The Nurse's Special Delivery

by Louisa George

  But then his eyes darkened further, as if a cloud passed through his thoughts, and he took a step back, cleared his throat. ‘Right then, lassie, you have about twenty more cartridges. Let’s make them count.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE’D ALMOST KISSED HER. Within an inch. Closer. He’d almost broken his promises; that nothing and no one would get in the way of looking after Finn.

  And yes, he’d had some flings with women who were of the same mindset as him; who’d just wanted a good time, no questions asked. But with Abbie, things were different. She was the kind of woman who’d want more than just sex. Who was the whole package deal with a kid on the way—the love of her life’s kid—and when Cal was with her he wanted a piece of that too. Something he hadn’t ever contemplated. Something that was tugging hard. But he just couldn’t. It wasn’t in his future any time soon.

  He had a debt to pay. And if it took a lifetime then it wouldn’t be long enough.

  A waitress brought over two glasses of pinot noir and placed them on the table, then fussed around finding blankets for their legs. Sitting outside to admire the view of rolling hills covered in vines had been a great idea, but didn’t account for the cool wind whipping round them.

  When the waitress had finally gone, he tipped his glass against Abbie’s. ‘You did well. I’ll be phoning the New Zealand selectors and recommending you for the shooting team.’

  ‘As if. I think you might need to hit the target more than fifty per cent of the time to qualify, right?’ She laughed. She was wearing a thick, baggy, candy-striped woolly jumper that hid most of the gorgeous body he’d seen on the run the other day, and skinny jeans tucked into knee-length brown boots. She looked the most relaxed he’d seen her, her hair in loose curls and her dark eyes sparkling. Always moving. Always dancing. So alive that he couldn’t help wanting her, wanting a piece of that vibrancy too.

  ‘It’s early days. I’ll have you shooting like a pro in no time.’ And why he’d said that he didn’t know. One minute he was making the decision to loosen the ties with her and the next he was making more plans with her. He was starting to lose the plot.

  ‘Not sure I’m going to give up the day job just yet, though—’ She tipped her glass against his. ‘But, thanks. It’s been fun.’

  ‘That was my aim. Pardon the pun.’

  She pulled a funny face. ‘Oh, God, you’re as bad at jokes as you are at running.’

  ‘I told you, I let you win.’ Tactics. Truth was, he’d already run fifteen kilometres that day and had been on his way back to town when he met her. Running to the bridge again hadn’t exactly been on his agenda. But he’d never been one for backing down from a challenge. Especially not from someone like Abbie.

  She was tapping her fingers on the table. Brewing something. ‘Okay, so the score is one all. I won the run. You win the clay shooting. What should we do next? Something that neither of us are good at, or something we both are?’

  He spluttered into his wine glass. ‘I think you’ll find I’m good at most things. Some things I’m exceptional at...’ There was an edge in his voice that took the conversation from sweet to spice in an instant. Strange thing was, he couldn’t control it even if he wanted to. He looked directly at her now, at her eyes and the perfect bow of her mouth. She swallowed. And again. But she didn’t stop looking right back at him, too.

  She licked her bottom lip and heat shot through him.

  He’d almost kissed her and he still wanted to.

  She leaned forward a little. ‘I was talking about physical stuff.’

  ‘So was I.’ Because, why not test the waters? He’d assumed she was all about the kid and the package, but maybe not. Maybe she, like him, wasn’t looking for anything deep. One last fun fling before motherhood hit.

  His suggestion hung in the air and her cheeks coloured a deep, deep red, then a full all-out body blush. Cute. So, he made her feel a little of what he was feeling, then. Good to know he wasn’t going mad and that there was definitely a mutual attraction here. It was just a very stupid idea. Seemed you couldn’t break a habit of a lifetime. He was, after all, in his brother’s words, the king of stupid.

  He opened his mouth to say something about getting physical together, but the moment was broken as the waitress came out with their food.

