A Single Dad to Heal Her Heart

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘That sounds good.’

  She whipped the top off a bottle and handed it to him, picked up a glass of sparkling water, put a handful of the canapés in a paper napkin and steered him back down the garden to a vacant bench tucked under the eaves of the old coach house. A glorious fragrant rose smothered the red-brick wall, and the delicate scent surrounded them as they sat down.

  Livvy sighed. ‘Oh, that’s better. I should have realised it was too soon to wear heels,’ she grumbled softly, and he rolled his eyes and sighed and took one of the canapés.

  ‘You don’t say. What are you trying to do—twist it again?’

  ‘All right, all right, I know it’s stupid, but they’re only low wedges and I wanted to look nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ He laughed under his breath, and shook his head at her. ‘Livvy, you couldn’t fail to look nice, especially in that dress. And you look more than nice. Much, much more.’

  He felt his smile fade, driven out by something unexpectedly powerful, and he could see an echo of it in her eyes, an unfulfilled yearning, a need that hadn’t been met. Yet.

  Not now!

  He looked away quickly and turned his attention back to the colourful and glamorous crowd.

  ‘It’s a good turn-out.’

  ‘It is. I’m glad. They’ve got dancing later in the marquee.’

  He felt his heart thud. ‘Will you be able to dance?’

  She laughed. ‘If I take my shoes off, and anyway, I’ll have you to hold me up. I’m not going to be jiving.’

  ‘Well, not with me, anyway. I draw the line at making a total fool of myself but don’t worry, I won’t stand on you and I will hold you up.’ Although it might kill him to hold her that close...

  ‘Good,’ she said, and then she slipped off her shoes, scooped them up and got to her feet again.

  ‘Come on, my brother and sister are here and they want to see you again.’

  ‘Hold on, let me remember their names. Is it Jamie?’

  ‘Yes, and my little sister’s Abbie. Did you know she had a crush on you?’

  He groaned and rolled his eyes. ‘Seriously?’

  She laughed up at him, her eyes sparkling, and he had a desperate need to kiss her. He stifled it fast.

  ‘Seriously,’ she was saying. ‘She was only sixteen then. I’m sure she’s outgrown it. She’s twenty-five now, lives with her boyfriend and she’s a doctor.’

  ‘It seems to run in the family.’

  ‘No, Jamie broke the mould. He’s an architect. Here they are. Hi, guys. Remember Matt?’

  The group parted to let them in, and he smiled and shook hands and then contented himself with watching Livvy.

  It was no hardship.

  * * *

  They chatted until the music started, and then he and Livvy ended up on the dance floor. Her ankle was giving her a bit of grief, so he held her, as promised, and the feel of her in his arms and against his body trashed his last shreds of detachment. He didn’t care who saw them together, what they thought—didn’t care about any of it.

  All he cared about was holding her, but the music stopped at midnight, hauling him back to reality, and they ended up in the kitchen, clustered round the table, with just the family left.

  Jackets had been abandoned long ago, bow ties were hanging, top buttons and cufflinks well and truly undone, and with everyone else gone he could finally relax.

  He was sitting beside Livvy at the table, and Bron was busy with the kettle while Oliver piled the last of the canapés onto a plate and put them on the table next to a cheeseboard.

  ‘Coffee, Matt?’

  ‘Oh, please, Bron, nice and strong. I need something to keep me awake. I’m too old for this malarkey.’

  ‘I don’t know, the young have no stamina,’ Oliver said, rolling his eyes.

  ‘Maybe we’ve just had less champagne,’ Abbie said drily, and everyone laughed.

  Bron put the coffee down in front of Matt, and Oliver caught her and pulled her onto his lap. ‘That was a great party, darling. Thank you,’ he said lovingly, and kissed her.

  ‘Oh, yuck, get a room,’ Jamie heckled, laughing, and Oliver joined in the laughter.

  ‘It’s my birthday’ he said, ‘and I’ll kiss my wife if I want to.’

  ‘Quite right,’ Livvy said. ‘You ignore him, Dad.’

  ‘So, Livvy,’ Bron said, settling back against Oliver’s shoulder and looking perfectly content, ‘tell us all about this trip to Cumbria.’

