A new baby of her own?

Nurse Emma Hayes was happy being a surrogate to give her best friend, Abbie, her baby. She has her own daughter, Rosie, and everything she needs. Until handsome ER doc Nixon Wright gets under her skin!

Having lost his family young, Nixon is wary of falling in love. But there’s something about Emma... Soon he’s fallen under her spell, with very unexpected consequences!

Nevertheless, Emma faces the New Year full of hope for the future. But will the new baby they’ve created together be enough to melt Nixon’s frozen heart?

The Ultimate Christmas Gift

Best friends, a surrogate baby,

and a chance for love…

Best friends Emma Hayes and Abbie Cook

will do anything for each other. So when

nurse Abbie asks Emma if she’ll be her

surrogate and carry the baby she longs for,

of course she doesn’t refuse.

But as Christmas comes it’s not just the

new baby that turns their lives upside down.

Because for both women there’s a chance for

love…if they’re only brave enough to take it!

Read Abbie and Callum’s story in

The Nurse’s Special Delivery

And discover Emma and Nixon’s story in

Her New Year Baby Surprise

Both available now!

Dear Reader,

A woman having a baby for someone else has to be one of the most unselfish gifts she can ever give. I know people who have children from surrogate mothers and how this has changed their lives in a very positive way. This has always been a story I’ve wanted to write, and when better than in a duet with the wonderful Louisa George?

Emma Hayes is a solo mother with a big heart, and when her best friend cannot carry her pregnancies to full term it is only natural for her to offer to have Abbie’s baby.

It is this generosity and kindness and her courage that has Dr Nixon Wright sitting up and taking notice of Emma as more than a nurse and casual friend. But while his heart is leading him into love, his history is hauling on the brakes and trying to keep him safe and single. Of course his heart’s going to win, but Emma won’t make it easy for him. If she’s going to love him back she wants the whole deal—not just the pieces Nixon offers.

I hope you enjoy reading this story to find out how Nixon wins over Emma as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Cheers!

Sue MacKay

sue.mackay56@yahoo.com

Her New Year Baby Surprise

Sue MacKay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUE MACKAY lives with her husband in New Zealand’s beautiful Marlborough Sounds, with the water on her doorstep and the birds and the trees at her back door. It is the perfect setting to indulge her passions of entertaining friends by cooking them sumptuous meals, drinking fabulous wine, going for hill walks or kayaking around the bay—and, of course, writing stories.

Books by Sue MacKay

Mills & Boon Medical Romance

Reunited…in Paris!

A December to Remember

Breaking All Their Rules

Dr White’s Baby Wish

The Army Doc’s Baby Bombshell

Resisting Her Army Doc Rival

Pregnant with the Boss’s Baby

Falling for Her Fake Fiancé

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

To my duet partner and wonderful writing friend,

Louisa George.

Loved writing a duet with you again.

Hugs, Sue.

Praise for Sue MacKay

‘I highly recommend this story to all lovers of

romance: it is moving, emotional, a joy to read!’

—Goodreads on

A December to Remember

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

The Ultimate Christmas Gift

Dear Reader

Title Page

Booklist

Dedication

Praise

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘JUST LOVE HER, OKAY?’ Emma Hayes told her best friend as exhaustion from giving birth ripped through her aching, painful body and threatened to tip her into sleep. Sleep, where she could hide for a while. Then she’d wake up and still have to face up to the fact she’d had Abbie’s baby for her and now her own arms were empty.

Abbie didn’t raise her eyes from the precious bundle she held against her breast as she replied, ‘I already do. I’m besotted. Completely. And I love you with all my heart.’

Aww, sniff. More damned tears. ‘I know you do.’ There’d never been any doubt. Love had been why she’d done this crazy, amazing, scary thing in the first place. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t, and if I didn’t reciprocate those feelings.’

Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, Abbie leaned into Emma, mindful of the baby cradled between them. ‘I can’t describe my feelings. All the waiting and hoping and now here she is.’ She brushed a kiss over Em’s wet cheek. ‘Thank you so much. Again.’

Emma lightly wound her arms around her friend and their precious bundle. ‘Stop saying that, okay?’ She didn’t want gratitude; she didn’t need to be thanked. That they’d come through the pregnancy without an argument said a lot for their friendship, but then, it’d been strong since the day they met at Queenstown Primary more than twenty years ago. But at the moment, the only thing she knew for certain was a few minutes to herself were imperative if she was to keep her equilibrium now that she’d given birth. ‘Go be a mum while I get some shut-eye.’

She needed to fall into the haze filling her head to forget the pain of the birth and remember only the relief that everything had gone well, despite the baby arriving early. Happiness and sadness wound together in her heart at the wonder in Abbie’s eyes as she gazed down on the tiny, beautiful little girl tucked into a pink hospital blanket. A child who’d never know her father; who had been created through artificial insemination.

One of the two most beautiful girls in the world. Emma’s heart swelled with love and longing. ‘Rosie.’ Suddenly, more than anything in the world, Emma needed to hold her own daughter. Her other daughter, barely five and full of energy and mischief.

No! Don’t go there. Grace is Abbie’s. Always has been, always will be.

Snatching up the phone, she texted her mother.

It’s over. Baby’s gorgeous. Please bring Rosie to me. Xx

Abbie looked up, her eyes filled with awe and trepidation. ‘This is for real, isn’t it? This is where I get to step up to the mark and be a mum in all ways possible except carrying her myself.’ Tears streamed down Abbie’s cheeks. ‘This is why you gave me such a precious gift. To be a mother.’ Her voice trailed off in a whisper, the last words barely audible.

‘Isn’t it the best?’ Emma whispered back around a lump in her throat and a dash of emptiness. But not one regret. Abbie deserved good things. If there’d been a moment when being the mummy tummy might’ve been difficult, Emma suspected it would’ve been minutes ago when the midwife had handed Abbie the baby, not her. But no. She’d been fine about it, hadn’t had a sudden change of heart, so she now reiterated, ‘Grace has been yours since conception.’ Abbie’s and Michael’s, though he would never get to see his daughter, never hold her or know her. His only role in the pregnancy had been to leave sperm in the bank for this very day.

Emma bit down on a soft smile.

I did the right thing by them.

Abbie and Michael had stood by her through the hideous, violent days of her marriage as much as her family had. They’d helped pick up the scattered pieces of her dreams afterwards, had shown with their own strong love for each other that she could make a life with Rosie without looking back. That they could be a family without a man in her life. Not that she’d ever been in the market for a new husband. No, thank you very much. Been there, had the bruises and fractures to show for it.

