Fatherhood Fever!

by Emma Darcy

  “Don’t!” The words came tumbling out of the wretched soul-searching he’d done. “I knew you were fragile under your strength, Peta. That you were still shattered by what had happened to you. I took the risk of marrying you, telling myself I was strong enough to carry us both through anything. And I was wrong. I lost patience. I lost...”

  “No. I was lost, Matt.” She tipped her head back to meet his eyes, and reached up to tenderly stroke his cheek. “I should have held on to you until I found myself again,” she said softly.

  “Perhaps it was better for you to have a breathing space,” he excused, so relieved the rift was over he was happy to excuse anything.

  Her eyes were eloquently grateful for his understanding. “I was so afraid I’d hurt you too much and you wouldn’t let me into your heart again.”

  “You’ve never been out of it, Peta. Not from the moment we met,” he answered simply.

  “The moment?” She looked amazed.

  He smiled in sure self-knowledge. “My life instantly started to revolve around you. When you stopped Father O’Malley from continuing the wedding ceremony, I almost died of a heart attack, then and there.”

  She shook her head in bemusement. “I was determined to marry you, no matter what. My mind got it right, Matt.” She grimaced. “Unfortunately, my heart didn’t catch up with it until I realised how empty my life was without you.”

  “It’s okay.” He grinned, brimming with happiness. “All I care about is having you with me again.”

  “It will be better this time around,” she promised fervently.

  He cocked a teasing eyebrow. “I don’t know that some things can be bettered.”

  She laughed and wiggled provocatively. “I told Rita we weren’t to be disturbed.”

  “How thoughtful of you!” She was deliberately inciting arousal. Not that Matt needed encouragement. But it was great she had no inhibitions about showing him he was wanted as well as loved. “And did Rita agree to this arrangement?”

  “No question about it.” Her eyes flirted wantonly with his. “She said you were working yourself to death and needed to be saved.”

  “And did she say she’d hold the fort until the rescue mission was completed?” Matt slid a hand around to free the buttons on her blouse. “It may take some time. You have a desperately hungry man here.”

  Her hand started burrowing between them at waist level. “I’m ready for emergency action.” Her eyes danced wickedly. “In fact, I came prepared for it.”

  “You did?” he quizzed, enjoying the banter, loving her boldness, revelling in the excitement it generated.

  She grinned. “I’m not wearing pants.”

  Matt’s heart did a sky leap into his throat. It was their wedding day all over again, yet there was a brilliant freedom from doubt and fear in this gift of herself that lifted it into a joyful new start for both of them, a better start, injected with a deeper knowledge of each other, the experience of having come through a crucible of pain, and what they were—what they had together—was still there, bonded so much more strongly this time.

  “How do I love thee?” he murmured, the sheer pleasure of her overwhelming him. “Let me count the ways.”

  He did it with his hands, his mouth, his body and soul, with every touch, every caress, every kiss, and he felt her response coursing through every part of him, like a stream of sweet soothing, like a river of no return, like a torrent of tumbling passion, like a sea of rolling ecstasy.

  The thought of conceiving a child didn’t once enter Peta’s mind. She was filled with the man she loved, the man who loved her, and it was a fullness that needed nothing else, a fullness that wanted nothing else.

  At the core of it was a deep, deep gratitude that they had found each other, that Matt was still here for her, wanting her, loving her, tapping a huge welling of love for him. It gushed through her in great waves, a flood of feeling that swelled her heart and flooded her mind and washed her soul free of any sense of loss.

  This was the real start of their marriage.

  The promises didn’t have to be spoken.

  She felt them.

  And knew them to be real and abiding.

  They were joined once more and time and place meant nothing to Matt. The soaring togetherness transcended everything else. Only when the sense of fulfilment allowed room for other senses did his vision take in the roses cushioning Peta’s head, and their heady scent filled his nostrils, spreading the joy of ultimate harmony.

  Roses...

  Red roses...

  For love.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FOUR children were unthinkable, Matt decided.

