The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) (4 page)

‘Oh!’

‘Still, he seems to make her happy.’

‘You get on well?’

‘I haven’t met him yet.’ Charlotte shrugged. ‘Mum met him on holiday a few months back—it’s been one of those whirlwind romances. Apparently he lives in one of those gorgeous high-rise apartments overlooking the ocean—which doesn’t leave much room for the pets.’

‘But if you lived at home, couldn’t you have stayed there for a while?’

‘There’s no more work. The local hospital closed last month—about the same time Mum told me that she wanted to sell up and move. I’m packing up the house for her—it sold last week.’

‘So you’re stuck with the pets.’

‘Hardly stuck.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘They’re all mine—it’s hardly fair to expect Mum to miss out on the man of her dreams because of my pets.’

‘I guess,’ Hamish answered, only he wasn’t quite convinced. Selling up the family home and leaving her daughter to not only find work but homes for the pets as well, seemed more than just a touch selfish, irresponsible even. Not that Charlotte seemed to think so—she seemed genuinely delighted for her mother.

‘What about your father?’ Hamish asked, growing more curious by the minute.

‘I don’t really see him that much since he walked out.’ Charlotte answered factually, while adding another generous dash of gravy to her lamb. ‘He had an affair. Well, two, actually, but the second one he kept!’

Maybe irresponsibility ran in the family!

Staring over at her, Hamish tried to fathom her age. Twenty-four or -five perhaps, he thought, glancing at her pretty snub nose, but from the way she’d spoken to young Andy that morning and from what Helen had said about her she certainly wasn’t wet behind the ears, yet she’d lived at home for ever and hadn’t saved a cent—had been living at the local youth hostel and, from what he’d seen in the driveway, drove an absolute bomb of a car.

Was she really the type of person he wanted looking after Bailey?

Yes!

The answer was there before he’d even finished asking himself the question, his mind flicking back to Andy that morning and the tenderness he’d witnessed when she’d spoken with the troubled little boy. And it wasn’t just Andy who adored her, Hamish recalled the sheer incredulous delight on his son’s face when he’d greeted her for the second time—and it had nothing to do with Bailey being used to strangers. Despite a seemingly never-ending stream of carers—despite endless people flitting in and out his life—true to the saying that familiarity bred contempt, Bailey was sure that every new face meant a kiss goodbye from his father.

Only not when he’d met Charlotte.

He’d never seen his son so confident with a stranger,
had never seen him so completely at ease with someone he barely knew.

‘So there’s only you?’ Hamish asked, a tiny frown forming as he watched her hand still around the glass of water she was holding. ‘No brothers or sisters to help you out?’

‘No!’ The addition to his sentence allowed her to answer his question honestly, well, sort of…

Even thirteen years on, she still didn’t know when was right time to tell someone about Cassie.

Even thirteen years on she still couldn’t manage to casually slot into the conversation the most vital piece of her life without breaking down.

How exactly
was
she supposed to say it?

‘Oh, I had a twin, identical actually…’ or maybe a more casual ‘My sister died when she was fifteen…’ or…What did one say? For Charlotte it was an endless conundrum—there was
no
easy way of doing it, no way of tossing that little gem into an already awkward conversation. There never had been, or ever would be, a
right
way to reveal her very core. It was easier to just let the moment pass.

And pass it did.

With agonising slowness as Hamish stared over the table at her, trying hard to find a reason not to like her and failing dismally.

‘We’d have to set a few house rules,’ Hamish said sternly as Charlotte chewed on a piece of lamb that had turned to dust. ‘A lot of house rules, actually.’

‘Absolutely.’ Taking a huge swig of water, she tried not to appear too keen as he thankfully changed the
subject and an unexpected glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon.

‘I mean, for this to work it would mean a lot of give and take on both sides.’

‘Of course.’

‘And rule number one is—you use the four-wheel-drive.’

‘Sorry?’

‘A lot of the roads around here aren’t sealed—it would be far safer for you in the Jeep.’

‘I’m quite capable of controlling a vehicle—’

‘I don’t care how capable a driver you are—you are
not
driving Bailey around in that bomb you have parked in the driveway. And given that the whole point of this exercise is that you can pick up and drop off Bailey now and then—and sometimes at short notice—I’d prefer it if you used the Jeep while you’re here.’

‘Ooh, I can live with that!’ Charlotte grinned. After all it was hardly a hardship—a blessing actually. She desperately needed new tyres! It seemed she was staying. Now she just needed to get to know the elusive Hamish. ‘So how
have
you managed?’ she asked, a trace of sympathy softening the directness of her question.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Belinda said that your wife died when Bailey was six months old. I was just wondering how you managed to hold down such a demanding job
and
raise a little one.’

