Christmas with her Boss

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS a subdued trio who returned home. Letty was stretched out on the back seat, dozing. The doctors had been inclined to keep her; she’d woken enough to be stubborn but she was sleeping now.

Meg sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. As if she was enduring something that had to be endured.

He’d made a few desultory attempts at conversation but had given up. So much for his smart, sassy PA. Now she was just…Meg. Someone he once knew?

Just concentrate on driving, he told himself. When he got back to the farm he’d move onto evening milking. The phone line was working again so after milking he could use the Internet; keep himself busy.

‘By the way, I’ve organised your satellite connection,’ he said and Meg cast him a glance that was almost scared.

‘You what?’

‘While you were dress shopping. It only took me minutes to buy what I needed, and the Internet place was open for business. It seems satellite dishes make great Christmas gifts. Even I couldn’t get them to erect it today, but first working day after Christmas it’ll be here.’

‘I can’t afford…’

‘It’s paid for. Three years in advance.’

‘No, thank you,’ she said in a tight, clipped voice. ‘Three dresses are enough.’

But… ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Letty was suddenly awake, piping up from the back seat in indignation. ‘Meg, what sort of gift horse are you looking in the mouth here? Scotty will love it. You know there’ll be times still when he’s stuck at home in pain. You can’t say no to that.’

‘Letty, I’m no longer working for Mr McMaster,’ Meg said. ‘So I can’t take expensive gifts.’

‘You’re not working for him?’

‘She’s resigned. Tell her she’s daft,’ William said.

‘No,’ Letty said, surprisingly strongly. ‘My Meg’s not daft. If she’s quit there’s a good and sensible reason. But a satellite connection…that’d be a gift to Scotty and me, not to Meg, wouldn’t it, Mr McMaster?’

‘William,’ he said and he almost snapped.

‘William,’ Letty said. ‘Scott’s friend. My friend. Meg, dear, William has more money than he knows what to do with, and he’s just given us a very fine Christmas gift in return for a bed for Christmas. And…’ She hesitated, but she was a wise old bird, was Letty. ‘And you don’t want anything in return, do you, Mr McMaster?’

‘William!’

‘William,’ Letty said obediently. ‘But you’re not buying Meg with this. She doesn’t owe you anything, right?’

‘Right,’ he said and glanced across at Meg. Her face was drawn, almost as if she was in pain.

He hated that look. He didn’t know what to do about it.

‘Then I accept on Scotty’s behalf,’ Letty said across his thoughts. ‘And your bed for Christmas is assured.’

When they’d left the farm it had been almost deserted. When they turned back into the driveway there were more than a dozen vehicles parked under the row of gums out front.

‘Uh-oh,’ Letty said, peering dubiously out of the window. ‘This looks like a funeral.’

‘If it hadn’t been for William, it would have been,’ Meg said, and once again William thought she sounded strained to breaking point. ‘If Scott’s done something else stupid…’

But it seemed he hadn’t. When they pulled up, women emerged from the house, men appeared from the yard, kids appeared from everywhere.

‘They called a working bee,’ Scott said, limping across to the car on his crutches and tugging open the back door to make sure for himself that his grandmother was in one piece. ‘They said you had enough on your plate, Meg. And they knew you’d left the hay till after Christmas, so they brought slashers and they’ve done three whole paddocks. They’re bringing in the last of it now.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Meg whispered, but she was staring across to a hay shed which had stood almost empty this morning and now looked three-quarters full. ‘In what-four hours?’

‘We can work when we want to.’ It was Jenny, coming forward to give her friend a hug. ‘We were thinking we’d help after Christmas but when this happened I said to Ian, why not now?’ She cast a curious glance at William. ‘She needs looking after, our Meg.’

‘I do not,’ Meg said, revolted.

‘She doesn’t,’ Scott said and Jenny grinned and hugged him as well until he turned scarlet in embarrassment.

‘Okay, she doesn’t. As long as you and Letty stop doing darn fool things when she’s not around,’ Jenny retorted.

‘I’m going to be around,’ Meg said. ‘I’ll try and find a job locally. I… I don’t want to be away any more. But for now…thank you all so, so much. I’m incredibly grateful. But I need to get Letty inside. She needs to sleep.’

‘I’ll carry her,’ William said but one of the neighbours stepped forward and lifted Letty from the car before he could.

‘We’re local,’ he said to William, quite kindly, but firmly for all that. ‘We look after our own. Cows are on their way up now, Meg. You want some help with tonight’s milking?’

‘You’ve done enough,’ Meg said.

‘This guy’ll help?’ It seemed everyone was looking at William.

