A Baby on Her Christmas List (16 page)

Six hours later she was standing on the deck, adding the final touches to the outside decorations to the jolly and earnest accompaniment of carol singers blasting through her speakers. The deck may not have been quite finished, but the garden looked beautiful, with the candles flickering in the darkness. Liam had been right, the winery garden idea had worked well—just a shame that the edges still needed to be finished off.

But tomorrow’s forecast was for sunshine and she had no intention of sitting inside when she had such a fairy-tale place to spend the day. The hammock had her name on it, along with a glass of cranberry and raspberry juice, a large helping of Christmas pudding and a damned good romance novel.

There was just one more string of lights to hitch onto a branch to make everything perfect. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and tried to throw the lights around the branch.

Missed.
Damn.

She tried again. Missed again. Stretching forward, she flung the lights towards the branches, the weight of her baby tummy dragging her forward and off balance.

Stepped out into...air.

She felt the scream before she heard it, rattling up through her lungs, into her throat that was filled with panic. The one single word that came to her, the only thing she wanted right now. ‘Liam!’

Then she flailed around like a windmill as there was nothing and no one to stop her fall into darkness.

Now...

Pain seared up her leg with even the slightest movement. She was sure she’d broken her ankle—it was twisted at such a strange angle caught in the gap between splintered wood and the garden wall. A bad sprain anyway, too sore for her to put her weight on, and she was too wedged in to be able to lever her big fat belly upwards.

So she was stuck.
Damn.

And hurting.
Double damn.

And how long she’d lain here calling for help, she didn’t know, but the moon was high in the sky now. Typical that she’d left her phone in the house. Typical that the neighbours had gone to their holiday home by the sea. Typical that it was Christmas and she was on her own. And the music she’d been playing seemed to be on repeat and if someone didn’t turn it off soon she’d go down in history for being the first woman to have been turned clinically insane by Rudolph and his damned red nose.

And it hurt. Everything hurt. Including her heart, because she felt stupid and sad, here on Christmas Eve, alone and stuck. And for some reason her usually capable mind set had got all mushy and she felt a tear threaten. And more than anything she missed Liam.

That was it. She loved him and she missed him with every ounce of her being. And he wasn’t here and he never would be. Not in the way she wanted.

She tried again to wriggle free but her ankle gave way and she didn’t want to put more pressure on it. Thank God it was summer and the night was warm. At least she could be grateful for that small mercy.

No. She wasn’t grateful, she was angry. With herself, with Liam, with everyone and everything. Was she going to be stuck here all damned holiday? ‘Hey! Anyone? Lady with a baby here. Stuck. Help?’

Rudolph with your nose so bright...

‘Shut up! Please. Someone. Help.’

Once she’d calmed down a little she tried pulling herself up again. This time she managed an inch. Two...but then nothing more. She was about to call out again when a sudden searing pain fisted across her body. And her feet got wet.

Her heart hammered just a little bit more. No. Surely not?

The baby? Now? She pressed a hand to her belly and spoke in the softest voice she could muster. ‘No, Nugget! Don’t you dare make your appearance here. You’ve got five more weeks to cook. You stay exactly where you are.’

She waited, biting back the pain from her foot. Trying not to cry. Maybe it had been a Braxton-Hicks contraction? Maybe it was all just practice?

No such luck. More pain rippled across her abdomen, sapping her breath and making her grip tight onto the side of the deck. That one had hurt. A lot. ‘You are just like your father, you hear me? You have lousy timing.’

How could she have a baby here, when she couldn’t even lift her leg up half an inch? Never mind that it was five weeks early. What was she going to do? Her lips began to tremble.

No. She wasn’t going to cry. She was going to be fine.

More contractions rippled through her. Faster and more regular and every time they hurt just a little bit more. Time ticked on and she wanted so much to move, to free herself. To walk, to bend, to stretch.

And then more contractions came and the night got darker.

To cope with the pain she tried to conjure up an image of Liam, pretending he was here with her. Pretending he was helping her. Pretending he loved her. Because only that would be enough.

Think. Think.
What could she do?

