Mistletoe Mother (Medical Romance)

by Josie Metcalfe

  ‘Slave driver,’ Ella teased, the heaviness around her heart already a little lighter at the prospect of a change of scenery.

  The weight returned with a vengeance on Friday morning when she’d barely put her feet to the floor before she had to rush to the toilet.

  It was a depressingly simple job to buy a pregnancy detector kit from the chemist on the way to work, and it took just minutes to reveal the answer once she arrived there.

  ‘Pregnant!’ she whispered as she stared in awful fascination at the proof. Without thinking about it her hand crept down to spread over the flat of her stomach.

  How much longer would it be this flat? she wondered, all her training and knowledge suddenly deserting her now that she was in that position.

  The sound of other voices snapped her out of her meandering thoughts and she pulled herself together, carefully disposing of the evidence lest other eyes should see it and guess.

  I’ll think about it later, she promised herself. Perhaps I can talk to Soph about it.

  But she knew she wouldn’t. This was a situation of her own making—albeit with a little help to supply the other half of the genetic material required—and she would make her own decisions about it. Then she would tell her sister what was going on and what she’d decided to do about it.

  In spite of the fact that she was feeling definitely queasy, she was delighted to find that the department was frantically busy. What she needed today was to have no time at all to think.

  Even so, it was amazing how often the thought of that tiny bundle of rapidly dividing cells came into her head, and no matter how often it happened, she still felt that same thrill of the first discovery.

  It was going to cause problems in her life whatever she decided to do about it, and the prospect of making those irrevocable decisions was daunting, but somehow…

  Somehow, the more she thought about it, the more she realised that, however it had come into being, she was absolutely bowled over by the thought that she was pregnant, awed by the fact that there was a baby growing deep inside her and terrified by the almost overwhelming responsibility.

  Another realisation that took her by surprise was the subtle difference in her emotional response to her patients. For the first time she had something special in common with them and could truly empathise with their fears and concerns.

  She hoped it was a good omen that, by the time she finished her shift, she’d brought another three perfectly healthy, perfectly normal babies into the world.

  ‘Not that I want three babies,’ she muttered with a shudder as she climbed into the taxi that would take her to her sister’s house. ‘One at a time is plenty.’

  She settled back into the corner and realised that her hands had automatically come to rest protectively across her stomach. Suddenly, she knew that she didn’t need any time to think about her decision. It had already been made from the moment she’d looked at the pregnancy kit and seen that the result was positive.

  ‘Hey, little one,’ she whispered as she pressed her hand against herself. ‘This is your mummy speaking. I’m going to take good care of you while you’re in there, growing, and I’ll see you in about eight months.’

  In the end she had confided in Sophia, and had been bowled over by her unstinting support.

  It had actually been her sister’s idea that she could go and stay at Granny Ruth’s croft for a while—not that either of them could have foreseen that the “while” would stretch quite so long. Sophia certainly wouldn’t have believed that anyone accustomed to city life could have settled so comfortably into such a simple existence, but to Ella it was just what she’d been looking for while she waited for her baby to be born.

  She was still being very careful to give no hint to anyone else about the identity of the father of her child. With Sophia working at the hospital it wouldn’t have been fair.

  Anyway, she thought wryly, as the old expression went, it took two to tango. Seth couldn’t have made her pregnant if she hadn’t gone to bed with him.

  The only thing she could fault him over was the fact he hadn’t told her he was married. Even then, honesty forced her to admit that she’d been so much in love with him that it probably wouldn’t have made a difference to the outcome.

  So much for her high-flown principles!

  Still, her country idyll would probably be coming to an end soon. Once the baby arrived she was going to have to start thinking about earning her living again. Her grandmother’s legacy wouldn’t last long at this rate and she needed to keep some in reserve in case of emergencies.

  She was already earning enough for a hand-to-mouth existence with her spinning and knitting. Would it be worth exploring other ways she could exploit those skills?

  Perhaps she should think about investigating the possibilities of becoming a district nurse. That would mean she could stay up here and still have a job, albeit one with far more variety than pure midwifery.

  There was still time to think about it, though. In spite of its increasing size, the baby wasn’t due for another two or three weeks and she certainly didn’t want to go back to full-time work for at least six weeks after that.

  In the meantime, there were chickens to feed, eggs to collect and a storm front moving in with snow showers forecast overnight. Definitely a sign that she should stoke up the fire and draw the curtains against the world.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HOW could her idyllic life have been turned upside down and inside out in such a short time?

  Just over an hour ago she’d been contemplating possible career changes and looking forward to an evening in front of the fire while the snow drifted down around her.

  Thinking she was all alone in the croft at the head of the glen, she’d heard a sound at the door and had opened it to find Seth on the step, sent by one interfering older sister. Then, after a shouting match that had got neither of them anywhere, she had to burst into tears.

  They hadn’t lasted long, but could the situation get any worse? Ella wondered as she fumbled for her pocket in search of a tissue.

  Silently Seth held out his hand with a perfectly ironed hankie.

  Equally silently she accepted it and mopped her face then took a savage delight in blowing her nose, noisily.

