Christmas Knight

by Meredith Webber

That drew a smile.

  ‘Out on the town, you mean?’ Katie—Kate—teased. ‘Hitting the high spots of Testament?’

  He answered with his own smile, then added, ‘You still need time for yourself. Even perfect mothers need that.’

  She nodded as if she knew it was true, but her eyes told him she didn’t—well, not entirely—believe it.

  ‘I think perfect is way beyond my reach,’ she admitted. ‘Right now, I’d settle for adequate.’

  She leaned back in her chair, put her hands behind her head and stretched, then sighed.

  ‘Almost adequate?’

  Unable to believe she could have had so much stuffing knocked out of her—it had to be the man, the father, who’d so undermined her confidence—Grant was about to go into confidence-building speak when a faint cry alerted both of them to the fact the baby was once again awake.

  ‘I’ll get her, you stay there and rest,’ Grant said, leaping to his feet so quickly he knocked over the chair.

  But Katie was up just as quickly, taking advantage of him having to right the chair, so she beat him to the door, where she turned to say, ‘Nonsense! Even almost adequate mothers can do the changing-feeding thing. There’s no reason why you should be chasing after her.’

  He followed anyway, and saw colour return to the pale cheeks as Katie leaned over the crib, murmuring quietly as she lifted the wrapped bundle out and snuggled her momentarily against her shoulder.

  Fascinated by this maternal and obviously baby-doting Katie—he’d be damned if he’d call her Kate—he settled on the far side of the big queen-sized bed and watched as she lowered the baby onto the bed, then turned to sort through the paraphernalia he’d investigated earlier.

  ‘We haven’t been properly introduced, your daughter and I,’ he said, making conversation while he watched her hands fumble through the still unfamiliar task of removing the wet nappy. He leaned forward and inserted his forefinger into one tiny hand, knowing the little fingers would grip his larger one. Wanting to feel that grip again. ‘I’m Grant Bell,’ he said formally. ‘And you’re…’

  He glanced up at Katie, expecting an answer, and found her frowning ferociously at him.

  ‘Don’t ask!’ she warned.

  ‘You haven’t named her?’ he guessed, then wished he’d managed to sound a little less disbelieving.

  Kate pushed her fingers through her now riotous hair and knew she’d have to at least try to explain.

  ‘It was like the bonding thing—you know, instant motherhood? I thought when she was born I’d take one look and say, Hello Annabel, or Rachel, or Sophie or whatever it was she looked like. Or he’d look like if she’d been a he. I thought I’d know!’

  ‘But you had nine months to think about names. Didn’t you have a few you rather fancied all ready for hers and hims? Don’t most people make a list?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about lists!’ she said, injecting the words with enough venom to stop even someone as insensitive as Grant Bell had apparently become. ‘If one more person suggests lists, makes a list or sends me a list, I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

  Then, aware she’d raised her voice, causing what looked like wariness in her daughter’s large blue eyes, she completed the nappy change, lifted the infant and said, more quietly, ‘I’m going to feed her now.’

  Grant made no attempt to leave the room. In fact, if anything, he looked as if he was settling himself more comfortably on the bed.

  Her bed.

  ‘In here,’ she added, because it seemed kind of prissy to be asking him outright to leave the room.

  ‘That’s OK,’ he told her in a genial voice she recognised from their schooldays. It meant he understood but didn’t necessarily agree.

  This reading of his vocal nuances was confirmed when he added, ‘I love watching babies nurse. There’s something so wholeheartedly selfish about it. They tug and pummel away at their poor mothers’ breasts, with no thought for anything but the acute physical satisfaction of being replete.’

  ‘Well, this poor mother would prefer to have her breast tugged and pummelled in private,’ Kate told him.

  ‘You mean you haven’t fed her in front of anyone yet? What about in hospital? Or at work? Vi said you were planning on taking her to the surgery and whoever was there would mind her between feeds. Hasn’t that happened yet? Or do you let them do the dirty work of changing nappies and burping but don’t let them have the satisfaction of watching her feed?’

