‘Sorry, already got some place I need to be.’
Disappointment warred with annoyance in Cameron’s eyes. ‘It’s only a beer, not a lifetime commitment.’
Blast. He did not want to get offside with the man. ‘I’m taking Emma out to her family in the Valley.’ Don’t you say a bloody word.
But he should’ve known better. This was Cameron. ‘Watch out for her family. They don’t like men hanging around their Emma.’ Then he was busy filling in paperwork.
Dismissed. That was how Nixon felt. Cameron had got the last annoying word in. Except he was glad to learn there were people looking out for his friend. After the mistake her husband had turned out to be, it was only right her family would check out any bloke Emma became interested in. He could handle that. Besides, he was only her boss and a casual friend wanting to see her home.
Wasn’t he?
If that was the case, why was he rushing up the stairs to the maternity ward with fingers crossed that Emma’s mother hadn’t come to pick her up? He’d be free to hit the road on his bike, put some wind through his hair if she had.
Yeah, but he wanted to be the one driving Emma out to Gibbston Valley tonight.
Glad Cameron wasn’t around to hear that one. He’d be laughing for days.
*
Emma stepped into her parents’ dining room and shook her head at her mother. The solid wood dining table was all but bending under the weight of food. ‘I had a baby, I didn’t run a marathon.’
‘Everyone’s here,’ was her mother’s explanation, meaning her brothers’ girlfriends were hanging around too.
As long as she wasn’t in for a grilling about her feelings for the baby, she was okay with their presence. They might keep the boys quiet. And she had wanted to wrap herself in family, right? What about Nixon? He’d chatted all the way out, saving her the need to fill in the gaps. Yet she’d known if she’d wanted to broach the events of her day he’d have given her one hundred per cent focus. She was glad she had accepted his offer of a lift, and what better way to thank him than dinner? Her mother would never, ever, not have enough food prepared to feed everyone twice over, so Emma turned to Nixon. ‘Don’t even try to get out of staying for dinner. Mum can be stubborn if she has to.’
‘I do have to get back to town.’ His gaze was cruising the banquet of cold cuts and salads of every variety imaginable.
‘Might as well eat here as there.’ Emma would swear he was drooling.
‘But—’ Nixon seemed to be having a battle with his stomach. He cut a look to her mother. ‘Okay. Thank you for inviting me, Kathy.’
Technically she hadn’t, but then she expected people to stay. Her favourite saying was ‘Everyone gets hungry, I enjoy plugging the gaps.’
‘You brought Emma out. It’s the least I could do.’ Her mum’s smile was genuine. No hidden agenda, no lurking doubts, no worries about Nixon being with her daughter.
Oh, boy. This was getting tricky. She didn’t need her mum getting all fired up about a man in her life. If, and that was a huge if, she stepped out into the dating world, she would not introduce the poor guy to her family until she was absolutely certain he could take the grilling that would come his way, but one glance at Nixon and she knew he’d handle it, might even expect it. Not that he’d be getting the opportunity. Dinner now and then he’d be racing back to town, away from her family and any risk of being slowly pulled in by the mantle known as the Hayes blanket—so called by one of the many strays her parents had taken in throughout her life. Not that Nixon was a stray. Just a little adrift. Alone.
Emma sighed. It was out of her hands. ‘Sorry we’re late, Mum, but I slept longer than I intended.’
Remember, Mum, he’s my boss, not a potential lover. Definitely not a future husband.
One of those had already been one too many. She would never marry again, even if—heaven forbid—she did fall in love and move in with a guy. She was Emma Hayes for ever.
Her mother shrugged. ‘No problem.’
Oh, boy, again. Emma spun away from her mother’s knowing look and said, ‘Nixon, you’d better meet everyone else.’
‘Why does that sound like a threat?’ he asked, sounding and looking as comfortable as any man could when about to walk into the bull’s paddock. Could he be a skilled bull tamer? She was about to find out.
Out on the back deck she said, ‘Hey, Dad, everyone, I’d like you to meet Nixon from work. He gave me a ride out here,’ she added pointlessly, more in a pickle than Nixon appeared to be.
