He groaned. ‘Don’t even remind me of work.’ He grasped her waist and pulled her to him. His body was hot, unyielding, and did wicked things to her lust hormones. He kissed her again, long and slow, and she melted into him.
A whimper came from the back room, followed by a boisterous cry. Amy drew away from Tom and grinned as she looked up at him. ‘Babies are not conducive to romance.’
Tom laughed. ‘No.’
‘Would you mind cradling her while I prepare her a bottle?’
Fear transformed his features, and Amy giggled. ‘You’ll be fine. Just make sure you support her head.’
Tom nodded, puffed his chest out, and went into the room.
Amy rushed around the kitchen, preparing a bottle of formula and warmed it up, but she wasn’t quick enough for Sophie’s liking. She blared her hunger to the little shop and surrounding streets as though her life depended upon getting that teet in her mouth right this instant.
With a shake of her head, Amy lifted her eyes to the ceiling. ‘See what you’ve created here,’ she whispered to Rachel. She found a little towel in Sophie’s baby bag to place under her chin and went to Tom, holding them out to him. ‘Did you want to have a go at feeding her?’
Tom stared at Sophie with wide eyes, then back at Amy. He nodded, but there was hesitation in the movement.
She gestured to her bed. ‘Lay there with her so you’re both comfortable.’
Tom did, inclining Sophie on the pillow beside him, which he tucked under his arm. Amy pressed the little towel under her chin and gave Tom the bottle. All the while Sophie wailed.
When the teet found her mouth and silence filled the shop, both Tom and Amy sighed.
‘How does someone so small make such a loud noise?’ Tom asked.
Amy laughed. ‘Exactly what I’ve been thinking. And crying is not her only skill.’
Tom arched a brow in question.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon find out.’ She pointed to the kitchen. ‘If you’re okay here, I’ll start on this lunch.’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
Amy pan fried the croque-monsieurs in frothy yellow butter, then added the béchamel and cheese to the top of each before grilling the sandwich. She popped them on big white plates and brought them into the bedroom.
Sophie was just about done with her bottle, her interest in what had been life or death ten minutes ago waning. When finished, Amy lifted Sophie over her shoulder and gently rubbed and patted at her back until the tell-tale series of airy burps startled both her and Tom.
Amy settled Sophie between them on the bed, so they could eat their lunch. As they ate their toasted sandwiches, they watched and smiled and talked about Sophie. Her presence was commanding; she was the sun in the room.
‘When you drop Sophie home later, stop by afterwards. I’d like to show you the progress on my house,’ Tom said.
‘Progress, already?’
‘Yep. The foundations have been poured. I could realistically look like moving in in three months.’
‘Wow. How exciting.’
He grinned. ‘It is. Feels like the first real step forward I’ve made my entire adult life.’
Amy’s stomach clenched. She was three years older than Tom and every step she had made of late had taken her backwards. At the moment, it was like she was floating around in the ether, not landing anywhere.
She hid her discomfort behind a smile. ‘I’m happy for you, Tom.’
It’s not that she was jealous, but more so discouraged by her own lack of progression. A decade of her life she spent putting everything second to her career and what did she have to show for it?
Would she ever be able to rebuild her life? Perhaps her parents were right, if she went to medical school like they wanted, she could have avoided all this failure.
When they had finished their lunch, Amy carried their plates and Sophie’s empty bottle into the kitchen, leaving them in the sink. She climbed back onto the bed, rolling on her side to face Sophie and Tom. Her fingers tickled over Sophie’s little stomach.
‘She’s so beautiful. Rachel would have worshipped her …’ she broke off when her voice shook. Of course Rachel would have doted on her, worshipped and loved her. But she wasn’t here and getting upset about it wouldn’t change that. Amy smiled. ‘We’re very lucky to have Sophie in our lives.’
Leaning over, Tom kissed Sophie’s forehead. ‘Very lucky,’ he whispered. He reached for Amy and stroked her cheek. Under those dark lashes, his eyes flared with … something. Warmth? Adoration? He pressed up and leaned over Sophie, being sure not to cover her, and kissed Amy on the mouth. ‘You’re the kindest, most considerate and beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’
A hot blush crept up her neck and flamed in her cheeks. ‘Where did that come from?’
