It was hard to sort out her feelings right at this moment, but she knew she might regret saying or doing anything on an impulsive whim. Over the past eight months she’d planned exactly how she wanted her life to be. She’d be foolish to change her mind in just eight hours.
Her lips trembled as she whispered, ‘Are you going straight back to Seattle?’
He didn’t answer at first. He stood looking at her, his eyes searching her face as if trying to read the turmoil of thoughts she kept hidden. Finally, he said, ‘I thought I’d like to spend some more time up north. Probably on Magnetic Island. I want to take a really good look at the reef.’
Somehow, Meg felt better knowing that Sam would still be in Australia. But not much better.
‘Meg, you made me promise I would go after the birth. You still want me to go, don’t you?’
No! No she didn’t want him to go anywhere. She wanted Sam right here, looking at Tom with her, agreeing with her that he was the most wonderful baby in the universe.
He thrust his hands deep in his pockets and let out a ragged sigh. ‘Don’t make this hard for me.’
She suspected she was being selfish again. Feeling vulnerable and emotional wasn’t a good reason to cling to Sam. In a few days she’d feel stronger.
‘You should go, Sam,’ she said softly.
He quickly looked away. ‘OK,’ he said, sounding efficient.
‘I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Good. That’ll be—great.’
‘I’ll write and tell you what Tommy’s doing.’
‘Thanks. Yeah, I’d like to keep track of him.’ He was looking at the highly waxed hospital floor as if something down there was fascinating him.
‘I can send you photos.’
His head jerked up. ‘Photos? Yeah. Good idea. I forgot to bring a camera.’ And then, without another word, he held his hand up in a funny little saluting sort of gesture and headed for the door.
Not even a kiss goodbye!
‘Sam!’ she called.
In the doorway, he swung back.
She knew he would stay if she asked him to. Just lately, he’d given the impression that he would do anything she asked…
Right this minute she didn’t know what she wanted. Perhaps it would help if she asked him what he really wanted?
She sat up straighter, the question poised on her lips. But he looked so ready for flight, her courage faded. ‘Take care,’ she called.
He gave a curt nod and, the next minute, he was gone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAM swam to the far end of Florence Bay to where the jumble of smooth basalt boulders met the sand. The afternoon sun was already slipping towards the western hills, taking the heat out of the day as it went. In a lazy overarm crawl, he turned, planning to head back for one more lap across the bay, when a seagull took off from a nearby rock with a sudden noisy shriek.
Sensing that something or someone must have startled the bird, he blinked salt water from his eyes as he looked towards the shore. But the beach was empty.
It was a weird thought, but he could have sworn that someone had been there. Shrugging, he set off again, churning across the bay once more, just as he had every afternoon for the past six weeks.
These days, he was free to do exactly what he wanted whenever he wanted. It was the kind of freedom he’d craved when he’d been chained to a desk at Kirby & Son, but now he found his freedom had a bitter edge. It wasn’t quite the blissful life he’d imagined. Of course, in time, he’d feel better.
When he’d stopped thinking about Meg and Tom.
After another lap, he could feel the familiar ache in his muscles that told him he’d pushed himself far enough for this session. He liked to stretch his body to the point of exhaustion. It made sleep come more easily. Turning for the shore, he let a small wave carry him into the shallows and then he stood and walked towards his towel.
A strand of seaweed clung to his chest and he flicked it off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it land on a bottle sticking half in, half out of the sand.
The humid March air closed in and dark clouds along the horizon hinted at a hovering storm. Peeling his stinger suit down, Sam towelled himself dry then hauled on an old pair of track-suit bottoms.
The bottle, draped in seaweed, caught his eye once more as he bent over to recover his towel. For a ridiculous moment, he had a fanciful notion that there was something inside the bottle.
Like a piece of paper.
But that kind of coincidence didn’t happen in real life. Without giving it another thought, he snatched up the towel and began to jog along the beach towards the car park.
One more time he looked back at the bottle, but the shadows were lengthening across the sand and all he could see now was a dark blob. With a shrug, he headed for his car.
