by Annie O'Neil
“What were they?”
“To fight or to give in. Turns out fighting is a whole lot more rewarding.”
And a crucial reminder of why she so longed to stay. She’d taken to this lifestyle. To these people. To Diego. She hadn’t told him, but her locum had expressed an interest in staying on in Craggen for longer. Her father seemed different too. He seemed to have... Well, he seemed to have bloomed a little, and was spending quite a bit of time with Mary Baird.
She took a drink of water to give herself time to gather her thoughts. “Have I ever told you how my mother died?”
“Not in so many words.”
As the sting of tears hit, Isla was suddenly grateful for the isolated table Diego had requested for them, out on the seaside patio. She was normally much better at controlling her emotions, but—tick-tock. She wasn’t going to be here much longer. She might as well leave Diego with a full portrait of the woman he’d risked his neck for.
The woman he was rejecting.
She swiped at the tear careering down her cheek.
He pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her with a gentle smile. The simple gesture tore at the fragile hold she had on her emotions. She stemmed a small sob, then buried her face in the handkerchief that smelt so perfectly of him until she could speak like a vaguely normal human being.
“For as long as I could remember my parents were devoted to saving animals as much as they were devoted to each other.”
“And to you?”
She swallowed back the urge to tell him they had never loved her as much, but that wasn’t true.
“I don’t think they were designed to be stay-at-home parents. I know they loved me, but they saw their causes as bigger than them. More powerful.”
A rueful smile hit Diego’s lips. “I can relate.”
“And because of that,” Isla continued, “you’ve helped me understand my parents more. Helped me realize they did love me, with all their hearts, but the way they loved me was always going to differ from the way people who ‘toe the line’ love.”
“How do you mean?”
“My mother was killed trying to protect a young assistant and an orangutan. Poachers. They were armed. She wasn’t. The assistant was trying to protect the orangutan...my mother intercepted the volley of bullets.
Diego winced. He now understood just how similar their paths had been. But his response to tragedy had been so much more proactive than her own.
“When my father left his elephant project—”
Diego’s eyes widened.
“I know, I know... There are a lot of endangered species. From my perspective, seeing as I’d already lost one parent, I felt I in danger of losing another. So I upped sticks and did everything in my power to make myself into a safe haven for him, back in my grandmother’s house on Loch Craggen. But really I was making it a safe haven for me. Cocooning myself against all the scary things. I dropped my exciting life in London like it was burning coals. Took over the GP practice. Helped elderly ladies across the street. Drank hot chocolate instead of wine...”
“Became engaged to someone you didn’t love?”
She gave him a grim smile. “Yup. And I hung around long enough for him to get bored with this...” she drew her hands along the length of her body “...and ended up here, sobbing myself to sleep every night until...until I met you.”
“Why are you telling me all this? Not that I don’t want to hear it... It’s just that you’ve had all month to explain.”
She was telling him because she loved him. Because she wanted him to know that as she confessed to him it was coming from a place that was honest and true. But she didn’t think he’d want to hear that. Not if his invitation for her to stay was only “for a while.”
She forced herself to give a self-effacing laugh. “I guess it’s a really long-winded way of telling you that you’re the one I really owe thanks to.”
“I think you could safely say the feeling is mutual. Now!” He looked at the steaming plates of food the waiter had just set down between them. “Shall we enjoy our meal and then...” he dropped her a sexy wink “...have an early night?”
The warmth in her chest turned to fire. A fire that arrowed down to her body’s most intimate regions. She hardly needed to be told what her body wanted. What she did need was for her brain to come to terms with the fact she would have to say goodbye.
“Absolutely. Bon appetit.”
She speared a prawn with her fork and raised it to her lips. The instant the scent hit her a swell of nausea roiled in her belly.
She looked up at Diego. Their eyes met with an electric, unbreakable connection as the fork fell from her fingers and her hands flew to her mouth.
In that instant she knew exactly why her body was behaving this way. The easy tears. The zig-zagging emotions. The nausea.
Despite their precautions, despite the fiction of their marriage, and despite playing their emotional cards as close to their chests as possible...she was carrying his very real child.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THERE WAS ONLY so much pretending Diego was up to. Isla had been in a dark mood ever since her bout of food poisoning.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, thanks.” She took a sip of herbal tea instead of her usual coffee.
He didn’t like this. Pretending they were a couple who barely knew one another instead of a couple who had shared a bed up until a week ago. Shared a bed in a rather spectacular fashion.
He scalded his throat, downing his morning coffee in one, his eyes glued to his wife. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
It was the same line she’d used for the past two days. And tonight she would board a plane for Scotland.
She was proactively avoiding any and all conversations that didn’t involve the clinic. Nor had she slept in his room. The gesture felt like a knife blade searing directly into Diego’s soul. He wanted to push. He wanted to demand. He wanted, he realized with a burning hot resolve, this marriage to be real.
