Bound by a Baby Bump (Harlequin Romance Large Print) (12 page)

‘Rachel, you have to know, you and the baby, you’re everything. There are still days where I feel like I’ve got no idea how we got here, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Wouldn’t wish for anything but what we have.’

His free hand brushed away another tear, just sneaking out from the corner of her lashes.

‘I felt so alone—’

‘And it kills me even thinking about it.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I didn’t say it to make you feel worse. It just made me realise how much I wanted you there. How much I wanted us to see our baby together. How much it means to me that we get to share this. It wasn’t that I wanted
someone
there, Leo. I wanted you.’

He drew her close, swiping another tear as she hid her face in his chest.

‘I feel the same,’ he said into her hair. ‘And it’s frightening and exhilarating and it reminds me how much there is still to learn about this whole family thing. But we can do this, Rachel, and we can be brilliant at it. Be parents. Be more than that to each other.’

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to her mouth. It was quick and soft and sweet, and as he rested his forehead against hers he couldn’t think of a moment in his life when he’d been more content than this. With his baby’s heartbeat echoing in his ears, with Rachel’s skin warm against his and the memory of her lips smiling against his fresh in his mind. All the reasons he’d fought this romance seemed to slip away. Every objection to keeping this woman at the centre of his life—the space she’d occupied since the moment they’d met—faded. The important thing, the only important thing, was that they faced their lives together. ‘You’re right,’ she murmured, and he could hear her smile in her voice. ‘We’ll be brilliant.’

CHAPTER NINE

R
ACHEL
EYED
THE
encroaching black clouds and glanced at the ETA on the taxi satnav. Four minutes. She crossed her fingers and hoped she could get inside before the storm broke. It was going to be a big one, and her jacket was buried in the bottom of her bag, stowed out of reach in the boot of the car. Either running up the pathway—she glanced at her patent pumps doubtfully—or digging through her bag, she’d be soaked in seconds.

The weather had been beautifully clear in London, and had only clouded over slightly on the train journey down. But once she’d climbed into the taxi from the station it had turned so dark it seemed like night. And the clouds just kept on gathering. It was almost impossible not to consider it an omen. Not that she had any reason to think this weekend would go badly. After the last scan she and Leo had spent a joyful afternoon together, laughing and joking, talking tentatively about the arrival of the baby, and generally being full of generosity and joy. There was no reason to think that today would be any different.

Except that when he’d called her at lunchtime—inviting her down to Dorset for the weekend—there had been something in his voice that worried her. Behind his words had been an edge of something nervy and taut. Why didn’t she take the afternoon off, he’d said, and come straight down to the cottage? She’d bitten down on the word
no
, and thought about it for a second, glancing at her calendar. It would mean moving her Monday around, but there was really no reason she couldn’t... It was the perfect chance to put her new life decisions in action and try something spontaneous for a change. To ignore her plan for just a few hours and see where the afternoon took her.

She’d cleared it with Will and treated herself to a cab straight to her flat and then the station, her belly fluttering with the excitement of her first spur-of-the-moment action in years.

But as the car turned the final corner and the cottage came into view, Rachel’s stomach sank, and she felt the cool damp fingers of fear and disappointment trickling down her collar, as icy as the imminent rain. The pile of builders’ material in front of the house had shrunk considerably, but Rachel’s eye was drawn to the roof, where a bright blue tarpaulin stood out like a flag against the grey sky. The tile-less corner of the house was very small, but very bare nonetheless.

And just like that she felt the significance of that omen grow. He’d promised. She’d trusted him that the house would be more habitable now—that it would at least be watertight. She was here, trying to live a little freer, trying to make their family work, and he had let her down before she’d even stepped inside. A crack of thunder threw her eyes to the sky and she knew that she’d have to run to the door. She just had to hope that she would be drier inside than she would be out here, as the first marble-sized drops of rain reached her.

Leo, umbrella in hand, swung open the front door when she was halfway up the path. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he shouted as he ran towards her, umbrella aloft and reaching for her bag. Another peal of thunder tore across the sky. ‘I only just saw the taxi—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said as they reached the front door and Leo stood back to let her through. She glanced around her at the living room as she wiped the water from her face and brushed down the front of her sweater. At least he’d lived up to his promise of a floor.

‘You’re not fine. You’re angry,’ Leo said, looking at her.

Of course she was angry. How could she be expected to trust a man who didn’t think a house in a thunderstorm needed a roof? Who couldn’t see that something like the small issue of your home being watertight might be important? Especially when he had a guest. Who was pregnant—with
his
child.

