The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Cancer!’ Charlotte said through shivering teeth. ‘In his colon. He had surgery last year—just for comfort—but he’s done well, he even put on a bit of weight in the last few months. Do you think he’s had a heart attack?’

  Nick ran his stethoscope along the bloated stomach, soothing and talking to the suffering animal as he did so.

  ‘I’m not sure…’ Nick admitted, hesitating before he broke the inevitable news, but Charlotte got there first.

  ‘Don’t shoot him!’ For a second the two men looked at each other. There was no way this horse deserved a battery of tests before the inevitable end, but they soon realised they’d misinterpreted her: that it wasn’t a question of prolonging his life, just rather more gently ending it. Standing up, dusting straw down from her nightdress, she ran a hand through her hair. ‘Do what you have to do, but I don’t want you to shoot him.’

  ‘I won’t. I’ll anaesthetise him. Do you want to stay with him?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Would you like us to give you a moment to say goodbye?’

  ‘I already have.’ Her teeth were really chattering now as she spoke and all Hamish wanted to do was put his arms around her, but something in her stance told him she wouldn’t want it. ‘Can I pay you now? Only I don’t want a bill for this arriving in a couple of weeks—I’d rather just deal with it all today.’

  ‘There’s no charge,’ Nick said as he stared at the withered pony and reminded himself all over again why he did this job. ‘How many kids did this old boy make smile in his lifetime?’

  ‘Lots!’ Charlotte sniffed, and went to go but changed her mind, sinking to her knees for just one more fleeting second and kissing him goodbye for the last time.

  It was horrible being back at the house.

  Horrible watching her fill the kettle and chatting away as if nothing was going on outside.

  ‘You must be exhausted—up all night with Bailey and then my dramas…’ She filled his mug with hot water but forgot to put in the coffee, scooping in a ridiculous amount of sugar and then added so much milk that it slopped over the brim, chatted about everything and nothing as Hamish drank his tasteless brew.

  Not even when the truck arrived did she waver—smiling at Bailey as he graced them with his presence, feeding him home-made pancakes and later chatting ten to the dozen as she cleaned the benches in the kitchen and a pale-faced Hamish bounced his son on his knee.

  Only when the truck drove off did she waver.

  Hamish gently put Bailey down and headed over to someone who today needed him just a little bit more—wrapping his arms around her frozen shoulders, holding her as the truck and its contents rumbled past.

  ‘Daddy!’ Bailey squealed in indignation, but Hamish didn’t even hear it, holding her close, stroking her hair, and just blocking it all out when she needed it most.

  ‘It’s for the best really…’ Sitting tiny on the sofa, legs tucked under her, her hand around a mug of hot chocolate, Hamish listened patiently as Charlotte rattled on.

  It was just her way, Hamish told himself that night—just as he had maybe a hundred times that day.

  She’d adored that pony, Hamish knew that, was sure that she must be bleeding inside, but apart from that small display of emotion when the truck had headed off, Charlotte had just been…well, Charlotte. Chatty, happy and incredibly objective. ‘He was just so-o old…’ She gave a small sad smile. ‘At least I won’t have to worry about vet bills any more. He was costing me an absolute fortune.’

  ‘That was where all your money went?’ Hamish checked.

  ‘All of it, and some I didn’t have.’ Charlotte nodded. ‘I’d saved up for a new car—was just about to choose the colour, then he got cancer. He was in so much pain. I was going to have him destroyed, but then I wanted him to have just a few last weeks pain-free. The operation cost a fortune—then there was the aftercare. He lasted more than a year so it’s been a running tap of vet’s bills ever since.’

  ‘He must have meant a lot to you…’ Hamish attempted to get her to open up just a touch. ‘To spend all that money when you knew….’

  ‘He was past it? Oh, well, it’s done now. I think I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘You’ll be all right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Charlotte said, standing up.

  ‘If you want to talk, we can. I could open a bottle of wine.’

  ‘And watch me get maudlin over Scottie.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘Look, I’ve known this day was coming for ages, Hamish. To tell the truth, it’s actually a relief it’s over.’

