‘Remy?’
It was the voice from her dreams—the one she still heard in her ear, against her skin. The one she heard in the memories she relived over and over again every night.
‘Bo?’
He was dressed in battered jeans and an open-neck white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He was here, all six-foot-something of pure, angry male. He got up slowly and she saw that his eyes were slate-grey and as hard.
‘What did you just say?’
What had she just said? She was so flabbergasted by his presence that she couldn’t remember … Oh, hell. Pregnant. His baby.
Oh, heavens, why did these things keep happening to her? Remy bit her bottom lip and folded her arms across her chest, thinking about damage control. ‘Um … obviously I didn’t mean to tell you like that …’
‘You’re pregnant?’ Bo shouted, and she winced as his words bounced off the walls.
‘Yes.’
Was it hot in here? she wondered as the floor rose and fell. Along with heat there was suddenly no air. Instinctively she reached out her hand and grabbed the edge of the bar to keep herself from falling over. She saw dots behind her eyes, felt the blackness coming closer.
The last thing she heard before crumpling to the floor was Eli’s amused comment. ‘Well, now, isn’t this interesting?’
JOSS WOOD wrote her first book at the age of eight and has never really stopped writing. Her passion for putting letters on a blank screen is matched only by her love of books and travelling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa—and possibly by her hatred of ironing and making school lunches.
Fuelled by coffee, when she’s not writing or being a hands-on mum, Joss—with her background in business and marketing—works for a non-profit organisation to promote the local economic development and collective business interests of the area where she resides. Happily and chaotically surrounded by books, family and friends, she lives in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, with her husband, children and their many pets.
One Night,
Two Consequences
Joss Wood
I really believe that editors make books better—especially my books!—and I’ve been really lucky to work with some wonderfully talented people. So this book is dedicated to Flo (who taught me so much), to Laurie (who loved this book from the start), and to Charlotte (who now has the unenviable task of keeping me on the straight and narrow). Thank you for believing in me and my books and for loving my characters and the complicated situations I place them in.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
REMY DRAYCOTT LOOKED at the open brochure in front of her as she sipped her glass of Belleaire Chardonnay. So this was the town of Bellevue, she thought, looking across the swish wine bar through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the main street of the town. Cosmopolitan, sophisticated, quietly rich, it had an air of European elegance.
She liked it. A lot.
From what she’d seen so far on her brief tour of the towns of the Napa Valley, Bellevue—right at the north end of the valley—seemed to be a mixture of the best of the rest. It had take-your-breath-away views of the Palisade Mountains, a smidgeon of the old-world charm of Calistoga, a little of the casual elegance of St Helena and, if she had to judge by the superb gourmet burger she’d eaten for lunch at the glossy diner down the street, the same passion for food as Yountsville.
It was a pity she was only passing through … The town was begging for her to stay a little longer, explore a little more.
No, she couldn’t, she thought, pushing temptation away. For the first time in—well, years, she actually had a deadline to be in a place at a specific time. And the reminder of why she had to be in Portland in three days’ time had her throwing back the rest of her wine and signalling the barman for a refill.
In seventy-two hours, give or take, her mother was due to give birth to her half-sibling and Remy had promised to be there. Not in the hospital waiting room or waiting at home, like a normal person, but in the delivery room itself. With her mum—obviously—her grandmother, and her brand-new stepdad, who was just seven years old than herself.
Remy lifted her glass to her lips. She was amazed and terrified and confused about the entire situation.
Amazed that after a lifetime of being a single parent—well, that wasn’t entirely true … Grandma Rosie had been her other parent in every way that counted—her intense, brilliant and fiercely feminist mother had settled down with a high school sports coach. Terrified for her because she was, in medical terms, an elderly mother—which essentially meant that a lot more could go wrong in a forty-four-year-old body than in a seventeen-year-old one. And confused because … Well, there was more than a quarter of a century’s gap between her and her nearly here sibling.
Twenty-seven years … That was more than confusing—that was a tad bizarre.
It was all very weird and unsettling. Remy desperately hoped that Jan would take a different approach to raising this child than she had to her. Dear God, she could only pray. Just be normal, she told her still baking sibling. Normal would be perfect.
Remy felt the mood in the wine bar shift, felt the energy change. Grateful to be distracted from her thoughts, she turned her head to look at the new arrival into the elegant space. The man had stopped to talk to a couple sitting at a table close to the front door. His back was to her, so she admired the broad shoulders the white dress shirt covered, and the spectacular butt beneath the tailored, expensive black suit pants.
Finished with that conversation, he moved on to the next table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, and Remy waited for him to turn around so that she could see his face. She