  ‘Oh, it was great—well, right up until I hurt my ankle.’

  ‘Yes, how did you do that?’ Abbie asked, and Matt snorted and everyone’s eyes swivelled to him.

  ‘What?’ Abbie asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Ask her,’ he said, unable to stifle the smile, and then he caught her eye and they both started to laugh.

  ‘What?’ Abbie said again, joining in the laughter, and he shrugged again.

  ‘Oh, it was silly, really. She was nagging me for not going fast enough, worried we weren’t going to be first to the top, and I told her to be careful because the path was unstable, and she said, “I’m always careful”, and then it crumbled and she fell down a scree slope. Luckily she hit a rock.’

  ‘Luckily?’ Oliver said, frowning at her in concern. ‘You never said anything about a rock, Livvy.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said drily. ‘It was about forty or fifty feet down, right at the top of the slope, really. If it hadn’t stopped her...’ He felt his smile fade. ‘Well, it was a long way to the bottom, put it like that, and the rock broke her fall and fortunately nothing else.’

  His laughter was long gone, driven out by the remembered horror, his fear that she was dead, his relief when she started to breathe again.

  ‘She was badly winded, but that was all. That and a few colourful bruises and the ankle, of course, but I didn’t know that at the time so it was a bit worrying. She was very lucky. And she was all for us going on up and her making her own way down when she couldn’t put any weight on it and could have cracked a rib and got a pneumothorax or a ruptured spleen or—’

  ‘I don’t have one any more.’

  ‘Yeah, but I didn’t know that at the time, and you still have lungs.’

  ‘Anyway, I knew I was all right.’

  ‘Yeah, of course you did, because you have X-ray eyes,’ he said drily. ‘So, needless to say, I ignored her and took her down, protesting all the way, but that’s Livvy, I guess, she just won’t give up fighting. More guts than sense.’

  ‘Oh, we know all about that,’ Oliver said softly, his eyes flicking to Livvy, and she laughed and changed the subject abruptly, as if she was suddenly uncomfortable.

  ‘So, Jamie, what are you working on now?’ she asked, and they moved on to talk about architecture and gradually he felt her relax again.

  Why? What had Oliver said that had made her tense up like that? Something about her fighting, something significant, something that clearly had affected all of them. Her health issues that she’d been so evasive about? He had no idea what, but he wanted to know.

  Later. He’d ask her later.

  * * *

  The party broke up shortly after one when everyone started yawning, and as they paused in the hall to say their goodbyes, she saw Matt and her father deep in conversation and her curiosity was piqued.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me, Matt,’ her father was saying, his voice soft, but he shook his head.

  ‘I do. Without you...’

  Without him, what?

  ‘It was little enough, I was just glad to be able to help, we both were. I wish we could have done more. And it’s great to see you again. Stay in touch this time, eh?’

  ‘I will. And thank you so much for a great party. It’s been good to see everyone again. I’m so glad Livvy brought me.’

 
‘So am I, and I’m glad you enjoyed it. Drive carefully, now, she’s very precious to us.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said, linking her arm through Matt’s and wondering what that had all been about. ‘Come on, it’s time to go. At their age they need their beauty sleep.’

  ‘Cheeky minx,’ her father said with a chuckle, and he wrapped her in a firm, warm hug, cradling her against his solid chest as he had done so very many times in her life.

  ‘Love you, Dad,’ she said, suddenly welling up, and his arms tightened a fraction before he let her go.

  ‘Love you, too. Take care of her, Matt.’

  ‘I will.’

  Their eyes met, her father sending him some warning message, and she tutted at him.

  ‘I can take of myself, Dad. I’m fine.’

  She hugged her mother, kissed her brother and sister goodbye and hooked her arm through Matt’s.

  ‘Right, let’s go.’

  She settled back against the leather, wriggled her feet out of her shoes and glanced across at him. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Only if I can ask you something, too.’

  ‘Me first,’ she said, and he gave a resigned laugh.

  ‘Go on, then. Fire away.’

  ‘What did my father do that you thanked him for? It sounded fairly significant.’

