One-Night Pregnancy (3 page)

‘I work in a television newsroom. At the moment I’m everyone’s gofer, but I’m hoping for better things.’

She shuddered as another crack of thunder tore the night but soldiered on.

‘I was born in Brisbane. My father died in an accident a few years ago, and my mother has remarried. She lives overseas at the moment. I did a BA at Queensland University, majoring in journalism. My father was a journalist, so I guess that’s where I get it from.’ She paused to consider for a moment.

She did enjoy her job, but
had
she inherited her father’s passion for journalism? She sometimes stopped to wonder whether it had been her admiration for her father that had moved her to pursue the same career rather than a deep, abiding feel for it. She often found herself feeling restless, and as if she’d prefer to be doing something else—but what?

Adam broke the silence and the train of her thoughts.

‘Now for the question of Mr Smith.’ He looked at her with suspicious gravity.

Bridget bit her lip. ‘There is no Mr Smith. The ring…’ She fingered the chain around her neck. ‘It’s my mother’s, but since I didn’t know you, it seemed a good idea to invent a husband.’

‘I wondered about that.’

‘Why? I mean how could you tell I was lying?’

He considered. ‘You have very revealing eyes. It also sounded like pure invention.’

Bridget blushed faintly.

He traced the outline of her chin lightly. ‘So, no romantic involvement at the moment?’

Perhaps it was the storm raging overhead, perhaps it was the reassuring warmth of his proximity, but for whatever reason Bridget found herself telling Adam things she’d not told another soul. Things to do with how she had fallen madly in love at twenty-one, how it had led to an affair—a first for her—and how it had been a disaster.

‘He changed,’ she said sadly. ‘He became possessive, and yet…’ she paused ‘…oddly critical of me. But that was probably because I didn’t—well—I didn’t seem to be very good at sex. I think a lot of that was to do with the fact that I would really rather have waited—until we’d got engaged at least.’

She heaved a heartfelt sigh and continued. ‘I—it didn’t take that long for me to discover I’d gone to bed with a man I didn’t seem to like much. Oh, he was good-looking, and fun to be with, but…’ She trailed off. ‘He became rather scary when I broke it off.’ She shrugged. ‘All of which amounts to the fact that I haven’t tried again—I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.’ She looked into Adam’s blue eyes, now thoroughly red-faced.

‘Maybe it needed to be told?’ he suggested, and stroked her hair. Creep, he thought at the same time, but didn’t say it. He did say, ‘Things could be quite different with the right man.’

Bridget looked unconvinced, but didn’t pursue it. ‘Why did I talk about it now, though?’

He stretched out his legs and pulled the one blanket
around them. ‘It’s been quite a night. Fear, stress, physical exertion, highs and lows, and now an almighty electrical storm.’

It’s more than that, Bridget thought. There’s something about this man that really appeals to me. He not only makes me feel safe, he makes me feel interested in him, as if I really want to get to know him and—

She stopped her thoughts there. And what? She was very conscious of him physically, she answered herself, and she just couldn’t seem to help herself. Alive to all sorts of little things—like his hands. I love his hands, she decided suddenly. And the way his eyes can laugh, the way his hair falls in his eyes sometimes.

‘Not only that,’ he went on, and took his hand from her hair to rub his jaw ruefully, ‘what it makes you, Mrs Smith, is simply very human. We all make mistakes and some dodgy judgements.’

Bridget thought for a moment, then said, ‘I guess so.’

He grimaced at the lack of conviction in her voice. ‘But there must be more to Bridget Smith.’ He raised his voice as the thunder growled overhead. ‘Tell me about your likes and dislikes. What makes you tick?’

‘I’m very ordinary.’ She paused and cast him a suddenly mischievous little look. ‘Well, I do a lot of things fairly competently, but to date nothing outstand-ingly—although I’m living in hope that my true forte is still to make itself known.’

He laughed. ‘What about all the things you do fairly well?’

