by Andrews, Amy
Still, he was surprised at her reaction. For a woman who’d spent a good part of an entire decade and a lot of hard-earned money trying to get pregnant, he’d thought she’d be ecstatic.
Maybe this news was as appalling to her as it was him? Maybe she’d got past the urge to procreate? The thought was comforting and he took her in his arms and held her while she sobbed into his chest.
‘Shh,’ he crooned, stroking her hair. ‘It’s okay.’
Maggie clung to his shirt while the news swirled around her in a whirlpool of emotions. Excitement. Incredulity. Amazement. Disbelief.
But mostly joy.
She was delirious with joy. After years of yearning, years of desperate maternal cravings, she was finally going to be a mother.
‘This doesn’t have to be the end of the world,’ Nash murmured against her forehead. ‘We have options. It all might be a bit of a mess right now but we’ll figure it out.’
A bit of a mess? Maggie pulled away from his chest and stared at him. What on earth was he talking about?
Everything was perfect.
‘Are you kidding?’ She sniffled, wiping the heels of her hands across her cheekbones. ‘This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.’
Nash frowned. Her face was blotchy, her nose was red but she was suddenly smiling at him like a crazy person. ‘So... those were tears of happiness?’
Maggie nodded. ‘Supreme happiness.’
‘Right,’ he said, hoping he didn’t look as confused as he felt. Or as panicked.
‘I need another cup of tea. Do you want one?’ Maggie brushed past him, her mind on nursery colours and baby names.
Cup of tea? Nash watched her disappearing back. A slug of whiskey would be better.
Much better.
He took a few moments to let the enormity of it all sink in. A father. He was going to be a dad. A memory of his father’s face at his sister’s funeral rose through the jumble of his thoughts, the misery and desolation etched deeply into the grooves of his forehead, grooves that had never gone away.
Nash drew in a ragged breath, fighting against the tonne of bricks sitting on his chest to find Maggie humming —humming, for God’s sake — when he joined her in the kitchen.
Handing him his mug Maggie headed for the deck, placing her cup on the wooden tabletop where she’d been sitting earlier. But she didn’t sit.
She couldn’t.
She felt like a kid on Christmas Eve, excitement and nervous energy making sitting still an impossibility. She hugged herself as she stared at her small back yard, picturing a fort in one corner — with a ladder and a slippery dip. And a set of swings in the other.
Nash watched her, staring aimlessly. Where the hell did they go from here? ‘So?’
His voice intruded in on Maggie’s little fantasy and she turned to face him. For the first time she noticed his pallor. He usually looked so tanned, it was odd seeing the colour leached from his handsome face. And everything about him betrayed his tense watchfulness, from the tightness around his mouth to the erectness of his stance.
He always looked so loose, so relaxed, like he was about to break out into the broadest grin.
But not right now.
Right now he looked like any number of parents she’d been involved with who’d just been given bad news. He looked like he’d had the stuffing knocked out of him.
‘Oh, Nash, I’m sorry. I know you never wanted this.’
Nash nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. Maggie had at least acknowledged that this news affected both of them. Pulling out a chair, he sat down and she followed suit. ‘What do you want to do now?’
Maggie spread her hands. ‘I honestly haven’t thought about it.’ She looked into his face and saw worry etching lines into his forehead and around his eyes. ‘But look,’ she assured him, placing her palms flat on the table, ‘you don’t have to worry. I don’t want anything from you. I understand. It’s okay. I’m going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.’
A pang of something hit her square in the chest but it got lost amidst the marvel of being a we.
She and the baby. She was a we, now.
Nash frowned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘This baby is my responsibility too and I don’t shirk my responsibilities.’
Maggie gaped at him, stunned by his categorical rejection of her offer to absolve him of consequence. The man looked like he’d fly all the way to London today if he could, even if it meant he had to flap his own arms.
She gave a half-laugh. Did he mean he wanted to be an us? ‘Wh...what?’
‘You heard me,’ he said tersely.
‘But...but why? This isn’t the Victorian age, Nash. Women can and do have babies without a man to take care of them. You have a whole career planned. You really don’t have to worry about this.’
Nash, feeling rather contrary himself amidst the roller-coaster of emotions he was experiencing, suddenly felt disposable. ‘Were you even going to tell me?’
Maggie shook her head dazedly, spun out by the unexpected turn of events. ‘What?’
‘If I hadn’t walked in here today and discovered the test, would you have told me?’
She struggled with the question. ‘Yes. No. I...don’t know ...Maybe?’
Nash shot her a hard look. ‘Maybe? Well, that’s just great, Maggie.’
‘Oh, come on, Nash,’ Maggie pleaded, chilled by the way the warmth in his tropical island eyes had turned glacial. ‘I’ve only just found out. I haven’t really thought anything through.’
One blond eyebrow shot up. ‘Maybe?’ he repeated.
‘You leave for the other side of the world in a month. Wouldn’t it be wrong of me to dump this in your lap now? What possible good could come of it? You have this whole plan for your future. London for a few years and then setting up the flying paediatrician service. A baby doesn’t figure into that. Anyway, you don’t want to be a father. You told me that yourself.’
