‘Please, don’t cry.’ He sounded so scared that she stared up at him in even more bewilderment. His face was set, and he was backing away. But she had hold of his hand and she wasn’t letting him go anywhere. He was a dope but he was a great, gorgeous dope and he’d done this because she’d asked him to. Therefore-at great personal sacrifice-she’d choke back tears and be businesslike.
‘I’m not crying,’ she said, trying to sound exasperated and not emotional. ‘Sit.’
‘Sit?’
‘I’ll clean them and I’ll pull the splinters out. And then I’ll put on iodine and we’ll see how much of a man you are. You don’t cry, huh? Iodine on these will be a real truth test. Iodine would make an onion howl all by itself.’
So he sat in the old rocking chair in front of the range, his free hand soaking in a bowl of soapy water she’d rested on his kilted knees while she carefully examined each blister, cleaned it, lifted out tiny shards of wood with a pair of tweezers-and then anointed each one with iodine.
‘You should have a bullet to bite on,’ she told him, and he looked down at her mop of auburn curls and thought he wasn’t even near yelling. He was hardly thinking about pain.
She was intent on his hand. She was so…simple, he thought, but maybe that wasn’t the word. She’d changed from the clothes she’d worn at the fair. Now she was wearing a pair of shorts and a faded T-shirt that was a little too tight. Her legs and her feet were bare. She was wearing no makeup. Her hair was falling forward, stopping him seeing what she was doing with his hand but at the same time distracting him nicely.
She smelt of some citrusy soap, he thought. She’d probably showered when she’d come home from the fair. Maybe she and Rosie had bathed together and the vision of her bathing her baby was suddenly…
Whew. It was just as well Marcia was coming, he thought. A man could get himself into dangerous territory here.
And why wouldn’t a man want to?
The thought was so far out of left field that he blinked and almost pulled his hand away. She felt the tug and looked up in concern, all huge eyes and tousled hair and…and Susie.
‘I’m trying hard not to hurt you.’
‘You’re not hurting me.’
‘Tell me about your job,’ she said, turning her attention back to the splinters as if it was important that she look at anything but him. As maybe it was.
‘My job?’
‘You’re a financier.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You love being a financier?’
‘I guess.’ Did he? He wasn’t sure.
‘I’ve been trying to imagine why,’ she told him. ‘I get such a kick out of planting something and watching it grow. Do you see schemes through to the end? Like if someone comes to you and says please can I build a bulldozer factory, can I have some money, does it give you the same thrill? That those bulldozers would never have got built if it hadn’t been for you?’
‘Um…maybe that’s banking,’ he said uneasily.
‘So you don’t do any hands-on supplying of money for doing interesting stuff like building bulldozers.’
‘No.’
‘So what do you finance?’
‘I guess most of my work is taken up with futures broking,’ he told her.
‘Which is…’
‘Figuring out what money is going to be worth in the future and buying and selling on that basis.’
She tweaked out another sliver of wood. Thoughtful. ‘So you buy and sell money. It seems a bit odd to me but if it makes you happy…’
Did it make him happy? He’d never thought about it. It seemed such an odd concept that he almost didn’t understand the question.
The high-powered finance world was where he’d worked all his adult life. All he knew was wheeling and dealing, the adrenalin rush of vast fiscal deals, the knife edge of knowing it was his brains holding everything in place and if he slipped up…
He thought about his mother’s reaction when he’d told her that he’d been made a full equity partner. For once she hadn’t cried. She’d closed her eyes and when she’d opened them things had changed.
‘Now I can stop worrying,’ she’d said.
Full equity partner in one of Manhattan’s biggest brokerage firms…well, if that was what it had taken to stop the tears, then great. And he was good at his job. It had earned him a lot, and he had no time to think about anything else.
What else was there to think about but work?
The scent of Susie’s hair? That was all he could think about now. That and the feel of her fingers carefully working on his hands. Each blister was being tended with care. It was such a strange sensation. An intimate sensation.
