Kitabı oku: «A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle: A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle»

He had a son. A boy.

His mind flashed back to their past, to the last magical summer he’d spent at the bay—three halcyon months between the end of high school and the start of university. Twelve years had passed since then, and in many ways it had felt like a lifetime. Now, for Gus, it felt like a lifetime in exile.

Shoulders back, chin lifted, Freya met his angry gaze. “Yes, Gus, you’re Nick’s father.”

A terrible ache bloomed in his throat, swiftly followed by a tumult of emotions—alienation and loneliness, frustration and anger. He fought for composure. The sea breeze buffeted his face and he gulped in deep, needy breaths.

“Let’s hope I can help him, then.”

Freya’s mouth trembled. She wanted to shower Gus with gratitude—but her instincts told her that he wouldn’t welcome such effusiveness from her. He was still shocked and angry. Just the same, she had to say something.

“I—I’m so sorry to land this on you. I know it’s a terrible shock and a huge imposition, and I—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “I’m the boy’s father. I’ll do everything in my power to help him.”

A Miracle for His Secret Son

By

Barbara Hannay
Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle

By

Donna Alward

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A Miracle for His Secret Son

By

Barbara Hannay

BARBARA HANNAY was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane, and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical North Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy.

Visit www.barbarahannay.com

For my daughters Emma and Victoria, always ready with bright ideas.

PROLOGUE

TELLING Gus about the baby was never going to be easy. Freya knew that.

Gus was ambitious and, in the long hours they’d spent talking about the future, he’d actually told her that he didn’t want children till he was at least thirty. Just the same, all the way from Sugar Bay to Brisbane she tried to reassure herself that once she’d shared her news with Gus, he’d change his mind. How could he not want their baby? Surely everything would be fine.

Sitting on the train for five hours, nibbling dry crackers to ward off morning sickness, Freya had plenty of time to picture their reunion.

Details of the setting were hazy, but she knew exactly how Gus would look. His summer tan would have started to fade, but that was to be expected now that he was a city-based university student, attending lectures all day and poring over books at night. On the weekends too, apparently, as he’d been too busy to travel to the bay to see her.

At least his dark hair would be as soft and silky as ever, and it would still have that adorable habit of flopping forward onto his forehead. Best of all, Freya could picture the special way his dark eyes would light up when he saw her.

He would probably call her Floss, the funny nickname he’d given her within days of his arrival at Sugar Bay High. He’d look at her with one of his heartbreakingly beautiful smiles and he’d gather her in so close she could feel his heart pumping. She’d breathe in the scent of his skin, and her off-kilter world would settle back into place.

Later, when they were quite alone, she would find the courage to tell him.

Then, it would be OK.

She was silly to worry. Once Gus got used to the idea of the baby, they would work out something together and her future would no longer be a scary black hole. She would have Gus and their baby. Everything would be fine.

Deep in her heart, Freya knew that she might be nervous now, but by the end of the day, she and Gus would have a plan. Really, there was no need to worry.

Chapter One

LATE on a Friday afternoon, Gus Wilder was only half paying attention when he lifted the receiver.

‘A long-distance call for you, boss,’ Charlie from the front office told him. ‘A Freya Jones from Sugar Bay in Queensland.’

Freya Jones.

Just like that, Gus was zapped from his demountable office in the remotest corner of the Northern Territory to a little beach town on the coast of Queensland. He was eighteen again and standing at the edge of rolling surf, gazing into a lovely girl’s laughing sea-green eyes.

It was twelve years since he’d left the Bay and he hadn’t seen Freya in all that time, but of course he remembered her. Perfectly.

Didn’t every man remember the sweet, fragile magic of his first love?

So much water had flowed under the bridge since then. He’d finished his studies and worked in foreign continents, and he’d traversed joyous and difficult journeys of the heart. Freya would have changed a lot too. No doubt she was married. Some lucky guy was sure to have snapped her up by now.

He couldn’t think why she would be ringing him after all this time. Was there a high school reunion? Bad news about an old schoolmate?

Charlie spoke again. ‘Boss, you going to take the call?’

‘Yes, sure.’ Gus swallowed to ease the unexpected tension in his throat. ‘Put Freya on.’

He heard her voice. ‘Gus?’

Amazing. She could still infuse a single syllable with music. Her voice had always been like that—light, lyrical and sensuous.

