Their Newborn Gift (5 page)

And if it was someone else on the phone? Ha. Who else would it be? Someone from Parker Ridge? She could count on one hand the number of people who’d rung her in nearly six years at Yurraji.

‘Mad horse woman.’ ‘City conservationist.’ ‘Bloody nuisance.’ She’d been called it all. Now they could add ‘single mother of two’ to the list of her apparent social-crimes. She didn’t care what people two hours away said about her. The only thing she cared about was Molly and twenty precious millilitres of stem cells.

She let the phone ring out. It rang again almost immediately.

Oh, for crying out loud!
She jagged the phone up with the opposite hand to the one holding the home-test stick and barked a curt greeting. ‘What?’

‘Are we pregnant?’

Reilly was intimidating even without being in the room. Something about the way his voice rumbled across the phone line started a tremor spidering down her back. It had been like that when he’d first spoken to her in that pub. When he’d slid all six-foot-plus of himself into the shabby seat opposite her and refreshed the Chardonnay she’d been nursing all afternoon.

He’d spoken exactly as he looked: sexy as anything.

In her grief it had been easy to talk herself into it. Who would it hurt if she connected with someone just that once? Someone tall. Broad. Solid.

Someone alive.

Life, as it had turned out, was dangerously short. As her father had learned.

She stared at the tiny white stick in her hand. ‘We’ll know in ninety seconds.’

‘Do we just sit here in silence?’ He sounded testy across three hundred kilometres.

Despite her churning stomach, Lea smiled. So, Mr. Smooth was capable of getting ruffled. Good to know. ‘What would you like to talk about?’

‘What if you’re not pregnant?’

‘They’ve held a tiny fraction of your sample over. We try again.’

Reilly’s convoluted contract allowed for that. The legal documents were necessary, and not unexpected, but were still a slap in the face, a reminder that this was pure business to him. But after a second attempt there would be no sample left. No contract. No Molly. Lea straightened. ‘But there’s no reason it won’t take. It was six days old, and quite robust by embryo standards, apparently.’

She fought to keep the hint of pride out of her voice. She had no business feeling proud about this baby. In fact, she’d do better not to think of it as a baby at all, knowing she had to hand it over to Reilly. It was an umbilical cord, that was all.

Its job was to attach to her.

If she grew attached to
it
she’d never be able to fulfil the terms of Reilly’s agreement.

‘We haven’t yet locked down the timeline for my visits.’

Lea rubbed her temples. No, they hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she wanted him visiting Yurraji every four weeks. But it could have been much worse. ‘Will you come to us each month?’

‘Unless Molly would like to break it up a bit—see Minamurra occasionally?’

‘We’ll see.’ A dull thud started up behind her left eye. She’d grown so used to only worrying about the needs of her daughter
and herself. Driving out to Reilly’s property would be doable, except in the final few weeks of her pregnancy.

Assuming she got pregnant at all from the implantation. Her eye went back to the stick. Nothing yet.

‘How is Molly?’

‘Molly’s…’
Not having the best week.
She’d spent a lot of time in bed this week, pale and unhappy. It only shored up Lea’s resolve to get this new baby safely born. But there was no need to share her worry. ‘Sleepyhead is still in bed.’

‘Does she know I’m coming next week?’

‘End of next week.’
And not a moment sooner, thank you very much.
‘She does. She asks after you all the time.’ Unpalatable, but true.

Reilly considered that in silence. ‘Thank you for telling me.’

‘You thought I wouldn’t?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

Because I’m such a liar and a cheat.
Lea knew she deserved some of Reilly’s anger, but not all of it. He’d been a willing participant that day five years ago.
She’d
been hypnotised by the local celebrity and district hottie with eyes straight out of a cologne advertisement.

What was
his
excuse?

‘I have no interest in robbing Molly of her father,’ she whispered.

Now.
She almost heard him thinking it down the phone. ‘You told her I’m her father?’

‘No. Not while she’s so little. But I told her you were going to be the new baby’s father and you might like to be her daddy too.’ She cringed at how intimate that sounded.

‘A daddy that doesn’t live with you?’

‘Molly and I have been alone for so long, she doesn’t know any different. It’s going to be years yet before other people start making her doubt herself.’

A raven cawed outside Lea’s window. Reilly’s voice dropped a note. ‘Is that experience talking?’

