Expecting Miracle Twins

by Barbara Hannay

  ‘Well…yes.’

  He scowled some more. ‘And you’ve cleaned up the kitchen.’

  ‘I didn’t mind. It didn’t take long.’

  He shook his head and winced and she wondered if he had a headache. She thought about offering to cook bacon and eggs. Most guys seemed to find a big breakfast the best cure for a hangover.

  But this morning she had the distinct impression that Jake Devlin would bite her head right off if she made such an offer. And, anyway, he had Ange to fuss over him, didn’t he? She supposed his girlfriend was still in bed, sound asleep after her late night.

  ‘I’ll get out of your way,’ she said. ‘I’m going into town. I have an appointment this morning.’

  Jake flashed a brief, keen glance in her direction. ‘So have I.’

  ‘Right.’ Mattie inhaled sharply, surprised that he’d shared even this much about himself. ‘I…um…hope it goes well, then.’

  He looked faintly amused and, for a moment, she thought he was about to smile and say something friendly, but then he shrugged and turned his attention to the kettle.

  Mattie hurried away and told herself that she didn’t care if he was unsociable. He would be gone in less than a week and it didn’t matter if he never smiled. His grumpiness was his problem, not hers.

  But, as she went past the open bedroom door, she caught sight of those sheets again. She quickly averted her gaze—she didn’t want to spy on Ange. Except…

  She couldn’t help taking another hasty glance and she realised then that she wasn’t mistaken. The bed was empty. Clearly, Ange had not come home with Jake, which perhaps explained his bad mood.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE woman at the nursing home smiled at Jake. ‘Come this way, Mr Devlin. Roy’s up and dressed, ready and waiting for you. He’s very excited about your visit.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Jake replied, but a small coil of dread tightened in his stomach as he followed her down a narrow hallway. This place was as bad as he remembered from his last visit. It smelled like a hospital and the walls were lined with pastel paintings of butterflies, flowers and fruit bowls. Roy wouldn’t like them. Not a horse or a gum tree in sight.

  As Jake passed doors, he caught glimpses of white-haired old folk in bed asleep, or nodding in their armchairs, and his feeling of dismay settled like cold stones in the pit of his stomach. He hated the fact that a great man like Roy Owens, who’d spent his entire life on vast Outback cattle stations, had to spend his twilight years shut away in a place like this.

  His throat was already tight with emotion even before he entered Roy’s room. But then he saw his old friend.

  It had been six months since Jake’s last visit and the changes in Roy were more devastating than ever. The tough and wiry hero Jake had idolised throughout his boyhood had all but vanished and had been replaced by a pale and fragile gnome. Jake tried to swallow the fish bone in his throat but it wouldn’t budge.

  Throughout Jake’s childhood, Roy had been the head stockman on the Devlin family’s isolated Outback cattle property in Far North Queensland. Until a few years ago, Roy had been a head taller than Jake’s father and as strong as an ox. He’d taught Jake how to ride a horse and to fish for black bream, how to leg rope a calf, to fossick for gold, and to follow native bees back to their hives.

  At night, around glowing campfires, Roy had held young Jake entranced as he spun never-ending stories beneath a canopy of stars. No one else knew as much about the night sky, or about bush lore, or the adventures of the early Outback pioneers. By the age of ten, Jake had been convinced that Roy Owens knew everything in this world that a man ever needed to know.

  Roy could turn his hand to catching a wild scrub bull, or leading a search party for a lost tourist, or baking mouthwatering hot damper in the coals of a campfire. Most miraculous of all, Roy had endless patience. No matter how busy he’d been, or how hard he had to work, he’d always found time for a small lonely boy whose parents had been too occupied raising cattle, or training their racehorses, or pursuing their very active social lives.

  When Jake had questioned his parents about Roy’s transfer to a Sydney nursing home they’d claimed that they hated that he had to go away, but they had no choice. Roy needed constant care and regular medical checks.

  ‘But have you visited him down there?’ Jake demanded. ‘Have you seen what it’s like?’

