Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  Meg leaned on the rail, looking out over the dark, quiet, hospital car park. "Ben will be fine, Chris."

  "I know," he said. "But I can't tell you how scared I was. I thought I had lost him."

  Meg nodded. "So did I, Chris."

  "He's all I have, Meg. He's my world." The words were out before he had time to think about them.

  Meg straightened and in two strides she stood before him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight.

  He stood quite still, breathing in her scent, the familiar shampoo she used mingled with horse and rain and mud... and woman. He didn't care that she was Robert's fiancée. She was here, had always been here when he needed her most. He just hadn't noticed before that a life without Meg Taylor suddenly yawned before him, as empty and meaningless as life without Sarah.

  He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her face up to his. Her eyes were dark, unfathomable depths, but her lips parted and without the need for words, he lowered his mouth to hers. It was so gentle, so soft that for a long moment it did not feel like a kiss, just a touch, a whisper of breath between them, releasing something within him. Something he had thought dead — a passion, a need and a love for this woman that went far beyond that of a friend.

  His arms tightened around her, crushing her against him and this time their lips met with a bruising intensity, their bodies melding as one.

  "Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley?" The nurse's voice made them both start, jumping away from each other like startled rabbits. For a moment they stared at each other, aghast, guilty and appalled.

  "Oh, there you are." The nurse strode towards them. "The doctor has finished with your little boy and he's resting comfortably. Would you like to come with me?"

  They followed her, keeping a respectful distance from each other, neither making eye contact.

  Ben had been tucked up in a hospital bed, wearing hospital pyjamas with little rabbits on them. He had been washed, the livid purple bruise on his forehead a stark contrast to the pallor of his face. The cut had a couple of neat, white butterfly plasters on it and his right arm lay encased in a pristine white cast outside the covers.

  "He's asleep," the nurse whispered. She indicated the second, unoccupied bed in the ward. "You’re welcome to stay. I'll go and see if I can rustle up some sandwiches or soup, you must be starving."

  At the mention of food, Chris's stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch. He thanked the nurse. After she left the room, Meg collapsed on to the vinyl armchair beside Ben's bed and ran a weary hand over her face. Chris took the spare bed with a groan, easing his bad leg on to it. Now the crisis had passed, his leg hurt like the devil.

  "Leg bothering you?" Meg asked, her sharp eyes not missing the inadvertent grimace.

  He nodded. No point pretending.

  The nurse bustled back into the room, bearing a tray with two plates of sandwiches. "There is tea and coffee in the small kitchen at the end of the corridor," she said as she set the tray down on the bed table at the end of Ben's bed.

  She cast a professional eye in Chris’s direction. "Are you all right Mr. Kingsley?"

  Chris managed a wan smile. "Could I bother you for a couple of Panadol?"

  "Panadol?" Meg said after the nurse left. "You need something stronger than that."

  He didn't need her reminding him of an invalid status he did not wish to recall. "I'm fine. Just need to rest the leg for a bit."

  "You won't do Ben much good if you end up flat on your back again," she warned.

  "Save your fussing for Ben," Chris snapped. "No one's keeping you here. Take the car back to the shack and you can pick us both up in the morning."

  "I'm not going anywhere," Meg snapped back.

  Their gaze met and they glared at each other.

  Meg snatched up one of the sandwiches and munched it defiantly. Chris swallowed down the pain killer and closed his eyes, suddenly too tired to think, let alone eat. He closed his eyes and let sleep wash over him.

  Meg woke, cold, cramped and stiff. Sometime during the night, a kind hand had thrown a blanket over her. She threw it aside and hauled herself out of the chair, shaking her foot to try and get rid of the pins and needles.

  Chris and Ben were both still asleep so she tiptoed into the silent corridor. In the bathroom, she took a moment to study her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. Her hair was tangled, her face scratched and covered in mud smears, as were her shirt and jeans.

  She touched her mouth, remembering the moment of madness in the dark when she had kissed Chris... or had he kissed her? She closed her eyes, recalling the touch of his lips on hers, the slightly salty taste, the bruising intensity. Just for those few short moments, she had lost herself to a passion that went far, far beyond anything that Robert could awaken in her.