‘He’s promised to.’

‘Is he any good?’

‘At milking? He has untapped potential,’ Meg said and people laughed and gathered their kids and said their goodbyes and left.

Meg tucked Letty into bed and fussed over her. Scott limped over to the cow yard and William followed.

‘We should start,’ Scott said.

William looked at the brace on Scott’s leg and said gently, ‘Is that okay? That you help with milking?’

‘It has to be. I’m tired of waiting for it to heal.’

‘So it’s not okay.’

‘Meg and Grandma fuss that if my leg gets kicked we have to start over again. But I’ll be careful.’

‘Or not. How about you supervise while I do the hands on?’ William eyed the mass of cows pressing against the yard gate. He eyed the waiting bales. Nothing to this. Except…Maybe you had to do stuff to the vat for pasteurisation or…or something. He didn’t want to waste a whole milking. ‘Do you know how this works?’

‘Course.’

‘Then you give me instructions and leave me to it.’

‘I can help.’ Scott squared his shoulders. ‘I know I was dumb trying to put that Santa up. I never dreamed Grandma’d try and fix it. But I’m not completely helpless. This leg’ll soon be better. I can look after them.’

William looked into his drawn face. He saw reflected horror from this morning’s accident. He saw the unmistakable traces of years of pain and he saw tension, worry, the pain of being a kid without a dad, an adolescent trying desperately to be an adult.

‘I know you can,’ he said softly. ‘If you must. But I’m at a loose end right now, and it seems everything else is taken care of. So you sit on the fence and tell me your plans for your car restoration and in between plans you can tell me how to turn this milking machine on and let these girls get rid of their load.’

Scotty must be exhausted. Meg arrived at the dairy, back in her milking gear, and one glance at her little brother told her he was close to the edge. Physically, he was still frail. This morning would have terrified him and, with all the neighbours here helping, his pride wouldn’t have let him stop.

She wanted to grab him down from the fence, hug him and haul him off to bed. But he was talking to William, who appeared to be underneath a cow, and she knew that pride still played a part here.

‘So you two reckon you can run this place without me?’ she enquired and William emerged from behind the cow and grinned.

‘Nothing to this milking game. I’m about to add Milker to my CV.’

‘How is he, Scotty?’ she asked and then corrected herself. ‘Sorry, Scott.’

‘You can still call me Scotty if you like,’ her brother conceded. ‘In private.’

‘In front of William’s not private.’

‘No, but he’s okay.’

That was a huge concession, Meg thought. There’d been a few guys in her past-of course there had-but Scott had bristled at all of them. He’s okay. Huge.

‘Just because he bought you bits of cars…’ she managed, feeling choked up.

‘No, he really is okay. Is Grandma asleep?’

‘Almost,’ she said and here was a way to let him off the hook without injuring any more of that fragile manly ego. ‘She wants to say goodnight to you. Do you reckon you could stay with her while we milk? I’m still a bit worried about her.’

‘Sure,’ Scott said and slid off the fence and again she had to haul herself back from rushing forward to help. ‘Watch William with those cups, though. Four teats, four cups. It’s taking him a bit of time to figure it out.’

‘Hey!’ William said, sounding wounded, and Meg laughed and watched her little brother retreat and thought this was as good as it got.

But it was so fleeting. Tomorrow or the next day, William would be gone.

It was okay. This was the right thing to do. She had no choice but to resign. A PA, hopelessly devoted to her boss? That was pathetic and she knew it.

She glanced at him and thought, dumb or not, she was hopelessly devoted. She had no choice but to get as far from William as possible.

‘He’s a great kid,’ William said and she flushed and started milking and didn’t answer.

‘You don’t agree?’ he asked after she’d cupped her first cow.

‘Of course I agree.’

‘But you’re not talking.’

‘It’s been a big day.’

‘But it’s normal again now,’ he said gently. ‘Though it’s a shame you felt the need to change. I liked your dress.’

‘I’ll wear it again tomorrow.’ She gathered her emotions and told them firmly to behave. Two days max and he’d be gone. ‘Tell me about Pip and Ned. Do you have Christmas gifts for them?’

‘I do.’

‘What?’

‘Bubble guns,’ he said. ‘Battery powered. Ten bubbles a second and they’re seriously big.’

‘You sound like you tried them out.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

Whoa… The thought of W S McMaster with a bubble gun… ‘Whereabouts did you try them out?’

‘On my balcony. I sent bubbles over Central Park.’

She giggled. Then she remembered he was going home and she stopped giggling.

‘Meg?’ he said softly from behind a cow.

‘Yes?’

‘Reconsider.’

