The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Poor old boy,’ said Trevor, Charlotte’s friend, who had driven two hours out of his way just for her, and was now helping her to get him in the stable. Hamish, tentatively at first, found himself joining in. ‘I’ll go and check on Fitz and unload the last of your boxes. You stay with Scottie. He’ll soon settle now he’s got you.’

  ‘Oh, I hope so.’ For once Charlotte actually looked upset, hugging Scottie’s neck and shushing him to calm down. ‘Maybe the journey was too much for him.’

  ‘Well, you couldn’t just leave him where he was,’ Trevor pointed out, rolling his eyes at Hamish as the two men walked out of the stable. He added, in a voice that wasn’t meant for Charlotte’s ears, ‘Thanks to her bloody mother.’

  Fitz was fine, his head peering out of the stable door, sniffing at the new air and nudging Trevor for a treat when he passed.

  ‘I’m sure Charlotte’s got plenty waiting for you!’ Trevor said.

  ‘Fancy a cuppa?’ Hamish offered as they dumped her boxes in the corner of the family room—and not only because it was the polite thing to do. He was rather hoping Trevor might elaborate on what he’d said earlier.

  ‘That’s be great—then I’d better head off.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ Hamish said. ‘Stay for some breakfast?’

  ‘Thanks anyway, but I’d really better make a move. I think the wife’s got a few jobs line up for me today.’

  ‘Whereabouts are you picking up the other horses from?’ Hamish watched as Trevor frowned then laughed.

  ‘Oh, that’s what I told Charlotte—she’ll be wanting to pay me otherwise. Always giving out favours, that one, but she doesn’t know how to take them herself.’

  ‘Sounds as if Charlotte’s taken a lot on…’ Hamish’s throat went dry as he fished a little further. ‘What with her mother leaving so quickly and everything.’

  ‘Josie?’ Trevor rolled his eyes—eggs and bacon clearly not required to get him talking! ‘Blooming minx!’ Hamish gave a noncommittal smile and spooned some sugar he didn’t take into his brew. ‘You know, since her marriage broke up it’s been one fancy man after another. Still, I was just saying to the wife that this one should keep her quiet for a while—given that he comes with all the trimmings.’ He registered Hamish’s frown. ‘You know, the fancy car, the boat…’ He tapped his fingers as he worked through the list. ‘You’d think they’d see through her; though…’ Trevor leant over the table ‘…and I would never say it to the missus, of course, but I can see how Josie wraps them around her little finger—I mean, she’s a good-looking woman, and always laughing and having fun. Not that she’d even look at old goat like me—unless she needed something!’

  ‘He seems to be settling.’ Trevor abruptly stopped talking as Charlotte came into the kitchen. ‘Thank you so much, Trevor, you’ve no idea how grateful I am for your help. Now, how much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Trevor said, shaking his head as she pulled out her purse. ‘I already told you I was coming down this way.’

  ‘You’ve been over every day, feeding them.’

  ‘It’s no big deal!’

  ‘Let me give you the petrol money at least,’ Charlotte insisted, but Trevor was having none of it, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘I was looking through the windows of your house when I picked up the boys—it looks as if there’s a lot of work to be done there before the new owners move in on Monday. Do you need a hand? I can come and help with some of the heavy stuff.’

  ‘Nope—it’s all under control. I’m off Thursday and Friday. I’ve got a charity shop coming first to take their pick of what’s left and I’ve rented the biggest skip in the world, and if I work like a maniac, by five o’clock Friday I’ll be handing the keys to the real-estate agent.’

  ‘What about cleaning the place?’

  ‘I’ve got it all under control—I’m hiring a cleaner for a few hours on the Friday.’

  ‘You’re not hiring anyone,’ Trevor scolded. ‘I’ll be there to help on Thursday and the wife will be there seven o’clock Friday morning to help with the cleaning—it’s all been arranged, so no arguments!’

  Scottie did seem to settle in quickly—it was Bailey who was fretful. Sensing the activity outside all morning, he grizzled to get out there, pointing his finger and dancing on the spot as Hamish refused to understand what it was he was asking to do. Even dancing along with him to his favourite video barely raised a smile.