  One would have to be enough.

  “You’re it, Timothy Andrew,” he muttered to the day-old infant who was snuffling around his chest, clearly working up to making a demand for something his father couldn’t supply.

  Peta was fast asleep and Matt was determined she should stay asleep. She needed all the recovery time she could get after the long, traumatic labour of giving birth. He himself was still in a state of shock, appalled by the pain she had suffered in producing this incredibly tiny bundle of humanity. He’d been emotionally battered and physically drained just watching her go through it. Torture. Absolute torture.

  “You just hold off, Tim,” he commanded, shifting his baby son up to his shoulder and patting his back for comfort. “Curb your instincts for a while and consider your mother. You pushed her to the limit getting born.”

  Though it wasn’t Tim’s fault, Matt conceded. Both he and Peta had been madly keen on having a child. Tim had had no say in it at all. And it was great to have a son, no doubt about it. Nevertheless, the result did not justify the means, in Matt’s newly informed opinion.

  In fact, he’d like to go back to the prenatal classes he and Peta had attended and shove the real truth down those instructors’ throats, make them all have babies themselves so they knew their breathing control lessons were impossible to apply when it came to the crunch.

  If only he had the power he’d revolutionise the hospital system, too. This idea of having the baby staying in the room with its mother all the time might be fine for bonding, but when was the mother supposed to get some sleep? If there weren’t nurses coming in to check off their charts, the baby needed attention. If he weren’t here to protect Peta from constant interference in the holy cause of entrenched hospital routine, she’d probably be dead from exhaustion.

  It was ridiculous. It was inhumane. There should be a rule that a nurse couldn’t be a nurse on a maternity ward unless she’d had a baby. He’d already drilled two brisk, unsympathetic nurses on that point and shot them out of here, demanding someone with a bit of understanding tend to his wife. He didn’t care if he was labelled a “difficult husband.” He’d vowed to look after Peta and he would.

  Tim started sucking on his shirt. Matt figured frustration would set in any moment now and for a tiny baby, Tim had a great pair of lungs. Bound to be a good swimmer when he grew up. In the meantime, he only knew to use them for yelling. Matt short-circuited the imminent impulse by heaving himself out of his chair and walking up and down the room, softly singing “Waterloo,” an old ABBA song he remembered from his childhood.

  “Winning the war, Matt?”

  Peta’s amused question startled him out of his absorption in serenading his son. She was wide awake and smiling at him. Matt shook his head in amazement. It was beyond him how she could smile at anything after yesterday’s dreadful ordeal but she seemed to manage it quite naturally.

  “Merely staving off attack,” he answered ruefully. “Tiny Tim was trying to gobble up my shirt.”

  “Give him to me. It’s past his feed time.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I feel more rested now, thanks Matt. You’ve been so wonderful through all this.”

  Him wonderful? He was a nervous wreck, barely hanging on. He didn’t understand how Peta could look so serene as she took their baby and
set about feeding him. Tiny Tim had no problems though. He latched onto one of the best parts of the world and obviously knew it was heaven-sent. A chip off the old block, Matt thought, as he relaxed back in his chair and watched one of the miracles of nature.

  He was so tired he almost nodded off. A tap on the door brought him alert again. The instant rise of aggression faded as the visitor proved to be Peta’s mother, not an officious nurse.

  “Mum! How lovely!” Peta cried in surprised pleasure. “I wasn’t expecting you until tonight.”

  Nanna Kelly—her choice of grandmotherly name—handed Matt gifts for the baby and hurried to Peta’s bedside, gabbling excitedly. “I couldn’t wait for your father. I caught the train down. My goodness! Doesn’t he have a lot of hair?”

  Peta laughed.

  She actually laughed.

  “Black. Like Matt’s. Isn’t he beautiful?” she crowed proudly.

  As the two women discussed his son’s beauty, Matt sat in stunned silence. Except for that one black period after the miscarriage when Peta had, as she’d said, lost herself, she was a fighter, capable of standing up to anything and boldly moving forward. He knew that, yet he was staggered by the way she seemed to have put yesterday’s pain behind her.

