‘If you are.’
Her eyes sparkled with the challenge. ‘Oh, yes, if you mean it. I’d love it. I’ve drawn up some ideas—’ She reached for her briefcase but James covered her hands with his, stilling them.
‘Another time. I’ve got a deadline to meet and I’m cutting it fine as it is. Come back to the office on Monday and we’ll sort out the details.’
She smiled, looking genuinely happy for the first time in ages. She didn’t really want me at all, James realised with shock. She just wanted a challenge.
The revelation made him feel much better. He pulled her into his arms, dropped a light kiss on her brow and released her.
‘Good luck,’ she said with a little smile.
He grinned. ‘Thanks. I’ll need it.’
And he grabbed his briefcase and sprinted for the lift. It was too slow for him, and rather than wait he took the stairs instead, three at a time, then ran out to his car, jumped in and gunned it, dodging through the traffic. He made it to the motorway in record time, and then went at just a tad over the legal limit all the way back.
He passed the turn-off for Norwich, took the junction that led towards Poppy’s parents’ village and narrowly avoided running into the back of a line of parked cars in the lane outside the farm.
He tacked onto the back, locked the car and ran down towards the farm. There were signs directing people to the fête, and he went through the gateway, paid his fifty pence entry fee and pushed his way through the crowd.
There was no sign of her behind the cake stall, or the tombola, but he spotted her mother wielding a teapot in the big farm kitchen. There was a queue of people going in and out of the doorway, bearing cups and plates piled high with scones and cream and jam, and he joined the queue and fought his way to the front.
‘Mrs Taylor? Audrey?’
She looked up and her face was wreathed in smiles. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said, and passed him two cups of tea. ‘Take that to Poppy—she’s in the bric-a-brac. Mrs Thomas was ill.’
He didn’t know who Mrs Thomas was, and without being callous he didn’t care. All he could think about was finding Poppy before it was too late.
He took the tea, worked his way carefully out of the door and went out onto the crowded lawn. ‘Where’s the bric-a-brac?’ he asked.
The elderly lady studied him. ‘You looking for Poppy?’
He nodded.
‘Up at the top end, by the rhododendrons.’
He thanked her and headed in that direction, dodging a group of Brownies dancing round a maypole, and finally he was there, face to face with her.
She looked at him, her eyes strained and wary. and he wanted to drag her into his arms and tell her it was all right.
Instead he passed her a cup of tea. ‘Here—from your mother.’
‘Thank you.’ Lord, it was all so formal and polite, it made him want to scream. She was wearing a pretty cotton jersey dress, and she looked cool and delectable. She also looked as if she’d been crying last night, and he could have kicked himself for hurting her.
‘I talked to Helen,’ he told her.
‘Could I have this pot, dear? Thank you, Poppy. Nice to see you again.’
‘And you, Mrs Wilkins.’ She glanced back at James. ‘And?’
‘You were right.’
She gave a little huff of laughter and turned to take the money from the next customer. She dropped the coins into the pot and looked at him again. ‘I know. So what now?’
‘I gave her Birmingham.’
‘Sounds a bit feudal. That will be fifty pence, please. Thank you.’
‘Poppy, can we go somewhere and talk?’
‘No, I have to do this—thank you. Hello, Mr Burrows. How are you now? Better? I’m so glad. Do give my love to your wife.’
The public address system spluttered into life then, and the vicar thanked the Brownies for their lovely maypole dance, and everybody clapped and cheered
‘And now I’ve been asked to tell you that there’s five minutes before the start of the tug of war, so if you’d all like to make your way up to the top part of the garden and cheer on your villages, I’m sure they’d all be glad of your support. There are all sorts of games up there, as well, so plenty for everyone.’
The PA crackled once more and was silent, and James was just about to try and talk to Poppy again when it came back to life. ‘Gentlemen, I’ve just been told that the home team are short of a man for the tug of war. Have we got an able-bodied volunteer in the crowd?’
Poppy looked at him. ‘Go and do it.’
His jaw sagged. ‘Are you mad? And, anyway, I’m trying to talk to you—’
‘Later. Hello, Mrs Jones.’
James gave up. He put down his untouched cup of tea, shrugged off his coat and went up to the other end of the garden where he and the boys had made a snowman all those months ago. Tom and Peter were lined up with a few other strong young men on one side of the line, and they looked at him assessingly.
