First Comes Baby...: The Loner's Guarded Heart (8 page)

That made her turn to look at him.

Dammit it all to hell, she was supposed to
know
him!

A storm raged in the hazel depths of her eyes. He watched her swallow. She glanced down at her hands and then back up. ‘How long have you wanted to be a father, Ben? A week?’

It was his turn to glance away.

‘I’ve wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember.’

‘And you think that gives you more rights?’

‘It means I know what to expect. It means I know I’m not going to change my mind next week. It means I know I’m committed to this child.’ She slapped a hand to the sand. ‘It means I know precisely what I’m getting into—that I’ve put plans into place in anticipation of the baby’s arrival, and that I’ve adjusted my life so I can ensure my baby gets the very best care and has the very best life I can possibly give it. And now you turn up and think you have the right to tell me I’m selfish!’

She let out a harsh laugh that had his stomach churning.

‘When have you ever committed to anybody or anything? You’ve never even taken a job on full-time. You’ve certainly never committed to a woman or what’s left of your family. It’s barely possible to get you to commit to dinner at the end of next week!’

‘I’m committed to
you
.’ The words burst out of him. ‘If you’d ever needed me, Meg, I’d have come home.’

She smiled then, but there was an ache of sadness behind her eyes that he didn’t understand. ‘Yes, I believe you would’ve. But once I was back on my feet you’d have been off like a flash again, wouldn’t you?’

He had no answer to that.

‘The thing is, Ben, your trooping all over the world having adventures is fine in a best friend, but it’s far from fine in a father.’

She had a point. He knew she did. And until he knew how involved he wanted to be he had no right to push her or judge her. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you were selfish. I think you’ll be a great mum.’

But it didn’t mean there wasn’t room for him in the baby’s life too.

She gestured to her right, to where that family now sat eating sandwiches, but she didn’t look at them again. ‘Is that what you really want?’

He stared at the picture of domestic bliss and had to repress a shudder. He wasn’t doing marriage. Ever. He didn’t believe in it. But... The way those little girls looked at their father—their faces so open and trusting. And loving. The thought of having someone look up to him like that both terrified and electrified him.

If he wanted to be a father—a proper father—his life would have to change. Drastically.

‘Ben, I want a better father for my child than either one of us had.’

‘Me too.’ That at least was a no-brainer.

She eyed him for a moment. Whenever she was in the sun for any length of time the green flecks within the brown of her iris grew in intensity. They flashed and sparkled now, complementing the aqua water only a few feet away.

Aqua eyes.

A smattering of freckles across her nose.

Blonde hair that brushed her shoulders.

And she smelled like pineapple and coconuts.

She was a golden goddess, encapsulating all he most loved about summer.

‘Ben!’

He snapped to. ‘What?’

Her nostrils flared, drawing his attention back to her freckles. She glanced away and then back again. ‘I said, you
do
know that I’m not anti-commitment the way you are, right?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

His attention remained on those cute freckles, their duskiness highlighting the golden glow of her skin. He’d never noticed how cute they were before—cute and kind of cheeky. They were new to him. This conversation wasn’t. Commitment versus freedom. They’d thrashed it out endless time. To her credit, though, Meg had never tried to change his mind. They’d simply agreed to disagree. Even that one stupid time they had kissed.

Damn it! He’d promised never to think about that again.

‘Then you should also be aware that I don’t expect to “
deprive”—
’ she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers ‘—my child of a father for ever.’

He frowned, still distracted by those freckles, and then by the shine on her lips when she moistened them. ‘Right.’

She hauled in a breath and let it out again. The movement wafted a slug of coconut infused pineapple his way. He drew it into his lungs slowly, the way he would breathe in a finely aged Chardonnay before bringing the glass to his lips and sipping it.

‘Just because I’ve decided to have a baby it doesn’t mean I’ve given up on the idea of falling in love and getting married, maybe having more kids if I’m lucky.’

It took a moment for the significance of her words to connect, but when they did they smashed into him with the force of that imaginary bottle of Chardonnay wielded at his head. The beach tilted. The world turned black and white. He shoved his hands into the sand and clenched them.

