LITMIR.BIZ

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like you to meet Nixon from work. He gave me a ride out here,’ she added pointlessly, more in a pickle than Nixon appeared to be.

      ‘Nixon,’ Rosie shrieked from the swing. ‘You came.’

      ‘Hey, Rosie. Of course I did.’

      The handshakes were testing, and the locked-eye looks were designed to undermine any man not strong enough to withstand a tsunami of questions and probes.

      Nixon took it all on the chin, smiling and individually acknowledging her father and brothers, Shaun and Daniel, then the girlfriends. ‘Glad to know we’re all on the same side when it comes to Emma.’

      That had each of them tipping their heads back and staring at him before smiles broke out on their faces, as if they shared some man secret or something. Even Shaun’s girlfriend was getting in on the act. Emma had the distinct feeling she’d missed the point and should head back inside to help her mother. At least she’d feel at home in the large, country-style kitchen with her mum, her lack of cooking skills excepted.

      ‘Hey, Em, how’re you feeling?’ Daniel asked, not quite taking his probing gaze off Nixon. ‘I presume you’re sore.’

      ‘Tired, and still all right with what I’ve done,’ she said pointedly. Just in case there were any misconceptions going round that she might be howling on the inside for baby Grace. Right now it was the physical aspects of giving birth making her uncomfortable. A dull, throbbing ache in places best not sat on or pressed too hard a constant reminder that her day hadn’t been about helping patients and all about giving Abbie a daughter. ‘I’m going inside.’

      Don’t kill Nixon, or hold him over a flame while I’m gone.

      ‘Nixon would probably enjoy a beer.’ Her parents might own a vineyard but beer was the preferred pre-dinner beverage with the men.

      ‘I like him,’ her mum told her the moment she’d checked Nixon hadn’t followed Emma back to the kitchen. ‘He comes across as solid and kind and honest.’

      That made him sound a tad boring, and Nixon was anything but. ‘All of the above as well as a bit of a daredevil on his bike apparently. Also, he backs people when they’re being wronged.’ As he had her when one of the nurses had criticised her for carrying Abbie’s baby. That day, she’d heard for the first and only time real anger in Nixon’s voice, seen it in his tense body and taut shoulders. That was when their friendship had taken a step further along the sliding scale of acquaintances to soulmates. It also helped that he was deep, funny, and a little bit lonely. And, damn it, sexy. There, she’d admitted it again. And he still wasn’t going to become anything more than who he already was. A friendly, caring boss. Saying it often enough would stop these errant thoughts popping up. Thinking of him as sexy was not a good move. But how to stop?

      Little crinkles appeared at the corners of her mother’s eyes. ‘Just how friendly are you two?’

      ‘Drop it, Mum. Please? I’m tired and sore and want to eat dinner before hitting the pillow.’ Suddenly, curling up in her old bed, curtains shut tight, pillow tugged around her neck, and her eyes and ears closed so she became completely and utterly alone was all she wanted. To try and relax, to let go all pretence that today had been easy. To be able to study every moment again, to look at everything from all angles without anyone twittering in her ear saying how great she was for what she’d done. She wanted to hold the unabridged facts and emotions and absorb the truth of it all. Only then would she fully accept the birth was over, Grace was not hers, and she had her own life to be getting on with.

      Her mother’s arm was around her shoulder, tugging her close to that chest she’d always gone to in times of sadness growing up. ‘Give yourself time, Em.’

      ‘Can everyone see through me?’ Blink, blink.

      ‘We know you well.’ Her mum’s smile was lopsided. ‘I’m thinking Nixon might too.’

      Her shoulders sagged. Her mum was not one for letting go a bone once it was between her jaws. She conceded, ‘He does seem more understanding than most men I’ve met.’

      ‘Which makes him a treasure.’

      Emma slipped free and slid her hands down her tee shirt over her heavy, full breasts and onto her flabby stomach. ‘He doesn’t belong in the local museum, nor does he have a place in my life. Nor I in his. We’re too different. Seriously, Mum, I want you to drop this because nothing is going to come of it. I don’t want it to. I’m not ready to get involved with a man again.’ She only had to shut her eyes and she could see Alvin’s rage as his fist slammed into her stomach. Until images like that one went away, she’d never be ready to give her heart again or to put her safety in another man’s hands. Though if there was one thing she knew for certain it was that Nixon would not hurt her physically.

      ‘I want you to be happy.’ Her mum always got the last word. Or so she thought.

      ‘Me too, Mum. Me too. And you know what? I am. I don’t need a man to make me happy. I have to do that for myself otherwise I have nothing to offer.’

      ‘Fair enough.’

      Huh? The fact that was all her mum was saying rang alarm bells. The subject of Nixon was clearly not over, merely on the shelf for another day.

      Over dinner, Nixon answered questions about himself without giving too much away—a fact the male members of her family seemed to grasp and accept. The guy was allowed his privacy as long as it didn’t hurt Emma, was the silent message. It didn’t matter that Emma reiterated bluntly that they had no right subjecting her friend to this. She was ignored. Her brothers and her father could be pains in the backside, and yet she understood they worried about her. These were the men who had run Alvin out of town with the promise of pain if he ever so much as thought about returning. So, sorry, Nixon, but welcome to my family. Take them as you find them, or leave.

      Glancing across the table, she met his scrutiny and knew he’d received her message loud and clear even when she’d been staring at her clasped hands in her lap. He nodded, smiled that smile that lately had begun taking on a tummy-tugging element, and remained in his seat. He was staying.

      The only problem was that tummy-tugging smile caused an ache in her solar plexus. Post-birth pains? Not likely to be anything else. Not longing for something special with Nixon? Emma pushed her plate aside still over half full. ‘My appetite’s done a bunk.’

      Shaun stopped eating to stare at her. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

      She shook her head. ‘Favourite food and all, I can’t take another mouthful.’ Something was cutting off her throat, refusing to allow food past, and what little had gone down before was bricks in her stomach.

      ‘Nixon, you’re a doctor. Take her temperature,’ said her smart-ass brother, Daniel.

      Nixon was still watching her; summing her up, she suspected. There was that astute, didn’t-miss-a-thing glint in his gaze. ‘You’re all right?’ he asked quietly, making her brother sound louder than ever.

      ‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus, but medically I’m fine. Think I’ll go to bed. Sorry to be disappearing on you, Nixon, when you’ve only just met this lot, but I doubt I can keep my eyes open much longer.’

      ‘We’ll look after him.’ Shaun grinned.

      That was what she was afraid of. ‘Don’t feel bad if you want to bolt while you can,’ she told Nixon as she clambered to her feet.

      ‘I’ve had a glimpse of what’s for dessert and I’m staying.’ His smile was soft and enveloped her in hope and a longing for what she’d sworn off. A good sleep and she’d be back on track, no left-field ideas knocking her sideways.

      Through the haze filling her skull she heard her father say, ‘In other words, he’s no coward, this friend of yours.’

      Thanks, Dad.

      At the moment, she needed reminding of that as much as her mum did. Especially while this longing for something—someone—squeezed

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