Playboy Doctor to Doting Dad

CHAPTER THREE

KIERAN’S head pounded, and his eyes were gritty. He drove carefully, aware of the tiredness threatening to engulf him. That enormous bed back in the apartment arranged for his stay had been tempting but, given the state of his mind, sleep would’ve been impossible.

Why the hell had he said he’d go out to the cottage tonight? What had happened to the idea of getting settled before seeing the children? Abigail had happened, that’s what. Damn, but she got to him so easily. So much for his renowned self-control.

HOPE. The green road sign drew his attention, and he eased his foot off the accelerator. If he remembered correctly, the turn-off to Abigail’s place wasn’t much further.

HOPE. The small community that boasted one store and a café, a cluster of houses, and orchards for as far as he could see. He swallowed as goose-bumps lifted his skin. A community. A place where families grew up. Families like Max Brown’s. Max was Abigail’s father and had raised four children in this district, had buried his wife here, lost his son in a tragic accident, welcomed his granddaughter. And his grandson. Don’t forget Seamus, his brain nagged.

His son. As if he could forget the boy. Even when he tried to, the unsettling situation remained firmly fixed in his mind.

Kieran pulled off the road in front of the sign, the engine of his hired car idling. His hands were slick with sweat, and he rubbed them down his jeans. In a few minutes he’d meet his son for the first time. His gut clenched, his breathing became shallow. It wasn’t too late to turn back to the apartment.

To be sure, Abigail would understand. Who was he fooling? A family girl through and through, she might think she understood his struggle with coming face to face with Seamus for the first time, but she’d be wide of the mark. Abby didn’t know he had nothing to offer apart from money. For him to give unconditional love to a small child was the same as someone trying to breathe without lungs. Impossible.

No way would Abigail comprehend how different his life had been from hers. She had roots here, while, with his father in the diplomatic service, the world had been Kieran’s community. Boarding schools and sterile apartments in countless cities hadn’t given him a sense of belonging anywhere.

What had it been like for Abigail, growing up here? When she’d left home she’d crossed the orchard and moved into the cottage that used to belong to her brother and his wife and which was now held in trust for Olivia. A narrow life? Or a free, all-encompassing way to live? At least she knew where she belonged. She had somewhere to return to, people to turn to, whenever life went belly up.

Abigail. Twice at the airport while they had been administering to Stokes he’d called her Abby. He didn’t know why but until then he’d always used her full name. Except that night when they’d made love. Then Abigail had seemed wrong for the passionate woman in his arms, stroking his body, revitalising his jaded outlook on life, and making him briefly question his lifestyle.

Kieran nodded at the sign. HOPE. Could that be the peculiar sensation tapping under his ribs? Did this place hold the answers to all those emotions he was afraid to face? Warmth trickled through him. Odd, when he should’ve been feeling a chill at the thought.

Checking the road was clear, he pulled out and headed towards Abigail’s house. To his future? Or to trouble? Only time would tell. All he could be sure of was that he was about to meet his son.

As he turned into Abigail’s road his stomach did such violent flips he thought he would be sick. A thin line of sweat rolled down past his jaw. His teeth clenched, aching.

Get a grip. He could not be seen to be failing at this first encounter. Damn it, he was thirty-five years old, a doctor, a man who’d stood up to drunken thugs on a Friday night in the emergency department. He would not be bested by a fifteen-month-old toddler.

Says who?

‘Welcome to Rose Cottage.’ Abigail opened the narrow gate at the end of a footpath leading to a small weatherboard house.

‘Thank you. Were you waiting out here for me?’ Kieran reached for the gate, his hand inadvertently brushing against hers. The brief touch sent a zing up his arm and into his already fried brain. One innocent little touch and he dropped further out of his depth.

‘Not quite. Olivia’s so excited about you coming and I caught her on the roadside, trying to look for you. I figured a game on the lawn might distract her.’ Abby pointed to a little girl charging along the path in their direction. ‘Here she comes now.’

