The Baby Swap Miracle (13 page)

‘It’s not really my place to dictate it,’ he said, but she could see from his eyes that he would rather know.

‘Can we see how I feel at the time?’

‘Of course.’

But it was a moot point, because it was a 3D scan, and by the time the sonographer had focused in on the baby, it was blindingly obvious.

‘Oh! It’s a boy!’ Emelia gave a little gasp and put her hand over her mouth, and she felt Sam’s fingers tighten on hers.

A son, he thought numbly as the reality of it hit him like an express train. I’m having a son—a mischievous little boy to climb the trees and race headlong down the slopes and fall and skin his knees, so I have to pick him up and carry him to Emelia so she can kiss it better, because it has to be her—

‘Sam?’

He blinked, suddenly aware of the hot prickling sensation behind his lids and a lump in his throat the size of a house.

He turned to her, and found tears welling from her eyes. ‘It’s a boy,’ she said again, her voice unsteady. ‘We’re going to have a boy!’

He hugged her. He couldn’t help himself. He gathered her up in his arms, cradled her to his chest for a breathless, emotional second, then with his arms still round her, they watched the rest of the scan together. The fingers and toes, the heart, the eyes—it was incredible. His son—their son.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek, but so what? Seeing his son like this was the most incredible experience of his life, and if he couldn’t let his emotions show—well, it was just wrong.

He hugged her again, his arm tightening round her
shoulders, and she looked up and gave him an emotional smile. ‘Oh, Sam,’ she whispered, stroking away the tear with a gentle hand, her fingers lingering on his cheek. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

We’re going to have a boy!

‘Me, too,’ he murmured, his eyes back on the screen, fascinated by the image of his son’s face. ‘Me, too.’

They were given a DVD of the scan, and a couple of photos, and as they left the hospital he still had his arm round her.

‘Coffee or shopping?’ he asked.

‘Shopping. I’m saving myself for scampi and chips,’ she told him with a grin, so he drove through the town to the outskirts and pulled up in a retail park. Outside a shockingly expensive baby shop.

Damn. She was going to have to buy something, but this really wasn’t the place she had in mind—

‘OK, before you argue,’ he said, cutting the engine and turning to her with a stern look, ‘you’ll need a certain amount of money to live on every month, and you’ll need to work out your budget, so if I give you what I feel is reasonable for the restoration of the rose garden and the knot garden, you can do it in your own time, you’ll have the money to see you through and you can budget accordingly. Fair?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Very fair. How about the rent?’

‘Forget the rent. The place was standing empty and probably would have done for months.’ And he named a figure for the garden restoration that made her mouth drop open in shock. ‘Sam, that’s—’

‘Fair,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s that or nothing and it’s less
than one of the quotes I’ve had. If you don’t like it, I’ll get someone else to do the garden. Take your pick.’

‘I’ll pay you back—’

‘No. And I’m buying your clothes today. What you do after that is up to you—and would you for goodness’ sake let it go!’ he growled as she began to protest, but he was sort of smiling and she leant over to kiss his cheek, giving in because after all he could afford it and he really seemed to want to.

But the kiss was a mistake. His jaw was firm, and his cheek, slightly roughened by stubble, grazed her lips and left them wanting more. She straightened up and pulled away.

‘Thank you,’ she said, a little breathlessly, and he nodded, smiled tightly and got out of the car.

‘Come on, let’s shop.’

She was nothing like Alice.

He knew that, but watching her flick through the racks of clothes, checking the pricetags and wincing slightly, was a revelation. She chose carefully—things that would last, things that would see her through to the end, now. Not nearly enough, he thought, but there was always another time. And there was one dress she’d hesitated over, and he’d seen the indecision in her eyes before she’d taken a deep breath and added it to the inadequate pile.

He watched her run her fingers longingly over the end of a cot, then move on to a much more economical version. Not that there was anything particularly economical in the shop, but the quality was good. They’d come here for the baby equipment nearer the time, he decided, giving her space while she checked out the underwear and went to try things on. And he wouldn’t let her argue.