  The sharp ring of the kitchen timer was welcome, giving her an excuse to turn away from those far-too-intent eyes. There was some serious thought going on behind them if he was directing that first-class analytical brain to analysing her words.

  The need to check on the bread baking in the oven also gave her a moment to gather her own thoughts and decide on a course of action.

  It might have been a tactical error to tell him that he was the father of her child. What if his wife hadn’t managed to have the child she wanted? Would Seth be legally entitled to claim her baby?

  The thought was frightening, and if she’d had time to think perhaps she wouldn’t have been quite so quick to hand him so much potential ammunition but…somehow it had been an automatic reaction to refute any idea that the child might have been fathered by any other man. How could it have been when she was still in love with Seth?

  She turned towards him with a perfectly browned loaf in her mittened hands and lifted her chin, determined to be firm.

  ‘Seth, I know Sophia sent you up here but I don’t want you to stay. The croft isn’t big enough and it…it isn’t appropriate.’

  He nodded slowly and for a moment she was sharply disappointed that he’d made no attempt to change her mind.

  ‘I realise now how small the place is and how difficult that could make things, but if you look outside you’ll see that there’s no chance that your friend Malcolm would be able to fetch me. Ella, the snow’s coming down faster than ever.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘And anyway,’ he continued hotly, ‘if you think I’m leaving now, when I’ve only just discovered that I’m about to become a father…’ He paused briefly and closed his eyes, obviously reaching for his usual calm. ‘A
nyway, where could it be more appropriate for me to be than with the mother of my child? I take it that it’s due some time in the next two or three weeks?’

  ‘Give the man a prize for mental arithmetic,’ she muttered sarcastically, hiding her uncertainty about his real reactions to her pregnancy.

  ‘I’d rather you gave me a piece of that bread,’ he returned blithely. ‘Is there anything else to go with it? I’m starving.’

  Her own stomach was feeling rather empty, in spite of the turmoil of the last few minutes, and she could hardly sit and eat in front of him.

  ‘Home-made soup. Leek and potato,’ she muttered ungraciously. ‘Although why I should feed you…’ She turned away to swing the pot across so that the flames from the fire began to lick at it, then lifted the lid to stir the contents.

  A sound behind her had her looking over her shoulder to find that Seth had taken his coat off and found the soup bowls in the dresser.

  Suddenly she could see just how much he’d changed since the last time she’d seen him.

  In spite of a thick jumper it was painfully obvious that he’d lost weight, more weight than someone of his height and build could afford to lose.

  His face looked almost gaunt and with glints of grey at his temples…

  ‘Have you been ill?’ she demanded abruptly, unable to help herself. She might be angry with the man for his duplicity but that didn’t seem to stop her caring about him.

  ‘Yes and no,’ he said cryptically. ‘Ill, as in have I had an illness, no, but…’ He sighed deeply and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ella, but I’m just too exhausted to go into it yet. I need to eat and I need to sleep and then I need to come to terms with…’ He gestured wordlessly towards the child she was carrying.

  ‘After that,’ he continued wearily, ‘we need to sit down and talk about it.’

  ‘I seem to have heard that line before,’ she muttered as she turned back to stir the soup and pull the pot slightly to one side to prevent it burning. ‘Cutlery is in the middle drawer.’

  She recognised that there was no point in badgering Seth to talk any sooner than he was ready. She could see how exhausted he was. A good puff of wind would be able to rattle his ribs, as her grandmother used to say, and the only remedy she had available was good hearty food and a bed to sleep until he was ready to wake.

  It only took another minute for her to cut several thick slices of bread and bring them to the table with a dish of locally churned butter and by then the soup was piping hot.

  ‘Here,’ she said as she ladled it into one bowl and then the other. ‘Shall I put the kettle on for a cup of tea?’

  There was a strange expression on his face when she turned round with a steaming bowl in each hand to find him looking at her in total fascination.

  ‘What?’ she demanded sharply, knowing that she definitely looked less than her best. Still, at eight and a half months pregnant and in a croft without central heating or double-glazing she was unlikely to be wearing anything more alluring than thick woolly jumpers.

  ‘I was just thinking that this scene could be taking place at any time in the last couple of hundred years or so.’ He gestured towards the simple cooking arrangements and the plain wooden table that had in all probability been made by one of her ancestors.

  ‘I’m sorry it isn’t anything more fancy,’ she began, but he interrupted immediately.

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head and she was ashamed of giving in to her instinct to pick a fight with him. The poor man was so tired he could hardly think straight, let alone put his thoughts into words.

  ‘So, what did you mean?’ She set the bowls down on the table and gestured for him to take a seat.

  She had to wait while he settled himself at the table and took his first spoonful of soup, pausing before he tasted it to inhale the enticing aromas of home-grown vegetables simmered in a rich creamy broth.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed with a look of bliss on his face. ‘It tastes even better than it smells and it smells heavenly.’

  He took another spoonful then paused just long enough to spread butter on the thick slice of fresh bread before he started eating again.