She didn’t want to think. She wanted someone to do that for her, for a change. She wanted to be tucked up in bed, her head on Liam’s shoulder, wrapped safe in his arms. She wanted— ‘Owwwww. This is all your fault, Liam MacAllister. I hate you. I hate...
youooooww
.’

‘I’m sorry. Is this not a good time?’

And now she was hallucinating, because through all this thick soupy darkness and Rudolph on repeat and searing pain she could have sworn she’d heard his voice.

She decided she was going to go with it. Maybe she was already clinically insane after all. ‘Yes. You bet your damned Christmas socks it isn’t a good time. I’m caught between a deck and a hard place. My foot’s broken and I’m having your baby.’

‘Right now?’

‘Yes, right now.’ She spoke to the Liam-shaped smudge that appeared so real it was uncanny. And to her endless irritation her heart did a little skipping thing. She didn’t want it to skip. She wanted it to stay angry because that was the only way she was going to get through this. ‘What the hell are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be healing the sick? Giving alms to the poor?’

Then he was there, really right there, with his scent and his capable hands, and he wasn’t panicking like she was, he was talking to her in a soothing, very understanding voice. ‘Let’s get you... Oh.’ His hands shoved under her armpits and he tugged. ‘You’re stuck.’

‘Give the man a medal. Yes, I’m stuck. I’ve broken my ankle and Desdemona’s about to make her—
Owwwwww
.’ Pain ripped through her again. The contractions were coming faster now. More regular and more intense.

But he was here. Like some goddamned guardian angel, he was here. For her. He’d come back. For her?

Or was it just for the baby? She couldn’t think about any of that right now. He was here.

His voice soothed over her again. ‘You’re going to be fine, really, but I think we need the fire brigade or someone else to help lift you out. I don’t want to hurt you...’

You already have.
‘No way. No way are you getting those good people out of bed on this special night just to come with their special lifting equipment and heft me out of—
Oowwwwww
.’

‘Contractions are that regular, eh? We’ve got to get you out. How about if I...?’ He put his foot against the wall and heaved her upwards, and if he hadn’t been tugging at her she might have melted into his embrace just for a moment. Just held on tight, just for one solitary moment, to absorb some of his strength and his heat. Just held right on. ‘Twist left a bit...wait...slowly...’

‘Whoa. Watch it...’ Then she was somehow shrugged up and sitting on the deck and her foot was throbbing and her stomach contracting and she gripped onto his old T-shirt while sudden enormous pain rattled through her. ‘It hurts, Liam. It all hurts.’

He grimaced a little, she thought. She could just about make him out. The candles had blown out hours ago and she hadn’t managed to even plug the fairy-lights in. Some other time she might have thought this was romantic. It wasn’t. It hurt.

But then he pushed her hair back from her face and rubbed his thumb over her cheek and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying because he was here and she wanted him so much. But he didn’t want her.

He looked right into her eyes. ‘I know, darling. I know it hurts. It’ll be fine. Honestly. It’ll be okay.’

‘No, it won’t. This baby can’t come yet, it doesn’t have anywhere to sleep...and I haven’t had my baby shower, I want my party. I want to play games—I don’t want to do this.’

And I don’t want you here to torment me and be the macho hero and loving father when you’ll go and break my heart a million times over every time I see your face.

‘This. Is. Not. My. Birth. Plan. I want gas and air. Pethidine.
Drugs
.’

‘Roll with it, Geo. Looks like you’re going to have a special guest of honour at that party. Because this baby is coming, whether you want it to or not. I get the feeling it has your genes when it comes to independence.’

‘Oh. Oh.
Owww
.’

‘Let’s get you inside. It’s too dark. I don’t know how to help if I can’t see.’ Half carrying her, half walking her, he managed to get her inside and onto the lounge floor. ‘The bedroom’s too far. Okay. I’m calling back-up. This baby’s in a hurry.’

After stabbing numbers into a phone, he rattled off information and only then did she hear the anxiety in his voice. When he turned back to her she saw him in full light. My God, he was breathtaking. But he looked concerned. No, more than that. He looked haunted.
Lauren.
‘It won’t happen again, Liam. It will be fine.’

‘I know, I know. Everything’s okay.’

‘And I think I want to push—’

* * *

Everything was not okay.

