by Sue MacKay
‘Not a problem.’ Emma led the way inside her apartment and dropped the newspaper Kathy had brought on the table. After filling the kettle, she flicked through the pages until she got to the real-estate section. ‘Trish and Bill’s place is a feature.’ She read the details. ‘Shame nursing’s not the highest paying job in town.’
‘You’d buy the place?’ Nixon asked. He’d heard the longing in her voice when she’d talked with Bill in ED, but hadn’t realised how much she yearned for it.
‘I would if I had a family, as in more kids and a partner. And the dollars. Plenty of them, since Queenstown’s some of the most expensive real estate in the country.’
A home and family of his own. A chill slid down his spine. Too soon. Just because they’d slept together didn’t mean they were setting up house.
Picking up the paper, he read about the property that had captured Emma’s heart. He could see how it would be a great place for youngsters to grow up, could visualise Emma and Rosie in the yard playing with a dog, those horses she yearned for in the paddocks. Hell, he even wanted to see himself fitting into the picture. Domestic bliss. Except that wasn’t on his horizon. Certainly wasn’t part of his plans for the future, despite the feeling of well-being today. He was getting closer, but still had a long way to go before he moved into a home with a wife and children. A very long way.
The old fears began kicking up a storm. His feet were itching to run out of the door, his heart beating a heavy tattoo—don’t go, get out of here, don’t go, get out of here.
A hand touched his upper arm. Emma stood staring up at him. ‘Don’t torture yourself, Nixon. I am not asking anything of you. We’re doing great, no arguments, all fun and agreeability. Leave it be.’
‘I’m that obvious?’
Her head bobbed. ‘Afraid so.’
‘That’s scary in itself.’ It was. Women didn’t get to know him well—he made sure of it. But then he hadn’t met an Emma before. He stared into her trusting eyes, his fears receding, leaving him shaken but—but okay. Ready to stay with Emma for the day. He could even return to the conversation that had tipped him sideways. ‘You want to own your home.’ It was most Kiwis’ dream.
‘That’s what I’m saving for.’ The kettle clicked off and she poured the boiling water over the coffee grounds.
Emma had plans, she wasn’t resting on the mess of her past, even though it lurked behind her eyes when she was tired or upset. She’d dealt with her marriage in a similar manner to how she was dealing with post-partum blues. Brave, strong, and doing just fine with the occasional flare up of distress. ‘You ever want any more hours in ED just tell me.’
‘I am not cutting back my time with Rosie. We’ll get there when we do, and meantime we’re not living in a hovel.’ Sniffing the coffee-scented air, she asked, ‘That house you’re in is yours?’
‘Yes. I bought it off the guy I replaced in ED. He was heading to Wellington and wanted shot of the place fast. It’s handy to work, easily accessible, and will only improve in value over the years, so I signed a contract immediately. Made moving from Dunedin a lot simpler.’
His phone pinged. ‘Hold that coffee. A hang-glider has crash-landed on Bob’s Peak close to the gondola building. Multiple injuries. Patient critical.’ He called in. ‘I’m coming in.’ He’d prefer to go to the site but the paramedics would be there and they knew what they were doing.
‘Come back for lunch if you’re finished in time,’ Emma called after him.
With a wave he leapt into his vehicle and gunned the motor. Of course the traffic was diabolical, with sightseers gaping out of windows and forgetting to drive. The locals were obvious—they were the ones with their hands on the horns. If only he could legally stick a flashing light on his roof.
For the first time, being called into work for an emergency didn’t raise the adrenalin, didn’t create anticipation for the injuries he’d have to deal with. Instead his heart got heavier with every kilometre he drove away from Emma. At least he had lunch with her to look forward to—if he ever got through this damned traffic. More time with Emma was imperative to his well-being, and the sense of balance coming into his life. Didn’t matter what they did, as long as he was with her. Keep this up and his cycle might become rusty.
‘Move it.’ His palm pressed hard on the horn. ‘Get out of the damned way.’ A patient could die while he sat in this traffic jam. If his bike had been at the back of the four-wheel drive he’d be parking up and riding to the hospital by now. But it wasn’t. He’d been too busy thinking about Emma to do anything that sensible.
