it only happened occasionally, and was time-limited—like for a day or two! But a month? When he’d be around all the time?
Maybe she’d get over it.
She sneaked a look towards him, catching his profile as he turned to watch a pelican skid to a landing on the river’s surface, and knew she probably wouldn’t get over it. Whatever was happening inside her body was getting worse, not better, which was weird to say the least, because she wasn’t sure she even liked the man.
‘And Emmaline?’ she asked, knowing if anything was going to put her off him, his attitude to his child surely would.
‘I will have a month to think about the situation. As you said, the doctors want to keep her in for another fortnight, so the need to do something isn’t urgent. At the moment—well, at the moment I don’t know.’
His voice told her the subject was closed, but this was Emmaline, so as far as Marty was concerned it had to be reopened.
‘Don’t know if you want her, or don’t know what to do with her?’ she persisted.
‘How could I want her? I knew nothing of her existence! And a baby—it is impossible to fit a baby in my life. But she is my responsibility and I will make such arrangements as I see fit!’
‘She’s a child, not a responsibility!’ Marty muttered, forgetting that muttering was out.
And he did hear her, for he turned towards her, his face harsh with anger.
‘You are wrong, Marty Cox, and you are allowing emotion to cloud your thinking. A child must be the greatest responsibility a person can have.’
‘You’re right as far as that goes,’ Marty conceded, ‘but surely a child is a responsibility that should be considered with love, not just as a duty. Emotion has to come into it.’
‘Never!’ he argued, his deep voice rolling out the word with such certainty Marty frowned at him. ‘Emotion clouds too many issues—it makes us stupid, that’s what emotion does. A parent would be neglectful if he allowed emotion to sway the decisions or arrangements he makes for his child. He would be irresponsible.’
Was that true?
Should emotion be set aside in responsible decision-making?
Surely not, when how you feel about something at a gut level should always count in a decision. And wasn’t gut-level thinking emotion?
But, then, how could she, who had no child, argue that point?
‘As you say, you have a couple of weeks,’ she said lamely.
They walked on in silence, Marty perturbed enough by his ‘emotionless arrangements’ idea to barely notice the way her body was behaving.
Would his arrangements include putting the baby up for adoption?
How would she fare in the ranks of adoptive parents? A single parent who worked full time? There were so many childless couples out there, and those who could be full-time parents—social workers would surely favour such families for a healthy little baby like Emmaline. And shouldn’t she have been on a list?
Her mother would love a grandchild and she’d be happy to mind her while Marty worked.
But surely there was that list of hopeful adoptive parents—a list without the name Marty Cox even at the bottom…
Private adoptions?
She’d read of them, but did they really happen?
She glanced at the man again, but trying to read his face was like trying to read a blank sheet of butcher’s paper.
‘You are concerned?’
She’d turned away so had to look back at him.
‘Concerned?’
‘You sighed.’
‘I never sigh!’
‘Never? Not in the dead of the night when sleep won’t come and your thoughts are too confused to be sorted into shape? Not even when people’s stupidity creates problems for themselves and others? Why would you not sigh?’
‘Because it’s defeatist!’ Marty snapped, remembering something her mother had told her when she’d been very young and had probably been sighing about the unfairness of fate. ‘Why bother sighing, when you could be doing something about whatever is wrong? And if you can’t do anything about it, then again, why sigh? It doesn’t achieve anything.’
‘But it does release some tension or emotion, does it not?’
‘So does Tae Kwon Do, and it has the benefit of keeping you fit at the same time.’
‘But you can hardly kick out at your opponent in the operating theatre,’ Carlos said, and Marty, hearing something in his voice, turned to see a slight smile on his face.
He was teasing her!
And she didn’t like it one bit!
Did she really never sigh, or had she simply been making conversation?
Carlos studied his companion as she strode along, her eyes focussed on the path ahead of them, her thoughts who knew where?
Her slight figure moved briskly—a no-nonsense woman, this Marty Cox—no-nonsense, like her name. No-nonsense hair, cut short to hide, he suspected, a tendency to curl. No-nonsense muddy blonde, not highlighted as so many women wore their hair these days. It feathered around her neat head, a lighter colour at the tips, where it brushed against the almost translucent skin on her temples.
And though slim, she had curves in all the right places, and his body had already registered an attraction.
Not that she’d respond!
No-nonsense through and through would be his judgement, except that her eyes belied it. He remembered them slanting towards him as he’d asked a question—a greenish, bluish colour with gold pinpoints around the pupils. Dreamer’s eyes!
He shook his head. The sleepless night could be blamed for this fantasy, although not for the attraction he felt towards this woman. Had Natalie’s princess-like beauty captured Marty’s imagination, prompting her deep compassion, her involvement? Was that why she’d taken so much interest in Natalie’s baby?
Natalie’s baby?
He hadn’t thought of the baby that way before.
And wouldn’t again if he could help it—the idea distasteful somehow.
As the forthright Marty Cox had pointed out, Emmaline was his baby.
But Emmaline?
A fantasy name from the forthright woman?
She was indeed an odd mix.
She was also unclipping her pager from the waist of her jeans.
‘Hospital—A
