Her Baby Out of the Blue/A Doctor, A Nurse: A Christmas Baby

by Alison Roberts/Amy Andrews

  But there was no getting away from the fact that he was attractive. Jane bit back a wry smile as she pushed herself up from the table only minutes after sitting down.

  Izzy would have found all this very amusing. Of course she was attracted, her friend would have declared. It’s every woman’s fantasy, the bad boy. Independent and a bit wild. Motorbikes and leather jackets.

  Jane emptied the dregs of her coffee down the sink. Dylan had a leather jacket. He’d been wearing it the first time she’d seen him. Boots, too. She’d imagined the guitar. It wouldn’t have been a very big leap to have it slung across his back as he sat astride a powerful motorbike.

  Funny how this room now seemed stifling as well as claustrophobic. It was time to get out of here. Time to centre herself by concentrating on the rest of what promised to be an exceptionally busy—rewarding— day at work.

  ‘Do I what?’ The question had been startling.

  ‘Ride a motorbike.’ The voice on the other end of the line sounded faintly embarrassed.

  ‘I used to,’ Dylan admitted. ‘A Ducati. Why?’ He found himself grinning. ‘Do you fancy a ride on one?’

  ‘Good heavens, no!’ Jane sounded shocked now. ‘No, I was just…um…wondering, that’s all.’ Her voice became much crisper in the wake of the jarring sound of a throat being decisively cleared. ‘I was thinking that you’ll need a vehicle while you’re here and…’

  ‘And you reckoned I looked like a man who’d be riding off into the sunset on a bike? With my guitar on my back, maybe?’

  ‘Actually, I was simply trying to be considerate, which led me to wonder what you might prefer to drive.’

  Dylan’s smile faded. He was being put in his place, wasn’t he? Kind of a shame to give up on the image of riding a bike again—with Jane clinging on the back. His lips twitched again. They’d probably end up arguing about just who was going to be the pillion passenger.

  ‘I’d prefer something with four wheels and some walls at the moment. With room for a baby seat.’

  He hadn’t meant to sound resigned but the pleasure of driving Jane’s little sports car wasn’t going to be on the agenda any more than feeling the wind in his hair on the back of a bike.

  Why on earth had Jane even been thinking about bikes? Mind you, knowing that she’d been thinking of him at all was quite nice. The perfunctory conversations they’d had so far this week hadn’t suggested that he and Sophie were any more than an obligation.

  The usual queries regarding their welfare had long since been dealt with on this occasion but Dylan was enjoying the verbal company. He had no intention of letting Dr Walters escape back to her journal reading or scalpel polishing or whatever she amused herself with before retiring for the night.

  ‘The garden’s taking shape,’ he told her with satisfaction. ‘I got a path clear all the way down to that shed thing today.’

  ‘The gazebo?’

  ‘That’s the hexagonal one with all the roses growing over it?’

  ‘Yes. Lovely place to sit in summer.’

  ‘It will be,’ he promised. ‘Be a bit painful to try and go inside at the moment. No, I meant the one that’s got a kind of yard attached. There’s some rusty old netting hanging off poles.’

  ‘Oh! The hen house. Good grief, how could I have forgotten that was there? Collecting the eggs every day was my favourite chore.’

  ‘I could put some new netting up if you want to use it again.’

  ‘Keep hens?’ The chuckle told him how ridiculous his suggestion had been. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No.’ But how nice would it be to have a few chooks scratching around at the end of the garden? ‘Same goes for the vegetable garden, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes. ‘Fraid so.’

  There was a short silence. This would be Jane’s cue to end the call. It was Dylan’s turn to clear his throat this time.

  ‘There’s flowers coming out on the tree at the end of the veranda,’ he told her. ‘Lots of them. They’re bright red and sort of fluffy. I’ve never seen anything like them.’

  ‘It’s a pohutukawa tree,’ Jane said. ‘It’s called the New Zealand Christmas tree because it flowers from now until around Christmas. Gran used to put big bunches in white vases in the house but they drop that fluff everywhere.’