‘Hello, Freya.’

‘You must be surprised to hear from me. Quite a blast from the past.’

Now she sounded nervous, totally unlike the laughing, confident girl Gus remembered. A thousand questions clamoured to be asked, but instinctively, he skipped the usual how are you? preliminaries…‘How can I help you, Freya?’

There was an almost inaudible sigh. ‘I’m afraid it’s really hard to explain over the phone. But it’s important, Gus. Really important. I…I was hoping I could meet with you.’

Stunned, he took too long to respond. ‘Sure,’ he said at last. ‘But I’m tied up right now. When do you want to meet?’

‘As soon as possible?’

This obviously wasn’t about a high school reunion. Gus shot a quick glance through the window of his makeshift office to the untamed bushland that stretched endlessly to ancient red cliffs on the distant horizon. ‘You know I’m way up in Arnhem Land, don’t you?’

‘Yes, they told me you’re managing a remote housing project for an Aboriginal community.’

‘That’s right.’ The project was important and challenging, requiring a great deal of diplomacy from Gus as its manager. ‘It’s almost impossible for me to get away from here just now. What’s this all about?’

‘I could come to you.’

Gus swallowed his shock. Why would Freya come to him here? After all this time? What on earth could be so suddenly important?

His mind raced, trying to dredge up possibilities, but each time he drew a blank.

He pictured Freya as he remembered her, with long sunstreaked hair and golden tanned limbs, more often than not in a bikini with a faded sarong loosely tied around her graceful hips. Even if she’d cast aside her sea nymph persona, she was bound to cause an impossible stir if she arrived on the all-male construction site.

‘It would be too difficult here,’ he said. ‘This place is too…remote.’

‘Don’t planes fly into your site?’

‘We don’t have regular commercial flights.’

‘Oh.’

Another eloquent syllable—and there was no mistaking her disappointment.

Grimacing, Gus scratched at his jaw. ‘You said this was very important.’

‘Yes, it is.’ After a beat, Freya said in a small frightened voice, ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

They agreed to meet in Darwin, the Northern Territory’s capital, which was, in many ways, an idyllic spot for a reunion, especially at sunset on a Saturday evening at the end of a balmy tropical winter. The sky above the harbour glowed bright blushing pink shot with gold. The palm trees were graceful dancing silhouettes on the shorefront and the colours of the sky were reflected in the still tropical waters.

Not that Freya could appreciate the view.

She arrived too early on the hotel balcony. It wasn’t very crowded and she saw immediately that Gus wasn’t there, so she sat at the nearest free table, with her legs crossed and one foot swinging impatiently, while her fingers anxiously twisted the straps of her shoulder bag.

These nervous habits were new to her and she hated them. Having grown up in a free and easy beachside community, she’d prided herself on her relaxed personality and as an adult she’d added meditation and yoga to her daily practice.

Her serenity had deserted her, however, on the day she’d needed it most—when the doctor delivered his prognosis. Since then she’d been living with sickening fear, barely holding herself together with a string and a paper clip.

Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then concentrated on imagining her son at home with Poppy, her mother. If Nick wasn’t taking his dog, Urchin, for a twilight run on the beach, he’d be sprawled on the living room carpet, playing with his solar-powered robot grasshopper. Poppy would be preparing dinner in the nearby kitchen, slipping in as many healthy vegetables as she dared.

Already Freya missed her boy. She’d never been so far away from him before and, thinking of him now, and the task that lay ahead of her, she felt distinctly weepy. She dashed tears away with the heel of her hand. Heavens, she couldn’t weaken now. She had to stay super-strong.

You can do this. You must do this. For Nick.

She’d do anything for Nick, even tell Gus Wilder the truth after all this time.

That thought caused another explosion of fear. The process of tracking Gus down and making the first telephone contact had been the easy part. The worst was yet to come. Gus still didn’t know why she needed him.

A tall, flashily handsome waiter passed Freya, carrying a tray laden with drinks. The smile he gave her was flirtatious to the point of predation. ‘Would you like something from the bar, madam?’

‘Not just now, thanks. I’m waiting for…’ The rest of Freya’s sentence died as her throat closed over.

Beyond the waiter, she saw a man coming through the wide open doorway onto the balcony.

Gus.

