For the Babies' Sakes (Expecting) (Harlequin Presents, No. 2280) (7 page)

She covered her face with her hands and faced the frightening truth. ‘Yes,' she admitted with a sniff. Tear-stained and vulnerable, she lifted her head and caught a look of agony in his eyes. ‘I accept responsibility, too,' she said shakily. ‘Oh, Dan, what are we going to do if the worst happens? How will we ever be able to forgive ourselves and I have a baby…and it's harmed?'

‘There's no point in crossing bridges before we come to them. The first thing to do is to find out one way or the other,' he said almost gently. ‘I'll make you an appointment with the doctor.'

‘No…' She groaned. She didn't want to know. ‘We don't have one,' she remembered with relief. ‘I'll get one of those test things.'

‘You've still got to see a doc,' he pointed out. ‘There's one in the village a mile away. I've noticed the brass plate on the gatepost when I've driven past.'

‘I don't want to go.' Her eyes pleaded to be let off.

‘You must!' he insisted. ‘We both need to know the situation.'

The corners of her mouth drooped. She knew he was right but that didn't make it any easier.

‘Dan,' she mumbled feebly. ‘I'm
scared
.'

His eyes were unreadable. For a second or two he stared at her trembling figure. Then he shrugged.

‘Nothing either of us can do, is there?'

Irrational still, she wanted to be taken in his arms and reassured, to be promised that they'd stick together and he was sorry, desperately sorry he'd cheated on her. If only
he'd do that, she thought miserably, she'd accept that he'd strayed because he'd felt unloved and that he'd lacked affection.

They'd both made a mistake, thinking their love could weather any crisis. They'd been wrong. It needed nurturing, not neglect.

Too late, she thought unhappily. Her spiky lashes fluttered as she struggled to hold back the tears.

‘What are we going to do if I am?' she jerked.

Every muscle in his body went rigid. ‘That's your own affair. All I ask is that you let me have access.'

It was a flat statement, without emotion. Helen was too appalled to speak. It was as if he were talking about sharing one of their favourite videos.

Her body still throbbed from their love-making. Sex, she corrected. And yet he'd phoned his mistress straight after—and now they were coldly discussing access arrangements for a child that might not even exist!

‘I despise you!' she hissed, feeling hysterical. Her spirits sank.
Was
that her hormones playing her up? She tried to flatten her voice, to sound more rational despite the deep hurt that was making her heart huge and aching as if it had been bruised and was swollen to twice its size. ‘I want you out of my life. As from now.'

‘Oh, no, you don't. I'm coming with you to the doctor's. I want to hear what he has to say. If you're pregnant then I want to know.
Then
I'll get out of your life. After that, I'll only appear to see my child.'

‘Then for both our sakes,' she flared, distraught that he was abandoning her, ‘I hope I've got some virus! Something minor, like E.coli! Or—or malaria! The last thing I want is to keep seeing you on a regular basis!'

He flinched. ‘Mutual,' he snarled, and spun on his heel in a filthy temper. ‘I'll make the appointment,' he flung brusquely over a high shoulder as he disappeared through
the doorway. ‘I'll collect my things some time later, when you're not around, and I'll ring you with the appointment time and meet you there.'

He turned around suddenly. Helen's eyes widened. His brows were lowered over glittering black eyes, his mouth a hard and uncompromising line. Every inch of his body quivered with a barely contained rage.

‘Be there!' he shot in grim warning. ‘Or I'll come and get you, even if I have to bind and gag you and carry you into the surgery over my shoulder. And don't even
think
about disappearing off the face of the earth. I'd find you. Make no mistake about that!'

Dragging in a strangled breath, she watched him stride out of the room and listened to his pounding feet as he thundered down the stairs, two, three at a time.

For a moment she was rooted to the spot. Then, overwhelmed by an urge to see him leave, she ran to the window. The security light came on outside, turning the rain into silver stair-rods, and her heartbeat accelerated while she strained for a glimpse of him.

Disappointingly, a big golfing umbrella restricted her view to his boots and the lower half of his body as he forged his way across the muddy ground to his car. She tried to fill in the rest and found herself sentimentally mooning over every detail of his features: the way he smiled, that dear little squiggle thing he did with his eyebrow…

‘I love you, Dan!' she breathed, horribly confused by her see-saw emotions. She hated him. Loved him. Oh, yes. That was the truth of it. Whether he was a deceiver or not, her heart was inextricably entwined with Dan's. She'd given it to him long ago and that was where it seemed to want to stay. ‘Why did you do this to me? I need you so badly…'

Braving the stinging rain, she opened the window to
call to him. But to her utter frustration, the wind swept away her choking cries and Dan was clearly far too intent on hurrying to sexpot Celine and her exciting pink underwear with its cute fringes to bother to look back at the boring wife he'd so cruelly betrayed.

