His Miracle Bride

CHAPTER SIX

SHANNI woke at three in the morning. Her shoulder hurt.

Actually, it throbbed.

‘Wuss,’ she told herself, but her shoulder wasn’t in the mood to be told it was making too much fuss.

She needed painkillers. The doctor had given her lethal-looking night-time pills with instructions that she’d need them to go to sleep. But he’d said they’d make her dozy, and she was a bit wary of being dozy in this house. What if there was another bull? She’d taken a couple of milder analgesics and had managed to go to sleep, but now those bright blue suckers she’d put in the kitchen medicine cabinet looked pretty inviting.

The house was in darkness. She was still in the girls’ bedroom. Wendy and Abby were fast asleep. Carefully she threw back the covers, winced as the movement hurt her arm, then padded her way downstairs to the kitchen.

Pierce was sitting at the table, a sheath of plans spread out before him. He looked like a man who’d been working for hours.

He was wearing bright blue pyjamas. He had serious-looking glasses perched low on his nose. He’d been raking his hair with his fingers. His curls had separated into rake marks. He needed a shave again.

He was seriously cute.

He looked up, and she jumped.

‘Hey,’ he said, sounding as startled as she was. ‘It’s me who’s supposed to jump.’

‘Did I scare you?’

‘If you’re asking whether the sight of five feet three inches of woman with pyjamas covered in pink pigs and with one arm in a sling is enough to terrify me-you could be right.’ He stretched, like a big cat, and rose lazily to his feet. ‘Your arm’s hurting?’

‘I…Yes.’ Maybe the pink pigs weren’t such a good idea, she thought. They’d been a Kris Kringle Christmas gift from the gallery staff. She’d shoved them right to the back of her bureau, but when she’d been packing to come home she’d thought, why not, no one’s going to see me in bed ever again.

But she wouldn’t have minded a bit of feminine lace right now. Or even plain flannelette. Just not pigs.

‘They’re great,’ Pierce said, and grinned. There it was again-that grin. He could make her heart do somersaults.

She was his temporary housekeeper. And, after Mike, your selection criteria is seriously flawed, she told herself. Do not think cute.

‘They’re all the fashion in London,’ she said defensively.

‘I believe you.’ His smile widened.

Whoa. Stop it, stop it, stop it.

‘Sit by the fire,’ he told her. He walked round and pulled the fireside rocker forward.

‘I’m all right.’

‘Sit.’ Before she knew what he intended, he caught her round the waist, picked her up and deposited her in the chair. Just as if she was one of his kids.

She didn’t feel like one of his kids. She felt imperiled.

There’s a dumb thing to think, she told herself crossly. Just because he’s so…male.

‘I’ll make you some cocoa,’ he said, turning his back to her, which was a relief. When he wasn’t smiling the pressure dropped. Just a bit. ‘You shouldn’t take those pills on an empty stomach. Cocoa and chocolate cookies coming up. I can strongly recommend the cookies, and there’s nothing like a nice hot cup of cocoa to make you sleep.’

‘Thank you, grandpa.’

‘Hey, we both have pyjamas on,’ he retorted. ‘If I’m grandpa, you’re grandma.’

She should make some smart retort. She should. But the first six retorts she made in her head were all classified dangerous after the very barest of examination. She subsided into what she hoped was dignified silence while he filled the kettle.

‘We can go to the beach tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘I’ve had no less than five phone calls offering to take care of the cattle any time I need a break. Thanks to you.’

He was smiling at her too warmly. Much too warmly. She was starting to colour.

‘What are you working on?’ she asked, as much for something to fill the silence as for interest. In truth her shoulder was hurting so much she shouldn’t be interested in anything but pain relief. The fact that, despite the pain, she was very interested indeed in a man in blue pyjamas was a bit of a worry.

Actually, it was a very definite worry, and it was growing more definite every second.

‘A railway station,’ he said. ‘Want to see?’

‘I…Yes.’ She went to rise, but he was before her, hauling the table sideways so it was in reach. He lifted the first set of plans and laid it on her knee. ‘This is the overall concept. The rest is detailed working plans.’

He went back to his cocoa making. She tried to turn her attention to the plans.

Which suddenly wasn’t difficult. These were…

Amazing.

‘This is huge,’ she whispered. ‘A major metropolitan hub. A whole new network. I think I saw this advertised in London. Didn’t they run a competition for ideas?’

‘They did. We won.’

‘We?’

‘My company.’

