He looked up and met her eyes, held her gaze.
‘Is it too late to accept it, Phoebe? Or to at least start again, to explore what seems to lie between us? Perhaps we could begin by seeing how that immunity of yours is holding out.’
Phoebe tried to speak, but no words came. In the end, sensing a terrible tension in Nick—a twin to her own anxiety—she nodded.
Nick grinned at her.
‘Was that, yes, it’s too late or, yes, we can start again or, yes, you’re still immune?’ he asked.
She knew she had to answer, but no words would come. So in the end she stood up and crossed the room towards him, knelt down and took his hands in hers, then tilted her head up towards him.
‘Let’s check out the immunity first,’ she suggested, and her lips parted to accept his kiss.
The immunity had obviously worn off, but Nick must have had other doubts he needed resolved. He straightened up, and smoothed his hand across her hair.
‘What about Charles? It’s not that long since you were fretting over him.’
Phoebe sighed.
‘I know. Pathetic, wasn’t it?’ She looked up, met Nick’s eyes, and read wariness behind the lingering excitement. Knowing she had to get this right, she took a deep breath. ‘I think maybe, when I met Charles, I was looking for love, Nick. Ready for it. He was so exactly what I thought I wanted…’ She ran out of words, wondering how she’d been so blind.
‘While I was so exactly what you didn’t want?’ Nick said gently.
‘What I thought I didn’t want,’ Phoebe told him. ‘Tall, dark and dangerous—a playboy like my father. That’ll teach me not to judge a book by its cover!’
‘And now?’ Nick prompted.
Phoebe grinned at him.
‘I guess now I’ll have to read the book.’
Six months of exploration passed quickly and Phoebe, who’d been accepted into a training position in a busy general practice, was saying goodbye to all the patients she’d come to know in her year at the clinic.
‘And when are you and Dr David getting married?’ Mrs Dixon asked, confirming that gossip was alive and well in this corner of the hospital.
Phoebe smiled then shook her head.
‘You know, we’ve been so busy getting to know each other we haven’t had time to talk about it.’
The heat she still couldn’t quite control when she considered just how well she and Nick knew each other crept into her cheeks, and she could feel happiness like a drug in her blood.
‘Make time,’ Mrs Dixon suggested. ‘Believe someone who’s been around a lot longer than you. Courting’s fun but marriage is even better.’
Phoebe pondered this idea later. She was checking that the patient files were all complete before she left, but her mind was on their mutual wariness about marriage.
Nick came in as she was staring blankly at the computer screen. He rested a hand on her shoulder and she covered it with her own, leaning her head back against his familiar body.
‘Mrs Dixon says courting is fun but marriage is even better.’
There was silence for a moment then Nick’s hand tightened.
‘Should we try it?’ he asked.
‘Risk it, you mean?’ Phoebe teased.
He leant down and hoisted her out of the chair, turning her so he could look into her eyes.
‘Would it be a risk, sweet Phoebe?’ he asked, his voice hoarse with something that went beyond desire.
‘Not for me,’ she told him.
Nick drew her into his arms and held her close. In his head he saw a vision of Phoebe as a bride—his bride—in a softly draped dress and a filmy mantle over her dark hair. He knew it was a vision of the future.
His future.
‘Mum’s already designed the dress, you realise,’ he murmured. ‘Are you game to wear it?’
‘I wouldn’t wear anything else, Nick David,’ his lovely bride-to-be assured him. ‘With all that love stitched into it, you’ll be stuck with me for life.’
Nick sighed and rested his chin on the glossy brown hair.
‘I couldn’t think of a nicer fate.’
EPILOGUE
JACKIE CARTER held the tiny baby in her arms.
‘Hello, Jack,’ she whispered to him. ‘I’m your godmother, you know.’
She passed him to Peter, who was grinning with delight.
‘Jack Peter David! Talk about plain names. Maybe you can call yourself JP. No, that won’t work. Sounds like one of those fellows who’s always signing something. Perhaps if they changed it around, made it Peter Jack—PJ—that’s better.’
‘He’d be called Pyjamas at school,’ Phoebe told him. She was sitting up in bed, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she watched these two dear friends lavish attention on her new son. ‘Anyway, as Nick says, there’s only one Peter in our lives and you’re it. Marrying Jackie so we could call him after her was the best thing you ever did.’
She saw the smiles that flashed between the couple, then held out her arms as Peter passed the baby back to her.
‘And where is the proud father?’ Peter asked.
‘Over at the clinic. Where else? Mind you, he did accompany me to hospital, and actually stayed for about an hour, then he remembered something that needed seeing to and disappeared, reappearing only when Jack was safely delivered.’
‘Couldn’t stand the pace, eh?’ Peter said.
‘Couldn’t stand the pain,’ Phoebe corrected, bending the truth because she didn’t want to be raising false hope in the hearts of her visitors. ‘He’s been the same right through this pregnancy. He had far worse morning sickness than I did, and even started labour pains before me. Talk about being in tune with each other!’
‘Well, he’s made up for his absence with the flowers.’ Jackie waved a hand towards the different arrangements which had transformed the room into a floral bower.
‘And he’s brought champagne to wet the baby’s head,’ Nick’s voice announced, and they all turned towards the door to see him standing there, a heavy green bottle in one hand, and four long-stemmed glasses in the other. ‘Plus a little snack for my wife who regained her appetite for food during her pregnancy.’
He winked at Phoebe, no doubt knowing she’d blush at the intimate and unspoken joke. Early in their ‘exploration’ he’d claimed she hadn’t so much lost her appetite as shifted its priorities from food to love-making.
Thinking of it brought back the now familiar surge of love to tighten the sinews in her body. She hoped she wasn’t making it obvious by smiling too mistily at him. He crossed towards her, set down the bottle and glasses, then bent over his new son.
‘Hey, Jack!’ he said, his forefinger stroking the downy cheek. ‘I’ll only let your mother have a sip or two of the champagne. We don’t want to be spiking your drinks at this early stage.’
He lifted the sleeping baby from his mother’s arms, and placed him tenderly in the crib. Then he opened the bottle, poured the drinks and raised his glass in a toast.
‘To all of us,’ he said, and this time Phoebe felt a different skitter of excitement. She sipped her drink and listened to the teasing chatter, happy to be an onlooker until Nick declared she needed rest and ushered her visitors out the door.
‘Well?’ she demanded when he returned, checked the baby and then settled on the edge of the bed.
He took her hand and she looked into his eyes, trying to read the answer.
Fancied she saw hope.
‘It’s too early to tell yet, and it will have to be tested, but there’s a possibility the new technique of cloning the cells will be more successful,’ he said, then he leant forward and kissed her on the lips. ‘Thank you for understanding how important it was to me to be in the lab last night,’ he murmured. ‘I promise, with the next baby, I’ll be with you through every second of his or her arrival.’
She blinked away a foolish tear and did the misty smile thing again.
‘What you were doing was important to so man
y people,’ she reminded him. She nodded towards the baby.
‘Maybe even to Jack, at some time in the future,’ she said. ‘So how could I not understand?’
Nick took her in his arms, and held her tightly.
‘Love’s precious gift!’ he murmured, and she knew he wasn’t talking about her or the baby, but about the happiness they shared.
And would share—for ever.
After all, it had been sewn into the stitches of her wedding gown!
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5673-9
A VERY PRECIOUS GIFT
First North American Publication 2001
Copyright © 2001 by Meredith Webber
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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