by Lisa Worrall
“I love you,” Micah said on a contented sigh. He’d made and eaten a lot of fancy meals in his time, but there was nothing that stood up to his Mum’s ham, egg and chips.
“Of course you do,” Jenny mumbled, peeling a potato. “I’m giving you food.”
“Yep.” Micah smiled at his mother’s answering harrumph and pulled the newspaper towards him.
*
"Oi you, wake up."
Micah grumbled without opening his eyes when he felt the nudge of his mother's foot against his knee. "Don't wanna."
"You're not sleeping on that lumpy old sofa when you've got a perfectly good bed next door," Jenny said, nudging him again. "Go on, off with you. You'll thank me in the morning when your back's not screaming."
"Most mothers would be glad of a chance to have their precious baby under their roof again." Micah reluctantly sat up and stretched his arms above his head. He covered a wince at the twinge in his neck, not willing to give his mother the satisfaction of being right.
"I'm not most mothers," Jenny said, pointing the remote at the TV and surfing relentlessly, sending channels past in a blur.
"You can say that again," said Micah with a sardonic shake of his head. "With knobs on."
"You're one snark away from mowing my lawn tomorrow, smart-arse." Jenny waved the remote at him, momentarily giving the SKY box a breather before it exploded. "So I suggest you wind your neck in."
Micah smirked as he stood up. He used to wonder why everyone wanted to come to his house all the time for tea when he was a kid. Slightly depressing to find out that it was because they liked his mother more than they did him. He took the few steps to her chair and bent down to deliver a resounding kiss to her cheek, muttering, "Why on earth I came over here for some love and affection, I'll never know."
"Me either. Now clear off, Miss Marple's about to start."
Micah closed the front door and meandered down the path to the gate. He smoothed his hand across the surface of the peeling paint and made a mental note to pick up some sandpaper and a tin of fire engine red at the weekend. If he left it to his mother the damn thing would fall off before she repaired it. He closed the gate behind him. Roping Harry in to help him could be the perfect way to spend a couple of hours. Especially if the weather forecasters were right. A hot and sweaty Harry was nothing to be sniffed at, although…. He chuckled to himself softly and strode up the path to his front door, imagining the blush high on Harry's perfect cheekbones if he knew what Micah was thinking.
He yawned widely, wincing as his jaw cracked. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't shattered, but he'd become far too used to falling asleep in Harry's arms, so he didn't expect to drift off into unconsciousness without a fight tonight. Micah aimed the ritual kick at the front door and it swung open. As he stepped over the threshold, he couldn't resist a final glance at the cottage across the road. His gaze zeroed in on the living-room window from which shone the soft glow of the lamp on Harry's desk in the bay.
If he squinted, he could just make out Harry slumped in his chair and he smiled, followed by a click of his tongue against his teeth. He made a mental note to berate Harry about his posture later and pulled the key from the lock. Slowly closing the door, intent on getting to his bed, Micah froze when the shape of a much larger man walked in front of Harry where he sat in the bay window, and then passed out of Micah’s line of vision. Who? Micah knew everybody in the village. Could pick them out in the pitch dark at three hundred yards. Whoever they were, they weren’t from around here.
What are you doing? Micah asked himself thirty seconds later as he crouched in the shrubbery outside the gate to Lilac Cottage. In all honesty he didn’t have an answer. He only knew his gut instincts were usually spot on. They had to be. In his line of work, instincts could be the difference between life and death. Right now, his spidey-sense was telling him something was wrong—very, very wrong.
Micah crept up the path for a few feet and then dropped to his knees on the neatly clipped lawn. He crawled beneath the line of the bay window and into the lilac bushes on the right hand side of the house. From there, he could see right into the living-room. He blinked, unsure that his eyes were really seeing what they thought they were seeing. His blood felt like ice in his veins as his stomach hit his shoes. The tableau behind the glass didn’t change.
