Her New Year Baby Surprise

by Sue MacKay

  ‘How long do you intend holding up that wall?’ came the deep, sexy voice of the man who would be propping up the wall himself if he knew.

  The test would come back negative. She’d take some iron tablets and be back to normal in no time at all. It came down to the fact she’d worked throughout her pregnancy and gone back to work only days after the birth. She aimed for casual and confident, even though she must look like someone who’d camped out all week under a bridge. ‘As long as it needs me.’

  A firm hand on her elbow lifted her away from that helpful wall. ‘You’re starting to worry me.’

  I’m worrying myself.

  ‘Should have the answers to the tests within an hour.’ Click, click. One vertebra at a time she drew herself up as tall as possible, but still short beside this man. That was one of the things she adored about him. He made her feel tiny and safe against his length and strength.

  ‘We need to talk. If you’re seriously unwell I’d like to know. No, damn it, I need to know. No argument.’ Nixon looking out for her was awesome, and heartening. Make that heart-stopping.

  Don’t let me be pregnant.

  That’d knock him back into I-am-only-a-friend-with-no-involvement. Even though he seemed different, that attitude still lurked on the periphery, ready to pounce. ‘Let’s get back to patients.’ The focus on her was disturbing. What if they’d made a baby?

  *

  They had.

  Emma sank to her haunches and stared at the phone in her hand as though it were a monster. Her head swirled with the connotations of her predicament. A baby. How careless was that? She’d started thinking another child would be wonderful, but that picture had a father for the baby in it, a caring parent for Rosie, a loving partner for her.

  Careful what you wish for.

  Now she got that message in black and white. No grey areas. Nixon would put his hand up, yes. Be a responsible man, yes. Give her his heart, doubtful. A grey area. Her head hurt.

  It was New Year’s Eve, the night she was taking Nixon home to her family as a partner, as someone she loved and wanted them to get to know a whole lot better.

  ‘Em? What’s wrong?’

  Her worst nightmare had found her in the drugs room. No, that was unfair. Nixon was not a nightmare. He was a loving man she’d given her heart to and now she had to drop a bomb in his hand. She took the hand he held out to her and dragged herself upright.

  Tell him. Not now. We’re at work. Coward. Nothing’s going to change the longer you leave telling him. You’ll only make it harder on yourself.

  But keeping Nixon in oblivion for a little while longer would give him a few more hours’ peace.

  Then she looked at him, found his worried gaze searching her face for answers, and knew she was being selfish. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  ‘We are?’ Shock and disbelief warred across his face.

  We are. That gave her hope. He hadn’t disappeared down the corridor and locked himself in his office. Yet. She nodded, incapable of forming words.

  ‘That’s why you’re so tired. I should’ve guessed.’ He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘Your iron and haemoglobin all normal?’

  Again she nodded.

  ‘I think I knew they would be. I feel as though a cloud has lifted from something I’ve been denying.’ When she stared at him he rattled her with, ‘I think I might’ve known deep down.’

  Finally her larynx started working. ‘We were always careful.’

  One dark eyebrow rose in irony. ‘Must’ve got a dud. Doesn’t matter how it happened, the fact is it did. How are you feeling about this?’

  How are you feeling? ‘It’s still sinking in.’ Cop out, but true. ‘I know I’ll have it and keep it. Even if that makes me look like a careless slut.’

  ‘Don’t insult yourself. Or me.’ His fingers brushed her cheek, took her chin gently and lifted her head so she had to look into his eyes. ‘We need time to absorb what this means to all of us.’

  He still wasn’t running. It felt too good to be true. This man didn’t get involved. Emma shivered and stepped away from those gentle fingers. She needed answers now, not tomorrow or in the new year. She wasn’t going to get them. Nixon needed space. She needed reassurance. The only person in this picture who was going to give her that right now was herself. ‘Here’s the thing. I already know what it means. Been here before, remember?’ She didn’t give him time to reply. ‘Only this time it’s different. This time I want the father in the picture. I want a family: you, me, Rosie and the baby.’

