How did he know that? Had he and the snake exchanged pleasantries as they’d passed on the path? She couldn’t help it. She slipped a hand over her abdomen.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I am not going to let anything bad happen to your baby either!’
He spoke so fiercely tears stung her eyes—those darn pregnancy hormones—but she believed him. He was like some old-fashioned hero from a book or a movie. He knew how to take care of his own.
Not that she was his, of course.
But she did trust him—with her life. And her baby’s.
‘In a moment I’m going to start drumming the ground with my feet. The snake will want to avoid something that sounds as big as me, so it’s going to shoot off down to the river and probably all the way across it.’
It was going to slither right by her?
‘I want you to stay as still as a statue.’
She pulled in a breath. Finally she nodded. When Luke looked at her like that she had a feeling she could do just about anything. She closed her eyes. It would be easier to focus on staying still if she didn’t catch sight of that snake again.
She heard Luke’s thumping—she would have had to be deaf not to. She didn’t hear the snake at all. She tried to empty her mind of all thought and concentrate on keeping her body as still as possible.
‘Keira?’
Her name was a mere whisper on the air, and so close she had to open her eyes. Were they safe? Had the snake gone away? Had Luke been bitten?
Before she could utter a single one of her questions Luke scooped her up in his arms and strode up the bank towards the car. She couldn’t help it. She started shaking as if she were cold and couldn’t get warm. All that pent up adrenaline, some rational part of her reasoned.
‘Did you get bitten?’ she finally managed to get out from between chattering teeth
‘No.’
‘Me neither,’ she said, which was a ridiculous thing to say, because he’d have seen it if the snake had struck her.
Luke opened the passenger door and slid onto the seat with her on his lap. She continued to shake. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘I can’t seem to help it. What a wimp, huh?’
His arms tightened about her. ‘You weren’t a wimp. You were wonderfully brave.’
Keira closed her eyes and gave herself up to the comfort of being in his arms. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and drew in all the strength and reassurance she needed.
Luke’s heartbeat didn’t slow until Keira’s shaking started to ease. He found he still couldn’t loosen his arms from around her yet.
He bit back something rude and succinct. When he’d first seen that snake, and registered the fear on Keira’s face, an anger so fierce and scalding had gripped him it had almost left no room for reason.
He’d remembered himself just in time.
Tell me three things you’re grateful for.
Keira was alive and safe in his arms. He was grateful for that.
Snakes might be a protected species in Australia, but if it had bitten her he’d have torn it apart with his bare hands.
She adjusted herself in his arms, sat up a little. He reluctantly loosened his hold, but didn’t let her go.
He’d let her go in a moment, he told himself. When he was one hundred percent sure she was okay.
Her eyes met his. ‘Thank you for rescuing me.’ Her hand inched across her stomach. ‘For rescuing us. I didn’t have a clue what to do.’
‘You did great.’ She had too. She’d wanted to run, he’d read that in her face, but she’d conquered her fear and followed his instructions.
Tell me three things you’re grateful for.
He was grateful she hadn’t been bitten.
She gestured to herself in his lap. ‘What a big baby you must think me.’
He didn’t think her a baby. Not at all. She was feminine and soft and, for all her slightness, curvy where it counted. Which was an unfortunate thought to have when she was in his arms like this. Very unfortunate. And bewitching.
‘I think you’re brave and lovely.’ Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that last bit.
Dammit, though, she was lovely!
With a smile, she reached up and brushed her lips across his cheek in the lightest of kisses. He felt its impact all the way down to the soles of his feet.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
The scent of vanilla engulfed him, and something inside him melted. He stared into her grey eyes—her beautiful grey eyes—then he leant forward and placed his lips on hers.
She didn’t close her eyes. He didn’t close his. He moved his lips over hers—gentle, testing, ready to draw back at the slightest hint or hesitation from her—but after a moment of stunned stillness her lips softened and shaped themselves to his.
And then her eyelids fluttered closed.
With a groan, Luke gathered her closer. She tasted so good. She tasted so…good!
He ran his tongue across her bottom lip. She gasped and trembled. That gasp reached right inside his chest and dragged him under. Her hand dived into the hair at his nape to pull him closer. Her lips opened under his and he lost himself in the taste, the sensation…the freedom of kissing Keira.
The taste of her, the feel of her, woke parts of him that had been dead and numb for too long. Her hand burrowed its way beneath his shirt to trace the contours of his chest. He thought his lungs might burst with need when she ran the palm of her hand back and forth across his nipple.
With one arm anchoring her to him firmly, he traced her body from hip to breast. Slowly. He cupped and teased her through the cotton of her singlet top until she writhed and arched against him.
‘Oh, Luke…please,’ she begged, her moans and his ragged breathing filling the interior of the car.
He knew what she meant. He’d never wanted a woman with such a savage need before.
With something midway between a groan and a growl, he swept his hand down to her hip and across her stomach to the waistband of her shorts. He wanted to touch every part of her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her. His fingers brushed across her stomach again, and something tugged at his consciousness.
Keira.
Pregnant.