  Eating? It was almost as if he inhaled the soup, it disappeared so fast.

  ‘More?’ she offered easily, already getting to her feet knowing that he wouldn’t be refusing.

  ‘Please.’ He held out the bowl. ‘Now, that is what I meant about the timelessness of this scene. There’s no microwaved lobster thermidor or take-away curry, just a good honest soup that’s probably been made to the same rule-of-thumb recipe right down the generations. The bread has just come out of the oven and the butter was probably churned by someone who’s lived within a dozen miles of this croft all their lives. It’s a simple nourishing meal and one just like it has probably been served for generations at the same table in the same spot. And it was probably served by women wearing hand-knitted jumpers and with thick woolly socks on their feet to keep out the winter chill. The whole scene is almost completely timeless.’

  It was almost as if he already knew their family history and she certainly wouldn’t be objecting to being compared to someone as hardworking and tenaciously independent as her grandmother.

  ‘I’m glad you haven’t got a hankering for takeaway curry,’ she teased, tacitly calling a truce. ‘Even if it weren’t snowing like there’s no tomorrow, I think the nearest one is a forty-mile round trip.’

  By the time he’d finished eating, the combination of sitting close to an open fire, a stomach full of hearty food and sheer exhaustion had him drooping where he sat.

  ‘Seth?’ she called the second time his head nodded and he brought it up with a jerk. ‘Grab your wash kit and go to the bathroom while I sort out your bed. You need to sleep.’

  Without a word he straightened up from the table and stumbled towards the bags still piled inside the front door, more than half-asleep already.

  Ella’s heart went out to him in spite of her determination to wait until he’d explained himself, and when he’d disappeared into the minor luxury of the modern bathroom she hurried into the bedroom.

  The sheets had only been on the bed for one night so she wasn’t going to bother changing them, but in the absence of central heating he would need them warmed up by a hot-water bottle. The other thing he would need, whether he normally wore them or not, was a pair of pyjamas, and somewhere in the back of the cupboard she was sure she’d seen a pair of her grandfather’s…Ah! Here they were.

  She carried her booty back into the living room, spreading the brushed cotton fabric over the back of two chairs by the fire to warm through while she boiled the kettle to fill the bottle and lit another lamp.

  ‘Here,’ she said when he emerged from the bathroom, offering him the bundle of warm striped fabric. Her heart warmed to him all over again as he stood there with a puzzled expression on his face, looking impossibly boyish with his hair sticking up damply in the front where he’d washed his face.

  ‘What are these? They’re not mine.’

  ‘No. They were my grandfather’s and unless you’ve brought some of your own, you’re going to need them in that bedroom if you don’t want to freeze.’

  He gave her an old-fashioned look and turned towards the open door with the fabric tucked under his arm, moving unerringly towards the inviting warmth of the lamp beside the bed.

  ‘Mind your feet when you get in. There’s a hot water bottle in the bed.’

  She watched him right up until he closed the door, the latch dropping into its rest with a sharp click before she turned back with a sigh to clear the remains of their meal away.

  There were still several hours left until her usual bedtime, but somehow her contentment in spending those productive hours alone in the tranquillity of the croft had vanished when Seth had arrived. Now the cosy room just seemed empty and for the first time in a long time she felt lonely.

  ‘So, have an early night,’ she mutt
ered crossly as she took the dishes and cutlery out to the sink in the scullery. ‘Anyway, it’s going to take you a little while to organise a bed for yourself.’

  She hadn’t told Seth that she was giving him her own bed, knowing that he would probably refuse it in spite of the fact that he was almost dropping in his tracks. There were two single beds up in the loft, the ones she and Sophia used to use when they came to stay, but it would be far too cold to sleep up there until she did something expensive with insulation.

  For tonight, she would have to be content with bringing the bedding down and spreading it out in front of the fire. By the time she was ready to sleep it would be aired and she’d be as warm as toast.

  Anyway, Seth would probably never know where she slept the night. She’d be awake long before him in the morning with plenty of time to fold the bedding away.

  ‘What the hell are you doing there, woman?’ roared an angry voice, dragging Ella out of the soundest night’s sleep she’d had in months.

  ‘What?’ She lifted her head just enough to peer over the covers and found herself looking up and up a never-ending pair of stripy pyjamas.

  The outraged expression on his face didn’t have nearly the same effect on her as the fact that it was Seth’s face at the top of those unbelievably ugly pyjamas.

  She couldn’t help it—she just roared with laughter.

  Even stuffing a handful of blankets in her mouth didn’t help, and neither did his affronted look.

  ‘When you’ve quite finished, would you like to explain why a heavily pregnant woman is sleeping on the floor instead of in her own bed?’ he demanded, tight-lipped. ‘I take it that was your bed you put me in last night.’

  She nodded, not chancing speech when she wasn’t certain she’d got her mirth under control.

  ‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’ He raked a frustrated hand through his hair as though tempted to pull it out.

  ‘Because…’ The urge to laugh had completely gone now. ‘Because you were so tired you were nearly falling face first into your soup and it would have taken too long to get this bed ready.’