For the Babies' Sakes (Expecting) (Harlequin Presents, No. 2280) (8 page)

With painful gentleness, he turned her to him, his hands resting lightly on her arms. Her stomach flipped over with arousal.

‘Poor Helen. It's been a shock, hasn't it? So totally unexpected, and to happen now…' He bit his lip as he stared down at her tragic face. ‘Are you all right?' he asked, with quiet concern.

Longing to sink into his embrace, to feel the comfort of his strong arms around her, she remembered where he'd stayed the night—and what he'd probably been up to—and muttered morosely, ‘No. I'm all jumbled up inside.'

He frowned. ‘You are…
pleased
?'

For a moment he looked so vulnerable that her treacherous heart suddenly filled with love. Helpless to stop herself, she let her eyes close and she lifted her face to his.

Kiss me, her mouth said. Hold me. Be a father to our baby…

Feeling a movement, her eyes jerked open. His hand had come beneath her elbow, gripping tightly. She pro
tested, feeling the pressure. And then went along with it, allowing him to virtually force her along the long garden path towards the open gate.

‘There are things I want to say to you,' he announced curtly as she struggled to match his ground-swallowing strides. ‘It's a long time since the weather was halfway decent so I suggest we walk for a bit and get things clear. Neutral ground. There's a lot to discuss.'

‘Like what?'

He flung a glance back at her small, unhappy face and he stiffened, snatching away his cupped hand as if she were tainted.

‘I would have thought that was obvious. Essentially, we need to break away from one another,' he explained coldly, pausing to let her through the gate.

Helen managed to mask her disappointment. She was used to having her hopes of a reconciliation dashed.

‘I thought we had,' she responded tartly.

‘We're still tied to one another,' Dan growled.

She came to an abrupt halt just outside the gate. He meant divorce. All the nasty details about selling up… Her heart thumped. She shuddered, and was about to move on when she suddenly noticed the doctor's brass plaque.

‘That's odd. He's a medical doctor
and
a homoeopath,' she commented in surprise.

Dan grunted. ‘I wondered why we weren't out in ten minutes flat. Sorry about that. I didn't notice. I'll get you registered with someone else—'

‘No, it's all right,' she said firmly, a great calm settling on her. ‘I liked him very much. I got the impression that my feelings mattered, which was a novelty. And I was interested in the options he gave me for childbirth.'

Her hand quite naturally closed over her abdomen as she mentally greeted her child and her voice lowered to a warm husk.

‘I want this baby to be protected and safe,' she said, feeling she was in charge of her own body, managing the baby's environment. ‘As far as possible, I'm going to avoid all pollutants, now and for ever. And I trust Dr Taylor enough to take the natural remedy he suggested for morning sickness. You know something? I feel better already, even after the one dose.'

‘What about this nutrition stuff?' asked Dan doubtfully, waving the sheets in his hand.

‘Fresh, organic food? No contaminants? Makes sense to me,' she replied, pleased with her new-found knowledge and eager to know more.

‘Hmm. But you'll need proper drugs during the birth—'

‘No. I'm willing to put my faith in Dr Taylor's treatments. Dan, he made perfect sense when he talked about using natural and safe remedies. I don't want the baby to start life with a mass of drugs in its body,' she declared, quite astonished and overwhelmed by the fierce, protective passion she felt for her unborn child.

Dan shrugged, clearly not convinced. ‘Whatever you say. Only I warn you, I will intervene during the birth if I think the baby's at risk.'

Her eyes rounded. ‘You…you mean to be there?' she squeaked.

‘At the birth? Of course. I have a vested interest, remember?'

Helen bridled and set off down the village street, trying to deal with that. It was such a personal thing to do. And by then Dan would have been living with Celine for some months.

Sexy, luscious Celine. Helen let the jealousy surface. Some time during the third week in January, Dan would be torn from Celine's arms to watch his inflated, pregnant, ex-wife pant and scream her way through agonising hours,
in the most undignified position imaginable. She'd seen films. She knew what it was like.

