Playboy Doctor to Doting Dad

‘Odd I never got them.’ Disbelief dripped off his tongue in great dollops.

Hurt, she cried out, ‘I can give them to you any time you want. I’ve still got them all.’

‘I don’t see the point now.’ He turned toward the door, the conversation over. At least the disbelief had abated. Then he looked over his shoulder at her. ‘One thing. Do any of the staff here know I’m the father of your son?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘There’s something I can be grateful for, then.’

Raw pain gripped her. Was he ashamed of his son? In all the scenarios her mind had tossed up, not one had included Kieran feeling like that. Shame she could not cope with. ‘You’re not giving any of us a chance.’

His smile was professional; confident and cool. ‘You think so? How’s this for a chance? I’ll visit you and the children later this afternoon. Will that suit you?’

And if it didn’t? But she could see in his now chilly eyes that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Anyway, she wanted him to see the kids, meet his son. She wanted it over and done with. Her stomach couldn’t take too much more tension. ‘Come for dinner. Six o’clock.’ Obviously he didn’t want her to deliver him to his apartment.

‘You eat dinner at six?’

‘No, the children do. We’ll eat after they go to bed.’

He pulled the door open, held it wide for her to pass through. ‘You still live on the same road as when I was here for the wedding?’

She sighed. What did he know about any of them? ‘Yes, but don’t forget I’m in the cottage next to the orchard. David and Morag’s place.’

‘I’ll see you at six, then.’ He strode along to the nurses’ station, leaving her shaking in his wake.

She stared at his ramrod back and wished him back in Ireland. Then she’d be able to go back to the simple problems of raising two small children while holding down a responsible job, of making her dollars go twice as far as they were intended to, of looking out for her father and high-maintenance twin sisters. Easy, compared to dealing with an angry, hurt man who had claim to her family.

CHAPTER THREE

KIERAN’S head pounded, and his eyes were gritty. He drove carefully, aware of the tiredness threatening to engulf him. That enormous bed back in the apartment arranged for his stay had been tempting but, given the state of his mind, sleep would’ve been impossible.

Why the hell had he said he’d go out to the cottage tonight? What had happened to the idea of getting settled before seeing the children? Abigail had happened, that’s what. Damn, but she got to him so easily. So much for his renowned self-control.

HOPE. The green road sign drew his attention, and he eased his foot off the accelerator. If he remembered correctly, the turn-off to Abigail’s place wasn’t much further.

HOPE. The small community that boasted one store and a café, a cluster of houses, and orchards for as far as he could see. He swallowed as goose-bumps lifted his skin. A community. A place where families grew up. Families like Max Brown’s. Max was Abigail’s father and had raised four children in this district, had buried his wife here, lost his son in a tragic accident, welcomed his granddaughter. And his grandson. Don’t forget Seamus, his brain nagged.

His son. As if he could forget the boy. Even when he tried to, the unsettling situation remained firmly fixed in his mind.

Kieran pulled off the road in front of the sign, the engine of his hired car idling. His hands were slick with sweat, and he rubbed them down his jeans. In a few minutes he’d meet his son for the first time. His gut clenched, his breathing became shallow. It wasn’t too late to turn back to the apartment.

To be sure, Abigail would understand. Who was he fooling? A family girl through and through, she might think she understood his struggle with coming face to face with Seamus for the first time, but she’d be wide of the mark. Abby didn’t know he had nothing to offer apart from money. For him to give unconditional love to a small child was the same as someone trying to breathe without lungs. Impossible.

No way would Abigail comprehend how different his life had been from hers. She had roots here, while, with his father in the diplomatic service, the world had been Kieran’s community. Boarding schools and sterile apartments in countless cities hadn’t given him a sense of belonging anywhere.

What had it been like for Abigail, growing up here? When she’d left home she’d crossed the orchard and moved into the cottage that used to belong to her brother and his wife and which was now held in trust for Olivia. A narrow life? Or a free, all-encompassing way to live? At least she knew where she belonged. She had somewhere to return to, people to turn to, whenever life went belly up.