Her friends had also made sure she and Rosie never went without fun and laughter. This had been her way of returning the love. Knowing the baby would be living next door in the adjoining apartment would make everything easier to come to terms with. Abbie was not rushing out of Queenstown to some place else in New Zealand to keep her daughter to herself. Though who knew where she might end up if the Scotsman pulled his head out of his backside and found he couldn’t live without Abbie. Right now, she wanted to throttle him for hurting Abbie with his uncertainties.

They’d always been there for each other on the days when Rosie wouldn’t stop crying and Emma needed a break, or other days where Abbie couldn’t cope with losing Michael. Their friendship was solid, and it would take a hurricane of massive proportions to break it. Today, with a baby and a broken heart to deal with, Abbie needed her support more than ever.

‘If only I had that with a man.’

‘Had what?’ Abbie asked without taking her eyes off Grace.

‘The same trust and sharing and loving and laughs—and tears—you had with Michael.’

Abbie’s head shot up, surprise widening her eyes. ‘That’s a shift in your thinking.’

‘Told you I needed sleep. Must be baby brain.’ She did not want a man in her life. The only man she’d loved unreservedly had developed a pair of fast and hard fists along with a cruel mouth. She wasn’t going to repeat that experience in an attempt to find love. Only the unwise didn’t learn from their mistakes, and Alvin had been a mistake. Definitely better off without a man in her life, and the reason she turned down any—the few—date invitations. Her body was safe, and, more importantly, Rosie was protected. There was already plenty of love in her life—Rosie, Abbie, and her fiercely protective brothers and father, and her ever patient mother. Who needed someone special when she was surrounded by those guys? Talk about greedy. Not everyone got so lucky.

‘Any man in particular causing this left-field idea? An emergency specialist by any chance?’ asked her cheeky friend.

‘Nixon and I get on fine as friends. I turned him down for a date once.’

‘You never told me.’ Abbie eyeballed her, then grinned. ‘Mr Cool isn’t as uninvolved as he’d like you to think.’

Sigh. ‘Yeah, right. I had enough going on with the pregnancy and Rosie. I didn’t need complications with a man.’

Abbie smiled sadly. ‘Guess I can’t argue with that today considering Cal has just dumped me.’

Ping!

Saved by the phone.

Nearly there. Princess couldn’t wait any longer. Mum. Xxx

Then the baby—

Grace, Emma, her name is Grace.

The baby gave a small cry and Emma’s breasts tightened painfully. Breasts that did not have a role to play in feeding this gorgeous infant.

Abbie looked up, panic in her eyes. ‘What now?’

‘You feed her. Food, warmth, love.’ Under the blanket, Emma’s hands clenched against the urge to reach for the baby to place her on her breast. No surprise here. Her body didn’t understand it was no longer the mother, despite the repeated messages from her brain. All it heard were the calls from her heart.

The midwife bustled into the room. ‘Did I hear Baby cry? She’ll be wanting to be fed.’ Her eyes flicked to Emma, and she gave an almost imperceptible lopsided nod as if to ask, How are you doing?

Emma nodded back. Okay, she mouthed.

But take them away so my breasts can settle down.

‘She’s making noises like she’s hungry,’ Abbie muttered, still gazing at the baby, only now with trepidation.

‘You’ll be fine, Abbie.’ The midwife had all the reassuring words and actions. The baby hadn’t latched on when first placed against her mother’s breast, but hopefully now she would. ‘We’ll go along to the nursery and I’ll start you learning to breastfeed. Emma needs to rest.’ She helped Abbie to her feet.

‘Right.’ Abbie held Grace as though afraid of dropping her as she moved out of the room. With her injured arm, it was a distinct possibility, so it was no wonder she held her daughter carefully.

Emma’s eyes tracked her until she disappeared around the corner, a lump the size of Lake Wakatipu in her throat and her chest painfully tight. Abbie and Grace. Her friend and her daughter. Her daughter? Or Abbie’s? Definitely Abbie’s. But...

No buts.

Where’s Rosie?

A fierce ache throbbed in her breasts and there was nothing she could do to appease it. Bizarre didn’t begin to describe the fact that Abbie was able to breastfeed her daughter. ‘The wonder of modern-day drugs.’ Emma carefully slid further down the bed. The irony being that she would need something to help with stopping her milk supply, or at least to dull the pain while nature ran its course. Uncomfortable days were ahead, then hopefully everything would settle down and she’d get back to life as she knew it—raising Rosie and working day shifts in the emergency department downstairs; saving for a deposit on a house and keeping her head below the radar when it came to men.

‘Mummy, where’s the baby? Can I hold it?’ Rosie raced into the room, staring all about. ‘I can’t see the baby.’ She leapt onto the bed and lifted the cover to peer underneath.

Emma gasped at the sudden movement. ‘Easy. Mummy’s sore.’

‘Where is it?’

‘It’s a little girl and her name is Grace, darling. She’s gone to the nursery with Abbie,’ Emma explained and had to bite down on the chuckle brought on by her daughter’s disappointment.

‘But I want to hold her.’

At least she wasn’t jealous. The midwife had warned that Rosie could initially be anti the baby, might see her as competition for her mother’s affections. But these were unusual circumstances.

‘Rosie, love, remember what I told you?’ Emma’s mother appeared in the doorway. ‘The baby will be tired and only Abbie can hold her just now. You’ll get a turn soon.’

Really? Would Rosie go along with having to wait? Emma raised an eyebrow at her mother. They were good at talking like this around a certain little madam.

A nod. A frown. An eloquent shrug. Then in real speak, ‘I’ve been fobbing off demands to come see you since I picked her up. Daniel got tied up with a client and couldn’t make it,’ she explained. ‘When I received your text we were already pulling into the car park, the word “no” having long gone out the window. She was far more interested in the baby than what happened at school.’

‘That’s saying something.’ Emma laughed. Rosie believed school had been created just for her.

‘Where’s the nursy?’ Rosie bounced up and down on the bed.

‘Nursery,’ Emma corrected automatically as she tensed against the sharp pain brought on by the bed turning into Rosie’s trampoline. ‘Can you sit still, love?’

‘What’s the nursy?’ The bounces reduced in severity but didn’t stop.

‘Nursery. It’s where the babies sleep while they’re in the hospital.’ In this case anyway. Emma reached for her girl. ‘Got a hug for Mummy?’

Little arms wound tightly around her neck. ‘A big, big, big one, Mummy.’ And a sloppy kiss apparently.

Not to mention the elbow in her belly. Carefully dislodging Rosie’s arm, she kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Thank you, darling.’

‘Do you like my hug, Mummy? It’s special for you.’

Tears sprang into Emma’s eyes, and she tightened her hold on her daughter. Pressing her face into the abundant dark curls, she sniffed and croaked, ‘It’s the best hug ever.’ It really, really was, and she might need plenty of them over the coming days.

‘How are you, sweetheart?’ Her mum kissed her gently on the other cheek and passed over a handful of tissues.

