by Maggie Cox
‘But you were the one who wasn’t interested in having a family. You were the one who left when I was pregnant! Remember?’
‘You should have told me.’
‘Oh, and I suppose you would have stayed because of the baby? Even if I had to raise him more or less on my own, because when would you have played father? It was dark when you left the house in the morning and when you came home it was dark again—not to mention the fact you also worked most weekends. When would you have seen our child, Mac? When he was twenty-one?’
Twisting his hands together on the table-top, Mac raised his deep blue gaze to Tara’s and she was shocked to see the sudden bleakness in his eyes. ‘Tell me about him. About the baby.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘HE WAS beautiful…perfect…even though he was so tiny. They wrapped him in a blanket and let me hold him. He just looked as if—as if he was asleep.’ Reaching for her wine glass, Tara took a deep gulp then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Mac saw her hands shake, her eyes swim with tears, and he wished they were alone so that he could take her in his arms and comfort her. Maybe she’d find it in her heart to comfort him as well, because he was hurting too. He’d honestly thought he was doing the best thing for them both when he left. All he’d been doing was making Tara more and more unhappy with each passing day. Understandably, she’d resented the huge amount of time he dedicated to his work and he was frustrated and angry that she would never see his point of view—no matter how many times he’d told her he was working hard for both of them. But it was strange how those very words now sounded so hollow.
‘How long did they keep you in hospital?’ God, it was hot in here. Hadn’t they ever heard of air-conditioning? With a slightly unsteady hand he pulled the knot of his tie away from his collar and popped open the top button of his shirt.
‘A night and a day. Look, Mac, I really don’t want to talk about this right now.’ Sniffing, Tara forked some more vegetable into her mouth and made herself eat it. So many times she’d imagined telling him about the baby—Gabriel, she’d named him, after the archangel who had a strong connection with pregnancy and childbirth, whose name meant ‘God is my strength’. She’d needed plenty of that particular commodity after Mac left. Night after night she’d cried herself to sleep, wondering what he was doing, who he was with; whether he had found someone else, someone who wouldn’t give him such a hard time about his work, someone who would appreciate him more. The only thing that had helped Tara keep it together was the fact she was carrying Mac’s baby. When she’d lost that baby one terrible night nearly five years ago, she’d wondered how she was going to get through the rest of her life and stay sane. If it wasn’t for the love and care she’d received in abundance from Beth, she really didn’t know if she’d still be around today to talk about that dreadful time.
‘I want to make it up to you, Tara. Will you let me try?’
‘You can’t bring our baby back.’
‘No.’ Not flinching from the stark accusation in her eyes, Mac stoically clenched his jaw and took his punishment. After all, didn’t he deserve it? He’d read somewhere that for pregnant women and their babies to flourish it was best if they had a stable emotional environment. Tara had been distraught when he’d left—nowhere near stable emotionally. Was it his fault she’d miscarried their son?
‘We should just let bygones be bygones. Put it all behind us. That’s what I’ve been trying to do.’ Feigning a brightness she plainly didn’t feel, Tara somehow dredged up a smile then got to her feet. Playing the blame game wasn’t a road she wanted to go down any more. It required too much energy and actually made her feel ill. Also, she wasn’t blind to the fact that Mac appeared slightly under par himself. His looks were still to die for—no question—but he’d aged visibly since they’d parted. Tiny little grooves at the sides of those amazing blue eyes and faint signs of strain around his beautiful mouth attested to that.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m tired. I’ve been on my feet all day at work and I really need some rest. Do you mind?’
‘You sure you’re not rushing off to see someone else?’ Mac hardly trusted himself to look at her he felt so angry.
‘Someone else?’ Her brows drew together in genuine puzzlement.
‘You said earlier you had a date.’
‘And I told you when we met up that he cancelled at the last minute.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Tara sighed. He had every right not to, because she was lying. There’d been no other date and even contemplating using Raj as a handy excuse was unthinkable.