‘Let’s see. I paint—at one stage I thought I might be
the next Margaret Olley, as I love painting flowers, but not so. I also like doing landscapes. I play the piano, but any hopes I would be the next Eileen Joyce were dashed early on. Mind you, I still enjoy doing both. I once thought I’d like to be a landscape gardener. My parents had a few acres and I loved pottering around the garden.’

She paused and thought. ‘And I ride—I love horses. I don’t have any of my own, although I did have a couple of ponies as a kid, and I help out at a riding school for disabled children. I seem to have a rapport with kids. Uh…I read all the time, I enjoy cooking, I enjoy being at home and pottering—oh, and I sing.’

‘Professionally?’ he queried.

She shook her head, her eyes dancing. ‘No. I did believe I might be the next Sarah Brightman, but again not so. That doesn’t stop me from singing in the shower and anywhere else I can manage it.’

‘Sing for me.’

‘Now?’

‘Why not?’

So she sang a couple of bars of ‘Memory’, from
Cats
, in her light, sweet soprano. When she’d finished she confessed she was mad about musicals.

‘You sound like a pretty well-rounded girl to me,’ he said, with a ghost of a smile still lurking on his lips. ‘In days gone by you would have had all the qualifications to be a genteel wife and mother.’

‘That sounds really—unexciting,’ she said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘But it’s probably in line with what one of my teachers told me. She said to me,
“You’re not
going to set the world on fire academically, Bridget, but you are a thoroughly nice girl.”
’ She looked comically heavenwards. ‘Unexciting, or what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He grinned, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘It’s nice to be nice, and I think you
are
nice.’

Bridget smiled back at him, unexpectedly warmed. Then a twinkle of humour lit her eyes. ‘I showed her I wasn’t such a disaster academically when I got to uni, and I got honours in a couple of subjects, but enough about me—tell me about you?’

His chiselled lips twisted. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

‘Well, how old are you and where were you born? What do you do? That kind of thing.’

‘I’m thirty-one—whereas you would be…twenty-two?’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘Twenty-three,’ he repeated. ‘I was born in Sydney. I’ve done many things. I’m also pretty keen on horses, but—’ he raised his eyebrows ‘—since you ask, I’m something of a rolling stone.’

‘You mean—no ties?’ she hazarded.

‘No ties,’ he agreed.

‘Did you get your fingers burnt by a woman once?’

For some reason that quiet question, uttered with a mix of wisdom and compassion, caught his attention fairly and squarely, and his remarkable blue gaze rested on Bridget thoughtfully for a long moment. ‘You could say so.’

‘Would you like to tell me?’

A little jolt of laughter shook him. ‘No.’

Bridget faced him expressionlessly. Her hair had dried to a silky cap of copper-gold, brought to life by the firelight. Her eyes were greener in that same firelight. And, while the teddy bear pyjamas made her look about sixteen, there was, as the man called Adam knew, a perfect little figure beneath them, with high breasts, hips like perfect fruit and a slender waist.

She was also, he reflected, brave.

And no fool, he discovered, when she said, repeating what he’d said to her, ‘But maybe it needs to be told?’

He pushed the blanket away and sat up beside her. The thunder was still growling, but it seemed to be moving away. The rain was still falling, but it was much lighter now. How did I get myself into this? he found himself wondering, and looked around somewhat ruefully, then down at the borrowed track pants and T-shirt he was wearing.

‘I don’t shock easily,’ Bridget murmured. ‘Did she run away with another man?’

He stared at her, and a muscle flickered in his jaw. Then he smiled, a wry little smile that didn’t touch his eyes. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Well, with a woman involved, that’s often how it goes. However…’ Bridget paused, and wrinkled her brow. ‘He must have had a lot more than you to offer
materially
, otherwise she must have been crazy!’

‘Why?’

Bridget blinked and blushed. Then she grimaced inwardly and acknowledged that she’d allowed her tongue to run away with her. So, how to retrieve the situation with minimum embarrassment? Maybe just the truth…?

