A heffalump? Good grief! Jane hadn’t heard an elephant called that since…since the murmured stories she had listened to on her gran’s lap.
Sudden tears came from nowhere again and stung the backs of her eyes. She struggled to contain them, ignoring the photograph she had knocked over with the duster.
‘I’m going outside,’ she announced. ‘There’s just a bit of daylight left and I should see what needs doing in the garden.’
Dylan propped himself up on one elbow. ‘I could do that,’ he offered.
‘You’re busy.’
‘I didn’t mean right now. I meant…while I’m here. I’ll have plenty of time.’
How long was ‘plenty’? Jane wondered. How long was he planning to be here? Long enough for her to get used to having him around? To want him to stay around?
She shook her head. ‘It’s a huge job. It’s so overgrown out there, I can’t even see the gazebo that’s down past the fruit trees. I need to get someone in to deal with the heavy stuff.’
‘You don’t have the tools? Clippers and a spade and suchlike?’
‘I have tools. There’s a shed. But—’
‘But nothing.’ Dylan sat up and then rose with a remarkably fluid motion for such a large man. He stepped towards Jane and he was frowning.
‘I came here to let you meet your daughter,’ he said without preamble. ‘I’m not about to introduce you and then whisk her away. We all need time and you’ve given us a perfect place for that. I don’t suppose you were planning to ask me for rent for this accommodation?’
‘Of course not!’ The idea was somehow insulting.
‘There you go, then. I don’t take handouts.’ His pride was obvious in the way he held his head and the challenging look she was being given. ‘I’ll pay my way,’ he continued. ‘I can fix things like that window upstairs. And the gate. And I can tidy the garden. It would be my pleasure,’ he added, his tone softening. ‘A privilege, even.’
His eyes were so dark it should have been hard to read his expression but Jane could see sincerity there. And…a plea? Was he asking to be useful? More a part of her life? To feel like he belonged?
Dangerous.
But…practical, for heaven’s sake. She was reading too much into this. Reacting oddly. He needed a place to stay. She needed the garden tidied. It was an arrangement that would obviously suit them both. Especially her.
Having Dylan and Sophie here put them completely outside the sphere of Jane’s everyday life. A life she fully intended to return to tomorrow. It would give her all the time she needed to get her head around the situation and find a solution.
‘Sounds fair,’ she finally said slowly. ‘If you’re sure you want to.’
‘I want to.’
‘If you change your mind, it won’t matter. I can always get someone in to finish the job.’
She couldn’t look away from him. She needed to get outside and find some new air.
‘I never leave a job half-done,’ Dylan said quietly. ‘I’ll be here for as long as it takes, Jane.’
There was nothing more to be said. All Jane could do was nod and turn back to her task. She picked up the photograph that had been knocked over. Was it coincidence that it was the one Dylan had taken into the kitchen earlier? Jane stared at the baby in the picture. At her nose.
Her hand seemed to move of its own accord. Reaching up so that she could touch her own grown-up nose. To feel the dimple she’d always disliked.
She wasn’t about to stare at the real baby in the room and make comparisons to the photograph, however. Jane’s step did not falter as she headed back to the kitchen to make a shopping list of what they’d need for dinner.
She didn’t want to find a similarity. A connection.
She simply couldn’t afford to.
CHAPTER SIX
DARKNESS closed around the little cottage, cutting off the rest of the world and making the atmosphere inside a lot more…intimate.
Jane cleared away after their dinner while Dylan found everything he needed for Sophie’s bath. The meal they had just shared had impressed them both. A local French restaurant had provided a superb beef bourguignon and scalloped potatoes. Jane had made a fresh garden salad and added newly baked ciabatta bread from the Italian bakery. The prize-winning Merlot she had chosen to accompany the meal had been the perfect finishing touch.
Or had that been the candles she had impulsively placed on the table?
