His Miracle Bride. Marion Lennox

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      ‘Which is?’

      ‘These aren’t my kids. They’re nothing to do with me. Until twelve months ago I’d never seen any of them before in my life.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      THERE was a long pause. Shanni had pulled open the fire door of the oven, to let the warmth of the flames give comfort to a kitchen that was only just warming up. The fire crackled behind them. He should put music on or something, he thought inconsequentially. The atmosphere was too intimate.

      Maybe music would make it worse.

      ‘They’re not your kids,’ she said at last. She wasn’t taking her eyes off him, seemingly ready to judge by how he looked as well as what he said.

      ‘No,’ he said. There was nothing else to say.

      ‘I did wonder,’ she said mildly. ‘They don’t look like you. They keep forgetting to call you “Dad”. And they didn’t know if you had Abba.’

      ‘Abba?’

      ‘Never mind. I thought maybe they’d been calling you “Pierce” and you’d made them change for the welfare people.’

      ‘I made them change for the welfare people.’

      ‘But…’ She sighed. She downed the dregs of her whisky, looked at the bottle and sighed again. ‘I’ve got jet lag and a muddled head,’ she confessed. ‘Don’t give me any more whisky.’

      ‘And Bessy’s likely to be up in the night.’ He rose and took the whisky bottle into the next room, returned and closed the door firmly behind him. They both looked at the door with longing. But no. They were mature adults, and there were no answers in a whisky bottle.

      ‘I’ll make coffee,’ he said and she nodded. Mature adults. Coffee. Right.

      ‘You’d better tell me,’ she said, while he fiddled with cups and kettle and instant coffee. Instant. She’d come from the coffee centre of the world. Agh.

      ‘I married their mother,’ he said.

      ‘Right.’ She thought about it. ‘So Bessy’s yours?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘So Bessy’s not yours.’

      ‘They’re none of them mine.’

      ‘So when did you marry their mother?’

      ‘Seven months ago. Just after Bessy was born. Three weeks before Maureen died.’

      ‘Oh,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I see.’

      ‘Do you?’ He sounded angry. He had his back to her but she could hear tension and anger—and resentment.

      ‘Hey, I cleaned your fridge,’ she said. ‘I’m the patsy in this set-up.’

      Anger faded. His shoulders shook—just a little. ‘The patsy?’

      ‘The pig in the middle. The girl with the soggy cucumber. Shoot around me, but not at me.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘That’s better,’ she said approvingly as he carried mugs of coffee across to the table. He really was good looking, she thought absently. And that hair was so ruffled. She could just reach over and touch it…

      Cut it out, she told herself fiercely. What is it with you and long-haired men?

      ‘Tell me about Maureen,’ she said instead and took a mouthful of coffee, swallowing regrets about a magnificent coffee maker she’d left behind in London. Okay, it was Michael’s, but it had been bought with her credit card and it made the best coffee. And that rat…

      She wasn’t thinking clearly.

      ‘Maureen,’ she said again, and Pierce looked confused.

      ‘Look, I’m jet lagged,’ she said. ‘I’m not making sense to me.’

      ‘You suddenly looked a long way away.’

      ‘I was mourning coffee. Tell me about Maureen.’

      ‘She was my foster sister sort of.’

      There was a pause. Sort of foster sister. Hmm.

      ‘Ruby only fosters boys.’

      ‘You think I’m telling lies?’

      ‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she said. ‘Thinking hurts.’

      ‘She’s great, your aunt Ruby.’

      ‘She’s lovely to everyone.’

      ‘I guess.’

      Whoops. ‘I’m sorry,’ Shanni said repentantly. ‘I dare say you and Ruby have a lovely, personalized, meaningful relationship and I wouldn’t dream of disparaging it.’

      He choked on his coffee.

      ‘She’s a bit…batty,’ he said, and Shanni grinned.

      ‘We’re together on that one. But you’d better tell me the rest.’

      ‘It’s not much use.’

      ‘You want me to finish the refrigerator?’

      ‘I…’

      ‘Okay, I’ll finish the refrigerator anyway,’ she said, and gave him a rueful smile. ‘I’m a sucker for a job well done. But tell me or I’ll bust.’ She pulled up a spare kitchen chair, put her feet up, had a couple of sips of coffee—ugh—and forced herself to relax. ‘You’re one of Ruby’s strays. That must have been hard.’

      ‘I guess.’ He shook his head. ‘No. I had a mother who didn’t want me but wouldn’t put me up for adoption. The times with Ruby were not the hard times. You come from a nice normal family.’

      ‘Are you kidding?’

      ‘Well, a family with a mum and a dad, and I’d imagine you were wanted.’

      She thought of her eccentric parents and she grinned. ‘Yep. They wanted me. They weren’t quite sure what to do with me when they got me—they still aren’t—but they wanted me.’

      ‘I was a mistake.’

      She looked at his stern face. There was a curl dripping over his left eye. She could just…

      Cut it out!

      ‘You were a mistake?

      ‘My mother got pregnant during an affair with a very wealthy man. She thought getting pregnant would force him to marry her. She was wrong.’

      ‘Oh.’

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