to know he was still there for her now that the pregnancy was over.

‘I’ve got to see the midwife at ten but should be home by midday. I’ll fix us something to eat.’ She would?

Relief underlined his next question. ‘Your appetite’s back?’

‘With a vengeance. Think I had emotion overload last night.’ And just like that, the tears spurted down her cheeks. A vision of Grace filled her head, held by a glowing Abbie, Callum watching on in awe. Picture perfect. Lots of love in the air when she and Rosie had dropped into Abbie’s apartment. Really beautiful. Sniff. Her boobs hurt. Her heart was heavy. ‘Got to go. See you later.’

‘Emma, wait. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Nixon’s concern spilled from the phone.

‘Just having a moment. A good one.’ Liar. ‘Promise. Bye.’ Bigger liar. She tapped ‘off’ before he could ask any more telling questions. ‘Right, missy, let’s get you to school.’ She pulled out into the traffic, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. Rosie didn’t need to see her mother’s meltdown when she got out of the car.

‘Mrs Watson showed us how to draw a cat yesterday. Can I have a cat, Mummy?’

Last week it’d been a puppy. ‘No, darling, we’re not having any pets.’ So Nixon was leaving work during the day to drop by her place. He wasn’t walking away from their friendship now that she no longer feared not being able to hand the baby over. Cool. She didn’t want him gone out of her life. She loved hearing him laugh, the way he talked with his hands, how his eyes widened when he got all thoughtful, those long legs. Ouch. Friends, remember? Yeah, but seeing Abbie so happy she was fast moving on and wanting more in her life.

‘But I want a cat. Why can’t I?’

Reality moment. Talking about a pet was what was important right now. Why couldn’t they have a cat? It would be good for Rosie and less work than a dog. ‘We’ll talk about it another day. Here’s school.’ She swung into a park outside the main gate.

‘Mummy, there’s Colleen,’ Rosie shrieked. Her finger was jabbing the window in the direction of the gathering of excited kids.

Colleen and Rosie had become inseparable since starting school, and Emma hoped her daughter had found her Abbie.

Undoing Rosie’s seat belt, Emma lifted her out of the car seat and handed over her bag. ‘There you go, young lady. Does Mummy get a kiss first?’

‘Yes, but hurry. I have to see Colleen.’

Blasted tears threatened again. Crouching down, she wrapped her arms around Rosie. ‘Love you, darling. Have a good morning.’

‘Mummy, hurry up. I want to tell Colleen about the baby.’

Here we go. People would be watching, talking about her—good and bad. She’d cope. As long as those who mattered to her were onside it didn’t matter. Nixon’s support and friendship being the benchmark. Friendship. That blasted word again. She needed to look it up in the dictionary and check that it didn’t include hot zaps of need and heart-melting longing for a man.

Watching Rosie race up the path to her friend, Emma slashed away the tears on her cheeks. ‘Sod off, mood. I’m happy with my lot.’

Had she been like this last time she’d had a baby? Absolutely. But there’d also been the Alvin factor thrown into the mix. He might’ve been gone for three months by then but she’d lived with a deep dread he’d turn up and demand to see his daughter, or snatch her away. It hadn’t happened, but it wasn’t until the police had arrived on her doorstep two years ago to tell her that her husband had died as the result of a fight that she’d fully relaxed the crippling fear.

‘Jingle Bells’ blared again. ‘Nixon, did you forget you just rang me?’ she choked.

‘That’s better. You’re not crying.’

How wrong could he be? ‘You rang because I sniffed a couple of times?’

‘Just checking. See you later.’ Gone.

Leaving her smiling and pinching herself. What was going on here? Would this feeling of excitement crash and burn as her hormones settled back in their cave? Had post-birth hormones temporarily heightened her awareness of Nixon as a man; a hot man? She stared around the car park, up at the sky, over at the main school building. There were no answers waiting to drop on her. She’d have to play the waiting game, to see the hormonal rush through to its end and look at what was left afterwards.

* * *

Nixon sauntered up Emma’s path and raised his hand to knock but the door opened before he had a chance. Loud music spilled out. ‘You’re a rocker?’

‘I’ll turn it down.’ Emma lurched forward as if she was about to plant a kiss on his cheek, then as rapidly she pulled back, her face burning.

His face untouched.

‘Emma?’ He followed her through the apartment to the small but neat lounge where she killed the volume.

Her shoulders were tense, her neck stiff, and her hands now fists at her sides. ‘Sorry about that.’ She looked—fragile. Yes, definitely delicate. As if she didn’t know if she was coming or going. Not surprising. The birth must’ve caught up in full force. ‘I was trying to block out stuff.’

‘Baby crying next door stuff?’

An abrupt nod. ‘I’m probably adding to the problem as Grace won’t be able to sleep. But I’m going up the walls and had to do something, and going for a run is not an option.’ Emma’s bottom lip quivered.

Nixon wanted to hug her, to send that crying packing, but sensed a hug might make things worse. He swung the paper bag he held in one hand. ‘I got pastries from the French patisserie. That okay?’

Her lips softened, a small smile creeping in. ‘I got some ciabatta from the bakery and ham from the superette. I thought we could sit on the deck.’ She stared around the room as if it were foreign to her.

‘Perfect.’ Hopefully it would be further away from the baby’s cries if they happened again. ‘Emma, look at me.’

Her reluctance stabbed him in the chest. He shouldn’t have come. She didn’t want him here. But then she said, ‘Take no notice of me. I’m all mixed up.’ She drew a breath. ‘I’m glad you came. I need sane and sensible at the moment.’

So he wasn’t about to be kicked out. He wasn’t sure he liked being labelled sane and sensible but if that was what she wanted then that was what she’d get. But as she headed into the kitchen his gaze scoped her body and that thick, wavy copper hair falling down her back, causing a pang of need to slide under his skin. Emma was beautiful. Alluring. What? Nixon tensed. What was that? Emma was captivating? Yes, she was, but he wasn’t going anywhere with this. He recognised that she was attractive, but he wasn’t admitting to wanting to follow through on that. Not likely. Oh, man, he was an expert in caution so what had gone wrong that his gut had tightened when he’d looked at his friend? Better get back on track with why he was here. ‘About coming back to work. Don’t rush it. We can cope.’ She really was exhausted and would need time to recuperate.

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