Married By The Sea

He stared at the bowl he held and Stefan’s face, words, rose in his mind. A baby deserves both a mother and a father. He pushed his shoulders back and rinsed his bowl. He might not have planned this, but he had no intention of walking away from his child. He couldn’t.

He swung to Meg, but she didn’t look up from her computer. He wasn’t hungry but he made toast. He ate because he wanted his body clock to adjust to the time zone. He ate to stop himself from demanding that Meg stop what she was doing and talk to him right now.

After he’d washed and dried the dishes Meg turned off her computer and pushed it to one side. He poured two glasses of orange juice and sat down. ‘You said we have to talk.’ He pushed one of the glasses towards her.

She blinked. ‘And you don’t think that’s necessary?’

‘I said what I needed to say yesterday.’ He eyed her for a moment. ‘And I don’t want to fight.’

She stared at him, as if waiting for more. When he remained silent she blew out a breath and shook her head.

He rolled his shoulders and fought a scowl. ‘What?’

‘You said yesterday that you want to be acknowledged as the baby’s father.’

‘I do.’

‘And that you want to be a part of its life.’

He thrust out his jaw. ‘That’s right.’

‘Then would you kindly outline the practicalities of that for me, please? What precisely are your intentions?’

He stared at her blankly. What was she talking about?

She shook her head again, her lips twisting. ‘Does that mean you want to drop in and visit the baby once a week? Or does it mean you want the baby to live with you for two nights a week and every second weekend? Or are you after week-about parenting?’ Her eyes suddenly blazed with scorn. ‘Or do you mean to flit in and out of its life as you do now, only instead of calling you Uncle Ben the child gets the privilege of calling you Daddy?’

Her scorn almost burned the skin from his face.

She leaned towards him. ‘Do you actually mean to settle down and help care for this baby?’

Settle down? His mouth went dry. He hadn’t thought…

She drew back and folded her arms. ‘Or do you mean to keep going on as you’ve always done?’

She stared at him, her blazing eyes and the tension in her folded arms demanding an answer. He had to say something. ‘I…I haven’t thought the nuts and bolts of the arrangements through.’ It wasn’t much to give her, but at least it was the truth.

‘You can’t have it both ways, Ben. You’re either globe-trotting Uncle Ben or one hundred per cent involved Daddy. I won’t settle for anything but the best for my child.’

He leapt out of his chair. ‘You can’t demand I change my entire life!’

She stared at him, her eyes shadowed. ‘I’m not. I’ve never had any expectations of you. You’re the one who stormed in here yesterday and said you wanted to be a father. And a true father is—’

‘More than sperm in a cup.’ He fell back into his seat.

She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I put that very crudely yesterday.’

Her guilt raked at him. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the one who’d waltzed in and overturned her carefully laid plans.

She lifted her head. ‘A father is so much more than an uncle, Ben. Being a true father demands more commitment than your current lifestyle allows for. A father isn’t just for fun and games. Being a father means staying up all night when your child is sick, running around to soccer and netball games, attending parent and teacher nights.’

His hands clenched. His stomach clenched tighter. He’d stormed in here without really knowing what he was demanding. He still didn’t know what he was demanding. He just knew he couldn’t walk away.

‘Ben, What do you even know about babies?’

Zilch. Other than the fact that they were miracles. And that they deserved all the best life had to give.

‘Have you ever held one?’

Nope. Not even once.

‘Do you even know how to nurture someone?’

He stiffened. What the hell…?

‘I don’t mean do you know how to lead a group safely and successfully down the Amazon, or to base camp at Everest, or make sure someone attaches the safety harness on their climbing equipment correctly. Do you know how to care for someone who is sick or who’s just feeling a bit depressed?’

What kind of selfish sod did she think him?

His mouth dried. What kind of selfish sod was he?

‘I’m not criticising you. Those things have probably never passed across your radar before.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘You have this amazing and exciting life. Do you really want to give it up for nappies, teething, car pools and trips to the dentist?’

He couldn’t answer that.

‘Do you really want to be a father, Ben?’