He rested back on the bed and grinned. ‘I don’t know. Watching you with Sophie. Every second of the day.’
Amy smiled. ‘Thank you.’
A loud sound rumbled from the little body between them, followed by a horrible wet blast in Sophie’s nappy.
Tom sat up, his eyes wide as he looked down at Sophie with horror.
Amy laughed and laughed. ‘I guess that means she needs a nappy change.’
Tom lifted both hands up in surrender. He was shaking his head, mouth flapping open and shut.
Amy had changed plenty of nappies for her nieces and nephews while they’d still lived in Australia. The challenge didn’t faze her. Especially not in babies this age.
‘I’ve got it under control,’ she said, and Tom’s sigh of relief filled the room.
The hour was almost four when Amy arrived at Mitch’s place. Hopefully, she had given him a long enough break. She leaned into the car and unbuckled Sophie, before lifting her out and cradling her in one arm.
With her free hand, she found the baby bag and slung the strap over her shoulder.
‘Anyone would think I’d had you for a week rather than a day,’ she said, feeling the heavy bulk of the bag filled with spare nappies, wipes, bottles, formula, spill towels, and extra clothes. She would have to buy all these things to keep at the shop, along with a portable cot. In a few more months, Sophie would be rolling, making the bed an unsafe sleeping option.
Amy trudged up the stairs and was puffing by the top thanks to all the extra weight. The timber door was open, but the screen door closed.
She knocked.
No answer.
‘Mitch,’ she yelled.
No answer.
Amy’s shoulder was aching. She pushed through the door and glanced into the kitchen. ‘Anyone home?’ she called.
A foul smell filled the air—a combination of stale wine and something else she couldn’t figure out.
‘Mitch,’ she said, plonking the baby bag down in the dining room and tiptoeing to his bedroom door. ‘Mitch,’ she said again. ‘It’s me. I’m home with Sophie.’ Ready to glance away if need be, she poked her head into his room, looked on the bed. But he wasn’t in there.
She headed down the hall towards Sophie’s nursery. The horrible smell grew denser the closer she got to the toilet. When she looked in, she dry-retched. Wine-strained chunky vomit was all over the floor and up the walls.
She covered her mouth and nose with her palm and stumbled away. She dry-retched again, never one to handle the stink of vomit.
What the hell, Mitch?
‘Mitch,’ she yelled, but still no answer.
She found him in the lounge room, crashed out belly down on the couch.
‘Mitch,’ she said. ‘I’m home with Sophie.’
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
She went to him and pushed at his shoulder. No response. If he weren't breathing deeply, she would have thought him dead. But judging by the bottles of wine strewn across the place and the wedding photo album open on the floor, Rachel’s beautiful smiling face staring up at her, he’d drunk himself into a stupor.
‘What the hell are you doing to yourself?’ she asked, kn
owing he wouldn’t hear. Amy shook her head as she stared down at him, anxiety sweeping through her body. No way could she leave Sophie with him.
Amy found Sophie’s bouncernet in the corner of the room, carried it through to the dining room and placed Sophie on it. On her way down the stairs to the car, she dialled Tom’s number.
He didn’t answer.
‘Damn it,’ she groaned, stamping her foot on the ground. Amy opened the boot, took a handful of shopping bags out and tried his number again. He answered on the fifth ring.
‘Amy. Hi,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I was just in the shower. Thought I smelled like baby vomit—’
‘I need you to come over to Mitch’s. He’s passed out drunk on the couch. There’s vomit all over the toilet floor, and I’m not cleaning that mess up. No way. It’s bad enough that I—’ she dry-retched just thinking about it, ‘—smelled it.’
‘Looks like I showered too soon. Give me a couple of minutes. Is Sophie okay?’
‘She’s fine.’