‘I’m good. About everything. Though I feel like a freight truck’s driven through me.’

There was doubt in those knowledgeable eyes that she’d known all her life. Not even shock tactics had diverted her mum from her real mission. ‘When do you see the psychologist?’

Give me strength.

That was the last person she wanted to talk to, but there’d be no avoiding that particular conversation. It was part of the surrogacy deal she’d signed that she talk to everyone this side of the Crown Ranges about her feelings. If the shrink lady didn’t come looking for her then her mother would be hauling her to the counsellor’s rooms herself.

‘In a couple of days, unless I need her sooner. Honestly, Mum, I’m fine. When Grace cried, I felt a tug on the heartstrings, but she has always been Abbie’s baby and nothing’s changed.’

Nothing I can’t handle. I hope.

Hell, what if she couldn’t manage, was crippled with longing for the baby that wasn’t hers?

Her mum cut through the sudden pain in her head. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am,’ she answered more forcefully than she intended. Pushing the demons back into their box? ‘At the moment I’m more in need of sleep.’

Her mother smiled her special mum smile and gently pushed the hair away from Emma’s forehead. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think I could’ve done what you have.’

More tears. ‘Thanks, Mum. You got a hug for me too?’ Why did she need so many?

Rosie squirmed in close, pushing her way under Emma’s right arm. ‘Me, too, Mummy. I love hugs, don’t I?’

‘This a hug fest?’ The booming question came from across the room.

Emma’s eyes flew open. Nixon stood at the entrance, looking uncertain of his welcome. ‘Hey. You want to join in?’

‘Me? I don’t think so. There’s a crowd already.’

‘Chicken.’ The challenge slipped out with no input from her brain. No problem, he’d refuse. He’d asked her out about six months ago. With every other available female, and some not so available, swooning at his feet, she knew she’d shocked him by saying no. She wanted nothing more to do with dating men, or so she’d told herself over and over since that day, trying not to wonder what it would’ve been like going out with Nixon. Once he learned she was pregnant, he’d got over his shock quick smart and they’d started getting on great guns as friends. Perfect. Really? Was it perfect?

A wriggle, a squirm, and Rosie shrieked, ‘Nixon, have you seen the baby? Mummy won’t take me to see it and I want to hold her.’

Emma’s mother stepped back, rubbing her ear. ‘Quieter, Rosie.’

Emma ran her hand over Rosie’s curls. ‘That’s not what I said. Abbie’s feeding Grace so you have to be patient.’

‘That’s like asking a cat to ignore the mouse running across its paws.’ Nixon winked. ‘Especially with this one.’ He knew Rosie from the times she used to be dropped off at the department after pre-school on the days Emma was running late signing off. Her daughter had fallen under his spell in the flash of a chocolate bar and a wide smile. Easily bribed, her girl.

Nixon moved up, leaned over and wrapped his arms around Emma. ‘You’re looking good for what you’ve been through.’

A warm sigh trickled across her lips. This hug felt special. The perfect elixir for lurking emotions left over from handing the baby to Abbie. Emma leaned forward ever so slightly to rest against Nixon’s chest and breathed deeply, absorbing the man scent and strength. She lurched backwards. This was all wrong. They were pals, not lovers.

There had been one time she’d said too much to him. At the end of a particularly hectic shift she’d been tired and achy, heavily pregnant and despondent, and when he’d walked out of the department with her and suggested a wind-down drink over the road at the café, she’d burst into tears. It had to have been the tea that loosened her tongue, or otherwise why had she spilled her guts to Nixon about her feelings over giving up the baby? The feelings she wouldn’t share with Abbie so as not to rattle her friend’s confidence that she would hand over Abbie’s baby.

He’d listened without interruption as she’d explained her fear of not being able to let go the baby, which would break her friend’s heart along with her own. Not once did Nixon say it was her fault she was in that predicament. He’d shown another side to himself. He’d always been popular, but also somewhat wary, and known to be a focused, caring doctor. She doubted anyone at work had seen Nixon so thoughtful and considerate about something unrelated to work. Which made her wonder what else he was hiding behind his everyday face. And glad she’d turned him down for that date. She had enough of her own problems to be carrying on with, without taking on anyone else’s.

Now he stepped back, those thoughtful eyes watching her too closely for comfort.

‘Mum, you haven’t met Nixon, have you? Nixon Wright, this is my mum Kathy Hayes. Nixon’s our emergency specialist,’ she added for clarity. No point raising her mother’s hopes that she’d found a man. How her mother could want her to get married again was beyond Emma. Not after her last fiasco. But then, all her family held onto some guilt over that. They’d fallen under Alvin’s spell too and had encouraged her marriage.

‘You’re not a local.’ Her mother shook Nixon’s hand, appraising the tall, strapping specimen before her as if she was about to interview him. Which, being her mother, was definitely on the cards. And her mum had nothing on her brothers or father. Emma wouldn’t put it past them to tie any man she might be interested in up to the fence and throw icy water over him while proceeding with an interrogation about whether he knew his hands were not made to be used against their sister and daughter.

He gave a light smile. ‘I shifted here from Dunedin a year ago, so, no, most people don’t know what I like to eat for breakfast or what grades I got in school.’

There were few secrets in Queenstown amongst the locals, for sure. Hurrying to cut her mother off before she got started on in-depth questions, Emma said, ‘Grace weighs three point seven kilos, has ten fingers and ten toes, and is cute as a button. Abbie’s besotted.’

Nixon agreed. ‘I saw her in the nursery on my way here. I think we could have a Force Six earthquake and she wouldn’t notice.’ His smile dipped. ‘You’re all right?’

The same loaded question her mother had asked. No doubt she’d hear it a few more times yet. ‘Yep.’

He locked eyes with her, as if he was looking for more. But what could she say? Especially in front of her mother, who had had misgivings about the whole surrogacy thing from the day she’d told her family she was having Abbie’s baby. ‘I have no regrets. Okay?’

‘I didn’t think you would.’ Nixon looked away, and got caught in the beam of her mother’s stare. ‘You’ve got one tough daughter, Kathy.’

‘She had to learn to be.’ It was so unlike her mother to say such a thing. Her family never talked about her past unless she brought up the horrible subject herself, which she rarely did. Why go back to hell when she’d finally found her way out?

Emma shivered. Her mum was certainly assessing Nixon thoroughly. Too thoroughly. Something she needed to stop doing. ‘Nixon’s my boss.’ For some inexplicable reason that gave her a stabbing sensation in her chest.

Her mother nodded once, abruptly.

But Nixon surprised Emma with his suddenly widening eyes and flattening mouth. What had she done other than tell the truth? He was her boss. And one hell of a man, who had the broad shoulders to cry on and endless patience when she’d needed to let off steam. Those shoulders were filling her vision now, tightening her tummy in ways it shouldn’t.

