Midwife's Mistletoe Baby. Fiona McArthur
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but that was the way mum was, and she accepted that.
And she and Simon had re-established some of their previous closeness, mostly thanks to Tara.
The fabulous Tara. Her new friend and personal midwife was a doll and she couldn’t imagine anyone she would rather have in the family.
She, Maeve, was an absolute bitch to be depressed by the news but it was so hard to see them so happy when she was so miserable.
She gave herself a little mental shake. Stop it.
Glanced out the window to the manger on the lawn. It was Christmas morning, and after nearly four weeks of settling in there was no place more welcoming or peaceful to have her baby.
So what was wrong with her?
It was all very well being a midwife, knowing what was coming, but she had this mental vision of her hand being held and it wasn’t going to be Simon’s. Have her brother, in the room while she laboured? Not happening, even if he was an obstetrician.
No. It would be Tara’s hand that steadied her, which was good but not what she’d secretly and hopelessly dreamt of.
That scene she’d replayed over in her head a thousand times, him crossing the floor to her after that first glance, and later the feel of his arms around her as he’d carried her so easily up the stairs, the absolutely incredible dominance yet tenderness of his lovemaking. Gooseflesh shimmered on her arms.
She shook her head. The birth would be fine. It was okay.
She tried to shake the thought of needing Rayne to get through labour from her mind but it clung like a burr and refused to budge as if caught in the whorls of her cerebral convolutions.
Which was ridiculous because the fact was Rayne didn’t want her.
He’d refused to answer her letters or take the call the one time she’d tried to call the prison, had had to go through the horror of finding out his prison number, been transferred to another section, the interminable wait and then the coldness of his refusal to speak to her.
Obviously he didn’t want her!
Simon had told her he’d found out he would be in prison for at least two years, maybe even five, and that the charges had been drug related. She, for one, still didn’t believe it.
But she hated the fact Rayne didn’t want to see her.
Her belly tightened mildly in sympathy, like it had been tightening for the last couple of weeks every now and then, and she patted the taut, round bulge. It’s okay, baby. Mummy will be sensible. She’ll get over your father one day. But that wasn’t going to happen if she stayed here mooning.
Maeve sat up and eased her legs out of the bed until her feet were on the floor. Grunted quietly with the effort and then smiled ruefully at herself for the noisy exertion of late pregnancy.
She needed to go for a walk. Free her mind outside the room. Stay fit for the most strenuous exertion of her life.
It was time to greet Christmas morning with a smile and a gentle, ambling welcome in the morning air before the Queensland heat glued her to the cool chair under the tree in the back yard. The tables were ready to be set for breakfast and later lunch with Simon’s family and she would put on a smiling face.
She wondered if Tara was up yet. Her friend had come in late last night with Simon, she’d heard them laughing quietly and the thought made her smile. Two gorgeous people in love. The smile slipped from her face and she dressed as fast as she could in her unbalanced awkwardness and for once didn’t worry about make-up.
Self-pity was weak and she needed to get over herself. She was the lucky one, having a baby when lots of women ached for the chance, and she couldn’t wait.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a family who loved her, even if her mum was in the States.
But she had dear Louisa, Simon’s tiny but sprightly grandmother, spoiling them all with her old-fashioned country hospitality and simple joy in kinfolk. She, Maeve, was twenty-five and needed to grow up and enjoy simple pleasures like Louisa did.
Once outside, she set off towards the town and the air was still refreshingly cool. Normally she would have walked around the lake but it was Sunday, and Simon liked the Sunday papers. Did they print newspapers on Christmas Day? Would the shop even be open? She hadn’t thought of that before she’d left but if it didn’t then that was okay.
It was easier not to think in the fresh air and distractions of walking with a watermelon-sized belly out front cleared the self-absorbtion.
Maeve saw the black, low-to-the-ground, old-fashioned utility as it turned into the main street and smiled. A hot rod like you saw at car shows with wide silver wheels and those long red bench seats in the front designed for drive-in movies. It growled down the road like something out of Happy Days, she thought to herself. The square lines and rumbling motor made it stand out from the more family-orientated vehicles she usually saw. Something about it piqued her curiosity.
She stared at the profile of the man driving and then her whole world tilted. Shock had her clutching her throat with her fingers and then their eyes met. Her heart suddenly thumped like the engine of the black beast and the utility swerved to the edge of the road and pulled up. The engine stopped and so did her breath—then her chest bumped and she swayed with the shock.
It was Maeve! The connection was instantaneous. Like the first time. But she was different. He blinked. Pregnant! Very pregnant!
Rayne was out of the car and beside her in seconds, saw the colour drain from her face, saw her eyes roll back. He reached her just as she began to crumple. Thank God. She slumped into his arms and he caught her urgently and lifted her back against his chest, felt and smelt the pure sweetness of her hair against his face as he turned, noticed the extra weight of her belly with a grimace as he struggled with the door catch without dropping her. Finally he eased her backwards onto the passenger seat and laid her head gently back along the seat.
He stared at the porcelain beauty of the woman he’d dreamed about throughout that long horrible time of incarceration.
Maeve.
Pregnant by someone else. The hollow bitterness of envy. The swell of fierce emotion and the wish it had been him. He patted her hands, patted her cheek, and slowly she stirred.
Unable to help the impossible dream, he began to count dates in his head. He frowned. Pushed away a sudden, piercing joy, worked out the dates again. But they’d both used contraception. It couldn’t be …
She groaned. Stirred more vigorously. Her glorious long eyelashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. They widened with recognition.
Then she gagged and he reached in and lifted her shoulders so she was sitting on the seat and could gag out the door. She didn’t look at him again. Just sat with her shoulders bowed and her head in her hands.
He reached past her to the glove box and removed a small packet of tissues. Nudged her fingers and put them into her hand. She took them, but even after she’d finished wiping her mouth she still didn’t look at him and he glanced around the street to see if anyone had noticed. Thank God for quiet Sunday mornings. Quiet Christmas morning, actually.
Well, that was unexpected. Something going right!
Seeing Maeve outside and alone. So unplanned. Looking down at her, he couldn’t believe she was here in front of him. His eyes were drawn to the fragile V of the nape of her neck, the black hair falling forward away from the smoothness of her ivory skin, and he realised his heart was thumping like a piston in his chest. Like he’d run a marathon. Like he’d seen a vision of the future that was so bright he was blinded. Fool.
It felt like a dream. A stupid, infantile, Christmas fantasy … In reality, though, the woman of his dreams had, in fact, fainted and then thrown up at the very sight of him! He needed to get a grip.
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