His Emergency Fiancée by Kate Hardy Page B

concentrate on the news.
    * * *
    She looked so serious, Ben thought as he watched her covertly over the top of the newspaper. Calm and graceful and very, very serious. No one would ever imagine that this woman had spiralled out of control in his arms the previous night. He wondered how she’d looked then. Had her eyes flashed gold fire? What did her face look like when it was flushed with passion?
    Stop right there, he told himself. The light was off and there’s no way you’re going to repeat what happened, let alone repeat it with the lights on. And he buried himself back in the rugby reports.
    * * *
    ‘Good morning,’ Morag greeted them as she walked into the kitchen. ‘I saw Ellen McAllister at church. She asked me to tell you how grateful she was to both of you.’
    ‘Nothing to be grateful about, Gran. We didn’t save him,’ Ben said quietly.
    ‘His time had come,’ Morag said simply. ‘But you did all you could—and you waited for her at the hospital. She appreciated that.’
    Bon nodded grimly. ‘I’ll pop in and see her before we go.’
    Kirsty was about to add, Me too, when she realised that this was the perfect opportunity to talk to Morag and find out the truth about her condition.
    But then Morag pre-empted any plans. ‘Ellen won’t be there. She’s going down to Newcastle to pick Andy up.’
    ‘Should she be driving?’ Ben asked.
    ‘No, but she’s from tough stock and she says it makes her feel better that she’s actually doing something, not waiting around for things to happen.’ Morag was matter-of-fact. ‘Now, do you two want to get some fresh air before lunch? You both look as if you need it.’
    Kirsty flushed to the roots of her hair. Was it so obvious what she and Ben had been doing, last night? ‘I—er…’
    Ben came to her rescue. ‘Thanks, Gran. We’re both used to late nights at work, but I suppose the travelling hasn’t helped.’
    ‘What time’s your flight?’
    ‘Four.’
    ‘So you need to check in at three—I’ll have lunch ready for one,’ Morag said.
    ‘We’ll do the washing up first,’ Kirsty offered.
    ‘You’ll do no such thing, young lady. Off with the pair of you,’ Morag directed.
    ‘Never argue with a Scots granny. They’re always right,’ Ben said wryly. He stood up, stretched, then drew Kirsty to her feet and slid his arm round her shoulder. ‘Come on. See you in a bit, Gran.’
    It was colder than the previous day, cold enough for them both to need warm jackets. To Kirsty’s relief, he dropped his arm from her shoulders as soon as they left the house. Having his arm round her was torture, because she knew he didn’t mean it. At least, not in the way she wanted him to mean it.
    She just hoped that he hadn’t guessed how she felt.
    And it seemed as if she was a better actress than she thought, because Ben gave her a guided tour of the village, showing her where he’d gone to school and taking her round the tiny church where he’d been christened. A church much like the one she’d imagined the previous evening, its plainness showing the sheer beauty of the ancient building.
    ‘The forest’s something else,’ he said as they headed out of the village and into the woods above it. ‘There used to be hundreds of red squirrels scampering around all over the place. But, even better…’ He left the tantalising promise hanging in the air, refusing to be drawn about the surprise he clearly had planned.
    And then she saw it. A carpet of bluebells, stretching as far as she could see. The flowers were all shades of blue, verging through into lilac and even into pink. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.
    ‘Like a loch within the forest. I remember my dad—’He stopped abruptly.
    Kirsty knew not to push. Ben rarely spoke about his parents. She knew that his father had died young and assumed that Ben’s mother had died soon after, as he’d gone to live with Morag when he was five. Even now, it clearly still hurt him too much to talk about his