She was not going to discuss her father with him. How she’d wished for most of her life to be free of Bryce Curran and his
dodgy values. Fate had handed her the most tangible kind of freedom five years ago and she’d fallen entirely to pieces. She’d staggered to her car amid the suddenly booming silence at Yurraji and started driving in a daze. She hadn’t stopped until she’d found a town filled with strangers and rodeo competitors.

She’d left at dawn, just as bemused. And pregnant, as it had turned out. Her eyes dropped now to the hand clutching the damp stick and she felt the room rush around her like a whirlpool. She sucked in a deep breath. And another.

‘Lea?’

She glanced across the living room to where Molly’s bedroom door stood ajar so that she could see her exhausted little figure twisted around the two-million stuffed toys that shared her bed. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Thank you.

‘Lea? Are you still there?’ Genuine concern saturated his words.

‘Sorry, I’m here. I’m just…’ She took a deep breath, and looked at the little stick. ‘Pregnant.’

G
ETTING
Reilly to wait until his access weekend took a lot of negotiating on Lea’s part. He’d wanted to come immediately on hearing the little stick was showing positive. What was he going to do, come over and stare at her non-existent belly for six hours? Lea’s fast talking had finally persuaded him to achieve as much as he could over the following few days so he could clear his schedule and spend a full day with Molly on his access day.

He’d shuffled his schedule around and left his station hands in charge of running Minamurra. Anyone else might have taken the opportunity to talk up how much work went into breeding and training the district’s finest working and endurance horses and how indispensible he was, but Reilly had simply shrugged and said, ‘I pay them well to make sure I’m expendable.’

Now Lea’s heart squeezed as she looked down her house-paddock to where Reilly and Molly stood discussing the two workhorses, Pan and Goff. The smaller horse lazed his way over to the fence as the humans approached—breakfast, he probably figured—and Reilly reached out and scruffed Goff’s mane high between his ears. The gelding ate it up, tipping his head in for more.

Traitor.

Molly imitated her father, stretching her little leg up to brace one foot on the first rung of the timber fence, resting back on her hip and folding her arms on the timber paling above it. On Molly, it looked adorable. On Reilly…

Lea turned away from the compelling portrait. They were nearly an hour into Reilly’s first visit and no disasters yet. That didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be the longest of days.

‘Mum,’ Molly called from the fence line, her eyes saucersized. ‘Reilly’s going to let me ride Goff!’

Lea’s whole body stiffened. Her mouth dried and she sputtered, furious at Reilly for suggesting such a stupid thing, and angry at herself for not taking him through the rules more thoroughly before he’d even set foot on Yurraji. She’d counted on him exhibiting
some
common sense.

‘Molly, honey.’ She crouched as her daughter skipped over, uncharacteristically flush with excitement. ‘You can’t ride. It’s not safe. Reilly didn’t know that.’ She glared at him as he sauntered over, infuriatingly confident.

‘No, Reilly didn’t know that,’ he said calmly. ‘But I’m not talking about galloping through the gorges. A few turns of the round-yard, something light and safe.’

Damn him.
Lea pulled him aside from a disappointed Molly and whispered furiously, ‘With Molly there is no such thing as safe. Kids can fall off their own feet. Her blood is so thin it may not clot if she’s injured.’

Reilly turned to look at his daughter’s enormous, disenchanted eyes. Lea’s gaze followed. There was something painfully sad about the silent way Molly accepted disappointment. So horribly stoic and familiar; her heart compressed like bellows.

Oh, God…

‘What if she rode with me?’ Reilly turned back to Lea, correctly interpreting Molly’s bleak expression. Part of her bristled that he was circumventing her authority, but she saw nothing but compassion in his eyes. Then he spoke more quietly. ‘I don’t want to let her down.’

Lea blinked. A father that didn’t want to disappoint—what a novelty. She imagined her little girl, high on the back of one of the horses she adored, tucked in snugly between her father’s arms, braced firmly by his strong denim-clad legs.

She looked at the man standing before her. Reilly was a champion rider, being with him would be as safe as being tethered
to the saddle. She looked at Molly again and saw the tiniest flame of hope suddenly flicker to life in her young dark eyes.

She wanted to keep it there. Dreadfully.

Her voice was thin as she spoke; it had to squeeze past her heart, which had taken up residence in her throat. ‘You’d better take Pan.’

The bigger horse would be more suited to Reilly’s size, even though it was a much longer fall from Pan’s back. Molly began bouncing on the spot and Lea found herself fielding two gorgeous Martin smiles.

