by Maggie Cox
Skimming through the small, neat pages in her diary, Tara stared at the circled letter ‘P’ that had been surpassed by five whole days and all the strength seemed to drain from her limbs. Suppressing the urge to scream, cry or tear out her hair, instead she dropped, stunned, onto the toilet seat with its fluffy pink cover and laid her hands wonderingly across her stomach. She hadn’t got it wrong as she’d imagined she had. There could be no mistake—even in her heightened state of emotion. Her period was a week overdue and, if that wasn’t evidence enough that she was more than likely pregnant, then the slightly spacey feeling she had in her head and her stomach merely confirmed it.
‘Great,’ she muttered vehemently beneath her breath, ‘your timing is perfect, Tara. Just bloody well perfect…’ But her words belied her secret joy because inside everything was jumping around as if it were Christmas. To think that Mac and she were going to have another chance to be parents—well, it was an impossible dream come true. Wasn’t it?
Placing her hand on her right temple, she massaged the pain that had started to throb there. To give him his due, Mac hadn’t raised the subject of their reconciliation again. Not since they’d rowed and he’d reluctantly booked himself back into the town’s best hotel. It was as though he was biding his time, intuitively waiting for Tara’s warring emotions to reach some kind of resolution within herself. But since they’d been back he’d taken charge of practically everything to do with the shop. He’d checked Beth’s diary, got in touch with customers and tradespeople to let them know what had happened, rescheduled delivery dates, took care of sales in the shop and even attended a trade fair that Beth had pencilled in on her behalf. Of her own volition Tara had relegated herself to the background, cleaning the flat, doing the laundry, ironing and shopping and generally preparing things for Beth’s return. She didn’t want her aunt to have any worries to return to, so she’d been glad of the extra help Mac had provided—and it had helped keep their own problems at bay. They’d been skirting politely round each other for days now like skaters dancing around a crack in the ice—both of them reticent for their own reasons to broach the subject of a more permanent arrangement. The fact that Tara was now more than likely pregnant would change all that. Now they would have to talk, and talk seriously.
Returning downstairs to the shop, she was stunned to find the room almost full of customers—female customers. His back to her, Mac was seated on the edge of Beth’s desk, holding court. Dressed in a navy polo-necked sweater and tailored black trousers, the man was a gourmet meal on legs. The four women gathered round him gazed at him as if they’d just been served up the feast of their dreams. Immediately Tara felt irritable.
One of the women, a slim, attractive, fortyish brunette in country tweeds and flats, laughed girlishly at something Mac had said and touched his knee. Tara recognised her as the wife of their local GP—a woman not widely known for her spontaneous sense of humour. A stab of something she hesitated to identify as jealousy shot through her chest, making her ears burn and her heart thump.
‘Mac? Can I have a word?’
As she was about a hundred miles up the road past irritable, her words sounded more like a command than a request. Disconcertingly he swivelled towards her and smiled. She felt the impact of it like a grenade landing at her feet.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
Sweetheart? Tara sensed the tenuous threads of her good humour snap like dry spaghetti strands. It didn’t help that his new fan club were all gawking at him like adoring teenagers at a boy-band concert.
‘I’d like a word in private, if you don’t mind.’ Swinging out the door, she stepped into the small, dimly lit hallway that led to the store room at the back of the shop as well as the stairs to Beth’s flat, and waited.
‘What’s up?’ An amused glint in his devastating blue eyes, he dropped his hands to his hips and grinned.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Out there?’ He thumbed behind his back, frowning. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m dealing with the customers.’
‘And “dealing with the customers” is a euphemism for what? Entertaining sex-starved women who ought to know better?’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply. What’s the matter, Tara? Getting a little lonely in that single bed of yours upstairs? I told you I’ve got a double room back at my hotel.’
Mac knew he’d gone straight for the jugular but he couldn’t help it. For six whole days now since their return from Ireland she’d been keeping him at a deliberate distance, as if all the loving that had gone on between them when they were away had been some kind of weakness on her part that she now regretted. Inside he was furious but so far he’d reined in his temper out of respect for Beth. He knew Tara was worried about her aunt, knew too that she was afraid—no, terrified—to commit to him again in case they had a repeat of what had happened before, so wisely he’d decided not to push her, to give her more time. But as far as patience was concerned his was suddenly in short supply. What the hell was it going to take to convince her he meant every word he’d said about being totally dedicated to making their relationship a success? He knew he’d almost ruined things by inadvertently indicating that work was still a big priority in his life but he’d already promised to look for a house near by, as well as drastically cutting down his working hours so they could spend more time together. What more did the woman want?
‘Don’t flatter yourself!’ Fists inadvertently clenched by her sides, Tara glared at him with enraged green eyes. ‘If I’m lonely, you’re not the only fish in the sea, Mac Simmonsen!’
‘Insinuating what? That there’s someone else on the scene?’ Jealousy knifing through him, Mac grabbed her upper arm and held her fast when she would have turned away.