Whatever. The rich food and wine and the candlelight making Gran’s precious old silver and crystal sparkle, along with the warmth from the fire now glowing in the living room’s open fireplace and some of her favourite music playing softly in the background had made it the most enjoyable meal Jane could remember having in ages.
Ever, even.
Dylan had been amazed by the music.
‘Vinyl!’ he had exclaimed. ‘Nobody still has a record player. This place really is magic. I’m in a time warp!’
‘Gran loved music,’ Jane had said defensively. ‘She bought the best stereo she could find at the time and it still works perfectly well. I’ve never felt the need to update the technology here.’
Dylan had sifted through the pile. ‘Treasure.’ He’d grinned. ‘I’ve found Simon and Garfunkel. Cat Stevens. Good Lord—The Seekers?’
‘Hey! There’s nothing wrong with The Seekers. It’s great music.’
Dylan had been smiling as he’d placed the vinyl disc on the turntable and lowered the needle mechanism. Then he’d looked up and something in that smile had made Jane’s throat feel curiously tight.
He knew every one of those songs, she discovered as Sophie slept in her cane bassinette beside the table and they discussed music as they ate. He had learned to play his guitar with those songs and they were part of his soul. Pure joy.
When talk turned to books, they had read and loved the same authors and when the conversation included movies, it was obvious how similar all their tastes were. Jane began to feel spooked.
She was trying to analyse her reaction as she washed and dried the dishes. How could someone like Dylan seem so compatible when he was so unlike any man she had ever been interested in?
Never mind that relationships in the past had always ended on a faintly sour note. Jane was still very clear about her tick list. He had to be a professional man. At least her equal in the medical hierarchy. Dylan wasn’t even on the bottom rung of the same ladder.
It had to be someone who could understand and share her passion for her career. Dylan was a free spirit. He could pick up his job wherever he happened to be and then move on to new ground. You couldn’t progress in your career that way.
Her ideal man also had a sharp wit and the intelligence to provide stimulating conversation about things that mattered. She and Dylan hadn’t discussed anything that could be considered important during their meal. Not a word about medicine or politics or even current affairs. They had talked about entertainment, for heaven’s sake. Personal preferences in the frivolous world of fiction and music.
So why on earth had she enjoyed it so much? Why was she left with this echo of animated conversation and laughter that was so pleasant it made her yearn for more of the same?
Weird.
Jane slotted the last plate onto the rack on the hutch dresser and turned to snuff out the candles. She took the last of her glass of wine with her when she went to put another log on the fire and change the record. Because it was a Saturday night and she didn’t have to work tomorrow or even drive until later in the day, Jane decided to refill her glass when it was empty. When she returned to the kitchen to find the bottle, she saw that Dylan had placed the plastic baby bath on a towel on the old table and was filling it with jugs of warm water from the tap over the sink.
Somehow, she ended up staying in there. Leaning against the bench, sipping her wine and watching him bath Sophie.
His feet were bare beneath the jeans he was wearing and his T-shirt left his arms bare. Well-muscled arms with a cov
ering of fine dark hair and those large hands with long fingers seemed absolutely enormous with a tiny naked baby beneath them.
The strength in those muscles was obvious. Jane could so easily imagine them outside, in her overgrown garden, bulging and twisting as Dylan broke through heavy earth by swinging a pickaxe or pulled up an unwanted shrub or self-sown tree by its roots.Yet here they were, holding that small, fragile body afloat in deep, warm water. Smoothing shampoo onto the fuzzy scalp and then rinsing it clean by scooping palms full of water to cup the baby’s head.
It was mesmerising to watch the movements. His touch. Sophie seemed to find it equally enthralling. She lay quite still in the water, with just the occasional kick of her legs or wave of her arms. Was she watching the way his hair curled around his face as he bent over her? The movement of his lips as he talked reassuring nonsense? Maybe Dylan’s smile had the same effect on Sophie as it seemed to have on her. Making her feel special.