Amy ended the call, shoved her phone in her pocket, and lugged the remaining bags upstairs. By the time she had nearly unpacked all of Mitch’s groceries into the cupboard and fridge, Tom was there.
‘He’s in the lounge room,’ she said.
Tom came back with the empty bottles of wine and threw them into the recycling. ‘He’s not waking up anytime soon.’
‘We can’t leave Sophie here,’ she said, glancing out to the dining room where Sophie was happily lying on the bouncer.
‘I agree. Bring her back to my place. She can sleep the night.’ Tom pressed his hands to his hips and drew in a deep breath. ‘Now to tackle this vomit.’
Amy pointed towards the hall. She’d take a million dirty nappies any day than deal with spew. ‘It’s all yours.’
Chapter 25
Tom woke early, reached out his arm, hands finding cold sheets rather than Amy’s warm body. Soft mumbles sounded from out in the lounge: the deep rumble of Sam’s voice interspersed with Amy’s soft, higher-pitched tone.
What a night. Sophie had woken at least four times, sometimes inconsolable for an hour. He understood how this must be wearing Mitch down.
Rolling out of bed, Tom threw on a clean shirt and a pair of shorts and headed out to the lounge. Sam was on the couch, Sophie on his lap, and he was feeding her a bottle. A smile was wide on his face as he peered down at her. In contrast to Sam, who was taller and wider than Tom, Sophie was like a small-sized football.
‘Good morning,’ Tom said to Amy with a wink.
Amy smiled. ‘Morning.’
‘Hey, mate. Nice of you to join us,’ Sam said.
Tom almost bit, but Sam grinned and waved his hand. ‘Just kidding. I heard you guys were up with her all night. Thought I better share some of the baby duties.’
‘Coffee?’ Tom asked.
Sam and Amy nodded in unison.
‘Really strong,’ Amy said.
Tom made them each a double-shot espresso. He yawned the whole time he was in the kitchen, which was laughable. They’d only had Sophie for one night, and they were all exhausted. But despite that, a real sense of happiness sat in his chest as though that little girl in there had cast a spell over him.
Sophie could be as grumpy and demanding as she pleased, and he would wistfully comply with her every whim.
As he frothed milk to add to the espresso, he thought about yesterday at Amy’s. His heart warmed with the memory of lying on the bed, little Sophie in the middle, and watching Amy tickle her belly. He knew that he wanted that for himself … with Amy. And that was the most serious thought he’d ever had about any woman he’d been with.
Yes, the idea of having children, especially with someone he was dating for a short time was inconceivable, but it had happened.
He stopped and stared at the bench. Am I clucky? He’d heard that reference before, but presumed it concerned women only. Perhaps a better term would be cocky. He chuckled. Whenever he was alone with Amy, he was well and truly cocky.
But she was right about one thing, children were not conducive to romance.
Tom carried the coffees out to the eagerly awaiting recipients, each groaning with pleasure as they sipped at the strong brew.
‘So Mitch was pretty messy last night?’ Sam asked as Tom sunk into the lounge chair opposite him.
‘Very.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’
Tom sighed. ‘We have to be there for him while he works through it. He’s just lost his wife, we have to make some allowances.’ Although cleaning his vomit off the toilet floor was a one-time deal.
Mitch was in the kitchen eating vegemite on toast when Tom and Amy arrived with Sophie. He was dressed, clean shaven, his hair washed and combed—better than he had looked in a while.
Mitch stood when they walked in and held his arms out for Sophie. Amy carried her to him, and he lifted her into his arms, peering down at her face for a long moment. When he met Amy’s gaze again, he said, ‘Don’t you ever take Sophie for the night without my permission again.’
Tom’s eyes narrowed at his brother. His heart was beating up into his throat. Not with sympathy, not with concession, but with anger.
Amy took a step back, her mouth flapping open.
‘You were passed out on the couch like a town drunk,’ Tom said. ‘What the bloody hell did you expect us to do? Leave Sophie here while you’re like that?’
Mitch pointed at Amy. ‘She’s not her fucking mother. She doesn’t make decisions for Sophie.’