  He took a step back, cracking her heart in the process. No surprise there.

  ‘I’ve fallen in love with you, Nixon. I didn’t mean to, I knew you’d probably never feel the same way about me, but it’s happened and I can’t undo it.’ The truth sucked big time, but if she didn’t put it out there she wasn’t going in to bat for her baby. Or herself.

  Nixon took another backward step, and the cracks widened.

  ‘I love you.’ It was surprising how easy it was to say. It was true, and right, and, hell, it was killing her on the inside. She stared at him, willing him to answer, to put her heart at ease. The silence was laden, heavy and chilly. Finally, she said, ‘Time I got back to work.’ She needed to get a grip or she’d be a danger to any patient who came near her.

  ‘Take the rest of the day off, Emma.’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘No, it’s not. You’ve had a shock.’ He was ignoring the love factor. Wouldn’t know how to digest that news. ‘Go home, put your feet up.’

  ‘You want me out of the way. Out of sight, off the radar, so I’m not reminding you every minute about the problem lying between us.’

  ‘We need space while we get our heads around this. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Not for a moment. I’m not skulking off when we’re busy so you can avoid me.’

  ‘Give me time, Emma. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘Yeah, and there lies the problem. You want time, not a baby or me or involvement.’ Crikey, she had grown a backbone after all. Or was she being harsh? ‘Sorry.’ A yawn followed.

  ‘Go home, Em. For your sake, not mine.’

  Her bed beckoned, the quiet, the solitude; Abbie banging down the door to ask why she was home. ‘No can do. I have a job to do and I’m going to do it. I don’t run at the first sign of trouble.’

  His nod was curt. ‘I think I’ll take a rain check on tonight with your family though.’

  She might’ve seen that coming but it still hurt like stink. ‘Avoid me as much as you like but we are involved now. There’s nothing you can do to change that.’

  Pain filled his gaze, tightened his face, then was gone, leaving—despair. He turned away.

  Her heart thumped hard, for him, for her. ‘Nixon?’

  He turned slowly, one eyebrow elevated. ‘Emma.’

  The chill in her name froze her to the spot. Backbone remember? Swallow. ‘I could’ve gift-wrapped the news, but we both believe in plain truth. I am pregnant, and I do love you. There’s no hidden catch.’

  ‘I didn’t think there was.’ He stalked away, disappeared into Resus, leaving her alone and frightened.

  She’d fallen for a man who couldn’t find it in him to admit to love. They were having a baby and he had no idea how to deal with it. Which left her stranded, in need of him, of his love.

  ‘Emma, can you take the fractured femur arriving in two?’ Steph stepped into her line of vision. ‘Are you all right? You’re not coming down with the stomach virus too?’

  Suck it up, get on with life as you knew it before Nixon stole your heart. ‘I’m good. Who’s our patient? Local or tourist?’ She got busy, burying herself in other people’s problems and pain, ignoring her own, barely coming up for air, ignoring Nixon, until shift ended. At four o’clock she drove up her parents’ driveway, walked inside and burst into tears the moment her mother looked at her.

  Happy new year.

  *

  Nixon pedalled as if his life depe
nded on it. Arrowtown had never appeared on the horizon so quickly, and he hadn’t finished thinking through what he was going to do. He’d barely started. Focusing entirely on riding hard and safe was easier than the fear and trepidation kicking up a storm in his belly.

  A baby. He was going to be a father. Nightmares did come true.

  The township was quiet, the tourists gone for the day. Nixon wheeled along the streets, barely noticing his surrounds. Emma was pregnant with his baby. He got that in spades. But knowing, and then knowing what to do—different pages, different books.

  A cat streaked across the road in front of him. Braking hard, he fought to remain upright and on the tarmac. Blasted animal. A broken collarbone wouldn’t help anything. Heading for the park at the end of the main street, Nixon dropped his bike on the grass and sank his butt onto a picnic table.

  The sun was dropping behind the hills but that wasn’t why he was shivering.

