Josie Metcalfe - Miracles in the Village

‘See? It’s a three-pronged fork with a curved edge on one side.’

‘Shame,’ he said softly, closing the dictionary, and her eyes flew up and met his, then slid away again, but he’d had his kiss. Sort of. And it had left him aching for more.

He wanted to drag her off to bed, kiss her senseless and drive out this reluctance of hers, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t and, anyway, it was as much as he could do to drag himself there, never mind an unwilling woman.

Besides, he didn’t want to. Not if it meant her going through hell again with another failed pregnancy somewhere down the line because of him.

He reached out, letters in hand, but she tutted and put another word down before him. ‘My turn,’ she pointed out. ‘You forfeited your turn when you looked in the dictionary.’

He gave up trying and let her win, as much as anything because he couldn’t sit there any longer and look down her cleavage at something he wasn’t able to touch …

Sophie came later, running into the sitting room with her eyes wide with worry and fascination. ‘Wow, you’ve got a proper cast!’ she said in awe. ‘Can I draw a picture on it?’

‘Sure—when I’ve had a hug.’

‘Mind his ribs, darling,’ Fran warned her. ‘He’s a bit sore.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Will I hurt you if I hug you?’ she asked, nibbling her lip, and he shook his head and pulled her up onto his lap, snuggling her close on his right side, the side that didn’t have the bruises. Well, not so many, anyway, and he needed a cuddle from his little girl.

She wriggled down tighter, burrowing under his arm, and then lay almost motionless, even breathing carefully in case she hurt him. It made him want to laugh and cry at the same time, and he hugged her gently.

‘So—are you all ready for your holiday?’ he said, and she shuffled round so she could see him, gently kneeing him in the groin as she did so. He grabbed her leg and held it still, and over her shoulder he could see Fran biting her lip and trying not to laugh.

‘Yup. I’ve packed my things already. I want to see Nessie again. Last time we went to Scotland we saw Nessie,’ she said. ‘Didn’t we, Mummy?’

Kirsten smiled. ‘Well, there were some ripples on Loch Ness that might have been caused by an animal, but they could have been the wind.’

‘It was Nessie, I know it was,’ Sophie said adamantly. ‘And we had haggis. I’m not eating that again!’ She pulled a face, and Mike chuckled.

‘Didn’t you like it?’

‘It was disgusting !’ she said. ‘All greasy and smelly and made of a sheep’s stomach! It was horrid. But we had lots of shortbread and I like that. Mummy says we can go back to the shop we bought it from and get some more. Oh, and we’re going up Ben Nevis again! We walked halfway up last time, to the little lake, and Andrew had to carry me down ’cos I had bendy legs, but I’m bigger now. Maybe we’ll even get to the top!’

He smothered the laugh and hugged her again. ‘Poor old Andrew! Let’s hope you make it both ways this time. Coming down’s always the hardest bit.’ He knew—he’d carried Sophie down his fair share of hills over the years, and it got your knees like nothing else. ‘Hey, how about some cake? I know Fran’s brought some over from the shop and I’m getting really hungry.’

‘Good idea,’ Fran said with a smile. ‘Come on, guys, let’s go and make tea for Mike.’ She held out her hand to Sophie, who slithered over his chest, grabbed her hand and cuddled up to her side.

‘Can I make him banana sandwiches?’

‘I expect so.’ Fran chuckled, and Mike listened to them making their way towards the kitchen and smiled at Kirsten.

‘Sounds like you’ll have a busy holiday.’

‘Well, we will if she has anything to do with it, but we all love Scotland and Andrew’s parents spoil her to death. So—are you OK to have her for the week when we get back?’

‘Fine. Make it Sunday afternoon, can you? I should be able to help out in the shop over the weekend by then, and I feel I ought to be pulling my weight.’

‘Sunday’s fine. It’ll give me time to unpack and wash her stuff.’ She stared at his leg. ‘I’m sorry about your accident.’

He shrugged. ‘I was being stupid.’

‘So I gather. And I always thought you were clever. Maybe we should get Sophie screened for the reckless gene.’

He snorted. ‘So rude.’

‘You asked for it.’ She stopped smiling and perched on the edge of the sofa. ‘Actually, I’ve got something to tell you.’

He looked up into her face, and his heart sank. He knew, before she opened her mouth, what she was going to say.

‘When’s it due?’ he asked.

She frowned, then said sadly, ‘Is it so obvious?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve seen that look in your eyes before, don’t forget. So when is it? February? March?’

‘February—the very end. We haven’t told Sophie yet, but I wanted to warn you, because of Fran and—well, you know.’

Yes, he knew. What he didn’t know was how on earth he was going to tell Fran. He dredged up a smile. ‘Congratulations, Kirsten,’ he said softly, and, drawing her down, he hugged her gently and brushed a kiss against her cheek. ‘I hope it all goes well for you. Sophie’s dying for a little brother or sister and we don’t seem to be getting any closer to achieving that for her, so I’m really pleased for you.’

She blinked hard and smiled. ‘Thank you. I know it isn’t easy for you.’

‘Mummy—Mummy! It’s a chocolate fudge cake! Absolutely my favourite! And I’ve made some banana sandwiches, and Fran’s made a huge pot of tea—she’s bringing it on a tray.’

‘How lovely—I’ll help her,’ Kirsten said, standing up and giving him another slightly worried smile. ‘Mike, are you sure you’re OK about it?’

‘About what?’ Sophie asked, bouncing around the room with the dog on her heels.

‘Having you for the week once you’re back,’ he said quickly. ‘I think if Fran’s OK with it, we could have you from the weekend after next? I should get a walking cast so I might be a bit more mobile by then. And we’re pushed on the farm at the moment, because one of the shop ladies is off on holiday, so we’ll have you from Sunday afternoon, perhaps? Then we’ll have plenty of time to hear about your holiday.’

Kirsten shot him a grateful look for his hasty intervention. ‘That would be fine. I’ll bring her over—we’ll go and talk to Fran now and sort out the times,’ she said, and went out to help with the tea things.

Sophie went too, dithering and skipping and chatting to Brodie as she went, and Mike laid his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

Pregnant.

Hell. It was going to kill Fran—and he was going to have to strike the fatal blow …

Mike seemed much more comfortable with the new cast.

Maybe it was because his leg was starting to recover from the insult of the fracture and the repair, or maybe he was giving in and taking the painkillers regularly and not trying to be heroic.

Whatever, he was sleeping better, and that meant Fran was too.

Just as well, she thought, because with him out of action, now she was on holiday from school she was doing as much as she could on the farm to help out. She didn’t do the milking—Russell seemed more than happy to do that, and she didn’t like to stop him. She sensed that he missed the farm, and also that he needed to be needed, something that Mike wasn’t very good at understanding.

He was so busy trying to take the pressure off his father that sometimes she wondered if they’d taken too much too soon, but it was certainly back on now, and Russell seemed to be thriving on it.