Matt! It’s just beautiful.’
But he was still uneasy. ‘Charlotte, I don’t know-’
‘Look, let’s not worry about the twins and Erin tonight,’ she said, sliding the ring onto her finger with a triumphant flourish and tucking her arm in his with proprietorial ease. ‘In truth, I don’t know when I can organise the wedding, but I’ll try to do it as soon as possible. For now, let’s just concentrate on being engaged-and tackling our lobster and champagne. It’s cost me a fortune and I refuse to let it spoil. For now we’re celebrating our engagement. The rest can all be sorted out over the next few days.’
Hell!
How had he managed that? he thought as he drove home three hours later.
He was engaged to be married!
Well, he’d made the decision when he’d bought the ring. He might have known. Charlotte probably had spies in the jewellers. This town was too small for secrets, and even if he hadn’t left the damned ring in the truck she would have known he’d bought it.
It was impossible to back out now.
And why would he want to?
He thought that through, forcing his confused mind to be sensible.
This was a sensible, well thought-out decision, he told himself firmly. Charlotte was a lovely woman and she’d been faithful to him for years. She’d make a loving wife and a wonderful homemaker.
She’d never appear naked in wet crimplene!
And he’d never want her to, he told himself but he knew deep down that he was a liar. Or maybe he wasn’t.
He wouldn’t want Charlotte in wet crimplene-but Erin was a different matter.
Hell!
He’d expected them all to be in bed. Erin wasn’t. She was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by opened parcels. She was sorting clothes into piles, and as he walked in, her eyes lifted to his and glowed with pleasure.
‘Matt, these are excellent. Charlotte’s been so good. They’re great, sensible clothes, the sort that we can really work in around the farm. They’re just what we need.’
He walked forward and fingered the clothes. Yep, they were sensible. Jeans, T-shirts, windcheaters, sneakers…Great for the boys.
Sensible for Erin.
But he sort of liked the crimplene.
Yeah, and he knew why. He grinned at himself and thrust the memory of Erin in wet crimplene onto the back- burner. There’d be no more of that now. Charlotte had outdone herself. These were quality clothes, carefully chosen. Erin would look practical in these clothes; like a sensible, hard-working Home Mother. A woman who knew her place in the world. They wouldn’t turn transparent when wet. They were built to cover everything!
Charlotte wouldn’t be seen dead in these clothes.
That was an uncharitable thought, he decided hastily, pushing it away with a definite shrug. Charlotte wore quality linen blouses, and tailored skirts or slacks. He knew instinctively that Erin wouldn’t like Charlotte’s style of clothes, and these were much more…well, sensible. So she’d done the right thing. To criticise Charlotte’s choice of clothes was to be unfair to the woman he’d just promised to marry.
Or…she was the lady he’d just seen put his ring on her finger, he thought suddenly. He’d never actually said the words, ‘Will you marry me?’
He’d never actually promised anything.
It didn’t matter, he told himself harshly. She was wearing his ring, and she’d wear it now for ever. Tomorrow she’d tell the world, and he should, too.
Starting now.
‘Charlotte and I are engaged,’ he told Erin.
Her eyes flew to his, there was the merest fraction of hesitation-and then she rose. Her pile of denim fell back onto the table. Erin’s face creased into a smile of delight for him-she really did seem delighted!-and she walked forward, took both his hands in hers and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
‘Matt, that’s wonderful. I’m very, very happy for you. The whole town’s been expecting it for ever.’ Then she stood back a little, her eyes twinkling with understanding. ‘It was supposed to happen last night though, wasn’t it?’
This lady had the knack of knowing things he’d rather she didn’t, but there was no point in denying what was obvious. It just disconcerted him. ‘Yes.’ He thought for a moment of telling her the rest of Charlotte’s plans and then thought better of it. Weddings took ages to organise.
Please let it be six months…
Erin’s thoughts were still on Charlotte, unaware of the threat the marriage posed to her boys. A Charlotte mother!
‘Poor Charlotte,’ she was saying. ‘No wonder she looked so downcast yesterday. Matt, I’m so sorry we messed with your plans.’
He wasn’t, and he wouldn’t let Erin be sorry either. ‘Hey, it got me lobster instead of quail,’ he told her, and she chuckled.
Erin had the most delicious chuckle…
‘And to think you missed out on pizza. Poor old you. Lobster and a new fiancee. Tch. And our pizza was Bay Beach’s best!’
He grinned at her. Erin’s laughter was infectious. ‘Yep. It’s a real shame.’
‘Mmm.’ Still she was smiling, and he suddenly could think of nothing else to say. All he could think of was how blindingly attractive her smile was.
Funny he’d never seen it before.
Maybe it was because he was engaged, he thought. Erin was now forbidden fruit. He was engaged to be married.
He was
So he should leave. He should go to bed. Instead he stood, stupidly fingering the pile of new clothes.
‘Charlotte’s bought you everything you need?’
‘Yes.’
‘She should have brought you something pretty,’ he said inconsequentially. ‘You can’t just wear jeans and windcheaters.’
‘There’s not a lot of call for me to wear anything else,’ she told him bluntly. ‘These are just fine.’
‘But you go to dances and things.’
‘Only when I’m off duty. I don’t expect I’ll be off duty for a while.’
‘I can look after the twins sometimes,’ he told her. ‘If you want to go out.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Like tomorrow… Go to town tomorrow. There’s still plenty left from Tom’s insurance cheque. Go and buy yourself something nice.’
‘I hardly need pretty things tomorrow.’
‘You never know.’ He stared down at the jeans with distaste, and noticed a pile of flannelette pyjamas. He looked more closely and discovered they were all the same. Charlotte had bought three sets of red flannelette pyjamas, two small pairs and one larger set. His mouth tightened in distaste as he lifted them for inspection.
‘And these,’ he said shortly. ‘They’re wrong. I don’t know what Charlotte was thinking of buying matching sleepwear. They’ll make you and the boys look like something out of an institution.’
Erin agreed, but she was forced to defend Charlotte. She had to be grateful. ‘Matt, they’re new and clean and the boys won’t notice. They’ll be fine.’
‘They’re not fine and I’ll notice,’ he growled, and her gorgeous chuckle rang out again.
‘Oh, no, you won’t. These are pyjamas, Mr McKay. Worn in bed. You need never see them.’
‘I don’t want to. They’re dreadful.’
‘They’re sensible.’