‘You’re pretty good-looking, you know. Not only that, you’re amazingly resourceful, you’re strong, and I couldn’t think of anyone I would feel safer with.’

‘Thank you,’ Adam said gravely. ‘None of that was enough to hold her, however. Although I have to admit the competition was quite stiff.’

Bridget frowned. ‘But that makes her somewhat suspect, I would say, and maybe not worthy of too much regret?’

He waited impassively, and she tilted her head to one side enquiringly at him. Then he said, ‘Have you quite finished, Mrs Smith?’

Bridget immediately looked immensely contrite. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said softly. ‘It still hurts a lot, I guess? Shall we change the subject?’

Adam swore as he rolled off the bed and went to put the kettle on the stove.

Bridget watched from the bed as he rinsed the mugs in a bucket. The paraffin lamplight softened the outlines of the piled-high bales of straw, but didn’t pierce all the shadows in the shed. At least the worst of the storm had definitely moved away.

He spooned instant coffee into the cups and poured the boiling water in. ‘Sugar?’

‘One, thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘Look, I
am
sorry. I must have sounded unforgivably nosy.’

He shrugged and handed her a mug, then sat down on the floor beside the bed so he could lean back against it. ‘At least it took your mind off the storm.’

‘Yes. And I did tell you my life story, so I suppose I
was expecting something in return. We also saved each other’s lives.’

There was silence, apart from the crackle of the stove and the now faraway thunder.

‘She threw me over for my older brother,’ he said. ‘You’re right. She’s not worth it. But she—’ He broke off. ‘My brother is another matter, and one day he’ll get his come-uppance.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Just a matter of finding the right lever.’

Bridget stared at his profile, her eyes wide and horrified—it looked as if it was carved in stone. She swallowed and said the only thing she could think of. ‘You’re hot on levers, aren’t you?’ Then, ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Much better for you to move on and—’

‘Leave it, Bridget,’ he warned, and flicked her a moody blue glance. ‘Finish your coffee.’

‘OK, I’m sorry,’ she said contritely, and drank her coffee in silence.

He took the cup from her and placed it along with his on a ledge beside the bed. Then he climbed back in and took her in his arms again. ‘Go to sleep,’ he said, not unkindly.

Bridget relaxed and thought how good it felt. How reassuring, how warm and comfortable and natural, and she started to doze off.

Adam, on the other hand, found himself watching her in the firelight and wondering what it was about this girl that had prompted him to tell her things he’d never told anyone else.

Because she was entirely unthreatening? Because
she had no idea who he was? Yes, but there was more to it than that. Rather, there was more to his feelings on the subject of Bridget Smith, spinster, he thought wryly.

He felt protective of her, and he had to admire the way she’d slogged through everything nature had thrown at them, but, again, there was more.

As he watched her, he found himself wondering what it would be like to make love to her. To part those pretty pink lips that were twitching a little as she dozed—what was she dreaming of?—and kiss her. What expressions would chase through her green eyes if he, very slowly and gently, initiated her into the pleasures of sex and wiped out the memories some oaf had left her with?

It would be no penance, he realised, and he felt his body stir. It would be the opposite. She felt as if she’d been made to fit into his arms, as if that tender little body should be his property…

Then her eyelashes lifted, taking him by surprise, and for a long frozen moment they stared into each other’s eyes. He held his breath as the expression in those green eyes became an incredulous query, as if she’d divined his thoughts.

But it was gone almost immediately, that expression, dismissed with the faintest shake of her head, as if she’d banished it to the realm of the impossible or as if it was a dream, and she fell asleep again.

He released his breath slowly and smiled dryly.

No, it would not be impossible, Bridget Smith, he thought, and nor was it a dream. But it was not going to happen. For a whole host of reasons.

He lay for a while, listening to the rain on the roof, deliberately concentrating on it, and on the fact that it seemed to be getting lighter. But in fact the night hadn’t finished with them…

AT ABOUT three o’clock Bridget woke, and this time Adam was asleep. She was still loosely cuddled in his arms, and there was a faint glow of firelight coming from the stove.