Tall. Dark-haired. White shirt gleaming against tanned skin. Perhaps a little leaner than she remembered, but handsome and athletic enough to make heads turn.

Angus Wilder had aged very nicely, thank you.

But what kind of man was he now? How many gulfs had widened between them, and how would he react to her news?

As he made his way towards her, weaving between tables, memories, like scenes in a movie, played in Freya’s head. Gus at sixteen on his first day at Sugar Bay High, desperate to throw off the taint of his posh city high school. Gus, triumphant on the footie field after he’d scored a match-winning try. Herself, floating with happiness as she danced in his arms at the senior formal.

The two of them walking together, holding hands beside a moonlit sea. The sheer romance of their first kiss…

Suddenly Gus was beside her, leaning down to drop a polite kiss on her cheek. ‘Freya, it’s good to see you.’

He smelled clean, as if he’d just showered and splashed on aftershave. His lips were warm on her skin.

Without warning, Freya’s eyes and throat stung. ‘It’s great to see you, Gus.’ She blinked hard. This was no time for nostalgia. She had to stay cool and focused. ‘Thanks for coming.’

He pulled out a chair and sat, then slowly crossed his long legs and leaned back, as if he were deliberately trying to appear relaxed. His smile was cautious, the expression in his dark eyes warm, but puzzled. ‘How are you?’ Quickly, he countered his question. ‘You look fabulous.’

Deep down she couldn’t help being pleased by the compliment, but she said simply, ‘I’m well, thanks. How about you? How’s business?’

‘Both first-rate.’ Gus sent her a slightly less careful smile, but his throat worked, betraying his tension. ‘So, I take it you still live at the Bay?’

‘I do.’ She smiled shyly and gave a careless flick of her long pale hair. ‘Still a beach girl.’

‘It suits you.’

Freya dampened her lips and prepared to launch into what had to be said.

‘How’s your mother?’ Gus asked, jumping in to fill the brief lull.

‘Oh, she’s fine, thanks. Still living in the same crooked little house right on the beachfront. As much of a hippie as ever.’

He let his gaze travel over her and, despite the nervous knots tightening in her stomach, Freya indulged in a little staring too. His eyes were as rich and dark as ever and his hair still had the habit of flopping forward onto his forehead.

She felt an ache in her chest—she couldn’t help it. She’d missed Gus Wilder so much. For a dozen years she’d been out of his life. She knew he’d worked in Africa, and there was so much more she wanted to know. Where exactly had he been? What had he done and seen? Whom had he loved?

‘I know you have something very important to discuss,’ Gus said, ‘but would you like a drink first?’ Without waiting for her answer, he raised a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

‘What can I get for you?’ The waiter’s manner was noticeably less cordial now that Gus had joined Freya.

‘A lemon, lime and bitters, please,’ she said.

‘And I’ll have a mid-strength beer.’

‘Very well, sir.’

After he’d gone, another awkward silence fell and Freya knew it was up to her to speak. If she didn’t get to the point of this meeting quickly it would become impossibly difficult. Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands carefully in her lap.

‘I really am very grateful that you’ve come here, Gus. I know you must be puzzled, but I’m hoping that you might be able to help me.’

‘You said it was a matter of life and death.’

She nodded.

‘I hoped you were being melodramatic.’

‘Unfortunately, no.’

The last remnants of Gus’s smile vanished. Leaning forward, he reached for her hand. ‘Freya, what is it? What’s happened?’

His touch was so gentle and he looked so worried she had to close her eyes. She hadn’t been able to broach this subject twelve years ago, and it was a thousand times harder now. Just thinking about what she had to tell him made her heart race and her stomach rebel.

‘Gus, before I tell you, I have to ask—are you married?’

It was the worst possible moment for the waiter to return. Wincing, Freya dropped her gaze while the drinks were set on cardboard coasters in front of them.

She reached for her purse, but Gus beat her to the draw.

‘My shout,’ he said.

‘But I owe you. You’ve come all this way.’

He was already handing money to the waiter and she didn’t feel strong enough to argue. Instead, she thanked him and stirred her drink with a slim black straw, making the ice cubes clink and the slices of lemon and lime swirl.

Frowning, Gus touched the tips of two fingers to the frosty outside of his beer glass. ‘I can’t help being curious. What does my marital status have to do with your problem?’