‘I might be doing things slightly out of order, but...’ She let her words trail off.

He stabbed a finger at her, showering her with sand. ‘You are
not
letting another man raise my child!’

He shot to his feet and paced down to the water’s edge, tried to get his breathing back under control before he hyperventilated.

Another man would get the laughter...and the fun...and the love.

He dragged a hand back through his hair. Of course this schmuck would also be getting hog-tied into marriage and would have to deal with school runs, parent and teacher interviews and eat-your-greens arguments. But...

‘No!’

He swung around to find Meg standing directly behind him. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she ordered, glancing around. ‘There are small children about.’

Why the hell didn’t she just bar him from all child-friendly zones? She obviously didn’t rate his parenting abilities at all. His hands clenched. But giving his child—
his child
—to another man to raise? No way!

He must have said it out loud, because she arched an eyebrow at him. ‘You think you can prevent me from marrying whoever I want?’

‘Whomever,’ he said, knowing that correcting her grammar would set her teeth on edge.

Which it did. ‘You and whose army, Ben?’

‘You can marry
whomever
you damn well please,’ he growled, ‘but this baby only has one father.’ He pounded a fist to his chest. ‘And that’s me.’

She folded her arms. ‘You’re telling me that you’re giving up your free and easy lifestyle to settle in Port Stephens, get a regular job and trade your motorbike for a station wagon?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Why?’

It was a genuine question, not a challenge. He didn’t know how to articulate the determination or sense of purpose that had overtaken him. He only knew that this decision was the most important of his life.

And he had no intention of getting it wrong.

He knew that walking away from their baby would be wrong.

But...

It left the rest of his life in tatters.

Meg sighed when he remained silent. She didn’t believe he meant it. It was evident in her face, in her body language, in the way she turned away. Her lack of faith in him stung, but he had no one else to blame for that but himself.

He would prove himself to her. He would set all her fears to rest. And he would be the best father on the planet.

When she turned back he could see her nose had started to turn pink. Her nose always went pink before she cried. He stared at the pinkness. He glanced away. Meg hardly ever cried.

He glanced back. Swallowed. It could be sunburn. They’d been out in the sun for a while now.

He closed his eyes. He ached to wrap her in his arms and tell her he would not let either her or the baby down. Words, though, were cheap. Meg would need more than verbal assurances. She’d need action.

‘We should make tracks.’ She shaded her eyes against the sun. ‘You said you needed to do some shopping?’

He did. But he needed a timeout from Meg more. He needed to get his head around the realisation that he was back in Port Stephens for good.

He feigned interest in a sultry brunette, wearing nothing but a bikini, who was ambling along the beach towards them.

‘Ben?’

He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. ‘The shopping can wait.’ He deliberately followed the brunette’s progress instead of looking at Meg. ‘Look, why don’t you head off? I might hang around for a while. I’ll find my own way home.’

He knew exactly what interpretation Meg would put on that.

The twist of her lips told her she had. Without another word, she turned and left.

Clenching his hands, he set off down the beach, not even noticing the brunette when he passed her.

A baby deserves to have the unconditional love of the two people who created it
. If he left, who would his child have in its day-to-day life? Meg, who’d be wonderful, and Uncle Ben who’d never be there. His hands clenched. Meg’s father and Elsie could hardly be relied on to provide the baby with emotional support.

He shook his head. He could at least make sure this child knew it was loved and wanted by its father. Things like that—they did matter.

And this baby deserved only good things.

When he reached the end of the beach he turned and walked back and then headed for the shops. Meg should be home by now, and he meant to buy every damn book about pregnancy and babies he could get his hands on. He wanted to be prepared for the baby’s arrival. He wanted to help Meg out in any way he could.

What he didn’t need was her damn superiority, or her looking over his shoulder and raising a sceptical eyebrow at the books he selected. He had enough doubt of his own to deal with.

He turned back to stare at the beach, the bay, and the water. Back in Port Stephens for good?

Him?

Hell.

