She strode across to stand directly in front of him. ‘Nobody is asking you to put in those hard yards—least of all me.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I know exactly what you’re up to.’
He probably did. That was what happened when someone knew you so well.
‘You think the idea of helping out at this wedding is going to scare me off.’
She raised an eyebrow. Hadn’t it?
‘It won’t work, Meg.’
They’d see about that. ‘Believe me, Ben, a baby is a much scarier proposition than a wedding. Even this wedding.’
‘You don’t think I’ll stick it out?’
Not for a moment. ‘If you can’t stick the wedding out then I can’t see how you’ll stick fatherhood out.’ And she’d do everything she could to protect her child from that particular heartache. ‘End of story.’
The pulse at the base of his jaw thumped and his eyes flashed blue fire. It was sexy as hell.
She blinked and then took a step back. Stupid pregnancy hormones!
He thrust out his hand. ‘You have yourself a deal, Meg, and may the best man win.’
She refused to shake it. Her eyes stung. She swallowed a lump the size of a Victorian sponge. ‘This isn’t some stupid bet, Ben. This is my baby’s life!’
His face softened but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. ‘Wrong, Meg. Our baby. It’s
our
baby’s life.’
He reached out and touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. And then he was gone.
‘Oh, Ben,’ she whispered after him, reaching up to touch the spot on her cheek that burned from his touch. He had no idea what he’d just let himself in for.
CHAPTER FOUR
B
EN
SLEPT
IN
one of Meg’s spare bedrooms instead of next door at Elsie’s.
He slept the sleep of the dead.
He slept for twenty straight hours.
When he finally woke and traipsed into the kitchen, the first thing he saw was Meg hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table. The sun poured in at the windows, haloing her in gold. She glanced up. She smiled. But it wasn’t her regular wide, unguarded smile.
‘I wondered when you’d surface.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I can’t remember the last time I slept that long.’ Or that well.
‘Where were you?’
He frowned and pointed. ‘Your back bedroom.’
Her grin lit her entire face. ‘I meant where exactly in Africa were you before you flew home to Australia?’
Oh, right.
‘Zambia, to be exact.’ He was supposed to be leading a safari.
She stared at him, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. He remembered that conversation with Stefan, and the look of fulfilment that had spread across his friend’s face when he’d spoken about his children. It had filled Ben with awe, and the sudden recognition of his responsibilities had changed everything.
He had to be a better father than his own had been. He had to or—
His stomach churned and he cut the thought off. It was too early in the day for such grim thoughts.
‘Exciting,’ she murmured.
He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. ‘Meg, are we okay—you and me?’
‘Of course we are.’ But she’d gone back to her laptop and she didn’t look up as she spoke. When he didn’t move she waved a hand towards the pantry. ‘Look, we need to talk, but have something to eat first while I finish up these accounts. Then we’ll do precisely that.’
He’d stormed in here yesterday and upended all of her plans. Meg liked her ducks in neat straight rows. She liked to know exactly where she was going and what she was working towards. He’d put paid to all of that, and he knew how much it rattled her when her plans went awry.
Awry? His lips twisted. He’d blown them to smithereens. The least he could do was submit to her request with grace, but...
‘You’re working on a Sunday?’
‘I run my own business, Ben. I work when I have to work.’
He shut up after that. It struck him how much Meg stuck to things, and how much
he
never had. As soon as he grew bored with a job or a place he moved on to the next one, abuzz with the novelty and promise of a new experience. His restlessness had become legendary amongst his friends and colleagues. No wonder she didn’t have any faith in his potential as a father.
All you did was collect sperm in a cup
.
He flinched, spilling cereal all over the bench. With a muffled curse he cleaned it up and then stood, staring out of the kitchen window at the garden beyond while he ate.
You never planned to have a child.
He hadn’t. He’d done everything in his power to avoid that kind of commitment. Bile rose in his throat. So what the hell was he doing here?
He stared at the bowl he held and Stefan’s face, words, rose in his mind.
A baby deserves both a mother and a father
. He pushed his shoulders back and rinsed his bowl. He might not have planned this, but he had no intention of walking away from his child. He couldn’t.
He swung to Meg, but she didn’t look up from her computer. He wasn’t hungry but he made toast. He ate because he wanted his body clock to adjust to the time zone. He ate to stop himself from demanding that Meg stop what she was doing and talk to him right now.