Realising her efforts were to no avail, she shut the window and stood shivering, inflicting self-torture by making herself witness the last moments of her husband's departure.

The headlights of the BMW lit up the barn, then swept around to illuminate the mess that was their front garden. All too soon he had vanished from sight.

That was that. She stared into space, grieving for her loss. Only a short time ago she'd been married to a man she loved and admired with all her heart. Now she was left with nothing.

Except, perhaps his baby.

Helen's heart tumbled over and over. She became still. ‘Are you in there, baby?' she said experimentally, and moved both hands over her abdomen. A small spark of life rippled through her dulled spirits, lifting them a fraction. ‘I'll look after you,' she said, just in case her child felt anxious, in case her distress and the rows with Dan had caused harm. Suddenly a fierce strength poured into her, filling every nerve and fibre of her being. ‘I
will
be tough. I won't mope. If you're in there, I promise I'll be a model mother-to-be.' Briefly she let a faint smile lift her sad mouth. ‘But I draw the line at pink gingham. OK with you?'

Filled with curiosity she ran to the full-length mirror, hauled up her shirt and studied her body. Was that what a pregnant woman looked like? Certainly her skin glowed—though that could be something to do with a succession of intensely satisfying orgasms.

She judged herself critically. The dark mass of her
rough-dried and tumbled hair looked undeniably sexy. There was a definitely sultry expression filling out her lips and making them look quite lush. No wonder Dan had grabbed her.

But was she pregnant? She sighed impatiently. She'd soon know one way or the other.

And feeling ravenously hungry, she went downstairs to cook up a huge pile of chips.

‘Comfort food,' she mused, and tucked into a double helping of chocolate mousse. It could be the last wicked meal she ate for the next seven months.

She put down her spoon, suddenly unable to eat. The prospect of going through a pregnancy without Dan's support filled her with a terror that made her loins turn to water.

He'd always been there for her in the past. And she'd taken him for granted. Oh, sure, he was to blame for his roving libido. But she'd shut him out. Had been too tired for sex. What a mess she'd made of her life.

F
OR
the third day running, Dan cancelled all his appointments, sending his loyal secretary frantic.

‘You can't afford the time, not now Celine's walked out,' Diane pointed out, looking harassed—as well she might. ‘You have contracts set up, deals to clinch—'

‘I know,' he agreed curtly. ‘And I can't begin to think how I'll manage without her.' Heaving a heavy sigh, he said, ‘I'm sorry to put you in this position but this is important to me, Diane. I must take this time off. I'll work a twenty-four-hour day for a while if necessary, to catch up. Give everyone my promise that the work will be done—'

‘How about I call Celine at home and talk her round?' Diane suggested gently.

A spasm of pain tightened his mouth. The two hours with Celine had been a nightmare he didn't want to repeat.

‘No,' he muttered. ‘Our row touched the Richter scale and she went ballistic.'

Diane touched his hand in brief sympathy. ‘I know what you thought of her, what your relationship meant. I'm sorry. If you need a shoulder, I'm here. In the meantime, I'll get on and ring your clients, then hold the fort till you return with the relief party.'

‘Thanks. Appreciated.'

‘You look awful. Will you be all right?' Diane asked tentatively.

‘I've no idea,' he said, and left before he spilled his emotions on the office floor and compromised his self-control.

Preoccupied with keeping icily detached, he stalked into the cottage surgery and found Helen there alone, her face drawn and white and her cringing figure quite transparently indicating that she was a bag of nerves.

But he handled himself well, just giving her a curt nod and picking up a magazine, which might as well have been the Domesday Book for the attention he paid to it.

He slanted a quick glance at her and quite unexpectedly his body melted.

‘It's not the Inquisition,' he murmured drily, aching to see how frightened she was.

‘I wish it were,' she mumbled.

‘I could set one up if you like,' he offered, hoping to amuse her.

She didn't look his way. Her heavy panic breathing made the fluid red sun-dress move seductively and he tightened his defences, focussing hard on an article about the menopause, absorbing enough of it to be amazed at what women went through.

‘Not very popular, this doctor,' came Helen's tinny, scared voice.

He glanced around the empty room and felt worried. There wasn't even a receptionist. Had he brought Helen—the possible mother of his child—to some inadequate quack?

‘Perhaps they're all healthy hereabouts,' he suggested, hiding his qualms.

If the doctor didn't come up to scratch, Dan vowed, he'd cut the interview short and whisk her off to a specialist. Didn't matter how much it cost. She had to have the best.

‘Doesn't look like a waiting room,' she ventured, with a brave attempt at conversation.

Judging that she needed diverting, he put down the magazine and made an effort to entertain her.