  ‘Ah.’ He let out a soft huff of breath—almost a laugh, but somehow not, and there was something about it that chilled her. ‘It was the day Jules died,’ he told her quietly, and her heart sank.

  Oh, no...

  ‘We were on a conference in Birmingham and I’d gone up by train, but it was Sunday when it happened and the trains weren’t running because of engineering works, so he dropped everything and drove me to London.’

  ‘I didn’t realise that. I knew he was with you.’

  ‘Yes. He was amazing. I’ve never forgotten that, and I’ve never really thanked him, not properly, so it was good to have the chance because his support made a huge difference.’

  She reached out a hand and laid it on his arm, feeling the tension, and guilt racked her. ‘I’m so sorry I asked. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for you, but I’m glad he was there and you didn’t have to make the journey alone. It must have been awful.’

  ‘It was. And I was very glad he was there, too. So, my turn now.’

  ‘Your turn?’

  ‘To ask you a question.’

  ‘Ah. OK. Fire away,’ she said, although she thought she knew what was coming, but fair enough, she’d made him dig out his demons and it was high time she told him.

  In the dim light from the instrument panel she saw him glance across at her, then back to the road before he spoke, his voice soft.

  ‘What did your father mean when I said about you having more guts than sense, and he said he knew all about that?’

  She gave a forced little laugh, her heart beating faster. ‘Nothing. He was just being silly.’

  Matt shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. He didn’t sound silly, he sounded deadly serious, as if it was really important. Significant even, to quote you.’

  She nodded slowly. He had sounded serious, because he had been, and for good reason. She swallowed, knowing the moment had come, knowing there was nothing she could do but suck it up and tell him.

  ‘Talk to me, Livvy. You said you have health issues. Is that what he was talking about? Are you sick?’

  ‘No. I’m not sick, but I had cancer nearly five years ago.’

  ‘Cancer?’

  For a moment he was silent, but then he let his breath out in a long, slow whoosh and pulled over, stopping the car. The interior lights came on automatically, and he twisted round to look at her, his face shocked. ‘You had cancer? When you were—what, twenty-four?’

  She held his eyes and nodded.

  He swore softly, and reached out a hand and cradled her jaw tenderly, his thumb stroking lightly over her cheek in a gentle caress that nearly unravelled her. ‘That’s tough. That’s really tough. How are you now? Are you OK? Are you still having treatment?’

  ‘No—no, I’m fine, they took it out, it’s gone and I’m OK. But I’ve re-evaluated my life and I’m careful with my diet and stuff.’

  ‘Hence the horrible green tea,’ he said, and she saw his mouth flicker into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  She laughed. ‘Hence the horrible green tea—although I do actually like it.’

  He gave a soft huff of what could have been laughter, and leant over and feathered a gentle kiss on her lips.

  ‘We’re a right pair, aren’t we?’ he murmured, and then he straightened up and restarted the engine. ‘I’d better get you home, Cinderella, before you turn into a pumpkin.’

  ‘I think that was the carriage,’ she pointed out drily, and he chuckled, put the car into gear and pulled away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘ARE YOU COMING IN?’

  He hesitated, not sure it was a good idea but not sure he could resist.

  Not sure he wanted to.

  ‘OK, but only for a moment.’

  He followed her through the house to the kitchen, and she turned, one hand reaching out to the kettle.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Yeah, please, if you’ve still got decaf.’

  He shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a dining chair, then turned it round and sat and watched her as she spooned the coffee into the cafetière and took out a teabag for herself.

  ‘I might go and change out of this dress while the kettle boils,’ she said, heading for the stairs, and he felt an arrow of disappointment.

  ‘That’s a pity,’ he said, without engaging his brain.

  She stopped with her hand on the newel post and looked at him with a puzzled frown. ‘Why is it a pity?’

  ‘Because I’ve been fantasising about taking it off you ever since you opened the door to me,’ he said softly, throwing away the last shred of his common sense, and her eyes widened, her lips parted and he watched, mesmerised, as her chest rose and fell a little faster.

  So beautiful. So very, very lovely...

