Her New Year Baby Surprise
highlight_author
Sue MacKay
highlight_reads
16,0K
highlight_chapters
13
Chapter One
‘JUST LOVE HER, OKAY?’ Emma Hayes told her best friend as exhaustion from giving birth ripped through her aching, painful body and threatened to tip her into sleep. Sleep, where she could hide for a while. Then she’d wake up and still have to face up to the fact she’d had Abbie’s baby for her and now her own arms were empty.
Abbie didn’t raise her eyes from the precious bundle she held against her breast as she replied, ‘I already do. I’m besotted. Completely. And I love you with all my heart.’
Aww, sniff. More damned tears. ‘I know you do.’ There’d never been any doubt. Love had been why she’d done this crazy, amazing, scary thing in the first place. ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t, and if I didn’t reciprocate those feelings.’
Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, Abbie leaned into Emma, mindful of the baby cradled between them. ‘I can’t describe my feelings. All the waiting and hoping and now here she is.’ She brushed a kiss over Em’s wet cheek. ‘Thank you so much. Again.’
Emma lightly wound her arms around her friend and their precious bundle. ‘Stop saying that, okay?’ She didn’t want gratitude; she didn’t need to be thanked. That they’d come through the pregnancy without an argument said a lot for their friendship, but then, it’d been strong since the day they met at Queenstown Primary more than twenty years ago. But at the moment, the only thing she knew for certain was a few minutes to herself were imperative if she was to keep her equilibrium now that she’d given birth. ‘Go be a mum while I get some shut-eye.’
She needed to fall into the haze filling her head to forget the pain of the birth and remember only the relief that everything had gone well, despite the baby arriving early. Happiness and sadness wound together in her heart at the wonder in Abbie’s eyes as she gazed down on the tiny, beautiful little girl tucked into a pink hospital blanket. A child who’d never know her father; who had been created through artificial insemination.
One of the two most beautiful girls in the world. Emma’s heart swelled with love and longing. ‘Rosie.’ Suddenly, more than anything in the world, Emma needed to hold her own daughter. Her other daughter, barely five and full of energy and mischief.
No! Don’t go there. Grace is Abbie’s. Always has been, always will be.
Snatching up the phone, she texted her mother.
It’s over. Baby’s gorgeous. Please bring Rosie to me. Xx
Abbie looked up, her eyes filled with awe and trepidation. ‘This is for real, isn’t it? This is where I get to step up to the mark and be a mum in all ways possible except carrying her myself.’ Tears streamed down Abbie’s cheeks. ‘This is why you gave me such a precious gift. To be a mother.’ Her voice trailed off in a whisper, the last words barely audible.
‘Isn’t it the best?’ Emma whispered back around a lump in her throat and a dash of emptiness. But not one regret. Abbie deserved good things. If there’d been a moment when being the mummy tummy might’ve been difficult, Emma suspected it would’ve been minutes ago when the midwife had handed Abbie the baby, not her. But no. She’d been fine about it, hadn’t had a sudden change of heart, so she now reiterated, ‘Grace has been yours since conception.’ Abbie’s and Michael’s, though he would never get to see his daughter, never hold her or know her. His only role in the pregnancy had been to leave sperm in the bank for this very day.
Emma bit down on a soft smile.
I did the right thing by them.
Abbie and Michael had stood by her through the hideous, violent days of her marriage as much as her family had. They’d helped pick up the scattered pieces of her dreams afterwards, had shown with their own strong love for each other that she could make a life with Rosie without looking back. That they could be a family without a man in her life. Not that she’d ever been in the market for a new husband. No, thank you very much. Been there, had the bruises and fractures to show for it.
Her friends had also made sure she and Rosie never went without fun and laughter. This had been her way of returning the love. Knowing the baby would be living next door in the adjoining apartment would make everything easier to come to terms with. Abbie was not rushing out of Queenstown to some place else in New Zealand to keep her daughter to herself. Though who knew where she might end up if the Scotsman pulled his head out of his backside and found he couldn’t live without Abbie. Right now, she wanted to throttle him for hurting Abbie with his uncertainties.
They’d always been there for each other on the days when Rosie wouldn’t stop crying and Emma needed a break, or other days where Abbie couldn’t cope with losing Michael. Their friendship was solid, and it would take a hurricane of massive proportions to break it. Today, with a baby and a broken heart to deal with, Abbie needed her support more than ever.
