Playboy Doctor to Doting Dad (6 page)

Just then the back door flew open. A deep voice he recognised as Max Brown’s was telling someone, presumably Seamus, to slow down or he’d trip. A little boy tumbled into the kitchen, his clothes covered in grass stains. His chubby face was red and he was chattering nonstop in gibberish.

Kieran’s hand stopped halfway out of the grocery bag. His breath stuck in his lungs. The time had come. No getting out of this one. What if he got it all wrong? Said or did the wrong thing? Scared the boy off so they’d never get along? He dropped the packet of steak back in the bag. He was out of here. Now. Before Seamus came any closer, before the boy caught his eye and turned him into a complete blithering idiot. Damn it, he should’ve left when he’d had the chance instead of dithering around procrastinating.

Then Abigail was standing beside him, her hand reaching for his, and it was too late. He couldn’t leave now. The tremor in her fingers surprised him. When he lifted his eyes to hers he saw his own fear and trepidation mirrored there. Her teeth were digging hard into her bottom lip. Turning his hand over, he twined his fingers through hers. Knowing this might be as hard for her as it was for him made everything just a little bit easier.

He whispered through his blocked throat, ‘Introduce me to our son.’

She blinked. ‘Sure.’ But she didn’t move a muscle.

‘Come on, Abby, we can do this.’ Really?

Another blink. Then, inclining her head in acknowledgement, she turned to face the man and toddler waiting expectantly. ‘Hey, Dad. Seamus.’ She dropped to her knees and lifted the dark-haired boy against her, hugged him tight for a moment, as though afraid to let him go. Afraid to share him? No, not Abby. She wanted this. Didn’t she?

As the boy squirmed to be set free, Abby stood up and held him so Kieran could take a good look at him. ‘Seamus, love, this is Uncle Kieran.’ She raised troubled eyes to Kieran. ‘Sorry, I’m not sure what you want to be called, and Olivia has been talking about her uncle all week.’

Kieran stood spellbound. This was his son. His own flesh and blood. There was no denying the wide, full mouth came from the Flynn side. Seamus had the black hair and blue eyes that all Flynns seemed to inherit, but the expression in those eyes gawping at him was pure Abby. Kieran could’ve wept. He felt his heart dissolving. The boy was beautiful. His boy. Was this how every father felt when he saw his child for the very first time? Frightened? Protective? Lungs all gummed up so he couldn’t breathe?

The silence in the tiny kitchen was deafening. Kieran couldn’t have spoken a single word if his life had depended on it. All the arguments he’d had for not wanting a part in this boy’s life evaporated faster than ice cream in a desert. He lifted his arms to take Seamus and was rewarded with a toothless grin. Somewhere under his ribs he felt a sharp stab. Of love? Whoa. He was not ready for this. If this was unconditional love then he wasn’t ready, wasn’t capable of doing it. It frightened him. Like bungee-jumping without a cord.

Then his arms were filled with a wriggling toddler. He grasped Seamus with stiff fingers, held him awkwardly out from his chest. And stared down at him. Seamus. A huge lump blocked his throat, cut off his breathing. He drank in the sight of his son, aware of every wriggle, every thump of one tiny
fist on his arm. He saw big eyes peering up at him, trusting him. He saw innocence so sweet it made his knees weak. His heart felt as though it would explode right out through his ribs. This was what it felt like to be a parent. This simple. This terrifying.

He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t father material. What if he harmed Seamus with his ineptitude? Seamus needed love and caring and twenty-four-hour attention. Not a dried-up shell of a man for whom the closest thing to love was sharing a bed with a warm woman for a night.

He turned to hand the boy back to Abigail, to put him aside, back to where he’d be loved. But Abigail took a step away. What? She wasn’t going to rescue her child? The panic he’d felt earlier threatened to erupt. He clenched his muscles and Seamus wriggled against him in protest. See? Already he had made a mistake.
Suck in a breath. Deeply. Let it out, ride the panic. Another deep breath. I can’t do this.

‘Grandad, Grandad.’ Olivia’s shouts filled the cottage, and Max leaned over to shake his hand, saying above the din, ‘Welcome to Nelson, lad. It’s great to have you here.’