  ‘They’re gorgeous.’ Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Dylan carried on. ‘There’s a spruce tree around the side of the house that needs a good trim. I was thinking that a branch would make a perfect wee tree for Sophie’s first Christmas.’

  There was dead silence on the other end of the line. Was she not expecting him to still be here at the end of December? Or did her lack of interest in the celebration include this part of her life as well as her pristine apartment? He didn’t want this conversation to end unhappily so he tried to give her an easy way out.

  ‘But I don’t suppose you’d have any decorations.’

  She could have just said no and left it at that, but Jane surprised him.

  ‘There’s a box somewhere out in the shed,’ she said slowly. ‘Gran always had a tree. There was a gold star that went on top and when I was little I thought it was the real one, you know? From the story that I never got sick of hearing.’

  ‘The one the wise men saw. I know.’

  He let the note of sympathy in his words hang for a moment but he didn’t want Jane to dwell on what might be missing from her life. He searched for something positive to say.

  ‘Your delphiniums are looking bonny.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The delphiniums. Tall flowers. Blue and white. There might even be a pink one in there somewhere.’

  ‘I know what delphiniums are. I’m just surprised that you do.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Dylan confessed. ‘Marg told me.’

  ‘Marg?’ The query was bemused.

  ‘Marg Coates. The lady who lives over the back fence? Grey hair, early sixties, I guess. She works as a nurse at the local hospital.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met her.’ That hint of annoyance was there again. ‘I don’t remember her, anyway.’

  ‘She remembers you.’ Dylan was smiling again. ‘Sweet little girl you were, she said. She often heard you singing and she said you had tea parties for your dolls in that gazebo.’

  ‘That was a very long time ago.’

  Her tone made Dylan change his mind about suggesting that Sophie might like to engage in the same activities in years to come.

  He could feel the distance between them now. Every mile of those twisting hills and the endless plains. Funny how she’d seemed so close when he’d answered the late call, knowing who it would be. Even closer when she’d shared that memory of Christmas with her grandmother. As though she was actually in the cottage with him. As if he could reach out and touch her again.

  He made one last effort to draw her back.

  ‘I think wee Sophie smiled at me today. A real smile and not just wind.’

  ‘She’s a bit young.’

  ‘She’s six weeks. Marg seemed to think that was the usual time they started.’

  ‘Six weeks already? She’ll need vaccinations. Let’s see. Six weeks should include diphtheria, polio, tetanus, whooping cough and, I think, hepatitis.’

  ‘She had some of those early, before travelling. I know she’s had the hepatitis and polio ones. Not sure what else but it’s in with her travel documents.’

  ‘You might like to dig them out. And get her enrolled with the local GP. I think there’s a clinic attached to the hospital and it shouldn’t be hard to find out who’s in charge.’

  ‘Jennifer.’ Dylan suppressed the disappointment that Jane wasn’t interested in whether Sophie was smiling or not.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Jennifer Tremaine. Married to Drew Stephenson. They’re both doctors and they run the local hospital and general practice.’

  ‘Marg obviously likes to talk.’

  ‘Aye. She does at that. Told me they’re desperate for extra nursing staff up
there at the moment.’

  ‘Oh?’ The word was ominous. ‘You’re not thinking of applying for a job, are you?’

  Oops. How had that happened? They were back to that confrontation of the other night when he’d made that suggestion that they put Sophie up for adoption so they could both continue their lives and careers without compromise.

  As if he could ever do that.

  He’d only wanted Jane to start thinking. To start feeling involved and it had worked, hadn’t it? She’d been jolted into revealing rather a lot about herself.

  Her grief for Izzy had been a revelation. Jane Walters was more than capable of caring deeply for another person. That made her quite capable of caring that much for her own daughter.

  ‘No,’ he said, after just a heartbeat’s hesitation. ‘That’s not what I came here for.’

  It was worth persevering and Dylan intended staying long enough to see this through. For Sophie’s sake. Nothing to do with that odd urge to protect Jane that had come when he’d held her in his arms. Or with how incredibly soft he had discovered her lips to be.