  ‘You make it sound like a rare treat for all concerned,’ Kate said crossly. ‘I’ll have you know a lot of people are still offended by seeing women breastfeed in public, and though I’d defend to my dying breath their right to do it, it isn’t my thing. Not yet, anyway.’

  She gave him a glare that should put him back in his place—though she wasn’t entirely certain where that was—and added, in case he hadn’t got the message, ‘So go! Unpack. Check out the surgery. Do something, anything, just not here.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  GRANT walked back to the kitchen, and wondered what to do next. A shower was the obvious answer, but Katie’s behaviour—the vulnerability he sensed beneath her usual confident manner, made him wonder about the baby’s father—and about how much she might be hurting inside.

  Vi might know something, but asking Vi seemed like a betrayal—as if he’d be going behind his old friend’s back. He put off the shower, mooching through the house instead, not exactly searching but seeking some hint as to the identity of this man.

  Not that it was any of his business, he told himself, when the only photos sitting on her study desk proved to be of her parents.

  Which made him wonder again where they were and why her mother wasn’t helping out with the new baby.

  His heart clenched with concern for his old friend and, realising that wasn’t a good way to be feeling, given that his stay in Testament was definitely short term, he sought about for a diversion. Maybe he should have that shower!

  Though it was still raining outside, so perhaps he should check out the surgery first. Providing he could find the keys…

  They were in the kitchen, labelled, should anyone break in looking for them, SURGERY. The set-up was as he remembered—a consulting room and opposite it a small treatment room were set behind the main reception and waiting areas. A small locked room must hold medical supplies while the other store cupboards held such an accumulation of junk that he wondered if any of the doctors who’d served the town had ever thrown anything out. Sorting through it was a bit like going to a medical museum, and he was so caught up in the treasures it wasn’t until it became too dark to see that he realised how long he’d been there. He packed everything back in, but not before promising himself he’d sort it out properly one day.

  One day? You’re only temporary, he reminded himself, so it’s none of your business.

  By the time Grant returned to the house, the storm had passed, and a glance at his watch told him it was after six, while his stomach reminded him it was a long time since he’d eaten, if you didn’t count a biscuity scone. Presumably the woman locum would have shared responsibility for meal preparation. Well, that was OK. He could rustle up a meal for the two of them.

  He opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

  There wasn’t a lot to see. The remains of a dubious-looking casserole someone must have left for Katie, cosied up to two wrinkled apples and a loaf of bread. She did, however, have four litres of milk and a couple of small feeding bottles of what he assumed was expressed breast milk.

  He tried the freezer next and winced at the neat stack of frozen meals. Pushed them aside, and continued searching. There had to be real food here somewhere.

  There wasn’t.

  Forgetting his decision to present a professional demeanour, he stalked back to the bedroom where, noticing the baby had dropped off to sleep in her arms, he delivered his tirade in a loud whisper.

  Kate heard the words—nothing to eat, bad nutrition, looking
after herself, thinking about the baby—and the kindly thoughts she’d been thinking about Grant Bell dried up.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault the baby came early,’ she told him, standing up so she could fight him toe to toe. ‘She was supposed to come in a fortnight, on the Friday, last Friday, and I’d intended shopping before that. Then I’d have had the weekend in hospital to rest, and with the locum here, she could have started on the Monday, tomorrow, and I could have worked part time during the week. But the baby was early and the locum wasn’t here, and the shopping wasn’t done…’

  She stopped, aware she was repeating herself and, even worse, sounding self-pitying. Better to attack.

  ‘And for your information, those frozen meals are very well balanced, nutritionally.’

  ‘Ho!’ Grant scoffed. ‘Don’t tell me you believe what’s written on the packet.’

  She was about to tell him about labelling laws when she realised they’d got way off the subject. And though she hated to admit it, the meals left her feeling unsatisfied, so they’d never do for Grant for his dinner.