Liam consciously regulated his breathing, but there was nothing he could do about his pounding heart rate and his overwhelming sense of dread. There was every chance that this could go wrong. This was a prem scenario. The one nightmare he wanted to avoid. It was happening all over again.

He tried to shake away the image of tubes and an incubator and a tiny pink thing that grew into his crying wailing sister, but had looked so quiet and so sick that it had almost broken his heart. And of the tiny coffin that had barely filled the space in the dirt.

So, no, everything was not okay.

He inhaled sharply and took Georgie’s hand and waited until she’d stopped screaming and screwing up her face. ‘That’s it. It’s all good. You’re doing well.’

How many babies had he delivered? He’d lost count. Out in the field where there was little help and lots of disease, when mum and baby had less than a good chance of surviving. And he’d never panicked. Not once. But right now he’d never wanted so much for medical equipment. For back-up. For the pain in his heart to dislodge so he could think straight. For the woman and the child he loved to be okay. ‘You’re doing good. Now breathe...breathe...’

At what point had he so hopelessly and completely fallen in love with her? Maybe right then that second as she stared up at him with such fear and love and relief in her eyes that it made his heart jolt. Or maybe when she’d told him to leave and he’d seen the same love shimmering in her face, even though she had been trying so hard to hide it from him. Maybe when he’d found her in the ER with a damaged eye. Or when she’d told him she was pregnant.

Or even that very first day in the sluice room ten years ago when she’d taken no nonsense and told him to harden up.

But in the last few days that thought had taken hold of him and he just couldn’t shake it off. Damn fine time to realise you loved someone, right when you had a chance of losing them. But whatever happened he had to love her now, from this minute on, and protect her and care for her. And help her. And be brave for her. ‘I can see the head, Geo. Breathe for me. Just a second. Breathe.’

‘I don’t hate you.’

A smile flowered in his heart—enough to take him past the fear and into a place of calm. They’d get through this together. ‘I know. I know you don’t hate me, Geo. Concentrate on the breathing.’

‘Really, I’m sorry. I don’t hate you—
Owwwwww
.’ Then with an ear-splitting scream a slick baby slithered into his arms. The doorbell rang. Footsteps pounded into the room. Georgie cried. The baby cried. The cord was cut, a murmur of voices. A hearty chorus of congratulations!

And, able to finally breathe again, he was left staring at this miracle. His son. All ten fingers and ten toes and a hefty set of lungs. Who was managing just fine on his own. And suddenly Liam’s heart was blown wide open with a different kind of emotion. A searing riotous joy and a feeling that life was just about to get gloriously messy.

Then he looked at his son’s mother, who was the most red-faced, tear-stained disaster he’d ever seen. And his heart swelled some more, shifting and finding more space for love for her. And he knew in that moment that nothing would ever be the same because he’d allowed these people into his heart and that was where they were going to stay. For ever. ‘You are amazing, Georgie Taylor. He is amazing.’

‘It’s a boy? Yes?’

‘Yes. He’s doing fine. Just fine.’ He passed the baby to her to hold, watched as the tiny bundle nuzzled towards her nipple. ‘A boy, with great instincts and a particularly well-defined MacAllister package, if I do say so myself.’

‘One minute old and you’re assessing his genitals?’

‘It’s a guy thing.’ Unable to resist kissing her any longer, he lifted his head and pressed his mouth to hers. ‘I love you. I love you, but I need to explain—’

‘Whoa? Really? Now?’ She nodded towards the team of busy paramedics. ‘I’ve just had a baby and we have an audience, and you want to do this now?’

‘Yes. Now, and always. My timing is legendary, didn’t you know? I don’t care who hears it, I love you, Georgie.’

Her eyes widened but she put a hand between them to create space. ‘It’s the hormones. You’ll grow out of it in a day or two. Then you’ll be hot-footing it back to South Sudan at the first opportunity.’

‘No. It’s taken me a decade to come to my senses, but I love you. I want to be with you. Nowhere else in the world has you, so I want to be here, to make you happy.’ His throat caught a little. ‘And now we have this one.’

Those wide dark eyes brimmed with tears. ‘No. It’s because of him that you’re here. Not me. You don’t love me. You want to. Oh, how you want to. But you don’t.’