Would Marcia ever tend his blisters?
How would he get blisters around Marcia? He wouldn’t. His biggest risk was of repetitive strain injury caused by using his Blackberry too much.
A cold damp something hit the edge of his bare leg and he hauled himself from his reverie and stared down.
Pup.
‘Whoops,’ Susie said, and laid Hamish’s hands carefully on his kilted knees and scooped up the pup. ‘That’s good timing. Taffy, if you’ve woken up, you go outside straight away. Hamish, don’t touch anything. I’ll be back.’ And she was gone, whisking the pup out into the gathering dusk.
Don’t touch anything.
He sat for a bit, not thinking anything, letting his mind go blank. The sensation was almost extraordinary. When had he last done this?
Simply…stopped.
There was always something to do. Always. Reports to read, e-mail to check, constant analysis. If he didn’t keep up then others would get ahead or things could slip by him and, hell, what was the use of being in the heap if you weren’t on top?
His laptop was up in his bedroom. He’d connected briefly that morning, checking things were OK. He should go up now and see…
It was seven at night. Three in the morning New York time. Not a lot was happening over there right now.
The Japanese market would be online, he decided. The yen had been looking pretty shaky when he’d left. It wouldn’t hurt to stay online for a bit and get the feel for…
Susie was out in the garden. With Taffy.
From where he sat he could hear the sea. He could smell the sea.
She’d told him to stay, so he did, sort of. He walked to the kitchen door and watched while she introduced Taffy to the lawn and explained what was required.
As if the dog could understand.
‘There’s no hurry,’ she was saying. ‘I understand it’s all a bit strange and new, and there’s even more strange and new to come, but we can take our time. Me and Rose will be the constants wherever you are, and we’ll always be able to find you a patch of grass. There’s not a lot else you need to worry about.’
What about the Dow Jones? Hamish thought, glancing at his watch and wondering what the financial markets had done in the past ten hours. He always needed to worry about the Dow Jones.
But maybe not now. Maybe worrying about financial indices here was…ridiculous.
Susie was kneeling on the grass. The dopy pup had rolled over onto her back, and Susie was scratching her tummy. She wriggled in delight, her ungainly body squirming with ecstasy on the still sun-warmed ground.
How was she going to cope? Hamish thought. With a baby. With a puppy. She had a lot to worry about. She should be worrying about it right now!
She wasn’t worrying. She lay on the grass herself and the puppy climbed on top of her. The last flickers of light from the tangerine sunset were soft on her face. She was giggling as the puppy tried to lick her cheek. From behind he could hear Rose chirping as she woke from what he presumed was a very late afternoon nap. Susie would never get her daughter to sleep tonight.
But she didn’t care, he thought. She had no sense of order. He remembered his mother if dinner was five minutes late. She’d be almost apoplectic with anxiety.
He thought of Marcia if things didn’t run to plan. Wh
at would Marcia do if he gave her a puppy?
Marcia would give the puppy right back. And as for a baby…
Marcia letting a baby having an afternoon nap at this hour? Marcia having a baby?
The idea was so ridiculous that he grinned and Susie looked over and saw him grinning and said, ‘What?’
‘What yourself?’
‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘I’m laughing at your puppy. There’s a difference. Rose is awake.’
‘Goody.’ She scrambled to her feet, put the puppy down and made to go indoors. ‘She went to sleep on the way home and wouldn’t wake up. She’ll be so hungry. I almost woke her but then I remembered there’s an English comedy show I like on TV late tonight, and it’s the best fun watching it with Rose.’
Then as he blinked, trying to reconcile late-night comedy and a fourteen-month-old toddler, she hesitated. As she’d started toward the door Taffy had followed.
‘You haven’t done what you need to do,’ she told the puppy, and pointed to the grass. ‘Duty first.’
The puppy looked up at her new mistress with adoration, and wagged her tail.