He stared at his hands. He curled his fingers against his palms, forming them into fists. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ He searched Meg’s eyes—eyes that had given him answers in the past. ‘What should I do?’ Did she think he had it in him to become a good father?

‘No way!’ She shot back in her chair. ‘I am not going to tell you what to do. I am not going to make this decision for you. It’s too important. This is something you have to work out for yourself, Ben.’

His mouth went drier than the Kalahari Desert. Meg meant to desert him?

Her face softened. ‘If you don’t want that level of involvement I will understand. You won’t be letting me down. We’ll carry on as we’ve always done and there’ll be no hard feelings. At least not on my side.’

Or his!

‘But if you do want to be a proper father it only seems fair to warn you that my expectations will be high.’

He swallowed. He didn’t do expectations.

She reached out and touched his hand. He stared at it and suddenly realised how small it was.

‘I’m so grateful to you, Ben. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to becoming a mother—how happy I am that I’m pregnant. You helped make that possible for me. If you do want to be a fully involved father I would never deny that to you.’

It was a tiny hand, and as he stared at it he suddenly remembered the fairytales she’d once spun about families—perfect mothers and fathers, beautiful children, loving homes—when the two of them had been nothing but children themselves. She’d had big dreams.

He couldn’t walk away. She was carrying his child. But could he live up to her expectations of what a father should be? Could he live up to his own expectations? Could he do a better job than his father had done?

His heart thumped against his ribcage. It might be better for all concerned if he got up from this table right now and just walked away.

‘I realise this isn’t the kind of decision you can make overnight.’

Her voice hauled him back from the brink of an abyss.

‘But, Ben, for the baby’s sake…and for mine…could you please make your decision by the time the wedding rolls around?’

His head lifted. Six weeks? She was giving him six weeks? If he could cope with six weeks living in Fingal Bay, that was.

He swallowed. If he couldn’t he supposed they’d have their answer.

‘And speaking of weddings…’ She rose and hitched her head towards the back door.

Weddings? He scowled.

‘C’mon. I need your help measuring the back yard.’

‘What the hell for—?’

He broke off on an expletive to catch the industrial tape measure she tossed him—an old one of her father’s, no doubt—before it brained him. She disappeared outside.

Glowering, he slouched after her. ‘What for?’ he repeated.

‘For the marquee. Elsie and my father can be married in the side garden by the rose bushes, weather permitting, and we’ll set up a marquee out the back here for the meal and speeches and dancing.’

‘Why the hell can’t they get married in the registry office?’

She spun around, hands on hips. The sun hit her hair, her eyes, the shine on her lips. With her baby bump, she looked like a golden goddess of fertility. A desirable goddess. He blinked and took a step back.

‘This is a wedding. It should be celebrated.’

‘I have never met two people less likely to want to celebrate.’

‘Precisely.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Shut up, Ben, and measure.’

They measured.

The sun shone, the sky was clear and salt scented the air, mingling with the myriad scents from Meg’s garden. Given the sobering discussion they’d just had, he’d have thought it impossible to relax, but as he jotted down the measurements that was exactly what he found himself doing.

To his relief, Meg did too. He knew he’d freaked her out with his announcement yesterday—that he’d shocked and stressed her. He paused. And then stiffened. He’d stressed her. She was pregnant and he’d stressed her. He was an idiot! Couldn’t he have found a less threatening and shocking way of blurting his intentions out?

His hands clenched. He was a tenfold idiot for not actually working out the nuts and bolts of those intentions prior to bursting in on her the way he had—for not setting before her a carefully thought-out plan that she could work with. She’d spend the next six weeks in a state of uncertainty—which for Meg translated into stress and worry and an endless circling litany of ‘what-ifs’—until he made a decision. He bit back a curse. She’d dealt with him with more grace than he deserved.

He shot a quick glance in her direction. She didn’t look stressed or fragile or the worse for wear at the moment. Her skin glowed with a health and vigour he’d never noticed before. Her hair shone in the sun and…

He rolled his shoulders and tried to keep his attention above neck level.