  Nothing at all.

  ‘You’re still planning to come here for the weekend?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Yes. I’ll drive over on Friday evening. If I bring you a car, I could catch the shuttle bus back to town.’

  ‘On Sunday.’ It was a statement, not a question. It was important that he and Sophie got whatever limited time that Jane could bring herself to take from her job.

  ‘Yes. I’m not on call till the following weekend. We do a one-in-three roster.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Dylan approved.

  ‘What—the roster?’

  ‘Aye.’ He tried to sound convincing. It wouldn’t do to let Jane know how delighted he was with the imminent prospect of two days, not to mention two nights, in her company.

  For Sophie’s sake, he reminded himself as they ended the conversation. The more time Jane had in the company of the baby, the more hope he had of her falling in love with her daughter. Establishing the kind of bond it would be impossible to break. One that might actually persuade her that a change in the direction of her life might be worthwhile.

  For Sophie’s sake, he insisted as he flicked off the downstairs lights and made his way up the narrow staircase to his bed.

  Yeah…right!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘SHE smiled! At me!’

  ‘Of course she did. Told you she’s been practising.’

  They were all smiling. Sophie was in her bath on the kitchen table again and Jane had just arrived on Friday night. She was still holding her bag in her hand, pausing on her way upstairs to say hello to Dylan, and then Sophie had smiled.

  For a moment Jane had been simply astonished. Transfixed by the way the baby’s lips curved and then her eyes crinkled as the smile got wider. The bare little body seemed to curl inwards, too, as though she was smiling with everything she had. At her! Jane had seen plenty of babies smile but Sophie’s was just so gorgeous. A huge, wide-mouth, froggy smile that seemed to stretch from ear to ear and didn’t stop.

  Jane glanced up at Dylan. Was he seeing this? He was, and he was smiling too so there was no way Jane could help smiling back, and now here they all were with silly, big grins on their faces. The stress of an incredibly busy week simply melted away in that moment in a wash of what felt like…bliss.

  ‘She’s getting good at it, isn’t she?’ Dylan said proudly. He tickled the baby’s tummy when the smile finally began to fade and there it was again—this time with a gurgle that was almost laughter and a kick that was hard enough to splash water all over Jane’s jacket.

  Jane had to blink to try and clear the mistiness that was clouding her vision and her brain. She had to remind herself that all babies looked irresistible when they smiled. Even if Jane hadn’t come across another one this week that had that distinctive dimple, Sophie was no different from any other baby she met. She brushed at the water marks that were undoubtedly going to stain the silk of her jacket and excused herself to take her bag upstairs.

  It was like kittens, she told herself firmly. Cute as buttons in the pet shop and you wanted nothing more than to take them home, but then they grew up into cats and there they were. A responsibility that had to be fed regularly and taken to the vet and presented an obstacle to getting away if you happened to have a weekend unexpectedly free.

  Pets—and children—were for people who hadn’t chosen a demanding career. Or for men who had the luxury of a wife who could find fulfilment in creating a home and raising children. Someone that could make the distraction of domesticity a pleasure instead of a necessity.

  A female version of Dylan?

  The idea of a role-reversal situation was not entirely ludicrous. Jane set her bag on her bed and opened it to remove the clothing and toiletries she had brought with her for the weekend. Dylan would probably embrace the concept of being a house husband. What would it be like, to come home every day to a happy child who smiled at her and a clean house and tidy garden and a meal already prepared?

  To an attractive man who would share her life…and her bed?

  Oh-h-h…For a moment, Jane simply allowed that tug of desire to ripple through her body. She could almost see Izzy in the corner of her room, giving her a nod and an encouraging smile.

  She stripped off her jacket and pulled her hair free of the tight ponytail it was in, running her fingers through the waves to loosen it properly. This was time out, wasn’t it? Time to let her hair down and relax. If part of that relaxation was to indulge in the frisson of attraction to a man any woman would fancy, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. It wasn’t as if she was going to let it go any further.