‘I didn’t really have a date at all, Mac. I was only trying to put off meeting with you. I’m sorry.’
‘Let me pay the bill and I’ll take you home.’
‘That’s not necessary, it’s only just a little—’
‘I said I’ll take you home. Just wait a second, will you?’ Reaching for his wallet, Mac signalled the waiter, his expression shuttered and cold. With a heavy heart, Tara collected her jacket and bag and went to the door of the restaurant to wait for him.
Was it possible for a day to be much greyer than this? Tara pondered glumly as she paused from polishing a grand old Victorian sideboard to stare forlornly out of the shop-front window. Rain was falling so heavily that it was thumping against the pavement like someone knocking seven bells out of a punch-bag. An intrepid shopper or two hurried by, umbrellas wavering, faces pinched as they scattered to get out of the rain, and Peter Trent—the serious-faced bookseller across the road—had just covered his outside book display with a tarpaulin. The poor man barely made enough to cover his costs as it was; it wasn’t likely he’d get many customers today in this downpour. Especially not now the holiday season was over.
Rubbing her fingers against the side of her temple where the glimmerings of a headache was threatening, Tara ached to know what Mac was doing. It had been two days since they’d had dinner together and she’d had no contact from him since. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he’d said when he’d dropped her home that evening, but his distant expression hardly invited confidence and he’d stridden off into the night as though he had the worries of the world upon his powerful shoulders. Secretly, she would have given anything to help soothe those worries away, maybe massaging those very same powerful shoulders as she’d used to do for him when he was tired or stressed. He worked too hard and it was beginning to show. It was something when a man like Mac thought that relaxing meant going to the gym and pounding the treadmill or lifting weights. She’d tried to introduce him to the restorative powers of the countryside, but he had been moody and unresponsive on nearly every single attempt so in the end Tara used to wind up going on her own. Just as she’d done most things in their married life…alone.
Staring bleakly out at the teeming rain, Tara wondered if Mac had already gone back to London. Perhaps trying for a reconciliation between them no longer held such appeal? Her heart turned over.
It would be for the best, she told herself sternly. They couldn’t make things work the first time round—what made him think they’d be any better at it this time? And she certainly wasn’t going back into a situation similar to what they’d had before, with Mac working all the hours God sent and herself at home alone and unhappy. Not that their rented state-of-the-art apartment in Docklands had ever felt like home. No. She was much better off here with Aunt Beth. Their little town might be a tad on the quiet side in comparison to what London had to offer but Mac could keep his teeming, polluted city where they’d never even got the chance to know their neighbours because they were working all the hours God sent too.
‘What ghastly weather!’ The heavy oak door at the end of the room creaked open and Beth appeared, carrying a small tray with two large purple mugs on it. Detecting the delicious aroma of French roast coffee, Tara left her duster on top of the sideboard she’d been halfheartedly polishing and went to retrieve one. ‘Thanks for this. You must have read my mind.’
&n
bsp; ‘It won’t help your headache.’
‘How did you know I’ve got a headache?’
Depositing the empty tray on a nearby chair, Beth pushed aside some papers on her desk then perched herself on the edge of it. Her long teardrop pearl earrings dangling against the burnished red curls of her hair, she took a sip of coffee then smiled knowingly at her niece.
‘Because you’ve got that little frown between your brows that you always get when you’re trying hard to focus. Why don’t you pop into the kitchen and get some aspirin?’
Tara shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.’
‘But I do worry about you, darling, and you know why. Have you heard from Mac?’
‘No.’ Nursing her mug of coffee in both hands, Tara strove to keep her expression as carefully bland as possible. ‘For all I know, he’s gone back to London.’
