LITMIR.BIZ

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her neck. And he’d put that there. He’d need to be a lot better at looking after her if he was going to be her support person in one of the most defining moments of her life. Of both their lives.

      He stepped up behind her and pulled her back to lean into his body. Lifted his hands to her shoulders and dug gently into the firm muscles, kneaded with slowly increasing depth until she moaned and pushed her bottom back into him until her whole weight was sagged against him.

      She moaned again and he could feel the stir of his body as it came awake. Down, boy. Not now. Definitely not now. He could barely get his head around any of this, let alone lose the lot in a fog of Maeve sex.

      ‘That feels so-o-o good,’ she said.

      He just knew her eyes were closed. He smiled. ‘I’d need to get lots of practice to build up my stamina for the event.’

      ‘Mmm-hmm,’ she agreed sleepily.

      He shifted his fingers so that they were circling the hard little knot in her neck and she drooped even more.

      ‘You might need to sit down.’ He could hear the smile in his voice. Drew her to the bench they were standing beside and steered her into a sitting position. Went back around the bench so he was standing behind her—which helped the libido problem as he wasn’t touching her whole body now.

      He began again. Slow circular rotations of his fingers, kneading and swirling and soothing the rigidity away, for her, anyway. His body was as stiff as a pole.

      He’d never had this desire to comfort and heal a woman before. Plenty of times he’d wanted to carry one to bed with him, but this? This was different. His hand stilled.

      ‘Don’t stop.’

      He stepped back. Created distance from something he knew he wasn’t ready for. Might never be ready for. ‘I remembered the bread.’ Pulled the brown paper bag from his pocket and gave it to her. A heaven-sent distraction to stop her interrogation into why he’d stepped back.

      ‘For the ducks,’ he said.

      ‘Oh.’ He heard the disappointment fade from her voice. Watched her straighten her shoulders with new enthusiasm. She was like a child. And he envied her so much. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt like a child.

      Then she was into planning mode again. ‘You’ll have to stay at the manse so I can find you when I need you.’

      Just like that. Room, please. ‘I can’t just gatecrash Simon’s grandmother’s house.’

      She threw a knobby crust of bread at a duck, which wrestled with it in a splash of lake water. ‘Sure you can. Locum doctors and agency midwives come all the time when one of the hospital staff goes away. That’s where they stay. The manse has lots of rooms and Louisa loves looking after people.’

      Unfortunately too easy. He’d said he’d be there for the birth. He said he’d be her support person. He’d said he’d do anything and the second thing she asked for he was thinking, No!

      H pushed back the panic. It would be better than the hotel. And not as bad as just moving into a house with Maeve and having her there twenty-four seven as his responsibility not to let anything happen to her.

      Now, that was a frightening thought.

      He wasn’t on a good statistical run with saving people, which would be why he was an orphan now, and he went cold. Couldn’t imagine surviving if anything happened to Maeve on his watch.

      He did not want to do this. ‘Sure. If Simon’s grandmother says it’s fine.’ He thought about his friend. ‘If Simon doesn’t think I’m pushing my way into his family.’

      ‘Simon spends every available minute with Tara. Which reminds me. Tara is my midwife. I might ask her to run through some stuff with us for working together in labour. She’s done a course and it works beautifully for couples.’

      His neck tightened and he resisted the impulse to rub it. Hard. Or turn and run away. Couple? Now they were a couple? She must have sensed his withdrawal because she made a little sound of distress and he threw her a glance. Saw a pink flood of colour rise from her cleavage. Was distracted for a moment at the truly glorious sight that was Meave’s cleavage, and then looked up at her face.

      She mumbled, ‘I meant a couple as in you are my support person in labour.’

      Hell. He nodded, dropped his hands back onto her shoulders. Tried not to glance over the top of her so he could see down her dress. He was an emotionally stunted disgrace, and he had no idea what Maeve saw in him or why she would want to continue seeing him. He needed to be thankful she was willing to include him at all.

      But he couldn’t come up with any words to fix it. He watched her throw some more bread scraps to a flotilla of black ducks that had made an armada towards Maeve. They were floating back and forth, their little propeller legs going nineteen to the dozen under the water. A bit like he was feeling, with all these currents pulling him every which way.

      Across the lake the Christmas sailboat was almost at the other side. He could see the father and the little boat boy walking around the path to meet it. That father knew what to do. He wasn’t stressing to the max about letting his kid down. What training did he have? Maybe, if bad things didn’t happen, if he didn’t stuff up, if Maeve didn’t realise she deserved way better than him, he’d do that one day with his own son.

      Or kick a ball. Ride bikes with him and buy him a little red helmet.

      Or maybe Maeve’s baby would be a little miniature Maeve. That was really scary. Imagine having to keep her safe? The air around him seemed to have less oxygen that it had before, leaving him with a breathless feeling.

      ‘Want to see what’s in the basket?’ Maeve was pulling it onto the seat beside her. ‘We’d better eat something out of it before we go back.’

      She handed him the rum balls. ‘Eat these so I don’t.’ Began to put mugs and spoons out.

      He took them. Battened down the surge of responsibility that was crowding in on him as Maeve began to make a little picnic. Like any other family at the side of the lake. He didn’t know where the conversation should go or what he was supposed to do. She handed him a cup of tea and he almost dropped it.

      He felt her eyes on him. ‘Relax, Rayne.’ Her voice was soft, understanding, and he wasn’t sure he deserved that understanding but he did allow his shoulders to drop a little. ‘It’s all been a shock for you. Let’s get through the next week and worry about long term later. I’m just glad you’re here and that you’ve said you’ll stay for the labour.’

      She was right. He felt the stress leach away like the tea seemed to have soaked into the brown dirt. He sat down beside her.

      She handed him the bag of crumbs. ‘Bread-throwing is therapeutic.’

      Like a child. ‘You are therapeutic.’ But he took the bag. Before he could throw more crumbs, a tiny, yapping black-curled poodle came bounding up to them, the red bow around his neck waving in the slight breeze. He raced at the ducks and stopped at the edge of the water, and the black ducks took off in a noisy burst of complaint because they’d just found another benefactor in Rayne and now they had to leave.

      A little girl’s tremulous cry called the dog from further down the street and the black dog turned, cocked an ear, and then bounded off towards his mistress.

      ‘So much for duck therapy.’

      ‘Poor Rayne. Come, snuggle up to me and I’ll make you feel better.’

      He smiled and was about to say something when they heard the quack of another duck from the bushes beside them. He frowned and they both looked.

      ‘Is it a nest?’

      ‘Could be tangled in something.’ He was about to stand up and check the bush when the sound came again and the branches rustled with movement. He stilled in case he frightened whatever was caught in there and they watched the bushes part

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