One-Night Pregnancy. Lindsay Armstrong
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teasing glint in his eyes.
She stiffened her spine against that glint. ‘What order?’ she asked with hauteur.
He studied her tilted chin and smiled briefly. ‘I don’t know if you noticed a tank at the corner of the shed, collecting rainwater from the roof?’
She shook her head.
‘Well, it’s there, and it’s overflowing. After I’ve gone, go out, take your clothes off, and stand under the overflow pipe. Wash all the mud, blood and whatever off yourself, then stand under the water for a couple of minutes. Do your bruises a world of good. But I’ll get the fire going first.’ He turned away.
‘I—’ she started to say mutinously.
‘Bridget,’ he returned dangerously over his shoulder, ‘don’t argue.’
‘But I’ve got nothing to wear!’
‘Yes, you have.’ He pointed to one of the railings. ‘You can wrap yourself in one of those horse rugs.’
He did get the fire and three paraffin lamps going before he left.
‘Take care,’ she said. ‘I—I’m not too keen about being left on my own here. Naturally I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, either.’ She grimaced. ‘That sounds like an afterthought if ever I heard one! But I do mean it.’
He inclined his head and hid the smile in his eyes. ‘Thank you. I won’t be going too far. Not only because I don’t want to get lost, but also because I don’t want the torch to run out on me.’ He touched her casually on the cheek with his fingertips. ‘You take care too.’
She watched him walk out of the shed into the rainswept night and swallowed back the cry that rose in her throat—the urge to tell him she’d go with him. Swallowed it because she knew that her brief resurgence of energy, such as it was, would not survive.
So she forced herself to examine his suggestion—or order. She looked down at herself. She was a mess of mud, his shirt was caked with it, and below her legs were liberally streaked with it.
It made sense, in other words, to get clean. If only she had something else to wear afterwards other than a horse rug…
It was like the answer to a prayer. Some instinct prompted her to look under the pillows on the bed, and she discovered a clean pair of yellow flannelette pyjamas patterned with blue teddy bears.
Under the second pillow was a pair of men’s tracksuit pants and a white T-shirt.
‘You beauty!’ she breathed. ‘Not only can I be comfortable overnight, but I won’t have to be rescued wearing a horse rug. And not only that, my fellow traveller can be decent and dry too—which is important, I’m sure. OK. Onward to the shower, Mrs Smith!’ And she marched out of the shed.
It was a weird experience, showering beneath an overflow pipe in the middle of the night, in the middle of a deluge, in the altogether, even though there was a brief lull in the rain.
She took a lamp with her, and found a hook on the shed wall for it. It illuminated the scene, and she could see a huge gum tree on the hill behind the shed, plus the ruins of some old stone structure.
Definitely weird, she decided as the water streamed down her body, and freezing as well. But at least the tank stood on a concrete pad, and there was a concrete path to it from the shed door. She’d also discovered a bucket tucked behind the tank, with a piece of soap and a nailbrush in it.
Did someone make a habit of showering from the rainwater tank? she wondered. Not that it would always be overflowing, but it had a tap. Maybe they filled the bucket from the tap and poured it over themselves?
She didn’t stay around much longer to ponder the mysteries of the rainwater tank, but skipped inside and dried herself off in front of the fire. Then she examined herself, and, satisfied she would find no serious cuts, donned the teddy bear pyjamas.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured to the owner of the pyjamas. ‘I’ll get you a new pair!’
And then she turned her attention to the primus stove and the possibility—the heavenly possibility—of making a cup of tea.
Adam came back just as she was sipping strong black tea from one of the chipped mugs.
‘I’ve just made some tea. I’ll get you some. Any luck?’
He peeled off his waterproof. ‘No—where did you get those?’ He eyed the yellow pyjamas patterned with blue teddy bears.
She explained, and pointed out the track pants and T-shirt. ‘You know, I can’t help wondering if someone lives here at times.’ She poured bubbling water onto a teabag in the second mug and handed it to him.
‘I think you could be right—thanks. There’s no house nearby, but there’s evidence of some foundations. They’re probably using the shed while they build the house. The driveway leads to a dirt road—it’s now deep mud—with a locked gate.’
‘There may be horses out there—maybe fenced in.’
‘I hope there are, so long as they’re safe. The owners may come to check them out.’ He put his cup down. ‘You obviously took up my suggestion?’ He inspected her clean, shiny face.
‘I thought it was an order.’
His lips twisted. ‘What was it like?’
‘Weird,’ she said with feeling. ‘But if I could do it, so could you.’
‘Just going, Mrs Smith,’ he murmured.
Bridget watched the shed door close behind him and found herself standing in the same spot, still staring at the door a good minute later, as she visualised the man called Adam showering as she had done beneath the rainwater tank overflow. It was not hard to visualise his powerful body naked, that fine physique sleek with water…
She blushed suddenly, and moved precipitately—only to trip. She righted herself and castigated herself mentally. Anyone would think she was a silly, starstruck schoolgirl! All right, yes, she might have come out in sudden goosebumps, but at twenty-three surely she had the maturity to recognise it as a purely physical reaction to a dangerously attractive man? Besides which, she was allergic to dangerously attractive men who turned out to be less than likeable—wasn’t she?
All the same, when Adam came back from showering wrapped in a towel, and she turned away while he dried himself in front of the fire and donned the track pants and T-shirt, she was aware of him again in her mind’s eye. In a way that again raised goosebumps on her skin and caused her to feel a little hot.
Stop it, Bridget, she commanded herself.
An hour or so later another heavy storm broke overhead.
It was close to midnight.
Adam and Bridget were dozing side by side on the double bed when lightning illuminated the shed and a boom of thunder reverberated directly overhead, or so it seemed. Bridget woke and rolled towards Adam with a little cry of fear. He put his arms around her, but she started to shake with barely suppressed sobs.
‘It’s only another storm,’ he said, and stroked her hair.
‘I know,’ she wept, ‘but haven’t we been through enough? And I can’t stop thinking about those kids out there in this!’
‘Hush…Listen, I’m going to put some more wood on the fire. Then I’ll be right back.’
He was as good as his word, and when he came back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he piled the pillows up behind them and pulled her loosely into his arms. ‘Tell me about yourself, Bridget. What do you do? Where were you born? What do your parents do?’
‘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