  Something like excitement lightened her step as she went back to the kitchen.

  ‘Something smells really good.’

  ‘You hungry?’ Dylan had Sophie dried and dressed and tucked into the crook of one arm as he busied himself at the bench.

  ‘Starving. I didn’t expect you to cook for me, though.’

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s hungry. Isn’t that right, hinny?’ Dylan smiled at the baby he held and then reached to pick up the bottle of formula that was warming in a small jug of hot water. He looked back at Jane. ‘I’m doing us some fish. I just put it in the oven so it should be done by the time I’ve got wee Sophie to bed.’ His gaze shifted. First to Sophie, then to the bottle and then back to Jane. ‘Would you like to…?’

  ‘Set the table?’ Jane interrupted hurriedly. She turned on a bright smile. ‘Sure. No problem.’ She took hold of the plastic baby bath, grateful for an excuse to look away before seeing any disapproval on Dylan’s face. ‘Where are you keeping this? In the wash house?’

  ‘Yes…’ Dylan sounded as though he was about to say something else but then Sophie whimpered urgently and Jane thought she heard a small sigh. ‘It’s coming, hinny,’ he murmured soothingly. ‘Dinna fesh yourself.’

  Jane emptied the bath, folded towels and put away the baby shampoo and talcum powder. She could still smell it as she wiped down the table. A nice warm, clean, baby sort of smell, which was far from unpleasant and, oddly, didn’t seem to clash with the aroma of the food cooking.

  The room was warm, both from the oven and the fire that looked to have been burning in the living area for some time before her arrival. Jane found the lighting was soft, having come straight from the clinical glare of hospital spaces, and she could hear Dylan upstairs, moving around.

  The cottage felt lived in again. Alive in a way it hadn’t been for a very long time. Not since Gran had been here, really, because her mother had kept her town house and only come here for the odd weekend, as Jane now did.

  With the table now set, there was nothing for Jane to do but pour a glass of wine and sit and wait for Dylan’s return. To relax and enjoy an ambience that was as enjoyable as it was unfamiliar. She never sat in kitchens. Social occasions for her meant restaurants or the dining rooms of colleagues’ houses. They certainly
didn’t include the smell of baby powder or bottles of formula. But this was…nice.

  It had been such a busy week and, thanks to the disturbance in her personal life, the stress that Jane normally thrived on had been exhausting. Her life was out of kilter and it was confusing. Why had she felt that simmering resentment at the obligation to come here this weekend when—now she was here—she couldn’t imagine a place she would prefer to be?

  Dylan said nothing about her avoidance of baby care when he returned to the kitchen. He took a bowl of salad, a bottle of dressing, a pat of butter and a plate of lemon wedges from the fridge, drained potatoes and unwrapped foil packages that came out of the oven to serve what turned out to be the most delicious fish dinner Jane could remember ever tasting.

  ‘This is fantastic. What is it?’

  ‘Cod. Not fancy but it’s fresh. Caught this afternoon, in fact. Straight from the sea to your plate, courtesy of John.’

  ‘John?’ It was beginning to seem a habit, this echoing of names that meant nothing to Jane.

  ‘John Bellamy. I’ve met him a couple of times when Sophie and I walk down to the wharf. He’s been fishing this harbour for about sixty years, I’d say. Getting on but he’s a really nice guy.’

  It was silly to feel left out. To resent the notion that Dylan was more at home here than she had ever been. The lemon juice Jane was squeezing onto her fish seemed to be having a sharpening effect on her tone of voice.

  ‘And I suppose he knew my grandmother as well?’

  Dylan grinned. ‘Probably. But I don’t go around talking to everyone I meet about you, Jane.’

  The resentment faded under the spell of that smile. And Jane liked the way he said her name. It made her feel that she was the focus of his attention. She even liked the inflection that suggested he did talk to some people about her. If he did that, it meant that he’d been thinking about her. As much as she’d been thinking about him, perhaps?