‘If only I had that with a man.’
‘Had what?’ Abbie asked without taking her eyes off Grace.
‘The same trust and sharing and loving and laughs—and tears—you had with Michael.’
Abbie’s head shot up, surprise widening her eyes. ‘That’s a shift in your thinking.’
‘Told you I needed sleep. Must be baby brain.’ She did not want a man in her life. The only man she’d loved unreservedly had developed a pair of fast and hard fists along with a cruel mouth. She wasn’t going to repeat that experience in an attempt to find love. Only the unwise didn’t learn from their mistakes, and Alvin had been a mistake. Definitely better off without a man in her life, and the reason she turned down any—the few—date invitations. Her body was safe, and, more importantly, Rosie was protected. There was already plenty of love in her life—Rosie, Abbie, and her fiercely protective brothers and father, and her ever patient mother. Who needed someone special when she was surrounded by those guys? Talk about greedy. Not everyone got so lucky.
‘Any man in particular causing this left-field idea? An emergency specialist by any chance?’ asked her cheeky friend.
‘Nixon and I get on fine as friends. I turned him down for a date once.’
‘You never told me.’ Abbie eyeballed her, then grinned. ‘Mr Cool isn’t as uninvolved as he’d like you to think.’
Sigh. ‘Yeah, right. I had enough going on with the pregnancy and Rosie. I didn’t need complications with a man.’
Abbie smiled sadly. ‘Guess I can’t argue with that today considering Cal has just dumped me.’
Ping!
Saved by the phone.
Nearly there. Princess couldn’t wait any longer. Mum. Xxx
Then the baby—
Grace, Emma, her name is Grace.
The baby gave a small cry and Emma’s breasts tightened painfully. Breasts that did not have a role to play in feeding this gorgeous infant.
Abbie looked up, panic in her eyes. ‘What now?’
‘You feed her. Food, warmth, love.’ Under the blanket, Emma’s hands clenched against the urge to reach for the baby to place her on her breast. No surprise here. Her body didn’t understand it was no longer the mother, despite the repeated messages from her brain. All it heard were the calls from her heart.
The midwife bustled into the room. ‘Did I hear Baby cry? She’ll be wanting to be fed.’ Her eyes flicked to Emma, and she gave an almost imperceptible lopsided nod as if to ask, How are you doing?
Emma nodded back. Okay, she mouthed.
But take them away so my breasts can settle down.
‘She’s making noises like she’s hungry,’ Abbie muttered, still gazing at the baby, only now with trepidation.
‘You’ll be fine, Abbie.’ The midwife had all the reassuring words and actions. The baby hadn’t latched on when first placed against her mother’s breast, but hopefully now she would. ‘We’ll go along to the nursery and I’ll start you learning to breastfeed. Emma needs to rest.’ She helped Abbie to her feet.
‘Right.’ Abbie held Grace as though afraid of dropping her as she moved out of the room. With her injured arm, it was a distinct possibility, so it was no wonder she held her daughter carefully.
Emma’s eyes tracked her until she disappeared around the corner, a lump the size of Lake Wakatipu in her throat and her chest painfully tight. Abbie and Grace. Her friend and her daughter. Her daughter? Or Abbie’s? Definitely Abbie’s. But...
No buts.
Where’s Rosie?
A fierce ache throbbed in her breasts and there was nothing she could do to appease it. Bizarre didn’t begin to describe the fact that Abbie was able to breastfeed her daughter. ‘The wonder of modern-day drugs.’ Emma carefully slid further down the bed. The irony being that she would need something to help with stopping her milk supply, or at least to dull the pain while nature ran its course. Uncomfortable days were ahead, then hopefully everything would settle down and she’d get back to life as she knew it—raising Rosie and working day shifts in the emergency department downstairs; saving for a deposit on a house and keeping her head below the radar when it came to men.
‘Mummy, where’s the baby? Can I hold it?’ Rosie raced into the room, staring all about. ‘I can’t see the baby.’ She leapt onto the bed and lifted the cover to peer underneath.
Emma gasped at the sudden movement. ‘Easy. Mummy’s sore.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s a little girl and her name is Grace, darling. She’s gone to the nursery with Abbie,’ Emma explained and had to bite down on the chuckle brought on by her daughter’s disappointment.
‘But I want to hold her.’