Then a deep yawn pulled her mouth wide. The day had caught up with her in spades. ‘Sorry, everyone. I need to catnap for a bit.’ She reached for Rosie. ‘Another hug for Mummy?’

As Rosie obliged Emma glimpsed Nixon over her daughter’s head. There was a strange longing filling those grey eyes as he watched them. Something she’d never seen before. Something that strummed on her heartstrings. Nixon was lonely for love? Was that it? Couldn’t be. He could have any woman he set his eyes on.

But wait, wasn’t there a rumour that he had a three-dates rule? He also shunned invitations from individual staff members to work social occasions, but that was probably sensible. Yet he’d asked her out. Strange.

She chose to be alone too, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want family and love. Nixon hadn’t said a word about his family when she’d talked about hers the day she’d blubbed all over him. He’d only said he was too busy for commitment. What with running a small but busy emergency department here in the Queenstown Hospital, where extreme sports injuries were as common as the tourists that filled the town all year round. Being a mountain-biking addict alongside his busy job, he didn’t have the time required for a full-on, permanent relationship.

Nixon might be surprised to know everyone knew he avoided relationships. It was fairly obvious when he only ever dated women who were visiting Queenstown, getting his testosterone fix without getting entangled. Emma hadn’t been able to decide if she should’ve been flattered or insulted when he’d asked her out. Apparently she’d been the exception to his rule. He socialised without getting involved, so he’d have been a perfect date for her. She’d have had fun. It wasn’t as if he were dull, weird, or afraid of his own shadow. Completely the opposite, in fact. Tall, built, fun, sincere.

Sexy.

Gasp.

Was it all right to think that of a friend?

Emma’s heart slowed. Sadness rocked in and darkened her mood; she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see Nixon watching her with a hunger in his gaze that confused her. To her he was someone she worked with who’d become a good friend over the last few months. He was a man in need of a shake-up. Who amongst her old friends could she find to knock his knees out from under him? No one. What about—?

No one. Or—?

No one.

The thought of Nixon getting all cosy with someone she knew felt like a lead ball swinging at her head.

A phone sounded loud in the still room. ‘I’d better get back. The heli’s five minutes out,’ Nixon said as he read his message. ‘I grabbed a quiet moment to check on you.’

As her boss? Or as a friend. ‘You want to give me a lift home later?’ What was wrong with her? As if she wanted Nixon driving her home. But he’d ask less questions than her family.

Her mother got there before him. ‘I can come back in whenever you’re ready. You and Rosie should stay the night with us anyway.’

‘Thanks, Mum, but I’d prefer going to the apartment, taking a long, hot shower and curling up in my own bed.’ That was the truth, even if it meant having to stay awake until Rosie went to bed, which these days could be anywhere between seven and nine. The kid didn’t get bedtime rules at all.

‘Your brothers will be disappointed. Not to mention your father.’

Exactly. An inquest about her feelings was not on her agenda. ‘I’ll see them tomorrow.’

Nixon turned his formidable gaze from her to her mother and nodded. ‘I’m going to be tied up for a long time with what the paramedics are bringing in.’

‘What happened?’ Emma asked.

‘A mountain biker here for the Lake Hawea challenge went off the edge of the road somewhere on Cardrona while on a training ride and hit the rocks way below.’ Nixon headed for the door, and paused, one hand on the frame. ‘I’ll drop by later to see if you want me to give you a ride somewhere.’ A hint of challenge coloured his voice, which disappeared before he nodded to her mother, who was nudging Rosie towards the door. ‘A pleasure meeting you.’

Then he was gone, leaving a void in the room Emma wanted filled. By whom? By what? She had no idea, she only knew her head and heart were all over the place at the moment, and that had nothing to do with Nixon and all to do with the baby she’d delivered not so long ago.

Yet she felt that challenge even if she didn’t know what it was about. As if Nixon had handed her the baton and she needed to run with it. Now. When she’d just had a baby? When she did not need—or want—a man in her life? Forget her earlier longings. That had been baby-brain talk.

Baby. Her hands slid over her empty stomach. I had a baby today. And she’s nowhere to be seen.

Abbie’s baby. Not mine. Abbie’s baby. Abbie’s baby. My baby.

Emma cried herself into a restless, baby-filled sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

NIXON WRIGHT EASED himself onto the chair beside Emma’s bed, and, with his elbows on his knees, dropped his chin into the palms of his hands. The cyclist was in Theatre. He was done for the day. His own cycle at home beckoned but he’d told Emma he’d drop by before he left; hadn’t told her he needed to check on her for his own peace of mind.

Watching Emma as she slept tugged him deep inside. Her short, light breaths lifted an errant curl from one cheek, let it fall on the outward sigh. Dark shadows resembling bruises darkened the pale skin beneath her eyes, her coppery hair striking against those cheeks. She looked small and defenceless under the covers, bringing all his protective mechanisms to the fore, making him want to crawl onto the bed and hold her close, keep the world at bay until she was ready to face it again.

He’d never seen her so lost. Oh, sure, she’d deny that faster than a blink, but she was confused, dealing with emotions she knew and expected and didn’t want. She’d been brave today; so very, very brave. Not a hint of regret apparent, but there had to be a lot of tugging towards that baby going on inside.

Emma was a loving soul. Since he’d learned she was pregnant, he’d seen how she’d loved that baby growing inside her. Yet not once, even on those bleak days when she’d felt wobbly about it all—and there had been some, though she’d only ever talked to him about her feelings once—had she said anything to suggest she wouldn’t give up Grace to her rightful mother.

From what he’d seen, Emma and Abbie had a strong, unbreakable bond so that had never been going to happen. Apparently the two women had seen each other through some terrible times. Abbie’s husband had passed away from cancer, and from idle gossip in the department he knew Emma had been married to a violent man—which made him seethe with impotent fury just thinking about it. He shoved the anger aside. It had no place here, and if Emma had managed to walk away from that husband then he had no right resurrecting her history, if only in his head. She needed positive vibes.

Nixon’s heart expanded. If ever there was an amazing gift, Emma had given it to her friend. Her generosity knew no bounds, but in the coming days she’d need someone to lean on and he was putting his hand up. As the friend he’d already been for her.

Oh, really? some strange, illogical emotion deep inside asked.

His phone pinged with an incoming text. Nixon read the message his uncle Henry had sent to all the family.

Hope everyone has a lovely time at the birthday party in Wellington this weekend. I’ll be thinking of you. Sorry you can’t make it either, Nixon.

Henry could be joining his children and grandchildren if he eased up on his belief he was doing his family more good leaving them a large inheritance than using some of his money to be with them for special occasions. Instead, he ignored the pleas to spend the money now when everyone could enjoy the benefits.