  Her arm fell back to her side, and she took a step towards him. ‘Funny, that,’ she said, a tiny smile flickering on soft, moist lips that he was aching to feel with his own. ‘I’ve been thinking the same about your shirt.’

  Their eyes locked, and his breath left his body in a rush.

  ‘Livvy?’

  He wasn’t sure who moved first, but then she was in his arms and he was holding her close and breathing in the scent of her, so warm, so vibrant, so alive.

  She’d had cancer. How? Why, when she was so young?

  He lifted his head, tilted her face up to his and touched his mouth to hers.

  She moaned softly and parted her lips, and he did what he’d been aching to do all evening. He cradled her face in his hands and plundered her mouth, revelling in the taste, the texture, the heat of her breath as she gasped, the press of her body against his, firm and toned and yet still yielding, pliant, all woman.

  And he wanted her in a way he’d never thought he’d want again.

  He lifted his head and stared down into her eyes, searching them for any sign of doubt, any flicker of hesitation, but there was none.

  ‘I want you,’ he said gruffly, and she whimpered and closed her eyes.

  ‘I want you, too—so much, but unless you’ve got a condom stashed in your wallet...’

  Disappointment hit him in the gut, and he tilted his head back with a groan of frustration. ‘No. No, I haven’t. I didn’t think we’d—Not so soon.’

  She dropped her arms and eased away. ‘Then we can’t. I can’t risk getting pregnant—I mustn’t.’ And then she dropped the bombshell. ‘I’m on tamoxifen.’

  ‘Tamoxifen?’

&nb
sp; It was like a bucket of cold water, and he felt the heat drain away, leaving only shock and the need to hold her. He shut his eyes, letting it sink in, and folded her close again.

  ‘You had breast cancer.’

  It wasn’t a question. The fact that she was on it was enough. But—breast cancer at twenty-four? That was seriously not good news. And it was an oestrogen-responsive cancer, or she wouldn’t be on tamoxifen, not at all, and certainly not after five years. Which had a knock-on effect on all manner of things.

  He lifted his head, staring down into her eyes, seeing the shadow of fear there behind her bravado, trying to imagine what she must have gone through. Was still going through, because tamoxifen wasn’t a picnic...

  ‘Oh, Olivia... Come here.’

  He wrapped her in his arms again, cradling her head against his shoulder, and pressed his lips to her hair. ‘Forget the coffee. Let’s just go to bed.’

  ‘But we can’t—’

  ‘Yes, we can, it’s fine.’

  ‘Matt, it’s not fine, I can’t get pregnant, I really can’t—’

  ‘Shh, I know that,’ he murmured, soothing the panic he could feel rising in her. ‘Trust me, Livvy. I’m not going to do anything. I’m too tired to do you justice, anyway. I only want to hold you.’

  ‘Hold me—?’ A tiny sob rose in her throat, and he watched her swallow, fighting it back down. And then she nodded, took a step back, gathered up the hem of that beautiful dress that had tormented him all evening and led him up the stairs, past the bathroom and back towards the front of the house.

  She obviously hadn’t been expecting him to go in her bedroom because there were clothes all over the place, shoes scattered, the bed rumpled.

  He didn’t care. He wasn’t there to check out her housekeeping skills, and as she stood in the middle of the room, looking racked with doubt, he closed the curtains, turned on the bedside light and walked quietly back to her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked softly, taking her hands in his, and she shrugged.

  ‘Nothing. I’m being silly. It’s just that I don’t know how you’ll react when you see me naked...’

  ‘Livvy, I’m a surgeon,’ he pointed out gently. ‘I’ve done my share of breast surgery, I know what to expect. I also know it’ll take guts to show me, and I know you’ve got that in spades, but maybe you’re just not ready yet to share something so intimate with me, but you don’t need to if you don’t want to, not tonight, and maybe never. That’s fine. I’m not asking you to get naked if you don’t want to. You can wear whatever you like. All I want is to hold you. Nothing more. I’m not here to judge you, and nothing’s going to change the way I feel about you. You can trust me, and if you’re not ready to do that yet, either, if you’d rather I went home, then I’ll go. It’s up to you.’