  Heading up the stairs, Charlotte brushed her teeth and hair, carefully took off her make-up and then padded into the bedroom. Peeling off her clothes, she climbed into bed, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling, barely moving a muscle as ages later Hamish followed suit and came to bed.

  And still she lay there, listening to Fitz whinnying into the night, calling out for his friend that had always been there, and his lonely call was almost more than she could bear.

  ‘Don’t!’

  She actually said it out loud, got up and closed the window then climbed back into bed, willing sleep to come, willing her mind to think about the most banal of things…

  Scared that if she started crying now, she’d never, ever stop.

  Thumping the pillow and turning over, sleep still evaded her as ages later the phone trilled in the hallway and Bailey joined in with Fitz, calling out for his dad, when every other two-year-old was calling out for Mum…

  God, she hated this cruel world sometimes.

  ‘Charlotte.’ There was a small rap at the door then it opened. ‘That was the hospital. I’m not on call but they’ve just been alerted to a house fire on the outskirts of town—it sounds nasty.’

  ‘Go!’ Charlotte called, her voice not quite as clear as usual, and it had nothing to do with the fact it was the middle of the night.

  ‘Can I put the light on?’

  She didn’t want him to put the light on, didn’t want him to check that she was okay to look after Bailey, but unusually he didn’t await her response, just pushed the door open farther and flicked on the light, watching as her pale features blanched at the intrusion, trying not to notice as she sat up and huddled the sheet around her that she was naked beneath it.

  ‘I said you’d come in, too—I hope that’s okay. It’s a family of six. I’ve rung Belinda and I’m taking Bailey over there.’

  She pulled on her uniform in a matter of seconds as Hamish tried to gently rouse Bailey from his slumber, loading him into the Jeep and thankfully taking the keys and driving.

  Belinda was in her driveway, huddled in her dressing gown, clearly more than used to this type of late-night drama.

  ‘Good luck,’ she called out as she took charge of Bailey and closed the door.

  ‘Poor little mite.’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Charlotte soothed, but her heart wasn’t really in it, seeing firsthand what the two of them had to regularly endure rammed home again how impossible Hamish’s work situation was.

  And yet…

  Looking sideways she saw his strong profile silhouetted in the darkness, his mind already on the job ahead. She’d seen him in action, seen him rolling up his sleeves in Emergency, seen him lecturing his juniors, marvelled at the depths of his knowledge, and she knew, if tragedy struck her family tonight…Hamish Adams was the doctor she’d want greeting them at the emergency room door….

  How could he give it away?

  And if he did—what a waste of an amazing talent.

  ‘Not what you needed, huh.’ Catching her staring, Hamish glanced over as he drove.

  ‘I’m sure the family whose house was on fire would say the same thing.’

  ‘Were you always this tough?’ Flicking on the indicator, he turned the car into the driveway of the hospital and both their eyes scanned the foyer for activity, both wondering how many fire trucks, how many ambulances would have beaten them there.

  Both suddenly sick to their
stomach when there wasn’t a single one.

  ‘Hamish!’ Helen’s voice was brisk as they raced across the foyer, turning off the phone in her hand and greeting them in the brightly lit ambulance bay. ‘I was just calling your mobile.’ She ran a hand through wiry grey hair, her sixty-year-old face tired and heavily lined thanks to an unwelcome but compulsory stint of night duty and the news she was about to impart. ‘You won’t be needed after all.’ Pulling her navy cardigan tighter around her, she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she spoke. ‘Ambulance Control just called through—there weren’t any survivors.’

  ‘The firefighters?’ Hamish clipped. ‘Any injuries there—smoke inhalation—?’

  ‘No.’ Helen shook her head. ‘They couldn’t even get close enough to get in. They’re just dousing it now. The coroner’s making his way to the scene and no doubt a few news channels are, too.

  ‘I’m sorry for calling you in, both of you…’ She gave a small nod to Charlotte. ‘I just thought—’

  ‘Always call me, Helen,’ Hamish interrupted. ‘I’m just sorry we weren’t needed.’