Guilt snuck in. It was brought on because his uncle had taken him in when he was six and raised him with his cousins until he left school. Henry had never been generous with money and especially not with his heart, but Nixon had been fed, clothed in hand-me-downs and given shelter. He’d always be grateful, but he’d have been happy to go hungry if instead there’d been open and happy love such as he’d known in his six short years with his parents and brother before they died in a plane crash.

‘Nixon, your mum and dad and Davey are not coming home ever again.’

The terrifying words had cut him off from his family, from love and happiness. From ever giving his heart unconditionally again.

But had Henry giving him a roof over his head been his way of showing love? Fundamental perhaps, but that was his uncle’s approach.

Well, he could do the same. Nixon texted back.

Book flights and hotel. I’ll fix you up tonight.

Henry would go for the most expensive flights and hotel room, but, hey, those were the breaks. If it made his uncle happy then what did it matter? It was only money and he wasn’t short of a few dollars. These people were his only family. They had cared about him as one of their own, looked out for him when he hadn’t been able to grasp what not ever coming home again meant. If only Henry had shown his love with hugs and games and laughter as his own parents had, then he mightn’t have felt quite so lost and alone.

Nixon’s gaze drifted to Emma.

He’d cried off going away with his cousins and their kids, using a bike endurance he’d entered as his reason. While it was true, he’d also been reluctant to be out of town when Emma had her baby. He’d wanted to be around when it happened in case that despair and fear she’d once sobbed out onto his shoulder returned, stronger and harder to move past. He might’ve made sure she was all right when her waters broke and retrieved her bag from her car for her yet he’d waited ’til well after the birth to visit her, suddenly afraid of where his feelings about Emma were taking him. They’d become such great friends that he’d even felt grateful she’d turned him down for a date because when he walked away at the end of it, which he surely would have done, he’d have missed out on so much. While she was pregnant, he’d felt restrained about furthering their friendship. She’d had enough issues to deal with. But now where did they stand? He believed he didn’t want involvement, couldn’t risk his heart only to lose her when she decided she didn’t need him, but...

But ask him why he’d felt he should be here and he couldn’t find a satisfactory answer. Emma didn’t need him at her side. They got along fine, and sometimes she opened up to him, though lately he’d pulled back, afraid of where this was headed.

Be honest. You like that she talks to you about things she can’t tell her best friend.

Yeah, well, all very good, but all the more reason to pull away. That thinking could lead to deeper involvement, a place he wasn’t planning on going. If he ever chanced falling in love with a special woman—Emma?—he’d want to be able to leap in, boots and all, heart and all, be open, have fun, share the highs and lows. He wouldn’t want to be this uptight, afraid version.

His phone received a text. Henry.

Thanks, lad. Appreciate it.

No problem.

Had Henry shut down on his open loving side when his wife died in childbirth? Gone further into the deep when Nixon’s mother died? Did he hold the same fears?

Oh, man.

Occasionally Nixon had wondered about this but had always shaken it off as wrong. He wasn’t Henry’s child, he’d inherited different genes, and his mother, Henry’s sister, had been a happy, always laughing person. From what he knew and remembered. None of this had crossed Nixon’s mind before. He could very possibly be a chip off the old block. Might’ve learned from his uncle how to hold everything in. They both kept their feelings close to their chests. Didn’t rush around hugging friends and family.

You hugged Emma earlier.

Yeah, well, Emma.

Now what? Carry on with no hope of it being anything more? Or try to let go of the restraints and open up, risk his heart and see where that led? Instantly his belly tightened and his heart slowed as though it were withdrawing from this crazy idea, protecting itself. It was far wiser to stick with the current way of doing things. But was that truly what he wanted?

‘You going to sit there staring at the floor all evening?’ Emma muttered from the bed.

‘It’s a damned nice floor.’ Grey vinyl wasn’t really his thing.

She chuckled.

That chuckle crept into places that had remained cold since the day the social worker had picked him up from school and delivered him to Uncle Henry. The warmth Emma engendered made going for a diversion imperative. He wasn’t ready to follow that warmth. ‘Easier than deciding who to employ for the summer rush.’

‘Which started a week ago, in case you hadn’t noticed. The day the spring rush finished.’ Emma shuffled up the bed, wincing. ‘We’ve already had numerous broken bodies in ED from mountain day trippers going off track and getting caught by unseasonal storms.’

‘I’ll never understand why visitors to the region don’t read the weather warnings.’ Nixon stood to arrange the pillows more comfortably behind her back. Doctor mode to the fore. Really? Yes, really. ‘Tell that to the CEO. We’re up to our ears in patients and he’s still saying wait. My problem is the doctor I want to take on won’t hang around for ever. She’s had another offer in Christchurch, a better one I suspect, but with a sister already working here she’d prefer our neck of the woods.’

‘The joys of being the boss. Glad I’m only a nurse.’

‘No such thing as just a nurse.’ Especially Emma, a dedicated carer if ever he’d met one. ‘How’s the body feeling?’

‘Like it fell off Ben Lomond, rolled down the mountain and finished up in a ravine. Just like your earlier patient.’

‘That good? Want to go mountain-bike riding tomorrow?’ he teased.

‘Sit on one of those hard, narrow bike seats after what I’ve been through?’ She shuddered and scrunched up her lovely face. ‘Haven’t you got work to do? Paperwork if nothing else.’

‘I’m done for the day.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘The weather forecast predicts no wind and warm temperatures. Perfect for hitting the trail out to Jack’s Point Pass.’

Emma shook her head at him. ‘Your calf muscles must hate you sometimes.’

If he were open to more than casual friendships, he’d suggest they pack a picnic and take Rosie up the track out of Arrowtown one day soon. If. A friendship on that scale with Emma and her daughter could eventually expose his need for more and as he was her boss that couldn’t happen. He never dated women he worked with. It got complicated when the three-date rule was enacted. He still didn’t understand why he’d asked her out that time. Except that she was gorgeous. ‘You decided where you’re going to spend tonight?’

‘I guess I’ll go out to the Valley. It’s the soft option but sometimes it’s nice to let Mum take over with Rosie. I kind of want my family around too.’

Not him. Friends only. Not so close they shared everything. ‘You don’t want to stay in town without Rosie, do you?’

Emma stared at him, blinking twice and swallowing hard. ‘No.’ Another swallow. ‘I need to hug and touch her, or just watch over her. I need to be a mum tonight.’ Sadness flicked through her eyes and was gone.

It was hard not to reach for her hands, wrap his fingers around them and give her his warmth and strength. He all but sat on his hands in case Emma misinterpreted the gesture. ‘You are allowed to be shaken up by it all, you know? No one’s going to give you a hard time for feeling down about not having this time with Grace.’