He looked younger, more approachable, but she paused and frowned as she drank his features in. A memory came to her. Could this man possibly have been watching her with desire in his eyes while he’d held her in his arms?

In this bed? In this shed, perhaps?

A little tremor ran through her. Had she imagined it or had she dreamt it? Even if she had, it filled her with a dizzying sense of delight to think of it.

But she put her hand to her mouth in a sudden gesture of concern. How could she feel this way so out of the blue, and about a man she barely knew?

Not only that, but a man who had made no bones about himself—he was a rolling stone, he was anticommitment, and he had a score to settle over a woman.

Her eyes widened as she realized it didn’t seem to
make the slightest difference. She still got goosebumps, she still felt those delicious tremors just to think that he might want her…

But would she be any good at it? she wondered. She’d certainly never felt like this before.

Half an hour later she knew she had to pay a visit to the outside toilet, much as she wished otherwise.

It was raining again, so she put on Adam’s rain jacket, which covered her voluminously, and unhooked a lamp.

It was when her mission was accomplished and she was scurrying back to the shed that she came to grief—courtesy the mud and Adam’s jacket. She tripped on the edge of the jacket at the same time as there was an ominous crack—the kind of crack she’d heard before, earlier in the night. She fell over in the mud and the source of the crack—a branch of the gum tree from the hill behind the shed—rolled down on top of her, bringing with it a smothering shroud of debris.

She got such a fright she blacked out for a couple of moments, and when she came to she couldn’t see anything. The tentacles of hysteria started to claim her, and claustrophobia kicked in.

‘Bridget, are you all right?’ Adam called urgently. ‘Bridget, answer me!’

She wriggled a bit. Nothing seemed to hurt desperately but…‘I seem to be pinned around my waist. I can move my legs, but I can’t get out—oh, no,’ she cried, as there was another crack and more rubble cascaded down the hillside.

‘Bridget—Bridget, listen to me,’ he instructed. ‘Protect your head with your arms, if you can, while I get you out. Try not to move. I
will
get you out, believe me.’

But she didn’t believe him, even as she heard chopping and sawing noises, even though she knew there would be more tools in the shed he could use, even though she’d seen what he’d done to another tree. That one had been much smaller…

There was something about being trapped that seemed to convince her she was going to die under the weight of all the rubble the hillside could rain down on her—including, she suddenly remembered, the ruins of the old building she’d seen while showering under the rainwater tank.

For a terrible moment even her legs wouldn’t move, she couldn’t feel them, and she all but convinced herself she must have broken her back. Later she was to realise it was hysterical paralysis, but at the time her life started to unfold itself in front of her. During the half-hour it took Adam to release her she became more and more convinced this dreadful night was finally going to claim her.

Her ridiculously short life, with no goals achieved, rolled before her eyes. Nothing much of importance to report at all, she thought groggily, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

She didn’t immediately believe she was free, until Adam scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the shed.

‘Am I dreaming? Is this heaven? Or the other place?’ she asked dazedly.

He didn’t answer, but put her gently down on the bed. Then he said, ‘I’m going to undress you and assess any damage there may be. Try not to make a fuss.’

Bridget heard herself laugh huskily. ‘I don’t think I’m capable of making a fuss. I got such a fright—I thought I was going to die.’

Adam turned away and put the kettle on the stove. Then he turned back and pulled off the rain jacket and the sodden, torn pyjamas with as much clinical precision as he was capable of. He tested her limbs and her ribs. And when he was assured nothing was broken or twisted he told her she extremely lucky.

Bridget bore it all in silence, even when he filled a bucket with warm water and washed her. She was still grappling with the horrible feeling that she’d been about to die.

She hadn’t noticed that he’d warmed one of the towels in front of the stove until he wrapped her in it and put her under the blanket.

She slipped her hand under her cheek and stared unseeingly into the shadows.