  Dragging some sweet mountain air deep into his lungs, he calmed himself. Thank goodness he hadn’t actually proved his brother right. For one crazy minute he’d almost blown it. Abbie wouldn’t want a fling. That had been his feral red blood talking, not his sensible educated brain.

  After demolishing a huge helping of venison pie and salad she put her knife and fork down and leaned back in her chair. ‘So, I’ve thought of the perfect thing. How about we climb Ben Lomond next week, then? I reckon I can just about fit you in on my next day off. Before things get really baby-crazy.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ The words were out before he could temper them. Truthfully, the thought of being up there on that ridge in the snow made his heart sing. But up there, with her, being responsible for her, turned the song from melody to high-pitched scream in his head. Not a chance. He softened his voice, relaxed his hold on the wine-glass stem. ‘Hiking? In this crazy, unpredictable weather. No, thanks. You saw what happened to Marty, why we were up there in the first place. If we went up on our own there’d be no helicopter, no radio out.’

  ‘But we’d be more prepared and there’s two of us. I’ve been up it a thousand times, I’ve run up it in the summer in just trainers and a T-shirt. It’s not that bad. Marty was just unlucky. Hell, you can get killed crossing the road. You can die—’ She blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. ‘Well, you can just randomly die and there’s no rhyme or reason for it.’

  He knew she was talking about Michael, and he got that, but it wasn’t going to change his mind. ‘All the more reason to be sensible, then, especially with a baby coming.’

  He’d thought that might put her off, but she became more animated, her hands open and moving, palms upwards. ‘I want my child to be outgoing and adventurous, not to be afraid to take risks.’

  ‘Taking risks is all very well until you have to live through the consequences. Not so exciting and life-affirming then, believe me.’ He was not going to talk about this any more; they were steering into dangerous ground. Too close for comfort for him.

  But she ran her forefinger round the rim of her wine glass, her mouth forming a pout, and he wasn’t sure if she was angry or teasing or frustrated. ‘What’s really the matter, Cal? Are you fobbing me off? No? What is it, then? Scared?’

  Of losing someone else? ‘Actually. Yes, I am.’

  * * *

  That was so not what she’d expected him to say.

  There was a moment of confusion as she reconciled the excitement in his eyes at the mention of tramping and then the shut down at the suggestion he did it with her. The grip of fingers on the wine glass and tightening of his jaw. ‘But I thought you loved it.’

  ‘I do—did.’

  He wasn’t exactly forthcoming, so she pushed a bit more. ‘Scotland must be one of the best places for hiking. Did you climb Ben Nevis?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure. Me and just about everyone else in the UK. It’s like a motorway in summer. Dangerous in winter, and unpredictable, just like here, the rest of the time.’

  ‘I’ve never been, but it’s a lot like here, though, isn’t it? I’ve heard people say the South Island reminds them of the Highlands.’

  ‘Yes. Similar in lots of ways. Lots of hills...’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘There’s this thing, a challenge for hikers; any mountain in Scotland over three thousand feet is called a Munro. There are nearly three hundred of them. The challenge is to summit them all. It’s called Munro bagging. You can combine two or three in one day, others are multi-day walks just to get to the top of one. Othe
rs you chip away at one day at a time. Some are on the tiny islands in the Hebrides, some are hard scrambles, others are more gentle. Like I say, you’re supposed to get to the top of them all and tick them off the list. All two hundred and eighty-two, to be exact.’

  ‘Wow. I thought New Zealand had a lot of hills. And have you completed them all?’

  He nodded, pride evident in the straightened shoulders and tilted jaw. ‘I have. Twice, and then...well, I haven’t finished the third completion.’

  ‘I can see from the way you’re talking that it’s something you love.’

  ‘Aye. But I do it alone these days, if I go at all.’

  ‘Why?’

  He tugged at the zip on his padded black jacket. Up and down. Up and down. ‘Because that’s how I like it.’

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous? More dangerous than if two of us go? There’s safety in numbers, right?’

  His foot was tapping against the table leg. ‘I’m fully prepared and equipped. I don’t take unnecessary chances. I know the risks. It’s better if I go on my own.’