Her left foot jiggled continuously as she nodded slowly. ‘I get that. But knowing that and experiencing it are different. I’m not saying I’d change a thing. Of course I wouldn’t. That baby’s always been Abbie’s. I don’t even want another child. I’ve got the most adorable daughter and no time or energy to spare for bringing up a second child.’ She stared out of the window.

She was an awesome mum, the kind he’d want for his children. If he was ever to have a family. He’d love his own kids, sometimes imagined holding his daughter, playing ball in the yard with his son, pouring into them all the love he knew he held inside. After he found the right woman and loved her to the edge and back—but that wasn’t happening. He was a screw-up, had loved his family too hard and deep so that the loss had cut the ground out from under him, left him unable to understand who he was any more. Left him afraid to love without reservation. Hence flings were the way to go. Fun, carefree and over before the trouble started.

Nixon’s heart pushed the barriers back in place that Emma didn’t know she’d shunted sideways. What was he thinking here? Get back on track. Concentrate on Emma and what she wanted. ‘Rosie’s a lucky girl with a great mum. What more does she need?’ Nixon felt that protective surge for Emma stir, the one that came to the fore at inopportune moments. It sat up and expanded into...? What? The need to look out for her shouldn’t cause this sense of leaning too far out over a cliff, of hovering on the point of no return.

Leave. Now. Go home and grab the bike, put in a couple of hours’ hard pedalling. Break out a sweat, make the muscles ache, and silence the infuriating brain.

His legs weren’t behaving; they were suddenly lifeless, keeping him stuck on the chair. As though they were saying Emma needed his strength at the moment and he couldn’t take it away, no matter the cost to him. Whatever the hell that cost might be. Just some strange, gut-tightening, emotion-expanding thing going on in his head, his body. His heart. His heart? Get away.

‘She’s unlucky not to have a dad.’ She blinked at him. ‘Forget I said that.’

Slap. Rosie’s father. Nixon slowly leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. Did she still love the guy? ‘How long were you married?’

‘Nearly three years.’ No emotion coloured her voice, or her gaze. None at all. Hiding her feelings?

Talk about derailing the conversation off post-birthing blues. Only problem was, he seemed to have hit as big a bump in the road. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘Why shouldn’t you? It’s no secret.’ Was that anger firing up in her eyes? ‘Broken marriages are as common as muck.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Alvin saved me the hassle of a divorce by getting himself killed in a pub brawl up north in Kaikohe.’ Emma’s mouth was tight.

‘Jeez, Emma, you’ve had a rough time of it.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Yet look what you’ve done for Abbie. You’re tough, and kind, and full of love.’ That love word was cropping up a lot today. Best find another subject to talk about. For both their sakes. ‘Your mother coming back to get you or do you want me to drive you out to Gibbston Valley?’

She blinked, shuddered. Then finally dredged up a weak smile. ‘Would you?’ Relief began lightening those teal eyes, nudging aside the gloom that had overtaken her minutes ago. ‘If Mum comes she’ll bring Rosie and my girl has had more than enough excitement for all of us.’

An odd happiness filled him. Because she was accepting a ride with him? Pathetic. ‘Are you allowed to go yet?’

‘It’s entirely up to me. The midwife has done her final checks for the day and says she’ll see me tomorrow, so any time that suits you. I’ll have a quick shower and change into something half decent.’ She began easing off the bed, obviously feeling every movement.

Nixon stood up, rolled his shoulders. ‘I’ll go see how that cyclist’s doing. He should be out of surgery by now. Back in ten?’

‘Sure.’ She was already digging into her daypack for clothes.

Nixon found his patient’s orthopaedic surgeon writing up notes on the operation he’d just performed. ‘How’s our guy?’

‘That shoulder is nasty, and he’s in for a long haul getting back to—’ Cameron flicked his fingers in the air ‘—normal. The skull fracture’s of concern, though we’re fairly certain there’s no lasting brain injury. I’ll operate again tomorrow to insert rods in his leg and arm. He won’t be a happy chap when he comes round.’

‘He’s lucky to be alive. That was some fall.’

Cameron stretched in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. ‘You cyclists certainly keep me busy. Shoulders are my expertise these days. You still as crazy on your bike as you were when you first arrived in town?’

Nixon grinned. ‘What’s crazy about racing down a mountain on two wheels? It’s an adrenalin fix like no other.’ He loved it, needed it at times. Used it to pretend all was right in his world.

‘Could also be the end of you, is what else it is,’ Cameron retorted. ‘Your family ever worry about you?’

There was another question behind the obvious one. ‘They’re long used to me doing hair-raising sports.’ His cousins had more than enough to focus on with their families and jobs without worrying about him.

‘You ever think you should slow down?’

‘Yeah, but then I get on the bike and that idea goes out the window.’ If the worst happened then he wasn’t hurting anyone else, because there was no one close enough to be affected if he didn’t come home one day as his family hadn’t. His cousins would miss him, as would Henry, but not in a life-stopping, future-changing way. He’d chosen to live like this. If he couldn’t have love then he’d have adventure.

‘You’re mad.’ Cameron was studying him far too closely. ‘Find another fix, something less dangerous. Collect stamps or play bowls. Or...’ and the guy drew a breath, warning Nixon he wasn’t going to like this next pearl of wisdom ‘...a woman. As in a woman you go home to every night. They can be as addictive as anything else out there.’

‘Bikes are cheaper to run,’ he flipped back.

‘You don’t mean that.’

Did the guy ever give up? Nixon put some grit in his voice. ‘You’re right, I don’t. What I meant is I’m not getting involved with anyone. End of.’ He headed for the door. Time to collect Emma, whether she was ready or not. And that’s not getting involved?

‘Nixon,’ Cameron called after him. ‘Give me five and we’ll go across the road for a beer. I promise to drop the subject of looking after your bones.’

‘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 soulmates. 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.

‘I want you to be happy.’ Her mum always got the last word. Or so she thought.

‘Me too, Mum. Me too. And you know what? I am. I don’t need a man to make me happy. I have to do that for myself otherwise I have nothing to offer.’

‘Fair enough.’

Huh? The fact that was all her mum was saying rang alarm bells. The subject of Nixon was clearly not over, merely on the shelf for another day.

Over dinner, Nixon answered questions about himself without giving too much away—a fact the male members of her family seemed to grasp and accept. The guy was allowed his privacy as long as it didn’t hurt Emma, was the silent message. It didn’t matter that Emma reiterated bluntly that they had no right subjecting her friend to this. She was ignored. Her brothers and her father could be pains in the backside, and yet she understood they worried about her. These were the men who had run Alvin out of town with the promise of pain if he ever so much as thought about returning. So, sorry, Nixon, but welcome to my family. Take them as you find them, or leave.

