She unclipped her seatbelt the instant Christian had braked, then pushed her door open and stepped out, hoping for enough privacy to regain her serenity.
“It’s wonderful,” she called, praying her voice was steady. She took a few steps toward the river. All around her, the willow fronds swished and rustled in the breeze. The sun filtered through in brilliant shafts.
She wiped a quick forefinger under each eye, summoned up a smile, and turned back.
“We could make a waterfall, Nic,” she suggested as Christian released Nicky from her seat harness and set her on the rough grass. “Shall we do that while Daddy goes fishing?”
“Hold up, Nic—sunhat!” he called as his daughter toddled away from him.
Bending low to avoid the long streamers of leaves, they each took one of her soft little hands and ambled down onto the riverbed. The floods of winter were long gone; now big areas of shingle and stones baked in the midsummer heat. Nicky stumbled along between them, determined to manage the uneven ground on her own until Christian scooped her up and distracted her.
“Look Nic—see the pretty bird?” he asked, pointing to a vivid blue-green kingfisher. They walked on a little further.
Water trickled through the shingle in several small ribbons. On the far side, deep in the shadow of overhanging trees, it flowed faster and darker.
“Is that where you’ll fish?” Fiona asked.
“For all the good it’ll do. I imagine having you and Nic splashing about will spook anything that might be lurking.”
“No fish for dinner then?”
“You’ll be full of risotto from lunch.”
“So I will. Brought your fishing coat?”
“Need your hair washed, do you?”
She caught his wide smile and nodded. “Need lots of things attended to.”
“Ready and willing,” he murmured, sliding his free hand around her waist and pulling her closer as they crunched along in the brilliant sunshine. She laid her face against his shoulder and smiled up at him.
“Did you think last night would ever happen?” she asked, knowing she had nothing to lose now by asking.
“Hoped. Didn’t dare to hope. Never seriously expected.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Hoped some more. Felt I was about due for a miracle after the pain of losing Jan.”
Her heart lurched at his honesty.
“Did you know it would be me?”
“It was always you, Blondie. Too soon, too fast, but always you. Even when it seems impossible, a man’s got to go after what he wants.”
She closed her eyes at that, trusting him to keep her from falling.
After a few more steps she opened them again as she felt him pause at the first of the shallow waterways.
“Just about here would be good for us, wouldn’t it Nic? Shall Daddy put you down?”
Christian complied and Nic bent over, picked up a stone, and threw it into the tricking stream with a gleeful squeal.
“Go and get your fishing gear. We’ll be safe and out of your way here,” Fiona said, pushing off her shoes and squatting down beside her niece. “Want your shoes off too, Nic?”
Nicky pushed out her bottom lip and looked doubtful.
“Okay, you stay there for a bit but I’m going paddling.”
When Christian returned with his fishing gear, Fiona stood ankle-deep in water, piling up smooth river-stones to make a miniature dam. Nicky’s contribution was to select occasional debris and pitch it into the water where it made very satisfactory splashes. Fiona’s white shorts looked decidedly damp around their hems.
He dropped a couple of towels onto the ground and tossed the car-keys on top of them.
“In case you need them before I’m back. Looks like you’ll end up wetter than me.”
“A definite possibility,” she agreed as Nic squealed and hurled a pinecone and the spray flew up yet again.
After an hour of standing on the far riverbank with barely a nibble, he packed his gear away and strode back toward the car. The sun now rode high in the sky, and Fiona had spread two picnic blankets in the shade of the willow. On one, Nic drowsed, curled up and clutching her pink puppy. On the other, Fiona sprawled in her blue sun-top and a lacy coffee-colored thong. Her wet shorts flapped from a nearby bush.
Christian’s gaze travelled from her peachy toenails all the way up her long legs to her tiny panties. The injury to her knee had left a livid crescent-shaped scar that made his eyes skid to a halt halfway.
He hated seeing it. It was his fault—he should have taken better care of her—somehow protected her from the accident that had so nearly killed her. Why in hell had he let her go anywhere near that weakened beam in the garage?