Meg felt so much better now she’d finally come back and had booked into a holiday cottage at Magnetic Rendezvous. Her little house on the Sunshine Coast had been fine but, ever since Sam had decided to stay on in Australia, she’d felt a force drawing her inevitably to the north.
She tucked little Tom into his basket and covered him with a light cotton blanket. Considering the state of her nerves, she was amazed he’d fallen asleep so quickly and easily this evening.
Leaving a night light burning, she tiptoed out of the room and headed for the mirror in the bathroom to check her hair and make-up. She was pleased with what she saw. Apart from the fact that her breasts were fuller, there weren’t any obvious signs that she’d recently had a baby. The white trousers and silky knit top she wore tonight were ones she’d been able to wear in pre-pregnancy days.
Leaning closer to her reflection, she touched up her lipstick and dabbed a little extra scent to her wrists.
In the tiny kitchen, a chicken casserole was simmering in the oven. A chilled bottle of white wine, a bowl of green salad and a cheese platter waited in the fridge. Everything was ready. She looked at her watch. If her plan had worked, she calculated that Sam should be knocking on her door any minute now.
Once again, she checked the table setting. The little bowl of brown and yellow bush orchids looked just right as a centre-piece. The lamps in the lounge were casting a welcoming glow across the small room.
Perhaps she should turn the oven down just a fraction, to prevent the chicken from getting too brown on top? Again she checked her watch.
She decided to turn the television on and to try to act as if she wasn’t desperately waiting for him. She flipped through the channels. News…more news…sport…a games show. She couldn’t pay attention to any of them this evening. All she could think about was Sam…and what she would say to him when he came…
Fifteen minutes later, she began to wonder if he had seen the bottle! She had placed it close to his towel and she was sure that he would find it there but, perhaps, by some quirk of fate, he’d walked straight past.
Now, she wished she’d stayed on the beach, but it had been threatening to rain and she’d been worried that Tom would get caught in a storm, or that Sam might have seen her. That would have spoiled the surprise and ruined her plan.
Another possibility seized her. Sam could have seen the bottle, read her message and disregarded it. That thought was unbearable.
Surely her beautiful plan wasn’t about to fall flat on its face?
Meg’s optimism faltered. If he still hadn’t come after another five minutes, she would ring through to the helpful woman in reception—the new woman called Ellen, with the American accent.
In the shower, Sam flexed his shoulders and let the hot water stream over his back, releasing the tension in his muscles. It felt good.
Idly, he picked up the soap and began to lather his chest. He let his mind drift as he relaxed some more and, unexpectedly, the weirdest thought struck him. It came so suddenly that the soap slipped from his hand and slithered to the floor. His head shot up and he stared at the water pinging off the tiles.
He’d seen an image
of that bottle in the sand again.
And it hit him, out of the blue, that the bottle hadn’t been there when he’d first arrived at the beach. He had a perfectly clear picture of walking onto the beach and tossing his towel down on the sand. It had been a bare stretch of sand. A perfectly bare patch.
And yet when he’d come out of the water, there had been a bottle right next to his towel.
He tried for calm as he turned off the taps, but wild thoughts persisted.
When he’d been swimming, he’d sensed someone was there on the beach. He remembered the seagull’s startled reaction. Now, he was sure someone had been there.
And that someone had left a bottle near his towel.
Trying to tone down his sense of agitation, he quickly dried himself and hauled on a T-shirt, jeans and trainers. In the kitchen drawer, he found a torch. Maybe he was going crazy, but it was suddenly incredibly important to get back to the bay straight away and find that bottle.
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman from reception told Meg. ‘Mr. Kirby doesn’t seem to be in. I’ve rung his unit several times, but there’s no answer.’
‘Thank you. Maybe I’ll try again later.’ Meg let the receiver drop.
What a prime idiot she was.
She’d been totally carried away by a romantic fantasy! Over the past six weeks, her feelings for Sam had become so powerful, so overflowing, that she hadn’t been able to hold back any longer. She’d reached the point where she had to find a way to win him back.