That was hardly playing fair.

‘You ride like your own life is at stake,’ she warned Reilly through a tight smile, her narrowed gaze locked coldly on his.

He shook his head and vowed on a murmur, ‘I’ll ride like my
daughter’s
is.’

His dark eyes reached out and held hers, confident. Certain. Seductive. Lea’s breath hitched deep in her chest. Trusting a man didn’t come naturally, but her reserve was cracking. There was something so
solid
about Reilly. Maybe diamond ore wasn’t all bad.

He had Pan saddled up and ready to go in just a few minutes. Molly wheezed simply from the excitement and Lea frowned, wondering if she’d made the right decision. But one look at the joy on her daughter’s face as she passed Molly up to a mounted Reilly and those doubts dissolved. Lifetime memories started like this. And Molly’s lifetime could be a whole lot shorter than other people’s.

Their eyes met for a millisecond over the top of Molly’s head. Everything lurched into slow motion as Reilly took over care of their precious daughter. Calm confidence leached from his brown eyes. Her heartbeat settled just a bit.

Reilly settled Molly into position, protected in the curve of his body, and moved off. Lea cursed herself for not having a camera handy. Not that she would have got much of a photograph; Molly simply disappeared into the arch of Reilly’s body, her stick-thin legs poking out either side of Pan, the child’s helmet ridiculously large on her small head. Reilly tucked her hands under his on the reins to give her the illusion that she was guiding the horse.

Pan danced a bit under the unfamiliar male weight, but it seemed to be nothing for a man used to riding broncos. Reilly murmured a few calming words and Pan settled in moments.

So, strangely, did Lea. There was something reassuring about his confidence in the saddle—even out of it—and she let herself stop worrying about Molly’s safety and simply enjoyed her experience vicariously.

Two matched pairs of brown eyes concentrated fiercely—Reilly’s, glancing diligently between what was ahead and the little person on the saddle in front of him, and Molly’s, almost obscured by the large rim of her safety helmet, concentrating on her hands and flicking nervously around the paddock. Her head wobbled under the weight of the helmet and knocked backwards onto Reilly’s chest with every step they took. She struggled to keep it level, then gave up and just rested back against his chest.

Reilly’s smile twisted and grew.

Round and round the small yard they walked, Molly holding the reins tightly, Reilly holding her hands even tighter and keeping her locked squarely against him. Except for the wobbling head, she had natural balance. Her eyes were like saucers, and Lea didn’t think they could widen any further until Reilly leaned down and spoke to her quietly. She looked up at him with unadulterated hero-worship.

Lea’s heart squeezed.

Then he turned Pan for the gate and crossed to it, reaching down with his free hand to deftly swing it open into the larger paddock. Sudden thumping kick-started her frozen heart—he was going to run. Lea lurched towards the post-and-rail fencing, panic overtaking her.

‘No!’

Reilly paused Pan at the opened gate and glanced back at her.

‘Stay in the yard.’ Her voice cracked slightly. ‘Please.’

His eyes blazed into hers, even across the yard. He barely raised his voice but she heard him. ‘She wants to run, Lea. I won’t let her come to any harm. I give you my word.’

Lea’s heart thumped. The word of a man who was holding
an unborn child to ransom. What was that worth? But then she saw the way he protected every part of Molly with his body, the way she clung to him. Molly had learned to trust her father—or had not yet learned
not
to. Lea couldn’t remember the feeling. Her chest constricted with the shadow of old pain. But she stood back and Reilly squeezed the mare with his knees.

Pan moved up to a casual trot and then, as if realising Molly couldn’t rise and fall with the horse’s staccato rhythm, Reilly increased it. The more comfortable gait meant that he and Molly could move as one as they cantered gently around the larger paddock. On a close pass, Lea saw that Molly’s hands had turned in the reins to hold on tightly to Reilly’s fingers. He tucked her further back against him. Concern died in her mouth as she saw that Molly was not only perfectly safe, she was loving every moment of her ride.

They smiled and laughed and cantered together, round and round, until out of nowhere Molly began to cry. Reilly turned immediately and crossed the paddock back towards Lea, slowing to a brief trot and then a fast walk. Confusion marred his features as Lea scooted under the fence and walked up to Pan’s side. He lowered his tearful bundle straight into her outstretched arms and Molly buried her tears against her mother’s shoulder.

His face was tight. ‘What did…?’