  What had she been thinking?

  She shook her head, dispelling the memory, and ran some water, washing the worst of the mud from her face. She loosened the tie which held her hair, shaking out the tangled mane, and dragged her fingers through it before securing it in a ponytail again. The rough ablutions complete, she made a mug of tea and carried it out on to the verandah to watch the dawn break above the distant mountains. Her thoughts returned to the moment of intimacy.

  It had been the emotions of the moment, the worry over Ben, the strain of the day. Whichever way she looked at it, kissing Chris had been a terrible mistake that should have never happened.

  Robert, she told herself firmly. You are marrying Robert. Chris is just a friend - the husband of a friend, no more. Perhaps it was just as well she was going to London.

  She sighed and drained the last of the tea, emptying the dregs on to a flower bed, then turned back inside.

  The ward was just as she had left it. Chris slept on his side, one arm flung out, his dark hair falling across his face, his eyes sunk in dark, bruised shadows. She resisted the urge to brush the hair away from his face and turned instead to Ben.

  The boy began to stir. He whimpered, moving his head restlessly from side to side and two large tears slid out from under the shuttered eyelids.

  Meg bent over him, smoothing his hair.

  "Mummy."

  Meg's heart tore in anguish. "Shh Ben," she whispered. "I'm here."

  "Mummy?" Ben's voice was a little stronger

  "Aunty Meg," she replied.

  His eyes sprang open. "I want my mummy," he wailed.

  Chris sat bolt upright, pushing his hair back. Meg turned and caught the anguished look in his eyes.

  Meg sat on the bed, taking the boy in her arms, cradling him, the way she had seen Sarah do so many times before. The inconsolable tears were in full flood now, racking the slight frame.

  "Hush, hush, darling," she crooned.

  Chris sat down on the other side of Ben, putting his arms around woman and child. His dark head rested against Meg's, his hand on Ben, until Ben had no more tears to shed and he gulped and hiccupped. Meg laid him back on the pillow and fetched a damp flannel to wipe his tear-stained face.

  She stood back, conscious of giving Chris room to settle his now exhausted son. He is Chris's responsibility not yours, she thought, but a part of herself curled up and also wanted to cry. She had held Ben when he was less than an hour old and watched him smile, crawl, learn to walk... and now she was leaving him.

  She turned and left the room to ring Robert. In answer to his frantic question, she assured him that Ben was fine and they would be back at the shack to pack up as soon as the doctor had seen him.

  "That's good news." Robert sounded genuinely pleased. "I can't tell you how bad I feel about taking my eye off the boy." He paused. "Listen darling, if it’s okay with you, I've had a call from London and I have to get back to the office. Can I take your car and head back to town?"

  "That's fine. I'll come back with Chris."

  There was the sound of a whispered conversation on the other end of the phone then Robert was back on line. "Liz says she'll come back with me. She has a few things sh
e needs to do today. Can you let Chris know?"

  "Sure."

  "See you for dinner tonight?"

  Meg hesitated before she replied. "Actually, Robert, can we leave it for tonight? I am dead on my feet. I hardly slept last night."

  "Of course, I understand. I'll ring you tomorrow."

  Meg pocketed her phone and returned to the ward, where the doctor was giving Ben the once-over. Ben sat up in bed, his face still too pale, but the familiar impish grin was back and his earlier tears forgotten. He had eaten a massive breakfast and in truth looked considerably better than either his father or Meg.

  The doctor stood back and surveyed his small patient. "You are one very lucky young man. Now don't ever go wandering off into the bush again. Promise?"

  Ben's face was suddenly serious, the brown eyes huge. Solemnly he nodded.

  The doctor looked across at Meg. "Keep an eye on him, Mrs. Kingsley. If he shows signs of lethargy or complains of headaches, take him straight to the doctor."

  The heat rose in Meg's face and she avoided Chris's eyes. It was way too late to explain that she was not Mrs. Kingsley and never would be.

  "Thank you for everything," she mumbled.

  The doctor smiled. "You two look like you could do with a few hours’ sleep yourselves."

