The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Let’s go back by the fire,’ she suggested, and took a pan of water back with them to make fresh tea. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said to Rob, ‘but I could do with sobering up. That stuff’s lethal.’

  He gave a slight chuckle. ‘Your face when he suggested a wee dram—it was priceless.’

  Laurie smiled wryly and told him about the woman in the shop. ‘I should have succumbed. It would have been much less expensive than the malt.’

  ‘It was duty free, so I doubt it. Anyway, it hardly matters. He’s going to bring us logs. It’s a small price to pay.’

  ‘He might charge me.’

  Rob grinned. ‘He might well, but it’s better than freezing to death or burning the kitchen table.’

  They both laughed, and then suddenly the atmosphere changed, became charged with tension, and her breath caught in her throat and she looked hastily away. The pot of water was boiling, and she made tea with trembling fingers and tried not to think about the look in his eyes or the need that was rising in her with every moment in his company.

  She wouldn’t give in to it—she couldn’t. Not now. She had to think this through, and falling for his charm wouldn’t help her one tiny bit.

  Damn. He was getting closer, he knew it, but just when he thought the barriers were coming down, up they went again and he was back to square one.

  He sat obediently in his corner of the settee, drank the tea she handed him—with a dribble of the rationed milk—and said nothing. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Why should he? She’d left him, let her deal with the awkward silences and the raging attraction that still burned between them.

  She curled up at the other end of the settee and put her nose in her tea, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye and ached for her. She was slender, but she curved in all the right places, and there was something about the fine angle of her jaw and the stubborn set of her soft, full mouth that made the ache much worse.

  They’d had so much, he thought with regret. Too much to throw away so easily. He wouldn’t give in. He couldn’t. She was coming home with him if it killed him—assuming he didn’t die in the meantime of cold or starvation—or frustration, he thought wryly, watching her still.

  She shifted slightly, and her fine wool jumper pulled across the side of her breast and he had to stifle the groan of need.

  ‘I’m going to look for these logs,’ he said, getting up and putting his mug down on the hearth almost untouched. ‘I brought my boots in. Do you want me to try and dig out the garage so you can get to it when the power’s back on?’

  ‘That would be good,’ she said, a little too fast, and he almost regretted suggesting he went out. Staying in there with her was clearly unsettling her, and that was good—except it was unsettling him, too, and he needed to go and cool off if he was going to win this one.

  He pulled on an extra jumper, donned his coat and boots and went out into the biting wind. Cool off? He’d freeze to death, he thought, putting on his gloves from the front of the car and wielding the grillpan like a machete to slice his way through the snow.

  It probably wasn’t very efficient, but it warmed him up and took the edge off his frustration. He made his way to the garage door, scraped away the snow and found the shovel, then started to tackle the path back to the house. By the time he reached the door he was hot and tired, and frustration was the last thing on his mind.

  Iain McGregor brought the wood at two, and tipped it by the gate. They spent the rest of the afternoon, what little there was of it, moving the logs by hand one at a time into the lee of the cottage.

  The wind was shifting, swinging round to the north, and there was a bitter edge to it now that cut right through them even though they were working. It carried the snow like tiny needles of ice that sliced at any bare skin it contacted, and Laurie huddled inside her inadequate coat and wondered if she wouldn’t be better off inside with a saw explaining the table to the owners.

  Still, eventually it was all shifted over to the side of the cottage out of the drifting snow, and they went back inside, stamping the snow off their boots. Rob turned her and brushed the snow off her back with firm, long strokes, and the touch of his hand made her want to whimper. It was so brisk and businesslike, not at all what she wanted, and yet she could have stood there for hours just to have him touch her at all.

  You sad case, she told herself, and returned the favour, sweeping the thick snow from his shoulders and back, resisting the urge to explore the solid, muscled contours of his spine.