He stared across at the table, taken back by the directness of her question. In the eighteen months he’d been a widower no one had actually asked him.

‘I don’t know how you manage!’
was an almost daily observation, along with the infinitely annoying:
‘I just couldn’t cope if it happened to me…’
As if he somehow had a choice
but
to cope. Sure, he’d had endless help from his sister and, till now, Elsie, but for Charlotte, for someone he’d known less than a day, to actually ask him
how
he did it all was confronting, yet strangely refreshing.

‘With great difficulty.’ Hamish answered the direct question with a very honest answer. ‘Both demand a great deal and both merit a lot more attention than I’m able to give them.’

There—he’d said it! Taking a drink of water, Hamish realised he’d actually admitted to another human being what he hardly dared think himself—not that he expected her to come up with an answer, not that he expected the conversation to go any further. It was just so nice to actually talk, to sit with another adult at the end of a long and difficult day and share a little of what was on his mind.

Only he didn’t yet know Charlotte.

‘Well, this little guy’s not going anywhere.’ Charlotte dug a spoon into her potato and smeared it around her plate, soaking up the last of her gravy like a ten-year-old would while offering the opinion of someone far wiser. ‘So that leaves a big question mark over your work. Have you thought about changing jobs?’

Hamish held his water in his mouth for a long time before swallowing. ‘To what?’

‘I’ll have to think about that one.’ She smiled across the table at him and it was somehow as if she actually
understood, somehow
knew
the pain that was locked inside him. For an incredible second she wasn’t a stranger, wasn’t yet another necessary intruder in the chaos his life had become since Emma’s tragic death.

Bailey’s spoon, which he had been clutching in his free hand, clattered noisily to the floor as he crept deeper into slumber, breaking the bizarre moment.

‘Seems a shame to wake him to bath him,’ Hamish said gruffly, embarrassed by his revelation, stunned at his own thought process and just wanting to get the hell out of there. ‘Still, I won’t have time in the morning and can hardly send him off to day care with his hair stuck together.’

‘Leave him here, then.’ Charlotte shrugged. ‘He can watch me paint.’

‘Er, two-year-olds and paintbrushes aren’t the best combination. Anyway, that’s a lot more than a casual babysit. Tomorrow’s your day off.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Charlotte said honestly. ‘It would be really nice to get to know him.’

‘You see…’ Hamish was chasing his peas around his plate, clearly not comfortable with asking for help. ‘I’m actually on call tomorrow night. If we are going to give this a trial, I was actually hoping, if you weren’t going out, or if you didn’t have a date or anything, that maybe you could listen out for him. I can’t promise he won’t wake, though, as he’s teething at the moment. But I don’t always get called in.’

‘Fine.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘Just knock and let me know if you do get called so that I can listen out for him.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Completely.’

‘Right.’ With supreme gentleness he scooped Bailey out of his highchair, cuddled the exhausted little boy into his broad chest. ‘I’ll give him a quick bath—if you could have listen out for him tomorrow night—’

‘Hamish,’ Charlotte interrupted. ‘Surely if there’s a chance I might be getting up to him tomorrow night then I should spend some time during the day with him. I mean it—I’d love to have him tomorrow.’

He was about to say no, but feeling the exhausted weight of his son in his arms, the thought of just laying him down in his cot, of letting him
just
sleep, had a slightly bemused Hamish not answering, just heading upstairs to Bailey’s bedroom.

Staring down at him, his face messy, his hair a matted mess of potato and a dreamy smile on his lips, Hamish envisaged heading downstairs and not having to pack the nappy bag for tomorrow, for one luxurious day not having to wake up a fretful little boy at the crack of dawn because his dad had to go to work. It was just too tempting not to head down the stairs and back to the kitchen to say yes to Charlotte’s generous offer.

He didn’t even make it to the top of the stairs. ‘Thank you very much, Charlotte, if you’re sure. I know Bailey would love to spend the day at home.’

‘No problem. We’ll have fun. ’Night, then!’ Charlotte beamed.

‘You’re going to bed?’He frowned at his watch. ‘It’s only seven-thirty.’

‘I’ve been up for twenty-four hours,’ Charlotte
pointed out. ‘Just give me a knock when you leave—perhaps open my bedroom door so I can hear him.’

‘Sure.’

