Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart

by Nicole Flockton

  He smiled at her, that sweet self-deprecating smile. "There's nothing more to be said, Mum.” He held out his hand. "Come on Meg, I'll see you out."

  "Ignore mother," he said pulling the front door closed behind him. "She's terribly upset but she'll get over it. It's not about you or even me. It's the social humiliation she can't bear."

  Meg took a breath. "I'm sorry it had to end like this, Robert."

  He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "To tell you the truth Meg, I was having my doubts. I wasn't entirely straight with you. I've known Liz for ages and in fact we had a bit of thing going last year. I thought it was all over and so did she but then when we met again and the sparks were there. I just didn't know how to tell you."

  "Wait? You cheated on me in London?" Meg stared at him.

  He nodded.

  She let out a breath. "In that case, I'm glad we discovered now before it was too late.” Despite everything, she kissed him gently on the cheek. "I hope it all works out for you."

  "Goodbye Meg. I hope we can still be friends."

  Meg smiled. She could afford to be magnanimous. "Perhaps that is what we were all the time."

  9

  Chris and Ben spent Christmas and New Year at Neerimbah. He had asked Meg if she wanted to join them, but she had decided to get right away from Melbourne and had gone to Thailand, where a resort holiday had turned into helping out at an orphanage on Phuket, something she and Sarah had done on a regular basis before Sarah's marriage.

  From her Facebook posts, she looked tanned and relaxed. In pictures with the children, she was laughing and happy. It occurred to Chris how unhappy she had been for a very long time.

  "When's Meg back?" Bill Kingsley asked as they sat at the table on the wide verandah after their evening meal, watching Ben and Rufus romping in the garden.

  "Early February. University year kicks off and she has to be back for that," Chris replied.

  "Hmm..." Bill replied.

  "Well, tell him our idea," Ellen said.

  "You tell him."

  "What are you two up to?" Chris regarded his parents suspiciously.

  Ellen had that smug little smile that smacked of conspiracy. "I... we... think you and Meg should go up to the shack for one last time before you sell it?"

  "Yesss," Chris said. "Gives us a chance to clear out some of the rubbish."

  Ellen glared at him. "That's not what I meant. Do you have anything planned for the weekend of fourteenth of February?"

  Chris frowned, mentally going through his diary. "No. In fact, it would be good for Ben to go back—"

  His mother threw her table napkin at him. "Not for you and Ben," she said. "You and Meg. Ben can stay with us."

  "Mum, I—" Chris started to protest.

  "Chris. We loved Sarah, you know we did, but she's gone and you're lonely and Ben needs a mother."

  "So, you think Meg—"

  "Are you blind?" His mother sounded exasperated. "Meg adores you both and, if you are honest with yourself, the qualities you loved in Sarah are there in Meg and I think this is exactly what Sarah would have wanted, not for you to take up with girls like that Liz."

  Chris had no answer to this tirade of observation from Ellen, only because he knew she was right. He had been resigned to Meg’s marriage to Robert but a large part of him had been torn apart. It had been like losing Sarah all over again.

  He cleared his throat. "One problem with that plan, Mum. Meg has to agree."

  "Well then? Ask her," Ellen said. "She can only say no. Go on, ring her now."

  "But she's in Thailand..."

  "She has a telephone. Ring her."

  He rose to his feet and took his phone out of his pocket, staring at the screen for a long moment before dialling Meg's number and walking into the gardens, out of earshot of his parents.

  At the sound of her voice, his heart jumped. In the background, he could hear children's laughter.

  "Chris, how lovely to hear from you," she said. "How's Ben?"

  They exchanged pleasantries, news of Ben, Chris's parents and the weather.

  His heart hammering, Chris tried to sound nonchalant as he said, "Look if you don't think it’s too presumptuous, how would you like to come up to the shack over the second weekend in Feb. Mum's happy to look after Ben, so it would just be us. I hope that's okay?"