When she came up with the wonderful, superbly romantic idea of sending Sam a message in a bottle, she’d been so pleased with herself.
Now, as she wandered listlessly into the kitchen and turned off the oven, she realised it was an impractical, pathetic idea. A drippy, desperate, downright dumb idea. Maternal hormones must have withered her brain.
Snatching up oven gloves, she lifted the casserole dish out of the oven and set it on a tiled mat to cool. Two huge, fat tears plopped onto its lid and sizzled.
She’d been so foolish. Like a dizzy balloon that had lost its air, she felt totally deflated and empty. All day she’d floated on excitement. Her energy had been fuelled by such high hopes. She’d flown up from Brisbane, had travelled across to the island on the ferry, had dashed around frantically preparing dinner, had raced down to the beach with the stupid bottle…
And now…
Disappointment was such an exhausting emotion!
She didn’t feel like eating, or removing her make-up. Suddenly, all she wanted was to curl up in bed and howl herself to sleep.
‘Ellen, has anyone been trying to contact me?’ Sam panted as he dashed into reception, frantic with frustration. By the time he’d reached the bay, the tide had come in and had completely covered the sand. He hadn’t been able to find the bottle anywhere.
And now he was desperate.
His receptionist looked up, surprised. ‘There you are, Sam. Yes, a young woman has been very anxious about your whereabouts.’
‘Young woman?’ he repeated, seriously short of breath and not because he’d been running.
‘Meg Bennet,’ Ellen elaborated, her wide eyes speaking volumes. ‘Didn’t you know she’s booked into unit sixteen?’
‘Oh?’ Sam responded, suddenly trying to sound casual, while shock waves jolted and ricocheted through him. Meg was here on the island? His heart pounded as he glanced at his watch and lifted one shoulder in an attempt at a careless shrug. ‘I guess she’d be asleep by now. No doubt she’ll contact me in the morning if she really wants me.’
He managed to make his way back out of reception at a normal walking pace, but once he hit the pathway leading to the bungalows, Sam sprinted.
Unit sixteen was in total darkness.
He stared at the black cabin and the curtained windows and groaned. Meg was inside! She’d been trying to reach him. Knowing that, how could he wait all night? He walked up to the door and thought about knocking. She wouldn’t appreciate it if he woke the baby. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turned away again.
But damn it. How could he give up? It was Meg inside. Seconds later, he knocked on the door, not worried if he woke the entire resort. ‘Meg,’ he called, ‘are you there?’
From inside the cottage, he could hear little bumps and thuds as if someone was stumbling in the dark. Then footsteps. A light came on. He tried to calm his breathing as the door opened.
Dressed in an oversized button-through T-shirt, Meg peered out at him through red and swollen eyes, ringed with smudged make-up.
‘Sam?’ she whispered. ‘Is it you?’
‘Yes. I—er—believe you’ve been trying to contact me.’
‘I have.’ Her voice sounded squeaky with surprise.
‘I thought maybe there was something wrong with the baby. Is he OK?’
‘Yes, yes, he’s fine. I—I wasn’t expecting you to come now. It’s late.’ One hand darted to her dishevelled curls while the other clutched at her nightdress.
It occurred to Sam that any other girl would look terrible, but Meg still managed to look graceful and sexy.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve woken you up.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Sure.’
Meg looked a little confused but, after another slight hesitation, stepped back to allow him through the door.
‘Crumbs,’ she muttered half to herself, ‘I must look a fright.’ She turned and cast him an embarrassed smile over her shoulder. ‘Can you give me a minute to wash my face?’
‘Of course,’ Sam agreed.
She disappeared and he was left to pace the room, feeling jittery and nervous, as if he was about to sit for an important test without any preparation. He didn’t have a clue why Meg was here on the island. It was obvious she’d been crying but, if he let his brain try to come up with reasons, he feared he would go crazy.
