The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Look, Hamish, sometimes opportunities come and you have to grab them. You trust me to make the right choices for you and Bailey don’t you?’ Belinda asked, waiting till Hamish gave a reluctant, tense nod. ‘I placed an ad in yesterday’s local paper, I thought it would be the first step in an exhausting process. I was actually going to speak to you tonight then out of the blue Charlotte rang. I told her to come over this morning, which she did, and Bailey fell in love with her on the spot. She’s quite amazing actually.’ Belinda gave a small laugh. ‘She’d just finished a night shift, though you’d never have guessed. Instead of crashing, she’s moving her stuff in and sorting out the spare room and heading off to the hardware store for some sample paint pots!’

  ‘What if I’d said no?’ Hamish stared at his sister. ‘What if—?’

  ‘You couldn’t say no,’ his sister pointed out. ‘Something had to change. Like it or not, Hamish, we all need help sometimes.’ Her heart twisted as finally, reluctantly, her very proud brother nodded. ‘Do you want me to pick up Bailey and give him dinner? Then we can all head to your place and I’ll introduce you to Charlotte—assuming she’s awake, that is.’

  Staring at the mountain of paperwork, Hamish was again about to say yes, to accept, whether he liked it or not, that he needed help, that it would be great if she could pick up Bailey and give him dinner…

  Again.

  An image of his son’s face flashed before his eyes so vivid, so tangible, he could see him, could smell that baby scent still buried within the soft two-year-old’s curls, could see those fat rosy cheeks glowing, two pudgy little hands reaching out to be picked up…

  He’d been a father for two years—but in the last two weeks Hamish had actually become a dad.

  Two treasured weeks where he’d taken some long overdue annual leave—and for the first time he’d actually stopped to draw breath since Emma had died. For the first time in what seemed like for ever his day hadn’t constituted an endless logistical nightmare, trying to combine a demanding career with a two-year-old, juggling day care with his roster and night calls with his eternally patient sister and Elsie, trying to remember to pay the bills, Elsie’s and the gardener’s wages, to make time for Bailey—oh, yes, and to occasionally remember to eat!

  Instead, during his leave he’d discovered the bliss of long lie-ins—Bailey clambering in bed beside him, fun DVDs and even funnier attempts at dancing and singing into a plastic microphone, waiting for Bailey, dressed in nothing more than a T-shirt, to please just wee into the shiny red potty that Hamish had recently bought.

  Bailey hadn’t.

  Not once.

  The house reeked of antiseptic, there were little scrubbed patches on a hundred places on the carpet, as if there were a new puppy in the house—and he’d loved every minute.

  As vital as his work was, right now, staring at admission cards and letters of complaint, the paperwork for a drug trial he was conducting and the ‘urgent response’ that was required to the CEO’s latest budget slash, Hamish just didn’t care. The only place he wanted to be was with his son—everything else would just have to wait.

  ‘You go home, Bel—I’ll pick up Bailey.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Belinda checked, frowning at the pensive note in his voice. ‘Look, Hamish, if me going back to work—’

  ‘This isn’t about you going back to work,’ Hamish interrupted, and something in his voice must have told Belinda he meant it, something in his voice stopped her defensive approach, her eyes welling with tears of understanding as for the millionth she pondered her brother’s plight. ‘It’s about Bailey being pushed from pillar to post just so that I can keep doing this job.’

  ‘You love your job.’

  Do I? Hamish asked himself. Oh, sure, he had loved it, knew that he was good at it, knew that now more than ever, with all the changes in the hospital, he was very heavily needed, but with every day that passed, with every morning drop-off at crèche or middle of the night drop-offs at Belinda, he resented it a little bit more.

  For his son’s sake.

  ‘In a few years Bailey will be at school,’ Belinda pointed out. ‘Things will get so much easier then.’

  Hazel eyes stared back at her, the only colour in his pale face.