After he’d washed and dried the dishes Meg turned off her computer and pushed it to one side. He poured two glasses of orange juice and sat down. ‘You said we have to talk.’ He pushed one of the glasses towards her.
She blinked. ‘And you don’t think that’s necessary?’
‘I said what I needed to say yesterday.’ He eyed her for a moment. ‘And I don’t want to fight.’
She stared at him, as if waiting for more. When he remained silent she blew out a breath and shook her head.
He rolled his shoulders and fought a scowl. ‘What?’
‘You said yesterday that you want to be acknowledged as the baby’s father.’
‘I do.’
‘And that you want to be a part of its life.’
He thrust out his jaw. ‘That’s right.’
‘Then would you kindly outline the practicalities of that for me, please? What precisely are your intentions?’
He stared at her blankly. What was she talking about?
She shook her head again, her lips twisting. ‘Does that mean you want to drop in and visit the baby once a week? Or does it mean you want the baby to live with you for two nights a week and every second weekend? Or are you after week-about parenting?’ Her eyes suddenly blazed with scorn. ‘Or do you mean to flit in and out of its life as you do now, only instead of calling you Uncle Ben the child gets the privilege of calling you Daddy?’
Her scorn almost burned the skin from his face.
She leaned towards him. ‘Do you actually mean to settle down and help care for this baby?’
Settle down? His mouth went dry. He hadn’t thought...
She drew back and folded her arms. ‘Or do you mean to keep going on as you’ve always done?’
She stared at him, her blazing eyes and the tension in her folded arms demanding an answer. He had to say something. ‘I...I haven’t thought the nuts and bolts of the arrangements through.’ It wasn’t much to give her, but at least it was the truth.
‘You can’t have it both ways, Ben. You’re either globe-trotting Uncle Ben or one hundred per cent involved Daddy. I won’t settle for anything but the best for my child.’
He leapt out of his chair. ‘You can’t demand I change my entire life!’
She stared at him, her eyes shadowed. ‘I’m not. I’ve never had any expectations of you. You’re the one who stormed in here yesterday and said you wanted to be a father. And a true father is—’
‘More than sperm in a cup.’ He fell back into his seat.
She pressed her fingers to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I put that very crudely yesterday.’
Her guilt raked at him. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the one who’d waltzed in and overturned her carefully laid plans.
She lifted her head. ‘A father is so much more than an uncle, Ben. Being a true father demands more commitment than your current lifestyle allows for. A father isn’t just for fun and games. Being a father means staying up all night when your child is sick, running around to soccer and netball games, attending parent and teacher nights.’
His hands clenched. His stomach clenched tighter. He’d stormed in here without really knowing what he was demanding. He still didn’t know what he was demanding. He just knew he couldn’t walk away.
‘Ben, what do you even know about babies?’
Zilch.
Other than the fact that they were miracles. And that they deserved all the best life had to give.
‘Have you ever held one?’
Nope. Not even once.
‘Do you even know how to nurture someone?’
He stiffened.
What the hell...?
‘I don’t mean do you know how to lead a group safely and successfully down the Amazon, or to base camp at Everest, or make sure someone attaches the safety harness on their climbing equipment correctly. Do you know how to care for someone who is sick or who’s just feeling a bit depressed?’
What kind of selfish sod did she think him?
His mouth dried. What kind of selfish sod
was
he?
‘I’m not criticising you. Those things have probably never passed across your radar before.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘You have this amazing and exciting life. Do you really want to give it up for nappies, teething, car pools and trips to the dentist?’
He couldn’t answer that.
‘Do you
really
want to be a father, Ben?’
He stared at his hands. He curled his fingers against his palms, forming them into fists. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ He searched Meg’s eyes—eyes that had given him answers in the past. ‘What should I do?’ Did she think he had it in him to become a good father?
‘No way!’ She shot back in her chair. ‘I am not going to tell you what to do. I am not going to make this decision for you. It’s too important. This is something you have to work out for yourself, Ben.’
His mouth went drier than the Kalahari Desert. Meg meant to desert him?
Her face softened. ‘If you don’t want that level of involvement I will understand. You won’t be letting me down. We’ll carry on as we’ve always done and there’ll be no hard feelings. At least not on my side.’
Or his!
‘But if you do want to be a proper father it only seems fair to warn you that my expectations will be high.’
He swallowed. He didn’t
do
expectations.
She reached out and touched his hand. He stared at it and suddenly realised how small it was.
