Nine Month Countdown

But Ivy knew she deserved her position at Molyneux Mining. She’d worked her butt off to get there.

So, yes. In contrast to her arty sister, and her partying sister, there she was: studious, perfect daughter Ivy. Mila and April even gave her well-deserved needling for it.

But, of course, it had never been entirely true.

Ivy knew that. Her mother knew that. But no one else did.

Her mother had fixed her mistakes of more than a decade ago.

Unfortunately, Ivy was no closer to fixing her latest mistake.

She just needed time.

She would tell them about her pregnancy. Soon.

Just not today.

‘Earth to Ivy?’ April was grinning at her, fun sparkling in her gaze. ‘You still with us?’

Ivy blinked, and forced a smile. ‘Sorry. Just thinking about an email I have to write when I get home for the Bullah Bullah Downs project.’

In unison, her sisters groaned.

‘I was just saying that I saw Holly at the shops yesterday,’ April said, with a grin. ‘She had some very interesting news.’

Ivy went perfectly still, pasting on a faux smile. She had the fleeting, horrifying thought that somehow she’d forgotten blurting out the news of her pregnancy to Holly as she’d exited the bar on Thursday night.

‘Apparently,’ April continued, ‘you were with a rather hot guy?’

So Evan hadn’t told April she’d asked for Angus’s number. She could barely remember the vague, somehow work-related excuse she’d given her brother in law, but apparently it had been plausible.

‘Oh, he was a blind date,’ Ivy said, with a dismissive smile. ‘He was nice enough, but it was a bit of a disaster, really.’ That was true, in a way. ‘No spark, you know?’

Definitely a lie.

The conversation moved on, her mum and sisters familiar enough with her occasional forays into dating to accept what she’d said.

But Ivy remained silent, quietly furious with herself.

She couldn’t have news of her pregnancy leaked until she was one hundred per cent prepared, and gossipy speculation about her and Angus would not help that cause.

She needed to be more careful.

And more importantly, she really needed to fix this.

Soon.

* * *

‘Gus! How are you, mate?’

Angus finished the last two repetitions of the set, then swivelled on the seat of the leg press to grab his towel. Cam Dunstall wore his own towel hung over his shoulders, but he clearly hadn’t begun his workout as he was the only person in the crowded barracks gym not coated in a layer of sweat.

‘Good,’ Angus said automatically.

Cam’s attention darted to his still-bandaged right wrist. ‘Going okay?’

Angus smiled at his friend’s obvious concern. They both knew if his wrist was busted, so was his SAS career. He wasn’t much use if he couldn’t use a firearm.

‘Nah, it’s no big deal,’ he said, truthfully. ‘I met with the specialist today. He’s happy with my progress. He sees no reason why I shouldn’t be back on deck within the month.’

Cam’s smile was broad and relieved. ‘Awesome news, mate. Hey, you missed out on some fun last week—middle of the night hanging out of a Black Hawk chopper. Good times.’

Cam then went into great detail about the training exercise, while Angus mopped his face and arms of sweat. He’d finished today’s workout. In fact he’d been here for the couple of hours since his doctor’s appointment.

The good news about his wrist was not unexpected. To be honest, his hand felt very near to normal now—if the doctor had let him he’d already be back at work.

So his workout was supposed to be the highlight of his day. It was Monday, four days since Ivy had dropped her bombshell.

On Friday he’d gone for a run instead, needing to be outside.

Then on the weekend he’d stayed at home, deciding that cutting back two huge branches from the towering blue gum in what was once his mother’s back garden was the best use of his time. But even two days wielding a chainsaw hadn’t helped.

And today hadn’t helped either.

He still didn’t feel normal. The exercise high he craved eluded him.

It wasn’t fair.

That made him smile. Out of all that had happened, the incredible bad luck that had plonked him and Ivy in this situation—that was what was unfair?

‘Mate?’ Cam was looking at him strangely. ‘I was just asking if you’d heard that Patrick has been moved. To training.’

Ah. A smile was certainly not appropriate here. That was no promotion.

‘He’s still not right, then?’ Angus asked, knowing that was probably the wrong way to phrase his question, but at a loss to come up with something better.

‘Yeah. That post-traumatic crap. Like Tom, I guess.’

Like Tom.

Guilt lowered Angus’s gaze momentarily. How long since he’d called him? They’d come through SAS selection together seven years ago. Tom—strong, confident, supportive, brave Tom. His closest mate. The best soldier he knew.

Or at least, he had been.

‘Some of the boys are going out for a beer tonight. Want to come?’

Cam was clearly keen to move the conversation on.