‘Quitting?’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not negotiable,’ she said. ‘Being your assistant means being aloof.’

‘You were never aloof.’

‘I was aloof in my head.’

‘And you’re not now?’

‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Can we keep on milking?’

‘Of course we can. As long as you keep on thinking about reconsidering.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t think can’t. Think of all the reasons why you just might can.’

‘That’s a crazy thing to say.’

‘Resigning’s a crazy thing to think.’

Only of course she was right and it was non-negotiable. They both knew it.

They finished milking, they cleaned the yard, they worked in tandem and mostly they worked in silence. Then they headed inside and ate the last of the trifle and bread and ham in that order because Letty and Scott were both deeply asleep and it didn’t seem to matter what order they ate in.

William thought back to Christmas Eve meals he’d had as a child. Christmas had been an excuse for socializing, which meant huge parties of very drunk people. Because it was Christmas his parents had insisted he be part of it. At Christmas they had to pretend to be a family.

Here…for the past two days they’d lived on Letty’s vast trifle and chunks of the huge Christmas ham and fresh bread and butter, eating as they felt like it, and it had felt… okay. Sensible. Delicious, even. But not…right?

The world seemed out of kilter somehow, William thought as he washed the dinner dishes and Meg wiped beside him. It felt so domestic, and domestic was something he’d never felt. Doing the washing-up with his PA was weird. All of today had been weird.

He’d lost his PA.

He’d lost Meg.

‘We have the Internet back on,’ Meg said as she put away the last plate. ‘There’s a phone connection in the attic-I use the attic as an office when it’s not a spare bedroom-so you can catch up on the outside world before you go to sleep.’

‘And you?’

‘I’m checking on Millicent and then I’m going to bed. Christmas or not, it’s still a five a.m. start. Goodnight, William.’

‘Do you want help with Millicent?’

‘She’s not looking much different to this morning. I doubt if anything’s happening tonight. Goodnight,’ she said again, and she took the torch and headed out through the back door. The day was ended.

He’d check the Internet. He’d see what was happening with air traffic. He hadn’t even checked today; maybe it was resolved.

Maybe he could leave.

Meg had already left.

Maybe things were happening tonight. She’d started again. Millicent was back to being uncomfortable, or more than uncomfortable, Meg thought. Her tail was constantly high, her back was arched and her eyes told Meg that she was in pain.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Meg told her, fondling her behind the ears, scratching her, letting her rub her big head against her chest. This cow had been raised as a pet. She was a big sook and Letty loved her.

A normal dairy farmer would go to bed now, set the alarm and check her in a couple of hours. But, when she stepped back, Millicent’s eyes widened in fear. Meg sighed and went back to the house and fetched a folding chair, a lantern, a book and a rug.

‘Happy Christmas,’ she told Millicent as she settled down to wait. ‘You and me and hopefully a baby for Christmas. We should do this in a manger. Or, at the very least, at the bottom of the haystack.’

But Millicent wasn’t going anywhere. Trying to move her now would only add to her distress and the night was warm enough.

‘Who needs a manger, anyway?’ Meg muttered and glanced upward to where a thousand stars glittered in the clear night sky. ‘This is where babies should be born. So get on with it.’

Millicent rolled her eyes.

‘I know, sweetheart, it’s hard,’ Meg said. ‘Or I don’t actually know. I’ve heard it’s hard. You should have its daddy holding your hoof.’

She was being ridiculous.

She was thinking of William. The book she’d brought out to read was a romance. She and William. Having a baby. William coaching her through…

‘Well, pigs might fly,’ she muttered and tossed her romance aside and snuggled under her blanket. ‘We’re two single ladies, Millicent, and we need to get on with it together. You do your bit and I’ll do mine.’

There’d been a last minute offer to the air traffic controllers. The union officials had deemed it worth considering and had sent out urgent contact to its members. Because this was Christmas they’d vote online. If enough members voted by midnight, planes could start flying as soon as tomorrow morning.

Great. He might get home almost by Christmas, he thought. He’d gain a day flying from Australia to the States. If he left on Christmas Day, then he’d arrive on Christmas Day.

He could give Ned and Pip their gifts. He could see them again; take them out to dinner, maybe. Leaving Meg?

She was his employee. His ex-employee. So what was the problem leaving her?

No problem at all.

He intended to help with milking at five. He needed to go to sleep.

He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought of…

Meg.

He thought of Meg for a long time. He tried to think of anything but Meg but she was superimposed, like a veil through which he saw everything else.

Or maybe…maybe everything in his life was a veil and Meg was behind. The only substantial thing.