  Emma was carrying his baby. He was going to be a dad. Like it or not. Too late for choosing whether to chance becoming a parent. Too late to heed the warning from his nightmare. It was a done deal. Not that he wished the baby away. No, excitement stirred his blood, then reality kicked in and fear engulfed him. He knew little about loving someone. He wanted Emma. In his life. In his heart. Everywhere, all the time. If only he knew how. It should be as easy as sitting down and talking with her, explaining himself—if laying his heart on the line were his way. It wasn’t.

  Em had knocked his socks off saying she loved him. Her declaration had turned him hot and cold all at once. He wanted her love, needed to show her he loved her, but a lifetime of holding back was in the way. There were no guidelines. Anyway, it probably wasn’t even possible.

  ‘I love you.’ Emma’s words resonated endlessly, had kept him on edge for the rest of shift. Every time he’d seen her he’d wanted to rush over and shake some sense into her head, make her see he was the wrong man to be looking at a future with. ‘We’re having a baby.’

  Riding was supposed to settle his head, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was running away. He and Emma were having a baby. She’d been stoic when he’d said he wasn’t going to her family dinner, not showing relief or disappointment. Which had rubbed him up the wrong way. He’d wanted a reaction, something to guide him through this murky situation. But no. She’d left him to make up his own mind—about everything.

  ‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did.’

  Sure, thanks, Henry. I’ll keep that in mind.

  The man who’d talked to him last week for the first time. The man who’d taken his real father’s place as best he could. Should he ask his advice? No, this decision was his alone. But no harm in getting some input. Digging his phone out of his cycle pants, he pressed a number. ‘Henry, it’s me.’

  ‘I’m sixty-five, not ninety-five. My phone is state of the art.’

  ‘Of course.’ Nixon had given it to him for his last birthday.

  ‘What’s up?’ Straight to the point.

  Hang up or tell Henry? Flight or fight? Gulp. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m going to be a father.’

  Henry was quiet, and Nixon could see the frown forming between his bushy eyebrows and the meditative look in his eyes. Then, ‘This anything to do with Emma?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You love her?’

  Go for the throat, why don’t you?

  ‘I—’ Swallow. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does she know that?’

  You know she doesn’t, you old bugger.

  ‘It’s not so easy.’

  Another silence, then, ‘Yes, Nixon, it is. If you truly love her then you open your mouth and tell her.’

  More silence. He had no answer to that gem. Because Henry was right. That was how people communicated. Most people. Just not him. ‘I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life.’ Not that he was telling Henry something he didn’t know.

  ‘Time you started. It’s not that you don’t know how to love.’

  His eyes moistened, damn it. Henry was digging under his skin, scratching the painful scars. He didn’t know how to say I love you. Did he just open his mouth and spill? Or did there need to be a lead in? Not an orchestra or roses; he got that. But to say those three words—once they were out, there was no taking them back to protect his heart. He’d be vulnerable. Emma mightn’t walk away from him but she could get injured, die. The other day she’d been so exhausted it had crippled her. What if it had been worse? Something other than pregnancy doing that to her? He’d have lost his heart, the woman he loved. Or equally bad: what if he failed her? Found his love wasn’t strong and true? No, he was sure about that.

  Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, he coughed. Henry was waiting patiently. Damn but he owed this man. ‘Henry—’

  ‘It’s all right. Go and tell this special woman how you feel. Then bring her down to meet us. If you’re going to set up family we’re going to be part of the picture. All of us.’ Then he was gone.

  It was that easy? Yeah, sure. Nixon began riding back to Queenstown, taking a different route, riding slower as he let Henry’s advice wash over him, into him.

  Tell her.

  Family. Emma. Children. A home. A baby.

  He passed a real-estate sign with a photo showing a large family home set in paddocks. The house that had been advertised in the paper before Christmas. The house Emma thought would be perfect for her and Rosie and anyone else she might love.