  He thought he detected a sharp indrawn breath at the other end of the phone. "Just us?"

  "Just us."

  "That sounds lovely. I'm back on the ninth and it will be straight back to work so I won't get to see you before then."

  Chris smiled. "I've got to take Ben up to Neerimbah. If you can catch the train, I'll pick you up at the station. Friday thirteenth."

  "That sounds auspicious," Meg said with a laugh.

  Friday thirteenth - Lucky for some, Chris thought, as he terminated the call. He frowned as he pocketed his phone. Wasn’t the fourteenth of February something special? He gave a huff of laughter. St. Valentine’s Day. His mother had a lot to answer for if her planning and conniving went astray!

  10

  Chris had to admit to himself that he hadn't felt this nervous or unsure of himself since he had first asked a girl to the school dance. So much hinged on how this weekend went. It could be the start of a new chapter in his, and Ben's, Or it could be the end of one of their most precious relationships.

  It didn’t help that he had been late to pick her up from the train. She had been waiting, her battered overnight bag at her feet as he had drawn up. His breath caught at the first sight of her. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair held back with a matching head band. She reached up a hand to brush the hair out of her eyes, a smile rising to her eyes and she waved.

  "We're going to be lucky with the weather," Meg commented as he drove away from the railway station. "Not too hot."

  Chris glanced at her, seeing her with new eyes. She had been so much a part of his life that he had stopped seeing her except as anything other than a 'mate', someone who had been there in the good times and in the darkest of dark times. Now he saw a woman... not just a woman, but a beautiful woman. He had to get this right.

  "If you brought your bathers, we could go down to the swimming hole tomorrow," he said trying to keep a casual, nothing unusual, tone to his voice.

  She nodded. "And a new book."

  He asked the question that needed asking. "Have you heard from Robert?"

  The good humour left her face and she hesitated for a long moment before answering. "He's back in London and Marie tells me that Liz has gone back too." She let out a long breath, glanced across at him and smiled. "I wish them every happiness."

  "And you?"

  She smiled, a genuine warm and happy smile. "I'm good, Chris. It was the right decision for both of us. In fact, I should be grateful to Liz."

  And so should I, he thought.

  "Tell me about Thailand?" he asked and they chatted companionably as they took the turn towards the mountain road.

  As the sun dipped behind the blueish grey hills, Meg fell silent, staring out at the passing scenery.

  "Are you really going to sell the shack?" she asked at last, her voice tight.

  "I haven't made a decision yet," Chris admitted. "After that disastrous weekend, I would have given it away, but now I'm not so sure."

  Meg bit her lip. "I could buy it off you."

  He raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that on her university salary she could barely afford the rent on her flat, let alone the purchase price of the shack.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “I have some of the inheritance from Mum and Dad set aside.”

  They turned into the familiar track that led up to the shack, the last of the daylight illuminated the rustic building as they pulled up in front of it.

  Meg climbed out of the car and stretched. "It feels good to be here," she said. "I didn’t ask, but should we have stopped in town to get food."

  Chris shook his head. He suspected his mother h
ad laid in sufficient food to survive an apocalypse. She’d come up to the shack on a secret mission the day before and assured him that he and Meg didn’t need to worry about a thing.

  Meg collected her bag from the boot and headed for the second bedroom. Chris stepped in front of her and threw open the door to the first bedroom.

  “You take the front bedroom. I'll sleep in the bunk."

  Meg stood in the doorway and her mouth fell open. The front bedroom had been transformed. The bed had been made up with freshly laundered linen sheets and a little vase of geraniums stood on the chest of drawers.

  A quick scan of the rest of the cottage revealed Ellen’s hand at work. It had been cleaned from floor to ceiling and she had set a huge vase of Neerimbah roses on the table. Meg picked up the note Ellen had left propped up against the vase.

  "Supper is in the fridge," she read. She looked up at him. "Your mum's gone to a lot of trouble."