CHAPTER SIX

M
EG
SANG
ALONG
to her Madonna CD in full voice. She’d turned the volume up loud to disguise the fact she couldn’t reach the high notes and in an attempt to drown out the chorus of voices that plagued her—a litany of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what the hells’ and ‘no ways’. All circular and pointless. But persistent. Singing helped to quiet them.

She broke off to complete a complicated manoeuvre with her crochet needle. At least as far as she was concerned it was complicated. Her friend Ally assured her that by the time she finished this baby shawl she’d have this particular stitch combination down pat.

She caressed the delicate white wool and surveyed her work so far. It didn’t seem like much, considering how long it had taken her, but she didn’t begrudge a moment of that time. She’d have this finished in time for the baby’s arrival. Maybe only just, but it would be finished. And then she could wrap her baby in this lovely soft shawl, its wool so delicate it wouldn’t irritate newborn skin. She’d wrap her baby in this shawl and it would know how much it was loved.

She lifted it to her cheek and savoured its softness.

The song came to an end. She lowered the crocheting back to her lap and was about to resume when some sixth sense had her glancing towards the doorway.

Ben.

Her throat tightened. She swallowed once, twice. ‘Hey,’ she finally managed.

‘I knocked.’ He pointed back behind him.

She grabbed the remote, turned the music down and motioned for him to take a seat. ‘With the music blaring like that there’s not a chance I’d have heard you.’

He stood awkwardly in the doorway. She gripped the crochet needle until the metal bit into her fingers.

‘Madonna, huh?’ He grinned but it didn’t hide his discomfort.

‘Yup.’ She grinned back but she doubted it hid her tension, her uneasiness either.

He glanced around. ‘We never sat in here when we were growing up.’

‘No.’ When they’d been growing up this had definitely been adult territory. When indoors, they’d stuck to the kitchen and the family room. ‘But this is my house now and I can sit where I please.’

He didn’t look convinced. Tension kept his spine straight and his shoulders tight. Last week she’d have risen and led him through to the family room, where he’d feel more comfortable. This week...?

She lifted her chin. This week making Ben comfortable was the last thing on her agenda. That knowledge made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat. It didn’t mean she wanted to make him
un
comfortable, though.

She cleared her throat. ‘Have a look out of the front window.’

After a momentary hesitation he did as she ordered.

‘It has the most divine view of the bay. I find that peaceful. When the wind is up you can hear the waves breaking on shore.’

‘And that’s a sound you’ve always loved.’ He settled on the pristine white leather sofa. ‘And you can hear it best in here.’

And in the front bedroom. She didn’t mention that, though. Mentioning bedrooms to Ben didn’t seem wise. Which was crazy. But...

She glanced at him and her pulse sped up and her skin prickled.
That
was what was crazy. He sprawled against the sofa with that easy, long-limbed grace of his, one arm resting along the back of the sofa as if in invitation. Her crochet needle trembled.

She dragged her gaze away and set her crochet work to one side. Her life was in turmoil. That was all this was—a reaction to all the changes happening in her life. The fact she had a baby on the way. The fact her father was marrying Elsie. The fact Ben claimed he wanted to be a father.

Ben nodded towards the wool. ‘What are you doing?’

She had to moisten her lips before she could speak. ‘I’m making a shawl for the baby.’

She laid the work out for him to see and he stared at it as if fascinated. When he glanced up at her, the warmth in those blue eyes caressed her.

‘You can knit?’

She pretended to preen. ‘Why, yes, I can, now that you mention it. Knitting clubs were more popular than book clubs around here for a while. But this isn’t knitting—it’s crochet, and I’m in the process of mastering the art.’

He frowned. And then he straightened. ‘Why? Are you trying to save money?’

She folded her arms. That didn’t deserve an answer.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Or is this what your social life had descended to?’

If she could have kept a straight face she’d have let him go on believing that. It would be one seriously scary picture of life here in Fingal Bay for him to chew over. One he’d probably run from kicking and screaming. But she couldn’t keep a straight face.

He leant back, his shoulders loosening, his grin hooking up one side of his face in that slow, melt-a-woman-to-her-core way he had. ‘Okay, just call me an idiot.’

If she’s had any breath left in her lungs she might have done exactly that. Only that grin of his had knocked all the spare oxygen out of her body.