  Checking the time on the bedside clock, she realised the store would be closed and she had no time to retrieve the situation.

  ‘We can have Chinese take-aways tonight, and I’ll shop tomorrow,’ she suggested, settling the baby in the crib and leading the way out of the bedroom so if, or when, they argued again, they wouldn’t wake the little one. ‘Though I don’t know what good that will do,’ she added honestly. ‘I’m not much better at meal-cooking than I am at scones. I can grill chops or steak or sausages, steam vegetables and mash potatoes, but nothing fancy.’

  Grant smiled.

  ‘I can do the fancy stuff,’ he told her. ‘We’ll take turns, shall we? And we’ll both shop tomorrow. That way we can get what we need and the baby can have an outing.’

  ‘Both shop? Together?’

  Kate knew it made sense, but the idea bothered her.

  ‘Worried what people might think?’ Grant asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, too quickly. If she’d thought about it, a yes would have been better, then he wouldn’t persist, as he surely would.

  ‘Why, then?’

  He came in right on cue, but she could only shrug as if her worries were inexplicable. Which, to some extent, they were. She could hardly tell him that it seemed too like a family for the three of them to be shopping together. If she came out with something so fatuous within hours of their unexpected reunion, he’d realise just how many brain cells she’d lost.

  He didn’t ask again, merely picking up the restaurant menu she had stuck on the fridge door and studying the offerings.

  ‘Do you have any particular fancy? Any favourites? I should probably let you choose as you’d know what’s good.’

  Kate found herself smiling.

  ‘You’re asking me? I think frozen meals are good,’ she reminded him. ‘But I do like the crispy duck. It’s loaded with cholesterol-raising fat, but it’s so-o-o delicious. I usually have a vegetable dish as well. As a nod to dietary propriety. And lots of rice—that’s carbohydrate so, all in all, it’s a balanced meal.’

  He crossed to the phone and, watching him dial, hearing his deep masculine voice as he ordered, Kate felt a sense of loneliness, as if having Grant here—perhaps anyone here—brought home to her just how alone she’d been these past six months.

  ‘That’s set. Now I really will have that shower I’ve been talking about since I arrived. Then we’ll sit down and relax with a long cool drink and tell each other lies about how successful we’ve become.’ He flashed a smile that made her heart falter for a moment. ‘Isn’t that what medicos usually do when they see each other?’

  Kate returned his smile, though she knew hers was more restrained. The faltering-heart thing had shocked her with its intensity. And she wasn’t going anywhere near that final question, although it was exactly how Mark had always behaved when he’d met up with fellow doctors.

  However, they would have to talk about a lot of other things—work hours, payment, shared expenses for food. She was searching through the bottom of her handbag in the hope of finding enough spare change to pay for the meal when this thought struck her. Generally locums took over while the doctor was away, so the question of expenses didn’t arise. Why were there no rules for the little things in life?

  So many little things—like bathroom etiquette in a shared house.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about names,’ Grant announced, reappearing far too quickly for her peace of mind and looking, in another flower-festooned shirt and red board shorts this time, incredibly laidback and devastatingly handsome. ‘We could think of a few—a few isn’t a list—then try them out on her. Use one one week and another the next to see which fits best.’

  She ignored her physical reactions to the devastatingly handsome bit, and should have told him the baby’s name was none of his business, but the idea of changing names on a weekly basis was so far out, she went for that instead.

  ‘Couldn’t it do her irreparable harm, to call her Sophie one week then Louise the next? And I can’t have Louise, which I quite like, because I’ve decided to use “Jeez Louise” as an expletive so she doesn’t say “Damn” as her first utterance.’

  Grant seemed to understand this reasoning, which, when she actually said it, sounded weird to Kate, but when he spoke she realised he’d probably ignored most of what she’d said.

  ‘You mentioned Sophie before—do you like it? Is she starting to look like a Sophie?’

  Kate sighed.