Selena sat in one corner of the sofa, her already pale skin the colour of alabaster, her gaze wide and terrified. Lounging beside her, his arm around her stiff shoulders sat a well-dressed, sophisticated looking man with flashes of grey at his temples. Micah recognised him immediately. He’d seen him on the news and in the papers often enough. Harold Wainwright. Harry’s father. But it wasn’t the politician that held Micah’s attention. It was the brick shithouse who stood behind Harry’s chair—and the gun he held in his hand.
What do I do? The question pin-balled around his brain, bouncing off his skull, the sound of it loud in his ears, along with the rushing of his blood through his veins. Harry’s expression was one Micah had never seen before, and never wanted to see again. He was beyond scared, beyond terrified, beyond defeated. Think, Micah, think. Police, asshole, phone the police. He didn’t realise he’d said it out loud until a cold voice behind him said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Micah spun around, the movement taking him from crouching to falling on his arse. He stared up at the muscled brute who, at any other time he would have considered hot, but who right now had his balls attempting to climb back inside his body. Well, not him exactly. It was more the moonlight glinting off the cool metal of the gun pointed at him that had them heading for home. Holy fuck! Apparently he said that out loud, too, because the man’s lips twitched in amusement before his face returned to its impassive mask.
“Why don’t you join us.” It wasn’t a question.
Micah swallowed hard and then scrambled to his feet, using the window sill to pull himself up. The thug grabbed the lapel of his jacket and hauled him around the house to the back door, yanking Micah to his feet when he tripped over a paving slab. “Hey!” he complained, receiving an elbow to the midriff from his assailant.
“Shut up,” the man ground out. “Or you’ll be tasting your spleen.”
Micah snapped his lips shut on his retort and concentrated on not falling arse over tit as the man dragged him along. When they reached the back door, the man pushed it open and shoved Micah into the house. Once the door shut behind him, the thug loosened his grip on Micah’s collar and pushed him through the kitchen, down the hall and into the living-room, where he sprawled face down onto the carpet at Harry’s feet.
“Micah!” Harry flew off his chair and helped Micah to his feet, pulling him close. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt?”
“Never mind me,” Micah countered, aghast. “What the fuck is going on here?” He cupped Harry’s face between his hands, studying his face, blood boiling at the black eye and bruised jaw Harry sported. “Jesus, Harry.” Micah smoothed his thumb gently over Harry’s cracked lip. An anger unlike any he’d ever felt swept through him like a tidal wave and he turned on two thugs, his fists clenched at his sides. “Who touched him? Which one of you put your hands on him? Tell me, ‘cause I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“Sit down.” The man who’d dragged him in from the garden shoved him hard, his meaty fist thumping into Micah’s chest.
Micah fell backwards into the armchair, grunting as the air was pushed from his lungs. His stomach tightened at the grimace of pain on Harry’s face as thug number two’s fingers bit into Harry’s shoulder and forced him back into the office chair. This wasn’t real, was it? Surely he was asleep in his bed across the road and this was all a dream? An extremely vivid, weird-arsed dream.
“This must be the infamous Micah I’ve heard so much about. I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Micah snapped as he turned his head to glare at the man responsible for so much pain. “What do you want? I’ve called the police, they’ll be here in a few minu
tes.”
“So much bravado for one so… unimpressive.” Boyd’s gaze travelled the length of Micah’s body, weighing, measuring and obviously finding him wanting. “What a shame it’s just that—bravado.”
Micah ignored his condescending tone and turned his attention to Selena. She looked flushed, her cheeks stained with red and the deep intensity of concentration in her eyes. Oh fuck! “Selena?” he asked softly. “Are you okay?” Her gaze flew to his and she nodded stiffly.
“She’s perfectly fine,” Boyd ground out, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “How nice of you to be so concerned about my family’s welfare.”
“Father, plea—”
“Did I ask you to speak?” Boyd’s eyes burned through Harry and Micah ached in the knowledge that that look had been turned upon Harry all his life. No wonder they’d run. “No, I didn’t think so.” He zeroed in on Micah once again. “In answer to your question, Mr Lewis. Isn’t it obvious? I want what I’ve always wanted. I want my family.”