‘Still need another man?’ he asked.
Tom nodded. ‘Poppy send you?’
He grinned ruefully. ‘Yes.’
‘Ever done it before?’
He shook his head.
Tom laughed. ‘Poor you. Stick your jacket there and come and have a lesson.’
How hard could it be? He went over to the rope, listened to what Tom said, and then the rope was being picked up, James was slotted into the middle and the tension was taken up. He dug in his heels, threw his weight back on the rope as the whistle blew and heaved in time to the cox.
They won. It was a miracle, a masterpiece of sweat and guts and determination, but they won two out of three times, and were declared the champions.
There was much back-slapping and cheering from the crowd, and James looked up to see Poppy slipping away through the colourful throng.
Damn. He tried to follow her but she was gone, slipped away from him like quicksilver.
The PA crackled into life again, and he shook his head, wondering if Helen would believe what he was about to do. There was no sign of the boys but he knew they were here, probably part of the cheering crowd. He went down the path towards the house, and in the door of the conservatory he saw the vicar.
‘Excuse me, I want to contact Poppy. Mind if I use the public address?’
The vicar handed him the mike. ‘Be my guest,’ he said. ‘Turn it on here.’
He took a deep breath, scanned the crowd and switched on the mike. His palms were sweating, his heart was going nineteen to the dozen and he thought he was going to die. He lifted the mike to his mouth.
‘Poppy, it’s James,’ he said clearly, and everyone turned to look at him standing in the conservatory doorway. ‘I don’t know where you are. I can’t find you, and when I can find you I can’t talk to you because you’re too busy, but I’m not a patient man, Poppy, and I can’t wait.’
He cleared his throat and lifted the microphone to his mouth again. ‘Poppy, I love you,’ he said, and suddenly the crowd parted and he could see her, standing there on the other side of the plant stall, her hands over her mouth, her eyes like saucers. ‘I love you very much,’ he went on, ‘and I’d be honoured if you’d consent to be my wife, and the mother of my children.’
Her hands dropped, fluttering down over her chest to settle against the front of her dress. Her face was alight with love, and even from here he could see the tears coursing down it.
‘Is that a yes?’ he said softly, and she nodded.
The crowd cheered, and, passing the mike back to the bemused vicar, he crossed the lawn at a run and swept up his bride-to-be in his arms, whirling her round before setting her down and kissing her soundly.
Poppy couldn’t believe it. She was so sure she’d lost him, that she’d pushed him too hard and driven him away for ever, and now he was here, doing this! ‘Fancy proposing to me over the PA!’ she scolded laughingly as he let her go.
‘It was the only way I could get you to listen,’ h
e explained, and hugged her hard. ‘Oh, Poppy, I love you so much. It was only when I thought about losing you that I realised just how much you’d come to mean to me—to us.’
She became aware of the boys pushing up beside them, their faces shining like beacons, and she put her arms round them and drew them into the embrace. Her parents were there, too, on the outside of the crowd, and her brothers, still carrying the jacket that James had abandoned before the tug of war.
‘I think you two ought to go for a little walk,’ her mother said, ushering everyone away from them. ‘Go on, shoo. Boys, come with me and I’ll find you some ice-cream.’
So they were alone, walking down the lane hand in hand, and Poppy thought her heart would burst with happiness. There was only one thing worrying her, and she felt she ought to get it out of the way. ‘There’s something you ought to know,’ she told him.
‘Sounds ominous.’
She gave him a wary smile. ‘That depends on your viewpoint.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m—we‘re—having a baby.’
He stopped dead in his tracks. ‘What?’
‘In fact, maybe two. Mum thinks I’m a bit big for just one, as it’s my first.’
He turned her to face him and looked down. ‘Big? Two? When?’ he croaked.
She smiled tentatively. ‘Christmas.’
His face contracted a little, and slowly, cautiously, he put a hand out and laid it over the slight swell of her tummy. ‘Oh, Poppy,’ he said raggedly, and then he pulled her gently into his arms and hugged her. ‘Oh, Poppy,’ he said again, and then he said nothing for ages, just held her, rocking her, his hands curved protectively around her body, holding her close.
When he let her go his lashes were clumped together and his eyes sparkled with joy. ‘When I lost Clare I thought I’d never love anyone again,’ he said slowly. ‘Then I met you, and it was like being brought out of the darkness into the light. I suppose that’s why I didn’t understand what Helen was doing.’
