With Will as her baby’s father, she was confident of success.
She could be a mother. At last.
She forced a smile and willed herself to speak calmly. ‘So, what have you decided?’
CHAPTER SIX
WILL’S eyes were almost silver in the outdoor light, so beautiful they stole Lucy’s breath. ‘I’d like to go ahead,’ he said. ‘I think you should try for a baby.’
‘Wow.’
‘So, are you keen too?’
‘I am, yes.’
He smiled. ‘Why don’t we go for a walk?’ He nodded towards the dark line of trees at the far end of a long, shimmering paddock of grain.
‘Down by the creek again?’ she asked, smiling.
‘Why not?’
Why not, indeed? It had always been their place.
As Lucy walked beside Will, they chatted about her busy week and she tried to stay calm, to take in the special beauty of the late afternoon.
Cicadas were humming in the grass and the sinking sun cast a pretty bronzed glow over the wheat fields.
She tried to take in the details—the tracks that ants had made in an old weathered fence post, the angle of the shadows that stretched like velvet ribbons across the paddocks.
She really needed to stay calm.
It was ridiculous to be so churned up just talking to Will, but now that they’d agreed to go ahead with this baby plan they had to discuss the more delicate details, like the method of conception.
How exactly did a girl tell a truly gorgeous man she’d fancied for years that she’d carefully weighed up the pros and cons and had decided, on balance, to have sex with him?
As they neared the creek she saw two wedge-tailed eagles hovering over a stick nest that they’d woven in the fork of a dead tree.
‘I hope they don’t plan to dine on our lambs,’ Will said, watching them.
She might have replied, but they’d reached the shelter of the trees and her stomach was playing leapfrog with her heart.
It was so quiet down here. Too quiet. This part of the creek formed a still and silent pool and now, in the late afternoon, the birds had stopped calling and twittering. It seemed as if the whole world had stopped and was waiting to listen in to Lucy and Will’s conversation.
‘We need rain,’ Will said as they came to a halt on the creek bank. ‘The water level’s dropping.’
Rain? How could he talk about rain? ‘Now you’re talking like a farmer.’
He pulled a comical face. ‘Heaven forbid.’
Lucy drew a tense breath. ‘Will, about the fine-tuning—’
‘Lucy, I think you’re probably right—’
They had both started talking at the same moment and now they stopped. Their gazes met and they laughed self-consciously.
‘You first,’ Will said.
‘No, you tell me what you were going to say. What am I right about?’
‘IVF. I know it’s what you’d prefer and I think we should go that route.’
‘Really?’
Oh, heavens. She hadn’t sounded disappointed, had she?
Will’s blue shirt strained at the shoulder seams as he shrugged. ‘I can understand that it makes total sense to you and I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary.’
Lucy gulped as she took this in.
He watched her with a puzzled smile. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Oh, I…I am. Yes, I’m really happy.’ In truth, she couldn’t believe the piercing sense of anticlimax she felt. ‘I’m just surprised,’ she said, working hard to cover her ridiculous disappointment. ‘I spent the whole week worrying that you were going to back out altogether.’
Dropping her gaze to the ground, she hooked her thumbs into the back pockets of her jeans and kicked at a loose stone.
‘So what were you going to say about the fine-tuning?’ Will asked.
Lucy’s face flamed. Now that Will had agreed to IVF, there was no point in telling him her decision. He’d never fancied her in that way, so it would be a huge challenge to become intimate.
‘Lucy?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’
‘Why not?’ Will swallowed abruptly and his eyes burned her.
‘Honestly, Will, it’s really great that you’d like to help with IVF. I’m very grateful. I couldn’t be more pleased.’
His grey eyes were searching her, studying her. Suddenly they narrowed thoughtfully and then widened with surprise. ‘Don’t tell me you’d come around to…to the other option?’
‘No, no. If you want to use IVF, that’s good,’ she said.
‘I didn’t exactly say it’s what I want.’ A nervous smile flickered in his face, then vanished. ‘I was trying to look at this from your point of view. I thought it’s what you’d prefer.’
‘Thanks, Will. I appreciate that.’ Lucy bit her lip to stop herself from saying more.
He stood very still, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, and she knew he was watching her while she continued to avoid his gaze.
‘Or are you actually worried about IVF?’ he asked cautiously. ‘I know it didn’t work for you last time.’
Lucy drew a sharp breath, and let it out slowly. Without meeting his gaze, she said, ‘I can’t say I’m in love with the idea of going through all those clinical procedures again.’
‘The alternative is much simpler.’
‘In some ways.’ She knew her face must be turning bright pink.
To her surprise, Will looked as worried as she felt. He pointed to a smooth shelf of shady rock hanging over the water. ‘Look, why don’t we sit down for a bit?’
‘Very well,’ she agreed rather primly.
Despite the shade from overhead trees, the rock still held some of the day’s warmth and they sat with their feet dangling over the edge, looking down into the green, still water. They’d sat like this many times, years ago, when they were school friends.
How innocent those days seemed now.
A childish chant from Lucy’s schooldays taunted her. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lucy with a baby carriage.