“They’re not your family,” Micah spat, his stomach tied in knots. “They’re mine! And if you want them, you’ll have to go through me.” He glanced at Harry, who looked scared for him and proud of him all at the same time. Micah smiled what he hoped was reassuringly at him. “I won’t let him take you from me again.”
“How touching,” Boyd drawled, raising an eyebrow. “And exactly how do you plan to stop me?”
Micah caught a movement outside the window and he blinked in disbelief. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He smiled slowly. “Not me, Mr Boyd—them!”
Chapter 10
There was a huge bang from the hall as the front door to Lilac Cottage was forced open, and half the village rushed into the tiny living-room, led by his mother carrying a frying pan and Doris Abernathay wielding her pricing gun.
“What the hell?” That was from thug number two when he was whacked unceremoniously around the head by Jenny and then tackled to the ground by Maggie and the new chef from the pub.
Thug number one found himself held in a headlock by Mr Maxwell and Gary while Sarah held his own gun on him. He obviously received the ‘make my day’ expression on her face loud and clear, because he shrank against the wall and lifted his hands in submission.
As for Harold Boyd III, Micah dealt with him personally. One swift punch floored the bully, leaving him out cold at his wife’s feet. If he saw Selena kick out at the prone figure of her abusive husband, Micah certainly wasn’t going to mention it. In fact he had to bite back the urge to tell her to do it again.
The flash of blue lights from outside as several police cars pulled up, lit the room, and Micah let out the breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. Relief that it was over flooded through him. He turned and pushed his way through his friends and neighbours to pull Harry into his arms. Arms that didn’t intend to ever let him go.
“Are you okay?” Micah studied Harry’s face, the bruising purple and stark against his skin. “Bastards,” Micah hissed. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He turned as if to carry out his threat, but Harry stopped him and wrapped him in his arms.
“I’m alright, babe,” Harry whispered into Micah’s hair. “I’m alright.”
Micah sank into Harry’s embrace, his knees buckling as he breathed in Harry’s scent. The relief that he was safe overwhelming. He held him tightly for a few moments and then Harry took a step back and gazed around the room.
“What?” Harry’s tone was incredulous as he stared at the villagers and now policeman in his living-room. He looked down at Micah, shook his head and repeated, “What?”
Micah grinned from ear to ear. “I have no idea,” he replied, looking for and finding his mother. “But I bet she does.” He almost winced in sympathy when his mother aimed another kick at the shin of the now handcuffed thug number two as the policeman led him out of the room. She rushed across to them and threw her arms around them both.
“Thank God you’re both okay,” she gushed, showering their faces with kisses. “When I saw you creeping across the road and then that maniac grab you, I was beside myself. I called the police then got going on the grapevine. I said we had an emergency and they all came running.”
Micah hugged her to him. “I knew all that curtain twitching would come in handy one day.”
“Micah! Put the boy down, we’ve got another emergency!” Doris shouted.
Micah disentangled himself from Jenny’s grip and rushed to the sofa where Doris was holding a red-faced Selena’s hand. Crap! He dropped to his knees beside the sofa and flashed Selena what he hoped was a reassuringly confident smile.
“How’re you doing?” Micah asked, feeling for her pulse. It was raised but no more than he would expect.
“I’ve been better,” Selena replied, worrying at her bottom lip.
“Any idea how far apart they are?” Micah was desperately hoping she was going to say five or ten minutes, but as she had only been in labour for forty-five minutes with Harry, he knew he was being extremely hopeful.
Selena shook her head. “Not sure,” she said through gritted teeth. “There doesn’t seem to be a break between them and I really want to push.”
“Micah?”
Micah looked up at Harry and composed himself. “Babe, it looks like your brother or sister wants to join the party.”
“Shit! What do we do?” Harry said anxiously. “I’ll get the car.”
