Golden Luckenbooth

Thirty-Three

Harry has every right to be angry with me for trying to keep this episode a secret. Sniffling, I dry my eyes and blow my nose as I hear the kettle shut off and hot water being poured into a cup. Moments later, Piper arrives, jumping onto the bed and nudging Shortbread aside so she can lay her head on my lap.

Carrying a tray with two cups, a teapot, and a packet of digestive biscuits, Harry follows. Setting down the tray, he bustles around the bed to me.

"Let's get you sitting up. Otherwise, you'll choke." He wraps his arms around me as he carefully arranges me so that I'm sitting up, my back resting on the headboard. Once I'm positioned, he places the tray on my lap, shooing away Shortbread who shoves her nose into everything on the tray.

Can't blame her. The tea smells amazing.

Climbing onto the bed, he sits cross-legged facing me. I cringe.

"Okay, let's finish having it out," I say after I've fortified myself with a sip of the chamomile.

"I thought we had finished," Harry says, picking up the second cup and pouring himself some of the tea too.

"I know you're angry..." I start until he holds up a finger that stalls me.

"I was angry. Now I'm – disappointed maybe? Frightened? Worried? I'm not sure which is the right emotion, Anna."

"Oh." For whatever reason, his calm demeanour is more guilt-inducing than when he was yelling and screaming at me. I sip the tea and bite at the biscuit in an effort to keep from crying again.

"Let's start with the fact that anyone could slip anywhere. That happens. I know it must have scared you, especially since Arran seemed frightened too."

"Freaked me out at first," I agree. "Especially when I heard Mrs. Hamilton phone Blair. That's when the possibilities hit me. The idea that –" I wrap my hands around my burgeoning belly, "-- my fall could have hurt the baby – it just –" I stop speaking because the tears well up again. Then my independent streak hardens, and I stare at him. "But I am not giving up my practice because of this, and you shouldn't have asked me to!" The words come out as a challenge, and I'm confident my face is a mixture of bravado and fear.

"You're right. Babe, I never should have asked you to do that. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"You – were?" I'm flummoxed as just moments before he'd been insistent.

"Would I breathe easier if you stayed at the clinic and treated sick dogs and cats while Arran went out on the calls with the larger animals? Yes. Hell yes. A thousand times yes. But I also know exactly who my girlfriend is, and I know that would never fly in a million years."

Blinking, I look at him. Not because he's being reasonable – which he is – but rather because what he has described sounds like heaven to me right now in my frightened state. I could see myself taking a step back from the farm visits and focusing more on the smaller animals. The pets. I'd be warm and dry and could pop home when I need a wee. Plus there would be less of a chance that the foetus would be injured.

But I say nothing. Best to process it and bring it up later if I'm still feeling the same. I mean, it's my clinic.

Yes, I choose to ignore the fact that I'd just agreed not to keep things from him. But this isn't what he meant, right?

"Tell me what's going on in that head of yours," Harry says, using his pointer finger to tap at his own forehead.

Except maybe it is what he meant. Clearing my throat, I decide to share the fears that were born as I sat in the pile of shit and mud contemplating my life without Harry or the baby.