She whistled. This was almost enough to make her forget her shoulder. She lifted plan after plan, looking at the meticulous detail as well as the truly astounding master plan.

‘But you’re brilliant,’ she whispered at last.

‘I know,’ he said laying cocoa, chocolate cookies and two blue pills before her. ‘And handsome and rugged and strong and heroic, and so humble you wouldn’t believe.’

She choked.

‘Take your pills,’ he ordered.

‘Yes, sir.’ She did.

‘Ruby says you’re no halfwit yourself,’ he said.

‘Ruby says the nicest things.’

‘She does, doesn’t she? Oh, and speaking of Ruby and her boys…’ He turned and rustled under the pile of papers on the table. ‘I rang Blake tonight-Blake’s another of Ruby’s boys-about the dreaded Mike and his use of your shared credit card.’

‘Hey.’ What was he doing interfering in her life? ‘You have no right…’

‘I don’t,’ he said regretfully. ‘That’s what Blake said. He says maybe Mike acted unlawfully, but he wouldn’t know unless you let him have access to your details. He faxed me a permission form for you to fill in. If you want to sign it he’ll look into it.’

‘There’s nothing Blake can do.’

‘He’s a Ruby’s boy,’ Pierce said modestly. ‘Between us, Ruby says we’re going to rule the world. A Ruby dynasty.’

‘It’s no good establishing dynasties if none of you intend to have families,’ she said absently. She ate a chocolate cookie, absently read Blake’s form, thought what the heck, filled it in, signed it and went back to considering Pierce. She shouldn’t. But he really was well worth considering. ‘But maybe you could form a foster dynasty,’ she suggested. ‘A world run by people without mothers.’ She thought about her own and glowered. ‘It might just work.’

‘Hey,’ he said, guessing where her thoughts had gone. ‘They only sublet their house.’

‘Only,’ she said darkly. ‘I have a doll called Susie Belle I keep in my bedroom. If any kid’s messing with Susie Belle…’

‘You want us to organise a Susie Belle hit? Armed men, at dead of night, sweeping in, “Nobody move, the doll’s ours.”’

She grinned. ‘You want to try?’

‘Sam works for the SAS. We’d put him in charge.’

‘Sam, as in Ruby’s Sam?’

‘I told you-we’re a dynasty.’

‘So you are.’

She gazed at him, for just a moment too long. Suddenly flustered, she turned away, gazing into the flames through the open fire-door.

Much safer.

She was aware-or she thought she was aware, but there was no way she was checking-that Pierce was looking at her, but she didn’t look back. Flames. Right. Concentrate.

‘You should go back to bed,’ he said, and his voice sounded a bit strained.

She should. But this was great. The room still smelled faintly of the wonderful beef curry Dwayne’s mother had appeared with at dinner. Two cakes and the remains of an apple strudel sat on the bench waiting for tomorrow. This was a lovely, warm, food-laden kitchen, with a fantastic fire-stove, and a man working at the kitchen table on plans that were amazing. A really nice man…

‘I’ll go back to bed as soon as the tablets work,’ she said. ‘Go back to your plans.’

He did. He focused on his work with absolute attention. After a bit he seemed to forget she was there, which suited her. She could watch him surreptitiously, taking stock.

He really was the strangest mix.

He was about as different from Mike as it was possible for a man to be. Mike would have jumped her by now, she thought. Despite the pigs.

Pierce seemed totally oblivious.

Which was just as well, she thought, if she had to spend the next couple of weeks with him…

She shouldn’t go to the beach. He wouldn’t need her at the castle.

‘I will need you,’ he said, and she blinked. He was writing on the side of the plans. His hand didn’t pause. How could he know what she was thinking?

‘Why will you need me?’

‘Because Donald trusts you.’

‘Donald?’

‘He’s a strange kid. He’s been watching me for a year now, and yet I don’t think he trusts me. He’s waiting for me to ditch them or something. He tries to take care of them all himself, and he tries to pretend they don’t need me. But in one fell swoop he’s figured that you’re okay.’

‘Clyde was good for something.’

‘I guess he was.’ He sighed. ‘Poor old man.’

‘Clyde, you mean?’

‘Yeah. He’s quiet as a baby tonight. I put him in the girls’ paddock. It’s a bit early for joining, but I thought a bit of sex might take his mind off his trauma.’

‘You worry about them all,’ she said softly. ‘Even Clyde.’

‘Yeah. Some bachelor,’ he said grimly, and went back to his drawings.

