Matt was wealthy and his family were descended from the landed gentry. Normally that stood him in good stead with women, but with Erin it was almost as if she was mocking him because of it.

And she always looked frazzled, he thought. She didn’t fuss if her shoulder-length curls were tangled, and her make-up was always scant and looked like it had been applied in haste. Yeah, he knew all the Home Mothers looked like that-they had such little time to themselves-but it wouldn’t hurt her to take a bit more effort.

She wore brightly coloured dresses, nipped in to a neat waistline and then blousing out in soft folds to mid-calf. They looked home-made, Charlotte had told him, and he could see that they were.

The last time he’d seen her had been at the local school fête. One of her kids had painted her face as a butterfly, and her blue eyes were orbs under enormous, colourful wings, the paint reaching right out to her ears.

Good grief, he’d thought, as he and Charlotte had paused for a second, stunned look. No, she definitely wasn’t his type. She wasn’t groomed and elegant as he liked his women. She wasn’t like his mother or like Charlotte.

And now… Well, she certainly wasn’t concentrating on appearances, but she was looking more frazzled than he’d ever seen her. As he reached the veranda, she burst through the screen door and she was carrying a baby. The little one couldn’t have been more than four or five months old.

Erin didn’t say anything more than, ‘Take the baby,’ before thrusting the child into his arms and disappearing again into the house.

What was he supposed to do with it? He stared down at the baby in indecision. He couldn’t just dump it, but there were things that were more urgent here than baby-holding.

A face appeared over the side fence. Well, it would. The explosion must have been heard for blocks, and Valda Cole was into everyone else’s business before it happened. Usually Matt avoided Valda like the plague, but now, burdened with the baby, he was even grateful to see her.