  ‘Darling, you know how terribly busy your father and I are. We will get down there, just as soon as we can spare the time.’

  So far, his parents hadn’t found time.

  But Jake’s affection for Roy had never wavered. It pained him that the old stockman, who’d been like a second father, was now a frail and lonely old bachelor with no family to support him. It tore at Jake’s guts to see him waiting docilely in his postage-stamp-size room. He was fighting tears as Roy’s face broke into an enormous smile.

  ‘Jake, how are you, lad? It’s so good to clap eyes on you.’ With a frail hand Roy patted a chair. ‘Take a seat, son. They’ll bring us morning tea in a minute. Come and tell me all about Mongolia.’

  Roy’s body might have betrayed him, but his mind was still alert and, unlike most people who asked Jake about Mongolia, he was genuinely interested. He knew that horses were as important to the people there as they were in the Outback. And in the same way that many Outback kids learned to ride when they could barely walk, so did children on the steppe.

  Roy was more than happy for Jake to retell the same stories he’d told last time. But, as Jake talked, he was painfully aware of the reversal of their roles. Now he was the one spinning stories and Roy was the grateful listener.

  Two hours later, however, as Jake re-emerged into fresh air and sunshine, he knew that a few stories had not been enough. He was plagued by a gnawing certainty that he was letting the old guy down.

  Mattie was in a very good mood when she came home from the doctor’s. Everything for the surrogacy was set to go. Gina and Tom’s frozen embryos had already arrived at the clinic and in two weeks’ time, when Mattie’s cycle was right, she would begin taking pre-transfer hormones. With luck on her side, she would be pregnant within a month.

  She could hardly wait to get started.

  Gina and Tom were an amazing couple and if anyone deserved to be parents they did. They’d been childhood sweethearts and their deep love for each other had remained unshakeable. These days they ran a farm on the banks of Willow Creek and Gina’s house was always warm and welcoming, always filled with baking smells, a pot of tea at the ready. But there was a little yellow and white room at the end of the hallway, still waiting for the baby Gina longed for.

  Mattie had seen Gina on the day she’d been told she needed a hysterectomy. She’d found her friend huddled in an unrecognisable ball in a corner of the lounge, red-eyed and shrunken—shut down—as if someone she loved with all her heart had died.

  Of course, that was what had happened really, because now the baby Gina dreamed of would never have the chance to live.

  For Gina, of all people, this was the cruellest blow. Mattie and Gina had been planning their families since they’d played with dolls in the tree house Gina’s dad built.

  Mattie was an only child and she’d thought two children would be nice, but Gina came from a big family and she had been adamant she wanted five. Her husband was always going to be Tom and they would have two sets of twins and then a single baby at the end, a baby girl for her to spoil and cuddle when all the twins had gone to school.

  It was unthinkable now that Gina couldn’t have at least one baby, and as Mattie had dumped any dreams of a family of her own after the truly toxic break-up with her fiancé, she hadn’t taken long to come up with her surrogacy proposal.

  For her it was a perfect solution. Gina and Tom could have their baby, and she had the chance to do something positive and life-affirming—the perfect antidote to heartbreak.

  This way, Mattie figured, everyone was a winner and she’d wasted no time before putting t
he idea to Gina and Tom.

  They’d invited her for Sunday lunch, a simple, relaxed, happy meal of roast chicken and winter vegetables, followed by berries and ice cream. After the other guests had gone, Mattie had stayed behind to help with the cleaning up. The three of them had been in the kitchen, Mattie washing wineglasses at the sink while Gina stacked the dishwasher. Tom had just brought in freshly chopped wood for the fire.

  At first Gina hadn’t understood.

  ‘A surrogate pregnancy,’ Mattie had clarified.

  There’d been a momentary flash of shock in Gina’s face, but it was quickly outshone by hope and excitement. Then Gina had seen her husband’s grim frown and doubt had crept into her eyes.

  ‘That’s a huge ask, Mattie,’ Tom had said. ‘Have you thought this through? You’d be carrying another woman’s baby, fathered by another man.’

