Expecting Miracle Twins

This way, Mattie figured, everyone was a winner and she’d wasted no time before putting the idea to Gina and Tom.

They’d invited her for Sunday lunch, a simple, relaxed, happy meal of roast chicken and winter vegetables, followed by berries and ice cream. After the other guests had gone, Mattie had stayed behind to help with the cleaning up. The three of them had been in the kitchen, Mattie washing wineglasses at the sink while Gina stacked the dishwasher. Tom had just brought in freshly chopped wood for the fire.

At first Gina hadn’t understood.

‘A surrogate pregnancy,’ Mattie had clarified.

There’d been a momentary flash of shock in Gina’s face, but it was quickly outshone by hope and excitement. Then Gina had seen her husband’s grim frown and doubt had crept into her eyes.

‘That’s a huge ask, Mattie,’ Tom had said. ‘Have you thought this through? You’d be carrying another woman’s baby, fathered by another man.’

‘I know, I know. But you’re both my best friends.’

Tom had tried to smile and failed, and he ran a distracted hand through his spiky red hair. ‘I can’t get my mind around the fact that a woman other than Gina could give birth to my child. That’s off the wall. Even when it’s a wonderful friend like you.’

That discussion had taken place six months ago.

Mattie had thought the subject was dropped and she’d been disappointed. The idea of carrying her friends’ baby had filled her with a sense of purpose, which she badly needed. After the breakup with Pete she’d cared for her grandmother but, since Gran had passed away, her life had felt…blank and not very meaningful.

She’d kept busy, of course, had created another book and that had been fun and worthwhile, but she’d still felt vaguely restless and empty. And then Gina and Tom had called.

Could they come around for a chat? Tom had changed his mind. They’d considered adoption, but it wasn’t their first choice and if Mattie really was still willing to carry their baby they’d be deeply and eternally grateful.

Now, in Sydney, after receiving the doctor’s reassuring news, Mattie was in the mood for a minor celebration, and she stopped on the way home and bought a bottle of wine. After all, she wouldn’t be able to drink any alcohol once she was pregnant. She also bought the ingredients for one of her favourite meals, a scrumptious potato and mushroom pizza.

If Jake Devlin was still in an irritable mood, or if Ange was hanging about the flat, giving out sour looks, she would ask them to share the pizza. It was amazing how often a nice meal cheered people up.

Back at the flat, she sent a quick, excited e-mail to Gina and Tom and then she took Brutus for a nice long walk. She was extra-patient when he wanted to sniff at interesting smells every few metres or so and when she got back, happily windblown and refreshed, she put one of her own CDs in the player—a very popular movie soundtrack.

She opened the wine and poured a glass, which she sipped while she sifted flour and kneaded dough and chopped vegetables for the topping.

The pizza was almost ready for the oven when she heard the sound of a key in the front door. Her skin flashed hot and cold.

For heaven’s sake, it was such a silly reaction. What was the matter with her? As Jake Devlin’s footsteps sounded in the hallway she concentrated on adjusting the oven’s temperature setting, but she knew it wasn’t the stove’s heat that made her face bright and hot when he came into the kitchen.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked casually.

Mattie flashed a nervous smile in his direction. He looked as devastatingly sexy as ever.

‘Fine,’ she said.

‘You’ve been busy.’

‘Not really.’ She tried to sound offhand. ‘I’ve made plenty of mess, but it’s just a pizza.’

He came close—too close—and stood looking down at the pizza, with his hands resting lightly on his lean hips. Today his shirt was respectably buttoned and there was absolutely no reason for Mattie to feel weak at the knees.

While Jake studied her pizza with surprising interest, she drew a calming breath. At least, her deep breath was supposed to be calming but it didn’t seem to help her. She was still distinctly fluttery.

‘That looks really good.’ He spoke with every appearance of sincerity. ‘I’ve never seen potato used on a pizza.’

‘Oh, you should try it. It’s delicious.’

Great. Now she sounded breathless.

‘I’ll bet it’s terrific.’ He smiled at her and his smile was more dangerous than his bare chest had been.