Kieran let the gate slam behind him. Then promptly leaned against it for strength. Pain stabbed his chest as he watched this bundle of arms and legs and dark curls hurtling towards him. His sister as a child. Memories swamped him. Frightened him. It had been his fault Morag had had an accident and ruined her career. And this little girl was the spitting image of his sister. Was he a danger to her, too?

Shaking his head to dispel the stranglehold these thoughts had on him, he tried to move. Couldn’t. Paralysed by memories evoked by a three-year-old. Him! Dr Flynn. Dr Cool, Calm and Collected. Mr Charming with the ladies. What could he possibly say to Olivia?

Olivia didn’t suffer the same problem. ‘Uncle Kieran, Uncle Kieran, here I am.’

Uncle. His mouth fell open. Uncle. He swallowed around the ache in his throat. He was an uncle. Here was the living proof.

Thump. She slammed into his knees, her arms reaching for him. Was he supposed to pick her up? Hug her? Hesitantly he leaned down and lifted her up to hold her warm body against his trembling frame, his arm muscles tense. She was warm and soft and unable to stay still. Her fingers touched his face and he jerked his head back, stunned at the unexpected contact. Slowly he let his head fall forward again. Thankfully Olivia was turning around in his arms, grabbing at his hands, still making him feel totally lost.

Abigail watched them in that enigmatic way of hers. Did she find him lacking? She’d have to give him time to become familiar with his role in Olivia’s life. Would two months be enough to learn the art of being an uncle? A good uncle? Not to mention being a father. How did one go about being a father? He had no idea. And had no intention of learning.

Where was Seamus? Looking around, he couldn’t see a toddler anywhere. He felt weird, disorientated, expecting to see his son. And now, with Olivia in his arms, everything as he knew it was unravelling. What used to be real for him had become a murky picture in his head. In the short space of time it had taken to get from his car to holding Olivia, his comfortable life seemed to be changing. That was plain scary. His mouth dried. Terrifying, really. He did not want his life to change. He loved it exactly as it had been until this moment.

Focus on Olivia. She, he might be able to handle. If he had a fairy godmother hovering overhead. ‘Olivia’s full of energy,’ he said lamely.

‘Amazing what the promise of a visit from Uncle Kieran does.’ Abby finally gave him a full-blown, power-packed smile that sent all thoughts of children miles from his mind. Sweet longing for that special connection they’d once known shot down to his toes. He’d missed her. The knowledge slammed through him, rocked him back on his heels. He had missed her. It couldn’t be possible after such a short liaison. But he found no other explanation for the hollow feeling in his chest. He’d missed Abby, and now he was with her he felt the ground rolling under his feet. Was it too late to pull out of his contract and return to Dublin?

Sticky hands again touched his face. ‘Do you like me, Uncle Kieran?’

Kieran gulped, refocused on his niece. ‘Absolutely, Princess.’ And to his surprise he found he meant it. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Abby, he likes me.’

‘Of course. Who wouldn’t?’

Abby slipped past them, her hip brushing against him, tightening the longing that threatened to unravel his precarious rein on his emotions. Had to be the jet-lag. Or the shock of seeing Olivia after all this time. Or the apprehension about coming face to face with his son. This odd sensation of drowning in need-filled sweetness couldn’t have anything to do with Abby. Abigail. Stick to calling her Abigail and he might be able to banish thoughts of that night they’d shared.

He followed her, his lively bundle twisting and turning in his arms as they walked down a path overgrown with roses. As Abigail entered the house she turned back to him. ‘Seamus is with Dad, having a ride on the tractor.’

Kieran swallowed a tug of disappointment. Ha, gotcha. You were looking forward to seeing your son for the first time. He gulped, checked to see if Abigail had noticed.

She winked at him. ‘Seamus will be driving before he can talk at this rate. Dad spends hours taking him for rides on either the four-wheel bike or tractor.’

‘But he’s only one. Surely it’s not very safe for someone that young.’ Worry flared. This was his son they were talking about.

