His Perfect Bride?. Louisa Heaton

…’

      ‘I didn’t think! I was in shock! I … you don’t expect this, do you?’ She wrapped the baby up again and scooped her up, holding her tight against her body.

      Olly watched her pace back and forth. ‘There must be a mother somewhere. She could be at risk if she doesn’t get proper medical attention.’

      She nodded. ‘I know. I figure it has to be a teenager. Who do you know in the village that fits the bill?’

      Olly sank onto the couch. ‘There are a few teenagers in the village—about twenty or so, I think. Most of them catch the school bus to go to the comprehensive in South Wold. I don’t see them very much—they don’t tend to come and see the doctor.’

      ‘Have any come to you about going on the pill? Any who you think could be sexually active?’

      He shook his head. ‘No. I honestly haven’t seen any for a while. I think the last teenager I saw was the Blakes’s daughter, and that was for an ear infection.’

      He racked his brains, but Olly could think of no one he’d seen at the surgery lately. Nor had he seen any teenage girl about the village on his day-to-day travels who had aroused his suspicion.

      Surely he would have noticed a pregnant teenager?

      But, then again, the same could be said for the girl’s parents. How did you not notice?

      Olly made them both a drink, cringing at the sight of Anubis on the kitchen counter. All darkness and legs.

      He’d just taken the tea through to the lounge when the police arrived.

      There was a lot of questioning, a lot of hustle and bustle. Lula gave a statement, and then Olly told them the little he knew—that he couldn’t think of anyone who might have been concealing a pregnancy.

      Lula felt quite protective of the little mite, and almost didn’t want to hand her over, but in the end she did, her heart sinking a little at the thought of what the future might hold for the little girl. Would she get lost in the system? Be passed from family to family?

      She could only hope that they would find the baby’s mother. Before it was too late.

      After the police had gone, and the small lounge and kitchen had emptied of uniformed bodies, she sank down into the seat by the fire and stared at Olly, ignoring the way the firelight flickered in the reflection of his blue eyes.

      ‘What a welcome to the village!’

      He attempted a smile. ‘We did what we could for her.’

      ‘I worry that it’s not enough. Poor thing.’

      ‘We’ll find the mum.’

      ‘But what if we don’t? That baby will enter the system and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending for her, you know? Not all foster homes are great.’

      He cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

      She met his gaze, noticing how beautiful his dark blue eyes were, framed by thick dark lashes. Men could be so lucky with their eyelashes, it seemed.

      Lula nodded, deciding to be open with him. ‘I was like that little baby once. But I wasn’t left in a cardboard box in the snow in the middle of winter. My mother left me in a Moses basket on a beach.’

      ‘You were abandoned?’ He sat forward.

      She gave a wry smile. ‘From what I know, I was found by a family who were packing up their beach hut. They’d been with their kids by the water’s edge, paddling and stuff. When they came back they found me. My mother had left a note, saying how sorry she was, how much she regretted doing it, but that she couldn’t keep me. With the note was this.’ She reached into her neckline and pulled out a silver necklace with a heart charm on the end. ‘She signed the note with the initials “EL”.’

      ‘“EL”? That’s all you were left with?’

      ‘And that she’d called me Louise.’ Lula sipped her drink and smiled at him. ‘You don’t have to feel sorry for me, you know. I’ve lived my life to the full.’

      ‘It’s not over yet. You’ve got years left.’

      ‘We never know, though, do we? I could get knocked down by a bus tomorrow.’

      He frowned. ‘Actually, you couldn’t. There’s no bus service tomorrow.’

      She smiled, but then Olly was serious again. ‘What happened to you?’

      Lula shrugged. ‘I went from home to home till I was about seven and then I got put with a family who decided they wanted to adopt me.’

      ‘The Chances?’

      ‘Yes. They were lovely—really sweet people—but I knew I didn’t belong to them.’

      ‘They’d chosen you. Out of all those children looking for a permanent home, they picked you. You should be pleased about that.’

      ‘They had other adopted children and each of them had a problem, too. A health problem. Peter and Daisy Chance seemed to go after all the hard-luck cases—don’t ask me why.’

      ‘Perhaps they thought that children with issues needed the most love?’

      She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

      ‘But what was wrong with you? If you don’t mind me asking?’

      She smiled. ‘I had leukaemia. Childhood leukaemia. They had no idea if I was going to live or die, and still the Chances wanted me. That was pretty brave of them, huh?’

      He nodded, thoughtful.

      ‘I got better—though the chemo did some horrible things.’

      ‘But you got through it okay?’

      ‘As okay as I could at that age.’

      Olly smiled. ‘You seem well now, though, and—as you say yourself—you pack everything into life. You work as a doctor, which is hard work and stressful, and you do other stuff, too.’

      ‘I made the decision to be happy and enjoy life and take my medicine every day.’ She smiled at him.

      He looked at her strangely and she laughed at the curious frown on his face. ‘Why are you laughing?’

      ‘It was your face!’ She chuckled.

      ‘Thanks. A man likes to know his looks are amusing.’

      ‘It’s not your looks, Olly. There’s nothing wrong with those. But it was the way you looked at me.’

      ‘I was admiring you,’ he protested. ‘I mean, I was admiring your attitude to life. Not admiring you, per se. Not with that hair,’ he added with a wry grin.

      She pursed her lips with amusement and then stood up and looked in the mirror over the fireplace. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my hair.’ She checked some of the strands, tweaking and rearranging her colours.

      He stood up next to her and they both looked at each other in the mirror’s reflection. ‘No, of course not—it’s very … conservative.’

      ‘Hah! Now you’re being a snob. I thought I might add another colour to it, actually.’

      ‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows in question.

      ‘What do you think to making the rest of it green?’

      ‘You can’t be serious?’

      ‘I’m deadly serious.’

      He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His open-mouthed flustering made her burst into more laughter and she punched him playfully on the arm. ‘I’m just joshing with you. Of course I’m not going green.’

      ‘Thank