‘Your social life is obviously full. I’ve barely clapped eyes on you these last few days.’

Had he wanted to? The thought made her heart skip and stutter a little faster.

Stop being stupid!
‘It’s full enough for me.’ She didn’t tell him that Monday night had been an antenatal class, or that last night she’d cooked dinner for Ally, who was recovering from knee surgery. Ben’s social life consisted of partying hard and having a good time, not preparing for babies or looking after friends.

Ben’s life revolved around adrenaline junkie thrills, drinking hard and chasing women. She wondered why he wasn’t out with that sexy brunette this evening—the one he’d obviously had every intention of playing kiss chase with the other day—and then kicked herself. Sunday to Wednesday? Ben would count that a long-term relationship. And they both knew what he thought about those.

‘So why?’ He gestured to the wool.

He really didn’t get it, did he? An ache pressed behind her eyes. What the hell was he doing here? She closed her eyes, dragged in a breath and then opened them again. She settled more comfortably in her chair.

‘Once upon a time...’ she started.

Ben eased back in his seat too, slouching slightly, his eyes alive with interest.

‘Once upon a time,’ she repeated, ‘the Queen announced she was going to have a baby. There was much rejoicing in the kingdom.’

He grinned that grin of his. ‘Of course there was.’

‘To celebrate and honour the impending arrival of the royal heir, the Queen fashioned a special shawl for the child to be wrapped in. It took an entire nine months to make, and every stitch was a marvel of delicate skill, awe-inspiring craftsmanship and love. All who saw it bowed down in awe.’

He snorted. ‘Laying it on a bit thick, Meg. A shawl is never going to be a holy grail.’

She tossed her head. ‘All who saw it bowed down in awe, recognising it as the symbol of maternal love that it was.’

The teasing in Ben’s face vanished. He stared at her with an intensity that made her swallow.

‘When the last stitch was finished, the Queen promptly gave birth. And it was said that whenever the royal child was wrapped in that shawl its crying stopped and it was immediately comforted.’ She lifted her chin. ‘The shawl became a valued family heirloom, passed down throughout the generations.’

He eyed the work spread in her lap. Was it her imagination or did he fully check her chest out on the way down? Her pulse pounded. Wind rushed in her ears.

‘You want to give your baby something special.’

His words pulled her back from her ridiculous imaginings. ‘Yes.’ She wanted to fill her baby’s life with love and all manner of special things. The one thing she didn’t want to give it was a father who would let it down. She didn’t say that out loud, though. Ben knew her feelings on the subject. Harping on it would only get his back up. He had to come to the conclusion that he wasn’t father material in his own time.

She didn’t want to talk about the baby with Ben any longer. She didn’t have the heart for it.

‘So, how’s your week been so far?’

His lips twisted. ‘How the hell do you deal with Elsie?’

Ah.

‘The woman is a goddamn clam—a locked box. I’m never going to get those names for you Meg.’

She’d known it would be a tough test. But if Ben couldn’t pass it he had no business hanging around in Fingal Bay.

His eyes flashed. ‘Is it against the rules to help me out?’

She guessed not. He’d still have to do the hard work, but...

She didn’t want to help him. She stared down at her hands. She wanted him to leave Fingal Bay and not come back for seven, eight...ten months.

He’s your best friend!

And he was turning her whole life upside down. Not to mention her baby’s.

She remembered the way she’d ached for her father to show some interest in her life, to be there for her. And she remembered the soul-deep disappointment, the crushing emptiness, the disillusionment and the shame when he’d continued to turn away from her. Nausea swirled in her stomach. She didn’t want that for her child.

Did her baby need protecting from Ben? She closed her eyes. If she knew the answer to that...

‘Why didn’t you come over for dinner tonight? Elsie says you come to dinner every Wednesday night.’

She opened her eyes to find him leaning towards her. She shrugged. ‘Except when you’re home.’

His lips, which were normally relaxed and full of wicked promise, pressed into a thin line. ‘And why’s that?’

‘I like to give you guys some space when you’re home.’

‘Is that all?’