  “I hope you’re not too disappointed, Mum,” he heard her say.

  “Disappointed?” Matt echoed incredulously. “Why should she be?”

  “Remember John’s fourth was another boy,” Peta answered equably. “Tim is the eighth grandson in a row, Matt. Mum was hoping for a girl.”

  “It truly doesn’t matter, dear,” her mother assured her. “As long as he’s healthy.”

  Matt approved this sensible sentiment. If Peta’s mother wanted another granddaughter she could look to Megan or John or Paul to provide it.

  “He’s absolutely perfect, Mum,” Peta crooned. “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to have a girl next time.”

  Matt couldn’t believe his ears. Next time? How could Peta contemplate a next time? Had she somehow contracted amnesia?

  His mother arrived next. Harold, her friend from the Bridge Club, had driven her down from Gosford. Harold was beginning to feature very strongly in his mother’s life. She had come a long way from the health farm.

  She took one look at the baby and cried, “Oh! He’s the spitting image of Matt!”

  Peta laughed. Again. Maybe it was some form of euphoria that came after the safe delivery of a baby, Matt reasoned.

  “There’s certainly no doubting who his father is,” Peta agreed, smiling at him with a glow of love that made his heart turn over.

  His mother bestowed a benevolent smile on him, too. It spurred Matt into a response. “Sorry it’s not a girl, Mum,” he said, remembering she had fancied buying pretty things. Both Nanna Kelly and Grandma Davis had apparently been thinking pink. “You’ll have to make do with a boy.” Especially since Timothy Andrew was the only grandchild she was going to get.

  “Well, dear, I’m sure you and Peta will have as much joy in your darling little son as your father and I had in you,” she replied warmly.

  “We certainly will,” he agreed. “I was just thinking of your pleasure.”

  “You mustn’t mind me, dear.” To his astonishment, she actually blushed. “I’m afraid I won’t be available to do much baby-sitting.”

  Matt couldn’t quite swallow his surprise. “Are you telling me, after years of nagging...”

  “Now, Matt, you did say you weren’t having a baby for my sake. I’m very happy for you and Peta. Delighted that everything’s turned out so beautifully. And he’s perfect. Absolutely an adorable baby...”

  A “but” was hanging in there somewhere.

  “Isn’t a grandson good enough for you?” Matt demanded irritably.

  “Of course he is!” she protested, shocked he could think otherwise. “I know I’m going to love our Timothy to bits. And when I am home...”

  “You’re going away?”

  “I was trying to tell you...” She looked as coy as a young girl. “...Harold has asked me to go travelling with him. And I thought... why not?”

  Matt found himself bemused by this unexpected turn in their friendship. “You’re right, Mum. Why not?” he reasoned. He’d preached not hanging on to the past and she’d been a widow for over three years now. If Harold’s companionship rounded out her life, she should take it.

  His mother heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you don’t mind, dear.”

  “It’s your choice, Mum,” Matt declared, hoping it would work out really well for her.

  Her cheeks pinked up some more. “Since there seemed no point in wasting time—we’re not getting any younger—we’ve already decided on a tour and it’s only a month before we’re off.”

  Matt had to smile at the repetition of his own argument about wasting her life. “Where are you off to...Europe?”

  “No... no... I did that with your father.”

  Apparently Harold was not to tread on that ground.

  “We’re taking a boat down the Amazon,” she announced, her eyes lighting up at the thought of it.

  “You’re what?” Surprises were coming thick and fast.

  “It will be such an adventure, Matt.”

  His mother... the adventuress! A little over a year ago, she could hardly be persuaded out of her own home!

  “After that we’re planning a cruise to Alaska.”

  “Alaska,” he repeated numbly.

  “Then there’s a wonderful wildlife sanctuary in Kenya.”