  ‘What are you two doing, cooped up in here on such a glorious day?’ Her hair damp with sweat, her face muddied and dirty, Charlotte still pack a punch as she opened the fridge.

  ‘We’re fine,’ Hamish snapped. ‘Have you seen Bailey’s potty? I was going to give the toilet training another go.’

  ‘Why?’ Charlotte blinked.

  ‘Because that’s what you do at this age.’

  ‘What? Chase him around with a red potty? He thinks it’s a game, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Hamish groaned—exhausted from his attempts. ‘But I’ve got the mothers at crèche all on at me offering me advice—you heard that Lucy, telling me about some bloody potty that plays music when he goes. Maybe I should buy one.’

  ‘It would be cheaper to just say “good boy!”’ Charlotte mused, ‘but you know I really don’t think the mothers at crèche could actually give two hoots whether Bailey’s still in nappies or not.’

  ‘And Helen said…’ Hamish ignored her ‘…that she used to put table-tennis balls in the loo for target practice and her husband…’ His voice trailed off as Charlotte just stood, buttered knife in hand, poised over the roll, an incredulous expression on her face.

  ‘How bizarre!’ Charlotte finally said, then with a little shrug started buttering the rolls as she chatted. ‘Is there any reason it has to happen soon? I mean, have they suddenly found out he’s a genius and he’s going to be going to school next week and you don’t want him to be the only kid in the school in nappies…?’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Hamish said. ‘You’re not the one who has to chat to proud mums at crèche and find out their kids are already dry at night and sleeping through.’

  ‘Good for them!’ Charlotte shrugged. ‘I love getting up to Bailey at night—we have great fun, don’t we, darling?’ She blew Bailey a kiss, who blew one back, and then carried on chatting. ‘They’re flirting with you, Hamish.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘All those mums offering advice.’

  ‘So Helen’s flirting with me?’

  ‘Well, not Helen,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But I can assure you the others are. This Lucy—is she single?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Well, I bet she is—or she fancies a bit of afternoon delight!’

  ‘She was being nice,’ Hamish protested.

  ‘Nice people pop the potty in a plastic bag and leave it at the crèche with a little note with your name on the top, instead of…’ Hand on hip, Charlotte stuck out her chest and batted her eyelashes as she lowered her voice. ‘“If you want it, Hamish, why don’t you pop around get it?” And, oh, boy, would you get it.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘How about stripping off and going out for a picnic? I meant stripping off Bailey,’ Charlotte explained patiently to his rather stunned expression, ‘and bring him and the potty outside—you can give the poor carpet a break. I’ll make a nice picnic.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Hamish retorted as Bailey jumped up in glee.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Charlotte shrugged and after she’d gone Hamish sat with his face set, drumming his fingers loudly as Bailey grizzled to join his new friends, his little faced pressed against the glass door as Charlotte, the dog and the cat all headed off to the stables.

  ‘Dar-dot!’ he wailed, giving in and plonking his bottom on the floor and howling at the injustice of being left behind. ‘Want Maisy!’

  ‘How about some noodles?’ Hamish offered his favourite lunch, but a whole morning of being mollified had had little effect and Bailey just quadrupled
his efforts, knocking his noodles on the floor, screaming and kicking as Hamish lifted him over his shoulder and took him upstairs for a nap.

  ‘No!’ Hamish said firmly as Bailey tried to hurdle out of his cot, laying him back down for the umpteenth time then heading for the window to close the curtains and show Bailey that this time he meant business.

  Only he didn’t.

  Because, staring out of the window, seeing her lying on the grass, staring up at sky as her pets dozed beside her, Hamish wanted to be out there, too. Wanted to be out enjoying the glorious afternoon instead of shut up inside, trying to pretend to Bailey that the stables didn’t exist—not full ones anyway.

  ‘Come on, mate.’ Heaving Bailey out of the cot, as if turning off a tap, Bailey’s tears halted. Realising he’d got his way, he even sat patiently on the kitchen floor as Hamish buttered a few rolls and grabbed some drinks and fruit from the fridge.

  ‘What kept you?’ Smiling, she didn’t even open her eyes as, a little bit late but still very welcome, her lunch dates arrived.