She looked like a racoon with hay fever! Meg scrubbed furiously at her face. What a disaster! She’d so wanted to look nice for Sam. Everything was supposed to be perfect—the meal, the flowers, the clothes. She patted her skin dry and brushed her hair quickly. The black rings were gone from around her eyes, but she still looked pale and strained.
She sent her reflection a hopeful smile. It would have to do. Sam wouldn’t appreciate being kept waiting.
In the lounge, he was looking grim and frowning. She’d been hoping for a relaxed and pleasant evening, not more worry and tension! Taking a seat, she gestured for him to sit down, too.
As he did so, her eyes honed in hungrily on all the things she loved about Sam—his dreamy blue eyes, the sheen of his hair in the lamp light, the shape of his hands—well, all of him really. He was looking tanned and very fit and his hair had grown longer. Living on the island suited him.
‘I guess you’re surprised to see me here,’ she said shyly.
He nodded.
She felt awkward, not sure where to begin her explanation.
‘How’s Tom?’ he asked.
‘He’s fine.’
‘Has he grown much?’
‘Heaps. Would you like to see him?’
‘Ah—yeah. That’d be great.’
Jumping back out of her chair, she led him down the short passage to the bedroom. In the glow of the night light, little Tom lay snuggled on his side with a chubby pink hand curled close to his mouth. His head was covered by a downy cap of dark hair. A little bubble of milk rested on his lower lip and he pouted gently in his sleep. Meg smiled, enjoying the warm glow of motherly love that was so much a part of her life these days.
She looked up at Sam.
‘He’s so much fatter,’ he murmured.
‘He certainly has his priorities figured out,’ Meg agreed. ‘Food’s the most important thing in his life at the moment.’
‘That’s the trick, bud,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t let your life get too complicated.’
They exchanged self-conscious smiles and tiptoed back outside.
Once more th
ey sat in separate chairs, facing each other a little awkwardly.
Glancing to the darkened kitchen, Meg said quickly, ‘I cooked dinner, but it’ll probably be cold now.’
‘You cooked dinner? You were expecting me for dinner?’
She sighed. ‘It was a really silly idea. I put a message in a bottle and left it on the beach near your towel. I guess you didn’t notice it.’
‘So there was a message in that bottle,’ he said softly, almost to himself.
‘As I said, it was a stupid idea. One of those things that seem brilliant when you first think of them…’
‘By the time it occurred to me that there might be a message, I’m afraid the tide was in. I couldn’t find the bottle.’
Meg rubbed one bare foot against the other. ‘You went back tonight looking for it? Oh, boy! I’ve really botched things up.’
He leaned forward in his chair, linking his hands loosely between his knees and her heart turned over when he sent her one of his slow, lazy smiles. ‘Maybe things aren’t all that botched. I’m here now. Tell me now whatever you wanted to say.’
She gulped. ‘I spent ages trying to write that note—getting the wording right. There are so many things I wanted to explain.’
Sam cocked his head to one side. ‘I’m a good listener.’
It was probably now or never, but Meg wished her stomach wasn’t jumping around like a grasshopper trapped in a jar. ‘Well, I wanted to explain that maybe I was sorry I sent you away so quickly.’
He didn’t say anything, just sat there watching her, waiting for her to finish her explanation.
Anxiously, Meg wetted her lips with her tongue. She felt sick with nerves and her hands clenched into tight fists. She wanted so badly for Sam to hold her. ‘I should have given you a chance to tell me how you felt—about—everything,’ she cried. ‘I was so busy worrying about myself. But, Sam, what you did for Tommy and me—the night he was born. It—it was just so special.’
She was grateful that she managed to keep tears out of her voice, but he was staring at her with such fierce concentration Meg’s courage almost faltered. Feeling flustered, she pushed herself out of her chair and began to pace the room. ‘I’ve been thinking over what you said—about how we didn’t get to know each other by the usual route. Everything happened so quickly and we didn’t give ourselves the chance to understand each other. We need to fill in the gaps in our relationship.’
The Pregnancy Discovery Page 15