  “Okay!” Matt held up his hand. “I’ve got the picture. You now have lots of things to live for. You don’t need a grandchild.”

  “Of course I need a grandchild,” she cried, not realising he was teasing her. “I’ll just love telling Tim about these marvellous places when he’s old enough to understand.”

  “We’ll all be interested to hear about your adventures, Cynthia,” Peta put in warmly.

  “Dear Peta...” His mother looked benignly upon his wife. “...You make a beautiful mother.”

  “Thank you.” Another smile. “I don’t know if I could bear to leave Tim with a baby-sitter so don’t let Matt make you feel guilty.”

  “It is hard to let go,” his mother said sympathetically and settled herself on the bed for a cosy chat. “Now you must give me your advice on my hair, Peta. I won’t be able to go to a hairdresser for weeks on end once I’m off.” She reached out and tenderly stroked Tim’s hand. “Oh, to have skin like a baby’s! Isn’t it glorious?”

  Matt rolled his eyes and retired to the sidelines. Women, he decided, were definitely from another planet. Peta was glowing as though she hadn’t been anywhere near death’s door barely twenty-four hours ago. Her mother was probably mourning the fact that pink was not the order of the day, never mind the miracle that her daughter had survived. As for his own mother...well, he had wanted her revitalised, but how could she be rattling on about herself when she, of all people, knew what it took to bring a baby into the world?

  She had to remember almost dying in childbirth. Matt certainly hadn’t forgotten what he’d so recently experienced. He now understood what his father had felt, watching his wife dice with death.

  Megan arrived.

  There were now four clucky women, drooling over his son and saying not a word about how he’d come into the world. Was it some kind of sisterhood conspiracy? They’d all had the experience of birth, in one form or another, so they instinctively agreed to forget it? Once survival and motherhood was achieved, that was it?

  Then he heard the most incredible words he’d ever heard in his life. From Megan! Who was the one most recently to have given birth before Peta.

  “Only twelve hours of labour and no stitches. You really got it easy, Peta,” she said blithely.

  It was too much for Matt.

  “Easy?” He climbed to his feet as his voice climbed upwards. “Easy? Are you mad, Megan?”

  Four female faces turned to him in startled wonderment, as th
ough none of them had any idea why he should be upset.

  “I was with Peta every minute of those twelve hours,” he thundered. “And let me tell you none of it was easy.”

  “It’s over, Matt,” Peta said gently.

  “I was only comparing it to the twenty hours I went through,” Megan explained reasonably. “And having to cope with six stitches where I tore.”

  “Tore...” Matt gulped the word and closed his eyes, struggling to come to terms with a blasé description of torture. “How...” He scooped in a deep breath and glared at all of them in disbelief. “...How can you dismiss it as though it were nothing? It was absolute hell watching Peta in agony.”

  His mother sighed. “Just like his father.” She gave Peta a wise look. “My husband used to faint at the sight of blood. You’ll have to watch that with Matt if you’re going to have four children, dear.”

  “We are not going to have four!” Matt shouted. “If you think I will let Peta go through that another three times...”

  “Matt, the first is always the hardest,” Peta said indulgently. “It usually gets easier with each one.”

  “Yes. My fourth came so fast we barely made it to the hospital,” her mother chimed in, then looked wisely at her daughter. “Men never cope with pain as well as women do.”

  “You’re right, Mum,” Megan said, frowning thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten about Rob being all shaken up at Patrick’s birth. Maybe they shouldn’t let fathers in, though I must say it was good having Rob’s hand to hang on to.”

  “And sharing in it,” Peta said, giving Matt an appealing smile. “It did help, having you with me all the way.”

  Confusion set in. Total confusion. “You mean... you actually want to do this again?” he challenged her, reaching for some grain of sense.

  She smiled down at their baby son. “To have another three like him, I’d do anything.”

  Love...

  It was written on the soft curve of her lips, the glow on her cheeks, the luminous wonder in her eyes.

  Matt melted.

  Who was he to deprive three unborn children of a love like that?