Finally he was racing through the hospital, his vehicle abandoned in a tow-away area of the health department’s car park. ‘How far away is our man?’
‘Coming down now,’ Carl told him. ‘Resus one’s ready.’ The nurse handed Nixon a scribbled note. ‘The general surgeon and neurosurgeon are on standby, and surgical are contacting Cameron.’
‘Thanks,’ Nixon muttered, his eyes sweeping over the information. Moments later they were dealing with the worst of worst-case scenarios. Fractures, blood loss, unconsciousness, internal injuries. Everyone worked fast, fighting the impossible, agonising minute after agonising minute, slowly winning, getting their patient ready for Theatre.
‘No reaction from his feet or hands,’ Nixon warned Cameron when he arrived dressed in gardening clothes.
‘Damage to the spinal cord. Makes sense. Those impact injuries to his femurs and ilium suggest he landed feet first.’ Cameron studied the X-rays on the screen in front of them. ‘First things first, starting with that liver haemorrhage. It’s going to be a long day.’
Especially for the man they didn’t have a name for.
*
‘He arrived at the car park this morning, set up his hang-glider and took off, only to go splat against the mountainside,’ Nixon told Emma that afternoon. ‘A hang-gliding instructor thought there’d been gear failure, but that hasn’t been verified yet.’
‘Can’t he be traced through the car reg?’
‘It belongs to a woman in Christchurch who’s in Auckland for the weekend.’
‘In the meantime, the man is alone and suffering dreadfully.’ Emma sighed.
Nixon sprawled out on the lounger on Em’s deck, and begged the phone gods to keep the damned thing silent for the rest of the day. Exhaustion softened every muscle in his body. Hunger pangs cramped his gut.
‘Get these into you.’ Emma held out a plate with two salmon bagels and an icy bottle of water.
Placing everything on the table, he reached for Emma to pull her onto his thighs. It felt so right with her sitting there. ‘Thanks for this. Coming in after a heavy time in ED to find you and sandwiches waiting is just…’ his voice hitched ‘…just something I haven’t had and it’s wonderful.’ Made him feel different, as if he belonged somewhere with someone. Pulling Emma close, he kissed her. It started gently, lips to lips, then deepened so that his blood stirred and desire overtook all thought processes. His hands slipped under her shirt, found those soft mounds.
Suddenly Emma pulled away, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. ‘We can’t. Rosie’s in the back yard.’
Reality check. Yet while it meant tugging the brakes on his need, Rosie’s presence didn’t bother him. She was part of the deal. What deal? They hadn’t come to any arrangement. Did he want to? What did he want from Emma? A meal? A date and sex occasionally? Or to share a beer on the deck?
Getting too clinical here, man.
It went to show how little experience of dating he had. In the past when he’d taken a woman out there was no comeback, no questions about where they were headed, no child to interrupt a hot kiss that was heading down the hall to the bedroom. This was a whole new deal.
Liking it?
Oh, yeah.
‘You’d better stay for dinner.’ Emma stood up. ‘Hope you like chicken burgers. Saturday night dinners are Rosie’s choice.’
‘I’d eat anything if it means I get to stay.’
Her grin turned wicked. ‘I’ll see what’s in my diary.’
*
The next week was a mix of excitement and exhaustion for Emma. While the post-birth tiredness had dissipated over the week since they’d first made love, having Nixon here kept her on high alert. Tonight he hadn’t left after dinner, instead had taken her hand and led her to her bedroom to make love, not once but twice throughout the night. ‘Thank goodness Christmas is almost here,’ she murmured against Nixon’s shoulder, steeling herself for the moment he got up to go home.
His hand was making lazy circles over her back. ‘Think Rosie will make it without imploding?’
‘She will, I mightn’t. If I hear “how many more sleeps?” once more I’ll scream.’
‘I’ll miss you two while I’m in Dunedin.’ His hand pressed a little harder. ‘I could stay here instead.’
‘No, you’ve got to see your family.’ He hadn’t been dancing with excitement when he’d told her he was going to Dunedin for Christmas. More like apprehensive. ‘I couldn’t imagine not spending the day with Mum and Dad and the annoying brothers. It wouldn’t be Christmas.’