‘What’s up?’

She shouldn’t bite. They needed to be civil to one another if they were going to make parenting together work. She would just have to learn. ‘What’s up? The house still doesn’t have a roof!’

‘Oh, that. Most of it’s finished, but there was a slight problem with the calculations, and there weren’t enough tiles. I’ve got some more on the way. You’re really annoyed about the progress of the building?’

‘I’m really annoyed that it might rain indoors tonight.’

‘Don’t worry about that. It’s only a small patch, and your room’s on the good side. The roof’s lined with plenty of tarps. The ceilings are all totally dry. I can’t see any water getting in.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Her hair was dripping cold water down the back of her neck, and she shivered. She pulled it into a ponytail and bundled it up onto the top of her head, using the distraction to try and temper her anger. ‘You said that it would be finished by now.’ The words came out icily cool, and she prided herself on keeping her fury under wraps.

‘So I’m running a little late. It’ll be done soon. There were a couple of other jobs that I wanted to do first. Wait.’ He stopped his pacing, which had taken him from her side and back to the window, checking on the progress of the storm. ‘Why are you so annoyed?’

With his casual disregard, she finally lost it. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re going to be a father in a few months. Which means—I hope, or I hoped—that you might want your child to visit. How can I bring a baby into a house that doesn’t have a roof?’

He stared at her, his eyes wide and his body language heading towards guarded as he planted his hands on his hips. ‘The baby isn’t due for months. There’s plenty of time before then. I promise it’ll be done by the time—’

‘Another promise! How am I meant to believe this one, when the last one meant nothing?’ She pulled her sweater over her head as she was talking, scattering raindrops everywhere, and forcing icy water from her hair down her back. Her shirt underneath was damp, too, and she shivered.

‘It’ll get done when it needs doing! Can’t you trust me to know when that is?’

She rolled her eyes in disbelief, and dropped her voice as the fight left her and disappointment set in. ‘I’m standing in a roofless house in the middle of the storm. Of course I can’t trust you.’ She shivered again, water still dripping down the back of her neck, her skin turning chilly and rising with goose bumps. She just wanted to get warm, and dry. And away from Leo and his empty promises. She grabbed her bag, brushing off Leo’s offers of help, and headed for the kitchen and the stairs. She stormed up to her room and then dropped on the bed. Rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she forced down tears. Why hadn’t she expected this? Why did her disappointment make her feel so utterly broken?

Pulling herself together, she dug in her bag for dry clothes, and headed to the bathroom. When she walked back into her room, wrapped in cosy cashmere and with her hair turbaned into a towel, it was to find Leo on his hands and knees on the floor.

‘You looked cold.’ He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke. ‘I thought you might like a fire.’

Rachel dropped down on the bed and gave Leo a long look. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, looking for damp, or any other sign of the storm that was shaking the windows. It looked dry, as Leo had said, and the heavy, guilty feeling in her belly made her wonder whether she’d been slightly hasty with her temper.

Suddenly, the fire caught, and Leo sat back on his heels, his face fully caveman smug. As the flames licked from the kindling to the wood—which looked suspiciously like the floorboards downstairs—she dropped onto the floor between the bed and the fire, sneaking her bare toes towards the heat.

Leo sat next to her, and nudged her shoulder with his. ‘I know I said it would be done by now. And it almost is. But I’m sorry I disappointed you.’

‘And I’m sorry for snapping the minute I arrived.’ She let her shoulder rest against him, his heat adding to that of the fire, making her feel drowsy.

‘You know these things take time. The materials don’t just appear when I click my fingers. I can’t do this according to your plan.’

She sighed, seeing how far apart they still were on how their lives would unfold. ‘I know I said I’m going to be more flexible, but some things have to be done to a plan. Some things aren’t safe, or sensible, or reasonable without one.’

‘And some things work better. Sometimes we’re happier.’

‘Sometimes
you’re
happier.’

He nodded. ‘You’re right. I am. But we need to meet somewhere in the middle. We need to find a way to do things that keeps us both happy. So if you’re prepared to accept my apology for the roof not being finished, then maybe we can take another look at that master plan of yours. See what else we need to work out.’

She agreed, feeling a bit dreamy by the fire with the warmth on her face, the carpet soft between her toes and the bedspread squidgy behind her back. Those first few months of feeling exhausted had faded, but now six months pregnant and still keeping her usual unsociable hours—in the office by seven in the morning, often still there late in the evening—afternoon naps had become a standing fixture of her weekends.