Mattie’s movements became jerky and nervous as she began to tidy the cooking mess. Without looking at Jake, she said, ‘It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t hang around that long. I’ve already made plans.’ He slipped his sleeve cuff back and glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I have to leave again almost straight away, and I need to shower first.’

Mattie smothered her ridiculous disappointment with an extra-bright smile. She supposed Jake was going off to meet Ange.

‘Enjoy your dinner,’ he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

‘I will.’

It was a warm evening so Mattie ate her pizza slices and drank another glass of wine out on the balcony with Brutus at her feet. The balcony faced the east, but the sky reflected the pinks of the sunset from the western sky and the light turned the water a pretty pearlescent grey. She enjoyed the meal immensely—despite the dull cloud of tension and disappointment that had settled over her.

She was very annoyed with herself for feeling low. Yesterday morning she’d been over the moon with excitement about living in Sydney alone. This evening she longed for company.

It didn’t make sense. When she’d started preparing this meal, she hadn’t really expected to share it with anyone and the sudden slump in her spirits was irrational. How would she cope with nine months of pregnancy and the ups and downs of her hormones if one unpleasant man she hardly knew could send her moods swinging like a seesaw?

She didn’t even like Jake Devlin!

Her low spirits lingered as she went back inside, cleaned up the kitchen and covered the canary’s cage. She asked herself disconsolately, What now?

Of course, there was one thing that she could always rely on to lift her mood. She fetched her art block, pens and paints and set them on the coffee table.

Humming to herself, she found a flat cushion, then sat cross-legged on the floor, ready to sketch an opening scene for her new book.

The idea for this story had been bubbling inside her for the past few weeks, but she’d been too busy planning her move to get started. This evening was the perfect time to let her ideas for the artwork come to the surface and spill onto the page. At last.

As always, her children’s story would start in her young heroine’s ordinary world—an old-fashioned house in an inner-city suburb, where the little girl lived with her mother and father, her cat and a canary.

In this new book, Mattie would begin with a bathroom scene.

She selected a pencil and sharpened it carefully, took a deep, happy breath and made the first mark on the fresh white page. Within moments, she was completely absorbed, lost in the enchanting world of her imagination. Thank heavens it never let her down.

The flat was in darkness when Jake arrived home some time after midnight. Last night he’d tripped over something in the dark, so he turned on a light this time and he blinked as the living room came to life, blinked again when he saw the clutter on the coffee table.

Surely Mattie, the neat freak, hadn’t left this mess?

Curiosity got the better of him and he moseyed over to take a closer look.

Blow me down.

The table was covered by a painting, which Mattie had obviously left to dry. It was a pen and ink sketch, coloured with pretty watercolours in a soft wash, and it showed the corner of a bathroom.

A little girl peeped out of a sea of bubbles in an elegantly curved, claw-footed bathtub. Bright rainbow-tinted bubbles drifted over the edge of the bath and onto a white fluffy mat on the floor, where a pair of pink-and-white-striped socks with lacy frills lay abandoned.

The long sleeve of a blue jersey hung over the edge of a wicker laundry basket and the cheeky face of a black cat peeked out from behind the basket.

It was such a simple little scene, drawn with an economy of lines and coloured delicately, but there was something utterly fascinating about the picture. Jake looked again at the little girl’s mousybrown curls and beady blue eyes and he chuckled softly. She looked incredibly ordinary and yet unexpectedly appealing. Not unlike her creator.

Mattie woke next morning to the unexpected sound of pots and pans being rattled in the kitchen, and when she opened her bedroom door she caught the distinctive aroma of mushrooms frying.

She’d slept in, after staying up much longer than she’d intended last night. When she’d finally finished work on her painting she’d lain awake for ages, thinking about the rest of her book, but she hadn’t heard Jake come in, so he must have been very late. How extraordinary that he was up already.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a T-shirt and jeans, and she made a hasty stop in the bathroom to wash her face and tidy her hair, then she entered the kitchen cautiously.

Jake was whisking eggs and he turned and grinned at her. ‘Morning.’

‘Good morning,’ she returned carefully.

‘I let Brutus out into the garden,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ She blinked with surprise when she saw that he’d also filled Brutus’s bowl.