‘Stay here with her while I fetch Rose,’ Susie ordered Hamish, and he nodded and put a foot out to stop Taffy following her mistress.
Taffy sat down and howled.
They both looked at Taffy. Taffy looked at both of them, opened her jaws and howled even longer.
‘Whoops,’ Susie said. ‘What have I let myself in for?’
‘Give her back,’ Hamish told her.
‘What?’
‘You don’t have to keep her.’
She snatched Taffy up and glared. ‘What a thing to say. Don’t listen, sweetheart. You’re mine. We’re a family. I don’t mind the odd howl. It’s an excellent howl and it’s all your very own. I wonder if you’ll like my TV programme, too.’
This was seriously weird. There were all sorts of things happening inside Hamish that he had no idea what to do with.
‘You can’t be a family to that…that.’
‘That gorgeous pup? I can be a family with whoever I want,’ she snapped, hauling herself up to her full five feet four inches and glaring. ‘Taffy needs me out here. Can you fetch Rose?’
‘What, get her from her cot?’
‘That’s the plan.’
‘Just walk in and pick her up?’
‘You earls have great courage,’ she said, obviously trying not to sound sarcastic. ‘If you pick her up under the armpits and close your palms, it won’t even hurt your blisters.’
It wasn’t his blisters he was afraid of. ‘I can’t pick up a baby.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Get in there.’
‘Woof,’ said Taffy.
He stared at the pair of them and they stared back, challenging.
He could do this. Right. You earls have great courage…
Right.
He strode into the house, followed the sound of Rosie’s increased indignation and pushed open the door to Susie’s and Rosie’s shared bedroom. And paused in astonishment.
The bed was vast, a great four-poster with mounds of eider-downs and more mounds of cushions. There were pinks and purples and almost crimsons and gold. It was an amazing bed.
And the walls…
Deirdre’s kitsch ornaments had been taken down, and Susie had covered the walls with prints-not expensive artwork but prints she’d obviously ordered because they appealed.
There were all sorts of prints.
Tree ferns taken from strange angles. Waterfalls. Rock formations. That was one wall.
Another wall was the sea-vast curling waves, surfers doing all sorts of incredible twisting turns, shots of foam, a single rock pool, a tiny minnow against a vast pier pile…
The third was people. Grins. People smiling. These weren’t people she knew. Ancient Tibetan grandmothers with gap-toothed grins. Old men smiling at each other in friendship. A group of kids in Scout uniform, smiling in unison.
And the last wall was photographs blown up. Susie as a kid, he thought, looking at twins cavorting on a beach. Photographs of a man who was obviously Rory. A couple in love. He looked at them smiling at each other, and felt a twist of…
No. Don’t look. You don’t need to feel like this.
It was dumb to put such photographs up, he thought. This was as kitsch as Deirdre’s efforts.
But then he thought, No, it’s not. He thought of his apartment back in Manhattan, and Marcia’s, planned by the same minimalist decorator who’d recoil in horror if she saw this. But this sort of worked. It was a huge collage of life, of living, of all Susie held dear.
An indignant yell brought him back to earth. In the centre of the room was that which Susie held dearest. The toddler was beaming as she saw she’d caught his attention. She was holding her hands out and saying, ‘Up.’
‘Hi,’ he said weakly, and she bounced and grinned and held her hands higher.
‘Up, up, up.’
He could do this. He put his hands under her arms and gingerly raised her.
She giggled and pointed to the bed. ‘Dappy,’ she said.
Dappy. He thought about it. Then he realised what she meant. Um, no.
He made to carry her-holding her at arm’s length-out the door, out to her mother, but her yell became urgent. He had her agenda wrong.
‘Dappy, dappy, dappy.’
You earls have great courage.
‘Where are your diapers?’ he asked, and she pointed an imperious finger to the pile on a side table. Under the Tibetan grandmas.
‘Dappy.’
OK. He set Rose down on the floor but she yelled in indignation. Her routine was obviously to be followed to the letter.
