One-Night Pregnancy (2 page)

She turned convulsively to Adam, her eyes wide and dark with fear. ‘We’re trapped,’ she whispered.

‘Trapped? Me?’ he replied with a ghost of a smile. ‘Don’t you believe it, Mrs Smith.’

‘But all you have is a small axe and a knife!’ she objected.

‘You’d be amazed at what I can do with ’em.’

‘Are you—are you an axeman?’ Bridget asked. ‘Like those wood-chopping men you see at country shows?’

For some reason this question seemed to take him by surprise. Then his wide-eyed look was replaced by one of ironic amusement, and he responded with a question of his own. ‘Do I look like one?’

‘Not really. You look like—well, you could be anything.’ She smiled anxiously. ‘I didn’t mean to be of-fensive—I think I’ll just shut up.’

‘Might be a good idea to save our breath,’ he murmured, ‘for what lies ahead. But, really, you have no need to worry about me. Nor would Mr Smith.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, but there was a question mark in those green eyes. As if she suspected she was being teased.

He waited for her to retaliate, but she dropped her lashes suddenly and folded her hands primly in her lap.

He was tempted to laugh, but reminded himself in time that, despite his assurance to the contrary, they
were
actually trapped in a cave by a tree at the moment.

An hour later they were free.

An hour during which Adam had used a combination of pure strength, some chopping, some manipulation with his rope, some propping with rocks and the sturdy axe to move the tree.

‘I don’t know how you did it!’ Bridget gasped as the tree rolled away. ‘You’re actually amazing!’

‘Leverage,’ he replied, ‘is what’s amazing. One should always have a good understanding of levers and leverage.’

‘I’ll certainly put that on my list of things to learn—oh!’ He’d swung the torch over the view from the mouth of the cave, and it wasn’t a reassuring sight.

‘Yes,’ he agreed grimly. ‘The water’s still rising. OK, Bridget, we need to get out and up as fast as we can. Put the rope around your waist. That way we’ll stay together. I’ll go first. Ready?’

She nodded.

The next interlude, and Bridget had no idea how long it took, was sheer torture. The land above the cave rose steeply and was strewn with rocks. It was also slippery, but she followed Adam up the hillside doggedly, although at times it was a one step forward, two steps back kind of progress.

At one point she had to stop because of a burning stitch in her side, and she fell over once. Only the rope stopped her from cartwheeling down the incline.

Fortunately they were level with each other, and she caught sight out of the corner of her eye, during the regular sweep of his torch, of a rock he didn’t see. A rock
that looked to be teetering dangerously, directly above them. With a high-pitched yell, she cannoned into him, catching him off-balance and pushing him with all her might. They rolled away only inches from where the rock passed on its deadly way down the hillside.

Just as she felt she could go no further, they reached some flat ground, a grassy little plateau, and another sweep of the torch revealed a shed below the hillside, at the far end of it.

‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed, but sank to her knees in utter exhaustion. ‘I just need—a—little break, though. Not long,’ she assured her companion, her voice coming in great gasps.

He came to stand over her and shone the torch down on her. She couldn’t read his expression. She couldn’t actually think straight, she just did as she was told.

‘You hold this,’ he said, and gave her the torch. She took it, and was completely unprepared to be hoisted to her feet and then up into his arms.

‘But—but—what are you doing?’ she stammered as he started to walk. ‘I really—’

‘Shut up, Mrs Smith,’ he recommended. ‘You’ve actually been rather amazing yourself, and you probably saved
my
life. It’s the least I can do. Would you mind directing the torchlight forward?’

Bridget hastily repositioned the torch so he could see where he was going, and unwittingly began to relax. More than that, she had to admit to herself that it was heaven. His arms felt amazingly strong; she felt amazingly safe. And she had seriously to doubt she could
have covered the remaining ground on her own two feet, because she felt as weak as a kitten.

They reached the shed.

‘It’s locked,’ he said as he put her down. ‘But on a night like tonight, and since we’re not here to rob anyone, I don’t suppose they’d mind if we do this.’ And with a single stroke of the axe, pulled from his belt, he broke the padlock.

‘Yes, well.’ Bridget blinked a little dazedly. ‘You’re probably right. And we can always replace things.’