She didn’t move when Leo reached out to pull the fire guard back across, or when he reached above her to pull back the bedspread, even though it was more than tempting to turn into his shoulder, soak up more of his warmth and his smell. She was cold again when he stood, leaving her on the floor, but then he reached for her hands, pulled her to her feet and then back towards the bed. ‘You look like you need sleep more than you need an argument.’

She couldn’t disagree with that, and tucked herself between the sheets, wondering, for a fleeting second, what would happen if she kept hold of his hand and pulled him in after her. Disaster surely, probably, but just for now it would be... Perhaps it was best that sleep was pulling her eyelids closed, taking the decision from her hands.

She woke to the sound of pans clashing in the kitchen, and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. She’d slept for more than an hour. She stretched out under the bedspread, savouring the warmth in her limbs and on the side of her face. The fire in the grate was still burning strong, and it was no easy thing to drag herself out of bed, and pad downstairs to a man she’d practically fallen asleep on mid-argument.

‘Hi.’

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Leo was standing across the kitchen, his back to her, stirring something on the hob. But what caught her eye was the spread of papers on the table. Coloured pencils were scattered across pages peppered with arrows, exclamation marks and doodles. When she looked closer, she recognised the headings from her own plan, each one in the centre of a sheet of paper. And a couple she’d saved to talk about later: names, visitation, nursery.

She remained standing, astonished that Leo had started to plan for this baby, and admiring the beauty of what he’d produced. Most of it was indecipherable to her. Scribbles and arrows and more question marks than answers, from what she could see. But the doodles were what held her attention. Though that wasn’t really the right word for them. They were miniature works of art, tucked into corners, and they told her more than she’d ever thought she’d know about what was going on in the mind of the man who had drawn them. A baby’s head cradled in a muscular arm, unmistakably Leo’s. A shadowy sketch that looked remarkably similar to the picture of their ultrasound. A woman sitting on the edge of a bed, her naked back covered by a fall of shiny hair. Rachel blushed, recognising herself.

‘Afternoon.’ Leo turned to her, holding a couple of mugs.

‘There’s chicken and vegetables as well, but I wasn’t sure what you were up to these days...’

‘Chicken sounds great.’ Her belly gave a roll of thunder to back up her words. ‘Thanks. This is brilliant.’

Leo set the plates down on the table, sweeping aside his papers. He subtly tucked away the one with the sketch of her, she noted, from the corner of her eye.

‘You saw my plans, then.’

‘I did. They’re beautiful...’

They’d taken to talking a couple of times a week. At first she’d thought that it was to sort out practical stuff, but gradually this had turned instead into a brief catch-up, and then they had spent long, lazy evenings and Sunday afternoons discussing the latest fundraising for Julia House, what the tide had thrown up, how the guy at the rec yard had found the perfect tiles for the kitchen. Face to face, conversation flowed more easily still, as she relaxed into his company.

‘It’s mostly what we’ve already talked about. It just all fell into place, and I could look at it in a way that made sense to me.’

‘You’ve made it beautiful.’

She soaked up the smile he gave her, as warm as the fire upstairs.

‘Eat first, talk second?’

‘Perfect,’ she agreed, digging into her dinner.

Once their plates were cleared away, she couldn’t help her eyes wandering to Leo’s plans, keen to see what he’d come up with and how it would fit with what she’d written. Leo must have spotted her not so subtle perusal.

‘All right, then, get your notebook out. I know you’re dying to.’

Why bother to deny it? She nipped up to the bedroom and grabbed her plans, and was back at the table before Leo had the chance to brew another coffee.

She pulled out her A3 plan as Leo placed a cup of black coffee in front of her. She flicked her eyes up and parted her lips to ask a question. ‘Decaf,’ Leo said, pre-empting her. She held his gaze a moment longer, before letting her eyes drift back to her plans.

She shuffled their papers and tried to match up Leo’s to her own. Most of the practical stuff was covered: the dates of her midwife appointments; which hospital she was planning for the birth; due date, maternity leave and annual leave. So when she looked down at her plan, all the easy questions were dealt with, which left them with the tricky one they’d been skirting around for months now: access and living arrangements.

Leo was entitled—and deserved—to see his son or daughter as much as possible; she had no intention of ever denying that. But that didn’t make it easier. They lived hundreds of miles apart, and their careers kept them there. And that meant that their child would have two homes, and that as parents they would be constantly shuttling between the two. The idea of a newborn was terrifying enough. When you added a three-hour train journey into the mix, it was suddenly more terrifying still.