  His speed fell away as he stared over the fence at the house coming into view from behind a row of birch trees. Placing his feet on the ground, he took in the wide verandas, the bay windows, two chimneys, the rose-filled gardens. Yes, Emma could be happy there. But this had nothing to do with them and their current situation. This house was not going to tell Emma he loved her.

  Or was it? What if he showed Emma how much he loved her? He could do that. He could. Words weren’t the only way of putting his feelings out there. His heart pumped faster, harder, and the need to act expanded through his chest, became urgent. If he couldn’t do this for Emma he didn’t deserve her. Then what would his life be like? Empty. Lonely. Unbearable.

  *

  Emma looked up from the bacon she was cutting into ever smaller pieces on her plate. ‘Expecting someone for breakfast?’ she asked her father. The house was quiet the next morning as most people slept off last night’s party.

  ‘Nope. Sure you didn’t invite a certain someone?’ Her father winked as he glanced out of the window.

  ‘What?’

  Rosie was racing for the door, Bella at her heels. ‘Nixon!’

  ‘What does this mean?’ Emma whispered, trying to ignore the hope thrashing against her heart. Good? Or bad? Were they getting together, or was it over before it got started?

  ‘Why don’t you go and find out, love?’ Her father patted her hand.

  Nixon had been blunt about wanting time to himself yesterday. Every time a car had come up the drive last night her heart had lifted in hope, and dived back down when it hadn’t been Nixon. She hadn’t slept a wink all night for fear he’d reject her. Was that why he was here now? To tell her he couldn’t be the man she wanted? Or—

  Her legs refused to lift her up. Remaining seated, shaking on the inside, she refused to acknowledge the fledgling hope firing in her gut. This could all be the biggest let-down of her life.

  Then Nixon was standing at the end of the table, Rosie’s hand wrapped in his. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, but I need to talk to Emma.’

  She tried pushing up from the table; again her legs failed her. At least her neck muscles worked and she could meet his steady gaze. A lot steadier than her heart.

  Her father held his hand out. ‘Come on, Rosie. We’ll take Bella to the pond.’

  They both watched them leave as though that were the most important issue right now. The air stalled in Emma’s lungs. ‘Do you want some coffee?’ she finally asked to fill in the tight silence.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ He stepped across
to the table and picked up a mug. Coffee splashed on the tablecloth when he poured.

  Finally she couldn’t stand it any longer. ‘Tell me.’

  He looked at her for a long moment, an emotion she couldn’t identify in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. It was a shock and I didn’t handle it well.’

  ‘You needed time to get your head around the baby.’ He’d known almost as long as her.

  ‘Not as much as what else you told me.’ He hesitated.

  Emma waited for her world to implode.

  ‘I’ve struggled with putting my emotions out there since the day they told me my family was gone. I think I believed if I didn’t say a word it wouldn’t be true. Later I couldn’t find the words, so I kept quiet. To my detriment. To your detriment.’

  Hers? That had to mean something good. Didn’t it? ‘And?’ She was rushing him. But, hell, how could she not? She wanted this over, no matter what he told her.

  ‘I want us to have a future, Em.’ More coffee splashed on the cloth and Nixon carefully placed the mug on the table. ‘The four of us.’

  She liked where this was going, but they were only at the beginning. ‘As in, a family?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her heart jerked, stabbing her painfully. ‘Are you doing this for the baby’s sake? Because you have a responsibility towards it? I can’t accept that. It’s all or nothing for me.’ Where had the strength to say that come from? On the inside she was a bubbling mess of fear. Her mouth was a desert.

  Nixon pulled some papers from his pocket. ‘You’d better see this.’

  A legal document. No way. She wasn’t signing any damned piece of paper that put the baby entirely in her custody. Or took it away from her. She stared at Nixon, saw the man she’d given her heart to, saw the strength, the honesty, the big heart, the fears and the care. He would not do that to her. Or his child. Reaching out, she asked, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Take a look.’

  Slowly unfolding the document, she gasped. ‘It’s a sale and purchase agreement.’ Quickly lowering her gaze, she read some more. ‘Trish and Bill’s place?’