She stared at it, appearing to consider. Then she slowly shook her head.
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘While we’re on platitudes…I don’t intend to jump out of any frying pan into the fire.’ Martin and Nathan were back at the door, looking hopeful. ‘Boys, can you help me up?’
She turned her gaze away from his, she waited until the little boys gave her a hand apiece and she let them haul her to her feet.
While Dom looked on, feeling…jealous?
Ridiculous.
But jealous all the same.
CHAPTER FIVE
EVER since Tansy had told him she needed to take this time off, Dom had been dreading Easter. Normally the boys would be at school, and there’d be other kids’ mothers he could call on to help. But Easter…nearly everyone was away or busy. He had Dulcie next door but Dulcie had her brother and sister-in-law visiting. She could come in for a real emergency but otherwise he was on his own.
Not only was he alone but the boys were bored. Their school friends were away. He didn’t have time to spend with them and these kids were high maintenance.
But then came Erin. After he re-dressed her foot she settled into the kitchen. She downloaded hot cross bun recipes from the internet, discussed their merits with the boys, tried to figure why his might have failed-consensus was he’d warmed the dough in a too-hot oven-and then decreed she and the boys would try a recipe apiece. Luckily Tansy kept the pantry well stocked-when she saw it her face lit up.
‘Ingredients. Yay!’
So they made three versions of bun, all of which worked. They decided-to Martin’s delight-that Martin’s was best, Erin’s was second and Nathan’s third-but they all ran rings round Dom’s, no question.
He agreed, not even bothering to be offended. He and the boys were filled to the rim with bun. They squeezed a little soup in for dinner. They checked and rechecked Marilyn. The boys chattered to Erin like an old friend. She had them entranced and he didn’t blame them.
He was close to entranced himself.
He should go out to Erin’s wrecked car and fetch her belongings. He’d found her a toothbrush and comb-as an emergency foster-carer he always had necessities on hand-but she needed more. A change of clothes would be good. But the house was full of the smell of cooking and the sound of laughter and it seemed such…well, such a home that he wanted to stay.
It was an illusion, he thought, but he may as well enjoy it while it lasted.
The boys seemed mesmerised as well. When it was finally time for bed they left Erin with reluctance, but they knew she’d still be there tomorrow.
Tomorrow was looking great. It was so different from what he’d expected.
He’d seen six patients during the course of the day-none needing him to go out but each needing his full attention. Erin had turned the day around. She was fantastic, he thought, returning to the kitchen after tucking the boys in. A laughing, cheerful sprite…
He swung open the kitchen door and she looked so sad he stopped in his tracks.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded involuntarily, and she caught herself and dredged up a smile.
‘Nothing. Sorry. Just thinking. This is my thinking face.’
‘It looks like your end-of-the-world face.’
‘That’s a bit dramatic.’
‘Okay,’ he conceded. ‘Maybe it’s a just-lost-your-fiance face.’
‘He’s not my fiance,’ she snapped. ‘He never was. He just assumed he was. He never told me, though. I’ve had boyfriends. He’s had girlfriends. But of course he’s always been around, and when I was offered this new job he decided I was getting too career oriented. It was time I knew where I stood. How’s that for romantic?’
‘Not very?’ he said cautiously.
‘Too right, not very. Is it dumb to want violins? Nightingales? Fireworks exploding? Isn’t that what’s supposed to happen?’
‘I guess.’
‘You mean it hasn’t happened for you, either.’
‘I think it’s-’
‘You tell me it only exists in the pages of a romance novel I swear I’ll break down and sob,’ she said darkly. ‘I know this true love thing’s out there somewhere. What about all those heroines out there dying of broken hearts? Or fading away of consumption.’
‘Is that what you want to do?’ He smiled at her mournful expression. ‘If you do then maybe you need to cut down your intake of Easter buns.’
‘And now you mock my romantic heart. It took only that.’
She was smiling now. But…behind the smile…There’d been real sadness when he’d walked into the room. He’d seen it.
He didn’t need to get emotionally involved. This woman’s life was not his business. He did not need to enquire any further.
Erin must be tired. He should tuck her into bed. No, whoops, dangerous. He should order her to bed. But his gut feeling was telling him the minute she was alone that face would return.
So, despite misgivings, he stayed. Erin was sitting by the stove, resting her feet on a footstool. He moved to stand beside her, back to the fire, a position he loved.
He couldn’t think of a thing to say.
She was…beautiful.
Unaccountably, stupidly, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to run his fingers through her curls, tilt her face to his, kiss away her sadness…
Inappropriate, inappropriate, inappropriate.
He needed to get this on some sort of doctor/patient level, he decided. After all, that’s what she was. She’d come to his house looking for medical help and he’d provided it.
So to kiss her now…
No.
‘Your family and Charles’s family are…close?’ he ventured at last.
‘Do you mind?’
‘Just enquiring. There seems to be lots of undercurrents I’m not getting. I’m sniffing dysfunction. Dysfunctional families are my specialty. You want tea?’
‘Sure,’ she said, and watched him as he heated the teapot. ‘Haven’t you heard of teabags?’
‘They don’t work as well,’ he said. ‘For dysfunction.’
‘My family’s not dysfunctional.’
‘You know, I’m a part-time dad,’ he said. ‘These kids are on loan while their families sort themselves out, but I still manage to get pretty close. If one of them sent word that he’d crashed his car, I might be tempted to find out for myself what was going on. It seems to me that your parents depended on Charles to report in. As far as I know, they haven’t even phoned.’
‘I’m almost thirty.’
‘So when do you stop caring?’
‘They do care.’
‘Right.’
There was a long pause. He measured in scoops of tea with care.
She eyed the pot with caution.
‘They do,’ she repeated at last. ‘They care very much. It seems they’re delighted I’m marrying Charles.’
‘I thought you weren’t.’
‘I’m not. But according to Charles they think I am. Dom?’