  ‘I need the loo,’ she muttered, hanging her coat on the peg, and opened the bathroom door only to let out a shriek.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The cat flap,’ she wailed. ‘We forgot to block it.’

  ‘And?’ He peered over her shoulder. ‘Ah.’

  Ah, indeed, she thought. The wind, veering round and picking up, had blown it open and driven snow straight in in a heap on the bathroom floor.

  ‘I’ll get a dustpan and scoop it into the bath,’ he said, and while he was doing that she pulled the snow out of the little tunnel in front of the cat flap, pushed it firmly shut and locked it. What a crazy place to put it, she thought, but maybe it wouldn’t be if the wind wasn’t from that angle—or if she’d thought to lock it in the first place. After all, no self-respecting cat would have used it in the snow, so it probably hadn’t been a problem in the past. She stuffed a towel in the hole to act as insulation, and watched Rob.

  Using the dustpan as a scoop, he scraped the snow up and dropped it in the bath, and then straightened.

  ‘It might melt eventually. Fancy a cup of tea now your friendly farmer’s brought us some milk?’ he suggested, and she gave a strangled laugh.

  ‘Sounds good. Make lots, I’ll bathe in it to thaw out. Now hop it, I need the loo,’ she said, and pushed him out of the door. The bathroom felt freezing, even huddled in her thick clothes, and she found herself wishing fervently that the heating could come back on. Apart from the fact that the loo seat wouldn’t be quite so cold, it would mean she could go upstairs tonight to bed alone—and get away from him and his lopsided grin and his cobalt blue eyes and his sexy charm.

  Getting away from him was fast becoming a priority, because otherwise she was going to fall victim to that lazy, cheeky grin and the potent sex-appeal that came off him in waves, and that would never do.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE power didn’t come back on, but then she might have known she wouldn’t be that lucky. They struggled through the rest of the day—at least, Laurie struggled. Rob seemed only mildly irritated, but then he was able to burn off some of his energy by being physical.

  The coal was getting low, and they were going to need it to keep the fire on overnight, so he stood a paraffin lantern in the window to light the path outside, found an axe round the corner where the coal had been and chopped up some of the logs and stacked them in the hall.

  He’d abandoned his cashmere coat in favour of a chunky Aran sweater, and Laurie stood in the shadows of the sitting room and watched the swing of the axe and the powerful flex of his shoulders under the thick woollen sweater, and ached for what she’d lost.

  ‘You’d lost it already,’ she reminded herself, and tried not to think about their beautiful, elegant house in London and the warmth of the central heating and the comfort of their big bed with the luxurious downy quilt that snuggled round them like a lover.

  Never mind Rob snuggled round her, his big body pressed against hers, or turning her to face him and making love to her until she begged for mercy.

  Minstrel was up out of the chair, sniffing and circling the floor, and Laurie opened the door and let both dogs out for a quick run. Rob was just coming in with the last armful of chopped logs, and as she dragged in a much-needed lungful of air she could smell the sweet scent of the pine and the warmth of his body, and the combination made her body yearn for him.

  ‘You’ve done enough, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘Don’t get cold.’
>
  He snorted. ‘Not a chance—but the wind’s got a real edge to it, so I’m going to stop. I don’t want frostbite and we’ve got enough logs for a day or so.’

  The dogs sniffed around, did their business and were back in in seconds, sneaking onto the chair and snuggling down again before Laurie could suggest the hearthrug.

  ‘Supper?’ Rob said hopefully, bringing in some of the wood from the hall and piling it on the fire. She thought through her purchases and wondered what they could cook successfully. They’d had beans on toast for lunch—hardly haute cuisine, but filling and tasty. It was about the limit of her stock of instant food, but at least they had milk now since Iain McGregor had been.

  And there was a fruit cake from his wife, too. Perhaps they could have that for pudding. As for the main course—

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything easy, in a tin?’ Rob said, peering over her shoulder into the sparsely furnished cupboard.

