From Bachelor to Daddy Page 8

  Why he, of all men, should be affecting her the way he was, she had no idea. Could it be because she knew nothing could come of it? Not that she wanted to start regular dating, as in going out with various men. That would be bad for the boys. Wouldn’t it?

  But how else would she find a man?

  She sighed. All she wanted was one man—one who’d want her enough to take the boys as well—a permanent, happy-to-be-with-her man, a friend to share her life, a father for her boys, but definitely not a commitment-phobe.

  The green top made her eyes look green—a greyish green for sure, but better than dull grey...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUNCH WITH CARRIE turned out to be a party—a small party admittedly but more than a casual lunch. Mac and Izzy were there—well, like Marty, they were family—and another couple who were friends of Carrie’s from her work in the local government office.

  And had the tall, bespectacled man Carrie introduced as Neil been asked especially for her—Emma—or had he kind of latched onto her because he didn’t know anyone else?

  ‘Neil’s the local agronomist, and he’s not been in town very long,’ Carrie had said by way of a succinct introduction, and although Emma’s mind connected the job description with agriculture, she really had no idea what he might do.

  The polite thing to do was ask, and as Molly and Mandy had taken her boys off to play in the garden, and she and Neil were kind of in a space of their own, she did ask and was soon being treated to a lesson on crop yields and safer farrowing methods for free-range pigs.

  She looked desperately around for someone to rescue her, but her father was talking to Carrie’s friends, while Mac had taken charge of the barbecue and Izzy was helping Carrie produce bowls of salad and plates of meat. Which left Marty, who was actually watching her, and must have been aware of her predicament as he was grinning with malicious delight.

  She threw a murderous frown in his direction and suggested to Neil that they look at the garden, knowing how easily her boys could create a diversion.

  Neil seemed a trifle taken aback, for he was in the middle of an extremely complicated—to Emma—story about a horse that had been cast in its stall. But he followed her—albeit reluctantly—out to the garden, where Marty had now materialised and was kicking a football with the boys—the two girls acting as goalies for the hectic game.

  A side kick from Marty brought the ball to Neil’s feet and although even Emma’s instinctive reaction would have been to kick it back, there it sat.

  ‘Kick it here,’ Hamish shouted.

  ‘No, here,’ Xavier insisted.

  But in the end it was Emma who kicked it, not to either of the boys but to Molly—or perhaps Mandy...

  Yet the incident stayed with Emma for the rest of the day. At lunch she’d managed to sit down between her father and Izzy, Neil opposite her at the table, explaining something about mung beans to Mac, who was obviously a lot better at looking interested than Emma had been.

  But Neil, although she had no doubt he’d been invited to meet her, wasn’t the subject of her preoccupation. No, it was Marty kicking the football right to Neil’s feet that had disturbed her.

  Not because Neil hadn’t kicked it back—she’d been talking to him long enough to realise he probably hadn’t even noticed it—but that Marty had tested him in that way.

  Because it had been a test.

  Yet try as she might, she couldn’t recall ever mentioning to Marty her vague idea that a ball-kicking man might be good to have around for the boys’ sake...

  Had he divined it?

  Read her thoughts?

  Had she told Joss and it had become hospital gossip?

  She had no idea, yet she knew as well as she knew her own name that Marty had kicked that ball as a test...

  Neil claimed her when lunch was finished, and, desperate for a conversation that didn’t involve farm animals or crops, she asked if he was going to the barn dance the following weekend.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, adding with obvious pride, ‘I’m going to be the auctioneer. I did a bit of cattle auctioneering when I was in Queensland—mostly Brahman crossbreeds where I was stationed. They’re big beasts and tick-free, which is essential in those parts.’

  Emma hid an inner sigh as she just knew she’d soon know more about Brahman crossbreeds than she’d ever needed to know.

  But Neil surprised her.

  ‘If you’re going, maybe you can act as my assistant,’ he suggested, beaming at her as if he’d just conferred a great honour on her. ‘Just passing me the slips with the information about the animals to be auctioned and such.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have them in a pile on the lectern?’ she said, possibly a little snappishly as the thought of spending the entire evening discussing various aspects of agriculture filled her with horror.

  But Neil was undaunted.

  ‘You’re right, but perhaps you could spot the bidders. You know, let me know who won each lot.’

  ‘You need someone who knows the locals for that job,’ a voice behind Emma said, and the little hairs standing up on the back of her neck told her as much as the voice did.

  Marty.

  Relief at being rescued made her turn to him, smiling far too brightly.

  ‘You sound as if you’ve had practice,’ she said, moving a little closer to him.

  Unconsciously hoping Neil might see them as a couple?

  She could feel embarrassment colouring her cheeks that she’d even thought such a thing.

  And as for using Marty, of all people, as a cover?

  Hardly fair...

  ‘Emma?’

  Lost in thought, she’d missed whatever conversation had been going on between Neil and Marty, but apparently one of them had included her in it.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was distracted by the boys.’