Adam gazed down at her for a long moment, then turned away to load the last of the wood into the stove. She had been extremely lucky, he thought to himself.

The strong PVC material of the rain jacket, even while it had actually become impaled on a sharp piece of wood and trapped her as much as the branch had, had also protected her from the debris. And the branch that had come down on her had had a slight bow in it, which had landed above her waist—thereby pinning her, but not crushing
her. All the rocks that had come with it had miraculously missed her, although the other debris—leaves, twigs, grass and earth—had almost smothered her.

He looked down at himself. Once again he was a torn muddy mess, so he stripped, washed himself economically, then wound a towel round his waist. He doused the lamps, as the fire in the stove still roared and provided some light, and climbed into the bed beside her.

She didn’t resist when he pulled her gently into his arms. If anything she sighed with relief, and he felt her relax slowly.

Finally she said, as their bodies touched, ‘Thank you so much.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he answered, with a wry twist to his lips. ‘Go to sleep if you can.’

She did drift into an uneasy slumber for a while, but then she woke, shaking and obviously distressed, and suffering a reaction.

‘Bridget—Bridget,’ he said softly. ‘You’re safe.’

But she moved jerkily in his arms.

‘Hey,’ he added, ‘it’s me—Adam. Your axeman and wood-chopper. Remember?’

Her green eyes focused slowly and she started to relax. ‘Oh, thank heavens,’ she breathed. ‘I thought I was out there again, with things falling down on me and suffocating me.’

‘No. I have you in my arms. We’re in bed in the shed—remember the shed?—and although the elements are playing havoc outside—’ he paused to grimace as another storm cell erupted overhead ‘—we’re warm and dry.’

But she grew anxious again. ‘Is that more thunder and lightning? When is it going to stop?’ she asked tearfully.

Adam studied her face in the dim light and felt that protective urge run through him again. She’d been through so much, and had borne most of it with a mixture of composure and humour, he thought. But how to comfort her now? More talk?

It came to him that there was only one way he wanted to comfort her—and the thought translated itself instinctively. He pulled her closer and ran his hands over her body.

She stilled, and her lips parted as her eyes grew uncertain, mirroring all her doubts. Was she dreaming again? And, if she wasn’t, was she going to be any good at this?

And Adam discovered he couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head to kiss her, with the express intention of not only comforting her but at the same time chasing away that look of uncertainty, proving to her she was infinitely desirable.

Bridget remained quite still in his arms for a long moment, then she seemed to melt against him and her lips parted softly beneath his.

Not only did she accept his kiss, but her senses flowered and brought her to a tingling awareness of his body against hers. And as that translated to a wave of desire for him, up and down the length of her, she felt soft and pliant. She felt as if none of her bruises or scrapes even existed, as if it would be the most natural, lovely thing in the world to open her legs and receive him.

And as all hell broke loose above them again, as thunder ricocheted around the ether and lightning
flashed sparks of light through the old shed’s dirty, high windows, they came together in the timeless act of love. Because, as both were to think later, they just didn’t seem to have much say in the matter.

If anyone had told her how exquisite the act of love could be after her unhappy experience of it she would not have believed them. Not even when she’d felt herself come alive in that particular way in his arms had she expected such rapture.

The way he touched her breasts and teased her nipples was divinely thrilling. The way his fingers sought her warm, silken, most erotic spots almost took her breath away. And because he was extra-gentle, not only in deference to her scrapes and bruises, his final claiming of her and their subsequent climax was so different from what she’d known it was the most amazing, joyfilled revelation.

Most of all, the knowledge that she’d brought him equal pleasure was the cause of deep, deep satisfaction to her.

She was just about to tell him this when another huge crack tore the night air and the big old gum outside gave up its struggle to stay upright in the rain-sodden earth. With a crash, it cannoned down the hillside into the side of the shed.

They both moved convulsively, and Adam wrapped her securely in his arms. But although everything rattled, and a few things fell down, the shed withstood the impact.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked, after they’d waited with bated breath for more mayhem and none had come.

