Heavenly Angels

‘Their presents are all at the house, Nick, hidden in the wardrobe. If you—’

‘Robert, Christmas is still two days away,’ he interrupted agitatedly. So Samantha still hid the presents in the wardrobe… ‘Surely you’ll be able to get away by then?’

There was silence for a moment at the other end of the telephone line, and then Robert drew in a ragged breath. ‘Lord knows I love the children as if they were my own, Nick,’ Robert finally rasped. ‘I’ve had to; you’ve practically disowned them the last five years. But the truth of the matter is they are your children, Nick, and it isn’t going to kill you to give up your usual skiing holiday with the latest bimbo to spend Christmas with them!’

How well this man knew him, Nick acknowledged self-derisively. Strange, he had forgotten how well Robert did know him, with the five-year gap in their friendship. But Robert was wrong about one thing. They weren’t all his children. Jamie and Josh, yes—and he admitted he should have spent more time with them since Samantha had left him—but Samantha wouldn’t hear of him taking Jamie and Josh without Lucy, and Lucy wasn’t—

‘I’m not leaving Samantha, Nick,’ Robert told him determinedly. ‘So you’ll just have to cope. I’m sure the young lady who answered the telephone just now is more than capable of lending a hand;she sounded rather sweet. It’s quite easy; Jamie and Josh just want to watch television and fight with each other all the time, and Lucy will take to anyone who gives her jam sandwiches!’

‘The “young lady” has already given her those,’ Nick told him drily. And Jamie and Josh had done nothing but watch television and fight since they’d arrived yesterday!

‘There you are, then,’ Robert said with satisfaction. ‘More than capable.’

Maybe she was—it certainly still seemed very quiet in the kitchen—but that wasn’t the point. The point was what was he going to do with three children over Christmas? ‘Robert—’

‘I’m not leaving the hospital, Nick,’ the other man cut in with vehement determination. ‘I want to be here when Samantha wakes up. Her life is out of danger, but there are still complications.’

Nick felt his stomach contract; he and Samantha might be divorced, and Samantha with Robert now, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still care what happened to her. ‘What sort of complications?’ he asked warily.

‘They’re concerned about the baby,’ the other man told him distractedly. ‘Sam has wanted another baby for so long, I can hardly believe it’s happened now,’ he continued worriedly. ‘It will break her heart if anything goes wrong.’

Nick had stopped listening, was barely aware of his own agreement to take care of the children until such time as Robert could leave Samantha, or of the other man terminating the telephone call, of replacing his own receiver.

He sat down heavily, staring at the closed kitchen door. She had known about the baby, had told him, ‘The baby is going to be fine too.’ How had she known about the baby? How—?

Nick looked down at the sandwich in his hand, which he had begun to eat without being aware of it, staring at it uncomprehendingly. Not jam at all, but smoked salmon. His favourite…

CHAPTER THREE (#u12cf7ad4-4ccf-5bc8-815e-9a26268aa804)

BETHANY was sitting at the breakfast bar chatting to the children as they ate when Nick Rafferty came thundering through the doorway. Really, the man seemed to charge into everything at an aggressive rate. Into rooms, out of them again—and into conversations too, she quickly realised!

‘I would like a private word with you, Miss—Miss— What the hell is your name?’ He scowled across the width of the room at her.

The children took absolutely no notice of the aggression in his tone, continuing to munch quite happily on their sandwiches. Which didn’t seem right to Bethany either; it couldn’t be healthy for the children actually to be used to Nick Rafferty’s constant abruptness.

‘Her name is Beth, Daddy Nick,’ Lucy was the one to inform him, with traces of strawberry jam about her rosebud mouth. ‘Isn’t that nice?’ She grinned happily, obviously pleased that her lisp was totally irrelevant when she said ‘the angel’s’ name.

Bethany was glad that her name pleased the little girl, but this wasn’t the first time she had heard Lucy call Nick Rafferty Daddy Nick; it seemed rather a strange thing to call her father. Of course, the three children were growing up with a stepfather, which must be confusing for children so young if they were fond of him, but even so…

‘Very nice.’ Nick Rafferty agreed with the little girl with a distinct lack of conviction. ‘Would you come through to the sitting-room, Miss—Beth?’ He sounded impatient with the lack of a surname. ‘We need to talk,’ he added grimly.