Lea shook her head and squeezed his calf gently, recognising genuine concern for Molly in his bemused expression. He thought he’d done something wrong. ‘She’s overwhelmed, Reilly. Exhilaration, fear.’
Hero worship.
‘It’s too much. The tears are a four-year-old’s way of saying thank you.’

He dipped his head and let the shade of his akubra cover eyes that flicked briefly to her hand on his leg. His Adam’s apple worked overtime beneath his tan throat. ‘Do you mind if I let Pan have a stretch? I can feel her itching for it.’

No doubt; she hadn’t had a good ride for ages. She let her hand drop from his leg and did her best not to feel self-conscious about having touched him. ‘Go ahead. The trail leads off from the eastern corner.’

He spun Pan outward and headed straight to the corner of
the larger paddock, giving the mare her head as soon as they were outside the fences. Lea watched them gallop along the long stretch of the paddock towards the trees. Man and horse moved as one, comfortable and at home despite having only just met minutes before, eating up the track. Freed of its precious burden, Reilly’s body relaxed, and he tipped forward in the saddle to shift his weight over Pan’s centre of gravity and really let her fly.

The last impression Lea had was of the strength and synergy of two beautiful mammals moving together.

Reilly ran the mare until she started to ease. He could have gone twice as far and still not worked off the tightness in his gut. Too much sensation. Lifting Molly onto the horse was the first time he’d properly touched, held,
smelled
his daughter. It had cut straight to his heart—her fragile, warm body so stiff with anticipation pressing against him, clinging to his fingers; her frailty, as though she weighed nothing, which was practically the truth. Her courage in fearing it but doing it anyway.

He’d felt like her father in that moment.

He might not have been present for her first steps, her first tooth or her first words, but he’d given Molly her first ride and, stupid as that was, it felt fantastic. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding.

And then she’d started crying. As soon as Lea had explained why, he was reminded how little he was Molly’s father. Lea could read her daughter clearly across a paddock; he had been right on top of her but had had no clue he’d overwhelmed her.

He knew nothing. Lea was right; how on earth was he going to raise a child by himself?

That thought neatly brought his mind round to the hot handprint he swore he could still feel burning through his jeans. The way Lea had squeezed his calf to reassure him that Molly was okay; he forced his lips together. He’d asked her to give up her baby. She should resent the hell out of him, not be hurrying to make him feel better.

And he should resent her for her tunnel-vision obsession about stem cells, rather than fixating on how her hand felt on
his leg. Besides, compared to what they’d done to each other in the past, touching his calf should have been way down on the Richter scale.

Should have.

His heart was only now returning to its steady beat. He slowed Pan to a gentle walk and circled a big clearing, turning back for the Yurraji homestead. He’d come all this way on instinct. Riding out was what he usually did when he needed to clear his head or work off some steam. It used to be the number one way to get some distance from his visiting parents, neither of whom rode horses—despite what their one-hundred-percent-country publicity photos showed. He’d take off in the care of one of the local ringers far from their reach and not come back until he’d exorcised whatever teenaged demon was at his heels.

Yet suddenly all he wanted to do was get back to his daughter and his…

He straightened his back. What was Lea Curran to him—his ex-lover? His surrogate? Not his friend, that was for sure. She was the woman using him a second time to save a child she’d effectively stolen from him.

And he was Reilly Martin, the king of the circuit, independent and successful despite his lousy upbringing. He relied on no one. It was how he’d taken a sprawling but picturesque dud of a cattle station and turned it into a successful equine breeding-and-training concern: determination. Focus. Being alone.

He shouldn’t be itching to get back to either of them. He slowed Pan’s progress. His nerve-endings might want one thing, but his mind knew better. Reilly Martin didn’t hurry home to anyone.

He was halfway back when Pan’s altered gait and sudden nervous dance caught his attention. He looked round and his breath caught deep in his chest: thirty healthy horses of different colours spread out across a distant clearing like a spilled bag of jellybeans.

Lea’s brumbies. He reined the mare to a halt and twisted in his saddle to watch the mob.

They were relaxed and grazing while their leader kept a
watchful eye on the stranger on horseback. Reilly’s eye moved across the herd just as keenly, recognising some of the finest wild horseflesh he’d ever seen. Then he looked at the stallion and knew why—he was wild, savage and utterly spectacular. Lucky these horses were under Lea’s protection or the best of them would be in trucks heading south to the sale yards.

The rest would be on their way to the dog-food factory. Wild horses were at the bottom of the food chain in the north.