  The nurse handed Meg the bag with Ben's clothes. "Just take him home in the pyjamas and drop them in later.”

  His father scooped him up and Ben fastened his good arm around his father's neck, burrowing his face into his neck.

  Meg drove back to the shack, taking it slow enough to enjoy the glorious morning, the warm sun already drying last night’s puddles from the road. Her car had gone and the shack was deserted, except for a disconsolate and still muddy dog who had been tied to one of the posts out the front.

  Chris carried Ben inside and Meg ran a bath for him. Carefully wrapping the pristine plaster cast in a plastic bag, she knelt beside the boy and washed him thoroughly. As she knelt, watching him play with his little boats, she sat back on her heels and started to laugh.

  "Can I share the joke?" Chris looked around the door.

  "I just realised, Diana will be furious," Meg said. "Ben won't be out of the cast by the wedding!"

  "Does that mean I can't be a pageboy?" Ben sounded unsure as to whether that was a good or bad thing.

  Meg caught the amusement in Chris' eyes and bit her lip. "We'll see," she said. "It may mean you won't have to hold Lucy's hand."

  After Ben was dry and dressed in clean clothes, it was Meg's turn for a bath. She lay back in the shallow water, immersing her hair and feeling the nothingness of the water around her, letting the warmth seep into her bones.

  Afterwards, she wrapped her robe around her and sought the comfort of bed, where she fell asleep almost at once. When she woke, it was past noon. She stretched, listening to the sounds of the bush creep into the room.

  Dressing in clean jeans and a tee shirt, she combed her wayward hair into some semblance of order. The house was ominously quiet. On the verandah she discovered Chris asleep on the old couch, his Akubra hat pulled down over his face, one booted foot crossed over the other. Curled up beside him, his head on his father's stomach, Ben was also sound asleep, his good hand clutching his favourite stuffed toy, a well-loved and worn dog called ‘Pups’. A book of Thomas the Tank Engine stories had fallen on to the ground.

  Being careful not to wake them, Meg picked up the book and carried it inside where she made herself a cup of tea and some sandwiches.

  She carried her tea outside and sat near the sleeping father and son, looking across the valley. Whatever her feelings for Robert, she enjoyed the serenity of his absence. Even though he'd been back for four weeks, she still felt jangled and uncertain around him. With two weeks to the wedding, she needed to give Robert her full attention, particularly after what had occurred at the hospital last night.

  Chris gently disengaged Ben and came to stand beside her, stretching. "What time is it?"

  Meg glanced at her watch. "Two.”

  Chris shook his head. "We better get going. I'll have to return the Rover and the horses. Do you mind going home the long way?"

  Ben sat up, rubbing his eyes with his unplastered hand.

  "Hello, sleepy head," Chris said. He turned to Meg. "If you throw your stuff in a bag, we'll load the horses and head off."

  At least Liz had stripped her bed before her departure, leaving sheets and towels in a neat pile. Meg stuffed them into the linen bag, throwing her clothes and belongings into the battered hold-all that she used for this sort of weekend.

  As Chris led the horses in from the yard, Meg noticed he was limping heavily

  "Do you want me to drive?" Meg asked.

  "No," he snapped. "I'm fine. Stop fussing about me Meg, I don't need your sympathy."

  "I wasn't fussing!" Meg's rare temper rose to the surface. "I just thought if your leg was not the best, it would be safer if I drove."

  "It's fine." Chris's brown eyes blazed with indignation and it took Meg a considerable effort not to snap back. They were both tired and strained by the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  At least the horses were used to the trailer and gave them no trouble. With Ben and Rufus in the back seat, Chris locked the house and then walked around to the driver's door. He looked at the keys in his hand and paused.

  “You’re right. It’ll be better if you drive.” He tossed the keys to Meg.

  Once the Rover was on the open road, Meg stole a look at Chris. His mouth and jaw were set in a tight line, a frown creasing his forehead. Ben had already fallen asleep in the back seat.

  "What's on your mind?" she ventured

  He stared at the road ahead. "I'm going to sell the shack," he replied.

  Her world slipped on its axis. "Why?" Even to her ears, her voice sounded high and tight.

