He dismissed the thought impatiently.
How could she possibly stay?
They always said that the past would catch up with you, but he hadn’t expected it to catch up with him this quickly—hadn’t thought his children would find out about what had happened in Chicago.
On the other hand, there had to be a reason why she was here. And only one reason came to mind.
She was pregnant.
She had to be pregnant. It was the only explanation for the fact that she was standing on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. She’d travelled over six thousand miles to talk to him.
Patrick closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to stay calm and think clearly.
He still didn’t understand how her visit to the UK had somehow become entangled with Alfie’s innocent advert for a housekeeper. All he knew was that his private moment of self-indulgence was no longer private. And the fact that she was pregnant…
Biting back a word he tried never to say in front of his children, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and concentrated on her face. If he looked at his kids he’d just feel guilty and lose his thread, and that wasn’t going to help anyone.
They were going to be hurt. That was inevitable.
It was up to him to try and minimise the damage.
‘Dad?’ Alfie was throwing strange looks at him. ‘Say something. She can cook, Dad,’ he urged. ‘I know she’s a stranger, but why wouldn’t you want her to stay?’
Because she wasn’t a stranger.
But he wasn’t ready to confess as much to Alfie. Not yet. Not until he’d worked out the best way of handling the situation. For now he needed to pretend that this was the first time he’d met her.
Patrick’s eyes lingered on her long, dark hair. It was damp from the snow and curled softly over her shoulders, the rich colour emphasising the pallor of her skin.
Her eyes met his briefly and then she turned to Alfie.
‘Don’t worry.’ Despite her obvious agitation, she gave the child a soft, reassuring smile. ‘I can see there’s been a mix-up.’
The icy wind blew a flurry of snow around her ankles and Patrick noticed that the bottoms of her jeans were as wet as her coat.
‘You’re wet—shivering.’ The doctor in him suddenly felt concern but she shrugged it off.
‘I’m fine.’ Avoiding his gaze, she dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out a shiny pink phone. ‘Go back in the warm. I’m sorry I can’t help you out with those kittens. I’ll just call a cab and I’ll be out of your way.’
She thought he was just going to let her go?
Did she think he was the sort of man who would let a pregnant woman walk away in the depth of winter?
Feeling the familiar weight of responsibility, Patrick decided that the first thing he needed to do was get her inside quickly, before she became any colder.
Hypothermia wasn’t a good state for anyone, let alone a pregnant woman.
‘Dad?’ Alfie nudged him. ‘It’s really bad manners to keep someone on the doorstep! You taught me that.’
‘Yes. Hayley, please come inside.’ Without giving her the opportunity to object, he stepped forward and picked up her small suitcase. ‘We can talk about it in the warm. It’s freezing out here and it’s snowing again. And you’re wet.’
‘I’m only a little damp.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘Nothing that won’t dry.’
‘Nothing is going to dry out here.’ He watched with mounting exasperation as fresh snowflakes settled on her hair. ‘Come in. Please.’ He could see her backing off and his mouth tightened. Doubtless, now that the moment was here, she was dreading having to tell him her news.
‘I’ll call a taxi.’
‘Hayley, it’s Christmas Eve. You’re in the Lake District, not London. There won’t be that many taxis around, and they won’t be driving out here.’