  ‘I know, I know. But you’re both my best friends.’

  Tom had tried to smile and failed, and he ran a distracted hand through his spiky red hair. ‘I can’t get my mind around the fact that a woman other than Gina could give birth to my child. That’s off the wall. Even when it’s a wonderful friend like you.’

  That discussion had taken place six months ago.

  Mattie had thought the subject was dropped and she’d been disappointed. The idea of carrying her friends’ baby had filled her with a sense of purpose, which she badly needed. After the break-up with Pete she’d cared for her grandmother but, since Gran had passed away, her life had felt…blank and not very meaningful.

  She’d kept busy, of course, had created another book and that had been fun and worthwhile, but she’d still felt vaguely restless and empty. And then Gina and Tom had called.

  Could they come around for a chat? Tom had changed his mind. They’d considered adoption, but it wasn’t their first choice and if Mattie really was still willing to carry their baby they’d be deeply and eternally grateful.

  Now, in Sydney, after receiving the doctor’s reassuring news, Mattie was in the mood for a minor celebration, and she stopped on the way home and bought a bottle of wine. After all, she wouldn’t be able to drink any alcohol once she was pregnant. She also bought the ingredients for one of her favourite meals, a scrumptious potato and mushroom pizza.

  If Jake Devlin was still in an irritable mood, or if Ange was hanging about the flat, giving out sour looks, she would ask them to share the pizza. It was amazing how often a nice meal cheered people up.

  Back at the flat, she sent a quick, excited e-mail to Gina and Tom and then she took Brutus for a nice long walk. She was extra-patient when he wanted to sniff at interesting smells every few metres or so and when she got back, happily windblown and refreshed, she put one of her own CDs in the player—a very popular movie soundtrack.

  She opened the wine and poured a glass, which she sipped while she sifted flour and kneaded dough and chopped vegetables for the topping.

  The pizza was almost ready for the oven when she heard the sound of a key in the front door. Her skin flashed hot and cold.

  For heaven’s sake, it was such a silly reaction. What was the matter with her? As Jake Devlin’s footsteps sounded in the hallway she concentrated on adjusting the oven’s temperature setting, but she knew it wasn’t the stove’s heat that made her face bright and hot when he came into the kitchen.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked casually.

  Mattie flashed a nervous smile in his direction. He looked as devastatingly sexy as ever.

  ‘Fine,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve been busy.’

  ‘Not really.’ She tried to sound offhand. ‘I’ve made plenty of mess, but it’s just a pizza.’

  He came close—too close—and stood looking down at the pizza, with his hands resting lightly on his lean hips. Today his shirt was respectably buttoned and there was absolutely no reason for Mattie to feel weak at the knees.

  While Jake studied her pizza with surprising interest, she drew a calming breath. At least, her deep breath was supposed to be calming but it didn’t seem to help her. She was still distinctly fluttery.

  ‘That looks really good.’ He spoke with every appearance of sincerity. ‘I’ve never seen potato used on a pizza.’

  ‘Oh, you should try it. It’s delicious.’

  Great. Now she sounded breathless.

  ‘I’ll bet it’s terrific.’ He smiled at her and his smile was more dangerous than his bare chest had been.

  Mattie’s movements became jerky and nervous as she began to tidy the cooking mess. Without looking at Jake, she said, ‘It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t hang around that long. I’ve already made plans.’ He slipped his sleeve cuff back and glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I have to leave again almost straight away, and I need to shower first.’

  Mattie smothered her ridiculous disappointment with an extra-bright smile. She supposed Jake was going off to meet Ange.

  ‘Enjoy your dinner,’ he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

  ‘I will.’

  It was a warm evening so Mattie ate her pizza slices and drank another glass of wine out on the balcony with Brutus at her feet. The balcony faced the east, but the sky reflected the pinks of the sunset from the western sky and the light turned the water a pretty pearlescent grey. She enjoyed the meal immensely—despite the dull cloud of tension and disappointment that had settled over her.