Loved.
Jane swallowed. Hard. She picked up her wine and went back to the living room to curl up on one end of the battered leather couch in front of the fire. To listen to the music instead of the soft rumble of Dylan’s voice. To get away from whatever it was that was pulling her somewhere she really didn’t want to go.
‘Time for bed, lassie.’
Dylan rose from the kitchen chair where he had given Sophie her last bottle of formula for the day. She had obligingly expelled any air in her tummy and she would, hopefully, settle soon in the bassinette he had put upstairs in his bedroom. Maybe tonight she would even sleep through until dawn.
He adjusted the sweet-smelling bundle so that the baby’s head nestled against his chest just below his collarbone, and he began to walk, humming along with the folk music playing softly from that astonishing old record player.
The kitchen was quite small and Dylan’s monotonous circuit drew him a little further into the living area each time he passed the archway. Jane was sitting in there, on the couch by the fire, with her legs tucked up. She held her glass of wine and seemed to be staring dreamily at the flames licking a fresh log of wood.
His humming took on a satisfied note. He’d made the right choice, he applauded himself, in not pushing Jane to get involved with the care of wee Sophie today. For now, it was enough that they were all together. That Jane seemed to be accepting the presence of the new arrival in her life. She actually looked happy at the moment. At least, far more relaxed than he had seen her so far.
Totally relaxed, he decided, on his next circuit. At peace.
Utterly unlike the dynamic woman he’d met in that emergency department only yesterday.
It wasn’t just the way she was sitting—like a young girl instead of an eminent consultant. He’d seen a totally new side to Jane tonight. Who would have thought they could have so much in common? That they both got so much pleasure from the same kind of books and music, food and wine?
Dr Jekyll and Miss Hyde.
Dylan felt his lips twitch into a half-smile. That might be going a bit far, but he did seem to be discovering two very different people here, and one of them had distinct possibilities when it came to being Sophie’s mother.
But which one was the real Jane Walters?
Sophie was finally limp in his arms. A boneless little bundle with her head the heaviest part and one arm extended sideways so it hung in the air. He carried her carefully upstairs and tucked her into the bassinette. Unaware of the faintly determined frown creasing his forehead, Dylan then made his way to the kitchen to get himself another glass of wine before joining Jane on that comfortable-looking couch.
‘Is she asleep, then?’
‘Aye.’ The tone of relief in Jane’s voice was annoying, with its inference that the problem was now out of sight and could therefore be put out of mind. He had to remind himself that there seemed to be a better side to this woman. One that might need coaxing to show itself enough for him to be able to test its trustworthiness.
‘This is nice,’ he said, settling back and stretching his legs towards the fire.
‘Mmm.’
‘Everything about this place is wonderful,’ Dylan continued. He flicked a smile in Jane’s direction. ‘So different from…’
She pounced on his hesitation. ‘From my apartment, you mean?’
Dylan’s heart sank at the sharp edge to her words. But what was the point of any of this if he was going to be less than honest?
‘Yes,’ he said simply.
Jane was silent for a long moment. Then she gave a slow nod. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It is.’
‘You love it, though, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Dylan was encouraged. ‘It’s a real home.’
Jane’s glance was unreadable. As level as her tone. ‘It used to be.’
‘Did you ever live here?’
‘Only on holidays.’
‘That’s right. You said you had a nanny. And went to boarding school.’ Such a different upbringing from his own. It was hard to think there might have been any positive aspects to it. ‘How old were you when you started boarding school?’
‘Five.’
Dylan’s shock must have shown on his face.
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Jane said calmly. ‘I got the best education and a holiday with Gran was always something to look forward to. I loved coming here.’
‘How often do you come now?’
‘Not often.’ Jane gave a soft sigh. ‘Too often, maybe.’
She was staring at the fire again. Dylan was staring at her.
‘That’s a strange thing to say,’ he said eventually. ‘Why wouldn’t you want to spend as much time as you could in a place you love so much?’