Abigail looked at him as though she knew exactly what he was thinking, and a triumphant smile lifted her mouth. ‘Dad drives so slowly snails pass them. He also straps Seamus into a harness fitted to him, otherwise I’d be the first to stop them.’

‘I guess you would.’ He didn’t doubt she’d be a very responsible parent. His concern ebbed. He shouldn’t be worrying, that was Abigail’s job.

She twisted away on her feet. ‘Come inside. Make yourself at home.’ Then she smiled over her shoulder at the girl he held. ‘Bath time, missy.’

‘I don’t want one,’ Olivia answered from the safety of his arms.

‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Abigail stood with one hand on her hip. ‘The only time you like water is when it’s in a muddy puddle.’

Kieran asked Olivia, ‘Don’t you want to be clean for me?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want Uncle Kieran to bath you?’

What? Did he get any say in this? He wouldn’t know where to start when it came to bathing small children.

It was time he went back to town and the relative safety of his apartment. A haven from his niece and her expectations of him.

‘I want Abby to bath me.’

Relief poured through his tense muscles as he put Olivia down. Warily he followed her through the house. What would it be like to share bathtimes with your kids? It might be fun.

Whoa. Back up. Bathing a child meant getting involved and he didn’t do involvement. Funny how his resolve seemed to be slipping away so fast within hours of arriving. If he had already started wondering about bathtime, what would he be doing by the end of his two-month spell here? He had to remain focused on the purpose of his visit, which was to run ED, not to become enmeshed in this family.

‘If you want a glass of wine or a beer, you’ll find some at the back of the fridge, top shelf.’ Abby swung Olivia up into her arms in a graceful movement that drew his eyes to her curves.

Abigail. Her name was Abigail. So what if today she walked and talked more like an Abby? Looking nothing like the slim, almost anorexic women he usually dated, her height and voluptuousness fascinated him. The night of passion they’d shared in Dublin still slammed into his head at the most unexpected moments. Often in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep he’d think of the Kiwi woman who’d shared his grief in the most intimate way imaginable. Her brother, his sister. Both gone, all because of a teenager who’d thought driving his mother’s car would be easy. Abigail’s big, sad eyes had drawn him to her and, like an alcoholic to the bottle, he’d had to have her.

It hadn’t been enough. It should’ve been. He didn’t do commitment. Commitment meant love, and Abigail was the kind of woman that eventually would want, would deserve, commitment and love. He couldn’t give any woman love. Abigail hadn’t grown up learning the hard lessons about relationships that he had got from his father. Thankfully, Morag, being the apple of their father’s eye, hadn’t suffered the knocks he had, hadn’t grown the hard shell around her heart that he had.

Stop the thinking. Grab a beer and relax. As the cool liquid rolled across his tongue he looked around. Abby had created a cosy atmosphere, perfect for young children. The bright blues and apricots on the walls and in the furnishings were warm and vibrant. Just like the woman herself. The furniture had seen better days so she obviously didn’t use the money he sent on anything other than Olivia. If she used it at all. It occurred to him that she mightn’t have touched a single cent.

But this was all about the children. What about Abigail? Surely she got lonely for adult company at night? He was assuming she spent the nights alone, but was probably wrong.

Piercing giggles coming from somewhere along the short hallway drew his attention. Before he could think about what he was doing he followed the sound. Stopping in the bathroom doorway, he leaned against the doorjamb and watched Abby bath Olivia. He had to swallow hard to get the next mouthful of beer past the lump in his throat. The bath was filled with soap bubbles, and Abby wore her share of them on her cheeks and forehead. She looked gorgeous.

He cleared his throat. ‘If Olivia gets this much fun out of a bath then I can’t begin to imagine her excitement in those puddles you mentioned.’

‘It gets fairly messy.’ Abby tugged a towel from the rail and lifted a protesting Olivia out of the water. ‘Let’s get you dry, little missy. Seamus will be here in a minute and he’ll need scrubbing from top to toe.’

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