was tugging on the hooves and there was only so much room…
‘Keep going,’ she managed as the contraction lengthened and he tugged some more, slowly, insistently and suddenly the head was there, the rope was no longer needed, the calf was half out.
Millicent gave a long bovine moan and Meg cleared membrane from the tiny nose and then laid her hand on Millicent’s flank.
‘Nearly there, girl. One more push. You can do it.’
One more contraction and the thing was done. The calf slithered out into the lantern light, a long wet bundle of spindly legs and black nose and rag-like tail. Meg cried out in delight and checked its nose was still clear and then lifted it around a little so Millicent could reach her baby with ease.
And she did. She turned and nosed her baby and she started to lick it clean. And William looked at Meg and saw her eyes were filled with tears and a man would have to be inhuman not to be moved. Not to take her into his arms…
Millicent had taken over, licking her calf with solid maternal ownership. Meg shifted away and her body collided with William’s-and she didn’t move any further.
He’d slipped the loop from the calf’s hooves. He’d done all he could. Meg had done all she could. Their calf was alive and well-and Meg was hard against him.
He’d helped birth a calf. He and Meg. The feeling was awesome.
They were still half lying on the ground, and Meg was warm and beautiful, stained, filthy, her face tracked with tears…
She was trembling, her body reacting to the combined terrors of this day. How could he bear her trembling? How could he bear not to put his arms round her and tug her closer? So he did and, as he felt her yield, he tugged her closer still. Her hair brushed his face and he kissed the top of her head, just lightly, no pressure, nothing.
The awe from the birth was all around them-the stars, the warmth of the night, the feeling that a miracle had happened. New life… Did she feel this every time she delivered a calf? he wondered, but then he forgot to think more because she was turning in his arms and she was looking straight at him, her eyes huge and shadowed, vaguely troubled, but nevertheless…sure.
Sure that he’d kiss her. Sure that she wanted him to kiss her. He knew it and it was one more thing to add to the glory of this night-or maybe the whole night had been building to this kiss.
Maybe his whole life had been building to this kiss.
That was a crazy thing to think-but how could he think it was crazy when his hands were cupping her face and he was drawing her in to meet him? How could he think he was crazy when his mouth was lowering to hers and she was so sweet, so beautiful, so right?
She melted in to him, her mouth seeking his, her hands taking his shoulders so she could centre herself, be centred. Her need was as great as his. He could feel it in the urgency of her hold, in the fire he felt the moment he found her mouth.
She wanted him. He felt her need and his whole body responded. Their kiss was suddenly urgent, hard, demanding. It was as if a magnetic field had been created, locking them to each other, two force fields meeting as they must, with fire at the centre.
He wanted her. He wanted her fiercely, with a passion that rocked him. He felt…out of control.
Maybe he was out of control. It was Christmas Eve. He was in the centre of a paddock somewhere in Australia-he didn’t truly know where-with a woman he’d thought he knew but he now realised he hadn’t known at all.
His Meg.
No. Just Meg. Her own beautiful self.
He deepened the kiss and she responded with heat and need, her lips opening, her tongue searching. Oh, but he wanted her… His hands were on her breasts, but she was wearing overalls. How did you get through overalls?
She was buttoned to the throat. No. Not buttons. Studs. They unfastened with satisfactory pops. Underneath the overalls was a lacy bra, and underneath the bra… His breath drew in, with awe and wonder.
His hands were cupping her, and he’d never felt such beauty. He’d never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Meg right now.
No woman before had been Meg.
He rolled back with her and she came, smiling down into his eyes. They were lying full length, wanting each other with a desperate heat they could read in each other’s eyes.
She was above him, smiling in the moonlight. Meg, his beauty. Her skin was pale and luminous, she almost seemed to shine.
They were on a horse rug or somesuch, something she’d spread in the middle of a cow paddock. No pillowed bed could feel better. No bed could feel more right.
‘You’re not taking your overalls off,’ she whispered and he realised with a shock that she was laughing. ‘Not fair.’
His overalls were all in one. He’d pulled them on in a rush. Underneath… Well, there wouldn’t be a lot of finesse in his undressing.
‘You’re wearing a bra,’ he managed. ‘I don’t believe I’m wearing anything.’
Her chuckle was so sexy it took his breath away. ‘I think that’s good.’
‘You don’t want me out of my overalls,’ he said but he couldn’t say it with any degree of certainty. This night… anything was possible this night.
‘And if I do?’
There was a statement to take his breath away. But a man had to have sense, even if finding it almost tore him in two. ‘I’m not…’ Hell, it was so hard to get his voice to work. ‘I’m not carrying condoms.’
She paused at that. She stilled. He kissed her again, a gentle, wondrous exploration that left him wanting more. Much more.
Why hadn’t he thought of condoms? Of all the stupid…He didn’t even have them in his bag back at the house.
He’d hardly packed thinking he was about to seduce his PA.
And Meg was tugging away, propping herself up on her arms, considering him in the dim light. ‘How big’s your head?’ she asked and he blinked.
‘Pardon?’
‘Millicent operated with no condoms,’ she said, her voice husky and shaken. ‘Look what happened to her.’
He laughed, but it was a shaken laugh. He pulled away a little, sense returning. A little.
‘We can’t,’ he managed. ‘Unless Santa arrives right now.’
‘I didn’t put condoms on my Santa list,’ she whispered, her voice laced with a thousand regrets.
‘That’s not efficient of you.’
‘I’m not feeling efficient.’
‘You don’t look efficient,’ he said and he tugged her to him again and held. He just held. ‘My obstetrician extraordinaire.’
‘Hey, you turned the leg. Maybe you’ve found your new calling.’
‘I’m not ready for a new career. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick to the old one,’ he said. But, the moment he said it, he knew it was a mistake.
Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe it was simply the truth, which had to be put out there.
It had killed the moment. Meg moved back, squatted back on her heels and looked at him for a long moment, as if searching his face. And, whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. She smiled again, a wry little smile with all the regret in the world, and she tugged her overalls up to decency.
‘Well, that was fun,’ she said and suddenly he had Miss Jardine back-clinical, cool, ready to move on. ‘Birth does crazy things to your head. Imagine how I’d feel if ever I was around a human birth. Lucky I’m not. But enough. It’s three hours till milking. I need some sleep.’
‘Meg…’
‘No,’ she said.
‘No?’
‘No.’ She met his gaze, calm and cool in the moonlight, and if there was bleakness behind it there wasn’t