Baby.
He stilled. He knew enough to know that making love would not harm her baby, but the reality brought him up short.
He met the clear grey eyes surveying him. He swallowed, then forced words out of uncooperative lips. ‘I can’t offer you anything more than this.’ His voice came out hoarse, as if he needed a drink.
He couldn’t offer this lovely woman any of the things she deserved. All he could give her was momentary pleasure…a brief affair.
He watched her consider the idea. If he were an honourable man he’d let her go, but he couldn’t. God help them both if she reached up and kissed him now—gave him her tacit agreement—because he would not have the strength to hold back.
Even though she deserved so much more.
He dragged a hand down his face. When he pulled it away, he saw her answer framed in the regret that stretched through her eyes.
Be grateful for what you do have.
Grinding back a torrent of expletives, he slid her off his lap and all but fell out of the car. He closed the door before he could change his mind. He took a moment to straighten his clothes, gather himself. Gave her the time to do the same, before walking around to the driver’s side and sliding in behind the steering wheel.
Be grateful for what you do have.
It didn’t matter which way he looked at it—he couldn’t be grateful for this. Leaving the warmth of Keira’s arms was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUKE found himself whistling as he strode towards the homestead. The light was fading from the sky and a satisfying weariness was settling over his limbs. In another hour it would be completely dark. In less than fifteen minutes he, Jason and Keira would be seated around the kitchen table, enjoying another of her superb meals.
<
br /> It was her last night—on this visit at least, he knew she’d be back—and he couldn’t wait to see what she served for dinner. He moved with an eager step across the veranda, pushed open the door…and immediately sensed something was wrong.
A roast chicken and vegetables squatted promisingly in the oven, but the oven itself had been turned off. A saucepan of peas and another of gravy sat on top of the stove, but the hotplates had been switched off too. The table was only half laid.
He touched a hand to the side of one of the saucepans—still warm. Keira’s morning sickness must have struck again.
He headed for the bathroom.
He hesitated for only a moment before tapping on the door. ‘Keira, is everything okay?’ No answer.
He tried the door. Locked. He tapped louder. ‘Keira?’
From behind the door he heard a muffled movement, then the lock slid back and the door cracked open a fraction. Keira’s pale, pinched face appeared, and fear clutched Luke’s heart. He tried to rein in his panic, to keep his voice steady. ‘Sweetheart, what’s wrong?’
Her chin wobbled. She pressed her lips tight together for a moment, as if trying to get herself under control. Luke gripped the doorframe until the wood bit into his fingers.
She swallowed. ‘Would you…would you be able to drive me to the hospital please?’
Her voice came out dull, weak. The sparkle had gone from her eyes.
Very gently, Luke pushed the door open. She didn’t resist. He hooked an arm beneath her knees and lifted her, strode into the living room and laid her carefully on the sofa, placed cushions behind her knees to raise her legs. She didn’t resist.
Jason leapt up. ‘What’s—?’
Luke silenced him with a look. Seizing the phone, he called for an ambulance, and then moved back to Keira’s side to take her hand. It lay in his unmoving, so small and defenceless…so limp. ‘They’ll be here soon,’ he told her.
She closed her eyes, but he’d read the expression in them.
Her fingers were so cold! He wanted to kiss them warm. A lump thickened his throat. He wrapped her hand in both his own and held on tight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I’M SORRY, Luke, but your friend has had a miscarriage.’
Luke stared at the doctor—a man he’d known his entire life—and tried to make sense of the words that left the older man’s lips.
‘I’m sorry.’
The doctor’s sympathy hit him with the force of a combine harvester at full tilt. He couldn’t speak for a moment. Keira had lost her baby. ‘You’re sure?’
The question didn’t deserve an answer—Dr Metcalfe had been a member of the medical profession for nearly forty years—but he nodded and squeezed Luke’s shoulder.
She’d lost her baby!
‘I need to see her.’ He’d search every room in the hospital if he had to.
‘You can take her home.’
That pulled him up short. ‘I…don’t you have to make sure she’s okay? Make her well again?’ He didn’t care that it was nearly Christmas and staff were on leave. This was Keira they were talking about. He would not stand for inferior medical care or—
‘Luke, Keira’s not sick. She doesn’t have any kind of infection or disease we can treat. She’s had a miscarriage. She wasn’t that far along in her pregnancy, and there’s very little bleeding. She might be a little tender for a few days, but there’s nothing more we can do for her.’
‘What caused it?’ he burst out. He should have kept a closer eye on her, made her rest more.
‘Sometimes it just…happens.’
Luke’s shoulders slumped. Keira had lost her baby. He wanted to find her, pull her into his arms and comfort her.
He had a feeling she wouldn’t let him. Or, worse still, she’d submit because she knew it was too late and it didn’t matter any more. Like she had when he’d carried her from the bathroom to the sofa. She’d known then.
‘Did she tell you she was undergoing IVF treatment?’ He wasn’t leaving until he was one hundred percent sure Dr Metcalfe had all the facts.
‘Yes. I’ve sent a fax through to her doctor in Sydney.’