‘Your family is so together. Everyone loves each other so easily, comfortably.’
‘You missed out there.’
‘Once I’d have agreed.’ He bit his lip. ‘But I might be wrong.’ A pause. ‘Hate to admit this but I’m looking forward to spending time with everyone, seeing how the kids have grown. Getting to know Rosie has made me realise how much I’ve missed out on.’
‘Could be your best Christmas ever.’
‘Yeah.’ A soft kiss on her brow before he told her, ‘I’m back on duty on the twenty-seventh.’
Two days and nights without seeing Nixon. A lifetime. ‘Glad you’re having dinner with us tomorrow night before you hit the road south.’ They’d agreed to get together with Rosie for presents and an early meal, then she’d head out to the Valley to join her family.
Nixon’s hand left her skin, and the bed rocked. ‘Time I headed home.’
She wasn’t ready to have Rosie bouncing into her bedroom in the morning to find Nixon in bed with her. Not when they hadn’t talked about where they were going with this, while they were still in the exciting, don’t-get-too-serious phase. To introduce Rosie to the possibility of Nixon staying in her life before she and Nixon had made that commitment would be plain irresponsible.
Rosie’s heart would be broken. Already she thought he was the best thing after chocolate Santas. So did her mother. ‘Ever thought of coating yourself in chocolate?’
Nixon’s head jerked up. ‘What? You want to lick it off me, by any chance?’
‘Now there’s a thought.’
‘I’m not going to ask where you’re going with this one.’ He slid into his chinos and shoved his arms into his crumpled shirt before bending over to kiss her chin, her nose, and then finally her mouth. ‘See you later.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She wasn’t working again until after Christmas, having booked the days off long ago. Having worked half shifts most of the month, she and Nixon had agreed she’d return to work full time on the twenty-seventh.
Another kiss caressed her lips, and she snatched a handful of shirt, tugged him closer. ‘What’s the time?’
‘Unfortunately I do need some shut-eye before returning to the ED.’
‘Damn.’ She craved another round of lovemaking.
‘See you.’ Emma sighed as the front door closed quietly. Bring on the time when he did stay right through until morning.
Don’t rush things.
Nixon wasn’t ready for anything serious, and she probably wasn’t either. Memories of bad times returned at inconvenient moments, coming more frequently these past weeks, as though the more she got to know Nixon and thought he might be the man for her, the more her mind reminded her how wrong love could go.
Picking up the adjacent pillow, she buried her face in it to inhale deeply, savouring Nixon’s scent. They were a work in progress, which was currently giving her unbelievable pleasure.
Forget moving ahead. She was already there, wherever that was. Right or wrong, she’d fallen in love with Nixon. Totally. Helplessly—which was the scare factor. She understood being helpless as only those who’d been in her situation did. But while caution tripped through the excitement, deep inside where it mattered she knew Nixon didn’t have a violent bone in his body. He’d protect those he loved to the end of the earth. If only he could admit that love.
Nixon had given her back so much she felt like the optimistic girl she’d been before she married. And she gave him plenty of passion, warmth, fun, and genuine care. Another yawn had her putting the pillow aside and snuggling under the covers, her eyes drooping shut. Better buy some vitamins in the morning.
*
‘Mummy, it’s a robot.’ Rosie tore at the paper left on the box Nixon had given her.
‘Careful, my girl. You don’t want to break it.’ Emma smiled at Rosie’s excitement. ‘We’ve only just started. There’s all tomorrow to get through yet.’ Her smile slipped. She’d miss Nixon so much. Too much. It was only for two days—and nights. She rubbed her eyes with her thumbs. Her head pounded, and her breasts ached for the first time in days.
Nixon nodded. No easy smiles from him this afternoon.
‘You okay?’ she asked, trying not to let the grizzly mood that had been gnawing at her all day come to the fore.
‘Busy day.’ He concentrated too hard on opening the well-sealed box holding the robot.
Not what she wanted. She’d been looking forward to a few hours relaxing with Nixon over a wine as Rosie opened her present and he taught her how to operate the controls. So they were both in moods. Maybe this time of the year did that to him, reminded him of missing out with his parents and brother.