The pills were kicking in a little. Or maybe it was the warmth and the cocoa and the company. She felt sleepy and warm, and like she didn’t want to move for a hundred years.

‘You’re not a bachelor,’ she said sleepily. ‘You’re a widower.’

There was a pause. ‘So I am,’ he said, cautious.

‘“Widower”’ is much sexier than “bachelor”.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘It’s true,’ she said, labouring a point that suddenly felt important. ‘A widower is very, very sexy.’

‘Widower with five kids?’

‘Hmm.’ She thought about that. ‘It’s a hitch,’ she said. ‘But I’m prepared to overlook it.’

There was a long, drawn out silence. She was watching the flames. They were forming shapes. ‘I can see a bull in there,’ she said.

‘A bull…’

‘A sort of bull in the inferno. A little something from Dante. I think I might paint it.’

‘What’s in those pills?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing.’ He grinned and rose, joining her in the lovely warm haze radiated by the stove. ‘Bedtime.’

‘I want to stay here.’

‘I can see that you do. But I have work to do, and you’re distracting me.’

‘You’re distracting yourself.’

‘Thank you,’ he said gravely. ‘Is your shoulder still hurting?’

‘My shoulder’s lovely.’

‘Then it’s bedtime for you, princess,’ he said, and he bent and lifted her with the effortless ease he’d used before.

She should take umbrage. She should…

She wound her arms round his neck and held on. ‘Nice.’

‘So Ruby tells me.’

‘Ruby’s right. She says you’re the nice one. You’re certainly the one with the sexiest pyjamas.’

‘Have you been on the whisky?’

She thought about that. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Should I have? Can we have one?’

‘If I give you a whisky you’ll be out for the count,’ he told her. ‘I have a feeling you don’t take painkillers too often.’

‘Pain?’

‘That’s what I mean, sweetheart.’ He was climbing the stairs. She was cradled against him. He had the nicest pyjamas, she thought hazily. They were made of the same soft fabric as her pink pigs. She put her cheek on his shoulder and it felt really, really soft…

‘Do you mind?’ he asked in a voice that was none too steady.

‘Do I mind what?’

‘Not taking any more of those damned pills,’ he said. ‘I’m having a word with the doctor tomorrow.’

‘The doctor was really, really sorry.’

‘Was he?’

‘Yes, cos he thought the children were yours and he thought you should have got them inoculated. But I told him you were a hero.’

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s true.’ They’d reached the girls’ bedroom. He pushed the door wide with his foot and strode across to the last bed in the row. The empty bed. Her bed.

‘It’s a very, very good thing you’re not sleeping in Maureen’s big bed,’ he said, setting her down on the pillows. Then, as she clung, he reached up and carefully unentwined her fingers from behind his neck.

‘Why?’

‘It just is. Shanni, let me go.’

She let him go. Just.

‘Widowers are very, very sexy,’ she whispered.

‘So are artists in pyjamas with pink pigs.’ He smiled, that magic smile that warmed places within her she hadn’t realized were cold.

‘Goodnight, Shanni,’ he said. He placed a finger on her lips.

‘Goodnight yourself,’ she whispered. She lifted her hand to his finger and held it where it was, trapped against her lips.

‘Shanni…’

‘Very, very sexy,’ she whispered. ‘Are you going to kiss me goodnight?’

He nearly didn’t. She saw him retreat, just a little. But he couldn’t resist. She knew it with the same cosy certainty that said the night was safe, and life was good, and this house was the most splendid house she’d ever stayed in, and this was the most comfortable bed and…

He kissed her. It was meant to be a feather kiss, over before she knew it, but she wasn’t interested in a feather kiss. She put her arms around his neck and tugged him close, finding his mouth, kissing him long and languorously and wonderfully. It felt so right-an extension of the warmth and the wonder of the night. He felt…hers. Her man. She held him close and kissed and kissed, and felt him respond as she knew he must…

Pierce…

But he was pulling away. Unlooping her arms. Forcing her back onto the pillows and moving back.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘What did I tell you? Sexy as hell.’

He was backing to the door.

‘Kiss me again?’ she pleaded, and he shook his head. He smiled but his smile was strained.

‘You need to sleep.’

‘Don’t.’

He grinned then. ‘Yes you do, princess,’ he murmured. She could still see his face. He hadn’t turned the light on, so the only light was the moon, but she could see his features. He didn’t want to leave as much as she didn’t want him to go.

‘Pierce?’

His smile faded. ‘Goodnight,’ he said, and he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.