‘Wonderful,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve never felt like that
before. I can’t believe it.’ Little lines of laughter creased beside her eyes. ‘I mean…’ She hesitated and changed tack. ‘How about you?’

An expression she couldn’t identify crossed his eyes. But it was with his lips quirking that he said, ‘Wonderful.’ He sobered. ‘Bridget—’

‘No.’ She put a finger to his lips. ‘I don’t want to dissect it. I just want to go on feeling wonderful.’

‘Then let’s see if we can get a bit of sleep. Comfortable?’

‘Mmm…’ she murmured drowsily.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, until dawn filtered through the grimy shed windows and they heard a helicopter’s rotors beating overhead.

‘Bridget—’ Adam said, and stopped.

Here it comes, Bridget thought, the parting of the ways, the thing that had been on her mind ever since she’d woken in his arms and been flooded by the memory of their lovemaking.

She wore—they both wore—State Emergency Services orange coveralls. Hers were way too big for her—but far better to be hoisted into a helicopter in something that nearly smothered her rather than an old towel.

And they did have to be hoisted into the helicopter, because the ground was too soft and waterlogged for it to land. By contrast, however, it was a bright sunny day, the sky was a clear blue, and the drenching rain, howling winds and pyrotechnics of the night before were like a dream—of the nightmare variety.

They were still sitting in the helicopter. It had landed on a tarmac driveway, and they were waiting for an ambulance to transport Bridget to the Gold Coast Hospital for a check-up.

She’d strenuously objected to this, saying she was quite fine, but Adam had sided with the paramedic on the helicopter and she’d been effectively outvoted. She had been uplifted by the news that the family in the car that had been washed away after hers had also been rescued.

‘Bridget,’ Adam said for the third time, and put his hand over hers. ‘I’m not for you, and that’s—’

‘Not my fault but yours?’ she murmured huskily, in a parody of the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ explanation.

He grimaced. ‘Trite, but unfortunately true.’ He paused. ‘I’m lousy lover material, and I’d be terrible husband material.’

‘Lousy lover material?’ she whispered. ‘I have to beg to differ.’

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘You’re sweet, but it was just one of those things.’

Bridget considered. It had seemed to her, from the moment they’d woken to the sound of the rotors and both leapt out of bed, covering themselves with whatever they could find and racing out to flag down the helicopter, that they’d been tied to each other by an invisible string.

She reconsidered. As if they belonged to each other! But she’d certainly felt that, and could she have been so wrong?

She recalled the way he’d taken her back inside the
shed and helped her into the voluminous coveralls, how they’d laughed a little together as she’d all but drowned in them. How he’d kissed her and told her it had to be an improvement on a horse rug.

Then they’d used a double harness to winch them up—he had seemed to know all about it, and also to know one of the crew—and she’d gone up in his arms.

He’d kissed her again when they were safely inside the helicopter, and she’d sat squashed up against him as it had risen and flown, squashed and in his arms, so her erratic heartbeats had normalised and she’d felt safe because they were
his
arms.

‘Will you ever get over the woman who left you for your brother?’

He looked down at her, and there was something like compassion in his eyes that hurt her very much.

‘I have got over her. It’s my brother—but it’s more than that. I’m far too old for you.’ He stilled her sudden movement. ‘In experience, in the kind of life I’ve lived, and in the far too many women I’ve loved. What you need is someone with no murky past, who can share an optimistic future with you.’

‘And if I don’t want—?’

‘Bridget,’ he cut in, and released her hand to wipe away the tears that sparkled on her lashes with his thumbs. ‘If there’s one thing you can take away with you, it’s this: you were gorgeous in bed, and don’t let any guy with an oversize ego tell you otherwise. You be selective, now, and make sure you give the men who are not good enough for
you
the flick.’ He brushed away
another tear and picked up her hand as his lips quirked. ‘Incidentally, I’m one of those.’

‘But I
loved
being in bed with you,’ she whispered brokenly.