Now she and Will were putting an entirely new spin on that old refrain.
She picked up a fallen leaf and rolled it against her thigh, making a little green cylinder. ‘Are we mad, Will? Is it crazy for us to be trying for a baby without love or marriage?’
She sensed a sudden vibrating tension in him, saw his Adam’s apple slide up and down in his throat. He picked up a small stone and lobbed it into the water. ‘I don’t think it’s a crazy idea. Not if you’re quite sure it’s what you want.’
She let the leaf uncurl. ‘I definitely want to have a baby, and I really like the idea of having you as the father.’ She rolled the leaf again into a tight little cylinder.
‘But sex is a problem,’ Will suggested and his voice was rough and gravelly, so that the statement fell between them like the stone he’d dropped in the water.
‘It could be.’ Lucy concentrated on the leaf in her hand.
‘I know I’m not Josh,’ Will said quietly.
Her head jerked up. With a stab of guilt, she realised she hadn’t been thinking about Josh at all. Poor Will. Did he think he had to live up to some romantic ideal set by his brother?
If only he knew the truth.
But if she told him how she really felt about him, he might be more worried than ever.
No, this rather unconventional baby plan would actually work best if they approached it as friends.
Lucy looked down at Will’s hand as it rested against the rock. It was a strong workmanlike hand, with fine sun-bleached hairs on the back. She placed her hand on top of his. ‘I don’t want you to be like Josh,’ she said.
His throat worked.
‘But this might be too hard,’ she said. ‘Friends don’t usually jump into bed together.’
‘But they might,’ he said gently, ‘if it was a means to an end. The best means to a good end.’
She sucked in a breath, look
ed up at the sky.
The best means to a good end.
A baby.
‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ she said, already picturing the sweet little baby in her arms. Oh, heavens, she could almost feel the warm weight of it, feel its head nestled in the crook of her arm, see its tiny hands. Would they be shaped like Will’s?
‘So what do you think?’ he asked.
Lucy nodded thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. It’s a means to an end.’ After a bit, she said, ‘It would probably be best if we took a strictly medical approach.’
Will frowned. ‘Medical?’
‘I can get ovulation predictors.’ She was gaining confidence now. ‘I’ll need to let you know exactly when I’m ovulating.’
His eyes widened in surprise.
‘You do know there are only a very few days each month when a woman is fertile, don’t you?’
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he said, recovering quickly. He sent her a puzzled smile. ‘So what happens when it’s all systems go? Will you send me a text message?’ His smile deepened. ‘Or fly a green flag above your door?’
Lucy saw his smile and she felt a massive chunk of tension flow out of her. To her surprise, she found herself smiling too. ‘Oh, why don’t I just go the whole hog and place a notice in the Post Office window?’
Now Will was chuckling. ‘Better still, you could take out a full page ad in the Willowbank Chronicle.’
Suddenly, it was just like old times. Laughter had always been a hallmark of their friendship.
‘What about hiring Frank Pope, the crop duster?’ Lucy suggested. ‘He’s a dab hand at sky-writing. Can’t you just see it written in the sky? Will Carruthers, tonight’s the night.’
Laughing with her, Will scratched at his jaw. ‘That’s a bit too personal. What about a subtle message in code?’
‘All right…let me see…something like…the hen is broody?’
‘In your case it would have to be the Goose.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Oh, yes. A broody goose.’
She collapsed back onto the rock, laughing.
Their conversation was ridiculous, but it was so therapeutic to be able to joke about such a scary subject.
Her anxiety was still there, just under the surface, but she felt much better as she lay on the warm rock, still chuckling as she looked up at the sky through a lacework of green branches.
She and Will would have to stay relaxed if this plan was to have any chance of working. Perhaps everything would be all right if they could both keep their sense of humour.
Will’s mobile phone rang a week later, when he was sitting at the breakfast table with his parents. Quickly, he checked the caller ID, saw Lucy’s name and felt a jolting thud in the centre of his chest.
‘Excuse me,’ he mumbled, standing quickly. ‘I’ll take this outside.’
His heart thumped harder than a jackhammer as he went out onto the back porch, letting the flyscreen door swing shut behind him.
‘Good morning.’ His voice was as rough as sandpaper.
‘Will, it’s Lucy.’
‘Hi. How are you?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
There was an awkward pause—a stilted silence broken only by a kookaburra’s laughter and the whistle from the kettle in the kitchen as it came to the boil. Will’s heartbeats drummed in his ears.
Lucy said, ‘I was wondering if you were free to come to dinner tonight.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes, would that be OK?’
Will was shaking, which was crazy. This entire past week had been crazy. He’d been on tenterhooks the whole time, waiting for Lucy’s call. He’d actually lent a hand with drenching the sheep, much to his father’s amazement. He’d enjoyed the work, even though he’d originally made the offer simply to keep himself busy, to take his mind off Lucy.
‘Sure,’ he said now, walking further from the house, out of his parents’ earshot. ‘Dinner would be great. I’ll bring a bottle of wine. What would you prefer? White or red?’
‘Well, I’m making lasagne, so perhaps red?’