  It was the longest drive home, no Bailey to pick up, no glimpses of normal to force a break from the horror of what had tonight taken place. The adrenaline that had spurred them out of bed and into the night markedly absent as they drove in silence, both locked in their own thoughts. And for Charlotte it was hell—like the cord being pulled on a chainsaw, her mind kept attempting to whir into angry frenzy.

  ‘I might just have that glass of wine after all!’ Her voice was high as she headed for the fridge. ‘I’m not on till midday. Do you want one?’

  ‘Better not—I have to pick up Bailey then be back there by eight. Go ahead, though.’

  She did.

  The tiniest of drinkers, like a child taking some awful medicine, she took a sip and then another, hating the tears that were starting to build, hating that he noticed.

  ‘It’s okay to be upset.’

  ‘I know!’A jagged smile ripped through her strained features. ‘It kinds of put my day into perspective.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, Charlotte, and you know it…grief compounds grief with all you’ve been through today….’

  ‘You can’t compare a family of six to a pony,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘You can’t even begin to compare a family of six with a blind…stupid…old…pony…’ She stopped herself then, the chainsaw that had spluttered into life cutting out just before it let rip. But Hamish wasn’t going to give in—this, the most raw he had seen her, the most honest she had been—a glimpse of the real Charlotte he knew was there finally coming to the fore, and he wasn’t going to lose her now.

  ‘Who’s comparing?’ Hamish said softly, taking her tense shoulder in his hands. ‘If we lived by those rules then losing Emma shouldn’t hurt that much. I’m just saying—’

  ‘Well, don’t!’ She snarled the words out, her hand raised to push him away to run for the stairs, to get to her room and take off the beastly uniform that hadn’t even been needed, or run out to the stables and bury her head in Fitz’s neck, wanted to howl out loud for all the people who were lonely and sad and scared tonight.

  All the people who were missing someone they loved.

  Cassie!

  The cord was out on the chainsaw, her mind buzzing with grief that she could never ever share, and nothing was going to obliterate it, not a glass of wine, not some carefully chosen words of comfort…

  Nothing!

  His lips on hers were as unexpected as they were blissful.

  Calm creeping in when surely it should be the opposite!

  His full mouth pressing on hers, hushing the pain in her mind.

  Strong hands moving from her shoulder and pulling her into his strong warmth.

  And that teasing taste made her hungry for more, his tongue cool and welcome as it slipped between her lips, and it was such bliss to be held, to be held by someone so strong, to have someone just take over the reins for a little bit and not just someone, but Hamish…

  ‘Oh, Charlotte…’ His voice was a rasp as he pulled back, questions, guilt perhaps flickering in those guarded hazel eyes, but she didn’t want to hear how impossible it was, didn’t care about the regret that might hit tomorrow, because the glimmer of bliss he had brought her tonight had been so unexpected, her pain so seemingly impossible to eradicate, yet with one kiss he had.

  ‘Why shouldn’t we be happy,’ Charlotte whispered, ‘even if it’s just tonight?’

  She didn’t know how she got to his bedroom. Vaguely she could remember them kissing all the way up the stairs, her uniform, his clothes strewing the hallway like a trail to the bedroom, but never, never in a million years would she forget the beauty of the moment they faced each other naked—the sheer heaven of his toned body just a breath away as he stared down at her, his tender eyes caressing her, warming her, and even if they weren’t touching, for now it was more than enough.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Charlotte.’ There was this hint of wonder in his voice and she wasn’t insecure enough to misinterpret it—knew with blinding certainty that he’d never figured on saying it in this room to a woman who wasn’t Emma.

  ‘So are you.’

  He kissed her again, only not on the lips, burying his face in her neck, his hot mouth working each exquisitely tender angle, till there was no where to go except closer.

  His body pressed against her quite simply felt divine—just so, so male, Charlotte realised with a little sigh.

  ‘We’re so different.’ Pulling back, she stared back at him.

  ‘I know,’ Hamish rasped. ‘I know on paper we could never ever work, but—’

  ‘Not in that way.’ Charlotte giggled, nervous and excited at the same time. Running a tentative hand over his thighs, she told him a little more of what she was thinking. ‘I like that you’re hairy, only not too much.’