  ‘That’s just the problem,’ she said. ‘I can see a grownup Sophie—even a teenage Sophie—but as a name for a little tiny baby? It sounds too mature somehow.’

  She spoke so earnestly Grant knew he had to hide the smile that was his reaction to her statement.

  ‘I can see your point. Like Jack—one of my nephews. I always thought it a great name for a grown man, but a little harsh for a newborn.’ He looked across the table to where Katie, for all her dislike of lists, appeared to be making one. ‘But you do get used to it. It’s my experience that babies grow into their names.’

  Kate glanced up at him, the green eyes sweeping across his face as if trying to read messages on it.

  ‘Are you humouring me?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Now, why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I’m disorganised and possibly neurotic and haven’t any food in the house?’ she suggested. ‘I also haven’t any cash to pay for the meal, and I have no idea how to organise your pay or our shared expenses or who uses the bathroom first, so you could add disorganised to my failings.’

  She gave a huge sigh, blinked back all but one escaping tear, swiped at it, then sniffed.

  ‘You know, Grant, people talk about the baby blues. I’ve even said to weepy post-partum mothers, “Don’t worry, dear, it happens to most new mums.” But I never for a minute thought I’d go to pieces like this.’

  He walked around the table and pulled a chair close so he could put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘From what I’ve seen and heard, you have every right to go to pieces. Sophie arrived before you were ready for her, you’ve had to manage the whole pregnancy on your own and juggle work commitments at the same time. And being Katie Fenton, I bet if anyone offered help, you refused it.’

  She gave him a watery smile.

  ‘Vi brought a casserole. I accepted that,’ she said.

  She hesitated, then added, ‘Actually, a lot of people have been very nice to me. But they don’t run any antenatal classes here because most of the women go to Craigtown for their babies. Paul Newberry—he was the hospital doctor when I arrived—preferred not to deliver babies, claiming it was too risky without a specialist in town, and while he didn’t actually refuse to do obstetrics work, his attitude was enough to put most women off.’

  ‘You mentioned his name earlier—I gather he’s now the ex-hospital doctor.’

  ‘He left six weeks ago. His wife left first�
�not long after I arrived. Apparently she couldn’t stand the country. Then he suddenly disappeared without a word to the board, or me, or anyone, as far as I know.’

  ‘So who did you see for your pregnancy check-ups?’

  ‘Paul!’ A defiant glint in her eyes suggested it hadn’t been easy to get him to agree to this arrangement, but before Grant could comment she added, ‘And, no, I don’t think the imminent arrival of my baby was what forced him out of town, although to hear some of the nursing staff talk, you’d wonder. Anyway, although he wasn’t happy doing the checks, he did them until he left, though he never talked about what to expect—the tiredness all the time, this weepy business. To be fair to him, I guess he thought I knew it all.’

  ‘And being an independent spirit, you did nothing to disabuse him of this notion,’ Grant muttered as the true extent of Katie’s isolation struck home.

  She sighed, then shook her head.

  ‘You know, I came back here because I remembered being so happy and secure here. When things changed and I needed somewhere to establish myself and the baby—somewhere I could make a safe, stable, happy life for the two of us and at the same time give something back to the community—by chance the practice was for sale. Serendipity, I thought. But breaking back into a country town isn’t easy.’

  ‘Give the locals time,’ Grant said, withdrawing his arm because holding her was making him think things he shouldn’t think—suggesting perhaps he could kiss away her despair. ‘Country folk take a while to make up their minds, but once they accept you, you’ve friends for life. And you have to remember your position sets you a little apart. Most people feel doctors are entitled to respect.’

  ‘Respect? When the entire town remembers me as the girl who danced naked on top of the water tower? I’d actually forgotten that until I came back and the first patient I saw mentioned it.’

  She shifted back in her chair, the better to glare at him.

  ‘And no one seems to remember it was your fault, anyway. You dared me to do it—well, maybe not to dance, but to climb up to the top and take my clothes off.’