She felt her cheeks grow hot. ‘It…could…complicate everything. If you were married, your wife might not want you to help me.’

Heavens, she was making a mess of this and Gus looked understandably puzzled. She wished she could find a way to simply download everything she needed to tell him without stumbling through explanations, or grasping for the right words, or the right order to put them in. Surely, negotiating world peace would be easier than this.

Clearly bewildered, Gus shot a glance to her left hand. ‘What about you? Are you married?’

‘Still single.’

His eyes widened. ‘That’s a surprise. I thought you’d be snapped up by now.’

I never gave them a chance, Freya thought.

Gus set his glass down and eyed her levelly. ‘I was married three years ago,’ he said.

She had steeled herself, determined not to mind, but this wasn’t just a matter of hurt pride. She did mind. Very much. Now Gus would have to discuss her problem with his wife and how could she be sure another woman would be sympathetic?

Gus swallowed, making the muscles in his throat ripple. ‘My wife died.’

‘Oh.’ A whisper was all Freya could manage. She was swamped by a deluge of emotions—sympathy and sadness for Gus mixed, heaven help her, with jealousy for the woman who’d won his heart. ‘Gus, I’m so sorry. Were you married long?’

‘A little over a year. We met when we were both working in Africa. My wife, Monique, was French—a doctor with Médecins Sans Frontières.’

So his wife had been clever, adventurous and courageous, and filled with high ideals. In other words, she was exactly like Gus. She’d been perfect for him.

‘That’s so sad.’ To her shame, Freya was torn between compassion for Gus’s pain and her relief that one hurdle had been removed.

Gus said grimly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what this is all about. What’s your problem?’

Her heart took off like a steeplechaser. ‘Actually, it’s my son who’s in trouble.’

‘Your son?’ Gus repeated, clearly shocked.

All the worry and tension of the past weeks rose inside Freya and she felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid. Her lips trembled, but she willed herself to hold everything together. She mustn’t break down now.

‘So you’re a single mum?’

She nodded, too choked up to speak.

‘Like your mother.’

She managed another nod, grateful for the lack of condemnation in his voice. Of course, Gus had never been a snob like his father. He’d never looked down his nose at Sugar Bay’s hippies.

Just the same, his observation was accurate. Freya had followed in her mother’s footsteps. In fact, Poppy had actively encouraged her daughter into single motherhood.

We can raise your baby together, darling. Of course we can. Look at the way I raised you. We’ll be fine. We’re alike, you and me. We’re destined to be independent. You don’t need a man, love.

Unfortunately, Poppy had been wrong. The terrible day had arrived when neither of them was able to help Nick—and Freya had no choice but to seek help from this man, his father.

Gus was watching her closely, his expression a mixture of frowning puzzlement and tender concern. ‘Are you still in contact with the boy’s father?’

It was too much. Her eyes filled with tears. She’d waited too long to tell him this—twelve years too long—and now she had to deliver a terrible blow. It was so, so difficult. She didn’t want to hurt him.

She had no choice.

Clinging to the last shreds of composure, she looked away from him to the flat sea stained with the spectacular colours of the sunset. She blinked hard and her throat felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

Beside them, a party of young people arrived on the balcony, laughing and carefree, carrying their drinks and calling to each other as they dragged tables together and sat in a large happy circle. It was a scenario Freya had seen many, many times at the pub on the Sugar Bay waterfront. Once, she and Gus had been part of a crowd just like that.

Terrified that she might cry in public and cause Gus all kinds of embarrassment, she said, ‘I’m sorry. Would you mind if we went somewhere else to talk about this? We could go for a walk, perhaps?’

‘Of course.’

Gallantly, he rose immediately and they took the short flight of steps down to The Esplanade that skirted Darwin Harbour.

Offshore, yachts were racing, bright spinnakers billowing, leaning into a light breeze. The same breeze brought the salty-sharp smell of coral mingled with the scent of frangipani blossoms. The breeze played with Freya’s hair and she didn’t try to hold it in place. Instead, she wrapped her arms protectively over her front as Gus walked beside her, his hands sunk in the pockets of his light-coloured chinos.

‘Are you OK, Freya?’

‘Sort of.’ She took a deep breath, knowing that she couldn’t put this revelation off a second longer. ‘You asked if I’ve been in touch with my son’s father.’