‘Did you tell her?’
‘About us? She knew. I think she understands now that I could never have loved her, regardless, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t think she really loved me either. Maybe she thought she did, or maybe I was just another challenge. Anyway, as I was saying when you accused me of being feudal, I’ve put her in charge of Birmingham. We’ll sort out the details on Monday, but it’s right up her street. She’ll love it, and it means I can take a bit of a back seat and spend some time with my family.’
‘You mean that?’ Poppy said doubtfully, hardly daring to believe it.
He tipped her chin up so she had to meet his eyes, and she saw all the love she could ever hope for shimng there in their green-gold depths. ‘I mean it. I’ve missed out on too much. I’m not going to miss out on anything more. I’m sorry, Poppy, for better or worse, you’ve got me in your life now for good.’
It sounded wonderful, but there was just one more thing. ‘About your last nanny—’
‘What about her?’
‘Why did she leave?’
‘She was pregnant—she and her boyfnend Todd had been a little careless—you know how it is.’
Poppy, her heart now overflowing with happiness, laughed softly. ‘Yes. Yes, I know exactly how it is. So, Mr Cannichael, when are you going to make an honest woman of me?’
He grinned. ‘The vicar’s there—let’s go and chat to him, see if he can sort out a date. In view of the budding population explosion, I think the sooner the better?’
Poppy laughed. ‘If not before...’
EPILOGUE
‘AND now, it gives me great pleasure to declare the annual church fête open!’
Poppy, trapped behind the cake counter, looked across the lawn and caught James’s eye. He was standing beside her father, one chubby little baby girl on each arm, trying to hold a conversation against impossible odds. He excused himself and crossed over to her, leant over the counter and kissed her.
‘Are they all right?’
‘Yes. I’m practising being a new man.’
Her brows quirked together.
‘Stereo nappy-changing,’ he told her. ‘I’m getting quite good at it.’
She chuckled and kissed her daughters. They gurgled happily and grabbed her hair, and she had to enlist someone’s help to free her.
‘That’s quite a handful you’ve got yourself there, young Poppy,’ one of the old faithfuls said.
‘Yes, and the children can be quite difficult, too,’ James said under his breath.
Poppy laughed and pushed him away. ‘Go on, go and make yourself useful somewhere. I’ll come and relieve you for the tug of war.’
He laughed. ‘After this lot, it’ll be a breeze,’ he grinned.
Audrey appeared at her daughter’s elbow. ‘Everything all right?’
Poppy thought of her family: James, the boys—George and William—the girls—Sarah and Hannah—and Bridie, lying at her feet.
‘Couldn’t be better,’ she said with a smile.
‘The boys are growing up into nice lads.’
‘Like their father—all any of them needed was loving.’
Audrey looked at her daughter and smiled in satisfaction. ‘It hasn’t done you any harm, either. You look well.’
‘I am well. Mind the stall for me, could you? I have to go and watch the tug of war.’
They won again, which nearly caused a riot. James escaped from the celebrations and came over to her, grinning broadly.
‘Hello, my hero,’ she said with a chuckle.
‘Hi.’ He looked at his palms, and Poppy saw the skin reddened from the rope.
‘Ouch. Do they need some cream on?’
He shook his head. ‘No, just a little bit of TLC. It seems to cure pretty well everything.’
He lifted them to her lips and she kissed them gently. ‘Better?’ she murmured.
‘Of course. You make everything better.’ His eyes softened. ‘I love you, Mrs Carmichael. You’re a miracle.’
She chuckled. ‘Another one? Your life seems to be full of miracles these days.’ She glanced at the girls, lying on a rug beside them, happily chewing their fists.
James’s eyes followed hers, and his smile almost melted her. ‘It does, doesn’t it? But they wouldn’t be here without you. You are without doubt the best thing that could ever have happened to me.’
Poppy smiled mistily. ‘Don’t imagine a bit of flattery and rope burn will get you out of nappy duty,’ she warned him.
He chuckled. ‘It was worth a try. I tell you what, I’lI settle for more tender loving care from my own personal miracle...’
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5296-7
JUST ANOTHER MIRACLE!
First North American Publication 1999.
Copyright © 1998 by Caroline Anderson
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all indents are pure invention
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