face.’
‘Thought so.’ He leaned towards her. ‘I don’t think anyone did.’
‘That’s okay, then.’ The sudden glimpse behind the barriers that Cass put up between her and the world was electrifying. Her smiles, her laughter were bewitching. If things had been different...
But things weren’t different. Ellie had already lost her mother. No one should feel that loss twice, and if it meant that Jack remained steadfastly single it was a small price to pay for knowing that no one would ever have the chance to leave Ellie again.
He took a gulp of tea. Maybe it was better to just stop thinking about any of this and focus on the here and now. ‘So what are your plans for the day?’
* * *
Crisis bonding. That was what it was. Jack wouldn’t seem half as handsome or a quarter as desirable if it hadn’t been for the floods and a long night, filled with every kind of emotion imaginable. A little sleep and a lot of coffee would fix everything.
Somehow Cass doubted that. But she had to tell herself something before she started to fall for Jack. Because, when it came down to it, his expectations were most probably the same as any other man’s.
And she would never really know what his expectations were until she was in too deep. When Paul had first proposed to her he’d never mentioned children, but the pressure had started to grow as soon as it became apparent to both of them that there might be a problem. She couldn’t risk the pain of trying again and being rejected when she failed. No man, not even Jack, could guarantee that he wouldn’t leave her if she couldn’t give him children.
It was better to accept being alone. And to concentrate on today.
‘Martin and I were going to go and visit Miss Palmer. She’s eighty-two and won’t leave her house. She’s pretty feisty.’
He chuckled. ‘What is it about this village? It’s like a nineteen-fifties horror film—some poor hapless paramedic washed up to find himself in a remote place where all the women are terrifying...’
He wasn’t terrified at all; he was man enough to enjoy it. Cass grinned. ‘We are all terrifying. There’s something in the water.’
Jack leaned back, his shoulders shaking with laughter. ‘I’ll stick to bottled, then. And I don’t much like the sound of an eighty-two-year-old on her own in these conditions. Want me to come along?’
‘Yes. Thanks. Maybe we can grab a couple of hours sleep first, though. And some coffee.’
‘I WONDER IF she’s got any cake.’ Sleep seemed to have made Cass hungry again.
‘Almost certainly.’ Martin opened the front gate of one of a small, neat row of houses. ‘I gather that the Monday Club came round here yesterday, after your visit.’
‘That’s all right then. What we can’t eat, we can use to shore up the flood defences.’ Cass stopped at the end of the path and Jack decided to wait with her, leaving Martin to approach the cottage alone.
The door was opened by a small, neatly dressed woman who might or might not be Miss Palmer. She didn’t look eighty-two.
‘Vicar. Lovely to see you.’ She craned around to look at Cass and Jack. ‘You’ve brought reinforcements, I see.’
Martin’s shoulders drooped. Clearly, reinforcements were exactly what he needed.
‘That her?’ Jack murmured the words to Cass and she nodded, turning her back on the front door.
‘Yep. She’s...’
‘Cassandra!’ Cass jumped and swivelled back to face Miss Palmer. ‘Do turn around, dear; you know I can’t hear you.’
‘Sorry. I forgot...’
Miss Palmer pursed her lips in disbelief. ‘Well, come in and have a cup of tea. And you can tell me all about last night.’
‘News travels fast.’ Cass strode up the front path. ‘They’re calling him Noah. Eight pounds, give or take.’
‘Good.’ Miss Palmer beamed her approval, leaning round to examine Jack. ‘Is this your captive paramedic, dear?’
Jack was beginning to feel as if he was. Captivated by Cass’s smile, longing to hear her laugh. Wanting to touch her.
‘Yes. We found him washed up by the side of the river and we’ve decided to keep him. We’ve had him locked in the church hall.’
Miss Palmer nodded, enigmatic humour in her face. ‘Leave your boots in the porch.’
The sitting room was bright and frighteningly clean, with the kind of orderliness that Jack remembered from before he’d had a child. One wall was entirely given over to glass-fronted bookcases and another was filled with framed photographs.
‘My travels.’ Miss Palmer caught Jack looking at them and came to stand by his side. ‘Papua New Guinea... South Africa...’
Jack studied the black and white photographs. Some were the kind a tourist might take, posed with landmarks and things of interest, and others told a different story. Groups of children, ramshackle schools, a young woman whose air of determination couldn’t be disguised by time and who had to be Miss Palmer.
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