A Father for Her Baby. Sue MacKay

Man, he had a problem, and he was about to hitch a ride with her. He watched her carefully lower to the ground, holding onto the safety rail in case her feet went from under her. So unlike the Sash he knew. But he wanted, needed, to get to know this version.

      Mike tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Sorry about dragging you up here, but that’s Golden Bay for us medicos. The isolation means no one can ever totally relax.’

      ‘No problem,’ he answered mechanically, his eyes still fixed on Sash as she moved away awkwardly, taking each step extra-carefully. Her back ramrod straight, her head high. He knew her chin would be jutting forward, her mouth tight.

      Exactly like that last time he’d seen her. On the sand at Pohara Beach below Dad’s house, now his house. She’d turned to walk away from him, the summer wind flattening her burnished gold curls and sandblasting her arms. Her long legs, forever legs, showcased by barely-there shorts, had eaten up the ground as she’d put distance between them.

      Those green eyes, big in her fine-featured face, had been fixed on something in the distance at the far end of the beach. Only minutes before they’d been filled with love for him. Love that had rapidly turned to disbelief, and pain, as he’d spewed out his sorry attempt to make her go away so she could have the future she’d already mapped out long before they’d got together. The only kind of future that would suit Sasha. Certainly nothing like the one he’d suddenly faced, brought about by Dad’s death.

      If he had a dollar for every time he’d wished his words back over the intervening years he could have retired already. But there’d be no undoing what his mouth had spilled that day. His deliberate attempt to send her on her way had been highly successful. Though he’d been thankful it was done, there’d been a part of him that had wished she’d fought him, made him accept there was no letting go of what bound them together, that theirs was a love that would see them through anything and everything.

      Now he had to sit in a vehicle with her for as long as it took to get home. He would not spend the trip remembering her fingers playing over his skin in moments of wild passion. He would not recall how she’d call on her cell phone in the middle of the night and talk dirty till he lost control. Or how she’d climb on the back of his motorbike, slide her arms around his waist and hang on, laughing at the wind in her face. Not. Not. Not.

      His heart squeezed painfully. He’d missed Sash so much that even if he could, he didn’t want to go away again without talking to her. Could they bury the elephant between them? These weeks might be his only opportunity. He could put the time to good use and put the real Sasha up against the one in his memory. That might prove interesting. Maybe the biggest disappointment of his life. But then he might finally be able to move on.

      ‘You going or what?’ Mike asked.

      Grady shook his head, concentrated on the here and now. ‘On my way.’

      He hadn’t even got the car door shut before Sash turned the key in the ignition. She mightn’t intend driving fast but she wasn’t wasting time hanging around. Glancing his way, she kept her face inscrutable. ‘Ready?’

      ‘Yes.’ Shrugging back into the corner, he couldn’t stop his gaze wandering over her. His breathing stuttered. She’d grown even more beautiful than he remembered her to be. Her pearly whites were now straight and orderly. The braces she’d hated wearing had done a fantastic job, though he missed the gap between the two front teeth. That had been kind of cute. Sasha’s curls had grown into a long, burnished gold ponytail held firmly in place with a purple clip thing. She still stared directly at everything, everyone. Including him.

      And there—in those eyes—he finally recognised something from way back. Those eyes held the same all-seeing, missing-nothing gleam, and they were focused entirely on him. Looking for what?

      Then she blinked, turned her head and began backing the vehicle onto the road, before concentrating on taking them down the hill. Her hands were firm on the steering-wheel, her body tilted forward as she peered out the windscreen. She was in control. Nothing new there. But she wasn’t fighting the situation, instead using the gears to go with the conditions outside.

      Grady relaxed further back into his seat, clicked his seat belt in place. The vehicle was in capable hands. Unless fate had some ugly plans for them he’d soon be back at his house, warm and comfortable again. And hopefully getting some sleep. Something he seriously doubted was likely to happen.

      The only sound was the purr of the engine and the intermittent flick, flick of the wipers. Sasha had never liked silence. But she wasn’t doing anything about filling this one. Grady’s mouth twitched.

      Ironic but he wanted to hear noise, her voice, words, anything but this quietness that smothered him.

      Her gloved right hand lifted from the steering-wheel and did the gentlest of sweeps across her belly.

      His gut squeezed tight. He wanted to place his hand on top of hers, to feel whatever she felt. To be a part of this scene, not an observer. Her gesture had been instinctive, a mother-to-baby touch. Sash was obviously comfortable with being an expectant mum. It suited her.

      From what he could see in the dull light from the instrument panel her face had softened, the glint in her eyes quietened, and that chin didn’t point forward. Yes, she was at ease with her situation, if not with him.

      The tightening in his gut increased. He wanted to ask about the father of her baby, why she was living back here, how long before she left again, if she was happy. Instead, he looked out the windscreen and went for, ‘How are your parents? Your dad still flying?’

      At first it seemed she had no intention of answering. But just when he was about to try again she answered. ‘Dad’s set to retire at the end of the year. He’s getting tired of long-haul flights, finds each one a little harder to recover from than the last. But he doesn’t want to go back on the domestic route. Says that’s for the up-and-coming pilots to sharpen their teeth on.’

      ‘I’ve never understood how pilots manage all those hours in the air, their bodies not really coping with all the time-zone changes. It can’t be good in the long run.’ Yet he remembered Ian Wilson always having abundant energy. Working their avocado and citrus orchards when he was at home, going fishing, flying his plane, taking his family away for hiking weekends. He’d never stopped. His daughter had the same genes.

      ‘You haven’t seen Dad for a while. He’s looking older. And he doesn’t move as fast any more.’ Sadness laced her statement. ‘He’s only sixty-three, for goodness’ sake. He shouldn’t be slowing down.’

      ‘Are you worried about it? Enough to suggest he see a doctor?’

      ‘No, it’s life catching up, I think.’ She changed gear to reduce speed for a sharp bend. ‘Jackson’s working in Hong Kong so they catch up whenever Dad flies that way.’

      So Dr Jackson Wilson, Sasha’s older brother, now lived halfway round the world. No surprise. The guy had been in a hurry to leave the bay the moment he’d finished high school. Guess he hadn’t stopped when he’d reached Auckland either. ‘What does your mother think about Ian retiring?’

      ‘She’s the reason he’s not stopping as soon as he’d like. I think she’s afraid he’ll take over her orchard and leave her with little to do.’

      ‘Hardly surprising. It’s been her baby for years.’

      Again Sash went all quiet on him. This time the silence hung heavily between them as she concentrated on negotiating the final hairpin bend, her eyes focused straight ahead, her lips pressed hard together. He sensed the tension in her thighs, arms and the rest of her compact body. Because of the road conditions? Or the fact he’d used the baby word?

      He broke the silence. ‘When I went for a walk yesterday I noticed the orchard’s been expanded. There’s a lot of work there for anyone to cope with.’ If Ian was sixty-three then his wife had to be a similar age. Time to relax a bit, surely?

      It took a few minutes but finally she answered so quietly he had to strain to hear her. ‘Mum tries, and