‘How did such a tiny mutt end up with a name like Brutus?’ Jake asked as he watched the little dog crunch miniature biscuits.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Mattie admitted. ‘I guess his former owners had a sense of humour, even if they were careless.’

‘Former owners?’

‘I have a good friend, Lucy, who’s a vet. Someone dumped Brutus on her doorstep and she needed to find a new owner.’

Jake stopped whisking eggs. ‘And you offered.’

‘Yes.’

For a long moment, Jake watched her with the slightest hint of a smile lurking in his eyes, then he pointed to the frying pan. ‘I found some leftover mushrooms in the fridge so I’m making an omelette.’

He looked rather pleased with himself, but Mattie refused to be amused or impressed. Last night she’d been shocked by her reaction to this man and she’d vowed to remain unimpressed by anything about Jake Devlin. With a little willpower, she could rise above the attraction of his broad manly chest, his sexy smile and his flashing dark eyes.

There was simply no point in getting hot and bothered about him. Apart from the fact that he already had a girlfriend, or possibly several girlfriends, he brought back memories of the one time she’d fallen disastrously in love and she’d vowed never to put herself through that kind of agonising heartache again.

Besides, no matter how attractive Jake was, he would be gone in under a week. And, very soon after that, she would be pregnant with someone else’s baby.

No man on earth would be interested in her then.

Not that she minded. This was her year for living chastely. She was dedicated to a higher cause, to Gina and Tom’s baby. When she was old and she looked back on her life, she would see this gift to her friends as one of her greatest triumphs.

With a breezy wave of her hand, she smiled at Jake. ‘You’re welcome to the mushrooms.’

‘Would you like to share this omelette?’

‘No, thanks. I’m allergic to eggs.’

He shot her a sharp, disbelieving glance and Mattie shrugged. ‘I usually have oatmeal.’

He looked momentarily disappointed, and she couldn’t suppress a spurt of triumph. Touché, Mr Devlin.

But then he gave an offhand shrug. ‘Bad luck for you. My omelettes are legend.’

As Mattie spooned boring oatmeal and water into a bowl and stuck it in the microwave, she asked, over her shoulder, ‘So where did you learn to cook?’

‘In Mongolia, on the mine site.’

She turned to him. ‘Really?’ In spite of her vow of indifference, she was intrigued.

‘We have this fabulous cook—a French Canadian called Pierre—and, whenever I’m at a loose end, I pop into the kitchen to lend him a hand.’

‘I don’t suppose there are too many ways to spend your free time on a mine site in Mongolia.’

‘Not unless you can get a lift into the capital, Ulaanbaatar.’ Using a spatula, Jake skilfully folded the omelette in two.

‘Are you a geologist like Will?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m an enviro.’

‘What’s that?’

‘An environmental scientist.’

‘So it’s your job to make sure the mining companies don’t wreck Mongolia?’

He grinned. ‘More or less.’

‘I guess that must be rather satisfying.’

‘It’s not a bad job.’ Jake lowered the heat beneath his frying pan.

The microwave pinged and Mattie gave her oatmeal a stir.

‘What about you?’ he asked casually. ‘What do you do?’

‘Oh, I haven’t been to university, and I don’t have what you could call a career. I tend to drift from one situation to another.’

‘But you paint.’

‘Well…yes. I suppose you saw the mess I left last night. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. I was actually glad to see stuff lying about. Now I know you’re normal.’

His sudden smile was so charming that Mattie felt a dangerous flutter inside and she was grateful when a burst of song from the cage by the window distracted them both.

She darted across the room and removed the cover from the cage. ‘Morning, Pavarotti.’

Jake snorted. ‘Pavarotti?’

‘That’s his name. Like the opera singer.’

He shook his head as he skilfully tilted the pan so that the omelette slid smoothly onto a plate.

At the cutlery drawer, Mattie fetched him a knife and fork and got a spoon for herself, and then they sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table—and Mattie knew she was in trouble.

Her insides were twittering in time with the canary’s warbling.

Jake nodded towards the bird cage as he cut into his light and fluffy omelette. ‘So you’re a fan of opera?’

Remembering the heavy metal music he’d played, she almost said yes, just to provoke him, but her habitual honesty prevailed.