‘Must be the least clinical surgery I've ever been in,' he agreed. ‘If all waiting rooms had comfortable armchairs and mustard sofas, I imagine they'd make patients feel a lot better. Can't think why it's not full of people discussing the constant rain, global warming and the rocketing price of umbrellas.'

‘I suppose this is the doc's sitting room when everyone's gone home.'

The subdued Helen leaned forward and warmed her trembling hands by the log fire, which burned in the inglenook.

‘Well, let's make ourselves at home, since we're clearly being invited to. That aroma of roasted coffee beans is irresistible.' Dan went over to the antique table beneath a lattice window where a tray was laid with refreshments. ‘Coffee for you?' he asked politely, his hand on the percolator.

‘Should I?' she asked, her grey eyes glistening with unshed tears.

How would he know? Suddenly he felt shocked by his ignorance about nutrition and dos and don'ts for pregnant women. Though he had to remember she might
not
be carrying his baby.

It felt as if a bucket had scooped out his insides and he knew that this baby was more important to him than he'd imagined.

Desperate to hide his emotional response from her, he turned back to the tray.

‘You could try the fruit teas they've got here.' He examined them, taking solace in reading out the labels. ‘Chamomile. Raspberry, ginger and lemon—'

‘Chamomile. I think it's calming,' she said, sounding as if she needed a proper tranquilliser.

But drugs like that were taboo, of course. Even he knew that she had to watch what she ate.

If
she was pregnant. The bucket did a good job of excavating his stomach again. In the absence of a stiff brandy, he'd settle for a shot of caffeine.

Unnerved by the store he was putting in this baby, he handed her the drink, steadying her hand when it shook so hard that the cup rattled noisily in the saucer.

She let his fingers remain for a while and he stupidly put himself on the rack, yearning to pull her into his arms, to nuzzle her gloriously silky hair, to kiss her trembling lips…

His imagination even allowed him to think that the atmosphere between them had thickened with desire. That she ached for him and was holding herself back with difficulty.

Fool. As she'd said, if there
were
any sparks still around, it was either his imagination, or her body living in the past. Mentally, she'd written him off.

With a quick gesture he withdrew his hand and left her cup to its fate. It was a while before his heart rate had settled down again and he'd got his stupid, desperate hunger locked up in its cage once more.

Sipping the rich, Arabian coffee appreciatively, he chafed at the wait. The less time he and Helen spent together, the better.

He searched for further diversion. ‘Nice little cottage, isn't it? I imagine it's unique to find a doctor's surgery in a thatched house with hollyhocks and poppies and country flowers outside.'

God. He was babbling. But anything to stop his longing to sweep Helen up and to comfort her. All he could hear was the clattering of her cup. She was in an even worse way than he was.

‘Coffee's good,' he remarked. ‘Surprised he can afford such treats with so few patients—'

He whirled, alerted by the way Helen had slid her cup to the table and scrambled to her feet with a gasp.

‘I can't go in!' she whispered hoarsely. ‘I can't—'

‘Mrs Shaw. Mr Shaw! Welcome!' beamed the grey-haired man who'd just emerged from an inner sanctum. ‘I won't be a moment.'

Helen gulped while the doctor chatted cheerfully to his patient and they discussed a later appointment to fit around the Women's Institute meeting. To Dan's surprise, Helen's hand stole into his.

‘Seems a nice guy,' he muttered encouragingly under his breath. Her grip increased its pressure. ‘Feeling sick?' he asked huskily.

‘No. Just petrified.' She flashed him a brave but wobbly smile. ‘Worse than exams. Can I opt for the Inquisition now instead?'

‘Too late,' he soothed. ‘I think we're on.'

‘Well! This is pleasant!' declared the smiley doctor, after a cheery wave to his patient. He closed the door and gave them his full attention. ‘Let's see…you've taken Deep Dene, haven't you? Lovely house. You'll be very happy there once you've finished the building work. Come on in and make yourselves comfortable for our chat. I've got some chocolate biscuits in here somewhere…'

Dan raised an amused eyebrow at Helen behind the doctor's back and she managed an answering half-smile before it faded and she was back in trembling mode again.

His own heart was thudding like a steam hammer but he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath and bustled her in.

Let her be pregnant. Then he could salvage something good from this disaster. He'd learnt during his time with Helen that he had a secret well of love to offer someone. At least it could be diverted to his child—and then he
wouldn't feel the crucifying need to squander his emotions on someone who didn't want him.

Gripping Helen's hand tightly for reassurance—his or hers?—he sat with her on a cream sofa, the doctor settling himself comfortably in an armchair opposite.

How often, Dan thought painfully, had his love been thrown back in his face? When would he ever learn? Still, he consoled himself, his child would be different. The only person he'd be able to trust. They'd build up a bond so strong that nothing could break it. This was his one hope for the future. His one chance of unconditional love.