  ‘Not really,’ she said, wishing she was into convenience foods more and didn’t tend to cook everything fresh. She hadn’t really factored in the weather, and she certainly hadn’t anticipated being snowed in with a big, hungry man! ‘I’ve got more of that pasta thing we had last night, but I don’t know how well you can cook it over heat instead of in the oven. I could try a risotto. I wonder if that would work.’

  ‘I guess we’ll find out,’ he said, straightening. ‘Come on, it’s cold in here. Let’s go and experiment.’

  Actually it worked, more or less, and they had cold grated cheese over the top and put the plates in front of the fire for a moment to melt it.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, manfully swallowing the rather uneven rice complete with crispy bits where it had stuck on the bottom of the pan. ‘I’ve had worse.’

  She couldn’t imagine where, but she didn’t argue. It was the best they could manage under the circumstances, and at least they wouldn’t starve. The flavour wasn’t bad, she supposed, and it certainly smelled good.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Midas and Minstrel, who were watching them both hopefully. ‘Forget it,’ she advised them, and Midas grunted and dropped his head. After a moment Minstrel settled again, but she still watched hungrily, and Laurie weakened and gave her the last few bites mixed with some dog food. Midas had a tiny scrape, just so he didn’t feel left out, but she was worried about Minstrel.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Rob said, reading her mind again. ‘Tea and cake?’

  She was about to tell him to get it himself when she realised he was. The pan was on to boil the water, the cake was out and cut into wedges, and she felt churlish and petty. What was it about him that had her permanently on edge?

  ‘They’ll have to sleep on the floor tonight,’ she said. ‘I’m not going upstairs, and I’m not lying on the hearthrug, either.’

  ‘So sleep with me on the settee,’ he said reasonably, and her heart thumped.

  ‘No way,’ she retorted, wishing that she could allow herself the luxury.

  He sighed and rammed a hand through his hair. ‘Laurie, we’ll be fully dressed. We’ve been married for five years. I think I can manage not to assault you in the night.’

  It wasn’t him she was worried about, she thought with a strangled laugh.

  ‘We’ll see. I’ll try and talk them into the hearthrug later.’

  They weren’t having any of it. Midas whined, and Minstrel looked at her with such huge reproachful eyes that she felt like a murderer.

  ‘Oh, have the damn chair,’ she grumbled. ‘Rob, shove up. I’ll sit at the end.’

  ‘You don’t have to sit—’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  He sighed, but he curled his legs up to make room for her, and she sprawled across the corner of the settee, the quilt tucked up round her ears to cut out the draught from behind her. She was warm enough, but after a while her legs ached and her back ached and she just wanted to lie down.

  ‘You’re being silly,’ he pointed out after half an hour of shuffling. ‘Come here.’

  His voice was soft and coaxing in the firelight, and she was so uncomfortable she gave in and lay down stiffly beside him with her back to him and a discreet gap between them that gravity did its best to dispose of.

  ‘It’s only so I don’t have to turn the dogs off the chair, so don’t think I’m giving in,’ she said, contrary to the last, and she heard a muffled chuckle against her shoulder.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said soothingly, and his arm came round her waist and tucked her up against him into his glorious warmth, doing away with the gap, and she sighed with relief and something else that she didn’t want to think about too closely and let herself relax.

  It felt wonderful to hold her. She was soft and warm, her earlier tension gone, and the hair that tickled his nose smelt of her shampoo, familiar and comforting.

  Oddly, he didn’t feel aroused holding her, just contented. Normal. He tried to remember the last time he’d slept with her in his arms, but he couldn’t. He could hardly remember the last time he’d slept with her, never mind in his arms. Three weeks ago? Two and a half? Ages, anyway, and it had been more about trying to achieve conception than holding her or loving her.