  ‘Better for who?’

  Cal stilled completely and held her gaze. ‘For me. Look, I’m not having this conversation with you, Abbie. We are not going walking, tramping, hiking or anything up that mountain or any other mountain, okay?’

  ‘Whoa. Bossy sibling alert.’ No one had ever spoken to her quite like that. But he was deadly serious and there was no budging the man on this, clearly. ‘Okay. So, no Ben Lomond.’

  ‘No Ben Lomond. Not until the summer anyway, when there’s less chance of horizontal winds and snow. Then, you can do what you want.’

  ‘But you’ll be gone by then.’

  ‘Aye. I’ll be long gone by then.’

  There was a sudden wistful pang in her chest. ‘Why do you go on your own?’

  ‘I climb the mountains because I have to. Because I can’t not. I love it. But I go on my own, at my own pace. Those are my rules.’ He drained his wine and stared out across the vineyard.

  She probably shouldn’t have pushed it further, but she did anyway. Because—well, hell, there was a story there, on the tip of his tongue, and she was going to find out what it was. Maybe it would explain why he wanted to be the Lone-bloody-Ranger up on those hills, and why the shut-down thing occurred every time she asked a question. ‘What happened?’

  His eyes were fixed on the table, right hand curled into a fist. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t want to tell me.’

  ‘No. I don’t.’ Cal sighed low and deep and shook his head, and she knew she’d overstepped the mark.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She reached over the table, took a gamble and wrapped her hand over his. Because she’d pushed him to an edge and she didn’t want to watch him dive over it just because she wanted to get to know him better. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He tugged his hand away and sat up straight. ‘Ach, it was in the papers, you can have a read if you want to be bothered. Short version is: we were on a ridge and my brother fell. A long way. He’s...not the same as he was.’ He drained his glass and she got the distinct feeling that the subject was closed. His eyes had dimmed and he wore a cloak of pain so intense she thought he was going to shout or rage or storm off. But after a couple of moments he gave her a smile that was half reassurance and half sadness. ‘Let’s get you back to town. Two o’clock, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Cal? Wait—’ She wanted to apologise for pushing him into such a dark place, but he stood up and was striding over to the counter to pay. How terrifying to have a brother suffer so badly and still to wear the strain of that. All she wanted to do was stroke Cal’s back and try to make things better for him.

  Which made her stop in her tracks and take a moment to think.

  Everything inside her was screaming not to get involved with this man. He played a dangerous game. He took a gamble with his own life while dedicating his time to saving others. He was fun and deep and sexy and stirred the sleeping dragon inside her. There were more butterflies in her stomach now, flexing wings and stoking a heat inside her. And she knew, if she wasn’t careful, that heat might just burn her.

  So, sense said it was better not to get involved with Callum Baird at all. But the more she got to know him, the more she wanted to know.

  * * *

  Emma was waiting outside the antenatal room, tapping her watch as Abbie half walked, half ran along the corridor, ignoring the Do Not Run and Slippery When Wet signs tacked to the walls. She wasn’t exactly frowning, but it was a close-run thing with her pinched mouth and theatrical sigh. ‘Two-oh-three. It’s not like you to be late.’

  Abbie grimaced. The last thing she wanted was for Emma to think she wasn’t committed to this. She pushed all thoughts of Callum Baird and his roving thumb and mysterious past to the back of her mind. This was her future. Right here. In that blossoming belly. What the hell she’d been thinking, spending the morning playing, she didn’t know. She’d been a fool to let him distract her from real life. ‘I know. I know. Sorry. Sorry. Things ran late. I hope we’re not the last.’

  ‘There’s a few in there already, but Sally’s not here yet and she’s the one taking the tour.’ Emma held the door open and they squeezed into the crowded room. Women of all shapes and sizes stood around chatting. There were a few men, too, but certainly no match to the number of pregnant women.

  ‘At least it’s not all couples,’ Emma said out of the corner of her mouth as she surveyed the others. ‘Some grandmas here too, by the looks of it, and friends, girlfriends. At least we won’t look odd being two women together.’