But she’d very obviously turned some sort of corner and was set on going home. He could hardly demand she stay. Not after everything she’d been through.
He nudged the basket of baked goods toward her. “Amor... Try something. A bit of bread? You’ve hardly eaten all week.”
He saw her fight a swell of nausea.
“Still not feeling well?”
She shook her head. “I have to get to the clinic soon. I’ll eat something at the sanctuary.”
“Why are you going to work? You’re leaving tonight.”
“I don’t really need reminding, Diego,” she snapped.
Fine. He’d try another tack. “Is Paz working with you today?”
She screwed her lips up for a minute and thought. “Yesterday was Sofia, so today is Paz.”
“He seems to be taking to his volunteer role like a duck to water.”
She smiled, despite the obvious discomfort she was feeling. Whether it was still the nausea or his presence remained to be seen.
“I can’t yet tell if he simply likes wearing scrubs or if he’s really taking to medicine.”
“Maybe a bit of both?” Diego suggested.
She shrugged and looked away.
“Have you spoken with your father?”
“No.” Her hands swept to her belly. “I... I send him emails. We’re in touch, but...”
Diego reached across and took Isla’s hand in his. “Amor. Talk to me. None of this is under duress anymore. I’m here. For you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She pressed her lips together, fighting the emotion he could see clawing at her throat.
“We can get through this—whatever it is. Together.”
“That’s just it!” The words came out in a torrent. “We aren’t
a we. Are we?”
She opened her arms wide and scanned the sunny courtyard where they’d taken their breakfast so happily for the previous few weeks.
The thought sickened him.
The idea of living without Isla was even worse.
“We can be if you want to be.”
She looked at him as if he’d just spat at her. Her features twisted in horror. “What? Live a lie? Tell our child—?” She choked on the word, her hands pressing protectively to her belly.
He stopped her. “What did you say?”
“I said our child.” She lifted up her chin. Defiance was pouring from her.
“You’re pregnant?”
He felt as if he’d been hit with a wrecking ball. His vow never to have children was the one thing he had never questioned. The one vow he’d always believed he would keep.
“I wasn’t going to tell you. I was trying to keep the little bubble of this lie we’ve been living complete so that you never had to know.”
Diego bridled. “Is that what you think? That everything we’ve been through is a lie?”
“What would you call a marriage at gunpoint?”
“Love at first sight,” he answered, without pausing to think.
They stared at one another, absorbing the power of the words he’d just spoken.
“Is that what you genuinely feel?” she asked eventually. “Love? Are you sure it’s not some Messiah complex? A built-in need to protect vulnerable people after your brother died?”
He stared at her and said nothing. An instant ago, when he’d said “love at first sight”, he’d believed it to be completely true. He’d been bowled over by her from the instant he’d laid eyes on her. Instinctually drawn to protect her. Care for her. Ensure she was—
Hell. She was right. He had been protecting her. But did he love her?
It was impossible to know. How did a man go about teasing apart fact from fiction?
He was surprised to see she was pushing back from the table—away from him. “The fact you’re not answering is giving me your answer.”
“Isla, wait.”
“No.” She shook her head and held out a hand in a stay where you are gesture. “I don’t want you treating me as if I’m weak. Or vulnerable.”
She looked up at the sky, blinked away a couple of tears, then met his gaze head-on.
“What I am is strong. Resilient.” She pressed her hands to her heart. “I know now I’m a survivor. I don’t need you to protect me. Or care for me. Or create some sort of cocoon for me to live in. Because loving you has changed me.”
Her sob echoed around the sunlit courtyard as she dropped her face into her hands.
She loved him?
Instinct drew him to her. He pushed his chair back and tried to pull her into his arms but she pushed him away.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want you if you don’t love me.”
Why can’t you just tell her? Tell her how you feel?
He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “We’ve got quite a few questions up in the air, don’t we?”
She made a noise in her throat that told him what he already knew. That he was prevaricating. Being pathetic.
Loving her doesn’t have to mean losing her. She’s not your brother. This is not the same scenario.
“Isla.” He reached out as she passed and grabbed her wrist. “If you’re carrying my child—”
“Stop! Stop trying to control the situation. I gave myself to you. Heart and soul. Willingly. Do you how painful it is for me to know you won’t do the same?” She turned on him. “You don’t even want children, Diego. You made that crystal-clear. I do. So do what you do best and leave me to get on with my life!”
He reached out and grabbed her wrist. Things weren’t going to end this way. Not with a fight.
She yanked her wrist out of his hand. “Don’t!” She massaged her wrist and stared at him, appalled. “Don’t you dare try and stop me.”
She headed for the stairs then turned on him again.