  He swallowed a lump in his throat, and his arm tightened involuntarily around her. Where had they gone so wrong? He didn’t know. He just knew that holding her like this felt more right than anything had felt for a long time, and gradually his exhausted body relaxed and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  He was aroused. She could feel it, even through their clothes, because her bottom was snuggled right into him and they were so close she would have been hard pushed to get a credit card between them.

  He was still asleep, his arm over her waist a dead weight, and she could feel the soft puff of his breath against her hair as he exhaled. His chest rose and fell slowly against her back, and she lay there for a few minutes just enjoying the warmth and the comfort of his body.

  Human contact, she told herself, that was all it was, but she knew in her heart it was more than that. She still loved him, of course, but there was nothing she could do about it. Unless he changed drastically she couldn’t live with him again, no matter how much she might miss certain aspects of their relationship and their life together.

  What a lonely thought.

  She turned back the quilt and lifted his arm carefully, wriggling out from under it and tucking him back in before straightening up. The dogs were on their feet, tails waving gently, and she crept out into the hall with them and let them out into the still, silent dawn.

  The sky was crystal clear, the sun just edging over the horizon as she watched, and she huddled her arms round her and looked out over the snow-covered landscape and sighed with contentment.

  It was beautiful. The sun was just high enough now to touch the tops of the hills on the horizon, turning the snow to gold, and in the distance she could hear a dog bark. Midas and Minstrel lifted their heads, but they didn’t bother to respond. Too busy trying to convince her to come back inside and feed them, she thought with a smile, and took them into the chilly kitchen and gave them breakfast.

  Minstrel wolfed hers down, as if she was afraid she’d lose it, and Laurie stroked her and soothed her while Midas finished his at a more leisurely pace. ‘You’ll get indigestion if you eat that fast, silly girl,’ she told the dog gently, and she looked at her with liquid gold eyes and Laurie smiled. Such trust. Poor little thing. It was humbling.

  She filled a pan with water and went through to the sitting room, prodded the fire into life and set the pan on it to heat. It would take ages, and in the meantime all she had to do was watch Rob sleeping.

  Or not.

  His eyes were open, studying her, his face serious.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said lightly, ignoring the thump of her heart.

  ‘Morning. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Wonderfully. You make a good pillow. I’d forgotten.’

  He snorted softly and rolled onto his back, crossing his legs
at the ankle and folding his arms under his head. He looked big and broad and vital, a healthy male in his prime, and after waking up close to him she really didn’t need to see him looking quite so good. She could still feel the imprint of his body against her back.

  She busied herself with the tea that wasn’t quite ready, and tried to ignore the sounds of him stretching and yawning and unfolding his long frame from the makeshift bed.

  ‘I’m going to wash. I don’t suppose the power’s back on, is it?’

  She shot him a look. ‘Would I be making tea on the fire if it was?’ she asked patiently, and he gave her a cockeyed grin.

  ‘Never can tell. You do some funny things.’

  She glared at him, and he smiled and walked out, closing the door behind him with a soft click. She growled under her breath, and Minstrel lifted her head and whined.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,’ she crooned. ‘Just ignore me. The place is freezing and the water’s still ice-cold, and I want a hot bath and my own bed at night—and that man out of here before he drives me mad.’

  ‘That man’ came back in then, a towel slung round his neck, and rummaged in his suitcase for clothes.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ he told her, and she stared at him as if he was quite insane.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, a little stunned.

  He laughed. ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell you later. A nice hot cup of tea would be good in a minute.’

  He wasn’t long. She heard a yelp and a gasp through the thickness of the doors, and stifled her smile. She made him a big mug of tea, with a generous slosh of their newly replenished milk, and put it on the hearth to keep warm while she waited for him to return.

  He came through the door briskly and still naked, scrubbing his wet body with the towel, and with utter disregard for her presence he came over to the fire, finished drying and then put his clothes on while she tried desperately not to give in to temptation and look at him.

  Not that she hadn’t seen it all before, but it did nothing for her composure to have that beautiful body standing right beside her as he tugged on his clothes!