Kieran shook his head in an attempt to clear away the overwhelming emotions engulfing him. The panic calmed. ‘Thanks, Max.’ He huffed the air from his lungs. ‘It’s good to see you, too.’ Loosening his grip on Seamus and trying to hold him with one arm, he managed to return the handshake. He hadn’t been called ‘lad’ since boarding-school days, and never in the friendly tone Abby’s father had used.

So did Max know he was Seamus’s father? If so, what did the older man think of him? Maybe Max had called him ‘lad’ to soften him up before getting him into a corner and telling him exactly what he expected from Kieran for his grandson. And for his daughter.

Abigail was very quiet. Kieran looked around, found
her regarding him steadily. Then she leaned close. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’

He stared down at Seamus, at the complete trust reflected in the young eyes looking back at him. Assessing
him?
Did Seamus see the fear? The emptiness? Gazing back, Kieran saw no sign of the crushing defeat of a child who strived, and failed, to be loved by his parent. With Abby for a mother it was unlikely he ever would. Thank goodness.

But the same couldn’t be said about Seamus’s father. The boy deserved better. Somewhere behind his ribs he felt something sharp, like he had a stitch from a long run. A painful stitch. Was he going to give away his chance with this child before he’d had time to get to know him? If he knew what was right for the boy he should. But.it wouldn’t be easy to walk away now. It would’ve been better all round if he hadn’t met the lad. Now he knew what Seamus looked like, knew how it felt to hold him.

‘Kieran?’ Abigail nudged him. ‘Don’t you think he’s great?’

He could only manage, ‘He’s beautiful.’ His eyes still focused on Seamus, his arms reluctant to let the boy go even when he knew he should. Before he became too involved.

Max told the room at large, ‘I’ll be off. I’m going out for dinner. Catch up with you at the weekend, Kieran, when you’ve had time to settle in.’

Kieran was vaguely aware of Max hugging his granddaughter before leaving. Then of Olivia turning on the TV, and Abby quietly telling her to turn the volume down. Kieran tugged out a chair from the kitchen table and dropped onto it, still holding his son, now very tenderly.
Almost as though afraid he’ll break.

As Seamus forced a thumb into his mouth Abby sauntered in and leaned against the bench, relief lightening her face. ‘He’s taken to you, no problems.’

‘How can you be so sure this soon?’ Kieran heard the edge in his voice, and cursed silently. Abby had been as nervous about this meeting as he had, and now she seemed to be handling it all right. Why couldn’t he?

‘You’d know if Seamus didn’t want to go near you. He has a set of lungs on him you wouldn’t believe. Must have got them from your side.’

‘I can see he’s a right little charmer, just like me.’

‘Yep. You win that one, hands down.’ Her smile sagged a little, and Kieran was reminded that it was his charm that had ultimately led to one night of passion and this little boy.

Seamus yawned, and Kieran felt his heart swell. Gently he cuddled his warm bundle against his chest. Shock banged through him. Whatever his feelings about love and fatherhood, he wouldn’t be able to walk away from this family and never look back. It was way too late for that. He was going to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

A
BBY
dropped onto the lumpy couch in the lounge, holding Seamus tight, as though for protection, though what from she had no idea. Earlier in the day, at the airport, she’d felt like she could trust him to do the right thing, that he wouldn’t turn their world upside down. That had been in direct contrast to the way she’d reacted to him. The deep pull in her stomach toward him had stunned her. She’d always known she still cared about this man but never had she considered how explosive those feelings might be. No wonder she felt in need of protection. From Kieran? Or from herself?

She glanced across at him wiping down the kitchen benches. Hard to believe he’d cooked dinner. No one did that for her. Not even her father. But Kieran had taken charge, preparing their meal while she’d dealt with the kids’ food. She knew he’d needed something to keep himself occupied and avoid getting too involved in the children’s night-time rituals. He’d watched her feeding Seamus from a safe distance, grimacing when mushy food had ended up on her T-shirt. He had a lot to learn. She called softly, ‘Thanks for dinner, and especially thanks for cleaning up.’

He turned and gazed at her, that bewildered look that had appeared when he had first held Seamus still there. ‘I don’t know how you do this all the time.’

‘Goes with the territory of being a mum. Don’t feel sorry for me. I love it.’