  Chris shrugged. "That's Mum for you. Let's eat. I'm starving."

  Supper consisted of a portion of smoked salmon and a crusty salad, followed by a compote of strawberries with fresh cream, washed down with a light pinot grigio.

  Meg collapsed into one of the easy chairs. "That was wonderful. This is exactly the sort of thing Sarah would have rejoiced in."

  Chris hated to admit it but his mother had been right. The things he had loved about Sarah were the very reasons Sarah and Meg had been friends. MegandSarah... They had been soul mates all their lives.

  Meg stared into the depths of the unlit fireplace, a gentle smile on her lips and her face slightly flushed with the wine. She set down her cup and stretched.

  "If I stay here I will fall asleep. Okay if I have first use of the bathroom?"

  He watched her as she got up and went into the bedroom. She emerged in a striking scarlet kimono, her hair loose and a wash bag in her hand.

  When she re-emerged from the bathroom, she stood in front of him, a lock of damp hair, curling across her forehead, the scarlet robe clinging damply to her curves. He fought with the desire to take her hand and pulled her down to him, wrap his arms around her and...

  "I feel guilty hogging your bed," she said. "I can take the bunk.”

  He shook his head. "No that's fine. This weekend is about you, a small compensation for the business with Robert."

  She frowned. "I had six glorious weeks in Thailand to get over Robert."

  "Then call it a small thank you, for everything you did for Ben and I."

  She tiptoed across to him on bare feet and bent over, kissing him softly on the forehead.

  "Thank you Chris. Whatever the reason, this was a wonderful idea."

  He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of soap and woman. He closed his eyes as the bedroom door clicked shut behind her.

  He could wait.

  The morning dawned, bright and sunny. Meg and Chris ate a leisurely breakfast of buttery croissants and homemade jam, washed down with fresh coffee and orange juice at the small table on the cottage verandah.

  Chris stretched, looking up at the sky. "How about we pack a lunch, take our towels and go down to the waterhole?"

  Meg changed into her bathers, pulling on shorts, a long-sleeved linen shirt and her walking boots. As she studied herself in the old, stained mirror, she pulled a face. Hardly an elegant ensemble but Chris had seen her in worse.

  Chris packed a backpack with food and drink, adding, she noticed, a bottle of sparkling wine. She stuffed towels and her book into her backpack and they set off through the bush, winding down a narrow path to the river, which the miners had dammed for their long-gone water wheel. They had left a legacy of a cold, clear pool of water which Meg and Chris had all to themselves.

  "I don't relish walking back up that path in a hurry," Meg remarked pulling off her Akubra and wiping her forehead.

  Chris shrugged. "We’re in no hurry,” he said. "And we have all day. No phones, no commitments. Just us."

  She smiled, suddenly shy. Something had changed, a subtle shift in their relationship, the way they looked at each other as if seeing two intriguing strangers, not old friends, not two people who had clung to each other like shipwrecked sailors to flotsam in the wreckage of their lives. The page had turned and it lay before them, blank, waiting for the next chapter to begin.

  They laid the towels out on a large, flat rock, well sheltered by a river red gum. The temperature was perfect, not too hot and just warm enough to just bask in the sun.

  Meg propped herself against a rock, with her book.

  "If you're going to read, I'm going for a swim," Chris said.

  Meg set her book down and wrapped her arms around her knees, watching as he pulled off his shirt and ran down to the water, plunging in without hesitation.

  "It's glorious," he called out to her. "Do I have to come and get you?"

  She found herself unable to move.

  Chris emerged from the water, like a leviathan, shaking back his wet hair, sending sparkles flying. He walked toward her and she drew a breath. For all that he had been through, and the scars were there to prove it, her eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders, the dark, damp hair that curled across his chest and ran down the flatness of his stomach towards his bathers.

  He held out a hand to her, his brown eyes fixed intently on her face.

  For a moment, she held her breath, recognising that this moment, this instant, marked a turning point from which there would be no return.