  ‘I was buttering rolls.’

  ‘But I’ve already made plenty.’

  ‘We’ll have rolls for dinner, too, then,’ Hamish answered, sitting down and pulling out a bag of grapes and offering them to Bailey. But the toddler’s attention was elsewhere, pointing in glee at Scottie, who was poking his head over the stable door, and squealing in delight. And Hamish couldn’t be bothered to argue any more. Fighting the fear that welled up in him when he pictured his beautiful son with the pony, he picked him up and headed over, letting him stroke Scottie’s head and even letting Charlotte show Bailey how to hold out his hand flat. Hamish laughed out loud at Bailey’s shocked but delighted expression as big lips nuzzled for the tiny grapes, watching his eyes shining brightly and his pink lips laughing, and for the first time in ages Hamish was treated to a rare glimpse of Emma in his son’s expression

  And it had been right to come down to the stables Hamish realised later, much later, when Bailey had had a thirty-second sit on Scottie’s back and was now racing around on his tricycle, waving and beeping his horn to a very unfazed Scottie and Fitz each time he passed.

  Hard, but right.

  ‘Did you used to ride a lot? Before what happened with Emma, I mean?’

  He was getting used to Charlotte’s direct questions and this time he didn’t really hesitate before answering.

  ‘A bit.’ Hamish nodded. ‘I didn’t really have anything to do with them till Emma came along—she was horse mad from the day she was born, I think. I’m not really the most horsy person.’

  ‘He takes after Emma, then.’ Charlotte nodded over at Bailey and never could she have known just how sweet those words were to hear.

  ‘I guess he does. What about you—how old were you when you started riding?’

  ‘Eight and absolutely petrified.’

  ‘Did your parents make you?’

  ‘Heavens no.’ Charlotte gave a little giggle. ‘My mum refused to get out of the car when she dropped me off for my lesson—worried she might get a bit of mud on her stilettos probably.’

  ‘So how come you took it up?’

  The bluest eyes in the world stared back at him, words for once not tumbling out. Instead, she lay back on the grass, stared up at the sky, her voice slightly pensive when it finally came. ‘I just did.’

  He stared at her for the longest time—and then over at Bailey. He split about a hundred pieces of grass into two with his thumbnail as that old feeling came back again—only stronger this time. Stronger and surer, and nothing he could say to himself could convince him otherwise. So she had strange dress sense at times, so she was ditzy and crazy and more often than not said the most inappropriate things—but she made him happy.

  He stared around at his home, at his son, at his life—saw how much it had changed in the short time she’d been there, recognised now the feeling he’d had at the bottom of the stairs, a feeling that had been missing in his life for too long now.

  Happiness.

  ‘Tonight…’ Hamish cleared his throat ‘…once Bailey’s in bed, there’s a nice curry house nearby. They deliver—’

  ‘Sounds fab,’ Charlotte interrupted, ‘but I’m actually going out dancing tonight.’

  ‘Dancing?’

  ‘Come!’ she offered easily. ‘We’ll have fun. Maybe Belinda could look after Bailey.’

  ‘Better not!’ Hamish answered. ‘I think she needs a bit of a break.’ He tried to sound as casual as she was, tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter that she’d rather go out dancing on Saturday night with friends than stay in and share a take-away with a single father.

  Only it did.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I’M JUST going to check on the boys in the stable!’ Charlotte grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. Semi conscious, lying on the couch with a throw rug over him and all the chaos that a teething toddler created in the small hours surrounding him, Hamish was tempted to tell her to put more clothes on. She was in that bloody nighty and gumboots again, but, Hamish realised with a sigh, given it was seven in the morning, she had topped it with a massive old anorak. Truth be known, apart from her face, there was barely an inch of flesh showing—it was his imagination that was the problem! ‘I saw you lying here when I got in last night. I hope I didn’t wake you.’

  ‘Only Bailey,’ Hamish said, then regretted it. It wasn’t her fault he was crazy about her, it wasn’t her fault he’d missed her all night, jealous as hell and hating the lucky guy she was no doubt dancing with, it wasn’t her fault that he was as grumpy as hell this morning.