Glancing across the table, she met his scrutiny and knew he’d received her message loud and clear even when she’d been staring at her clasped hands in her lap. He nodded, smiled that smile that lately had begun taking on a tummy-tugging element, and remained in his seat. He was staying.

The only problem was that tummy-tugging smile caused an ache in her solar plexus. Post-birth pains? Not likely to be anything else. Not longing for something special with Nixon? Emma pushed her plate aside still over half full. ‘My appetite’s done a bunk.’

Shaun stopped eating to stare at her. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

She shook her head. ‘Favourite food and all, I can’t take another mouthful.’ Something was cutting off her throat, refusing to allow food past, and what little had gone down before was bricks in her stomach.

‘Nixon, you’re a doctor. Take her temperature,’ said her smart-ass brother, Daniel.

Nixon was still watching her; summing her up, she suspected. There was that astute, didn’t-miss-a-thing glint in his gaze. ‘You’re all right?’ he asked quietly, making her brother sound louder than ever.

‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus, but medically I’m fine. Think I’ll go to bed. Sorry to be disappearing on you, Nixon, when you’ve only just met this lot, but I doubt I can keep my eyes open much longer.’

‘We’ll look after him.’ Shaun grinned.

That was what she was afraid of. ‘Don’t feel bad if you want to bolt while you can,’ she told Nixon as she clambered to her feet.

‘I’ve had a glimpse of what’s for dessert and I’m staying.’ His smile was soft and enveloped her in hope and a longing for what she’d sworn off. A good sleep and she’d be back on track, no left-field ideas knocking her sideways.

Through the haze filling her skull she heard her father say, ‘In other words, he’s no coward, this friend of yours.’

Thanks, Dad.

At the moment, she needed reminding of that as much as her mum did. Especially while this longing for something—someone—squeezed her tight and forced the air from her lungs. ‘Goodnight everyone,’ she muttered as she headed down the hall, aiming for the bathroom, ignoring the tears pouring down her face.

Crying wasn’t a rarity for her. There’d been too many times when she’d not been able to stop in the past.

But not knowing why she was crying was new. And unsettling. All in all, it had been a huge day. Now she wanted it gone, finished, wrapped up and delivered, like the baby, and tomorrow’s sun coming up, bringing the beginning of the rest of her life.

CHAPTER THREE

‘GRACE’S FACE IS red but she’s pretty.’ Rosie bounced up and down in her car seat as much as the safety belts allowed while they headed to school for a special trip to see the llamas.

‘Isn’t she?’ Emma swallowed a yawn. There’d been little deep sleep last night, more a smattering of moments of not being aware and many long, agonising minutes of being fully alert and trying to ignore the emptiness in her heart. No, not in her heart because the baby would always be in her life one way or another. In her maternal soul, perhaps. She had carried the child and her body wasn’t ready to let her forget it. But she would—in the nicest possible way. During the pregnancy, she’d talked to other women around the country who’d been a mummy tummy and everyone had said they’d been able to move past this feeling within a few weeks. It’d continue to give her nudges but those would come less often as time passed. It seemed that women who were able to interact with the baby had better outcomes more quickly.

Her phone played ‘Jingle Bells’, and Rosie clapped her hands. ‘Santa’s coming to town. He’s bringing me presents.’

A glance at the screen. Nixon. Pulling over to the side of the road, she answered. ‘Hi.’ Why are you calling me? You don’t usually get in touch outside work. ‘You got home all right after the inquisition?’

Maybe he was phoning to demand compensation.

A deep-bellied laugh rumbled into her ear, and sent waves of warmth—make that heat—to her toes and tummy. No, couldn’t be. This was Nixon, Mr Super Avoidance. And she was Ms Super Avoidance. Concentrate. Nixon’s talking.

‘Checking how you are this morning.’

‘Doing good.’

‘I hope you’re not rushing things. You’re officially on leave now.’

‘Thanks. Hopefully I’ll be up to light duties and part-time hours not too far away. I’ll get sick of my own company pretty damned soon I reckon.’ Through sheer determination, her body would handle returning to the department more easily than her head and heart.

His boss voice switched off. ‘Where are you now?’

Did it matter? Nixon didn’t usually want to know what she did in her own time. It wasn’t as though she was leading an exciting double life. No, she was a single mother of a loud and boisterous five-year-old, nothing more. Or less. But it was kind of nice he cared. ‘I’m dropping Rosie at school to go on a short trip to see llamas.’

‘On a Saturday?’

‘It was meant to be last Wednesday but weather wrecked the plans. The kids were so disappointed the trip is happening today with some parents going along as help. I’m sure they’re going to hear all about the new baby.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘Had to happen. It’s not as though people didn’t know I was pregnant with Abbie’s baby. Though there is the sister factor to work out. Are these girls sisters or not? Abbie and I reckon they are.’ They’d sort it but not today. Today she couldn’t make Rosie’s toast without burning it, twice.

‘Rosie’s a bit young to understand any of that,’ Nixon surmised.

‘Bang on.’ He wasn’t having any trouble with straight thinking, so she couldn’t blame the hot weather for the mess in her head. ‘Rosie met Grace and had a cuddle as soon as Daniel dropped us off this morning. There was no stopping the little minx from racing straight inside where Abbie was happy to oblige.’ Emma released a tired giggle. ‘You’ll never believe who else was visiting, looking like he’d already received his Christmas present. Callum.’ The speed at which Abbie’s life had turned around was mindboggling. And wonderful. ‘He’s proposed, and Abbie’s accepted.’ Lucky girl. What a day she’d had yesterday. ‘Everything’s coming together for her at last.’ Her sigh was not filled with envy. Okay, maybe a teeny bit.

‘Fantastic news. They’re meant for each other.’

‘They are. Callum’s besotted with Grace. Anyone would think she was his and he’d done all the hard yards.’

‘We blokes are like that.’ Then Nixon dropped a surprise. ‘Are you going to be home around lunchtime? Thought I’d call by, check out my nurse and make sure she’s getting back on her feet.’

‘I was never off them.’ Not true. There’d been hours lying and panting and pushing, but she knew what he meant. He’d said my nurse. Disappointment slowed her heart. Which was plain dumb. She was one of his staff. Just because he’d driven her home—probably because she worked with him—and stayed for a meal didn’t mean she could expect something else. Then again, he was coming to visit her. Why this sudden yearning for more? For more with Nixon? Then it hit her. Avoidance. By trying not to think too much about Grace her head was filling up with thoughts about Nixon. That was all there was to these ideas and longings. Might be better to let Grace, and the sense of loss that snuck up on her when she wasn’t looking, get in so she could deal with it and move on, no Nixon thoughts in sight.