“We don’t have time for that.” Micah reached out and grabbed his forearm. “Okay, Harry, help me get her into the bedroom. Mum, you and Doris boil some water and find all the towels you can. Sarah, phone an ambulance and the rest of you…” He paused, scrabbling for something to say. “Start pacing.”
Between them, Micah and Harry lifted Selena in their arms and carried her as gently as they could to her bedroom. Another time Micah would’ve stopped to study the decor, noting that the room was elegant and understated, pretty much like the lady herself—but not today. Today he had more pressing business to attend to than Selena’s taste in soft furnishings. Sarah had followed them in and she quickly stripped the duvet off the bed so they could set Selena down on the crisp white sheet.
Micah squeezed Selena’s hand as she settled against the pillows and another contraction hit. He smiled, but behind it he calculated how much time he had to play with. His meagre mathematic skills indicated battle stations was pretty much five minutes ago. “Selena,” he said softly. “I need to examine you to see how far along you are, is that okay?” She nodded swiftly, breathing deeply through her nose and blowing it out through pursed lips. He looked up at Harry. “I need some lube.” Micah shook his head in frustration as Harry’s eyes widened and he stared pointedly at his mother. “For God’s sake, Hal,” Micah urged. “She knows you whack off. You can be embarrassed later.”
Micah turned back to Selena and rolled his eyes as Harry ran from the room to get the asked for lube. She managed a brief smile in response and then her eyes fluttered shut as another contraction hit almost immediately the previous one ended. “Today, Hal!” he yelled, and caught the lube Harry tossed him as he sprinted back into the room. Micah quickly popped the lid on the tube and squeezed a generous dollop onto his fingers. He examined Selena as gently as he could, although he knew any interference at this stage was going to be uncomfortable no matter how hard he tried to make it otherwise.
She was ten centimetres dilated, the cervix was completely thinned out and he could feel the baby’s head. The ambulance wasn’t going to get here on time. Of course, it wasn’t his first home birth, but it was his first without proper medical equipment and definitely his first with most of the village in the other room. Apart from that it was another day at the office. He slowly removed his fingers from Selena and grabbed the towel Sarah threw at him to wipe his hands.
Micah plastered what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. “Selena, you are gonna love me right now, ‘cause it’s time to push.”
“Oh, thank God,” Selena said gratefull
y.
Micah glanced over his shoulder at Harry. “Harry, have you got any dust sheets, anything like that? It’s going to get very messy, very quickly.” While Harry did as he was bid, Micah and Sarah helped Selena into a more comfortable position. Which for her appeared to be on all fours. Micah coaxed her down towards the end of the bed so he could kneel at the foot of it. “Mum!” he yelled. “I need those towels—and some scissors. Soak ‘em in boiling water!” He searched his mind frantically for anything else he would need. “And a bag tie or clip of some sort. Stick that in the water, too!”
Jenny rushed into the room, her arms laden with towels, Doris hot on her heels with a bowl of steaming water. Harry quickly followed with the dust sheets, which he draped around his mother and over the sheets. After positioning himself between Selena’s knees, Micah put his hand reassuringly on her thigh. “Okay, honey,” he said softly. “Everything’s ready. Now it’s up to you.”
“I can’t do it,” Selena groaned. “I’m too old for this shit!”
His gaze met Harry’s, who had perched beside his mother while he stroked her hair from her sweat-dampened face. If Micah didn’t already think the man was practically perfect in every way, he would have shot straight to the top of the Mary Poppins list as he watched Harry kiss his mother’s temple and then heard him whisper firmly, “Yes you can. You’re the strongest person I know, Mum. You can do this.”
“Stay with me, Harry,” Selena mumbled, grasping for her son’s hand.
“Always.” Harry gripped her fingers and nodded at Micah.
Micah smiled and focused on Selena. “I can already see the baby’s head, Selena. A couple of good pushes and it’ll be all over.” Selena began to breathe deeply and Micah reached between her legs to press his palm to her belly. It hardened rapidly as the contraction swept through her. “Okay, honey. Push,” he instructed. “Let’s meet this baby.”