At least she wasn’t jealous. The midwife had warned that Rosie could initially be anti the baby, might see her as competition for her mother’s affections. But these were unusual circumstances.
‘Rosie, love, remember what I told you?’ Emma’s mother appeared in the doorway. ‘The baby will be tired and only Abbie can hold her just now. You’ll get a turn soon.’
Really? Would Rosie go along with having to wait? Emma raised an eyebrow at her mother. They were good at talking like this around a certain little madam.
A nod. A frown. An eloquent shrug. Then in real speak, ‘I’ve been fobbing off demands to come see you since I picked her up. Daniel got tied up with a client and couldn’t make it,’ she explained. ‘When I received your text we were already pulling into the car park, the word “no” having long gone out the window. She was far more interested in the baby than what happened at school.’
‘That’s saying something.’ Emma laughed. Rosie believed school had been created just for her.
‘Where’s the nursy?’ Rosie bounced up and down on the bed.
‘Nursery,’ Emma corrected automatically as she tensed against the sharp pain brought on by the bed turning into Rosie’s trampoline. ‘Can you sit still, love?’
‘What’s the nursy?’ The bounces reduced in severity but didn’t stop.
‘Nursery. It’s where the babies sleep while they’re in the hospital.’ In this case anyway. Emma reached for her girl. ‘Got a hug for Mummy?’
Little arms wound tightly around her neck. ‘A big, big, big one, Mummy.’ And a sloppy kiss apparently.
Not to mention the elbow in her belly. Carefully dislodging Rosie’s arm, she kissed her daughter’s forehead. ‘Thank you, darling.’
‘Do you like my hug, Mummy? It’s special for you.’
Tears sprang into Emma’s eyes, and she tightened her hold on her daughter. Pressing her face into the abundant dark curls, she sniffed and croaked, ‘It’s the best hug ever.’ It really, really was, and she might need plenty of them over the coming days.
‘How are you, sweetheart?’ Her mum kissed her gently on the other cheek and passed over a handful of tissues.
‘I’m good. About everything. Though I feel like a freight truck’s driven through me.’
There was doubt in those knowledgeable eyes that she’d known all her life. Not even shock tactics had diverted her mum from her real mission. ‘When do you see the psychologist?’
Give me strength.
That was the last person she wanted to talk to, but there’d be no avoiding that particular conversation. It was part of the surrogacy deal she’d signed that she talk to everyone this side of the Crown Ranges about her feelings. If the shrink lady didn’t come looking for her then her mother would be hauling her to the counsellor’s rooms herself.
‘In a couple of days, unless I need her sooner. Honestly, Mum, I’m fine. When Grace cried, I felt a tug on the heartstrings, but she has always been Abbie’s baby and nothing’s changed.’
Nothing I can’t handle. I hope.
Hell, what if she couldn’t manage, was crippled with longing for the baby that wasn’t hers?
Her mum cut through the sudden pain in her head. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am,’ she answered more forcefully than she intended. Pushing the demons back into their box? ‘At the moment I’m more in need of sleep.’
Her mother smiled her special mum smile and gently pushed the hair away from Emma’s forehead. ‘I’m proud of you. I don’t think I could’ve done what you have.’
More tears. ‘Thanks, Mum. You got a hug for me too?’ Why did she need so many?
Rosie squirmed in close, pushing her way under Emma’s right arm. ‘Me, too, Mummy. I love hugs, don’t I?’
‘This a hug fest?’ The booming question came from across the room.
Emma’s eyes flew open. Nixon stood at the entrance, looking uncertain of his welcome. ‘Hey. You want to join in?’
‘Me? I don’t think so. There’s a crowd already.’
‘Chicken.’ The challenge slipped out with no input from her brain. No problem, he’d refuse. He’d asked her out about six months ago. With every other available female, and some not so available, swooning at his feet, she knew she’d shocked him by saying no. She wanted nothing more to do with dating men, or so she’d told herself over and over since that day, trying not to wonder what it would’ve been like going out with Nixon. Once he learned she was pregnant, he’d got over his shock quick smart and they’d started getting on great guns as friends. Perfect. Really? Was it perfect?
A wriggle, a squirm, and Rosie shrieked, ‘Nixon, have you seen the baby? Mummy won’t take me to see it and I want to hold her.’
Emma’s mother stepped back, rubbing her ear. ‘Quieter, Rosie.’
Emma ran her hand over Rosie’s curls. ‘That’s not what I said. Abbie’s feeding Grace so you have to be patient.’