  ‘And that’s his baby years gone.’ Hamish didn’t say anything more, he didn’t have to, grateful for Belinda’s nod of understanding, grateful that she didn’t come up with any platitude that might gloss over the simple fact that, yes, Belinda had been great and, sure, Charlotte might get them through the next couple of months while Elsie recovered from her operation, but he was tired of getting by, and not just for him…

  After a quick check and update with his doctors Hamish walked up to the child-care centre, pressing the intercom to enter, his heart twisting as he saw his little boy. Clearly tired, Bailey was curled up on one of the low sofas, half watching the early evening movie that was put on for children whose parents worked late.

  Bailey could recite the words to each one.

  Hazel eyes met hazel.

  Strange, Hamish thought as he signed the register and headed over to his son, how delighted Emma had been to produce a ‘mini-Hamish’. The same jet hair, the same pale skin, the same colour eyes, though as beautiful as his son was, sometimes, at moments like this, he wished he looked more like his mother.

  Wished there was just a little bit more of his beautiful Emma left in the world for him to hold onto.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHO would have thought the colour white could be so complicated?

  Standing back, watching as the late afternoon sun transformed the six squares she had painted on the wall, Charlotte was torn with indecision—each and every shade of white taking on an entirely different hue as the sun bobbed ever lower, glaring through the window and drenching the dank room she was attempting to rapidly and very cheaply transform.

  White bedspread, white muslin on the windows, white everything, Charlotte had decided, only why where there so-o many shades?

  But it wasn’t her colour scheme, or lack of it, that was the problem, Charlotte admitted, glancing at her faithful alarm clock and realising that at any moment Hamish would be home.

  Not for a second when she’d met him that morning had it even entered her head that her dream accommodation might mean sharing a house with him.

  Professional father of one requires help with some irregular babysitting duties in return for reduced-cost accommodation.

  Rural property—set on acreage—animals welcome.

  Need to be flexible.

  Experience with children essential.

  Contact Belinda.

  It had seemed like a dream come true. Her heart in her mouth, Charlotte had rung the given number, hope mounting as Belinda had cheerfully waved away Charlotte’s problem of the relocation of her beloved horses from the country—had assured her that her little menagerie wouldn’t be a problem.

  There had to be a catch, Charlotte had decided as she had driven her ancient car up the driveway of Adams farm for her interview and had glimpsed the gorgeous sprawling property, nearly swooning on her animals’ behalf at the sight of acre after acre of lush grass, courtesy of a dam and efficient irrigation system. But most importantly of all, she’d promptly melted as Belinda had guided her into the kitchen, a massive family room set behind it, and on the sofa in the middle a delicious two-year-old who had happily climbed all over her the second she had sat down.

  And then, just as she’d predicted, she’d found out the catch! Approximately two minutes into the conversation all the little snippets of information she’d gleaned about Hamish since working in the emergency department had fallen into place—mind you, detective school wasn’t a prerequisite to work out there surely weren’t that many widowed accident and emergency consultants named Hamish living in the area!

  ‘His regular housekeeper is being admitted to hospital for a knee reconstruction—she’s just gone to spend a couple of days with her niece,’ Belind
a explained, ‘and I’ve just been offered a job that, frankly, I can’t afford to turn down.’

  ‘Shouldn’t Hamish at least meet me first?’ Charlotte asked. ‘I mean, if we’re going to be living together, if I’m going to be looking after his child.’

  ‘Bailey would be eighteen years old and driving if I left it to Hamish to find someone he considered suitable! Look, Charlotte, when I put in this advertisement I never dreamt someone as suitable as you would come along…And just look at Bailey.’ She smiled fondly at her nephew, bouncing up and down on Charlotte’s knee as if he’d known her all his life. ‘I’ll talk to Hamish—you just let me know how soon you can move in.’

  ‘I’m staying at the local youth hostel.’ Charlotte blushed, wondering if that fact alone would be enough to jinx her chances. ‘Just till I find somewhere.’

  ‘Well, guess what?’ Belinda smiled. ‘You just did!’

  Despite Belinda being so sure she could get Hamish to agree, Charlotte felt the knot in her stomach tighten when she heard a car crunch along the gravel, wondering how the rather terse Hamish Adams she had met that morning would have reacted to the news that his sister had in a matter of hours found him a live-in babysitter who just happened to work alongside him.