But he could still feel her lips against his cheek, see her
fingers trailing over the cot, and he wondered what they’d feel like trailing over him…

He pretended interest in a sort of pram thing that changed into a chair and a car seat and a carry cot, and an obliging assistant came and told him all about it. Not that he cared, but it took his mind off Emelia…

She headed for the changing room with the bare minimum to tide her over until she went shopping herself. He’d said he was paying for these things, so she’d selected a few, but only just enough to look convincing.

They were lovely, though. She’d tried to be practical, but there was one pretty dress she’d just had to have. She’d pay him back when he’d given her the—utterly ridiculous—payment for the garden restoration. But it would be worth it. It was gorgeous, and she felt beautiful in it. Elegant and sophisticated and feminine, instead of first cousin to a heffalump.

She took it off, reluctantly, and put it with the underwear and tops and trousers that she was having, and he paid without a flicker of hesitation, ushered her out of the door and took her to the garden centre across the car park.

An eyewatering amount of money later, he’d chosen the furniture, paid for it and arranged delivery, and they were heading for lunch.

And about time, because her stomach was grumbling and she was beginning to feel a little light-headed.

Or, maybe, she acknowledged, that was just being with Sam!

‘We ought to think of names,’ she said, when they finished eating.

‘Max,’ he said instantly.

‘Max? Why Max?’

He shrugged. ‘It goes well with Hunter.’

‘Or Eastwood.’

He felt himself frown. ‘Eastwood?’

‘Well, it’s my name.’

‘To be strictly accurate, it’s James’ name,’ he reminded her softly, and her eyes clouded.

‘I know. But I don’t want the baby having a different name to me. It makes things so difficult at school.’

‘Was that what you found after your mother remarried?’

‘A little. I was older, of course. Max is going to start out with his parents having two names.’

‘You said Max.’

She smiled. ‘So I did. OK, I like Max. He looks like a Max. What would you have wanted if he’d been a girl?’

‘Esme,’ he said without hesitation.

‘Esme?’ she said, laughing. ‘That’s awful. Esme Eastwood.’

‘I think it’s pretty.’

‘I don’t. I rather liked Alice.’

She watched the laughter die in his eyes, and he put his empty glass down and stood up.

‘It’s a good thing it’s a boy, then,’ he said, and strode off towards the car park. She drained her glass, stood up and followed him thoughtfully.

Who on earth was Alice?

She got into the car, opened her mouth to ask and thought better of it. He was staring straight ahead, and she’d pretty much worked it out anyway.

So she said nothing, and he drove her home, dropped her off and disappeared for the rest of the day.

Nothing more was said, and anyway, it was none of her business.

He’d tell her when he was ready, she thought, and just
got on with her life. The weeks went past, and she settled into a routine of working, resting and pottering happily in her home, and she sorted out her life.

She was booked for her delivery in the hospital where she’d had the scan, and the midwife had recommended an antenatal class, so she’d signed up, starting in a few weeks.

The bench outside her cottage was delivered, and it was a master stroke by Sam. She drank her tea on it every morning, and got to know the squirrels that played up and down the beautiful ancient oak tree nearby.

And she saw the badgers, after she’d been there about six weeks. She was disturbed in the night by shrieking and squabbling outside her bedroom window, and when she sat up in bed, slowly so as not to alarm them, she saw three youngsters tussling with each other on the grass in front of the cottage.

They were just feet away, and she watched them for several minutes, fascinated, until in the end they shambled off and left her in peace. She was still smiling when she fell asleep again, and she smiled now, thinking about it, as she told Sam in one of their impromptu little breaks in the shade.

‘You’re lucky. I’ve heard them, but I’ve never seen them,’ he told her, and it was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he should come over and watch for them when she thought better of it. Sam sitting up with her in the dark seemed like a bad idea. Too cosy. Too intimate. Too dangerous. It was hard enough in daylight while she was working in the garden and he’d come and sit with her for a few minutes—sometimes at the new table, sometimes in the shade under the old apple tree or in the rose arbour, depending on the time of day and the strength of the sun—and fed her treats. Wicked cookies or tiny sandwiches or sometimes, if it was
very hot, slices of watermelon or crisp, juicy pear, washed down with tea. Iced green tea with lemon on the hot days, piping hot normal tea otherwise.