‘My gran was the opera fan,’ she explained. ‘She named the canary. I wanted her to call him Elvis, but he was her bird so of course she had the last say.’ Mattie realised that further explanation was necessary. ‘My grandmother died last year and I inherited Pavarotti.’

Jake nodded slowly. ‘You were close to your grandmother?’

‘Oh, yes. I lived with her and looked after her for the last two years of her life.’

Across the table, his dark eyes registered surprise and then, eventually, an unexpected sadness. He scowled and looked more like the gruff man Mattie was used to and the flutters inside her settled. She was much more comfortable soothing other people’s worries than dealing with her own fluttery insides.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Eventually, Mattie said, ‘Do you have something interesting planned for today?’

‘I was thinking of taking in a movie.’

‘On a lovely day like this?’

His jaw stuck out as if he didn’t appreciate her implied criticism. ‘I’ve missed six months’ worth of movies. I’ve a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you want to come?’

The question was so unexpected that Mattie’s mouth gaped unbecomingly. Her mind whirled. She wanted to ask Jake if Ange was his girlfriend. Or was he a free agent who hooked up with the nearest available woman whenever he was on leave?

She didn’t have anything planned for the day, but if there was even a slim chance that Jake was actually asking her on a date, she should say no.

‘I’m afraid I can’t come today,’ she said quickly and decisively, before she could be tempted to change her mind. ‘I have another appointment.’

If Jake was disappointed he didn’t show it, but after he’d gone Mattie sunk to a new low. She couldn’t believe how restless and just plain miserable she felt. The flat felt hollow and empty and she seemed to rattle around inside it—like a pebble in a tin can.

In a bid to think about something else—anything else besides Jake Devlin—she rang around the local hairdressers until she found one who had a cancellation.

Two and a half hours later, she grinned with delight at her reflection in the salon’s mirror. Chestnut and copper streaks had transformed her mousy hair, and an elegant bob flattered her jawline and gave a nice emphasis to her cheekbones.

She told herself she was doing this as a prepregnancy ego boost. The new image had nothing to do with Jake. But when she got back to the flat, she took a long bath and she changed into her best dark grey trousers and cream silk blouse and she put garnet studs in her ears.

She looked fabulous, but she felt foolish. Wouldn’t Jake wonder why she’d dressed up?

She was still trying to decide if she should change again when she heard the front door open, so she dived into the kitchen and pretended to be busy in the pots and pans cupboard.

Jake came down the hall, then paused in the doorway. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘I think I’m in the wrong flat.’

To Mattie’s eternal embarrassment, she blushed.

‘I guess you’re going out?’ he said. ‘You’re all dressed up.’

‘Yes,’ she lied. As she closed the cupboard door, she hoped he couldn’t see through her fat white fib. ‘I’m meeting a friend for dinner.’

Jake nodded slowly, then said quietly, ‘Have a good evening.’

‘I will. Thanks.’

He was about to head down the hall when he turned back. ‘By the way, Mattie.’

‘Yes?’

‘The new hair looks fabulous.’

She was really mad with herself as she set off on foot down the street. Ever since she’d met Jake she’d lost her grip on her common sense. Now, she’d lied about her plans for this evening and here she was, wandering the streets of Sydney like a lost waif, looking for somewhere to eat. The really silly thing was she’d stocked the refrigerator with the ingredients for a perfectly good supper.

She decided to eat at the first place she found—a café a block away. It was a simple place with bare concrete floors, metal tables and chairs and selections of Asian-style noodles and stir-fries scrawled in chalk on blackboards.

Most of the customers were wearing jeans and T-shirts and Mattie felt distinctly overdressed, but she took a seat and was determined to enjoy herself.

She placed her order and asked for a glass of white wine and all went well for about ten minutes. Then Jake strode in.

CHAPTER THREE

MATTIE’S heart began a ridiculous thumping. Jake was dressed in black and his unruly hair was tousled by the wind as he stood at the café’s front counter. Framed by the doorway, shoulders back and feet planted wide apart, he looked unbelievably gorgeous.

She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her, but it could only be a matter of moments before he did, and even if she could come up with a plausible explanation, he’d probably realise that she’d lied about meeting a friend. Talk about embarrassing!