  Oh, God!

  Feeling the butterflies leaping like salmon in her stomach, her hand clenching so hard on the paintbrush that shades of orchid white seeped through her fingers, Charlotte caught a glimpse of herself in the bedroom mirror.

  What would Cassie have done in a situation like this?

  It was a question she asked herself ten, sometimes a hundred times a day.

  Whenever she was unsure, whenever she couldn’t quite work out how to deal with a particular scenario, Charlotte tried to work out what her big sister by eight and half minutes would do, and more often that not the answer was the same: Cassie wouldn’t give two hoots!

  She smiled and the butterflies in her stomach settled just a fraction. Why, Cassie wouldn’t even notice the awkwardness of the moment—she’d just swan down the stairs with a wide smile and talk her walk through any strained silence.

  With lipstick on!

  After wiping her hands on her already woefully paint-stained jeans, Charlotte rummaged in her bag and pulled out the necessary props to turn her pale, strained lips into a pretty pink pout then squirted the remaining dregs of her perfume onto her neck before taking a deep breath and marching out her very new bedroom door.

  ‘Hamish!’ Descending the stairs, her smile stayed firmly intact as, without even glancing up, he deposited his laptop, a bag of groceries, a nappy bag and then finally his gorgeous son onto the hallway floor. ‘Fancy meeting you here!’

  ‘Fancy!’ Hamish said dryly, before deigning a glance at her. ‘So I was the interview you were dashing off to?’

  ‘Seems that way.’ Her heart in her mouth and absolutely refusing to show it, Charlotte neglected the remaining few steps and stood a good a few inches above him—grateful for the diversion of a pudgy, happy toddler emptying the contents of his nappy bag over the hall floor. Anything was easier than looking at Hamish right now. ‘I really had no idea this morning it was you I’d be…’

  ‘Living with,’ Hamish finished for her, without ending the sentence, and internally Charlotte blanched as he continued, ‘working with, sharing child care with.’

  ‘It might seem a touch awkward at first…’ Charlotte attempted, but gave in there—nothing was going to thaw the strained atmosphere in the hall. The rather irritable but kind doctor she had encountered that morning was light years from the forebidding-looking man who was glaring at her now, and suddenly the haven she’d found for her animals, the glimpse at finally getting her finances in order, all faded into the distance.

  ‘Awkward doesn’t come close,’ Hamish muttered, flicking on the light and stomping down the hall, but checking himself at the sight of her crestfallen face he relented a touch. ‘It’s not you I’m annoyed with, there’s just no way this can possibly work.’ Hamish interrupted her thoughts as if he knew them. ‘Belinda should have spoken to me. Have you already booked the transport for your horses?’

  She didn’t even bother to correct him, just gave a nervous nod. ‘A friend has to pick up his new horse from somewhere near here in a couple of weeks—he’s going to bring them down, along with the last of my boxes…’ Her voice trailed off as he opened his mouth to speak. Clearly he was about to tell her to cancel it but the seal and signature on the death warrant was momentarily halted by a delighted squeal of recognition from Bailey as, nappy bag completely empty, he’d looked for the next distraction and, catching sight of Charlotte in the hall for the first time since he’d come home, he actually looked at her, so excited to see her he didn’t even stand, just scrambled along the hallway in a curious impersonation of a crawl and held out his arms to be picked up.

  ‘He seems to like you.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Charlotte answered, scooping him up, ‘I’m friendly, house-trained…’

  ‘Look,’ Hamish broke in irritably, ‘I’m sure you’re great, but this simply can’t work. People will think that…’ Hazel eyes held hers as his voice trailed off but Charlotte stared boldly back.

  ‘That were having a steamy, torrid affair?’Now, that really was Cassie speaking, but when she was rewarded with the tiniest of tiny smiles, Charlotte was brave enough to continue in her own voice. ‘I know it must be horribly awkward for you. I’m sure that since you lost your wife your personal life has been fodder for everyone you work with. However, I’m incredibly discreet.’ To that point he had appeared slightly mollified, but his questioning eyebrow prompted insistence. ‘I am discreet—I might chat about everything and nothing to anyone, but I would never talk about things that matter.’

