Face the Wind and Fly by Jenny Harper Read Free Book Online Page B

at him with round brown eyes.
    ‘Morning old thing. Yes, yes, it’ll be breakfast time shortly. Off you go now, do your business.’
    He opened the door to the garden and the dog trotted out obediently. Ibsen filled the kettle.
    After he and Lynn had finally acknowledged they could no longer hold their marriage together, he’d given up on draughtsmanship and embarked on a diploma in horticulture. Tam, his father, was head gardener on the Forgie House estate and when Ibsen qualified he was lucky enough to land a job as his seasonal assistant. The post came, miraculously, with the tenancy of the cottage next door to his parents and here, in the perfect tranquillity of the estate, he at last began to find his own peace.
    With tea in his hand, Ibsen walked out into the small garden where he cultivated the dahlias that were his pride and joy. The early morning sun had just reached this small patch and he tilted his face towards it. There was real warmth there already. Good. As he thought, the snow had been a freak blip. All his instincts told him that in another week or so he’d be able to pinch out the tubers and plant them. He had twelve different varieties this year and he was eager to see which did best.
    ‘Morning, Ibs.’
    Melanie emerged from the kitchen door, her endless legs disappearing finally under one of his old checked shirts, her strawberry-blonde mane tumbling messily down her back, both attributes reminding Ibsen just why he’d been so attracted to her in the first place.
    ‘Hi. You okay?’
    ‘Mmm.’ She yawned luxuriously and slid an arm round his neck. ‘I’d be better if you came back to bed for a bit.’
    ‘Tempting.’ He buried his face in her hair, which smelled vaguely of wood smoke. They’d lit a fire in the living room last night to ward off the last of the chill from the snow.
    He felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket a couple of seconds before it rang.
    Melanie pulled away, pouting.
    He didn’t recognise the number and was tempted to ignore it. ‘Hello?’ he said reluctantly.
    ‘Mr Brown? This is the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Your sister has asked us to call you—’
    Ibsen’s heart jump-started in alarm. ‘Cassie? Is she all right? Her baby’s not due for another month.’
    ‘There’ve been a few problems—’
    ‘I’m on my way.’ He shoved the phone back in his pocket. ‘I’ll have to run. It’s Cassie.’
    Melanie’s mouth was still puckered in a sulk, but she recovered herself quickly. ‘Can you wait five minutes,’ she pleaded, ‘and drop me in Hailesbank?’
    Every instinct urged Ibsen to head off now, this very second, but he could hardly abandon Melanie here with no transport. ‘Hurry, then, love. I’ve really got to go.’
    He whistled for Wellington and saw him racing across the huge expanse of grass, ears back, tail streaming. ‘Good boy, we’d better get you fed quickly.’
    Cassie and Ian had been trying for years to start a family. Twice his sister had miscarried, a third time she’d gone to term, but the baby was stillborn. Watching her mourn each tiny passing of life had torn him apart though it wasn’t till Violet died that he fully understood what she’d gone through. She was nearly forty now and this baby might be Cassie’s last chance. Ian was working offshore and his parents had gone off for a week in the sun planning to be back in plenty of time to support her. If something had gone wrong—
    He raced to the van and turned the engine over. Thank goodness it started this morning, sometimes it could be contrary.
    ‘Here, boy, up you go.’ He opened the back doors for Wellington.
    Why hadn’t they called him earlier? Who’d taken Cassie in? It was too early, by a long way. Surely that was bad news?
    Melanie jumped in beside him.
    ‘That was quick. Thanks, love.’
    ‘No bother. I know how much it means to you. Just drop me off at the end of the High Street, okay?’
    Ibsen swung the van out of the estate gates and down towards