‘Not wanting to have children when there are none is entirely different from finding out someone’s carrying your baby and it’s very much a reality.’
‘I didn’t plan this, Nash.’ Hell, she’d have never thought it possible!
He sighed. ‘I know.’
‘Well, what do you want, then?’ Maggie’s heart thundered at the possibility that Nash might want to be part of his baby’s life.
Part of her life.
Was that what he wanted? What she wanted?
Maggie had a sudden flash of him with Brodie on his hip that day in the Radio Giggle studio and the way he’d been with Dougy.
He was great with kids.
Nash stood and raked his hand through his hair. ‘Damn it, Maggie, I don’t know. This is a lot to process.’
For him, maybe. For her it felt like she’d finally arrived at her destination. She was already this baby’s mother, already loved it more than she had words to describe.
‘I mean, do you even want me to be a part of this baby’s life?’ he demanded.
She shrugged. ‘I...I suppose...’
‘Gee, Maggie. Could you be a little more enthusiastic?’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound half-hearted. I’m just surprised that you do, that’s all. I wouldn’t have thought for a minute that you would.’
Nash clenched his jaw at her unintended insult. He was from the country, where men were honourable and took their obligations seriously.
‘It’s my responsibility, Maggie. I told you that. I like to think I’m an honourable man and honourable men do not walk away from their mistakes.’
Even as the word came out Nash wished he could retract it. He saw Maggie freeze and felt like the worse kind of bastard. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’
Maggie sat very still. He saw their baby as some kind of error? A blunder? A slip-up? She placed her hand across her stomach, protecting the baby from Nash’s words. No matter what happened, she would never look upon this occurrence as a mistak
e.
The fact that he did spoke volumes.
‘Oh, I think you did.’
Nash pushed the pads of his fingers into his shut eyes and then dropped his hands to his sides. God, he was tired. ‘I’m sorry, that came out all wrong.’
‘Really? Or maybe it came out just right.’
‘Hell, Maggie, it was the wrong choice of word from the depths of fuzzy night-duty brain. Don’t read any more into it than that.’
Except sometimes when people were tired and their guards were down, they said exactly what they were thinking. Their filters didn’t work and their real thoughts spewed out.
Heat and pressure built in Maggie gut as her ire rose. She didn’t want to be anyone’s responsibility or her baby to be anyone’s mistake. She glared at him. ‘We’re not going to be your cross to bear, Nash.’
Nash rolled his eyes at her melodrama. ‘Oh, please. I just need some time to think about it. Figure it out.’
Maggie felt more and more like an inconvenience. A problem to be solved. A puzzle to crack. Okay, yes, he was tired and this was a shock. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to hang around waiting for him to figure her out.
Figure their mistake out.
She stood. ‘Well, why don’t you go and do that?’ she said frostily. ‘You know your way out.’
Nash shoved a hand through his hair, feeling her expression of utter disdain right down to his toes. She was angry and he pretty damn pissed off, too. He thought about how happy he’d been when he’d opened the front door half an hour ago and couldn’t believe so much could change so quickly.
One thing was for sure, this conversation needed a clear head and open mind and Maggie looked more unreachable than she had in the beginning when she’d refused to even give them a chance.
And he only had himself to blame for that.
‘Fine,’ he said tersely. ‘We’ll talk later.’ And he turned on his heel, not stopping to look back as he strode through the house and let himself out the front door.
Maggie heard the bang from the deck and dragged in a gulp of air, her hands shaking. That had gone well.
Not.
Picking up their mugs, she made her way back into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, her mind completely preoccupied, seesawing between giddy delight and irritation at Nash’s behaviour. But ultimately nothing could trump the realisation that she was pregnant — actually pregnant.
She was grinning as she detoured through the lounge-room to check that Nash had locked the door after his hasty exit and was pulled up short. Through the archway, her gaze fell on the decorated Christmas tree that stood on the coffee table.
Despite the daylight, the artfully spaced fairy-lights winked on and off and a small ‘Oh,’ escaped her lips.
It was beautiful. Rich and green with red tinsel, frosted white ornaments and a gorgeous golden star.
‘Nash,’ she whispered, her hand pressed to her heart, moved by his gesture.
It was typical Nash. To her surprise he’d proven to be quite the romantic. Their relationship may have been clandestine but it hadn’t stopped him from constantly touching her heart with little surprises. From the vase of frangipani blossoms to candlelight picnics in bed and deliveries of her favourite chocolates. He really had spoiled her.
But the tree was something else.
She sat on the lounge and watched the lights blink on and off, her anger at him dissolving temporarily, suddenly miserable that he had left before she’d had a chance to thank him.
She’d deliberately not thought of Christmas in relation to him. She knew he was working on Christmas Day, as was she, but she hadn’t wanted to pry or push as to his plans for the night. She’d hoped they’d spend it together. But now? She was pretty sure whatever they had been building had just come tumbling down.
Nash went to work that night with a lot on his mind. He’d barely slept so he was more tired, crankier and grouchier than he’d ever been in his life. And everyone noticed. Because Nash was never any of those things. Not even in the midst of a crisis. He was laid-back, unfailingly cheerful and if it was there, usually found the humour in any situation.