‘I’m so grateful to you, Ben. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to becoming a mother—how happy I am that I’m pregnant. You helped make that possible for me. If you do want to be a fully involved father I would never deny that to you.’
It was a tiny hand, and as he stared at it he suddenly remembered the fairytales she’d once spun about families—perfect mothers and fathers, beautiful children, loving homes—when the two of them had been nothing but children themselves. She’d had big dreams.
He couldn’t walk away. She was carrying
his
child. But could he live up to her expectations of what a father should be? Could he live up to his own expectations? Could he do a better job than his father had done?
His heart thumped against his ribcage. It might be better for all concerned if he got up from this table right now and just walked away.
‘I realise this isn’t the kind of decision you can make overnight.’
Her voice hauled him back from the brink of an abyss.
‘But, Ben, for the baby’s sake...and for mine...could you please make your decision by the time the wedding rolls around?’
His head lifted. Six weeks? She was giving him six weeks? If he could cope with six weeks living in Fingal Bay, that was.
He swallowed. If he couldn’t he supposed they’d have their answer.
‘And speaking of weddings...’ She rose and hitched her head towards the back door.
Weddings?
He scowled.
‘C’mon. I need your help measuring the back yard.’
‘What the hell for—?’
He broke off on an expletive to catch the industrial tape measure she tossed him—an old one of her father’s, no doubt—before it brained him. She disappeared outside.
Glowering, he slouched after her. ‘What for?’ he repeated.
‘For the marquee. Elsie and my father can be married in the side garden by the rose bushes, weather permitting, and we’ll set up a marquee out the back here for the meal and speeches and dancing.’
‘Why the hell can’t they get married in the registry office?’
She spun around, hands on hips. The sun hit her hair, her eyes, the shine on her lips. With her baby bump, she looked like a golden goddess of fertility. A
desirable
goddess. He blinked and took a step back.
‘This is a wedding. It should be celebrated.’
‘I have never met two people less likely to want to celebrate.’
‘Precisely.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Shut up, Ben, and measure.’
They measured.
The sun shone, the sky was clear and salt scented the air, mingling with the myriad scents from Meg’s garden. Given the sobering discussion they’d just had, he’d have thought it impossible to relax, but as he jotted down the measurements that was exactly what he found himself doing.
To his relief, Meg did too. He knew he’d freaked her out with his announcement yesterday—that he’d shocked and stressed her. He paused. And then stiffened. He’d
stressed
her. She was pregnant and he’d stressed her. He was an idiot! Couldn’t he have found a less threatening and shocking way of blurting his intentions out?
His hands clenched. He was a tenfold idiot for not actually working out the nuts and bolts of those intentions prior to bursting in on her the way he had—for not setting before her a carefully thought-out plan that she could work with. She’d spend the next six weeks in a state of uncertainty—which for Meg translated into stress and worry and an endless circling litany of ‘what-ifs’—until he made a decision. He bit back a curse. She’d dealt with him with more grace than he deserved.
He shot a quick glance in her direction. She didn’t look stressed or fragile or the worse for wear at the moment. Her skin glowed with a health and vigour he’d never noticed before. Her hair shone in the sun and...
He rolled his shoulders and tried to keep his attention above neck level.
It was just... Her baby bump was small, but it was unmistakable. And it fascinated him.
‘Shouldn’t you be taking it easy?’ he blurted out in the middle of some soliloquy she was giving him about round tables versus rectangular.
She broke off to blink at him, and then she laughed. ‘I’m pregnant, not ill. I can keep doing all the things I was doing before I became pregnant.’
Yeah, but she was doing a lot—perhaps more than was good for her. She ran her own childcare centre—worked there five days a week and heaven only knew how many other hours she put into it. She had to maintain this enormous house and garden. And now she was organising a wedding.
He folded his arms. It was just as well he had come home. He could at least shoulder some of the burden and make sure she looked after herself. Regardless of any other decision he came to, he could at least do that.
She started talking again and his gaze drifted back towards her baby bump. But on the way down the intriguing shadow of cleavage in the vee of her shirt snagged his attention. His breath jammed in his throat and a pulse pounded at his groin. The soft cotton of her blouse seemed to enhance the sweet fullness of her breasts.
That pulse pounded harder as he imagined the weight of those breasts in his hands and the way the nipples would harden if he were to run his thumbs over them—back and forth, over and over, until her head dropped back and her lips parted and her eyes glazed with desire.