‘You can wait outside and pace up and down. I don't want you there!' she stated with unusual ferocity.

‘Why?' he countered.

Vanity. Humiliation. Because it would only remind her of what might have been, at a time when she'd be emotionally vulnerable. In an unguarded moment of sentimental slush she might even beg Dan to come back to her. And he'd look at her whale-shaped body with horror and crush her self-esteem for ever.

‘You won't be my husband by then,' she said sullenly. ‘I want my birth partner to be someone who's close to me.'

‘Like who?' he shot through clenched teeth.

‘How should I know? Perhaps my mother. Or I might have made friends with someone here, or fallen madly in love with some guy—'

He looked at her in shock. ‘You're pregnant! You can't do that!'

Helen groaned inwardly. How had she got into this stupid discussion? Now she'd have to justify her position!

‘You can't help your feelings,' she said sniffily. ‘Love happens. I'm not a complete dog, Dan. It's quite possible I'll meet someone who thinks I'm fantastic, and I'm certainly not ruling it out just because I'm pregnant!'

Dan's eyes were cold and hard and his manner was menacing. ‘I had no idea that it would be so easy for you to switch your affections,' he muttered. ‘It says a lot about the superficiality of your so-called love for me.'

This was terrible. She was being backed into a corner, saying things she didn't really mean. She'd never love anyone as much as she'd loved Dan. And it annoyed her that he was making out she was in the wrong for imagining
some future love in her life. He was the one who'd been unfaithful!

‘I could say the same about you,' she complained crossly. ‘Your affair with Celine isn't my idea of showing depth of commitment to marriage.'

‘I didn't have an affair,' he said tightly.

She shrugged. ‘Still in denial, I see. Well, admit it or not, it's finished between us and I'm being realistic. I mean to move on. To put the past behind me and look for happiness elsewhere.'

‘Another man.'

‘Yes.' Her head jerked up in defiance, sending her hair swirling. ‘Eventually.'

‘I see,' he bit.

She sensed his tension. Of course he wouldn't like that. Men were very proprietorial about their ex-wives—she knew that from the heart-to-hearts she'd had in the office with women. And men. Also, she reasoned, he'd hate the idea of their child having a step-father who'd have more influence than him.

‘I know it's an awful situation,' she said, her voice softening with sympathy. ‘But we can't pretend our lives will be the same.'

With all her heart she wished he hadn't taken that irrevocable step and responded to Celine's advances. If only he'd thought of the consequences.

‘I'm aware of that. Give me a minute. I'm thinking,' he muttered, waving an impatient hand at her for silence.

She shrugged and left him to it. The very fact that they maintained a distance between them, instead of holding hands or wrapping friendly arms around one another, made her feel extraordinarily sad.

She was thirty, Dan four years older. For the past sixteen years they'd been friends, lovers, companions and soul mates. Now it was as if those years had never been.
It seemed particularly cruel that a twist of fate had split them apart at such a special moment in their lives.

But she must accept what had happened and make something of her life. She wasn't the first woman in this situation and wouldn't be the last.

The responsibility of a child was huge, but she'd shoulder it. Decisively she drew herself more upright and, because Dan made no attempt to talk, she began to take notice of her surroundings.

The thatched cottages which lined the quiet lane had been built from flint some two hundred or so years ago, and their small gardens were—like Dr Taylor's—a riot of colour and sound as bees hummed busily in the bright summer flowers, frantic to gather pollen before the rain came again.

Delicious scents filled the air, swallows stretched their scimitar wings in an increasingly blue sky and a warm peace seemed to enfold the entire community.

‘Morning!'

Surprised, Helen and Dan hastily found smiles for the complete stranger who'd greeted them, and they offered in return a quick ‘hello'.

They were in the heart of the village. Beyond the duck pond on the traditional village green, a short, squat Saxon church sat on a small rise and Helen felt its ancient serenity reach out to her, offering peace, sanctuary and permanence.

For centuries, through war and plague, local and national disasters, the church had been there, solid and reassuring. It must have witnessed thousands of christenings, weddings and funerals. Comforted by the small church's survival, she decided she would make it her church, and that her baby would be christened there. She would survive this, somehow.