What sort of crazy thinking was this? Where was the logic? Furious with himself, he threw off his covers and paced over to the attic window.

Two o’clock. The stars were amazing.

There was a light in the paddock beside the dairy. A faint light from a lantern. Someone was beside it.

Millicent? Was she calving?

Meg would be down there, making sure things were okay.

What business was it of his? He didn’t know the first thing about birthing calves. He’d be no help at all.

But, now he knew she was there, doing nothing was impossible. He’d help if he could, he thought grimly, and then he’d leave.

He tugged on his overalls and headed downstairs.

What sort of life was this? Meg had been awake since five this morning. She’d be asleep on her feet, he thought as he made his way across the yard towards the lantern, but then he thought of all the times he’d demanded she stay up late, that she be awake for an early flight, that she continue until the work was done.

That was different. She was Miss Jardine then. He paid her to work when he worked.

He had three PAs. He thought of them now, and thought how hard did he work them? They never complained.

He paid them not to complain.

But, for the first time, he felt a niggle of guilt. He treated his employees fairly; he made it clear at the outset what he expected and he paid well. He had a loyal and long-serving staff because of it. But his demand that they stay impersonal…

His PAs told him what he needed to know about his staff. But his PAs themselves… Miss Darling, Mrs Abraham, Miss O’Connell? He’d have to look up their staff profiles to find out what their family background was.

What was happening to him? His staff were turning into people. And you got attached to people. Do not get attached to people you pay.

Meg was messing with his head, that was what it was. The sooner he was out of here, the better.

Only she was in trouble. As he neared, he could see…

Millicent was down, flat on her side, her body arched and her neck stretched up as if straining to the limit.

Meg…yes, it was Meg…was lying behind her, a dark shadow behind the light. He could see a mat laid out to the side, a couple of buckets, rags, ropes…

‘Problem?’ he asked as he came up beside her and she didn’t react. He looked more closely-and discovered why she didn’t react. She was hardly in a position to concentrate on anything but the cow.

What was she doing?

‘What’s happening?’ he asked, squatting beside her.

‘Dystocia,’ she said, gasping. ‘I can’t.’

She was lying flat, hard against Millicent’s rear. Her arm…

‘Dystocia?’

‘Birth problems.’ She sounded as if she’d been running. ‘First calf. Bull was too big and now this. I knew it. I can’t…’

‘What can’t you do?’ he said, feeling helpless. He’d never seen a birth. He never wanted to see a birth.

Obviously, he was going to see this one.

Or more than see. ‘Maybe you can help,’ she gasped, and he thought maybe he should head back to his nice safe attic right now. Only a coward would run.

He surely felt like a coward.

‘You’re stronger than I am,’ she gasped and he thought, uh oh.

‘Can we call the vet?’

‘He’s away until after Christmas. He warned us.’

‘Surely there’s more than one vet.’ He was taking in the whole scene now and, as he did, Millicent strained. Her whole body heaved and Meg moaned, and moaned again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I can’t…’ She gasped, not able to continue until the contractions subsided. Then… ‘Yes, we need a vet but we only have one locally. And the calf’s leg’s tucked backward instead of forward, meaning there’s a ridge of shoulder stopping the birth. So I need to get the head back in the birth canal so there’s room to turn it. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength.’ She pushed and pushed again-and then seemed to make a decision. Her arm was suddenly free. She dunked it in the nearest bucket and looked up to him. ‘Can you?’

‘Can I what?’

‘Push the head back far enough so you can get the leg forward.’

He felt as if someone had punched him. Milking was one thing, but this? ‘You want me to…’

‘I’m not strong enough,’ she said simply. ‘Please.’

‘You think I…’

She wasn’t listening. ‘Rip your shirt off-it’ll be ruined. Shove your arm into the disinfectant and I’ll lubricate it. Hurry, before the next contraction.’

‘You want me to…’

‘Just do it,’ she snapped and he was hauling his shirt off, thinking…thinking…nothing.

He dunked his arm in disinfectant. Meg wiped it and then started lathering him with some sort of jelly. He felt too winded to object.

‘Lie flat,’ she told him. ‘If a contraction hits, don’t try to do anything except stop the head coming further forward. But the foreleg on the right is lying back instead of hoof-forward. You need to push the head back far enough so you have space to feel the foreleg and tug it forward. There’s no way she can get the calf out with it back.’

‘I have no idea how to do that.’

‘Simple,’ she snapped. ‘Cows have two forelegs. To calf they both need to be forward with the head between. So you pull a leg forward.’

‘How do I know what everything is?’

