Bride For The Single Dad. Jennifer Taylor
her opinion of him. Foolish though he knew it was, he didn’t want Polly Davies to think badly of him.
* * *
It was almost nine a.m. when Polly drew up outside The Old Smithy, as the cottage was known locally. She could hear the clock on Beesdale Church chiming the hour as she got out of the car and sighed. By rights she should have been on the train by now, but what else could she have done in the circumstances? Elliot Grey needed her help even if he had been less than gracious about accepting it. Did he honestly think that she had been trying to worm her way into his good books by offering to mind his son? she thought as she walked up the path. Well, if that were the case, he was in for a shock. He might think he was next to God in the pecking order but he was a long way from being that, in her opinion!
‘Come along. I need to get back to the hospital as soon as possible.’
The subject of her thoughts swept past her and opened the front door. Polly’s mouth thinned as she followed him inside. Would it hurt him to employ a few basic good manners? she thought sourly. Behave like any normal person would do in the circumstances? She didn’t expect him to go over the top—just to appear grateful would be enough. However, it seemed that gratitude and Elliot Grey weren’t acquainted with one another.
She followed him along the hall, taking stock as she went. She knew that the cottage had been converted by its previous owners, a couple from London who had used it as a weekend retreat until travelling back and forth had become too much of a hassle. They had spent a fortune on it, if rumour was to be believed, and the original cottage now encompassed what had once been the blacksmith’s forge.
However, it wasn’t until she stepped into the kitchen that she realised just how much it had changed. The room was enormous and wonderfully spacious despite the impressive range of top-end fitments. Polly sighed as she drank it all in, from the marble-topped island in the centre to the cosy family corner complete with squashy leather sofa. It was the kitchen she and Martin had dreamed about, not that they could have hoped to own a place as spectacular as this even if they had got married...
‘Who are you?’
The question brought her back to earth with a bump. Polly turned to find a small boy of about eight years of age watching her with an all too familiar expression in his green eyes. Talk about a chip off the old block, she thought ruefully as she took in the dark brown hair, the clean-cut features, not to mention the air of reserve the child projected. He had to be Elliot’s son; the resemblance was too marked for him not to be. The only thing that set him apart from his father was the fact that he was in a wheelchair.
Polly’s gaze flew to Elliot and her heart seemed to scrunch up inside her when she saw the expression on his face, all the love mingled with a fear that she might say something to hurt the child. In that moment everything she felt about him was turned on its head, turned upside down and inside out as well. Now he was no longer a pain in the proverbial, some insufferable, self-opinionated man who needed putting in his place. Now he was simply a loving father who wanted to protect his child, and Polly realised that she could forgive him anything because of that.
‘MY NAME’S POLLY DAVIES. And you must be Joseph. How do you do?’
Elliot let out the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding as Polly reached out and shook Joseph’s hand. She didn’t do what so many folk did, what they thought they should do, and bend down so she was on his son’s level. She simply held out her hand and that was it, and it was a form of acceptance of Joseph’s condition that touched him in ways Elliot could barely understand. Polly wasn’t pretending that Joseph was the same as every other child his age, but she wasn’t making an issue of it either by overcompensating. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the unfamiliar lump that had found its way there.
‘Polly is going to look after you while I go back to the hospital, Joseph.’
‘Is the baby still not well?’ Joseph spun his wheelchair around, his face alight with interest. Elliot had no idea if it was right or wrong but he always discussed his cases with him. Joseph had become his sounding board, in a way; he ran through what he had done, checking in his own mind that he couldn’t have done more, and Joseph listened even if he didn’t always understand the complexities of what he was hearing.
‘No. Sadly one of his heart valves isn’t working properly. It needs replacing so I’ll have to go back and see to it. Mrs Danton has to mind her grandchildren this morning so Polly has offered to stay with you.’ It was the first time that Elliot had said Polly’s name and he felt the tiniest frisson run down his spine, like fairy footsteps tiptoeing over his skin. He wasn’t sure why it was happening and certainly wasn’t going to make the mistake of searching for an explanation so he hurried on. ‘Is that all right with you?’
‘Uh-huh.’ Joseph shot an assessing glance at Polly. ‘Are you a nanny?’
‘No. I’m a midwife,’ she replied evenly, not at all put out, it appeared, about being cross-questioned.
‘So you work at the hospital?’ Joseph continued, weighing up what she had said.
‘No. I’m a community midwife. I deliver babies at home and also take care of the mums before and after their babies are born.’
‘Dad thinks you lot should be banned,’ Joseph told her, ignoring Mrs Danton’s tut of disapproval. ‘He says you do more harm than good.’
‘So I believe.’ Polly glanced at him and Elliot stiffened in readiness for what would come next. ‘Sadly, even the cleverest people can be wrong sometimes, Joseph.’
Joseph laughed, his small face lighting up with amusement. ‘Dad won’t like you saying that—do you, Dad?’
‘Ahem. It’s a discussion best left till another time,’ Elliot murmured, feeling as though he had been caught flat-footed. He had expected a far more acerbic response and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Surely Polly wasn’t softening towards him...was she?
Those wretched fairies were at it again, running fairy-sized races up and down his spine, and he had to force himself not to get side-tracked by that strangely appealing thought. Mrs Danton was putting on her coat and he thanked her for minding Joseph then turned to Polly as soon as she had left. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be so you may need to sort out something for lunch. Joseph can show you where everything is.’
‘Fine. It’s not a problem.’ She shrugged off her coat and tossed it over a chair then went to the kettle and switched it on. ‘How about a drink, Joseph? Juice? Milk? Hot chocolate? What do you fancy?’
‘Cola,’ Joseph replied immediately.
‘Oh, no,’ Elliot began but he got no further.
‘Nice try, sunshine, but I doubt if your dad lets you have fizzy drinks at this time of the day, so choose something else,’ Polly said firmly.
‘Milk then,’ Joseph muttered, rolling his eyes.
‘Coming right up.’
She went to the huge American-style refrigerator, took out the milk then opened a cupboard and took out a glass. Elliot watched in amazement, marvelling at how at home she seemed to be. He was still finding his way around, opening cupboard after cupboard before he found what he wanted, and it was galling to admit it, galling too that she had dealt with Joseph so efficiently. People had a tendency to let him get away with things because of his disability, but not Polly. She had treated him the same as she would have treated any other child and, for the first time since Joseph was born, Elliot felt redundant. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea either.
‘I’d better get going,’ he said gruffly, realising how ridiculous he was being. He should be glad that Joseph seemed happy to let Polly look after him. ‘Can you walk me out?’
‘Of course.’ Polly grinned at the little boy. ‘Your dad’s probably going to give me a