‘Bed,’ she said, and pointed.
‘Give me a break,’ he said weakly, but he was a man under orders. He tossed a diaper across to the bed, then lifted Rose and set her down on the eiderdown. She almost disappeared in its vastness.
She giggled and kicked her feet, squirming away from him and burrowing under the cushions. This was obviously a game, played whenever she woke up.
The bed smelt like Susie.
The room smelt like Susie.
Rose lifted a cushion, grinned at him, chortled and pulled the pillow back over her head again. He considered, then put a finger on the small of her back and tickled.
Shrieks of laughter and she squirmed deeper. Right under the quilt.
He put his head under the quilt and said, ‘Boo.’
‘Dappy,’ she said, and pushed the quilt away, lay flat and waited. ‘Boo’ was obviously the magic word.
And he performed magic as well. Hamish Douglas, corporate financier, ninth Earl of Loganaich, successfully changed a diaper.
‘Like climbing Annapurna One,’ he told himself, setting Rose on the floor, carrying the used diaper into the bathroom in triumph and thinking of the world’s second most difficult climb. ‘A soggy diaper. A soiled diaper represents Everest.’
Then as Rose looked thoughtful he tossed the diaper into the wastebin and dived on the toddler to take her out to her mother before she could send him up his second mountain.
He wasn’t ready for Everest yet.
Susie was still waiting for Taffy to perform. She was sitting on a garden seat, watching the dark settle over the garden, simply…waiting.
Hamish delivered her daughter, Rose squirmed down onto the grass and she and Taffy proceeded to investigate each other.
‘Aren’t you going to make her dinner?’ Hamish asked, and Susie smiled down at her puppy and her daughter and shook her head.
‘No one’s in a hurry.’
It was such a strange concept that Hamish blinked.
‘You want a seat?’ Susie wriggled sideways, making room on the bench.
Why would he sit down? Just to sit?
‘Maybe I’ll work on the path.’
‘With those hands? Are you out of your mind?’
‘We earls have great courage.’
‘You earls need a straitjacket if you work with hands like those. Just stop, Hamish. Rest.’
He sat. Gingerly. It felt weird.
‘Thank you for today,’ she said gently, and he felt even more weird.
‘Why…?’
‘You’ve made today happy for a lot of people. Just by being here.’
‘Just by exposing my knees?’
‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,’ she said serenely, and he choked.
‘Right.’
‘Honest, Hamish.’ Her hand came out to touch his arm. Lightly resting. There was no pressure but the feel of her fingers on his arm was almost his undoing. That and the warmth of the night, the soft hush of the sea, the weird domesticity of pup and baby playing at their feet…
‘You were wonderful,’ she said, and suddenly she twisted so she could kiss him. Lightly. It was a kiss of thanks. No more than that. A feather kiss.
Except…it wasn’t.
People kissed all the time, Hamish thought. They kissed in greeting, and farewell, or as had just happened, to say thank you. It meant nothing. There was no reason to think that a twenty-thousand-volt electric charge had just cut off every other circuit in his body.
Why?
There was no reason, he thought, dazed.
Or was it because Susie was a thousand light years away from any other woman he’d ever dated? She was a thousand light years from Marcia. In her faded shorts and T-shirt and nothing else, nothing to attract, nothing at all, she smelt…she felt…
Soft and delicious and absolutely, imperatively desirable.
It was just the day, he thought, hauling back in shock and dazed wonder. It had been a day totally out of his experience, and he was floundering here because he’d never met anyone like this before, and there were probably thousands of women who were like this but he’d just never met them, and he was out of his comfort zone, and…
‘Hey, Hamish, I’m not planning on jumping you,’ Susie said, and he jerked back to reality. To Susie staring at him with eyes that were bemused-and maybe also a little hurt.
‘I know. It’s just…I’m engaged to Marcia.’
Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say.
The Heir’s Chosen Bride Page 10