The Baby Swap Miracle

‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

Not nearly as lovely as you, he thought, his eyes feasting on her as she stooped again to talk to Daisy. Her hair, the colour of toffee, swung down across her face, and when she hooked it back behind her ear he could see that smile again.

God, she was gorgeous, and he had no business eyeing up a pregnant woman he’d given sanctuary to! Especially not one he was locked in a complicated relationship with for the next twenty-odd years. And anyway, she was still grieving, he reminded himself firmly. Definitely out of bounds.

He scrubbed the grease and dirt from the lawnmower off his hands, pulled out the frying pan, stuck it on the hot plate and started cooking.

‘Thank you. That was amazing.’

‘Good. You looked as if you needed it. And there were vegetables.’

‘Yeah—fried.’

‘Barely, in olive oil. And fats carry vitamins.’

‘Yes, Mum,’ she said teasingly, and he wondered if he could be arrested for his thoughts, because her smile was having a distinctly unplatonic effect on him. And that was a disaster, because he didn’t do this. Didn’t get involved with nice women. Any women. Especially ones who were carrying his child.

These days he only engaged in the kind of relationship where everyone knew the rules, where there were no expectations or hurt feelings.

No broken hearts, his or anyone else’s.

Been there, done that, he reminded himself, as if he needed reminding.

‘More coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

He shoved the chair back and walked over to the stove, and Emelia watched him thoughtfully. Something had happened—some kind of sizzly, magnetic thing that left her feeling breathless and light-headed.

Hormones, she told herself sternly, and hauled her eyes off his jeans.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine,’ she answered, a little on the drag and sounding just as breathless as she felt. She cleared her throat silently and sighed as she realised she was staring at his shoulders now—those broad, solid shoulders that would feel so good to lean on—

No! No, no, no! He was being kind to her, it didn’t mean anything, and she had to keep this relationship firmly on track, because if he wanted to keep in touch with his child—and for its sake she desperately hoped he would—she’d be stuck with him for the next however many years.

‘Sam, I need to make some decisions,’ she said firmly, and he glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘About?’

‘Where I go next.’

He sat down again, mug in hand, and searched her eyes, his own expressionless. ‘There’s no hurry.’

‘Well, there is. I have to get settled somewhere and register with a doctor and a maternity unit for my antenatal care, and I need to find a house, and a job.’

‘Any ideas?’

She gave a brittle little laugh and wished she had. ‘Not one—but I can’t stay here indefinitely. I ought to make a few phone calls. My mother, for one—not that I can stay with her. She lives in Cheshire, in a tiny little cottage with my stepfather who wouldn’t take kindly to me rocking up with a baby on the horizon and shattering their peaceful existence. And anyway, I’m too old to go and live with my mother.’

Sam frowned slightly, his brow pleating as he studied the grain on the table top, tracing it with his finger. ‘Don’t rush into anything, Emelia. You can stay here as long as you need to. There are lots of things to consider, and maybe we should consider them together, under the circumstances.’

She felt her eyes fill, and looked away before he saw the tears gathering in them. ‘You’re right. We should be thinking about this together. I just hate imposing…’

‘You’re not imposing,’ he said flatly. ‘And you’re welcome.’

‘Am I?’

He frowned again and met her eyes, his thoughtful. ‘Yes,’ he said after too long a pause. ‘Yes, you are. The situation isn’t ideal, but we have to make it work, for the sake of the baby and our sanity. So, yes, Emelia. You’re welcome—you and the baby, for as long as you need.’

‘Thanks,’ she said gruffly, emotion welling up and threatening to suffocate her, and as if he realised that, he moved on.

‘So—do you have any ideas at all? Any thoughts, long or short term?’

She shook her head. ‘No. Well, plenty of thoughts, but no constructive ones. They talked about compensation, but I don’t know how much or when it’ll come through, so I’ll have to find a job in the meantime—supply teaching’s the obvious one. I can always do that.’

He frowned slightly. ‘You’re pregnant.’

‘Well, heavens, so I am. I hadn’t noticed.’ She rolled her eyes and he sighed softly.

‘Emelia, it will make it harder. When did you last teach? You’ll probably need a police check, and they take weeks. By the time it’s done you’ll be on maternity leave and it’ll be the summer holidays anyway. And the ordinary job market is a real scrum these days, never mind in your condition.’

She shut her eyes briefly. She really didn’t need him pointing this out to her, she was well aware of the paucity of her options.

‘It’s not a condition, Sam. I’m fit and strong. I can do anything. I’m only nineteen weeks pregnant. Lots of women work right up to the end if they have to.’

‘But you don’t, so you could just stay here and be sensible.’

She stared at him blankly. ‘What—till the compensation’s agreed? It could be weeks. Months, more likely.’

‘Even more reason. I’m sure we’ll all survive,’ he said drily.

She wasn’t. Not if he kept on wearing those jeans—no! She mustn’t think about them. About him. Not like that, it was crazy. She met his eyes. ‘Not without money—and before you say it, I can’t just sponge off you, Sam—and even if I could, what would I do all day?’ she argued, trying to be logical in the face of rising panic. ‘I can’t just sit about. How is that sensible? I’ve got over four months before the baby comes. I have to do something to earn my keep.’ Even if I am unemployable…

Sam scanned her face, saw the flicker of anxiety that she tried to mask, and knew before he opened his mouth that he’d regret this.

‘Can you cook?’

‘Cook? Why?’

He shrugged, regretting it already and backpedalling. ‘Just an idea. I thought you could pay your way by taking that over, if you really feel you have to, but it’s not very exciting. Forget it.’

Her brow pleated. ‘Cooking for you? A few minutes a day? No, you’re right, it’s not especially exciting and it’s not much of a deal for you, I’m a rubbish cook. And anyway, I’ve done a bit of supply teaching recently to stop me going crazy, so my police checks are up to date. Maybe I’ll contact the local education authority and ask them if I can go on the supply list. There must be schools around here. Maybe one of them needs some cover.’

She wouldn’t be underfoot. He felt relief like a physical wave—and as the wave ebbed, regret. Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. He didn’t want her here.

But he wanted the baby. He’d said so, in as many words, yesterday, and she seemed to be taking it on board. And of course that meant she’d be around, and he’d have to live with the consequences—

‘Tell me about the garden,’ she said now, cutting through his troubling train of thought. ‘Who looks after it?’

He laughed, more than happy to change the subject for a minute. ‘Nobody. Couldn’t you tell by the weeds in the cattle grid?’