‘That’s hardly likely, sweetheart—not when I know how single-minded your husband can be when he wants something. Remember that big confectionery account that everyone was vying for about six years ago? Mac beat all the competition hands down to get it, and it wasn’t just because of that handsome face of his either. He worked night and day to—’
‘I know that, Beth. I was there, remember?’ A little stab of hurt reverberated through Tara. There were nights when Mac hadn’t come home at all during that particular campaign. He’d taken to sleeping on the couch in his office just so that he could be ‘on hand’ at the press of a telephone keypad, and if Tara had wanted to see him at all she’d had to practically make an appointment with his secretary—the ice-cool Amanda, who always managed to make her feel as if she was somehow bothering Mac or distracting him from something important.
Her memory of that particular time was an apt reminder of why her getting back together with Mac was a total impossibility. He might have professed to have taken a month’s leave to pursue a reconciliation but as far as Tara could see there were no signs that work still wasn’t a priority where he was concerned.
‘And he’s not my husband…at least not in the way that matters.’ Irked, Tara rubbed at her temple, her headache suddenly developing into something much more bothersome. ‘I think I will go and get that aspirin after all.’
‘I wouldn’t rush off just yet if I were you,’ Beth remarked, nodding towards the glass door that was the entrance to the shop. Crowding the narrow doorway, filling it with his broad shoulders and impressive height, was Mac. He was wearing a stylish grey mackintosh with a damp patch on the chest, and rain rolled off the big black umbrella he shook out then stood carefully against the outside wall. His light-coloured hair curled into the back of his collar, the rain glistening on his riveting, clean-cut features, making his blue eyes seem even bluer…electric blue. For Tara, time seemed to stand still. She barely even realised she was holding her breath until it expelled suddenly on a deeply heartfelt sigh. Clutching her coffee mug tightly as though it were some kind of life raft in a sea of great uncertainty, she wiped her free hand nervously down her jeans.
‘Good morning,’ Beth said cheerfully—too cheerfully for Tara’s liking. ‘You’re just in time for some coffee. Black, no sugar, wasn’t it?’
Negotiating his way past the ponderous Victorian sideboard, some chairs and a stately red and gold chaise longue that was definitely in the market for some loving restoration, Mac frowned in surprise. ‘I’m flattered you remember.’
‘I remember a lot of things about you, Mac Simmonsen. Some good…some not so good.’ And with that Beth disappeared behind the creaking oak door, leaving Tara alone with Mac.
For several seconds neither of them spoke. For his part, Mac just drank in the view. Dressed in light blue denim jeans and a mint-green cashmere sweater, a pair of small gold studs at her ears, Tara looked young and pretty—her appeal all the more potent on this rainy autumnal day when Mac had wondered gloomily if he was on a lost cause trying to win her back.
‘So…how are you feeling today?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, wishing the incessant throbbing in her head would go away. ‘I thought maybe you’d gone back to London.’
‘Now, why would I do a thing like that?’
‘Withdrawal symptoms from not being at work?’ Lifting one eyebrow, Tara was disconcerted to see him smile. Mac not smiling was unsettling. Mac smiling was even more so.
‘You wound me to the core.’
‘I doubt it.’ For some insane reason, she found herself smiling back at him. Blinking in disbelief, Mac felt as if he’d been winded. Seeing her smile was like a chink of ice breaking away from a frozen lake. Suddenly there was hope for better days to come. A flash of warmth coiled inside him like a wisp of smoke.
‘I came in the hope of enticing you away for the afternoon.’
‘Where to?’ Tara’s hand curled even more tightly round the bright purple mug. She should have just told him a straight ‘no,’ but the rain outside continued to fall like the onset of Noah’s flood and something inside her ached for something good to happen. The fact that she was willing to associate Mac with something good didn’t bear examination right then.
‘Apparently there’s a very good health club and spa not ten miles from here. I thought I might go use the gym and get a massage afterwards. You game?’
Oh, my… There was something highly erotic about the idea of Mac getting a massage. And what was it about the very word that made her tingle all over in sensual anticipation? ‘You certainly do know how to tempt a girl,’ she responded, trying hard to keep her tone light—not easy when Mac’s heated examination of her face and figure was making her feel as if she could melt right into the floor.