Jane caught her lower lip between her teeth, clearly indecisive. She looked up to find Dylan watching her intently, and for a heartbeat, and then two and three, she seemed to reach into him. He kept the eye contact but stayed very, very still.
It was like coming across a frightened deer in a forest, he thought. He had to stay very still otherwise she would turn and flee, and he wanted her to stay so he could watch a little longer.
Whatever she was searching for in his gaze she seemed to find, because she spoke again. In a quiet voice.
A very soft voice.
‘As you said yourself, Dylan, it’s very different here. It doesn’t fit with what I do. Who I am.’
He could taste his disappointment. Like a bitter aftertaste from the wine. The real Jane wasn’t the one he would choose as Sophie’s mother, then. Or was it?
‘Are you sure?’ he asked carefully. ‘You’re certainly a different person here, Jane, but I’ve learned to trust my instincts and they’re trying to tell me that the woman you are here is the real you.’
He could hope, couldn’t he?
But Jane shook her head. ‘I admit that it’s part of me. Everyone needs to be able to relax and let their hair down once in a while.’ She gave a huff of laughter and raked her fingers through the honey-coloured waves that caught tiny flickers of firelight and gleamed as she pushed it back.
Something deep inside Dylan tied itself into a knot as he watched.
She was beautiful. Remote but very lovely.
‘I’m content here,’ Jane went on, so quietly she might have been talking to herself. ‘And contentment is like chocolate. It’s not bad for you as long as you don’t have too much at a time.’
Dylan hadn’t taken his eyes off her. ‘You ration happiness?’
Jane seemed startled by his astonishment. ‘Too much makes you fat and lazy,’ she told him firmly. ‘And why do you equate contentment with happiness? Why not achievement? Success? Being the best you can be at what you choose to do with your life?’
Dylan was frowning again. He could feel his forehead creasing as he thought about her words. The tone she had used. Was Jane an ‘all or nothing’ type of person? How could he ever persuade her that Sophie could be a part of her life if that was the case?
‘How much time did y
ou get with your parents?’ he asked curiously. ‘I’ve heard about boarding school and the nanny and your folks not being there at prizegivings and sports days or even birthday parties. How often did they spend time with you?’
‘Not often enough.’ He could hear the tension behind those words. See it in the furrow that appeared between her eyes. ‘And when they did, something would interrupt it. I learned to wait for whatever was more important to show up, and it always did. A phone call. A hospital visit. An overseas trip.’
Dylan held her gaze. He could see an echo of the child Jane had been in her eyes. A lonely child who had learned to distrust contentment. To believe it was only to be trusted if you could control the dose. To ration it.
How incredibly sad.
He wanted to take the adult Jane into his arms in order to comfort that hidden child.
Her next words, however, dispelled that urge.
‘That’s why I’m not going to try and be any kind of a parent for Sophie,’ Jane said. ‘I made my choice a long time ago and I chose a career.’
The silence hung heavily between them.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jane said into the silence.
She didn’t sound sorry.
‘I feel bad that I’m not in a position to take responsibility for Sophie but that’s just the way it is.’
Her voice had lost that softness. Dylan could imagine her speaking exactly like this to one of her junior staff members.
I’m sorry you’re having to work late but this patient needs to go back to Theatre. That’s just the way it is.
Dylan said nothing. He didn’t trust that his disappointment wouldn’t morph into anger.
‘I’ll help financially, of course,’ Jane continued brightly. ‘There’s absolutely no problem there. You won’t need to work.’
That did it.
‘Maybe I want to work,’ Dylan snapped. ‘Maybe my job is as important to me as yours is to you.’
She hadn’t expected that. Her jaw sagged.
‘Surprising, isn’t it?’ Dylan didn’t bother to disguise his contempt. ‘I’m just a nurse and I have the nerve to think my job is as important as yours.’
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