‘Hello?’

Where was she? Apart from parked outside the youth hostel. Nixon, and something about lunchtime and a visit. ‘I’m here.’

‘Say no if it’s inconvenient.’ He paused, then seemed to be drawing a big breath. What was coming? ‘I’ve still got a shoulder available if you need one.’

Tears pricked her eyelids. How about right now? ‘Th-thanks.’

‘And a box of tissues,’ he said in a low voice as if he really needed her to know he was still there for her now that the pregnancy was over.

‘I’ve got to see the midwife at ten but should be home by midday. I’ll fix us something to eat.’ She would?

Relief underlined his next question. ‘Your appetite’s back?’

‘With a vengeance. Think I had emotion overload last night.’ And just like that, the tears spurted down her cheeks. A vision of Grace filled her head, held by a glowing Abbie, Callum watching on in awe. Picture perfect. Lots of love in the air when she and Rosie had dropped into Abbie’s apartment. Really beautiful. Sniff. Her boobs hurt. Her heart was heavy. ‘Got to go. See you later.’

‘Emma, wait. Are you sure you’re all right?’ Nixon’s concern spilled from the phone.

‘Just having a moment. A good one.’ Liar. ‘Promise. Bye.’ Bigger liar. She tapped ‘off’ before he could ask any more telling questions. ‘Right, missy, let’s get you to school.’ She pulled out into the traffic, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. Rosie didn’t need to see her mother’s meltdown when she got out of the car.

‘Mrs Watson showed us how to draw a cat yesterday. Can I have a cat, Mummy?’

Last week it’d been a puppy. ‘No, darling, we’re not having any pets.’ So Nixon was leaving work during the day to drop by her place. He wasn’t walking away from their friendship now that she no longer feared not being able to hand the baby over. Cool. She didn’t want him gone out of her life. She loved hearing him laugh, the way he talked with his hands, how his eyes widened when he got all thoughtful, those long legs. Ouch. Friends, remember? Yeah, but seeing Abbie so happy she was fast moving on and wanting more in her life.

‘But I want a cat. Why can’t I?’

Reality moment. Talking about a pet was what was important right now. Why couldn’t they have a cat? It would be good for Rosie and less work than a dog. ‘We’ll talk about it another day. Here’s school.’ She swung into a park outside the main gate.

‘Mummy, there’s Colleen,’ Rosie shrieked. Her finger was jabbing the window in the direction of the gathering of excited kids.

Colleen and Rosie had become inseparable since starting school, and Emma hoped her daughter had found her Abbie.

Undoing Rosie’s seat belt, Emma lifted her out of the car seat and handed over her bag. ‘There you go, young lady. Does Mummy get a kiss first?’

‘Yes, but hurry. I have to see Colleen.’

Blasted tears threatened again. Crouching down, she wrapped her arms around Rosie. ‘Love you, darling. Have a good morning.’

‘Mummy, hurry up. I want to tell Colleen about the baby.’

Here we go. People would be watching, talking about her—good and bad. She’d cope. As long as those who mattered to her were onside it didn’t matter. Nixon’s support and friendship being the benchmark. Friendship. That blasted word again. She needed to look it up in the dictionary and check that it didn’t include hot zaps of need and heart-melting longing for a man.

Watching Rosie race up the path to her friend, Emma slashed away the tears on her cheeks. ‘Sod off, mood. I’m happy with my lot.’

Had she been like this last time she’d had a baby? Absolutely. But there’d also been the Alvin factor thrown into the mix. He might’ve been gone for three months by then but she’d lived with a deep dread he’d turn up and demand to see his daughter, or snatch her away. It hadn’t happened, but it wasn’t until the police had arrived on her doorstep two years ago to tell her that her husband had died as the result of a fight that she’d fully relaxed the crippling fear.

‘Jingle Bells’ blared again. ‘Nixon, did you forget you just rang me?’ she choked.

‘That’s better. You’re not crying.’

How wrong could he be? ‘You rang because I sniffed a couple of times?’

‘Just checking. See you later.’ Gone.

Leaving her smiling and pinching herself. What was going on here? Would this feeling of excitement crash and burn as her hormones settled back in their cave? Had post-birth hormones temporarily heightened her awareness of Nixon as a man; a hot man? She stared around the car park, up at the sky, over at the main school building. There were no answers waiting to drop on her. She’d have to play the waiting game, to see the hormonal rush through to its end and look at what was left afterwards.

* * *

Nixon sauntered up Emma’s path and raised his hand to knock but the door opened before he had a chance. Loud music spilled out. ‘You’re a rocker?’

‘I’ll turn it down.’ Emma lurched forward as if she was about to plant a kiss on his cheek, then as rapidly she pulled back, her face burning.

His face untouched.

‘Emma?’ He followed her through the apartment to the small but neat lounge where she killed the volume.

Her shoulders were tense, her neck stiff, and her hands now fists at her sides. ‘Sorry about that.’ She looked—fragile. Yes, definitely delicate. As if she didn’t know if she was coming or going. Not surprising. The birth must’ve caught up in full force. ‘I was trying to block out stuff.’

‘Baby crying next door stuff?’

An abrupt nod. ‘I’m probably adding to the problem as Grace won’t be able to sleep. But I’m going up the walls and had to do something, and going for a run is not an option.’ Emma’s bottom lip quivered.

Nixon wanted to hug her, to send that crying packing, but sensed a hug might make things worse. He swung the paper bag he held in one hand. ‘I got pastries from the French patisserie. That okay?’

Her lips softened, a small smile creeping in. ‘I got some ciabatta from the bakery and ham from the superette. I thought we could sit on the deck.’ She stared around the room as if it were foreign to her.

‘Perfect.’ Hopefully it would be further away from the baby’s cries if they happened again. ‘Emma, look at me.’

Her reluctance stabbed him in the chest. He shouldn’t have come. She didn’t want him here. But then she said, ‘Take no notice of me. I’m all mixed up.’ She drew a breath. ‘I’m glad you came. I need sane and sensible at the moment.’

So he wasn’t about to be kicked out. He wasn’t sure he liked being labelled sane and sensible but if that was what she wanted then that was what she’d get. But as she headed into the kitchen his gaze scoped her body and that thick, wavy copper hair falling down her back, causing a pang of need to slide under his skin. Emma was beautiful. Alluring. What? Nixon tensed. What was that? Emma was captivating? Yes, she was, but he wasn’t going anywhere with this. He recognised that she was attractive, but he wasn’t admitting to wanting to follow through on that. Not likely. Oh, man, he was an expert in caution so what had gone wrong that his gut had tightened when he’d looked at his friend? Better get back on track with why he was here. ‘About coming back to work. Don’t rush it. We can cope.’ She really was exhausted and would need time to recuperate.

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