  He did not answer for a long moment. "Because it was Sarah's place. If nothing else this weekend has convinced me that I need to let it go," he said at last. "I have to give Ben and my work all my time. Looking after the shack will just be a damned nuisance."

  "Don't make a hasty decision just because it's been a bad weekend," Meg said.

  He shot her a quick look. "I've been thinking about it for some time. I just needed the weekend to make the decision final." His shoulders slumped. "You're the only other person who makes it worthwhile and you're going to live in London, so what's the point?"

  Meg opened her mouth to protest, but she had no defence, nothing she could say that would change his mind.

  At Neerimbah, Ellen Kingsley came out of the house to meet them. Her face lit up when she saw Meg. "Meg how wonderful!" she said, kissing her on both cheeks. "How was the weekend?"

  "A bloody disaster," Chris grumbled. "Ben fell down one of the old mine workings and broke his arm." He drew the boy into his side. "We spent last night at the hospital."

  "Look, Gramma." Ben proudly displayed his plaster. "I broke my arm."

  "Oh, darling!" Ellen folded her grandson in her arms. "And what a bruise on your forehead!" Ben flinched from his grandmother's well-meaning fingers.

  "Where's that nice English girl?" Ellen looked around as if expecting Liz to materialise from thin air.

  "She and Robert went home this morning," Meg said.

  Ellen's eyes narrowed. She knew Meg very well and for a horrible moment, Meg wondered if Ellen knew about the illicit kiss. "You and Robert haven't rowed, have you?"

  Meg shook her head and allowed herself a smile. "No. Nothing like that. He had work to do."

  "That's good. We’re so looking forward to the wedding, aren't we Bill?"

  Bill had sauntered out of the house. "Wedding? Oh yes."

  "Now dears, Bill will see to the horses, come inside and let's have a cup of tea."

  Meg loved the kitchen at Neerimbah. It had been built to accommodate a sizable staff and even today a large, well-worn table surrounded by rickety chairs dominated the room. Delicious aromas radiated from the v
intage cooker. Meg took a deep breath. "That smells great."

  Ellen smiled. "I knew Chris would be coming back this afternoon so I've baked some of Ben's favourite biscuits."

  Setting the teapot and a plate of biscuits down on the table, Ellen sat down across from Meg.

  "Is Chris all right?" she asked.

  Meg shrugged. "His leg is bothering him, but I'm sure he'll be fine after a couple of days rest."

  Ellen nodded, a small frown still creasing her brow. "It's more than his leg, isn't it—" She began, but whatever she had been about to say was interrupted by the arrival of Chris and his father, with Ben and Rufus following.

  Bill hung his hat on the coat hooks just inside the door. "Chris says he going to sell the shack," he said, lowering himself heavily into one of the chairs.

  Ellen studied her son's face. "That's your decision dear. Now are you staying the night? It's a long drive back to Melbourne and you both look done in."

  "I don't have anything on for a couple of days and Ben's finished Kinder for the year," Chris said slowly.

  Ellen turned to Meg with the question in her eyes.

  Meg shook her head. "I would love to stay the night, but I've got to be back early tomorrow. I've a mountain of paperwork to deal with before I leave and then I'm going to Sydney on Thursday."

  Ellen shook her head as she poured the tea. "Sydney? You're as bad as Robert."

  Meg pulled a face. "I promised ages ago I would give a paper on Russell Drysdale at the University. Last thing I need a week out from the wedding, but I'll only be gone for a night."

  Chris set his mug down on the table. "There's a train tonight at eight if you want to get going?"

  They stared at each other.

  He wants me gone, Meg thought. She swallowed. "If someone doesn't mind taking me into the station?"

  Ellen shot her husband a strange look. Bill nodded. "Tonight? Sure, I'll take you in love."

  Meg smiled and thanked him.

  Ellen stood up and straightened her skirt. "I'd best get dinner going if you want to catch the train. I'm sorry you can't stay Meg."

  Chris stood up and limped out of the kitchen. Ellen watched her son's retreating back and her mouth tightened. "Do you mind peeling the potatoes Meg?" she said.