“Do you know how much trust it took for me to fall in love with you? How much faith? To convince myself you weren’t like them? That you were kind? Good? Someone who was doing his best to rise above and make a difference? Well, it turns out you’re just like my parents. You love the cause much more than the people involved in it. I won’t be a victim of that again.”
Then she ran up the stairs and into her room, where it didn’t take a genius to figure out she would be packing her bag and preparing to leave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A KNOCK SOUNDED at Isla’s childhood bedroom door. “Hot chocolate, love?”
Isla shook her head. “No, thanks, Mary. I’m all right with mint tea for now.”
She held up the mug sitting on her bedside table as if it was proof that mint tea was the thing she most wished for in life. The magic potion that was making everything about being back in Loch Craggen pregnant, alone, and living under the same roof as her father and—hello!—his new girlfriend completely natural.
“How’re you getting on with the job-hunt?” Mary leant against the door, clearly not planning on budging until she got an answer.
Isla smiled at her persistence. No wonder her father was cock-a-hoop over this woman. She was strong. Emotionally grounded. As mad about dogs and Craggen as he was about turtles. And she never pushed Isla to talk more than she wanted to.
“Well...” Isla pushed aside her laptop and crossed her legs. “I have applied for four posts in London, but being two months pregnant isn’t really much of a lure to prospective employers.”
“You’re a sensible girl. You have savings. And of course your father and I are happy for you to stay here as long as you like.”
She didn’t want to stay here. She wanted to go back to El Valderon, where her father was on a quick advisory trip. He’d handed over the reins of the sanctuary to Gloria, with the tacit agreement that he would come out during egg-laying and hatching season each year.
It was almost physically painful to think his path might cross with Diego’s. She’d dreamt of Diego and of El Valderon every night since she’d left. Left in a whirl of outrage, refusing to listen to so much as a solitary word from Diego. She’d known that if she’d stopped and listened to him she might have done what she always did—tried to craft herself into yet another person she wasn’t in order to make someone happy.
Her hands slipped to her belly. She had someone else to prioritize now. That number one place was well and truly taken.
Wasn’t there room enough for two?
It was difficult to admit, but with each day that passed she missed him more and more. She realized half the accusations she’d flung at him had been to protect herself from the truth. Life wasn’t perfect. People weren’t perfect. He, like her, was fallible. He made mistakes. She made mistakes.
And she loved him with every cell in her body.
Mary tipped her head to her shoulder and gave Isla a sidelong look. “Did you speak with your father today?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but, you know... We had some really good talks before he left. Going through everything we did has kind of forced us to be more open with each other. More honest.”
“I think your father is definitely president of the Isla MacLeay Fan Club!”
“Ach, away!” Isla laughed as a flush of pleasure hit her cheeks.
She had never felt more close to her father than she did now. There had definitely been a strong hit of déjà vu when she’d returned to Loch Craggen in tears about a man, but this time—this time she wasn’t questioning her personal worth. Wasn’t desperate for her father’s approval. She now knew she’d had it all along.
And now she’d had a few long walks along the bracing Scottish coastline with her dad she knew in her heart that she had always been loved. Her parents, as she h
ad begun to suspect, simply hadn’t fit the traditional mold.
“What do you say you come out and walk some of the dogs with me today? Give your eyes a rest.” Mary held up a handful of dog leashes.
A bit of fresh air was exactly what she needed after two hours staring at the computer. And maybe an opportunity for the North Sea wind to blow away the cobwebs. Remind her that, with or without Diego, her future had changed for the better. Even heartache had its place in making a person better, and she was going to strive to give her child the best life she could.
She pulled on the cardigan lying on the end of her bed. “I don’t suppose you have any top tips on how to become pack leader?”
Mary shot her a mischievous smile and beckoned for Isla to join her. “Plenty. How do you think I snared your father?”
* * *
Isla was still laughing as they rounded the corner. Mary’s dogs were hilarious. She’d have to work a walk into her daily routine. And not only was her father’s new girlfriend funny, she always seemed to have a new angle to look at a situation from.
Like the whole family issue. She’d suggested Isla remember that family came in all shapes and forms. Some were so-called traditional. A mum. A dad. Two-point-two children. And others...? Others were made up of people who loved and cared for you.
“Like Rufus,” she’d said, pointing to her St Bernard. “He’s always on hand when I need a bit of a blub. Never tells me to bog off. Never tells me I’m being an idiot. He just lets me cry out whatever it is I’m boo-hooing about and all he wants in return is a belly-rub.”
Leaving Mary to wrangle the dogs, Isla turned toward home. Her hands slipped to her tummy—which gave an enormous flip when she looked up at the front door to the cottage.
“Diego!” Isla’s cheeks, pink with the cold, turned pale. “What are you doing here?”
All six-foot-something of him turned around, his dark eyes making the same powerful impact on her they had the first time all those weeks ago on El Valderon.