  ‘Whether you do or not—Who the hell is that?’ His response was terminated as Charlotte’s faithful cat padded down the stairs behind her, mewing loudly and blinking with sleep-filled eyes, clearly bemused as to what all the fuss was about.

  ‘That’s Maisy.’ Charlottes smile was finally genuine. ‘He’s my kitten.’

  ‘That’s no kitten!’ Hamish stared in astonishment at the rather oversized feline. ‘It’s a bloody lion. It’s huge!’

  ‘He’s a ragdoll cat—and he hasn’t finished growing yet! My mum used to breed them—this one was the last of her last litter!’

  He did yet another double-take. ‘Isn’t Maisy a girl’s name?’

  “I thought he was a she—the name just sort of stuck.’

  ‘And I thought you just had two horses.’

  ‘One horse,’ Charlotte corrected, ‘and a pony. Fitz is the horse—Scottie’s the pony.’

  ‘Any other animal I should know about, apart from the horse and pony and the kitten with a gender identity crisis?’ His sarcasm was replaced with resignation as a dizzy cocker spaniel fled down the stairs.

  ‘Just Eric.’

  ‘Eric is a boy, I assume?’

  ‘Of course.’ Charlotte grinned. ‘Why on earth would I call a girl Eric?’ Her brave smile faded as he stared back at her then, almost imperceptibly, shook his head, and she knew what was coming, could see his mouth opening to deliver the words she so badly didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Maybe you should hold off on bringing down the horses….’ Hamish stood firm as her world again crumbled. ‘I’m not going to throw you out on the street or anything but…’

  ‘You just don’t want me getting too at home.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Could we have a trial period?’ She hated begging, hated it more than anything, but she literally had no choice. ‘Look, I need this to work.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m broke,’ Charlotte answered honestly. ‘Because—as you’ve seen—I’ve got a menagerie demanding that I provide them with a home, and I’m certainly not going to jeopardise that by telling anyone who cares to listen that you snore at night or don’t put the loo seat down.’

  The wariness, the coolnes
s in those proud dark eyes diminished just a touch as Bailey squeezed the life out of her neck and attempted her name.

  ‘Dar-dot!’

  ‘You seem to have made a bit of hit there.’

  ‘So has Bailey,’ Charlotte said simply. ‘He’s adorable.’

  But Hamish wasn’t about to be forced into anything. Instead, after only the briefest of hesitations he walked past her and headed towards the kitchen.

  ‘I’d better get some dinner on for Bailey—oh, and can you make sure the pets stay downstairs? I don’t want that lion climbing into his cot.’

  ‘Sure. And I’ve already made dinner,’ Charlotte said, watching as he jerked his head in surprise. ‘Just lamb and potatoes…’ She followed him through to the kitchen, standing just behind him as he stared at the neatly laid kitchen table—the rather dusty highchair she had found against the wall gleaming in pride of place. ‘Elsie said she’d stocked you up enough to see the week out. I’ll just pop some peas in the microwave and it should be ready in a couple of moments. Bailey does like lamb, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ For once it was Hamish who sounded embarrassed.

  ‘Only Elsie said there was some in the freezer.’ Her hands shaking and trying not to show it, she clumsily served up, spilling gravy all over the bench—not that Hamish noticed. He was too busy trying to pry a tired unyielding body into the highchair she’d set up.

  ‘He’s not used to it.’ Hamish gave an almost apologetic shrug as Charlotte bought a bowel over and placed it in font of Bailey. ‘It’s normally chicken nuggets or fish fingers and frozen chips over there at the coffee table in the family room.’

  ‘I’m not used to it either,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘It took me about five goes just to set the highchair up!’

  ‘But Belinda said you had a lot of experience with children!”

  ‘With sick ones I’ve had loads,’ Charlotte said distractedly, missing his appalled expression, ‘but healthy ones like this little honey are a complete enigma to me. I guess we’ll have to work it out together—won’t we Bailey?’