He looked down at her with a faint smile. ‘We can, indeed. After you, ma’am.’

Bridget shuffled into the shed and made a sound of heartfelt approval at what she saw. In fact she discovered herself to be feeling a lot less sandbagged as she looked around.

It was an old shed, and didn’t look particularly solid, but there were bales of straw stacked high against one wall, a double bed against another. There were some paraffin lamps, hanging on hooks, a kettle and a primus stove, some chipped mugs and a tea caddy standing on an upturned tea chest. There were racks of neatly sorted horse gear: headstalls, bridles, saddles and brushes. Three old thin towels hung on a railing, along with two light horse rugs.

There was also a wood-burning stove, with a chimney going through the roof. It was packed with paper and billets of wood.

‘Glory be,’ Adam remarked. He raised his voice against
the drumming of rain on the tin roof. ‘In these conditions you could call this place the Numinbah Hilton.’

Bridget chuckled. Then she sobered. ‘Those children—’ she began.

‘Bridget.’ He turned to look down at her. ‘We did our best. It’s a small miracle we weren’t drowned in the process. They will be fine, riding it out somehow. Just hold onto that thought.’

‘But I was wondering—there must be a road to here, and maybe we could go for help.’

‘I had the same thought,’ he said. ‘Do you have any idea where we are?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘Neither do I,’ he broke in. ‘In fact I’m thoroughly disorientated after all the twists and turns that creek took. We could get even more hopelessly lost, whereas in the daylight this could be a good point of reference. We may even be able to flag a passing helicopter. There’s bound to be some State Emergency Services scouting the area after a storm like this. But, listen, just in case there’s a house attached to this paddock and shed, I am going to scout around a bit. As for you—’ he scanned the dirty, sopping length of her ‘—first of all, do you have any sprains, strains, fractures or the like?’

Her eyes widened. ‘No, I don’t think so. Just a few bruises and scrapes.’

‘OK—now, you may not approve of this suggestion, but it’s an order, actually, and you can hold it against me as much as you like.’ For a moment there was a rather mercilessly teasing glint in his eyes.

She stiffened her spine against that glint. ‘What order?’ she asked with hauteur.

He studied her tilted chin and smiled briefly. ‘I don’t know if you noticed a tank at the corner of the shed, collecting rainwater from the roof?’

She shook her head.

‘Well, it’s there, and it’s overflowing. After I’ve gone, go out, take your clothes off, and stand under the overflow pipe. Wash all the mud, blood and whatever off yourself, then stand under the water for a couple of minutes. Do your bruises a world of good. But I’ll get the fire going first.’ He turned away.

‘I—’ she started to say mutinously.

‘Bridget,’ he returned dangerously over his shoulder, ‘don’t argue.’

‘But I’ve got nothing to wear!’

‘Yes, you have.’ He pointed to one of the railings. ‘You can wrap yourself in one of those horse rugs.’

He did get the fire
and
three paraffin lamps going before he left.

‘Take care,’ she said. ‘I—I’m not too keen about being left on my own here. Naturally I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, either.’ She grimaced. ‘That sounds like an afterthought if ever I heard one! But I do mean it.’

He inclined his head and hid the smile in his eyes. ‘Thank you. I won’t be going too far. Not only because I don’t want to get lost, but also because I don’t want the torch to run out on me.’ He touched her casually on the cheek with his fingertips. ‘You take care too.’

She watched him walk out of the shed into the rainswept night and swallowed back the cry that rose in her throat—the urge to tell him she’d go with him. Swallowed it because she knew that her brief resurgence of energy, such as it was, would not survive.

So she forced herself to examine his suggestion—or order. She looked down at herself. She was a mess of mud, his shirt was caked with it, and below her legs were liberally streaked with it.

It made sense, in other words, to get clean. If only she had something else to wear afterwards other than a horse rug…

It was like the answer to a prayer. Some instinct prompted her to look under the pillows on the bed, and she discovered a clean pair of yellow flannelette pyjamas patterned with blue teddy bears.

Under the second pillow was a pair of men’s tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt.

