Melissa McClone - Double Trouble - Pregnancy Surprise - Two Little Miracles / Expecting Royal Twins! / Miracle - Twin Babies

‘No! No, I won’t. I—I’d like to see,’ he said gruffly, sounding curiously unlike Max, uncertain and hesitant. He was never hesitant, and she looked at him searchingly.

‘Good,’ she said softly. ‘Go and see if you can revive the fire, and I’ll bring us tea.’

And biscuits, some rather gorgeous chocolate biscuits that were more chocolate than biscuit, and some cheese and crackers, because she knew he’d be hungry and he frankly needed fattening up.

He was crouching by the fire when she went in, blowing on the embers and trying to breathe life into the glowing remains, and as she put the tray down the logs flickered to life and a lovely orange glow lit the hearth.

‘Oh, that’s super. Well done. Here, have some cheese and biscuits,’ she instructed, and rummaged in the cupboard next to the television for the DVDs.

‘Scan first?’ she suggested, and his brows pulled down slightly, as if he was troubled.

He nodded, and she slipped it into the slot and sat back against the front of the sofa by his legs, cradling her tea in her hands while the images of the unborn babies unrolled in front of them.

‘How pregnant were you when this was taken?’ he asked softly, a little edge in his voice that she’d never heard before, and she swivelled round and looked up at him, puzzled.

‘Twenty-six weeks.’

A shadow went over his face, and he pressed his lips together and stared at the screen as if his life depended on it. She turned back and watched it with him, but she was deeply conscious of a tension in him that she’d never felt before. When the DVD was finished and she took it out, she felt the tension leave him, and, as he leant back against the sofa to drink his tea, his hand shook a little.

Odd. Max’s hands never shook. Ever. Under any circumstances. And yet he’d always been so adamant that he didn’t want children, that their lives were complete without them. So why had the images of his children before they were born been so moving to him?

The fire was roaring away now, and Murphy heaved himself up from his position in front of it and came over, flopping down against Max’s legs. Max leant down and scratched the dog’s neck and pulled his ears, an absent expression on his face, and Murphy lifted his head and gazed adoringly at Max as if he’d just found his soulmate.

‘I think you’ve got a new friend,’ she said, and Max gave a crooked little grin and smoothed Murph’s head with a gentle hand.

‘Apparently so. I expect he misses John.’

‘I expect he wants the crackers on your plate,’ she said pragmatically, and Max chuckled and the mood lifted a fraction, and she breathed a little easier.

‘So—what’s next?’ he asked, and she put on the first film of the girls after they’d been born.

‘Here they are—they’re two days old. They were born at thirty-three weeks, because my uterus was having trouble expanding because of the scarring and they’d stopped growing. Jane and Peter came in and filmed it for me. They were amazing—so supportive.’

‘I would have been supportive,’ he said, his voice rough, and she felt another stab of guilt.

‘I didn’t know that, Max. You’d always been so against the idea of children. If I even so much as mentioned IVF you flew off the handle. How was I to know you wanted to be involved?’

‘You could have asked me. You could have given me the choice.’

She could have. She could have, but she hadn’t, and it was too late now to change it. But she could apologise, she realised, and she turned towards him and took his hand.

‘I’m really sorry,’ she said, making herself meet his eyes and steeling herself for the anger that she knew she’d see in them. But instead of anger there was pain. ‘Max?’ she whispered, and he pulled his hand away and stood up.

‘Maybe we’ll do this another time,’ he said, and without a word he headed for the door. She heard him go upstairs; heard the bathroom door close and water running. With a sigh she turned off the DVD player and the television, put the fire-guard up and cleared away their cups and plates, then put Murphy out one last time before shutting him in the kitchen and going upstairs.

She heard the shower turn off as she went into her own bedroom and closed the door, then a few minutes later she heard him come out of the bathroom and go down the landing to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

She didn’t sleep for hours, and, when she woke, it was to hear the back door open and Max calling the dog. The sky was just light, the day barely started, and, as she lifted herself up on one elbow, she saw Max heading down the drive with Murphy trotting beside him. He was wearing jogging bottoms and trainers with a T-shirt, and she watched him turn out onto the hill, cross the river and run away up through the village out of sight, the dog at his heels.

She didn’t know what was wrong, but she had a feeling it wasn’t the obvious. There just seemed to be something else going on, something she didn’t know about, and she didn’t know if she could ask.

Probably not. He’d been pretty unapproachable last night. Maybe he’d tell her in his own good time, but one thing was absolutely certain.

Max was right out of his comfort zone, and living with him for the next two weeks was going to be interesting, to say the least.

Not to mention frustrating and heartbreaking and undoubtedly painful.

She just hoped it would prove to be worth it…

He ran along the lane out of the village, turned left along another tiny, winding lane, cut down across a field and over the river on a flat iron bridge—used by tractors, he supposed—and then up to a bridlepath that cut through to the village again just opposite the drive to Rose Cottage.

It had taken twenty minutes, so he supposed it was about three miles. Not far enough to numb him, but enough to take the edge off it and distract him from the endless turmoil in his mind.

The light was on in the kitchen as he jogged across the drive, and Jules was watching him, her face unreadable at that distance through the old leaded lights. But she had her arms full of washing or something, and she was in that fluffy dressing-gown again, presumably with the little cats underneath.

He suppressed a groan and walked the last few steps to the back door and let himself in, a wet and muddy Murphy by his side.

‘Bed!’ she ordered, and the dog turned and went into his bed in the space under the stairs.

‘Is that just him, or do I have to go in there, too?’ Max asked, and she smiled a little uncertainly and searched his face with troubled eyes.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine. We’ve had a good run—’

She stopped him with her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes with that way of hers that made him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. ‘Are you really all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said, a little more sincerely, because he was, really. It was just that DVD which had stirred things up, made him sad and emotional all over again, and he hated it. Hated being out of control of his feelings—hated his feelings, full stop.

‘I’ve made tea,’ she said, and he opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t want any damn tea, then shut it, smiled and nodded.

‘Thanks. Are the babies awake yet?’

She shook her head. ‘No. They will be soon. Why?’

‘Oh, just wondered. I need a shower, but I don’t want to disturb them. I’ll have my tea and wait a bit, if you can stand me all sweaty and mud-splattered.’

She ran her eyes over him and gave a tiny huff of laughter, but, as she turned away, he noticed a soft brush of colour in her cheeks. Really? He could still do that to her?

‘I’m sure I can stand you for long enough to drink your tea,’ she said lightly, but her voice was a little strange, not quite itself, and she was folding and smoothing nappies on top of the Aga as if her life depended on it.