She wasn’t listening to his panic. She was intent only on instructions. ‘It’s not brain surgery. A hoof’s easy to feel. Think about it. Think what you’re looking for and then find it. Gentle as you can-do no damage-but you have to move fast. Before the next contraction. Go.’

So he lay full length on the grass and he did the unthinkable. To his astonishment, he could feel… What? He could feel the head. He could feel one small hoof on the left.

He needed the matching one.

Another contraction rippled through and he discovered why Meg had moaned. He almost moaned himself.

‘Don’t try and do anything during the contraction. Just hold it,’ she snapped from above him and he held with all the strength he had and he knew that if he hadn’t been holding the head would be emerging.

With one hoof and not the other.

So he held and finally, blessedly, the contraction eased.

‘Now push,’ Meg said urgently. ‘All the force you can. You need to get it back.’

He didn’t need to be told. He pushed, gently at first and then, as his grip tightened, as he became more sure of what he was holding, he pushed with more force. Then he pushed with all his strength.

The head moved…and then more…

‘Now.’ Meg would have seen by his arm that the head had shifted. ‘Before the next contraction. Find the leg.’

He had to loosen his grip on the head, slide his fingers to the side… It was so tight…

But there it was, a bony joint, surely the leg. He felt along it, conscious of the need for speed…

He had it, hooked by two fingers, and he was tugging it forward.

‘Careful not to rip anything,’ Meg said urgently. ‘Take care.’

Another contraction. He felt it coming, released the leg, held the head. Just held.

Then, as the contraction eased, he moved again, only this time he knew what he was looking for.

He had it. He pulled, hard, hoping he wasn’t doing more harm than good, but the limb was slithering round, shifting, and there seemed to be room…

He had it!

‘It’s round,’ he muttered and Meg’s hand was on his shoulder, pressing him in a move of exultation. She was lying against him, full length on the dirt. ‘Aligned?’

He knew what she meant and he could feel it. He had two neat hooves with the head between.

‘Yes. Here’s another…’

‘Let it come,’ she said. ‘It’ll come now.’

And it did, the next contraction shoving everything forward. Two hooves were out, and Meg was fastening them before the head appeared, tying them carefully with some sort of soft rope.

‘What…’

‘Just in case we need to help her,’ she said. ‘She’s been straining for too long already and this calf is big. I’ll loop this above and below the fetlock so we can pull without doing damage.’

‘Where did you learn to do this?’ he demanded, dazed, and he felt her smile rather than saw it.

‘You mean why wasn’t it on my CV? I can’t think why I didn’t include it. Here we go.’

Another contraction. Meg let it pass but the head didn’t emerge.

‘Okay, let’s give her a hand,’ she said. ‘Can you take the rope? Tug with the contraction, not too hard, not enough to hurt the calf, I’m happy with an inch or two at a time.’

He nodded. Meg’s hands were lubricated again. She was feeling…

‘Now,’ she said and he tugged.

A little further.

‘Man, this head’s big,’ Meg said. ‘With the size of this brain, you must be having the smartest baby on the planet, Millicent. He’ll take a lot of knitting for a baby bonnet.’

Her voice was low and even and, with a sense of shock, William realised that, even though most of Meg’s attention was on the calf, there was solid affection and worry for the cow as well.

She’d given her heart to a cow? How nuts was that? Where was his clinically efficient, unemotional PA now?

Gone. And the sense of loss was gut-wrenching.

‘Now,’ she said again, and then moaned because her hand was cupping the head, shoehorning it, and William 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 anything he could do about it. ‘This was moon madness. We both know it, and it bears out my decision that I need to quit. What if there’d been a condom round tonight? We’d have been lost.’

Lost. The word hung between them, loaded with too many meanings.

‘Will you help me pack up?’ she said. ‘Millicent will be fine for what’s left of the night. It’s lovely and warm. She has a fine heifer calf to clean and she’ll do it better without us.’

‘Heifer?’

‘A little girl. I think we’ll call her Milly. Millicent, mother of Milly. It has a fine ring to it, don’t you think?’

She was talking for the sake of talking, he realised. She was putting emotion aside.

‘I don’t want to leave you,’ he said simply and she looked at him for a long moment, considering, and then she shook her head.

‘You can’t take me with you. I don’t fit. I did when my role was PA. No more. Somehow we’ve messed this and all there is now is for us to get on with our lives. You’ve got Ned and Pip and Elinor waiting for you back in New York, and you have your life there. I have a grandma and a little brother, and dairy cows and dogs and one brand new calf. That’s enough to keep any girl happy.’

‘Is it?’

’Yes,’ she said, rising and dumping ropes into buckets. ‘Yes, it is. Yes, it must be.’