Read Online Brought Together by Baby by MARGARET MCDONAGH - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: MARGARET MCDONAGH
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son. And Holly.
He sat down, watching as Holly moved back to her ownchair, a smile transforming her face as she leaned forward and slid a hand inside the cot. A little gasp of delight escaped her as the sleeping baby automatically curled his tiny but perfectly formed hand around one of her fingers. Something raw, powerful and dangerous churned inside him as he took in the tableau in front of him.
It was true Holly had shown no interest in his son before, so what had changed? And could he trust her? He didn’t know what lay behind her suggestions, but counteracting his doubts was the knowledge that Holly was an excellent nurse; he’d seen that for himself during the time they’d worked together.
There was no question whatsoever of him giving up his son, so he had to be realistic…however much he wanted to, he couldn’t do everything alone. He didn’t want to bring in a stranger, and in Holly he would have someone with skills in both children’s and trauma nursing—plus she was apparently willing to help. He hadn’t yet considered all the ramifications, but the most sensible idea would be for Holly to move into his house…at least for the time being. It was the last thing he wanted. But his wants didn’t matter. The baby’s did. And if being forced into close proximity with Holly was right for his child in these early formative weeks and months, then he’d just have to find a way to live with it and make it work.
‘All right. We’ll try it.’ His agreement was tentative and reluctant, the decision made for his son’s sake, not his own.
‘Thank you.’ The words were brief and she kept her gaze averted, so he was unable to gauge her real feelings. ‘Have you considered a name, Gus?’
Holly’s question changed the direction of his thoughts and he looked at his tiny son, marvelling anew at the perfection of him: the cap of soft, downy light brown hair on his head, the little movements of his mouth as he slept, the beat of his heart so visible under the almost translucent skin of his chest.Love welled within him, along with knowledge of the magnitude of the responsibilities that lay ahead.
‘I hate to keep referring to him as “the baby” ,’ Holly added, gently fingering the security band around his son’s fragile wrist, which simply read, ‘Baby Buchanan’.
‘No decision was made regarding names,’ he answered gruffly.
In truth he hadn’t given it much thought, because Julia had been determined that she would decide. It had been one of many points of contention, but at the time it hadn’t seemed imminently important, and he’d refused to be drawn into an argument when Julia had come up with ever more ridiculous names, inspired by the celebrity trend for the weird and unusual.
‘I don’t mean to intrude, but I have an idea if you’d care to hear it…one that I think means something to you and has resonance with both sides of the baby’s family.’
The nervousness and reticence in Holly’s voice suggested she was treading on eggshells around him. Weary, but grateful for the support she’d shown him, he made an effort to be less brusque with her.
‘Tell me,’ he invited, earning himself the barest flicker of a smile.
‘I was thinking…’ She paused, glancing at him uncertainly before returning her gaze to the sleeping form in the cot. ‘If you don’t like it, that’s fine—you choose whatever you want—but I came up with Max. Maxwell Angus Tait Buchanan.’
A fist clenched inside him as the full impact of Holly’s proposition sank in. She’d not only remembered something he’d told her ten months earlier, but she’d grasped its significance. The Christian name belonged to the only personwho had meant anything in his life before he’d come to Strathlochan.
Maxwell McTavish. The teacher who had looked past the exterior and seen the boy within. He’d become his mentor and confidant, encouraging him to fulfil his potential and helping him believe in himself.
He sat down, watching as Holly moved back to her ownchair, a smile transforming her face as she leaned forward and slid a hand inside the cot. A little gasp of delight escaped her as the sleeping baby automatically curled his tiny but perfectly formed hand around one of her fingers. Something raw, powerful and dangerous churned inside him as he took in the tableau in front of him.
It was true Holly had shown no interest in his son before, so what had changed? And could he trust her? He didn’t know what lay behind her suggestions, but counteracting his doubts was the knowledge that Holly was an excellent nurse; he’d seen that for himself during the time they’d worked together.
There was no question whatsoever of him giving up his son, so he had to be realistic…however much he wanted to, he couldn’t do everything alone. He didn’t want to bring in a stranger, and in Holly he would have someone with skills in both children’s and trauma nursing—plus she was apparently willing to help. He hadn’t yet considered all the ramifications, but the most sensible idea would be for Holly to move into his house…at least for the time being. It was the last thing he wanted. But his wants didn’t matter. The baby’s did. And if being forced into close proximity with Holly was right for his child in these early formative weeks and months, then he’d just have to find a way to live with it and make it work.
‘All right. We’ll try it.’ His agreement was tentative and reluctant, the decision made for his son’s sake, not his own.
‘Thank you.’ The words were brief and she kept her gaze averted, so he was unable to gauge her real feelings. ‘Have you considered a name, Gus?’
Holly’s question changed the direction of his thoughts and he looked at his tiny son, marvelling anew at the perfection of him: the cap of soft, downy light brown hair on his head, the little movements of his mouth as he slept, the beat of his heart so visible under the almost translucent skin of his chest.Love welled within him, along with knowledge of the magnitude of the responsibilities that lay ahead.
‘I hate to keep referring to him as “the baby” ,’ Holly added, gently fingering the security band around his son’s fragile wrist, which simply read, ‘Baby Buchanan’.
‘No decision was made regarding names,’ he answered gruffly.
In truth he hadn’t given it much thought, because Julia had been determined that she would decide. It had been one of many points of contention, but at the time it hadn’t seemed imminently important, and he’d refused to be drawn into an argument when Julia had come up with ever more ridiculous names, inspired by the celebrity trend for the weird and unusual.
‘I don’t mean to intrude, but I have an idea if you’d care to hear it…one that I think means something to you and has resonance with both sides of the baby’s family.’
The nervousness and reticence in Holly’s voice suggested she was treading on eggshells around him. Weary, but grateful for the support she’d shown him, he made an effort to be less brusque with her.
‘Tell me,’ he invited, earning himself the barest flicker of a smile.
‘I was thinking…’ She paused, glancing at him uncertainly before returning her gaze to the sleeping form in the cot. ‘If you don’t like it, that’s fine—you choose whatever you want—but I came up with Max. Maxwell Angus Tait Buchanan.’
A fist clenched inside him as the full impact of Holly’s proposition sank in. She’d not only remembered something he’d told her ten months earlier, but she’d grasped its significance. The Christian name belonged to the only personwho had meant anything in his life before he’d come to Strathlochan.
Maxwell McTavish. The teacher who had looked past the exterior and seen the boy within. He’d become his mentor and confidant, encouraging him to fulfil his potential and helping him believe in himself.
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