It was just…Her baby bump was small, but it was unmistakable. And it fascinated him.

‘Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?’ he blurted out in the middle of some soliloquy she was giving him about round tables versus rectangular.

She broke off to blink at him, and then she laughed. ‘I’m pregnant, not ill. I can keep doing all the things I was doing before I became pregnant.’

Yeah, but she was doing a lot—perhaps more than was good for her. She ran her own childcare centre—worked there five days a week and heaven only knew how many other hours she put into it. She had to maintain this enormous house and garden. And now she was organising a wedding.

He folded his arms. It was just as well he had come home. He could at least shoulder some of the burden and make sure she looked after herself. Regardless of any other decision he came to, he could at least do that.

She started talking again and his gaze drifted back towards her baby bump. But on the way down the intriguing shadow of cleavage in the vee of her shirt snagged his attention. His breath jammed in his throat and a pulse pounded at his groin. The soft cotton of her blouse seemed to enhance the sweet fullness of her breasts.

That pulse pounded harder as he imagined the weight of those breasts in his hands and the way the nipples would harden if he were to run his thumbs over them—back and forth, over and over, until her head dropped back and her lips parted and her eyes glazed with desire.

His mouth dried as he imagined slipping the buttons free and easing that blouse from her shoulders, gazing at those magnificent breasts in the sun and dipping his head to—

He snapped away. Oh, hell! That was Meg he was staring at, lusting after.

He raked both hands back through his hair and paced, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of him. Jet lag—that had to be it. Plus his brain was addled and emotions were running high after the conversation they’d had.

And she was pregnant with his child. Surely it was only natural he’d see her differently? He swallowed and kept pacing. Once he’d sorted it all out in his head, worked out what he was going to do, things would return to normal again. His hands unclenched, his breathing eased. Of course it would.

He came back to himself to find her shaking his arm. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? What’s wrong?’

Her lips looked plump and full and oh-so-kissable. He swallowed. ‘I…uh…’ They were measuring the back yard. That was right. ‘Where are we going to find enough people to fill this tent of yours?’

‘Marquee,’ she corrected. ‘And I’m going to need your help on that one.’

His help. Focus on that—not on the way her bottom lip curves or the neckline of her shirt or—

Keep your eyes above her neck!

‘Help?’ he croaked, suddenly parched.

‘I want you to get the names of ten people Elsie would like to invite to the wedding.’

That snapped him to. ‘Me?’

‘I’ll do the same for my father. I mean to invite some of my friends, along with the entire street. Let me know if there’s anyone you’d like to invite too.’

‘Dave Clements,’ he said automatically. Dave had thrown Ben a lifeline when he’d most needed one. It would be great to catch up with him.

But then he focused on Meg’s order again. Ten names from Elsie? She had to be joking right? ‘Does she even know ten people?’

‘She must do. She goes to Housie one afternoon a week.’

She did?

‘Who knows? She might like to invite her chiropodist.’

Elsie had a chiropodist?

‘But how am I going to get her to give me two names let alone ten?’ He and his grandmother could barely manage a conversation about the weather, let alone anything more personal.

‘That’s your problem. You’re supposed to be resourceful, aren’t you? What do you do if wild hyenas invade your camp in Africa? Or if your rope starts to unravel when you’re rockclimbing? Or your canoe overturns when you’re white-water rafting? This should be a piece of cake in comparison.’

Piece of cake, his—

‘Besides, I’m kicking you out of my spare room, so I expect you’ll have plenty of time to work on her.’

He gaped at her. ‘You’re not going to let me stay?’

‘Your place is over there.’ She pointed across the fence. ‘For heaven’s sake, Ben, she’s giving that house to you.’

‘I don’t want it.’

‘Then you’d better find a more gracious way of refusing it than that.’

She stood there with hands on hips, eyes flashing, magnificent in the sunlight, and it suddenly occurred to him that moving out of her spare bedroom might be a very good plan. At least until his body clock adjusted.

She must have read the capitulation in his face because her shoulders lost their combativeness. She clasped her hands together and her gaze slid away. He wondered what she was up to now.