‘There's a bench over there,' Dan said quietly. ‘Let's sit down and talk.'

“‘In memory of Dot Taylor,'” she said, reading from the small plate attached to the back of the bench. “‘So that others may enjoy the same pleasure she had in feeding the ducks and watching a small and perfect world go by.'” She gave a faint smile. Would that be the doctor's mother? ‘That's lovely, Dan,' she said softly.

But he seemed unmoved by the sentiments. Tight-jawed, he was checking the seat, brushing it with his hand before they sat down. And even the comic arrival of a gang of noisy mallard ducks didn't crack the scowl on his face.

Helen clung to the little glimpse of a happier future that she'd stumbled upon. There would be a contentment of sorts. She and her baby would walk here, buy odd items at the little shop-cum-post-office, feed the ducks, say hello to strangers.

It occurred to her that all this time she'd been hurtling blindly off to work, she hadn't appreciated the balm to her soul that lay on her doorstep. She leaned back, soothed by the village atmosphere, by the lifestyle she'd share with her child.

‘This baby is very important to me.' Dan's curt words broke in on her reverie.

Tense suddenly, she slanted a glance at his rigid profile, unable to make out his mood or his intention. Fear clutched at her. Was he going to fight her for custody?

‘And to me!' she breathed, her pulses jerking about all over the place.

‘You know the kind of childhood I had.'

Too well. Her heart softened and ached for him. ‘Yes, Dan. I do.'

‘You'll understand, then,' he said, eyes dark and burn
ing upon her, ‘why I don't want our child to suffer because of us.'

Helen blinked. What was he getting at? ‘He, she, won't,' she said hastily. ‘We might feel angry and bitter at the moment, but things will calm down and by the time the baby's born I'm sure we'll have formed a vaguely amicable relationship—'

‘I don't want that.'

Her antennae quivered. ‘You want us to be at war with one another?'

Dan looked away and stared unseeingly at the quacking ducks. It was obvious that he was very unhappy. Rips appeared in her heart again. He was so near, and yet so far, his familiar, muscular arms close enough to touch in a sympathetic and understanding gesture… But the gulf that yawned between them was unbridgeable.

‘I want our child to have two parents,' he said flatly.

Puzzled, she replied, ‘Of course it will!'

‘No,' he said with deliberate care. ‘I mean two biological parents who share in every part of our child's life.'

Helen gasped. ‘You and me? You know that's impossible!'

Sculptured lips tightened in an obstinate line. ‘There is a way.' He turned, fire and urgency setting his eyes alight. ‘There must be. I can accept nothing less.'

‘Dan—' she began uncertainly.

‘Do I have to spell it out to you?' he demanded hotly. ‘My hell won't be my baby's hell. It's as simple as that.'

He could hardly bear this. His mouth twisted with painful memories. Helen had made him resurrect things he'd buried long ago.

The life-long absence of his father, who'd pushed off when his mother had declared she was pregnant. A father he'd never known and didn't ever want to. But he'd longed for the love of a father, dear God, he wished he'd had that.

Other things crowded his mind, arousing emotions he'd carefully stifled. As a silent, indrawn child, he'd watched his mother grow thin and grey and old, while she'd worked from morning to night trying to scrape together enough money to feed them.

Sometimes at night he would wake to the sound of her heart-rending sobs and knew there was nothing he could do except be good, wash up, make the supper, keep out of her way, and do well at school so that he could look after her one day and care for her as he longed to.

His abiding memory was of wanting her attention, a hug, thanks for doing the chores, praise for the exams he passed. But he'd held back from telling her this because he'd known she'd been a walking automaton with no emotion to spare for him.

Each day he'd wondered who would be looking after him when the school day finished. He'd felt like a human pass the parcel: unwanted, unloved, a nuisance under sufferance.

Stay in the corner. Go to your room. Keep your mouth shut. Come near me and I'll belt you. His stomach churned. A hell of a life.

And then he'd met Helen.