‘That’s like asking a cat to ignore the mouse running across its paws.’ Nixon winked. ‘Especially with this one.’ He knew Rosie from the times she used to be dropped off at the department after pre-school on the days Emma was running late signing off. Her daughter had fallen under his spell in the flash of a chocolate bar and a wide smile. Easily bribed, her girl.
Nixon moved up, leaned over and wrapped his arms around Emma. ‘You’re looking good for what you’ve been through.’
A warm sigh trickled across her lips. This hug felt special. The perfect elixir for lurking emotions left over from handing the baby to Abbie. Emma leaned forward ever so slightly to rest against Nixon’s chest and breathed deeply, absorbing the man scent and strength. She lurched backwards. This was all wrong. They were pals, not lovers.
There had been one time she’d said too much to him. At the end of a particularly hectic shift she’d been tired and achy, heavily pregnant and despondent, and when he’d walked out of the department with her and suggested a wind-down drink over the road at the café, she’d burst into tears. It had to have been the tea that loosened her tongue, or otherwise why had she spilled her guts to Nixon about her feelings over giving up the baby? The feelings she wouldn’t share with Abbie so as not to rattle her friend’s confidence that she would hand over Abbie’s baby.
He’d listened without interruption as she’d explained her fear of not being able to let go the baby, which would break her friend’s heart along with her own. Not once did Nixon say it was her fault she was in that predicament. He’d shown another side to himself. He’d always been popular, but also somewhat wary, and known to be a focused, caring doctor. She doubted anyone at work had seen Nixon so thoughtful and considerate about something unrelated to work. Which made her wonder what else he was hiding behind his everyday face. And glad she’d turned him down for that date. She had enough of her own problems to be carrying on with, without taking on anyone else’s.
Now he stepped back, those thoughtful eyes watching her too closely for comfort.
‘Mum, you haven’t met Nixon, have you? Nixon Wright, this is my mum Kathy Hayes. Nixon’s our emergency specialist,’ she added for clarity. No point raising her mother’s hopes that she’d found a man. How her mother could want her to get married again was beyond Emma. Not after her last fiasco. But then, all her family held onto some guilt over that. They’d fallen under Alvin’s spell too and had encouraged her marriage.
‘You’re not a local.’ Her mother shook Nixon’s hand, appraising the tall, strapping specimen before her as if she was about to interview him. Which, being her mother, was definitely on the cards. And her mum had nothing on her brothers or father. Emma wouldn’t put it past them to tie any man she might be interested in up to the fence and throw icy water over him while proceeding with an interrogation about whether he knew his hands were not made to be used against their sister and daughter.
He gave a light smile. ‘I shifted here from Dunedin a year ago, so, no, most people don’t know what I like to eat for breakfast or what grades I got in school.’
There were few secrets in Queenstown amongst the locals, for sure. Hurrying to cut her mother off before she got started on in-depth questions, Emma said, ‘Grace weighs three point seven kilos, has ten fingers and ten toes, and is cute as a button. Abbie’s besotted.’
Nixon agreed. ‘I saw her in the nursery on my way here. I think we could have a Force Six earthquake and she wouldn’t notice.’ His smile dipped. ‘You’re all right?’
The same loaded question her mother had asked. No doubt she’d hear it a few more times yet. ‘Yep.’
He locked eyes with her, as if he was looking for more. But what could she say? Especially in front of her mother, who had had misgivings about the whole surrogacy thing from the day she’d told her family she was having Abbie’s baby. ‘I have no regrets. Okay?’
‘I didn’t think you would.’ Nixon looked away, and got caught in the beam of her mother’s stare. ‘You’ve got one tough daughter, Kathy.’
‘She had to learn to be.’ It was so unlike her mother to say such a thing. Her family never talked about her past unless she brought up the horrible subject herself, which she rarely did. Why go back to hell when she’d finally found her way out?
Emma shivered. Her mum was certainly assessing Nixon thoroughly. Too thoroughly. Something she needed to stop doing. ‘Nixon’s my boss.’ For some inexplicable reason that gave her a stabbing sensation in her chest.
Her mother nodded once, abruptly.
But Nixon surprised Emma with his suddenly widening eyes and flattening mouth. What had she done other than tell the truth? He was her boss. And one hell of a man, who had the broad shoulders to cry on and endless patience when she’d needed to let off steam. Those shoulders were filling her vision now, tightening her tummy in ways it shouldn’t.