‘Abbie came in for coffee and cake earlier. She’s on a high about Christmas with her baby and how everything’s going so well with Callum.’ She hadn’t shut up for a moment and Emma had felt drained when she’d picked up Grace and left. Not that she could blame her friend for feeling out of sorts. Hell, she didn’t know what to blame it on, but if she had to pick a culprit she’d go with hormones. Always a good backstop.
‘Hold the controls like this,’ Nixon demonstrated to Rosie. ‘Push that button.’
The robotic super girl lurched and fell over. ‘I did it, Mummy. Look.’
Nixon stood the toy up again, and again, so patient. If she didn’t know better she would have said he was an old hand at playing with kids. ‘What time do you want to get away?’
He glanced up. ‘Being Christmas Eve, the road will be chaotic, so about seven if that works for you.’
A couple of hours earlier than she’d expected, or believed from his comments when she’d first suggested dinner. ‘I’ll start cooking.’ The salad was prepared, the peas podded, the spuds ready to be brought to the boil. She stood up in a hurry and tripped over a doll lying on the floor.
Nixon caught her as she reached out for balance and came to his feet. ‘Steady.’
Emma breathed in Nixon’s scent and felt tension in his hands. Something was wrong. Making eye contact with him, she saw worry and uncertainty coming back at her. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’
Through the wall, Grace started crying, a loud, heartstring-tugging sound, and Emma’s breasts tightened, her heart dropped, and a waterfall streamed from her eyes. Nothing, he’d said. It was just all too much. She fell against Nixon, wrapped her arms around his waist and cried, deep harsh sobs filled with sadness and longing and envy.
Nixon lifted her into his arms and sank onto a chair, holding her against his chest, his hand soothing her back, his lips brushing the top of her head. ‘Rosie, take the robot to show Abbie, will you? I’ll come and get you in a minute.’
‘Can I?’
‘Off you go.’ A moment later he was pressing tissues from the box nearby into her hand. ‘Hey, about time this happened.’
‘This i
sn’t baby hormones.’ Emma sniffed. ‘Not Grace ones.’
Under her backside he tensed. ‘What do you mean?’
Because it had been a day full of yearning, feeling as though she was missing out and not knowing how to cope or where to find the strength to look life in the eye and tell it to go to hell, she opened her mouth and spilled. ‘I want another baby. One of my own. Don’t even think of telling me this is because of Grace. It’s not.’
Nixon’s chin rested on the top of her head. ‘You’re exhausted, Em. You’ve been rushing around pretending all is well in your court, that you’re coping. Hell, you’ve avoided meetings with the counsellor, saying you don’t need to download your heart. Give yourself a break.’
Pulling her face away from his sodden shirt, she stared at him. ‘I know all that. You’re still wrong. Not that it matters. Pregnancy’s out when I’m not in a permanent, loving relationship.’ What would he do if she told him her half of that picture existed? She loved Nixon, wanted him to be the father of her next child, but she’d gone off half cocked, hadn’t waited until he was ready to hear what she was thinking. ‘I’m sorry,’ she blustered, afraid she’d scared him off for ever. ‘You’re right. I’m tired.’ She sat up straighter, wiped her eyes and cheeks; his finger brushed her hair. ‘Here’s me being a cry baby and it’s Christmas.’
Brushing her forehead with his lips, he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘How about we skip dinner and you head out to your folks’ while you’re still awake? I can grab something from the supermarket as I go through Frankton.’
If her heart hadn’t already felt like a lump of concrete that would’ve done it. He was bolting. Using her as the reason, but he hadn’t been forthcoming with her since arriving, and now he was in a hurry to be gone. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she said pointedly.
‘It’s best.’ He stared at her with something she’d like to believe was love in his eyes, but her head screamed out that she knew better. She’d fallen for him, but doubted he felt the same. Pushing her case would be rushing him.
Clambering to her feet, she stared out of the window, seeing her hopes vaporising in the hot summer air. When Nixon draped an arm over her shoulders she couldn’t help but lean into him, absorb his strength and heat. And hope against hope that time would bring her what she wanted.