‘Of course not!’ Biting her lip, Tara cursed her own foolish temper. Trying to make Mac jealous was not the best idea and relations between them—for the last few days anyway—were strained enough. All of a sudden she felt frightened and vulnerable, like a small animal that had gone to ground after a trauma. She was going to have to share her news with him soon because the implications of it were too great for her to bear alone, but first she needed a little more time to shore up her defences. ‘I’m feeling a little tired, that’s all. I don’t want an argument even though you think I’m spoiling for one. I think I’ll go and lie down. Do you mind taking care of things in the shop until closing time?’
Releasing her arm, Mac glanced down at his watch. ‘No problem. But when closing time comes, I’m coming upstairs to see you. There are a few things we need to get clear on and I’m not leaving until they’re dealt with to my complete satisfaction. Is that understood?’
Biting back a resentful retort, Tara corralled her irritation and nodded. ‘You can stay for dinner if you like.’ As concessions went it was pretty poorly offered and a sense of shame swept over her at her churlishness. ‘It’s just pasta with a homemade sauce. Nothing fancy.’
Rubbing his hand round his jaw, Mac released a long, slow breath. A resigned breath that told Tara his patience was wearing extremely thin and not to push him too far or no more Mr Nice Guy. All of a sudden she longed for those few happy days in Ireland when the only decision they’d had to make was whether or not to get out of bed. Since their coming home, life had quickly got far too serious again.
‘Go and lie down.’ He briefly touched her hair, the whisper of a smile about his lips. ‘I agree you do look tired. Why not let me cook dinner?’
‘OK.’ At that moment she had neither the will nor the strength to disagree.
‘You’ve hardly eaten a thing.’
‘Who are you? My mother?’ Pushing away from the dining table, Tara threw down her linen napkin then fled into the living room. Mac found her staring out the window, the room softly illuminated by a small antique lamp in the corner. Not for the first time that evening, he longed to have some insight into what was going on in her head. She’d be
en as jumpy and as restless as a cat all through dinner, her lovely eyes shying away from direct confrontation whenever he addressed her. He could only pray that her touchiness wasn’t because she was trying to find a way to tell him that she couldn’t bring herself to reconcile. He had no idea what he’d do if she hit him with that—not when his hopes had been allowed to get so high. Right now he just didn’t want to even go there.
‘Can I get you anything? Glass of wine? Some brandy perhaps?’
She spun round to regard him, arms crossed protectively in front of her chest in the pale blue denim dress she wore. ‘No, thank you.’
Mac scowled. He might have been a waiter asking if her meal had been to her satisfaction for all the interest in her voice.
‘OK. Something’s going on with you, Tara, and unless you tell me what it is I’m going to get the mother of all headaches trying to fathom it out. What is it? And don’t tell me now isn’t the right time to ask because I’m not leaving here until I get some answers.’ As if to qualify his statement, he dropped down onto the sofa and planted himself there.
If now wasn’t the right time to reveal her condition then Tara didn’t know when the time would be more right. In a couple of days’ time Beth would be home and Tara would need to devote most of her time to looking after her welfare as well as running the shop. She couldn’t assume for even a second that Mac would want to continue taking care of that task indefinitely. She was only surprised that he had stuck it out this long. Every day that passed she lived in fear of him telling her he had to go back to work, and once back in London—once back in the hub of his busy, successful agency—who knew when he would make time to see her again?
Her heart feeling as though it were wearing a leaden overcoat, she swallowed down the emotion blocking her throat to release a quivery little sigh.
‘Well…I’m not a hundred per cent sure—I mean, I haven’t done a proper test yet, but I think I might be…pregnant.’
There, she’d said it and the world hadn’t come to an end. Not yet at any rate. Even if Mac had gone awfully quiet and looked as though someone had put him in a trance.
Then he smiled and that drop-dead gorgeous, bring-a-woman-to-her-knees smile just kept on getting wider and wider until Tara almost forgot to breathe.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ After the delivery of that stunning smile of his, his words hit Tara like a smack in the face. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. In her experience, ‘don’t know’ meant doubt, and doubt wasn’t reassuring, and dammit! She needed to be reassured everything was going to be all right. Wasn’t that what every new mother-to-be longed to know? Especially considering her circumstances, with her previous pregnancy ending in such tragedy.
Engrossed in swirling grey thoughts that were like one of those pea-souper fogs London had been famous for in bygone days, Tara barely registered the fact that Mac had got to his feet and was currently standing in front of her, easing her folded arms down slowly by her sides.
The sensual drift of his cologne registered low in her belly. Desire kindled like a dying camp-fire being stoked back to life. All her senses shifted startlingly into super-alertness. Her eyes stinging, she stared into his beautiful face, anxiety almost choking her. ‘We should have used something. It’s my fault. I should have insisted you—we—’ She didn’t finish what she was saying because all of a sudden she found herself pressed hard into Mac’s chest and the sensation of that warm, supple strength of his eased into her bones like some soporific herb—stealing away her pain, enveloping her in almost unspeakable tenderness.
‘I didn’t know what to say because I was overwhelmed,’ Mac was crooning against her ear, his warm breath instigating delightful little shock waves all along her lobe. ‘It’s wonderful news, Tara. I feel like a kid who’s just got everything he wanted for Christmas!’
Her arms slipped round his waist and held on tight. Raising her head, she gazed questioningly up at him.