‘I’ve left the dishes for you to do.’ Charlotte smothered a yawn then gave an impish smile. ‘I cooked so you wash up—house rule number two!’

‘Fair enough—good night, Charlotte! Sleep well!’

Never, when he’d said it that morning, had Hamish thought he’d be saying it again to her just twelve hours later.

And never had he envisaged doing the dishes tonight. Usually there were just the two plates he and Bailey had eaten their ready-prepared meals off.

Well, not really the dishes, but even stacking the dishwasher usually seemed like a mammoth task. There was always so much to do—always a stack of work he’d bought home, Bailey to feed and bathe, his bag to be packed for day care. It was just easier to leave the dishes for Elsie or put them off till the next day. But by eight o’clock the dishwasher was whirring, Bailey was fast asleep and most surprisingly of all there were no baked beans for Hamish’s supper turning in the microwave. In fact, there was
nothing
he really had to do!

‘Hamish…’ Charlotte poked her head around the doorway, making him jump, especially when he caught more than a glimpse of a naked, creamy white shoulder, naked because the extremely thin strap of her nightdress was halfway down her arm. ‘You could lecture.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Teach medicine—to med students. There’d be no night-shift callouts, you’d get all the school holidays off,
which might not seem important now, but in a few years’ time…’ He was staring at her as if she was speaking a foreign language, and she realised he had no idea what she was referring to. ‘What we were talking about at the dinner table about you finding a more Bailey-friendly job.’

‘Oh, that?’ Hamish scratched his head and actually thought about it for a second. ‘I hate teaching, well, in a formal setting, although I suppose I don’t mind when it’s hands on. I don’t think I’d be very patient but, yep, it’s certainly worth a thought.’

‘Just an idea.’ Charlotte smiled, disappearing from view and still talking. ‘I’ll have another think for you—I’m sure I can come up with something!’

‘Er, thanks,’ he called to the closing door.

Teaching?

When he’d told her his problem he’d never thought she’d actually come up with an answer—and a good one, too. Not that he could see himself teaching but, still, it was food for thought.

Padding around the house for the first time in the longest time, unsure of what to do with his first real free time in months, Hamish consulted the TV guide then, perhaps wisely, realising Bailey would make up for his golden behavior tonight in a few short hours, he bypassed the television for the sheer luxury of a quick shower and an inordinately early night, waking up, if not refreshed, at least semi-conscious when Bailey’s erupting teeth made their presence known around two in the morning.

Tiptoeing past Charlotte’s room, with his hand
gently over a roaring Bailey’s mouth as he tried not to wake her, it was
impossible
not to be aware of her presence as he gave his son a cool drink, changed his nappy and then attempted to cuddle him back to sleep…
impossible
not to sit on the sofa and stare into the darkness and try to fathom how his life had changed in the twelve hours since Charlotte Porter had breezed into his world.

A
ND
how it changed!

Within in a matter of days the spare room was painted, the dog and cat had commandeered the sofa, the bathroom sink was barely accessible thanks to a mountain of make-up and fragrance bottles and, for Hamish, most difficult of all was trying not to notice the tiny, tiny, brightly coloured knickers constantly blowing on the clothesline, which was visible from a kitchen where the radio seemed permanently on.

Charlotte was very firmly
in situ!

‘Charlotte!’

Waking up to her name and the smell of paint, Charlotte flicked on her bedside light and waited for a face to appear around her bedroom door, but instead it was the door that spoke, sounding incredibly like Hamish!

‘I’m really sorry to wake you up, only I have to go into work.’

‘That’s fine.’ Charlotte yawned. ‘I’ll listen out in case Bailey wakes up.’

‘That’s the problem—he’s been up for the last hour.’ On cue, Bailey let out a grizzle. ‘Look, it’s not an urgent call-in, you don’t have to rush…’

‘It’s really no problem!’

She appeared moments later in the kitchen dressed in nothing more than a white cotton nightdress, a huge pillow crease on her face and blinking at the mess that had been created in the couple of hours since she’d gone to bed—the contents of Bailey’s nappy bag were strewn across the floor, and the coffee table was littered with various cups and baby bottles.

‘He’s teething,’ Hamish explained, pacing the floor with a fretful Bailey. ‘Normally you wouldn’t even have to get up at all—when he isn’t teething he sleeps right through. I don’t know what he wants!’

‘A new set of gums, perhaps. Poor little thing…’ She pouted at Bailey and held out her arms to him. Amazingly he stopped crying but, just a little bit shy, just a little bit coy, he lowered his head back into his dad’s neck.

