Em had knocked his socks off saying she loved him. Her declaration had turned him hot and cold all at once. He wanted her love, needed to show her he loved her, but a lifetime of holding back was in the way. There were no guidelines. Anyway, it probably wasn’t even possible.
‘I love you.’ Emma’s words resonated endlessly, had kept him on edge for the rest of shift. Every time he’d seen her he’d wanted to rush over and shake some sense into her head, make her see he was the wrong man to be looking at a future with. ‘We’re having a baby.’
Riding was supposed to settle his head, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was running away. He and Emma were having a baby. She’d been stoic when he’d said he wasn’t going to her family dinner, not showing relief or disappointment. Which had rubbed him up the wrong way. He’d wanted a reaction, something to guide him through this murky situation. But no. She’d left him to make up his own mind—about everything.
‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did.’
Sure, thanks, Henry. I’ll keep that in mind.
The man who’d talked to him last week for the first time. The man who’d taken his real father’s place as best he could. Should he ask his advice? No, this decision was his alone. But no harm in getting some input. Digging his phone out of his cycle pants, he pressed a number. ‘Henry, it’s me.’
‘I’m sixty-five, not ninety-five. My phone is state of the art.’
‘Of course.’ Nixon had given it to him for his last birthday.
‘What’s up?’ Straight to the point.
Hang up or tell Henry? Flight or fight? Gulp. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m going to be a father.’
Henry was quiet, and Nixon could see the frown forming between his bushy eyebrows and the meditative look in his eyes. Then, ‘This anything to do with Emma?’
‘Yes.’
‘You love her?’
Go for the throat, why don’t you?
‘I—’ Swallow. ‘Yes.’
‘Does she know that?’
You know she doesn’t, you old bugger.
‘It’s not so easy.’
Another silence, then, ‘Yes, Nixon, it is. If you truly love her then you open your mouth and tell her.’
More silence. He had no answer to that gem. Because Henry was right. That was how people communicated. Most people. Just not him. ‘I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life.’ Not that he was telling Henry something he didn’t know.
‘Time you started. It’s not that you don’t know how to love.’
His eyes moistened, damn it. Henry was digging under his skin, scratching the painful scars. He didn’t know how to say I love you. Did he just open his mouth and spill? Or did there need to be a lead in? Not an orchestra or roses; he got that. But to say those three words—once they were out, there was no taking them back to protect his heart. He’d be vulnerable. Emma mightn’t walk away from him but she could get injured, die. The other day she’d been so exhausted it had crippled her. What if it had been worse? Something other than pregnancy doing that to her? He’d have lost his heart, the woman he loved. Or equally bad: what if he failed her? Found his love wasn’t strong and true? No, he was sure about that.
Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, he coughed. Henry was waiting patiently. Damn but he owed this man. ‘Henry—’
‘It’s all right. Go and tell this special woman how you feel. Then bring her down to meet us. If you’re going to set up family we’re going to be part of the picture. All of us.’ Then he was gone.
It was that easy? Yeah, sure. Nixon began riding back to Queenstown, taking a different route, riding slower as he let Henry’s advice wash over him, into him.
Tell her.
Family. Emma. Children. A home. A baby.
He passed a real-estate sign with a photo showing a large family home set in paddocks. The house that had been advertised in the paper before Christmas. The house Emma thought would be perfect for her and Rosie and anyone else she might love.
His speed fell away as he stared over the fence at the house coming into view from behind a row of birch trees. Placing his feet on the ground, he took in the wide verandas, the bay windows, two chimneys, the rose-filled gardens. Yes, Emma could be happy there. But this had nothing to do with them and their current situation. This house was not going to tell Emma he loved her.
Or was it? What if he showed Emma how much he loved her? He could do that. He could. Words weren’t the only way of putting his feelings out there. His heart pumped faster, harder, and the need to act expanded through his chest, became urgent. If he couldn’t do this for Emma he didn’t deserve her. Then what would his life be like? Empty. Lonely. Unbearable.
*
Emma looked up from the bacon she was cutting into ever smaller pieces on her plate. ‘Expecting someone for breakfast?’ she asked her father. The house was quiet the next morning as most people slept off last night’s party.
‘Nope. Sure you didn’t invite a certain someone?’ Her father winked as he glanced out of the window.
‘What?’
Rosie was racing for the door, Bella at her heels. ‘Nixon!’
‘What does this mean?’ Emma whispered, trying to ignore the hope thrashing against her heart. Good? Or bad? Were they getting together, or was it over before it got started?
‘Why don’t you go and find out, love?’ Her father patted her hand.
Nixon had been blunt about wanting time to himself yesterday. Every time a car had come up the drive last night her heart had lifted in hope, and dived back down when it hadn’t been Nixon. She hadn’t slept a wink all night for fear he’d reject her. Was that why he was here now? To tell her he couldn’t be the man she wanted? Or—
Her legs refused to lift her up. Remaining seated, shaking on the inside, she refused to acknowledge the fledgling hope firing in her gut. This could all be the biggest let-down of her life.
Then Nixon was standing at the end of the table, Rosie’s hand wrapped in his. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, but I need to talk to Emma.’
She tried pushing up from the table; again her legs failed her. At least her neck muscles worked and she could meet his steady gaze. A lot steadier than her heart.
Her father held his hand out. ‘Come on, Rosie. We’ll take Bella to the pond.’
They both watched them leave as though that were the most important issue right now. The air stalled in Emma’s lungs. ‘Do you want some coffee?’ she finally asked to fill in the tight silence.
‘I’ll get it.’ He stepped across
to the table and picked up a mug. Coffee splashed on the tablecloth when he poured.
Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Tell me.’
He looked at her for a long moment, an emotion she couldn’t identify in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. It was a shock and I didn’t handle it well.’
‘You needed time to get your head around the baby.’ He’d known almost as long as her.
‘Not as much as what else you told me.’ He hesitated.
Emma waited for her world to implode.
‘I’ve struggled with putting my emotions out there since the day they told me my family was gone. I think I believed if I didn’t say a word it wouldn’t be true. Later I couldn’t find the words, so I kept quiet. To my detriment. To your detriment.’
Hers? That had to mean something good. Didn’t it? ‘And?’ She was rushing him. But, hell, how could she not? She wanted this over, no matter what he told her.
‘I want us to have a future, Em.’ More coffee splashed on the cloth and Nixon carefully placed the mug on the table. ‘The four of us.’
She liked where this was going, but they were only at the beginning. ‘As in, a family?’
‘Yes.’
Her heart jerked, stabbing her painfully. ‘Are you doing this for the baby’s sake? Because you have a responsibility towards it? I can’t accept that. It’s all or nothing for me.’ Where had the strength to say that come from? On the inside she was a bubbling mess of fear. Her mouth was a desert.
Nixon pulled some papers from his pocket. ‘You’d better see this.’
A legal document. No way. She wasn’t signing any damned piece of paper that put the baby entirely in her custody. Or took it away from her. She stared at Nixon, saw the man she’d given her heart to, saw the strength, the honesty, the big heart, the fears and the care. He would not do that to her. Or his child. Reaching out, she asked, ‘What is it?’
‘Take a look.’
Slowly unfolding the document, she gasped. ‘It’s a sale and purchase agreement.’ Quickly lowering her gaze, she read some more. ‘Trish and Bill’s place?’