His dark eyes scanned the café and she quickly dropped her gaze, letting her smooth new hairstyle swing forward, hoping that it would hide her face. Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen him.

Within a heartbeat, however, strong, confident footsteps rang out on the concrete floor, and they stopped at Mattie’s table. Holding her breath, she lifted her head and there he was, standing before her.

He looked directly into her eyes and he smiled.

Mattie swallowed. What could she say? It would be pathetic to trot out a feeble excuse about her friend being delayed. Somehow, she just knew that Jake would expose her as a fraud.

While she sat there, feeling silly, Jake held out his hand. ‘How do you do?’ He smiled with effortless charm. ‘I’m Jake Devlin. Do you mind if I join you?’

She expected to see a teasing glint in his eyes but, to her surprise, she could only find genuine warmth. Nevertheless, she hesitated.

‘Come on, say yes,’ Jake urged. ‘Otherwise you’ll force me to try my pick-up lines.’

‘Are they corny?’

‘So bad you could feed them to chickens.’

His confession was accompanied by a lopsided self-deprecating grin that melted Mattie on the spot. She suspected that Jake had seen right through her, but it somehow no longer mattered. He was wiping their slate clean. Starting again. And she was enchanted. Caught. Hook, line and sinker.

‘You’re welcome to sit here, Mr Devlin.’

‘Thank you.’ He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her and happiness fizzed inside Mattie like soda pop.

Following his lead, she held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m Matilda Carey.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Jake’s expression was deadpan. ‘Do your friends call you Mattie?’

‘Quite often.’ She gave a little shrug and added rather recklessly, ‘At times they’ve been known to call me Florence Nightingale.’ She didn’t mention the other tag that she hated—Saint Matilda.

‘Is that accurate? Are you a caring type?’

‘’Fraid so.’

The skin around his eyes crinkled and he cocked his head on one side. ‘Let me guess. You’re probably the kind of girl who cares for sick grannies.’

Mattie’s sense of fun faltered. Was he teasing her? Uncertain, she quickly changed the subject. ‘I’ve already ordered. I’m having the chicken noodle soup.’

‘I think I’ll try the beef stir-fry.’ Jake waved to a waitress and, when she came over, he gave his order. ‘And I’ll have a beer.’ Turning to Mattie again, he asked, ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’

She tapped the side of her glass. ‘This is fine.’

When the waitress left, Jake leaned towards Mattie, hands linked on the table top. His smile faded and, with it, all pretence dropped away. ‘Seriously, Mattie, I’ve been thinking about what you did for your grandmother. That was a huge gesture, to spend two years looking after her.’

She took a quick sip of her wine to cover her surprise, then set the glass down.

‘Did it feel like a big sacrifice?’ he asked urgently.

‘Not at all. Those two years were rather lovely. Gran was always so sweet. So grateful for my company. She never complained about her health.’

‘Was she very ill?’

‘She had a weak heart, so she tired easily and she couldn’t take proper care of her house, but I was happy to help.’

‘What do you reckon would have happened if you hadn’t looked after her?’

‘She’d probably have gone into a nursing home. My parents run a hardware store in a little country town and they were too busy to give her the care she needed.’

‘They were lucky you stepped up to the plate.’

‘I was happy to help,’ she said again. ‘Anyway, it was tit for tat. When I was little, my gran nursed me through the chickenpox and the measles and umpteen bouts of tonsillitis. Mum was always too busy helping Dad in the store.’

Unexpectedly, Jake frowned and he looked deeply pained as he rearranged the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table.

‘What’s the matter, Jake? Have I said something wrong?’

He let out a heavy sigh. ‘No. You’re just confirming my worst fears.’

‘Really? How?’

Exhaling another deep sigh, he rested his chin on his hand, and suddenly he was telling her about an old stockman he knew, someone from his childhood called Roy, who was now in a nursing home here in Sydney. As Jake talked about how strong and tough this stockman used to be and how shockingly weak and shut-in he was now, Mattie could see how deeply he cared for the old man.

‘My parents and I have let him down,’ he said quietly. ‘We should be doing more for him.’

On impulse, Mattie reached out and touched the back of Jake’s hand. He stiffened as if she’d burned him.