  ‘The invitation said birthing partners. I don’t care what anyone thinks. Mind you, if they start showing any birthing videos I may have to leave.’ She was joking, of course. She’d delivered enough babies to know exactly what happened.

  But Emma took the bait as Abbie knew she would. ‘Hey, this is your baby. You’re going to be there watching me suffer whether you want to be there or not.’ She was laughing, but Emma didn’t take her eyes from Abbie’s. She had that no-nonsense look on her face that Abbie knew from years of being her friend. If she wasn’t mistaken they were just about to venture into Emma interrogation territory. ‘So, what’s he like?’

  Strike one for Abbie. ‘Who?’

  Emma rolled her eyes. ‘Come on. Outlander guy.’

  Abbie turned her back to the other class members and walked her to the window, all the better to chat a little without being overheard. Queenstown was a small enough place for gossip to spread between the locals as it was. How was he? Where to start? ‘He’s okay. I guess.’

  Another eye-roll. ‘Oh, please. Neither of us have had a date in years and all you give me is okay. Really? Really? This is so different from your first date with Michael.’

  ‘Because it wasn’t a date.’

  ‘Yeah. Just like I’m not looking like a huge beached whale. How did whatever it was meant to be go?’

  It had been a date.

  There was no way of dressing it up in anything other than that. It had been a date and she’d enjoyed herself with a man. Really enjoyed herself, to the point of wanting to kiss him.

  ‘Well...’ It was fun stalling, just to see Emma’s third eye-roll in as many minutes. ‘On the downside he didn’t turn up in a kilt. But on the upside he took me shooting. Like, a real gun. Clay things. I even hit some.’

  That got a rise of the eyebrows. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. A strange place to take a girl on a non-date, or even a date-date.’

  Emma grinned. ‘A rugged man like that looks more like the action type. Mountain biking, skiing...’

  ‘Yes, well, having seen the way he moves in crampons I’d say that too.’ Abbie fought the shiver that ran through her, wishing it were caused by the memory of the ice and not of h
im. ‘He said he used to do more tramping but stopped. And then he went quiet, like he was dealing with memories.’ And she knew all about that. She’d been there after all. Still was there in some ways.

  But she’d decided to put Michael in a box and determined not to talk about him to Cal. Her chest tightened at the thought of that. It was hard to leave her former life behind. Hard to think of someone else filling Michael’s shoes.

  Not that anyone could. But maybe it was time to start moving forward. Baby steps.

  Emma wasn’t letting up at all. ‘Sounds like Mr Scotland has a few secrets, then.’

  The injured brother. The ridge. ‘Hmm. I don’t want to pry.’

  ‘Really? Of course you do.’

  Abbie giggled. ‘Yes, of course I do. But I know I shouldn’t.’

  This elicited a smile from Emma that was warm and encouraging. Which wasn’t exactly helpful. ‘You have a strange look in your eye, Abbie Cook. And I’m not sure what that means.’

  ‘It means I had a nice morning with a nice man, that is all. I probably won’t see him again. In fact...’ She made a decision right there and then. ‘No. I won’t see him again.’

  ‘But that look does not say nice, or that you don’t want to see him again. It says interested.’

  ‘I’m not interested.’ Liar. ‘He’s heading back to Scotland to care for his injured brother.’

  ‘Oh, be still my beating heart. The man’s a saint, too.’

  Abbie thought about the way his thumb had skimmed her lip and the look of desire in his eyes. He’d wanted to kiss her. Not very saintly at all. ‘No. No, he’s just nice.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Her best friend shook her head, then looked suddenly pensive. And protective. The way Abbie had seen her in the past when saving herself and her daughter from a painful relationship with Rosie’s dad. She tucked some of Abbie’s wayward hair behind her ears and smiled, softly. A look that said she knew what Abbie was feeling. That more hurt was not needed, for either of them. The message telepathically delivered through kind eyes and a gentle touch. Don’t get in too deep. And then in words. ‘Just be careful, eh?’