Abigail. Twice at the airport while they had been administering to Stokes he’d called her Abby. He didn’t know why but until then he’d always used her full name. Except that night when they’d made love. Then Abigail had seemed wrong for the passionate woman in his arms, stroking his body, revitalising his jaded outlook on life, and making him briefly question his lifestyle.

Kieran nodded at the sign. HOPE. Could that be the peculiar sensation tapping under his ribs? Did this place hold the answers to all those emotions he was afraid to face? Warmth trickled through him. Odd, when he should’ve been feeling a chill at the thought.

Checking the road was clear, he pulled out and headed towards Abigail’s house. To his future? Or to trouble? Only time would tell. All he could be sure of was that he was about to meet his son.

As he turned into Abigail’s road his stomach did such violent flips he thought he would be sick. A thin line of sweat rolled down past his jaw. His teeth clenched, aching.

Get a grip. He could not be seen to be failing at this first encounter. Damn it, he was thirty-five years old, a doctor, a man who’d stood up to drunken thugs on a Friday night in the emergency department. He would not be bested by a fifteen-month-old toddler.

Says who?

‘Welcome to Rose Cottage.’ Abigail opened the narrow gate at the end of a footpath leading to a small weatherboard house.

‘Thank you. Were you waiting out here for me?’ Kieran reached for the gate, his hand inadvertently brushing against hers. The brief touch sent a zing up his arm and into his already fried brain. One innocent little touch and he dropped further out of his depth.

‘Not quite. Olivia’s so excited about you coming and I caught her on the roadside, trying to look for you. I figured a game on the lawn might distract her.’ Abby pointed to a little girl charging along the path in their direction. ‘Here she comes now.’

Kieran let the gate slam behind him. Then promptly leaned against it for strength. Pain stabbed his chest as he watched this bundle of arms and legs and dark curls hurtling towards him. His sister as a child. Memories swamped him. Frightened him. It had been his fault Morag had had an accident and ruined her career. And this little girl was the spitting image of his sister. Was he a danger to her, too?

Shaking his head to dispel the stranglehold these thoughts had on him, he tried to move. Couldn’t. Paralysed by memories evoked by a three-year-old. Him! Dr Flynn. Dr Cool, Calm and Collected. Mr Charming with the ladies. What could he possibly say to Olivia?

Olivia didn’t suffer the same problem. ‘Uncle Kieran, Uncle Kieran, here I am.’

Uncle. His mouth fell open. Uncle. He swallowed around the ache in his throat. He was an uncle. Here was the living proof.

Thump. She slammed into his knees, her arms reaching for him. Was he supposed to pick her up? Hug her? Hesitantly he leaned down and lifted her up to hold her warm body against his trembling frame, his arm muscles tense. She was warm and soft and unable to stay still. Her fingers touched his face and he jerked his head back, stunned at the unexpected contact. Slowly he let his head fall forward again. Thankfully Olivia was turning around in his arms, grabbing at his hands, still making him feel totally lost.

Abigail watched them in that enigmatic way of hers. Did she find him lacking? She’d have to give him time to bec

ome familiar with his role in Olivia’s life. Would two months be enough to learn the art of being an uncle? A good uncle? Not to mention being a father. How did one go about being a father? He had no idea. And had no intention of learning.

Where was Seamus? Looking around, he couldn’t see a toddler anywhere. He felt weird, disorientated, expecting to see his son. And now, with Olivia in his arms, everything as he knew it was unravelling. What used to be real for him had become a murky picture in his head. In the short space of time it had taken to get from his car to holding Olivia, his comfortable life seemed to be changing. That was plain scary. His mouth dried. Terrifying, really. He did not want his life to change. He loved it exactly as it had been until this moment.

Focus on Olivia. She, he might be able to handle. If he had a fairy godmother hovering overhead. ‘Olivia’s full of energy,’ he said lamely.