Then a deep yawn pulled her mouth wide. The day had caught up with her in spades. ‘Sorry, everyone. I need to catnap for a bit.’ She reached for Rosie. ‘Another hug for Mummy?’
As Rosie obliged Emma glimpsed Nixon over her daughter’s head. There was a strange longing filling those grey eyes as he watched them. Something she’d never seen before. Something that strummed on her heartstrings. Nixon was lonely for love? Was that it? Couldn’t be. He could have any woman he set his eyes on.
But wait, wasn’t there a rumour that he had a three-dates rule? He also shunned invitations from individual staff members to work social occasions, but that was probably sensible. Yet he’d asked her out. Strange.
She chose to be alone too, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want family and love. Nixon hadn’t said a word about his family when she’d talked about hers the day she’d blubbed all over him. He’d only said he was too busy for commitment. What with running a small but busy emergency department here in the Queenstown Hospital, where extreme sports injuries were as common as the tourists that filled the town all year round. Being a mountain-biking addict alongside his busy job, he didn’t have the time required for a full-on, permanent relationship.
Nixon might be surprised to know everyone knew he avoided relationships. It was fairly obvious when he only ever dated women who were visiting Queenstown, getting his testosterone fix without getting entangled. Emma hadn’t been able to decide if she should’ve been flattered or insulted when he’d asked her out. Apparently she’d been the exception to his rule. He socialised without getting involved, so he’d have been a perfect date for her. She’d have had fun. It wasn’t as if he were dull, weird, or afraid of his own shadow. Completely the opposite, in fact. Tall, built, fun, sincere.
Sexy.
Gasp.
Was it all right to think that of a friend?
Emma’s heart slowed. Sadness rocked in and darkened her mood; she closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see Nixon watching her with a hunger in his gaze that confused her. To her he was someone she worked with who’d become a good friend over the last few months. He was a man in need of a shake-up. Who amongst her old friends could she find to knock his knees out from under him? No one. What about—?
No one. Or—?
No one.
The thought of Nixon getting all cosy with someone she knew felt like a lead ball swinging at her head.
A phone sounded loud in the still room. ‘I’d better get back. The heli’s five minutes out,’ Nixon said as he read his message. ‘I grabbed a quiet moment to check on you.’
As her boss? Or as a friend. ‘You want to give me a lift home later?’ What was wrong with her? As if she wanted Nixon driving her home. But he’d ask less questions than her family.
Her mother got there before him. ‘I can come back in whenever you’re ready. You and Rosie should stay the night with us anyway.’
‘Thanks, Mum, but I’d prefer going to the apartment, taking a long, hot shower and curling up in my own bed.’ That was the truth, even if it meant having to stay awake until Rosie went to bed, which these days could be anywhere between seven and nine. The kid didn’t get bedtime rules at all.
‘Your brothers will be disappointed. Not to mention your father.’
Exactly. An inquest about her feelings was not on her agenda. ‘I’ll see them tomorrow.’
Nixon turned his formidable gaze from her to her mother and nodded. ‘I’m going to be tied up for a long time with what the paramedics are bringing in.’
‘What happened?’ Emma asked.
‘A mountain biker here for the Lake Hawea challenge went off the edge of the road somewhere on Cardrona while on a training ride and hit the rocks way below.’ Nixon headed for the door, and paused, one hand on the frame. ‘I’ll drop by later to see if you want me to give you a ride somewhere.’ A hint of challenge coloured his voice, which disappeared before he nodded to her mother, who was nudging Rosie towards the door. ‘A pleasure meeting you.’
Then he was gone, leaving a void in the room Emma wanted filled. By whom? By what? She had no idea, she only knew her head and heart were all over the place at the moment, and that had nothing to do with Nixon and all to do with the baby she’d delivered not so long ago.
Yet she felt that challenge even if she didn’t know what it was about. As if Nixon had handed her the baton and she needed to run with it. Now. When she’d just had a baby? When she did not need—or want—a man in her life? Forget her earlier longings. That had been baby-brain talk.
Baby. Her hands slid over her empty stomach. I had a baby today. And she’s nowhere to be seen.
Abbie’s baby. Not mine. Abbie’s baby. Abbie’s baby. My baby.
Emma cried herself into a restless, baby-filled sleep.