But tonight he was tense, snappy and grim-faced. And the nurses avoided him like the plague. Lucky for them their quiet streak was continuing so contact with Nash could be minimised. The snake bite patient had gone to the ward at lunchtime, which left only Toby and the duff, duff, duff of his ventilator plus the critical airway baby.
Which meant the night was interminable. Too much time to think. To dwell on things. A father.
He was going to be a father!
Something he’d made a conscious decision never to be. Something he’d never even imagined. Had always, in fact, taken every precaution to prevent.
But it had happened anyway.
His mother would be ecstatic. So would his father. It wasn’t enough that their grandchildren already numbered twelve, they doted on each and every one and were overjoyed that his sisters didn’t appear to be finished yet.
But he didn’t want that for himself. Not now. Not ever. And yet here he was.
Why?
And why with the one woman who was rapidly coming to mean more than just a three-month fling to him? She ticked every box — smart, fascinating, gorgeous, funny and great between the sheets. And things had been going so well.
Now this.
Still his honour demanded that he do the right thing and by the time he pulled out of the rooftop car park the next morning he knew exactly what that involved.
Maggie was lying on the couch at around nine-thirty, the next morning absently staring at the blinking tree lights just visible in the daylight, her mind adrift, when there was a knock at the door. She’d fallen asleep on the couch late last night, staring at the lights twinkling in the tinsel.
And she hadn’t yet got her ass up.
Letting her head loll off the edge of the lounge slightly, she looked back through her fringe, to the front door. She could see a large male silhouette and she didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out it was.
For a moment she contemplated ignoring it, feigning sleep, but whatever else had happened here yesterday, whatever challenges they faced right now, she needed to thank him for the tree.
A second knock spurred Maggie into a sitting position. A wave of nausea flooded her and she waited a moment for it to pass. ‘Coming,’ she called.
She was dressed in her usual bed attire, a pair of men’s silky boxers and a faded old singlet T that didn’t quite meet the waistband. It probably wasn’t the most suitable attire to be greeting anyone in but she felt too rough around the edges to care.
And Nash had seen her in a lot less.
Maggie wasn’t prepared when she opened the door for the impact of him. How had she forgotten, in just twenty-four hours, how he could reduce her to jelly? Even his bleak expression wasn’t enough to dampen the roar of her hormones.
Had she always felt like this or was it just the knowledge that part of him was growing inside her? A purely biological connection left over from primitive man?
‘Hi.’ Maggie grasped the doorknob like it was her anchor as his presence threatened to suck her into an alternate universe.
A prehistoric one. Littered with clubs and caves.
Nash curled his fingers into his palms to stop from reaching for her. She looked so damn good, her sleepy eyes and tousled hair reminding him of myriad early morning wake-ups with her snuggled close, the intoxicating smell of her, of them, rousing him to instant alertness.
He wanted to erase the last twenty-four hours, haul her into his arms and drag her into bed, drag her under him, feel her tightness around him.
He was shocked to realise how much he’d missed her. And how little it had to do with sex. He just missed her.
‘Can I come in?’
Maggie stood aside and he prowled past into the lounge room. His back was to her as he stood in front of the Christmas tree.
‘I didn’t get a chance t
o thank you yesterday...for the tree. It’s beautiful. I’m...touched.’
Nash concentrated on a yellow light blinking merrily, gilding the nearby red tinsel. He shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas. Everyone should have a tree.’
‘Even if you live alone?’
He turned to face her. ‘Especially if you live alone.’
Maggie’s breath caught in her throat. He seemed tired — desperately tired — and yet he managed somehow to cut right to what was important. How could he be so profound on such little sleep? And then a thought snaked through her brain, seductive in its joy — she was never going to spend another Christmas alone.
He held up a brown paper bag. ‘I bought Danish pastries.’
Maggie was new to this morning sickness thing but one thing she knew with absolute certainty was that her constitution was not up to handling anything so decadent. But she could watch him.
‘Let’s eat on the deck,’ she murmured.
Ten minutes later she could smell the eucalyptus and hear a kookaburra laughing in a distant tree. ‘You look tired,’ she said as he tucked into a flaky morsel.
Nash stopped in mid-chew. ‘I didn’t really sleep yesterday.’
Maggie sipped her tea. Neither had she. Between daydreaming about the baby and their argument replaying in her mind, sleep had been elusive. But at least she’d been able to recharge her batteries overnight. Poor Nash had had to stay awake, be alert, professional.
‘Are we still quiet?’
Nash nodded. ‘Just the two. There was a retrieval call though, just before I left — a fourteen-year-old riding a skateboard, suspected subdural.’
‘No helmet?’
Nash shot her a tired smile. ‘How’d you guess?’
Maggie didn’t bother to answer the rhetorical question even to fill the weird silence. It was awkward between them now but no matter how much she yearned for their easy familiarity, she wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had brought them to this moment for all the money in the world.
Nash swallowed the last of his pastry and licked his lips. He looked into her fudge-brownie eyes and drew in a steadying breath as his pulse hammered through his temples. ‘I think you should come to London with me. Let’s give this thing a go.’