Please. Be pregnant. Have my baby. He almost yelled it out. Contained himself with incredible difficulty. And prepared himself for the gut-wrenching disappointment just as a precaution.

‘Well, Mrs Shaw,' said the doctor with an encouraging smile, offering the biscuits. ‘Tell me what's bothering you.'

Helen took a biscuit and nibbled it absently. Dan had a crazy desire to lick the chocolate from her lips.

‘I think I might be pregnant,' she said in a pitifully small voice.

Dr Taylor's eyes warmed with sympathy. ‘I see. And would you say that's good or bad?' he asked in a kindly tone.

‘Good!' Dan blurted out. ‘We're desperate to know for sure, if everything's all right—the baby, Helen…!' He couldn't go on, his fears overcoming him.

‘Mrs Shaw?' murmured the doctor, after nodding at Dan's contribution. ‘You seem agitated.'

Dan noticed how shrewd the man's eyes were. He was making judgements, Dan thought. Seeing the doctor's gaze on his fiercely clenched hands, Dan placed them in an unconvincingly relaxed pose on his knees and waited anx
iously for Helen's reply. The doctor wasn't fooled, Dan realised. He knew his body was shaking with tension.

‘It's come as a surprise. We hadn't planned… But… I-I'd be terribly upset if I'm not,' Helen replied in a squeak.

Dan hauled in a harsh breath. Yes—and he'd be devastated. Sound roared in his ears as his mind dealt with that. Suddenly Helen's hand was tugged from his. The doctor was talking to her amiably, taking her to a screen in the corner of the room.

Incapable of keeping still, Dan tried to compose himself and to prepare more thoroughly for the possibility that their conclusion had been wrong. A pain sliced through his chest, making his body contract with pain.

But he had to face facts. If they
were
mistaken, he'd get far away. Canada, the States, Australia…any continent that didn't have Helen living on it.

Please, please let there be a child, he repeated like a mantra. Or where the hell would he channel the terrifying hunger for love that he'd kept so successfully hidden up to now?

 

Stunned—and with a million questions whirling in her head, Helen stumbled out of the cottage with Dan a whole hour later. During that time she had answered the most detailed and searching questions about herself and had found herself liking and respecting Dr Taylor more and more as he'd imparted information and revelations on how she might produce a healthy baby.

Pregnant.
She was going to be a mother—
was
a mother.

She couldn't breathe. Stopped dead. A baby. Inside her.

‘Just a minute,' she croaked as Dan, unaware of her bemused state, tugged her on.

‘Sure,' he rasped, and leant against the porch, his hand loose around hers.

From the patient way he waited, she knew he'd realised what a monumental shift this would be in her life, and he was giving her time to adjust to the shock.

But Helen knew she had to get a grip. With deliberate care she focussed on her breathing, intent on returning it to normal instead of its hectic gasping.

In-two-three, out-two-three. In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. And now she could smell the scent of the honeysuckle, which twined artfully around the old plank door. Another moment or two and she'd be fully back to normal again.

Normal? She bit her lip. She'd virtually have to become a different person. Being a mother meant putting your child before everything else. She was used to her independence, to coming and going when and where and how she liked, to the frantic stimulation of London and the non-stop activity of ringing phones, meetings, decision making…

How would she cope? Clutching Dan's hand tightly, she stood stock-still in the weak sunshine and gazed blankly ahead, hurtling towards a world in which she was an ignorant novice. After years of her being acclaimed as bright and steel-minded with sound financial judgement, this was a novelty she did not welcome.

I know nothing, she thought with increasing alarm. And she had no mother around to guide her, no one—other than the doctor—to steer her through the enormous task of caring for her baby. It petrified her.

‘Would you know it? A rainbow,' mused Dan huskily, looking up at the great bow that bridged the horizon. ‘Seems appropriate. Sign of hope for the future.'

Her mouth pinched in. It was all right for him. All he had to do was to turn up every other Saturday bearing presents and exuding
bonhomie
. A few coos over the pram and that would be it for another week.

She'd be lumbered with the sleepless nights and nappies and the fear that she might drop her baby and kill it…

Hastily Helen crushed the wild panic, searching for the good bits. Because she would have the best of it. For a start, she'd have her baby's trust. The feel of her child in her arms, someone to love… The tension in her body flowed away, to be replaced by a quiet joy. She
was
happy about the baby and would get the hang of motherhood as most women did.

That part of her life wasn't her main worry now. It was Dan. Already she missed his presence desperately. And it would get worse.

In his jeans and cream shirt he looked utterly edible. Trouble was, some other woman was currently tasting the delights of his flesh. Her face darkened. Celine must think she'd died and gone to heaven.