‘Then you don’t mind?’
‘Mind? Woman, are you completely mad?’ Laughing, he lifted her off her feet and swung her round.
‘Stop, Mac! You’re making me dizzy.’ Her heart racing with myriad different emotions, Tara clung to him a little to get her bearings before gently breaking away. ‘In light of what’s happened, I’m not going to pretend that I can manage on my own. Although Gabriel didn’t live, I was perfectly aware all through my pregnancy that a child needs two parents. It wasn’t easy being on my own and faced with the reality of being a single mother. This time I want to do things right but I can only do that if I’m sure you’re going to stay the course. I know we can only take one day at a time… I’m not looking for cast-iron guarantees. But I need to know you really mean it when you say that the baby and I are what you want. I don’t want your work to take over when you go back and for you to gradually forget the promises you made.’
Contemplating her sad, lovely face, Mac mused again how he could have walked out on her that first time. It scared him to remember how he’d allowed his work to get such a hold on his life. Since taking this extended leave, he’d slowly begun to realise the alternatives to living such a crazy, frenetic existence—even if he’d still been resisting them. Life in the fast lane might sound glamorous to some but Mac knew it was hell on your emotions and your health, so no more. When he went back he was going to start handing over the reins to Mitch. He didn’t just want to be there for Tara when she had the baby, he wanted to be there for most of her pregnancy—to watch over her and look out for her and make sure she got the best possible care that his hard-earned money could buy.
‘I swear I’m going to keep every promise I ever make to you from now on,’ he told her, his voice husky. ‘I might not have been the best husband in the past but you won’t be able to fault me in the future. Well…not most of the time anyway.’ Grinning sheepishly, he coaxed her stiff body into his arms. ‘We’re going to be the best parents. Our baby’s not going to want for anything.’
And what about me, Mac? Tara longed to ask him. Your love is all I want. Am I going to go on wanting for that? What my baby and I need the most is love and it’s the one thing that all the money in the world can’t buy.
‘Anyway.’ Wriggling out of his arms, willing the tears not to flow, she forced a wobbly little smile. ‘I want to ring the hospital, see how Beth’s doing. Thanks for cooking dinner…even if I didn’t eat it.’
His frown made the slight ridges in his forehead more evident. ‘And that’s something that’s also going to change around here…your eating habits. They’re atrocious. You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive. Tomorrow morning I’m going to find a good nutritionist as well as a good obstetrician and book you in for some appointments.’ Grabbing his jacket off the arm of a chair where he’d left it, Mac shrugged it on, raked his fingers through his hair and smiled. ‘I’ll be here first thing to open the shop but we’ll close for the afternoon. There’s a lot to do—including a visit to the estate agents to look for a house. Goodnight, Tara. Sleep well. You know where I am if you need me.’
Feeling dazed, she was still looking at the door he’d closed behind him long after he’d left.
Her feet hurt. Lord knew she should have resisted wearing strappy little sandals with killer heels but nothing else went with the beautiful pink and silver knit dress that Mac had surprised her with and asked her to wear to dinner. Now she surreptitiously slipped them off under the table and prayed she’d be able to put them on again when it was time to leave. He’d brought her to London, to one of the most expensive and stylish restaurants in the capital, where the maïtre d’ had addressed him like a long-lost friend. ‘To celebrate,’ he’d told Tara—adding that it had been a long time since he’d felt like celebrating anything.
During the afternoon beforehand they’d visited an ‘exclusive homes’ estate agent and now Mac had a file of beautiful homes in the county to visit just as soon as they had picked out the ones that sounded suitable and could arrange viewing. In Tara’s dia
ry she had two new appointments, one with a recommended nutritionist locally and the other with a top obstetrician in Harley Street. Every time she glanced at the latter her tummy would flip into a perfect somersault and the whole day she’d felt as if she’d wandered into someone else’s dream. Now she sat opposite Mac at a perfect oval table with beautiful place settings and silver candelabra, in a secluded alcove away from the main hub of the restaurant—attentive waiters at their beck and a bottle of crystal champagne on ice. If she weren’t so averse to pain she’d pinch herself.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look more beautiful.’ Raising his glass thoughtfully to his lips, Mac took a sip of wine then placed the glass carefully back down on the table.
‘It’s the dress.’ Feeling herself blush, Tara fingered the plunging neckline, wishing fervently that it didn’t plunge quite so low. Her breasts weren’t large by any means but she still felt like Nell Gwyn with so much creamy flesh on show—flesh that she would rather have kept hidden. It was obvious that Mac didn’t share her opinion because his highly appreciative blue eyes kept dipping to her cleavage as though the Koh-i-noor diamond resided there. She didn’t dare imagine what he was thinking. The fact that he looked pretty gorgeous himself didn’t help. In his impeccable dark grey suit, maroon shirt and black tie, his golden hair swept back almost rakishly from his handsome face, he was one potent, sexy male and Tara warned herself to go easy on the alcohol because her senses were already close to sensation meltdown.
‘No.’ A flicker of a knowing smile briefly raised the corners of his mouth. ‘It’s the woman in the dress. No question.’