‘You didn’t have to race down.’ Hamish gave a small cough, trying and failing not to notice the very thin spaghetti straps on her nightdress, which looked as if they might snap against the strain of her—very clearly minus a bra—bosom. ‘You can go and, er, put on a dressing gown or something and I’ll make you a coffee.’

‘I don’t own a dressing gown…’ Charlotte yawned. ‘And I don’t want a coffee at this hour—it will keep me up.’

‘That’s the intention,’ Hamish said dryly, gesturing to the coffee table and feeling miffed and pleased at the
same time when, on the second offer of a cuddle, Bailey happily deserted him. ‘You’re sure you’ll be okay? You can call me on my mobile and Belinda’s number’s on the fridge.’

‘Have you tried an ice-lolly?’

‘Sorry?’

‘For his gums,’ Charlotte said patiently, staring at Bailey’s red face and dribbling sore mouth.

‘Does that help?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But it seems logical!’

He left them sitting on sofa, both sucking on lemonade-flavoured ice-lollies—and, yes, Hamish admitted, maybe it did make sense. Only there was nothing logical about his thoughts as he drove to the hospital!

He was thirty-five years old, for goodness’ sake! With a child and a mortgage and an endlessly demanding job—bogged down with responsibility and exhaustion—an impetuous thing like Charlotte wouldn’t even
entertain
…He stopped his thought pattern right there before it went any further. In a desperate attempt to distract himself, Hamish rang through to the hospital and chatted with the resident about the problem patient.

A thirty-year-old male who the resident was pretty sure was putting on an impressive act in an attempt to get some drugs.

‘I think I know him,’ Hamish said. ‘I’ve come across him before—just tell him you need a second opinion before you can give him any pain medication. I’ll be there in five.’

One look at Hamish’s rather familiar and less than impressed face and the patient knew he’d been rumbled, quickly jumping off the gurney and getting dressed at full speed then adding a few expletives for good measure as he raced out of the department as Hamish watched without uttering a single word.

‘Sorry to drag you in,’ Cameron addressed his boss. ‘He came in under a false name, so I didn’t know that you’d already seen him.’

‘Several times.’ Hamish nodded. ‘And don’t be sorry for calling me in—you did well to pick up that he was lying. He had me fooled once.’

‘Really?’ Cameron said doubtfully. Hamish Adams rarely got things wrong.

‘Well, nearly. Is there anything else you need me for before I head home?’

‘Nope, we’re pretty quiet. Hopefully I won’t have to wake you again.’

‘With the way Bailey’s behaving at the moment, I somehow don’t think it’ll be you waking me.’

Only this time he was wrong…

Letting himself into the house, expecting chaos, or at least a bordering-on hysterical Bailey, he frowned at the darkness, flicking on the kitchen light, and it was as if the fairies had whizzed in in the short time he had been away as he stared at the relatively tidy family room. Bailey’s bag had been repacked and stood ready to go in the morning, cups and bottles washed and draining, and most surprisingly of all the delightful sound of silence.

DELEGATE!!!!!!!!!!!

He saw the bold word written on Bailey’s chalk board and smiled as he picked up a piece of chalk, thinking of her scribbling it before she’d gone to bed—the chalk board Charlotte’s newest tool in communication as she endlessly came up with suggestions to help his work situation. She’d run the gamut—had even had him considering ascending, or metaphorically descending, the miserable stairs to a senior advisory role in hospital admin.

She was right—he should delegate more. There were three consultants in the place so why did everyone, when it was urgent (and given the nature of his job it usually was!) always end up calling him?

Hamish knew the answer. Picking up the chalk, he revealed it to Charlotte.

‘Already tried that—only no one does it as good as me!’ he wrote, then changed his mind, deciding that his words might possibly be misconstrued as a bit, well, suggestive! Carefully he rubbed out ‘it’ and changed it to ‘my job’, then headed upstairs, passing first Charlotte’s bedroom, the door slightly ajar, and, after pausing for just a fraction, heading to Bailey’s.

Staring down at his son, seeing the flushed, tear-streaked face he had said goodbye to pale and peaceful, his sore mouth now relaxed in sleep, Hamish knew, with the relief only a frazzled parent could know, that he was out for the count, that a couple of hours of serious sleep were possibly about to ensue…and he wasn’t thinking about Bailey!

Heading to bed, still dressed in his theatre gear just in case he was called back in, Hamish actually got
under the covers instead of crashing on top and then was afforded the rare luxury of sleeping through the precious remains of the night.