‘Nixon,’ Rosie shrieked from the swing. ‘You came.’
‘Hey, Rosie. Of course I did.’
The handshakes were testing, and the locked-eye looks were designed to undermine any man not strong enough to withstand a tsunami of questions and probes.
Nixon took it all on the chin, smiling and individually acknowledging her father and brothers, Shaun and Daniel, then the girlfriends. ‘Glad to know we’re all on the same side when it comes to Emma.’
That had each of them tipping their heads back and staring at him before smiles broke out on their faces, as if they shared some man secret or something. Even Shaun’s girlfriend was getting in on the act. Emma had the distinct feeling she’d missed the point and should head back inside to help her mother. At least she’d feel at home in the large, country-style kitchen with her mum, her lack of cooking skills excepted.
‘Hey, Em, how’re you feeling?’ Daniel asked, not quite taking his probing gaze off Nixon. ‘I presume you’re sore.’
‘Tired, and still all right with what I’ve done,’ she said pointedly. Just in case there were any misconceptions going round that she might be howling on the inside for baby Grace. Right now it was the physical aspects of giving birth making her uncomfortable. A dull, throbbing ache in places best not sat on or pressed too hard a constant reminder that her day hadn’t been about helping patients and all about giving Abbie a daughter. ‘I’m going inside.’
Don’t kill Nixon, or hold him over a flame while I’m gone.
‘Nixon would probably enjoy a beer.’ Her parents might own a vineyard but beer was the preferred pre-dinner beverage with the men.
‘I like him,’ her mum told her the moment she’d checked Nixon hadn’t followed Emma back to the kitchen. ‘He comes across as solid and kind and honest.’
That made him sound a tad boring, and Nixon was anything but. ‘All of the above as well as a bit of a daredevil on his bike apparently. Also, he backs people when they’re being wronged.’ As he had her when one of the nurses had criticised her for carrying Abbie’s baby. That day, she’d heard for the first and only time real anger in Nixon’s voice, seen it in his tense body and taut shoulders. That was when their friendship had taken a step further along the sliding scale of acquaintances to soulmat
es. It also helped that he was deep, funny, and a little bit lonely. And, damn it, sexy. There, she’d admitted it again. And he still wasn’t going to become anything more than who he already was. A friendly, caring boss. Saying it often enough would stop these errant thoughts popping up. Thinking of him as sexy was not a good move. But how to stop?
Little crinkles appeared at the corners of her mother’s eyes. ‘Just how friendly are you two?’
‘Drop it, Mum. Please? I’m tired and sore and want to eat dinner before hitting the pillow.’ Suddenly, curling up in her old bed, curtains shut tight, pillow tugged around her neck, and her eyes and ears closed so she became completely and utterly alone was all she wanted. To try and relax, to let go all pretence that today had been easy. To be able to study every moment again, to look at everything from all angles without anyone twittering in her ear saying how great she was for what she’d done. She wanted to hold the unabridged facts and emotions and absorb the truth of it all. Only then would she fully accept the birth was over, Grace was not hers, and she had her own life to be getting on with.
Her mother’s arm was around her shoulder, tugging her close to that chest she’d always gone to in times of sadness growing up. ‘Give yourself time, Em.’
‘Can everyone see through me?’ Blink, blink.
‘We know you well.’ Her mum’s smile was lopsided. ‘I’m thinking Nixon might too.’
Her shoulders sagged. Her mum was not one for letting go a bone once it was between her jaws. She conceded, ‘He does seem more understanding than most men I’ve met.’
‘Which makes him a treasure.’
Emma slipped free and slid her hands down her tee shirt over her heavy, full breasts and onto her flabby stomach. ‘He doesn’t belong in the local museum, nor does he have a place in my life. Nor I in his. We’re too different. Seriously, Mum, I want you to drop this because nothing is going to come of it. I don’t want it to. I’m not ready to get involved with a man again.’ She only had to shut her eyes and she could see Alvin’s rage as his fist slammed into her stomach. Until images like that one went away, she’d never be ready to give her heart again or to put her safety in another man’s hands. Though if there was one thing she knew for certain it was that Nixon would not hurt her physically.