It made her rest, and it made her feel cared for, and he took a real interest in her work. He knew more about the plants than she’d imagined, and not only that, he wanted to learn. He cared, both about the history of the garden and its future, and sometimes he even came and worked alongside her for a while, if he was at a loose end or she was struggling with something particularly tough.

And now, because there was only so much he could do in the house until the English Heritage people had made their recommendations, he’d turned his attention to the grounds.

‘So what are you doing today?’ she asked him.

‘I’m going to rebuild the gatepost,’ he announced. ‘I’m sick of seeing it like that, with the gate hanging. I might even get Dan to take the ivy off the wall so we can read the name of the house.’

Just in case we need the ambulance in a hurry, he thought, but didn’t say so. She would only have ripped his head off if he had.

‘Why’s it called Flaxfield Place?’ she asked curiously.

He shrugged. ‘They must have grown flax around here in the past, I suppose. It’s the site of a much older house, probably a farm. I keep meaning to research the history, but I haven’t got round to it yet. No time, as usual.’

His grin was wry, and he drained his glass and stood up. ‘Right, I’m going to the builders’ merchants. Do you want anything while I’m out?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘OK. Will you be all right while I’m gone?’

She frowned. What a stupid question, she thought, and nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘OK. Back soon.’

He wasn’t long. An hour, at the most, but the first thing he did when he returned was check on her.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked drily. ‘Making sure I haven’t run off with the family silver?’

He frowned. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. There is no family silver. How are you doing? Have you stopped for lunch?’

‘Hardly, it’s only twelve. Dan’s here, by the way. He was looking for you.’

‘Yes, I saw him, he’s cutting the ivy back on the wall as we speak. Once he’s done that I’ll send him up here to you.’

‘What, so he can keep an eye on me?’ she asked, only half joking, and he frowned again.

‘I thought you wanted a hand?’

Emelia nodded. ‘I do. This elder needs digging out.’

‘Don’t overdo it. It’s taken years to get like this. It can hardly be recovered in a minute.’

‘I know, I know,’ she grumbled, and got awkwardly to her feet. He was right, of course, she
was
overdoing it again, and her bump was starting to get in the way a little. She arched her back and he scowled, so she scowled back.

‘Stop it. If you want to make a fuss, you can bring me lunch.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Anything that stops you killing yourself,’ he growled, and stalked off in the direction of the house, leaving her smiling.

She went and sat in the rose arbour, on the ancient teak seat which had probably been there for fifty or more years, and waited for the ache in her back to ease. It was looking better, she thought, eyeing the garden critically. Much better. Or at least the part she’d tackled was. There was still a lot more to do, and then the knot garden needed clipping
and shaping, and as for her own garden, she hadn’t even set foot in it with a tool yet.

She’d meant to. She’d thought she could put in an hour in the evenings after she finished in the rose garden, but by the end of the day she was exhausted, even though she’d taken to having a lie-down after lunch when the sun was at its height.

And it wasn’t going to get better the further on she was in her pregnancy, she realised.

She bit her lip. She had to keep going. She was massively conscious of the huge amount of money Sam had paid her for this restoration, and the terrifying thing was it wouldn’t last long. Her car had failed its MOT test last week and she’d had to fork out hundreds of pounds to get her suspension sorted. That had been totally unexpected—although maybe the little creak should have warned her.

She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, shoving the sunglasses up to hold her hair off her face so the air could cool her skin. The blackbird was singing in the apple tree, and if she opened her eyes she knew she’d see the robin scratching in the freshly turned soil.

Bliss.

She was asleep.

Sam put the tray down quietly on one end of the long arbour seat and lowered himself carefully onto the slats. She had a tiny smile on her lips, and there was a little streak of sunscreen across her nose. He was pleased to see it. She didn’t always bother and then she burned.