  She was very annoyed with herself for feeling low. Yesterday morning she’d been over the moon with excitement about living in Sydney alone. This evening she longed for company.

  It didn’t make sense. When she’d started preparing this meal, she hadn’t really expected to share it with anyone and the sudden slump in her spirits was irrational. How would she cope with nine months of pregnancy and the ups and downs of her hormones if one unpleasant man she hardly knew could send her moods swinging like a seesaw?

  She didn’t even like Jake Devlin!

  Her low spirits lingered as she went back inside, cleaned up the kitchen and covered the canary’s cage. She asked herself disconsolately, What now?

  Of course, there was one thing that she could always rely on to lift her mood. She fetched her art block, pens and paints and set them on the coffee table.

  Humming to herself, she found a flat cushion, then sat cross-legged on the floor, ready to sketch an opening scene for her new book.

  The idea for this story had been bubbling inside her for the past few weeks, but she’d been too busy planning her move to get started. This evening was the perfect time to let her ideas for the artwork come to the surface and spill onto the page. At last.

  As always, her children’s story would start in her young heroine’s ordinary world—an old-fashioned house in an inner-city suburb, where the little girl lived with her mother and father, her cat and a canary.

  In this new book, Mattie would begin with a bathroom scene.

  She selected a pencil and sharpened it carefully, took a deep, happy breath and made the first mark on the fresh white page. Within moments, she was completely absorbed, lost in the enchanting world of her imagination. Thank heavens it never let her down.

  The flat was in darkness when Jake arrived home some time after midnight. Last night he’d tripped over something in the dark, so he turned on a light this time and he blinked as the living room came to life, blinked again when he saw the clutter on the coffee table.

  Surely Mattie, the neat freak, hadn’t left this mess?

  Curiosity got the better of him and he moseyed over to take a closer look.

  Blow me down.

  The table was covered by a painting, which Mattie had obviously left to dry. It was a pen and ink sketch, coloured with pretty watercolours in a soft wash, and it showed the corner of a bathroom.

  A little girl peeped out of a sea of bubbles in an elegantly curved, claw-footed bathtub. Bright rainbow-tinted bubbles drifted over the edge of the bath and onto a white fluffy mat on the floor, where
a pair of pink-and-white-striped socks with lacy frills lay abandoned.

  The long sleeve of a blue jersey hung over the edge of a wicker laundry basket and the cheeky face of a black cat peeked out from behind the basket.

  It was such a simple little scene, drawn with an economy of lines and coloured delicately, but there was something utterly fascinating about the picture. Jake looked again at the little girl’s mousy-brown curls and beady blue eyes and he chuckled softly. She looked incredibly ordinary and yet unexpectedly appealing. Not unlike her creator.

  Mattie woke next morning to the unexpected sound of pots and pans being rattled in the kitchen, and when she opened her bedroom door she caught the distinctive aroma of mushrooms frying.

  She’d slept in, after staying up much longer than she’d intended last night. When she’d finally finished work on her painting she’d lain awake for ages, thinking about the rest of her book, but she hadn’t heard Jake come in, so he must have been very late. How extraordinary that he was up already.

  She dressed quickly, pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, and she made a hasty stop in the bathroom to wash her face and tidy her hair, then she entered the kitchen cautiously.

  Jake was whisking eggs and he turned and grinned at her. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Good morning,’ she returned carefully.

  ‘I let Brutus out into the garden,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’ She blinked with surprise when she saw that he’d also filled Brutus’s bowl.

  ‘How did such a tiny mutt end up with a name like Brutus?’ Jake asked as he watched the little dog crunch miniature biscuits.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Mattie admitted. ‘I guess his former owners had a sense of humour, even if they were careless.’

  ‘Former owners?’

  ‘I have a good friend, Lucy, who’s a vet. Someone dumped Brutus on her doorstep and she needed to find a new owner.’

  Jake stopped whisking eggs. ‘And you offered.’

  ‘Yes.’