‘I…um…’ She glanced up at him again and swallowed. ‘I want to ask you something, but I’m afraid it might offend you—which isn’t my intention at all.’

He shrugged. ‘Ask away, Meg.’

She bent down and pretended to study a nearby rosebush. He knew it was a pretence because he knew Meg. She glanced at him and then back at the rosebush. ‘We’re friends, right? Best friends. So that means it’s okay to ask each other personal questions, don’t you think?’

His curiosity grew. ‘Sure.’ For heaven’s sake, they were having a baby together. How much more personal could it get?

‘You really mean to stay in Fingal Bay for the next six weeks?’

‘Yes.’

She straightened. ‘Then I want to ask if you have enough money to see you through till then. Money isn’t a problem for me, and if you need a loan…’ She trailed off, swallowing. ‘I’ve offended you, haven’t I?’

He had to move away to sit on a nearby bench. Meg thought him some kind of freeloading loser? His stomach churned. He pinched the bridge of his nose. No wonder she questioned his ability to be any kind of decent father to their child.

‘I’m not casting a slur on your life or your masculinity,’ she mumbled, sitting beside him, ‘but you live in the moment and go wherever the wind blows you. Financial security has never been important to you. Owning things has never been important to you.’

He lifted his head to survey the house behind her. ‘And they are to you?’ It wasn’t the image he had of her in his mind. But her image of him was skewed. It was just possible they had each other completely wrong.

After all, how much time had they really spent in each other’s company these last five to seven years?

She gave a tiny smile and an equally tiny shrug. ‘With a baby on the way, financial security has become very important to me.’

‘Is that why you let your father gift you this house?’

‘No.’

‘Then why?’ He turned to face her more fully. ‘I’d have thought you’d hate this place.’ the same way he hated it.

She studied him for a long moment. ‘Not all the associations are bad. This is where my mother came as a new bride. This is where I met my best friend.’

Him.

‘Those memories are good. And look.’ She grabbed his hand and tugged him around the side of the house to the front patio. ‘Look at that view.’

She dropped his hand and a part of him wished she hadn’t. The crazy mixed-up, jet lagged part.

‘This has to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. Why wouldn’t I want to wake up to that every day?’

He stared at the view.

‘Besides, Fingal Bay is a nice little community. I think it’s a great place to raise a child.’

He stared out at the view—at the roofs of the houses on the street below and the curving bay just beyond. The stretch of sand bordering the bay and leading out to the island gleamed gold in the sun. The water sparkled a magical green-blue. He stared at the boats on the water, listened to the cries of the seagulls, the laughter of children, and tried to see it all objectively.

He couldn’t. Every rock and curve and bend was imbued with his childhood.

But…

He’d travelled all around the world and Meg was right. The picturesque bay in front of him rivalled any other sight he’d seen.

He turned to her. ‘It’s as simple as that? This is where you want to live so you accepted this house as a gift?’

A sigh whispered out of her, mingling with the sounds of the waves whooshing up onto the sand. ‘It’s a whole lot more complicated than that. It was as if…as if my father needed to give me this house.’

He leant towards her. ‘Needed to?’

She shrugged, her teeth gnawing on her bottom teeth. ‘I haven’t got to the bottom of that yet, but…’

She gazed up at him, her hazel eyes steady and resolute, her chin at an angle, as if daring him to challenge her.

‘I didn’t have the heart to refuse him.’

‘The same way you’re hoping I won’t refuse Elsie.’

‘That’s between you and her.’

‘Don’t you hold even the slightest grudge, Meg?’

‘Don’t you think it’s time you let yours go?’

He swung away. Brilliant. Not only did she think him financially unsound, but she thought him irresponsible and immature on top of it.

At least he could answer one of those charges. ‘Early in my working life I set up a financial security blanket, so to speak.’

He’d invested in real estate. Quite a bit of it, actually.

Her eyes widened. ‘You did?’

He had to grit his teeth at her incredulity. ‘Yes.’