‘Yes.’

‘I haven’t, Gus.’

She slid a wary sideways glance his way and she saw the exact moment when he realised. Saw his eyes widen with dawning knowledge, and then a flash of horror.

He stopped walking.

The colour drained from his face as he stared at her. ‘How old is this boy?’

His voice was cold and quiet, and Freya’s heart pounded so loudly it drummed in her ears.

‘He’s eleven—almost eleven and a half.’

Gus shook his head. ‘No way.’

He glared at her, his eyes angry—disbelieving—already rejecting what she had to tell him next.

Chapter Two

GUS struggled to breathe, struggled to think, to believe, to understand…but, all the while, gut-level awareness was shouting the truth that Freya still hadn’t told him.

He had a son. A boy. Now eleven years old.

‘Gus, I’m so sorry.’ Freya stood on the path in front of him, wringing her hands, her face a blurred wash of tears.

His mind flashed back to their past, to the last magical summer he’d spent at the Bay—three halcyon months between the end of high school and the start of university—when he and Freya had been almost inseparable.

Twelve years had passed since then and in many ways it had felt like a lifetime. Now, for Gus, it felt like a lifetime in exile.

He rounded on her. ‘Say it, Freya. Spit it out. This boy is my son, isn’t he?’

Shoulders back, chin lifted, she met his angry gaze. ‘Yes, Gus, you’re Nick’s father.’

‘Nick?’

‘He’s Nicholas Angus.’

A terrible ache bloomed in his throat, swiftly followed by a tumult of emotions—alienation and loneliness, frustration and anger. He spun away from her, fighting for composure. The sea breeze buffeted his face and he gulped in deep needy breaths.

He tried to picture his son, this boy he’d never seen. His flesh and blood. Damn it, he had no idea what the kid might look like.

How crazy was that?

His thoughts flew haphazardly. He had a son. Every boy needed a dad. What right had Freya to keep such a secret?

Had it worked both ways? Did the boy know anything about him?

Unlikely.

Gus whirled back to challenge Freya. ‘Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He knew he sounded bitter but he didn’t care. He was bitter. ‘Did you keep this to yourself because you didn’t know who your father was? Is it some kind of warped tradition in your family?’

‘No, of course not.’

Her protest wasn’t convincing but he didn’t stop to investigate. ‘Why then? Why didn’t you tell me that I had a son?’

‘I thought—’ Freya’s hands flailed with a wild kind of helplessness, then fell to her sides and she gave a groan of frustration. ‘I tried, Gus. I did try to tell you.’

‘When?’ he shouted, not trying to hide his disbelief.

‘The day I came to the university to see you.’

His mouth sagged open as memories of that day arrived in a sickening rush. His skin flashed hot and cold and a feeling suspiciously like guilt curdled unpleasantly in his stomach.

Over the years, he’d blotted out Freya’s sudden appearance on the St Lucia campus, but he couldn’t deny that he’d never felt comfortable about the last time they’d met.

Now, she was walking away from him, leaving the walking track and hurrying across the velvety lawn to the rocks that bordered the foreshore. By the time Gus reached her, she’d pulled tissues from a woven shoulder bag and was blowing her nose.

‘We have to talk about this,’ he said.

‘Of course. That’s why we’re here.’ She spoke with quiet resignation.

They found a flat rock to sit on—side by side, looking out to sea—and it was uncannily like old times, except that, unlike the pounding surf in Sugar Bay, this sea was flat and calm. And they were facing west now, rather than east, so the setting sun was suspended inches above the horizon like a giant glowing balloon.

Freya shoved the tissues back into her bag, then drew an elaborately deep breath and let it out very slowly.

Despite his rage and frustration, Gus couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked, sitting on the rock beside the sea.

She directed her steady gaze his way, giving him the full effect of her darkly lashed aquamarine eyes. ‘Do you remember that day I came to see you at university?’

‘Of course.’

‘I was, honestly, planning to tell you that I was pregnant.’

‘But you didn’t say a thing about it. Not a word.’ He fought to speak calmly. ‘Why?’

She dropped her gaze. ‘It’s hard to explain now, after such a long time. I know I was very young and immature back then. I was totally freaked by the whole university scene.’