  Which she now was, as Hamish was attempting to hold the ball behind his back—not easy for someone only three feet tall—while Xavier howled and dashed around him, this way and that, as Hamish twisted and turned.

  ‘Got to halt the war,’ she said over her shoulder as she moved to separate the two, who were now rolling on the ground, wrestling with each other, the ball forgotten.

  Molly and Mandy arrived at the same time she did, but she smiled at the girls as she separated the boys.

  ‘You girls deserve a break,’ she said, holding the boys close to her. ‘While you two rascals can walk around the garden with me. I’m sure if we look hard we can find a caterpillar or a snail or maybe even a grasshopper.’

  They prepared to race off but she was quicker, grabbing one hand of each of them to keep them anchored to the spot.

  ‘We need to walk quietly so we don’t frighten the caterpillar.’

  So, with the boys now tiptoeing, they set off to search Carrie’s generous-sized garden, squatting down now and then to lift a leaf or check a low-lying branch.

  ‘You left me listening to that man talk about sow farrowing!’

  The note of reproach in Marty’s voice as he came up behind them made Emma smile, but as the boys had also heard his voice and were greeting him with a chorus of ‘Marty’ and demands that he help them find a caterpillar, she had no choice but to let him join the hunt.

  They were at the far end of the garden when Carrie called, ‘Ice cream for whoever wants it,’ and the boys shot off.

  Emma looked at the man who could not only kick footballs but had the endless patience required for caterpillar searches.

  ‘You’re so good with children,’ she said suddenly, ‘so why the no-commitment rule? Why not marry and have some of your own?’

  She looked into his eyes, no longer laughing but filled with a great sadness.

  And for a moment she thought he might speak—might tell her what had caused it, what held him back.

 
But he shook his head, then touched her gently on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s just something I decided a long time ago,’ he said quietly. ‘Something to do with history repeating itself, which we see so often in life.’

  She should let it go at that, she knew, but his words were so bleak and she could feel such pain emanating from his body.

  She put her hand on his where it still rested on her shoulder.

  ‘How long ago?’ she asked, and he gave a huff of laughter that held no mirth, although his eyes looked better now—almost smiling at her.

  ‘Too long, lovely lady,’ he said, then he bent his head and kissed her, ever so lightly, on the lips, running his hand through her hair as he added, ‘Way too long to ever change my mind about it.’

  And he walked away.

  Emma watched him go, one hand pressed against the lips he’d just kissed, her body tingling from that, oh, so light touch.

  He’s not for you, her head said bluntly, while her heart grew heavy in her chest, and a longing she barely understood filled her body.

  But her head was right—hadn’t Marty said as much?

  He was not for her...

  * * *

  Hell’s teeth! What had he been thinking, kissing Emma?

  Though it hadn’t been a real kiss—

  Then why had his toes curled?

  Okay, so no more kisses, not even unreal ones...

  He headed for his car. He’d call Carrie later and apologise for leaving without saying goodbye to everyone. At least they were all out the back in the barbecue area, eating ice cream.

  Except Emma.

  But when he turned his head, he saw that she, too, had moved, so hopefully no one would see or even notice his strategic retreat.

  Except Izzy, of course. It was nearly dinner time and he’d just returned from the base where he’d been doing some work on his own chopper—something that up until today had always soothed him—when Izzy phoned.

  ‘You left very suddenly,’ she said.

  ‘Stating the obvious, Iz?’

  ‘Well, you did! It’s Emma, isn’t it? Emma and that stubborn streak of yours about commitment. Honestly, Marty, of all of us, I thought you were the most sensible—the most stable—and you were Hallie and Pop’s kid from the time you were five or six, so they were your parents, that house was your home—your life.’

  ‘Leave it, Iz,’ he said quietly, and she did because they had all always respected each other’s boundaries.

  ‘So tell me about That Man,’ she said, and he knew she was talking about Neil.

  ‘Got caught by him, did you?’ he teased. ‘I can’t think why Carrie invited him.’

  ‘For Emma, of course,’ Izzy replied, ‘although Carrie mustn’t have known him well—just that he wasn’t downright ugly and was single. She couldn’t possibly have had a conversation with him. He spent half an hour telling me how young boars sometimes have difficulty mating and how a boar’s penis is shaped like a corkscrew.’

  Marty roared with laughter, only stopping when Izzy said frostily, ‘It’s all very well for you to laugh. I couldn’t get away from him. Mac was there, pretending to clean the barbecue, but he was secretly enjoying it so much he didn’t want to rescue me.’

  Marty apologised but Izzy was having none of it.

  ‘You’re still smiling, I can hear it in your voice. How is Emma? Did she get over being stranded on the beach? Is she enjoying Braxton? Those boys of hers are a handful, but Ned seems to be able to handle them.’

  ‘He does, but I suspect it’s starting to worry Emma that he gives so much of his time—his life really—to her and the boys. I’m sure that’s why Carrie asked Neil to the party. I think she’d like to get Emma married off.’

  ‘For her sake or for Emma’s?’ Izzy asked, and Marty laughed again.

  ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’

  But he was more relaxed now. Talking about Carrie and Ned and a possible romance there had got Izzy off the subject of his commitment to remain single.

  Izzy was the most perceptive of his siblings—probably because she lived close by and saw more of him than the others did.

  But for all that Pop had been the father figure he had followed and still adored, his memories of the fear and rage he’d felt towards his birth father were still too strong, too vivid, to ever be forgotten.

  And that man’s genes were embedded deep within him. So he had no intention of ever putting them to the test...

  * * *

  Emma collected her tired and grubby boys after the ice creams had been consumed, telling her father to stay on and enjoy himself.

  ‘The boys and I both need a rest,’ she added, as Carrie helped out by insisting Ned stay on.

  But although the boys, once bathed and free of sticky ice cream, went peacefully off to sleep, and she tried to rest, she remained awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind—and other bits of her body—remembering the kiss.

  Not that it was a real kiss, she kept reminding herself, but if it wasn’t real, why did even remembering it make her lips tingle?

  But the no-commitment thing had been laid out, made plain to her in no uncertain terms. So tingly lips were about all she’d ever get from Marty—tingly lips and friendship—she was pretty sure that was still intact.

  She sighed, and because the ceiling wasn’t giving her any answers she gave up pretending to rest and went into the kitchen. She’d have a baking afternoon, fill the biscuit tins, maybe make some meals that could be frozen for nights when she didn’t feel like cooking.

  Not that she cooked that often in the evening, but if she was going to push her father further into whatever social life Braxton held for men his age, then she’d have to get used to it. Carrie’s friends had mentioned a bridge club and her father had always loved a game of bridge.

  He arrived home as she finished washing the pots and pans that didn’t fit in the dishwasher.

  He picked up a tea-towel, but she took it out of his hands.

  ‘There’s football on the telly, go and watch it. We came to Braxton for a change and I’ve started my changing with a new job and new friends at work, so it’s time you started yours. I’m going to take over more responsibility for the boys and if I’m not here, I’ll get the girls, or one of them, to babysit. For a start, you should join the bridge club.’

  He took the tea-towel out of her hands and lifted a wet pot.

  ‘I’ve already said I’d go to the quiz night at the bottom pub on Tuesday night,’ he told her, smiling as she looked surprised. ‘And spoken to Molly and Mandy in case you’re held up at work.’

  ‘Well!’ Emma said. ‘Good for you!’

  And she reached out and hugged him, the pot caught between them, tears pricking at her eyes.

  ‘I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and the boys, and for just being there for me through so much.’

  He finished his task, slipped the pot into a drawer, then turned to face her, reaching out to touch her cheek.

  ‘I wouldn’t have been happy not being there,’ he said quietly. ‘Hadn’t you ever realised that?’

  She shook her head, a couple of tears escaping now. Swiping them away, she smiled at him.

  ‘I don’t suppose I had, but now we’re living here, and the boys are nearly ready for kindy, it’s time you had a life of your own.’

  He smiled back and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘I will,’ he promised, ‘but for now get out of my kitchen. You’re probably putting things back in the wrong places. I thought after the big lunch we might just have cheese on toast for dinner.’

  ‘Sounds great! And I’ll cook it. Cheese on toast is something of a specialty for me.’

  A shuffling noise from the direction of the boys’ bedroom told her at least one of them was awake. And if one was, the othe
r soon would be. Hoping to spend some alone time with whoever was awake, she hurried in, grabbing Xavier as he prepared to climb onto Hamish’s cot and bounce him awake.

  ‘How about you and I do some painting on the veranda?’ she said quietly, carrying him out of the room before he had time to make a noise.

  ‘Finger-painting?’ Xavier asked hopefully, and after shaking away the knowledge of just how much mess that would entail, she agreed.

  * * *

  It was a quieter week in A and E, and with Emma working an early shift she was able to be home with the boys by three. Most days she would then shoo her father out of the house, insisting he do something for himself.

  ‘I’m playing snooker on Thursday night,’ he protested.

  ‘Not enough,’ she told him. ‘Go to the library. I know you take the boys there for story-time on Tuesdays but that’s hardly a peaceful, fruitful visit. You used to love poking around in libraries, and now you’re back in Braxton, you can read up on the history of the place. I doubt you had much interest in it when you were young.’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘Actually, I did. I must have been a complete nerd because the library was my favourite place and it has always had a great local history section. I’ll see what I can find out about the history of this house because it must have been one of the first built here in town.’

  The briskness in her father’s footsteps as he crossed the veranda told her he was pleased to be free, and she smiled to herself.

  Maybe if she could prove to him that she could juggle work and the boys by herself, she wouldn’t have to worry about finding a man. She was making playdough while she considered this and telling herself that of course it would work.

  After all, many single women coped with work and a family—coped very well in most cases. She just had to show her father that she could, too.

  And the heavy feeling in her heart as she thought about these things was to do with the loss of the man she’d had—nothing at all to do with a vague idea that maybe she, too, could do with a man around the place.