‘I used to,’ he replied, his voice pitched huskily low, and Tara’s mesmerised gaze locked hungrily with his, her hands itching to divest him of his expensive, stylish raincoat and whatever else he had on underneath it.
‘So…are you going to join me?’
‘I’ll have to check with Beth first.’
‘What’s that, darling?’ The lady in question suddenly appeared, another steaming mug of coffee transported carefully between her flawlessly manicured hands.
‘Mac’s invited me out for the afternoon…to a health spa. Can you spare me?’
Beth rolled her eyes. ‘Does it look as if the customers are falling over each other to come in the door? Of course I can spare you. Go and enjoy yourself. A health spa, you say? You’d be stark, raving bonkers to pass up that kind of invitation!’
‘Thanks, Beth.’
‘It might help you get rid of that headache.’
‘Headache?’ Mac’s interested gaze swung from Beth to Tara.
‘It’s practically gone,’ she insisted, flushing guiltily.
His expression suddenly stern, Mac jerked his chin towards the door that Beth had just appeared from. ‘Take some aspirin before we go. I take it you have eaten something this morning?’
‘She said she wasn’t hungry.’ Beth frowned.
Mac’s answering gaze was relentless. ‘We’re not going anywhere until you have a sandwich at least, and I’m going to sit there with you and make sure you eat it!’
For once, Beth could only agree with him. Her niece was looking a little thinner lately and she certainly didn’t want her to lose any more weight. She herself was definitely not a supporter of the much purported adage ‘thin is beautiful.’ A woman with curves was much more attractive and, if Beth knew anything about men, the majority of them certainly went along with that.
‘Let’s go into the kitchen,’ she suggested, smiling. ‘Here, take your coffee, Mac, and I’ll just lock up the shop for half an hour.’
A couple of hours later, wrapped in a soft white terrycloth robe after one of the most sumptuous, thorough and relaxing massages known to woman, Tara sat in the communal seating area for guests—‘The Paradise Connection’—sipping an exotic organic cocktail of several different fruit juices and wondering what on earth she’d done lately to deserve such mind-blowing bliss. Mac still
hadn’t appeared from his own massage and so Tara could happily just let her mind wander, admire her heavenly surroundings with their sky-blue walls and various exotic shrubs and let the glorious mingled scents of essential oils wash over her like a balm.
Reaching over to a little rattan table, she carefully deposited her drink then scooped up a magazine and immersed herself in a diet of high fashion, mouth-watering food and glossy profiles of some leading Hollywood actresses. ‘Mind candy’, but fun just the same when Tara hardly ever spent time sitting down to relax. She was nearly always on her feet. Her particular favourite way of relaxing was tramping through the countryside, rucksack on her back, a map and a compass to guide her and the luxury of taking her own sweet time to get to wherever she was headed—knowing only too well that it was the journey and not the destination that was the important thing. If only she had been able to persuade Mac of the pleasures that could unfold on such a trip, but she’d never been able to prise him away from work for long enough. All she knew was that half an hour into her walk and all her troubles blew away—even the worst ones. It was true that nature was a wonderful healer and, living where she did, just a few minutes away from the most breathtaking scenery and landscape, Tara knew she would never again opt to live in a city.
‘How’s the headache?’
Green eyes widening in surprise, she glanced up to find Mac grinning down at her. He too wore a white terry robe and the places where his skin was inadvertently exposed glistened with traces of the sensual oils that had been used in his massage. With his thick blond hair slicked back from his face, and worry lines melted away, he suddenly appeared years younger—boyish almost. Something tugged at Tara’s heart and emotion welled in her chest.
‘What headache?’ she breathed.
‘So it was worth the trip out here?’
‘Ten out of ten. It’s got my vote.’
‘Good.’ Pulling a nearby rattan chair closer and dropping down into it, he smiled deeply into her eyes. ‘You clearly don’t take enough time out to pamper yourself.’