The Bridesmaid's Best Man. Barbara Hannay
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hers.
‘So you’re definitely going to keep the baby?’ asked Emma.
Sophie blinked, then nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
Was it? Sophie wished she could feel more excited about the fact that she was going to be a mother. It was still so hard to believe.
A heavy sigh escaped her. ‘I think I did something silly when I was talking to Mark. I suggested I might come out to see him, so we could talk through what we’re going to do about the baby.’
‘But that’s a fabulous idea. It’s exactly what I was hoping you’d do. I told Tim last night—’
‘You told Tim about it?’
‘Sophie, he’s my husband, and he’s your friend as well as Mark’s best mate. He’s worried about both of you. You’re so far apart, it’s almost like being on another planet. He said last night that if only you two could get together again you’d be able to sort this all out. And I agree.’
‘So you think I should go?’
‘Absolutely. It’s going to be horrendous to try to talk about everything from the opposite ends of the earth.’
That was true. But it would be horrendously extravagant to go all that way for a conversation she could have over the phone.
Except…she would see Mark again. And she might feel stronger about facing her family after she’d spoken to Mark.
And there was always a chance—a tiny, tiny chance admittedly—that when she and Mark got together again, they might…
Be careful, Sophie. Remember what happened with Oliver. Don’t get carried away dreaming of a happy-ever-after with Mark.
‘Sophie,’ insisted Emma. ‘It’s your future that’s at stake. And the baby’s and Mark’s. This is a big deal. It’s not something you can do long-distance.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Emma wriggled off the seat, slipped her feet back into her black and silver sandals, then patted the top of Sophie’s head. ‘Listen to Aunt Emma, darling. If there’s a single event when a man and a woman need to sit down and look into each other’s eyes while they talk something through, it’s a shared pregnancy.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I know Marion Bradley’s on the lookout for work. She’d take care of your agency for a week or two. Actually, Marion would probably take your business over if she had half a chance.’
‘I’ll bear her in mind.’
‘It’ll all work out beautifully.’ Emma looked at her watch. ‘I promised Tim I’d only be five minutes.’
‘You’d better go and rescue him. Thanks so much for coming.’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE three-quarter moon drifted out from behind a patch of cloud and cast a cool, white glow over the mustering camp. Mark tried to take comfort from his surroundings.
He saw the silvered silhouettes of the sleeping ringers, the last of the tough breed of Outback cowboys who still worked in the saddle, and who were essential help on big musters like this. He stared above at the night sky, at the familiar stars and constellations he’d known all his life. Everything was in the right place, just as it was at this time every year…the saucepan-shaped Orion…the Southern Cross with its two bright pointers…the dusty spill of the Milky Way…
A long sigh escaped him. He’d had twenty-four hours to digest Sophie’s news, but he still looked about him with a sense of bewilderment, still felt as if the whole world should have changed to match the sudden turmoil inside him.
He’d made her pregnant.
It was impossible. Astonishing.
He felt so damn guilty.
What the hell was he going to do about it? And what did Sophie intend to do? He didn’t even know if she wanted to keep the baby.
It would be her decision, of course, but he hoped that she would keep it. He would support her, would do the right thing.
He sighed heavily. If only they could have finished their conversation. He blamed himself that the phone’s battery had run down. He hadn’t realised that the cook he’d hired had a gambling problem. The damn fellow had been using the phone on the sly to place bets with his bookmaker in Melbourne and hadn’t bothered to recharge it.
Now, lying in his sleeping swag on the hard, red earth, Mark couldn’t stop thinking about Sophie. Kept remembering her gut-punching loveliness. Everything about her had set him on fire—the happy sparkle in her eyes, the musical laughter in her voice, the astonishing smoothness and whiteness of her skin, the seductive tease of her slender body brushing against him as they’d danced.
And then in bed…
He rolled uneasily in his swag. What was the point in tormenting himself with such memories? Sophie wasn’t happy now. He’d seduced her and wrecked her life.
When he got back, he would have to bite the bullet and make her understand that there was no point in her coming all the way down here.
Under other circumstances, it would have been different—fantastic, actually—if she’d been coming here. He could think of nothing better than having Sophie arrive for a brief holiday, so that they could take up where they left off. But if she was pregnant? Hell! She might be thinking of something more permanent, and that would be crazy.
His lifestyle was too hard, his world too alien and remote for a pregnant city girl from England. He had a property to run, which meant he was away from the homestead for long stretches. And Sophie would hate it here on her own. Apart from the heat and the dust, everything else was so far away—doctors, hospitals, shops, restaurants. There were no other women handy for girly chats.
It would be much more sensible if they simply worked everything out over the phone. He could send her money and arrange to see the child from time to time.
When he or she was old enough, they would be able to come out here for holidays.
That was the only way to handle this. He would do everything he could to support her, but Sophie shouldn’t leave London.
The coffee table in Sophie’s lounge was strewn with travel brochures, flight schedules and maps of Australia, as well as flyers advertising her sisters’ next concerts.
Sophie stared at an elegant black and white head-shot of her eldest sister, Alicia, and sighed. Both her sisters were musically gifted, like their parents, and both had launched brilliant careers. Neither of them would have landed in a mess like Sophie’s.
As the youngest Felsham daughter, Sophie had often been told she was pretty, but she’d been too given to daydreaming and too impulsive to ever be called brilliant. She’d never been able to stick at music practice the way Alicia and Elspeth had, had never felt driven to be a high achiever like her famous parents.
Emma had suggested once that Sophie had stopped competing with her sisters because she was afraid of failure, and Emma was probably right, but Sophie figured she’d failed often enough to justify her choice.
Oliver’s rejection—her most recent and spectacular failure—had been one too many.
Now her unplanned pregnancy would cement her position as the family’s very, very black lamb.
Sophie shook her head to clear her mind of that thought. Somehow she had to turn this latest negative into a shining positive. She owed it to her baby.
Of course, she was scared—she’d never had much to do with babies—but she was strangely excited,