time. Even if you do get another job, you won’t make enough to cover childcare. You just haven’t got the earning power.’
It was a relief when Karen’s cab arrived. Like it or not, the other woman had faced her with certain inescapable facts. Karen had looked after Rosie for a pittance and the arrangement had only been temporary. Sooner or later, Chrissy would have been faced with finding a replacement, and her salary would not have stretched to the going rate. Not if she had wanted them to eat as well.
But Karen also made her see something that she had refused to see before. Was she being selfish in her desire to keep Rosie? Rosie didn’t have enough clothes or toys or stimulation. All those things cost money they didn’t have. Perhaps worst of all was the acknowledgement that she couldn’t even give her sister security. She didn’t even know where they’d be sleeping in forty-eight hours’ time. What sort of life was that to give Rosie? Didn’t she deserve more?
Chrissy was afraid of approaching the social services. She was not Rosie’s legal guardian. Apart from the registration of her birth, the authorities had had no further notice of her sister’s existence. They had moved three times while Belle was still alive, on each occasion to smaller, cheaper apartments. Her mother, stubbornly set on denying Rosie’s existence, had refused to take up her entitlement to child benefit. The very frequency of their changes of address had put paid to any further enquiries from the powers-that-be.
So far they had fallen through the system...but what would happen if they were forced to seek help? Would she lose Rosie? That fear had prevented Chrissy from attempting to put her relationship with her baby sister on a proper legal footing. Furthermore, as she had told Karen, Dennis would be sure to be asked what he wanted, and Dennis, who had been furious when her mother became pregnant, would be certain to opt for adoption.
Chrissy didn’t believe that she could love a child of her own body more than she loved Rosie. Belle had never come to terms with what Dennis had done to her. It was the pregnancy which had killed Belle. Not so much the strain of carrying a baby at the age of forty-five as the shame of all that had gone before. Dennis’s rejection when he’d realised that her mother was running out of money. His arrest, the publicity. The horrific sense of humiliation with which Belle had endured her pregnancy.
After the birth, Chrissy had hoped that her mother would recover. But she hadn’t. Sinking deeper and deeper into depression, Belle had lost all pride in her appearance and had done the barest minimum necessary in caring for Rosie. She had refused to see a doctor. In desperation, Chrissy had approached the doctor herself, begging him to visit. Unfortunately, Belle had put on a terrific act for his benefit, and after his departure there had been the most terrible row and Belle had threatened to throw Chrissy out if she ever interfered again.
Inevitably her mother had neglected her own health, and chest problems that had troubled her in earlier years had returned. A bout of flu had turned into pneumonia. She had been rushed into hospital but it had been too late.
Belle had had no will to fight for survival. She had simply drifted away. At the time of her death, they had been on the brink of moving again, and after the funeral Chrissy had gone ahead with the move. Only the doctor had enquired about Rosie’s welfare, and Chrissy had lied. She had told him that she would take her sister home to her family and, not knowing the circumstances of Rosie’s birth, he had not questioned that story.
At half-eight the next morning, a loud knock landed on the door. Opening it a crack, Chrissy’s troubled eyes focused incredulously on Blaze Kenyon. Taking advantage of her bemusement, he pressed the door wide and strolled in.
‘Have you had breakfast yet?’
‘Breakfast?’ she echoed foolishly.
‘I didn’t want to miss you. That’s why I came early.’ He hunkered down on his knees to respond to Rosie’s rush in his direction. ‘Friendly little scrap, isn’t she? Have you got a sitter for her?’
‘No.’ In a complete daze, Chrissy stared at him, wincing as her little sister flung herself at him with gay abandon. ‘Friendly’ was an understatement. Rosie was all over him like a rash. Men were almost non-existent in her world. Blaze was an object of curiosity.
‘Carry...carry Wosee,’ she demanded.
‘Hold on a minute,’ Blaze drawled as he dug a mobile phone out of the holster on his belt. Calmly holding it out of Rosie’s reach, he punched out a number and ordered a cab to their address.
‘W-why do you want a cab?’ Chrissy enquired.
Blaze swung Rosie into his arms and vaulted upright again. ‘There’s no room for a child in my car.’
Chrissy folded her arms. ‘But we’re not going anywhere.’
‘I’m taking you out to breakfast. Does the scrap need a bottle or something?’ He surveyed Rosie uncertainly.
‘She’s nearly two and a half,’ Chrissy said drily.
A broad shoulder sheathed in a black cashmere sweater moved in a careless shrug. ‘Children are a closed book to me.’
Maybe he thought they were in need of a good square meal. She couldn’t think of any other explanation for his arrival. Her cheeks flaming, she said, ‘Look, we’re not going anywhere. We don’t need breakfast—’
‘You’re so thin you look anorexic. You’re not, are you?’ he prompted with a sudden frown.
‘Of course I’m n-not,’ she snapped in frustration.
A mocking grin slanted his mouth. ‘I couldn’t cope with an anorexic. I’m crazy about food.’
It didn’t show anywhere on that long, lean body. He didn’t carry an ounce of surplus flesh. His black jeans hugged sleek thighs and narrow hips, his sweater delineating a muscular chest and a stomach as flat as a washboard. About there she dragged her gaze away from him, angry with herself.
Blaze, at Rosie’s prompting, was obediently retrieving her rabbit from the floor and receiving a beatific smile in reward. Chrissy couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. There was no sign of irritation or impatience in his dark, mobile features.
‘I’ve got a job offer for you,’ he told her almost in an aside.
Chrissy tensed like a greyhound scenting a hare. ‘Where? Who with?’ she demanded.
‘I talk better on a full stomach. Don’t get excited,’ he warned. ‘It’s not in London and it might not appeal to you.’
So this was why he was here. His conscience had pushed him into further effort on their behalf. She reddened fiercely. It was petty of her but he was the last male in the world she wanted help from. It smacked too much of noblesse oblige and stung her pride. But then what was pride when it came to Rosie? And why was she getting excited? She might not get the job whatever it was and, even if she did, where would they live and what about Rosie? One problem simply led to another.
In the cab, Rosie stayed anchored to Blaze. She sat there very solemn and quiet and on her very best behaviour, but no way would she return to Chrissy.
‘No...no want Kissy,’ she said quite clearly.
‘Kissy?’ Blaze cast Chrissy a sudden lancing look of derision. ‘She’s not Kissy. She’s Mummy,’ he informed Rosie firmly. ‘Mummy. Say it.’
