Her New Year Baby Surprise

‘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 ho

me—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?