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To be replaced within seconds by the glare of headlights, and what was unmistakeably Marty’s vehicle pulled up in front of her gate once more.
The light was on above the door so she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him, but as he got out of his car and came purposefully towards her, she felt her heartbeat accelerating as a kind of panic filled her body.
‘Something you forgot?’ she asked, doing her best to sound at ease.
‘Just thought I’d have that cuppa after all. I know we’re both tired but we don’t have to be up for an early shift, so we might as well relax together.’
The last two words sent shivers through Emma’s body, although she knew perfectly well what he meant.
* * *
Idiot!
Fool!
Imbecile!
The words ran through Marty’s head as he watched Emma bustling about in the big, country kitchen, taking what seemed like forever to make a pot of tea.
Why on earth had he come back?
What had drawn him?
He had nothing to offer this woman, so surely the less he saw of her the better?
Yet the car had barely reached the end of her street before he’d turned back, the fleeting expression of disappointment he’d caught on her face vivid in his mind.
Now he was sitting at the kitchen table while she pushed a cup and saucer, the teapot, milk and sugar, and the remnants of the chocolate cake towards him.
‘I’d have thought if your boys didn’t finish it off, Molly and Mandy would have,’ he said, pouring his tea but waving away the cake. ‘Or this “puppy” of yours.’
‘Dad’s pretty strict about how much sweet things the boys eat,’ his hostess replied politely. ‘Especially close to bedtime. And I’m still not sure about the puppy being ours.’
She didn’t look at him as she spoke, too busy pouring herself a cup of tea, although how much concentration did that really take?
‘He’s good with the boys? Your father?’
‘The best,’ she said, with not a hint of hesitation, but it was there again, a shadow in her eyes, nothing more.
He closed his eyes briefly. Had he turned his car around—come back—for this? An inane conversation with a woman he barely knew?
Not that she was keeping up her end—inane or not. His polite question had been answered—briefly—but she hadn’t picked up the conversational ball and lobbed it back to him.
And now, when he looked across at her, she was frowning at him while the dog, sitting like a sentry beside her, studied him closely.
‘Why did you come back?’ she asked.
He stared at her, willing words to come. Words usually came easily to him, and as for a simple chat over a cup of tea? Well, he considered himself something of an expert!
But how could he tell her he’d seen something in her face, so fleeting he couldn’t even be sure it had been disappointment?
Tell her whatever it was had touched him in some way?
‘For a cuppa?’ he suggested, and tried a smile, but knew it was a feeble effort.
‘And?’ she persisted.
‘I really don’t know,’ he said, resorting to honesty. ‘I just felt we’d parted wrongly, somehow. Felt that I should have had a cuppa with you. I suppose…you’re new in town, might need a friend, and I mean a friend, nothing more. You’ve probably heard the gossip—Marty doesn’t do commitment…’
Aware he was burbling on, tripping over his words and actually saying nothing intelligent, he stopped.
Emma studied him for a moment, then shook her head, and he read her tiredness in the gesture.
‘I’m sorry, you’re exhausted. You’ve had a tough introduction to Braxton. I’ll get going—leave you in peace.’
He stood up, drained his cup and set it back down in its saucer.
‘But if ever there’s anything you need—anything I can do for you—just let me know.’
She half smiled.
‘Because Stephen told you to look out for me?’
Relief flooded through him—it was the perfect excuse. Far better than saying, You looked disappointed that I didn’t stay…
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But because we’re colleagues as well. Up at the hospital, we all look out for each other.’
He could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t believe him—well, not entirely—but how else could he explain the uncontrollable urge that had had him turning his vehicle and heading back to her house?
‘As I said, if there’s ever anything I can do, you only have to ask,’ he said, aware that his voice sounded rough.
There was something about this woman…
‘Thank you,’ she said, oh, so polite, although the words seem to hold—what? Longing?