Her automatic response was to open her mouth to tell him of course that was all. She stamped on it. Ben had changed everything when he’d burst in on Saturday. She wasn’t sure she wanted to shield him any more. ‘Precisely how much honesty do you want, Ben?’

His jaw slackened. ‘I thought we were always honest.’

She pursed her lips. ‘I’m about as honest as I can be when I see you for a total of three weeks in a year. Four if I’m lucky.’

His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. ‘Why didn’t you come over to Elsie’s tonight?’

Fine. She folded her arms. ‘There are a couple of reasons. The first: Elsie is hard work. You’re home so you can deal with her. It’s nice to have a night off.’

He sagged back as if she’d slugged him on the jaw.

‘I make her cook dinner for me every Wednesday night. It’s a bargain we struck up. I do her groceries and she cooks me dinner on Wednesday nights. But really it’s so I can make sure she’s still functioning—keep an eye on her fine motor skills and whatnot. See if I can pick up any early signs of illness or dementia.’

Which proved difficult as Elsie had absolutely no conversation in her. Until one night about a month ago, when Elsie had suddenly started chatting and Meg had fled. It shamed her now—her panic and sense of resentment and her cowardice. She could see now that Elsie had tried to open a door, and Meg had slammed it shut in her face.

Ben stared at her. He didn’t say a word. It was probably why Elsie had reverted to being a clam around Ben now.

Still, it wasn’t beyond Ben to make an overture too, was it? Meg bit her lip. If he truly wanted to be a father.

‘Look, when you breeze in for an odd week here and a few days there, I do my best to make it fun and not to bore you with tedious domestic details. But if you mean to move back to Port Stephens for good then you can jolly well share some of the load.’

He’d gone pale, as if he might throw up on her pristine white carpet. ‘What’s the other reason you didn’t come to dinner?’ he finally asked.

She swallowed. Carpets could be cleaned. It was much harder to mend a child’s broken heart. But...

‘Meg?’

She lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on. ‘I don’t like seeing you and Elsie together. It’s when I like you both least.’

He stared at her, his eyes dark. In one swift movement he rose. ‘I should go.’

‘Sit down, Ben.’ She bit back a sigh. ‘Do you mean to run away every time we have a difficult conversation? What about if that difficult conversation is about the baby? Are you going to run away then too?’

The pulse at the base of his jaw pounded. ‘Couldn’t you at least offer a guy a beer before tearing his character to shreds?’

She stood. ‘You’re right. But not a beer. You drink too much.’

‘Hell, Meg, don’t hold back!’

She managed a smile. Somehow. ‘I’m having a hot chocolate. I’m trying to make sure I get enough calcium. Would you like one too, or would you prefer tea or coffee?’

He didn’t answer, and she led the way to the kitchen and set about making hot chocolate. She was aware of how closely Ben watched her—she’d have had to be blind not to. It should have made her clumsy, but it didn’t. It made her feel powerful and...and beautiful.

Which didn’t make sense.

She shook the thought off and handed Ben one of the steaming mugs. ‘Besides,’ she started, as if there hadn’t been a long, silent pause in their conversation, ‘I’m not shredding your character. You’re my best friend and I love you.’

She pulled a stool out at the breakfast bar and sat. ‘But c’mon, Ben, what’s to like about hanging out with you and Elsie? She barely speaks and you turn back into a sullen ten-year-old. All the conversation is left to me. You don’t help me out, and Elsie answers any questions directed to her in words of two syllables. Preferably one if she can get away with it. Great night out for a girl.’ She said it all with a grin, wanting to chase the shadows from his eyes.

‘I...’ Ben slammed his mug down, pulled out the stool beside her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders in a rough hug. ‘Hell, Meg, I’m sorry. I never looked at it that way before.’

‘That’s okay.’ He smelled of leather and Scotch and her senses greedily drank him in. ‘I didn’t mind when your visits were so fleeting—they were like moments stolen from reality. They never seemed part of the real world.’

‘Which will change if I become a permanent fixture in the area?’

Exactly. She reached for her mug again. Ben removed his arm. Even though it was a warm night she missed its weight and its strength.