‘I can see that.’ His gaze dropped to Seamus, and his expression became guarded. What was he thinking? Did he accept Seamus as a son? Or as another problem to be dealt with? When she’d placed the baby in his arms Kieran hadn’t known what to do. Even the simple act of holding a child seemed to unsettle him, and when she’d refused to take Seamus back, stepping away from them, he had looked completely lost. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that, but she’d sensed he would need some gentle pushing when it came to coping with the children.

She also sensed his vulnerability, and didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t understand why he felt that way. There was a real possibility of making things worse, not better, unless he opened up and talked about what bothered him. Her stomach clenched. Was this really what she wanted? Kieran becoming involved in the family? Maybe she was setting something in motion that she’d later come to regret, something like having to move to Ireland so they could be closer to each other. A chill slipped over her skin. Leave home and cross to the other side of the world? No way. Not even for the children’s sake.

But Olivia and Seamus needed him, needed to know him, and already they were further along that track than she’d expected they’d be on day one. Admittedly when she’d forced Kieran to keep holding Seamus he hadn’t been happy, but neither had he protested. Had he thought that would make him appear weak? She hoped not. He wasn’t a weak man in any sense. Holding his son for the very first time had to have had an effect on him, one she hoped he’d absorbed and found he enjoyed. She should be feeling thrilled that he’d not given into whatever had bothered him, but instead she felt rattled.

Throughout the long months of her pregnancy and over the fifteen months of being a single parent, she’d never
experienced any loneliness, never worried that she mightn’t cope. And yet now, with Kieran here in her home, she felt uncertain. She couldn’t dispel the sensation of the ground sliding out from under her. Of her life being about to change radically. What if she’d made a mistake bringing Kieran into Olivia and Seamus’ lives?

No. She shoved that selfish idea away. She might’ve done the wrong thing for her but it was right for them.

‘Abigail, are you all right?’ Kieran interrupted her swarming thoughts. ‘You’ve gone awfully quiet.’

Shaking away her doubts, she tried for a deep breath and the strength to cope. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
Couldn’t I?
These weird, mixed-up feelings would soon pass. They had to if she was to survive the next eight weeks. ‘I’m going to put this guy to bed, or he’ll be grizzly all day tomorrow.’

So would she if she didn’t get a decent night’s sleep. She’d lain awake for hours last night, worrying about Kieran’s arrival. Tonight she’d just sleep. He was here, and whatever happened would happen, and she could deal with it later. Yeah, right. Who was she kidding?

Kieran watched her with that perceptive gleam in his eyes. If he could read her mind, he’d be as confused as she was. She shrugged. ‘I won’t be long. Make yourself comfortable.’

But not too comfortable. This is my castle, the one place in the world I usually feel safe from everything and everyone. You could so easily destroy that for me by becoming too involved with us. By making my heart remember how close I came to falling in love with you in Dublin. At the end of your term here you’ll go back and leave me with your scent touching my furnishings, my clothes. Your presence will fill the corners, sit at the table, take over my kitchen.

‘I’ll make us some tea. Or do you prefer coffee?’ Kieran still watched her.

‘Tea, thanks.’ See, they didn’t even know the most basic
things about each other. Her face warmed. But they did have an intimate knowledge of each other. As the warmth became hot she fled the room, needing to put space between her and the man who’d made love to her so thoroughly she could still remember every detail two years later.

Singing a lullaby as she tucked Seamus under the cotton covers, the peace that usually stole over her at this moment wasn’t forthcoming. Within a few hours Kieran had taken that from her. How much more would he take before he left? Would she survive intact? Would her heart cope? And she’d thought the hardest part of this visit would be the issues surrounding the children. How stupid of her.

‘You’re singing like an Irish mam.’ Kieran spoke softly from the doorway. ‘I like that.’

Abby’s heart leapt. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that.’ Then she focused on what he’d said. ‘Did your mother sing to you?’

‘Yeah …’ The word whispered across his lips. ‘I remember her singing to Morag more than me, but I know I got the same when I was little.’

‘What happened to your mother?’ No one had ever mentioned her, not even Morag.

‘Unbeknown to anyone, she had diabetes. Our father came home one night to find her in a coma on the bathroom floor. She never recovered.’

‘Kieran, I’m so sorry.’ Her heart squeezed for him. ‘How old were you?’

‘Four.’ There was a lot of pain behind that single word.