Luke closed his eyes. There was nothing…nothing he could do to reverse this.
The doctor led him through to the next room and pointed towards a cubicle. Luke swallowed, and then edged forward to peer around the curtain. Keira sat huddled in a chair, small and defenceless. His scowl fled. He wanted to reach out. He had to clench his hands to stop himself. This was about her and what she needed, not him.
He moved to the chair beside her. ‘Keira?’
He winced at the dullness in her eyes, the grey pallor of her skin…her lack of vitality. When he reached out to touch her cheek she jerked away. Things inside him stretched tight. He wanted to howl for her. He beat the impulse down. ‘Keira, I’m sorry.’ He didn’t add anything more. What else was there to say? Adding the other words that you lost your baby just seemed cruel.
And she looked exhausted.
She gave a curt nod. ‘Thank you.’ Perfunctory, as if he was a stranger. It stung.
‘Are you ready to go home?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Luke sat by Keira’s bedside all night.
She’d told him it wasn’t necessary. He did it anyway. He wanted to be close by in case she needed something—a glass of water, another blanket…him. Her answer had been to pull the covers up to her neck and turn her face to the wall.
He’d switched off the lamp, but neither one of them had slept.
When the first fingers of dawn crept across the room, she slid out from beneath the covers.
Luke jerked in the chair. ‘Where…?’
‘Bathroom.’
He pulled in a breath. She seemed veiled behind a haze of nothingness. No colour, no bounce—nothing. And, although there was nothing wrong with her posture or with the way she walked, it seemed to him that she limped from the room—as if some essential component of her energy had been taken from her.
He dropped his head to his hands. He didn’t know how to help her. And he wanted to help her. He forced himself to his feet and went to make coffee.
Keira was relieved to find Luke gone when she returned to her bedroom. She crawled back into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin. The effort of rising, of moving, had left her exhausted, and the dim grey of the dawn light filtering beneath the curtains suited her mood perfectly.
She clocked the exact moment Luke returned. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She didn’t care. She welcomed the silence. Finally, ‘Would you like coffee or toast?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll rest. Doctor’s orders.’ She didn’t turn from staring at the wall. ‘Go tend your farm, Luke. I’m not in the mood for company.’
He still hovered, but she refused to look at him. ‘Promise you’ll call if you need anything?’
It took a superhuman effort, but she managed to squeeze the words from between dry lips. ‘I promise.’ Anything to make him go away. She wouldn’t need anything. She’d lost the only thing she needed. She just wanted to stare at the greyness of the wall and not move…not think…not feel.
Every movement she made only rendered her more aware of the hole that gaped through her, of the emptiness inside her. If she stayed very still, barely blinking, she might succeed in ignoring that emptiness, in preventing it from swallowing her whole.
Maybe.
Luke came back at lunchtime, but she feigned sleep and he went away again.
He came back mid-afternoon. She feigned sleep again, but this time he reached down and touched her shoulder. ‘Keira?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You have to eat something.’
‘I’m not hungry.’ The thought of food made her feel sick. Not literally sick—not nausea sick—not morning sickness sick. Only yesterday—
She cut the thought dead.
To eat she’d have to move. Moving would remind her of what she’d had yesterday. And what she didn’t ha
ve today. ‘I’m not hungry,’ she repeated.
‘Keira, if you won’t eat at least one piece of toast and drink a glass of orange juice I’m going to take you back to the hospital and have them readmit you.’
He kept his voice low and quiet. For that much she was grateful. She thought about the hospital—all those rattling trolleys and cheerful nurses. She forced herself into a sitting position and took the plate and glass he held out to her. She froze when he reached out a hand, as if he meant to push her hair back from her face.
He dropped it back to his side and sank into that chair again. Keira didn’t look at him. She knew what she’d see in his face, and she didn’t think she could bear it.
She ate the toast and drank the juice. She handed the plate and glass back to him. She didn’t say thank you. She wasn’t thankful. He left a bottle of water on her bedside table. She knew in his place she’d do the same. He didn’t deserve her irritation, her ingratitude.
She lay back down and stared at the wall. She didn’t have the energy for irritation.
When he returned later that evening, with a steaming mug of cocoa made with full-cream milk, she sat up without a word and drank it.
The food and the drink didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t make her feel worse either.
And at some stage during the night she even managed some sleep.
When Luke tapped on her door the next morning and entered, Keira forced herself up into a sitting position. But Luke didn’t hand her a plate of toast or a glass of juice. She glanced up.
‘I’m sorry, Keira, you’re going to have to get up.’
He spoke briskly. It made her blink. Resentment churned through her at this invasion into her sanctuary. ‘Why?’
‘Because I need to clean your room.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘No, you don’t!’
‘Yes, I do. This room gets a thorough clean once a week.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘As you pointed out, Candlebark has few enough attractions, but at least the cleanliness of the room is one of the things a prospective tenant can count on.’
She stared at him and tried to work out what he was talking about. She pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘What day is it?’
Christmas at Candlebark Farm Page 10