Tom held the seat of his chair hard. Bristles of anger worked up his spine, tensing his muscles. ‘Ease the hell up!’
Amy inhaled a noisy breath. ‘No, sadly, Mitch, I’m not Sophie’s mother. And I never will be. But I’m doing my best for her. I care for her. And I care for you. But right now, you’re being unfair and ugly.’
His laugh was a mixture of scorn and sorrow. ‘Unfair? Don’t talk to me about unfair. This little girl growing up without a mother is unfair. Losing my wife is unfair.’ His voice cracked with emotion. His eyes glossed with tears. ‘Just go, please. Give me some room to breathe.’
Tom stood. ‘Stop pushing us away.’
Mitch didn’t answer, just threw his plate into the sink and strode out of the room with Sophie in his arms.
Tom met Amy’s sorrowful eyes. He went to her, pulled her against his chest, and kissed the top of her head. ‘We did the right thing.’
Amy nodded. ‘I know. It just hurts to hear him speak like that. We’re all doing our best.’
He kissed her again, stroked her hair from her face. ‘I know.’
Tom didn’t want to stick around. Not while Mitch was in this mood and not after the way he’d spoken to Amy. He didn’t trust himself and what he might say … or do.
On the way home, Tom detoured off the track and headed towards his land. They were both in need of a distraction.
They passed Sam on the way, leading a cycling tour around the vineyard with a group of twenty tourists. The usual tour operator had called in sick yesterday. Sam had drawn the short straw to fill her place.
Tom laughed as he noticed the four attractive women leading the pack, chatting to Sam as they rode. Sam would be in his element.
‘What are you grinning at?’ asked Amy.
Tom laughed. ‘Sam. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.’
‘Is that why he’s single? Can’t choose only one?’
‘Not exactly. His story runs much deeper. He had a pretty bad experience while at uni.’
Amy turned further in her seat until she was facing him. ‘Why, what happened?’
‘It’s not my story to tell, but he dated a much older woman. One of his lecturers. Anyway, long story shortened, it ended horribly. He had to quit uni. Police got involved.’
‘What the hell?’
Sam was in a bad state after that for a long time. ‘Yeah, it really messed him up. He’s never quite been able to trust since. Not that he’d
admit to it.’
‘That’s sad.’
Tom agreed. ‘But hopefully, the right woman will come along and make him forget all about that.’ He drew his eyes from the road and smiled at Amy.
She had done that for him. Made him forget about anyone that came before her. With her in his life, even dealing with his brothers, particularly Mitch, was bearable.
And he’d not realised it until now, too swept up in all that was Amy Jenkins.
‘What?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing important.’
But as euphoria amplified within him, he couldn’t deny to himself that Amy was fast becoming very important to him.
They detoured past his land. He pointed to the big pale slab of cement that had been poured.
‘The builder expects she’ll have all the framing up by next fortnight, the cladding soon after, then the brickwork and roof.’
‘She’s a machine.’
Tom grinned. ‘She is. I don’t know why I didn’t do this earlier. I could have been in this house already.’ He and Amy could have long moments of privacy in a space that wasn’t confined to a single room.
He ignored the niggling feeling that accompanied that thought. Because it reminded him that soon, he was going back to work.
Mitch was in no better shape; he’d shown no interest in returning to his role at the vineyard, let alone the vineyard in general. Sam wouldn’t cope single-handedly running the operation.
And then there was Amy.
He hated to think about how slowly time would drag while at work as he wished the time away until he saw her again.
Amy arched a brow. ‘Everything okay?’
He nodded. ‘Fine.’
Making decisions based on a relationship that was not only so young, but wasn’t technically even a relationship to start with, was not smart. Not smart at all. And here he was getting too invested, too involved, much too quickly.
Tom parked the car a little way from the overpass that branched between two paddocks on the vineyard and climbed out.
The two old timber doors of the cellar, which sat under the high point of the curved overpass, were painted with the same green paint Dad had chosen when he first bought this place. Though it was flaking with age.
Bittersweet Page 20
