Michelle Douglas - The Secretary's Secret

‘I believe that’s the plan.’

He closed the door and made safe his escape.

That night Alex dreamed he was searching through the endless rooms of that brooding mansion, searching for Chad again, the childish laughter always just out of reach.

And, just like the other times, he jerked awake, drenched in sweat and with Chad’s name on his lips.

CHAPTER TEN

ALEX dunked his paintbrush into the can of paint and set about slapping it on the neatly sanded, newly primed weatherboards of Kit’s cottage. White paint.

One corner of his mouth kicked up. She had chosen white for the main body of the house and blue for the window and door trims. She’d snorted when he’d presented her with an array of colour cards with exotic names like fresh linen, grey gum, desert sand and sage. ‘I don’t want any of that modern nonsense, Alex. I’ve always wanted a white house with a blue trim. Ever since I was a little girl.

I’m not going to change my mind now.’

And she hadn’t.

So he was painting her house white with a blue trim, and found he was enjoying himself.

Next week he’d paint the interior—white ceilings, cream wal s. She wanted her house light and bright and airy. It was her house. He’d paint it any colour she wanted.

The new shower unit was due to arrive at the end of the week and then he could get to work on the bathroom. Once that was done, al that would be left was the nursery.

His gut clenched and his hand slowed. That would mean looking at baby stuff with Kit, wouldn’t it? He could imagine her face going al soft and misty as she looked at cribs and little blankets and changing tables with colourful mobiles. He dunked his paintbrush in the can of paint again and concentrated on transferring it to the weatherboards.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Kit had a way of making just about anything fun.

Besides, al that baby stuff could be ridiculously expensive. He slapped paint on with renewed vigour.

He had no intention of letting Kit pick up the tab for that.

Kit. The thought of her had images rising through him. His hand slowed, the paintbrush almost coming to a halt. Last night while he’d cooked dinner—a chore they’d taken in turns since the night of their fish barbecue—she’d laid stretched out ful -length on one of the sofas watching TV. She’d reached for the remote on the table behind and the action had stretched her T-shirt tight, giving him an eyeful of her baby bulge—smal , but unmistakable. And perfect.

He hadn’t been able to look away, even when she’d returned to her former position.

Beneath her shirt she carried his baby.

He’d stumbled back into the kitchen, trying to decipher the emotions tumbling through him.

His first instinct had been denial. He couldn’t get emotional y involved with this baby. He’d lost it al once before. He couldn’t go through that again. His second thought had been…

Hope?

Alex swiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and gave up al pretence of painting for the moment. The longer he stayed here with Kit the more it seemed possible that he could do what she wanted of him, be what she wanted—an involved father. The thought made his heart thud against his ribs again, just like it had last night.

He’d started tel ing himself that this time it would be different. As the child’s biological father, he’d have rights. Besides, Kit had more generosity in her little finger than Jacqueline had in her entire being.

Plans started racing through his mind. He could work in Sydney through the week and then shoot up here to Tuncurry for the weekends.

Better yet, he could relocate here. He set the paintbrush down and rested his hands on his knees, his mind racing even faster. Kit had said the tourism industry was booming. There’d be property development opportunities galore. He could set up an office in Forster that specialised in developing eco-tourist resorts.

And he could be a part of his child’s life.

What about Kit?

Al his plans slammed to a halt. He swal owed. He couldn’t give Kit what she wanted, what she needed.

What happens when she meets someone who can?

Sweat beaded his top lip, gathered at his nape and trickled a path of ice down his back. Eventual y Kit would meet someone and fal in love with them.

She’d marry. And his child would have a stepfather.

He tried to push back the darkness that threatened to swal ow him whole. He rubbed a fist across his brow. Kit deserved to find someone, to be happy, but…

but…

What then? What if she relocated to Perth or…or to America?

Why would this time be any different? Why should it al work out for him now?

Because he wanted it to?

A harsh laugh broke from a throat that ached.

Grabbing the paintbrush, he forced himself back to work. He’d be a fool to get his hopes up.

The back door slammed, jerking him out from beneath the darkness stealing over him.

‘Good to see Kit has you working so hard.’

He glanced down from his position on the scaffolding. Caro. Not holding a meat cleaver. ‘Nice to see you too,’ he drawled.

Kit emerged from the house with a tea tray. At her side trotted a dark-haired child of about four. A boy.

Alex froze.

He didn’t know why the sight of the child rocked him, but it did. To his core. He’d seen other children, of course, since he’d lost Chad, but…

He hadn’t talked to one, touched one.

His hand tightened around the paintbrush. Maybe it was the combination of a pregnant Kit and child.

Kit and child.

Kit and—

Chad would be about this child’s age now.

The thought slammed into him from nowhere and the strength drained from his legs. He braced a hand against a weatherboard. In the back of his mind he was dimly aware that the board was wet. Ignore the paint. Keep breathing.

Paint from his brush dripped onto his trainer. He clenched the paintbrush as if it were his last grip on reality as he tried to push the memories of Chad away, deep down into the unexplored parts of himself where they couldn’t torment him.

It didn’t work. Questions pounded at him.

Would Chad be the same size and shape as the child at Kit’s side? How tal would he be now? Had his hair darkened or grown lighter? The need to see Chad, to hold him, burst the straitjacket he normal y kept it bound to, and for a moment darkness swirled al around him.

‘Look, Mum, I’m helping Auntie Kit and I got the most important job—carrying the biscuits!’

‘Not just any biscuits, but chocolate biscuits,’ Caro said with what he guessed must be the appropriate amount of admiration. Thankful y she turned the child towards the outdoor chairs and table. ‘And you’re al owed to have one just as soon as you set them down.’

‘Alex, that looks great.’

Kit’s voice, her appreciation, pushed some of the darkness away and helped him breathe again. He did his best to ignore the childish patter behind him.

‘Would you like some tea?’

He nodded and final y found his voice. ‘I’l be down in a minute.’

She turned to carry the tea tray to the table, and Alex clenched his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, tried to block the images that rose up to torment him, taunt him, remind him of al he’d lost.

Tonight he’d have that nightmare—the endless rooms in that mansion, the childish laughter always out of reach. Despair threatened his control. Some days he thought it would take his sanity. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he pushed it back, tamped it down. He couldn’t lose his mind. He had Kit’s house to finish.

He gritted his teeth. The mundane would al ay the nightmare. He opened his eyes, unclasped the paintbrush from fingers that had started to cramp and did his best to wipe the wet paint from his hand with a rag.