She pursed her lips and stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. ‘That was very sensible of you.’

He ground his teeth harder. He’d watched Laurie Parrish for many years and, while he might not like the man, had learned a thing or two that he’d put into practice. Those wise investments had paid off.

‘I have enough money to tide me over for the next six weeks.’ And beyond. But he resisted the impulse to brag and ell her exactly how much money that financial security blanket of his held—that really would be immature.

‘Okay.’ She eyed him uncertainly. ‘Good. I’m glad that’s settled.’

‘While we’re on the subject of personal questions—’ he rounded on her ‘—you want to tell me what you’re trying to achieve with this godforsaken wedding?’

She hitched up her chin and stuck out a hip. ‘I’m joying this “godforsaken wedding” up,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to force them to celebrate.’

He gaped at her. ‘Why?’

‘Because there was no joy when we were growing up.’

‘They were never there for us, Meg. They don’t deserve this—the effort you put in, the—’

‘Everyone deserves the right to a little happiness. And if they truly want to mend bridges, then…’

‘Then?’

‘Then I only think it fair and right that we give them that opportunity.’

Ben’s face closed up. Every single time he came home Meg cursed what his mother had done to him—abandoning him like she had with a woman who’d grown old before her time. Usually she would let a topic like this drop. Today she didn’t. If Ben truly wanted to be a father, he needed to deal with his past.

She folded her arms, her heart pounding against the walls of her chest. ‘When my mother died, my father just shut down, became a shell. Her death—it broke him. There was no room in his life for joy or celebration.’

Ben pushed his face in close to hers, his eyes flashing. ‘He should’ve made an effort for you.’

Meg’s hand slid across her stomach. She’d make every effort for her child, she couldn’t imagine ever emotionally abandoning it, but maybe men were different—especially men of her father’s generation.

She glanced at Ben. If a woman ever broke his heart, how would he react? She bit back a snigger. To break his heart a woman would have to get close to Ben, and he was never going to let that happen.

Ben’s gaze lowered to where her hand rested against her stomach. His gaze had kept returning to her baby bump all morning. As if he couldn’t get his fill. She swallowed. It was disconcerting, being the subject of his focus.

Not her, she corrected, the baby.

That didn’t prevent the heat from rising in her cheeks or her breathing from becoming shallow and strained.

She tried to shake herself free from whatever weird and wacky pregnancy hormone currently gripped her. Concentrate.

‘So,’ she started, ‘while my father went missing in action, your mother left you with Elsie and disappeared. She never rang or sent a letter or anything. Elsie must’ve been worried sick. She must’ve been afraid to love you.’

He snapped back. ‘Afraid to—?’

‘I mean, what if your mother came back and took you away and she never heard from either of you again? What if, when you grew up, you did exactly what your mother did and abandoned her?’

‘My mother abandoned me, not Elsie.’

‘She abandoned the both of you, Ben.’

His jaw dropped open.

Meg nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. They both should’ve made a bigger effort for us. But at least we found each other. At least we both had one friend in the world we could totally depend upon. And whatever else you want to dispute, you can’t deny that we didn’t have fun together.’

He rolled his shoulders. ‘I don’t want to deny that.’

‘Well, can’t you see that my father and Elsie didn’t even have that much? Life has left them crippled. But…’ She swallowed. ‘I demand joy in my life now, and I won’t compromise on that. If they refuse to get into the swing of this wedding then I’ll know those bridges—the distance between us—can never be mended. And I’ll have my answer.’

She hauled in a breath. ‘One last chance, Ben, that was what I’m giving them.’ And that’s what she wanted him to give them too.

Ben didn’t say anything. She cast a sidelong glance at him and bit back a sigh. She wondered when Ben—her Ben, the Ben she knew, the Ben with an easy smile and a careless saunter, without a care in the world—would return. Ever since he’d pulled his bike to a halt out at the front of her house yesterday there’d been trouble in his eyes.

He turned to her, hands on hips. He had lean hips and a tall, rangy frame. With his blond-tipped hair he looked like a god. No wonder women fell for him left, right and centre.