‘Lasagne? Wow.’ As far as he could remember, cooking had never been Lucy’s forte. Perhaps she’d taken a course? ‘Red it is, then.’
‘See you around seven?’
‘I’ll be there.’ And then, because he couldn’t help it, ‘Goose?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is this—?’
‘Yes,’ she said quickly before he could find the right words.
Will swallowed. ‘OK, then. See you at seven.’
He strolled back into the kitchen, body on fire, affecting a nonchalance he was far from feeling.
‘I won’t be home for dinner this evening,’ he told his parents.
His mother smiled. ‘So you’re going out? That’s nice, dear. It’s good to see you catching up with your old friends.’ She was always happy when she thought he was seeing someone. She’d never given up hope of more grandchildren.
Will’s father looked more puzzled than pleased. This was the longest stretch his son had spent at home since he’d left all those years ago. Will knew they were both surprised, and expecting that he would take off again at a moment’s notice.
But Gina and Tom’s babies were to be christened as soon as Mattie and Jake returned from their honeymoon, so it was an excellent excuse for him to stay on.
As he tackled the remainder of his bacon and eggs he wondered what his parents would think if they knew he planned to help Lucy McKenty to become pregnant before he headed away again.
Half an hour before Will’s expected arrival, Lucy’s kitchen looked like a crime site, splattered from end to end with tomato purée and spilt milk, eggshells and flour.
She wanted everything to be so perfect for tonight and she’d actually had a brand-new whizz-bang stove installed. She’d even taken a whole afternoon off work to get this dinner ready for Will.
So far, however, the only part of the meal that looked edible was the pineapple poached in rum syrup, which was precisely one half of the dessert.
How on earth had she thought she could manage stewed fruit and a baked custard as well as lasagne? She’d never been much of a cook and these dishes were so fiddly.
But now—thank heavens—everything was finally in the oven, although she still had to clean up the unholy mess and have a shower and change her clothes and put on make-up and set the table. She’d meant to hunt in the garden for flowers for the table as well, but the dinner preparations had taken her far too long.
She was never going to be ready in time.
Guys never noticed flowers anyway.
In a hectic whirl she dashed about the kitchen, throwing rubbish into plastic bags, wiping bench tops and spills on the floor, hurling everything else pell-mell into the dishwasher to be stacked again properly later.
Later.
Oh, heavens, she mustn’t think about that.
The only good thing about being so frantically busy was that it had helped her not to dwell too deeply on the actual reason for this dinner. The merest thought of what was supposed to happen after the meal set off explosions inside her, making her feel like a string of firecrackers at Chinese New Year.
Hastily Lucy showered, slathering her skin with her favourite jasmine-scented gel and checking that her waxed legs were still silky and smooth.
Her hair was short so she simply towelled it dry, threw in a little styling product and let it do its own thing.
She put on a dress. She spent her working life in khaki jeans and she didn’t wear dresses very often, but this one was pretty—a green and white floral slip with shoestring straps and tiny frills around the low V neckline. It suited her. She felt good in it.
A couple of squirts of scent, a dab of lip gloss, a flourish with the mascara brush…
A truck rumbled to a growling halt outside.
Lucy froze.
Her reflection in the bedroom mirror blushed and her skin flashed hot and cold. Frenzied butterflies beat frantic wing
s in her stomach.
Firm footsteps sounded on the front path and her legs became distinctly wobbly. This was crazy.
It’s only Will, not Jack The Ripper.
Unfortunately, this thought wasn’t as calming as it should have been.
Concentrate on the meal. First things first. One step at a time.
It was no good. She was still shaking as she opened the door.
Will was dressed casually, in blue jeans and an open-necked white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow. Behind him, the twilight shadows were the deepest blue. He was smiling. He looked gorgeous—with the kind of masculine fabulousness that smacked a girl between the eyes.
‘Nice dress,’ he said, smiling his appreciation.
‘Thanks.’
With a pang Lucy allowed herself a rash moment of fantasy in which Will was her boyfriend and madly in love with her, planning to share a future with her and the baby they hoped to make.
Just as quickly she wiped the vision from her thoughts. Over the past ten years she’d had plenty of practice at erasing that particular dream.
Reality, her reality, was a convenient and practical parenting agreement. There was simply no point in hoping for more. She was incredibly grateful for Will’s offer. It was her best, quite possibly her only prospect for motherhood.
‘Something smells fantastic,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ Her voice was two levels above a whisper. ‘I hope it tastes OK. Come on in.’
She’d planned to eat in the kitchen, hoping that the room’s rustic simplicity and familiar cosiness would help her to stay calm.
Already, that plan had flown out of the window. She was almost sick with nerves.
‘Take any seat, Will.’ She gestured towards chairs gathered around the oval pine table. ‘You can open the wine if you like. I’d better check the dinner.’
She opened the oven door. Concentrate on the food.
Her heart sank.
No, no, no!
The baked custard, which was supposed to be smooth as silk, was speckled and lumpy. Like badly scrambled eggs.
The lasagne was worse.
How could this have happened?
The Bridesmaid's Baby Page 8