‘You beauty!’ she breathed. ‘Not only can I be comfortable overnight, but I won’t have to be rescued wearing a horse rug. And not only
that
, my fellow traveller can be decent and dry too—which is important, I’m sure. OK. Onward to the shower, Mrs Smith!’ And she marched out of the shed.

It was a weird experience, showering beneath an overflow pipe in the middle of the night, in the middle of a deluge, in the altogether, even though there was a brief lull in the rain.

She took a lamp with her, and found a hook on the
shed wall for it. It illuminated the scene, and she could see a huge gum tree on the hill behind the shed, plus the ruins of some old stone structure.

Definitely weird, she decided as the water streamed down her body, and freezing as well. But at least the tank stood on a concrete pad, and there was a concrete path to it from the shed door. She’d also discovered a bucket tucked behind the tank, with a piece of soap and a nailbrush in it.

Did someone make a habit of showering from the rainwater tank? she wondered. Not that it would always be overflowing, but it had a tap. Maybe they filled the bucket from the tap and poured it over themselves?

She didn’t stay around much longer to ponder the mysteries of the rainwater tank, but skipped inside and dried herself off in front of the fire. Then she examined herself, and, satisfied she would find no serious cuts, donned the teddy bear pyjamas.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the owner of the pyjamas. ‘I’ll get you a new pair!’

And then she turned her attention to the primus stove and the possibility—the heavenly possibility—of making a cup of tea.

Adam came back just as she was sipping strong black tea from one of the chipped mugs.

‘I’ve just made some tea. I’ll get you some. Any luck?’

He peeled off his waterproof. ‘No—where did you get those?’ He eyed the yellow pyjamas patterned with blue teddy bears.

She explained, and pointed out the track pants and
T-shirt. ‘You know, I can’t help wondering if someone lives here at times.’ She poured bubbling water onto a teabag in the second mug and handed it to him.

‘I think you could be right—thanks. There’s no house nearby, but there’s evidence of some foundations. They’re probably using the shed while they build the house. The driveway leads to a dirt road—it’s now deep mud—with a locked gate.’

‘There may be horses out there—maybe fenced in.’

‘I hope there are, so long as they’re safe. The owners may come to check them out.’ He put his cup down. ‘You obviously took up my suggestion?’ He inspected her clean, shiny face.

‘I thought it was an order.’

His lips twisted. ‘What was it like?’

‘Weird,’ she said with feeling. ‘But if I could do it, so could you.’

‘Just going, Mrs Smith,’ he murmured.

Bridget watched the shed door close behind him and found herself standing in the same spot, still staring at the door a good minute later, as she visualised the man called Adam showering as she had done beneath the rainwater tank overflow. It was not hard to visualise his powerful body naked, that fine physique sleek with water…

She blushed suddenly, and moved precipitately—only to trip. She righted herself and castigated herself mentally. Anyone would think she was a silly, starstruck schoolgirl! All right, yes, she might have come out in sudden goosebumps, but at twenty-three surely she had the maturity to recognise it as a purely physical
reaction to a dangerously attractive man? Besides which, she was allergic to dangerously attractive men who turned out to be less than likeable—wasn’t she?

All the same, when Adam came back from showering wrapped in a towel, and she turned away while he dried himself in front of the fire and donned the track pants and T-shirt, she was aware of him again in her mind’s eye. In a way that again raised goosebumps on her skin and caused her to feel a little hot.

Stop it, Bridget, she commanded herself.

An hour or so later another heavy storm broke overhead.

It was close to midnight.

Adam and Bridget were dozing side by side on the double bed when lightning illuminated the shed and a boom of thunder reverberated directly overhead, or so it seemed. Bridget woke and rolled towards Adam with a little cry of fear. He put his arms around her, but she started to shake with barely suppressed sobs.

‘It’s only another storm,’ he said, and stroked her hair.

‘I know,’ she wept, ‘but haven’t we been through enough? And I can’t stop thinking about those kids out there in this!’

‘Hush…Listen, I’m going to put some more wood on the fire. Then I’ll be right back.’

He was as good as his word, and when he came back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he piled the pillows up behind them and pulled her loosely into his arms. ‘Tell me about yourself, Bridget. What do you do? Where were you born? What do your parents do?’