  ‘Did you get any real sleep at all?’ Charlotte asked as she breezed over.

  ‘What’s that?’ Hamish quipped.

  ‘Oh, just something we lucky singles do!’

  Leaning forward, she smothered a nearly-finally-a-bloody-sleep-again Bailey, who was lying on his chest, in a flurry of butterfly kisses, wafting her glorious fragrance and—Hamish wasn’t sure if it was better or worse—unwittingly giving him a very good view of her left breast, causing Hamish to raise the throw rug a few generous inches higher. ‘Are those lovely new teeth making Bailey’s mouth sore?’ Charlotte crooned as Bailey started to giggle.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Hamish snapped, wishing she’d get her luscious-looking breasts out of his face, wishing Bailey could somehow be magically transported to his cot and that it was just him she was leaning over and teasing with kisses…and wishing his erection would subside. ‘He was nearly asleep!’

  ‘Misery!’ Charlotte grinned, unfortunately standing up and sticking out a pink tongue at him she waltzed out the door.

  ‘Dar-dot!’ Bailey sighed dreamily, finally deciding to sleep now that it was time to get up. Placing him in his cot, Hamish wondered whether to crawl into bed himself and grab a few hours or just plough on…

  ‘Hamish!’ He didn’t know what he heard first, the crash of the kitchen door as it was pushed open loudly or Charlotte’s urgent summons for help, but he took the staircase in two, maybe three strides. Colliding with her in the kitchen, his first instinct was to take her trembling hands.

  ‘It’s Sc-Scottie…’ She stumbled the words out. ‘I need you to get me a vet.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Just call the vet!’

  The home number of the vet was on speed dial—had been for years—one of those pieces of his old life that he hadn’t yet found the heart to erase, and Hamish apologized to Nick’s sleepy wife as she handed her husband the phone while Hamish ran to the stables.

  ‘Can you come over soon, Nick?’

  He had no idea what was wrong, but he knew from Charlotte’s expression it was urgent. ‘I’ve got an old pony here…’

  Hamish stepped into the stable, entered a space he hadn’t been in since Emma’s death, and surprisingly she wasn’t on his mind.

  Instead, sick to the stomach at what surely lay ahead, he watched as Charlotte sank to her knees and buried her head in old Scottie’
s worried, pain-riddled face where he lay on the floor. Hamish took over, grabbing a blanket and covering him, doing what little he could to make him comfortable till help arrived…and trying to support Charlotte.

  ‘The vet will be here soon.’

  ‘Is he good?’

  ‘He’s great. His name is Nick—Emma swore by him.’

  ‘Did you tell him it was serious?’

  ‘He’ll be here any moment.’ God, he hoped she wasn’t praying for a miracle here, Hamish thought as Charlotte closed her eyes and cuddled Scottie tighter, hoped to hell that Nick would get there soon.

  He did, though it felt like for ever. As for Hamish, there wasn’t a single thing he could do. All she’d asked from him was a vet—and he’d delivered. But as she knelt holding her pet, though Hamish was more than used to dealing with distraught people, when it came to Charlotte he didn’t have a clue, felt superfluous almost as he stood there. She wasn’t talking so he couldn’t answer, she wasn’t crying so he couldn’t put out a hand to comfort her—she was like this little self-contained package on which he couldn’t impinge.

  Nick dealt with her well, though, and, Hamish decided, residents could learn a lot from vets.

  There was no way animals could communicate, nothing to go on bar knowledge and instinct, and Nick had them in spades.

  ‘He’s got a lovely nature.’ Examining the old boy well, expecting a bite or a kick, when he got neither all he could do was give a sad smile. ‘Was he your first pony?’

  ‘No.’ Charlotte didn’t look up, her head buried in Scottie’s neck. ‘I had Patch and then Nutmeg and then Scottie—he was an RDA horse.’

  Hamish frowned as he tried to place the abbreviation, but Nick got it in an instant. ‘Riding for the disabled—no wonder he’s such a sweetie. What happened here Charlotte?’He ran his finger along a scar on Scottie’s abdomen. ‘It looks fairly new.’