One-Night Pregnancy. Lindsay Armstrong
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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…
CHAPTER TWO
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