‘Of course.’ She nodded smoothly, smiling reassuringly at the children. ‘When you’ve finished eating put your plates on the side and then go and wash your faces and hands, so that you don’t get sticky fingers all over your daddy’s furniture,’ she advised ruefully, sure that that wouldn’t go down too well at all. The apartment was beautifully furnished and decorated, and expensively so—not at all suitable for young and active children. ‘As soon as I’ve finished talking to your father we’ll all wrap up warm and go for a walk—’

‘A walk?’ Nick Rafferty interrupted incredulously. ‘My dear Miss—young woman.’ He scowled. ‘I’m sure it can’t have escaped your notice; it’s been snowing for almost twenty-four hours!’

Of course it hadn’t ‘escaped her notice’. Silly man, that was the reason she was here. If it hadn’t been snowing, Samantha Fairfax’s car wouldn’t have skidded on the ice and snow and then driven down the side of an embankment. If it hadn’t been snowing so heavily then the accident wouldn’t have happened that way. Besides, she loved the snow. Always had. At least, she presumed she had…

‘Children love to be out in the snow, Mr Rafferty,’ she explained over the excited shouts of Jamie, Josh and Lucy.

‘Obviously.’ He glowered darkly at the din her suggestion had created. ‘The sitting-room,’ he bit out harshly. ‘Now.’ He turned on his heel and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bethany to follow him.

She calmed the children and repeated her instructions before following him, frowning a little as she watched him pour himself half a tumblerful of whisky before throwing the fiery liquid to the back of his throat and swallowing it in one gulp. She had tried whisky once; it had made her eyes water, her nose run and her throat burn!

Nick Rafferty turned and saw her watching him, and those dark brows met fiercely again over icy grey eyes.

She moved further into the room, quietly closing the door behind her, noticing with pleasure the empty plate on the table; the whisky shouldn’t have too much of an effect when he had eaten first. ‘Tell me, Mr Rafferty—’ she smiled at him ‘—do you have a dog?’

He looked taken aback by the question, as if it was the last thing he had expected her to say. Which it probably was… ‘A dog?’ he repeated blankly. ‘No, of course I don’t have a dog,’ he snapped. ‘What would I do with a dog up here?’

‘A cat, then?’ she suggested smoothly.

‘A cat would be no more happy in a penthouse apartment than a dog would,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘Why do you ask?’ He looked at her warily.

Bethany gave a dismissive shrug, her expression bland. ‘You seem to be in the habit of issuing orders without the customary “please” and “thank you”. I could only assume that came from dealing with a pet,’ she explained evenly, tidying his cup and saucer and plate into a neat pile.

Grey eyes narrowed to steely slits as he watched her economy of movement. ‘Point taken, Beth,’ he finally rasped abruptly. ‘I apologise for my lack of “customary” politeness,’ his voice grated harshly, as if it weren’t ‘customary’ for him to apologise for his behaviour too often either.

Probably not because it wasn’t ever applicable, Bethany decided as she met his gaze unwaveringly, more likely a case of him just not being a man who usually felt the need to apologise for anything.

‘But it must be apparent to you that this situation isn’t “customary” either!’ He ran an agitated hand through his already ruffled hair. ‘Robert dumped the children on me last night, their mother is critically ill in hospital, Christmas is only two days away and then you turn up here claiming to be an angel!’ He shook his head, staring down at the bottom of his empty whisky glass. ‘Is it any wonder I felt the need of a drink?’ he muttered, almost to himself. ‘But to answer your initial question.’ He straightened. ‘No, I don’t have a dog any longer. I did have. It died five years ago.’

Bethany watched him as he paced the carpeted floor. He was such a man alone. He had three children, was obviously rich, and yet he seemed such a solitary figure—as if part of him was missing. It must be through choice, Bethany decided. A man of his means, a man with his handsome good looks, could have had such a different sort of life. She wondered why he didn’t…