  She reached up and he took her hand, his fingers, damp and cool from the mountain water. He pulled her to her feet. She let her hat and glasses fall to the towel and self-consciously shed her shorts and shirt, revealing the plain, dark blue maillot she had bought for her Thailand trip. It was well cut and expensive and, she had to admit to herself, showed off her figure to perfection.

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he turned and ran down towards the water, dragging her after him.

  There was no reprieve as he plunged into the icy water, pulling Meg after him.

  She screamed and swore in a most unladylike manner, as the shock of the icy water hit her.

  "Keep moving!"

  He released her hand and dived down into the water.

  Forcing her numbed limbs to move she swam across to him using a more sedate breast stroke but he was gone again, like some evasive water sprite. She trod water, scanning the surface, searching for him. Something touched her legs! She screamed his hand pulled her into the water, into a pair of strong arms that circled around her, carrying her upwards with him.

  Spluttering, she shook her head like a dog, the wet strands of hair, flicking his face. He laughed, releasing one hand to smooth the wet hair back.

  "You are lovely,” he said.

  He'd never said anything like that to her before.

  What are you doing, Meg Taylor? Why did this feel so right? she thought as her arms slithered around his neck and they came together, wet and cool. She twined her legs around him, her body pressing into his, sending a fire through Meg, that made her forget the icy water, just for a moment.

  As quickly and madly as it all happened, he was gone, slipping away from her, once more the elusive water sprite.

  Madness, she thought.

  "It's too cold, I'm getting out," she said.

  She struck out for the shore with clean, long strokes and stumbled up the rocks to where the towels lay. She threw herself face down on to the warm towelling, a thousand conflicting emotions surging through her.

  A cold, wet hand in the middle of her back brought her rearing upright.

  "You bastard," she screamed, without rancour, finding herself caught up in his arms again.

  "You will fry!" He whispered in her hair. "Where's the sunscreen?"

  "In my bag." She mumbled into his hard, damp chest.

  He released her and she subsided face down on the towel again.

  A cold, wet dollop of sunscreen hit her back, and two strong hands glided it into her skin. His hands warm now, Chris
gently moved across her shoulders, around the back of her neck, down her spine and across her rib cage, almost but not quite touching her breasts which tingled with expectation.

  She willed him to move those gentle hands a little further but he didn't. He turned his attention to the backs of her legs. First the right leg, starting at her ankle, working upwards to the back of her knee. Now it was the turn of her thigh, two hands slid upwards and inwards, teasing, tantalising but not touching. Meg almost moaned with frustration as his fingers lightly brushed the area between her legs and moved across to the other leg, repeating the process.

  Unable to bear it, Meg rolled over, her body aching with a desire she had never felt possible. He leaned over her, his brown eyes intent, his own desire obvious.

  "Your turn Meg." His voice had an unfamiliar huskiness.

  As he lay face down beside her, she squeezed a dollop of sunscreen on her hands and straddled him, his hips between her knees. Taking a steadying breath, she ran her hands across his shoulders. The taut muscles rippled as he reacted to her touch and she ran her hands down his spine and around his ribcage as he had done with her, down towards his bathers. He moaned and she slipped off him and started on his left leg, running her hands down the inside of the long, strong, well-muscled thigh, teasing, tantalising but not touching. He shivered and she turned to his right leg.

  She hesitated at the sight of the terrible scars.

  He raised himself on his elbows and turned to look at her. His dark eyes challenged her. This was a test and how she answered that challenge would change the future irretrievably.

  She pushed him back on to the towel and traced the lines of the scars with her finger as she applied the sunscreen. He rolled back on to his stomach and she straddled him again. There were scars on his torso too, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, ruptured spleen. She could recite his injuries but she didn't see them. He was not defined by what had passed.

  He was Chris and she loved him - had loved him for a long time. Not as a lover, after all he had been Sarah's husband, but deeper than that. As a friend. Now they were free to be lovers.