  ‘And I like that you’re smooth,’ Hamish countered, his own hand moving not quite so quickly and lingering for way too long on her bottom.

  ‘What about this bit?’ Charlotte whispered, guiding his mouth to breasts that had teased him for ever, closing her eyes in bliss as he contemplated the difference, utterly breathless when finally Hamish delivered his verdict. ‘Way more interesting than mine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’He thought she was offering a licence for him to continue, only he was wrong, his hand involuntarily scrunching her hair as she lavished him with the same amount of attention he had bestowed, his erection dancing unattended as her tongue caressed his nipples, as her little sharp teeth nibbled—and just as he was about to explode, just as he was about to push her on the bed and make very quick but very glorious love to her, Charlotte looked up and the flirting the teasing ended.

  ‘Will we be okay?’

  ‘Way better than okay,’ Hamish promised, and she chose to believe him, chose to partake in the glorious dance unfolding as they became more than a man and a woman, but a couple, tasted each other, adored each other, sure enough now to know this was happening, to lie on the bed together, to drift onto cotton and feel his skin next to her, to drown in the exquisite balm of his foreplay, to feel his hands stroke away the pain and take her elsewhere…And to do the same for him.

  And there was no rush, because they had each other for as long as was needed, the train of grief pausing at the station for as long as was required, and they were both so grateful just to step off for now.

  He was just glorious, though incredibly demanding, but, then, so was she, shivering in delight as he tenderly explored her, her bottom wiggling in his palm as she breathlessly urged him on.

  Today, tonight, had been agony, but it faded away when finally he took her, filling her, holding her, loving her, and it was easier to give in than to fight it, easier to trust him and love him right back, her orgasm so intense, so consuming it could have blocked out the sun if needed.

  Yet if it was bliss for Charlotte, then for Hamish it was more.

  More than he could have ever hoped or
dared to feel again.

  And it wasn’t just the sex that was brilliant, it was all of it.

  All of her.

  The bed the right size with her there beside him.

  Spooning her warm, flushed body into his, feeling her relax against him as sleep drifted in, he stared into the darkness and tried to fathom the impossible—a woman who wasn’t Emma was lying beside him and he felt relaxed, happy for the first time in ages.

  A woman called Charlotte was lying in his arms and all it felt was right.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHOEVER said things always seemed better in the morning hadn’t woken to the wedding picture of Hamish’s late wife smiling down at her—or felt the tension creep into his body as he’d stirred beside her—the arm that had held her close through the night pulling her towards him as naturally as breathing then stiffening as his mind no doubt skipped to its rude awakening and the realisation that she wasn’t Emma. Okay, Charlotte reasoned, he didn’t run out of the bed screaming and, sure, he’d tried to kiss her and smile and pretend he didn’t regret it, but the air was so thick with guilt she swore she could taste it.

  ‘I’m just going to have a shower…’ He climbed out of bed and tried hard to look her in the eye, but failed spectacularly. ‘I’m running a bit late…’

  ‘Sure.’ Charlotte’s smile was as wide as it was false, turning off like a tap the second the bedroom door closed, and then, when she heard the taps safely running, Charlotte made her move.

  Emma’s clothes were still in the wardrobe, her shoes lined up on the floor as if daring Charlotte to even try to step into them.

  The room surely the same as she’d left it on the day she’d died—it was as if Emma had just popped out to the shops, or was away for a couple of days, and for Charlotte it was like being punched in the stomach as realisation hit.

  Hamish hadn’t move on an inch.

  Inherently nosy, though entirely without malice, Charlotte opened Emma’s bedside drawer. The familiar cover of a book Charlotte had enjoyed a couple of years ago stared back at her, a book that only a woman would either read or understand, and Charlotte picked it up, tears welling in her eyes as she saw the bookmarked page near the back of the book and read where Emma had got up to, wishing for her just another night in bed, a few more hours so she could have found out the end. She carefully replaced the book. Heading to the dresser and picking up a ring that lay in a little glass dish on there, Charlotte stared at yet another photo and somehow felt as if she should say something.