The wind plucked at her hair and she caught a strand and tucked it behind her ear. To his dismay, Gus found himself noticing the delicate shape of her ear and the small hole pierced in the middle of her neat pale lobe.

‘The whole journey to Brisbane was such a big deal for me,’ she said. ‘I had to travel such a long way from the Bay on the train, and I had to get up at something like four o’clock in the morning. And I had morning sickness, so I was pretty fragile. Then, when I got to Brisbane, I had to catch the bus out to St Lucia. When I arrived there, and the university was so—’

She waved her hands, searching for the word.

‘Intimidating?’

‘Yes. So huge and important-looking. All those sandstone buildings and columns and courtyards.’

Gus nodded. It was incredibly easy, now, to imagine how a girl from a sleepy beach village had felt, but he’d been young, too. Looking back, he suspected that he had, quite possibly, been insensitive.

Freya pouted. ‘I’d told you I was coming, so I thought you’d skip a lecture to see me. But I had to wait around for ages for you to come out of the lecture hall and then, when you did, you were surrounded by a tribe of adoring women.’

Gus felt his neck redden as he remembered. ‘Hardly a tribe. And there were other guys in the group.’

She dismissed this with a sharp laugh. ‘I was naïve, I guess, but I got such a shock to see how you’d changed so quickly. After all, it was only about six weeks since I’d seen you.’

‘I couldn’t have been too different, surely?’

She lifted her hands, palms up. ‘Believe me, Gus, you were different in every way. You had this scholarly air. And you were so full of how awesome university was. You couldn’t stop talking about your college and your lecturers, your career plans. After six weeks at uni, you were going to single-handedly save the Third World.’

Gus swallowed uncomfortably, knowing she was right.

‘And those girls were such snobs,’ Freya said. ‘Designer jeans, masses of jewellery, perfect hair and make-up. I hated the way they looked down their noses at me.’

‘I’m sure they didn’t.’

Freya rolled her eyes as if he hadn’t a clue. ‘They made it clear that I had no right to be there, chasing after you.’

Gus remembered how Freya had looked that day, dressed in her hippie, beach girl get-up like something out of the seventies, in a batik wrap-around skirt, a silver anklet complete with bells and brown leather sandals.

He’d thought she’d looked fine. She was Freya, after all. But he could guess how those city girls might have made her feel. No doubt they’d used that particularly sinister feminine radar that sent out signals undetected by males.

Why hadn’t he been more perceptive? More protective of his girlfriend?

Even to him, it no longer made sense.

But hang on. He might not have shown exemplary sensitivity, but Freya still should have told him she was pregnant.

Gus turned to her. ‘How could you have been pregnant? We took precautions.’

She lifted an eyebrow and the look she sent him was decidedly arch. ‘If you remember, you weren’t exactly an expert at using a condom.’

He groaned, muttered “Idiot” under his breath.

Face aflame, he looked out to sea where the last of the sun’s crimson light was melting into the darkening water. ‘If you’d told me, Freya, if you’d given me a chance, I would have faced up to my responsibilities.’

‘I suppose you would have.’ Her fingers began to twist the woven straps of her shoulder bag. ‘But you’d told me you didn’t want children for ages.’

‘That didn’t mean—’ Gus grimaced and shook his head.

‘I didn’t want you to see me as a responsibility. I wanted to be so much more to you, Gus, but when I saw you that day I lost all my confidence. I knew what becoming a father would have cost you. Your father had such high hopes for you. And you had big dreams too. A baby would have wrecked everything you had planned.’

‘I’d have found a way.’

Her steady gaze challenged him. ‘Be honest. Your father organised a transfer back to Brisbane, just so he and your mother could support you through uni. You were their eldest son, the jewel in their crowns. They’d never have forgiven you. And how would you have felt if you’d had to leave your studies to earn enough money to maintain a family?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gus said glumly. ‘I wasn’t given the opportunity to find out.’

It was ages before Freya said softly, ‘Well, OK, I think we’ve established that I made a bad call.’ She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the glitter of tears in her eyes. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. But sometimes mistakes are made with the best of intentions.’

Gus let out a heavy sigh and wondered to what degree his overbearing parents had swayed Freya’s decision. The irony was that as soon as he’d graduated he hadn’t gone into the kind of high profile executive position his father had planned for him. He’d quietly rebelled and gone off to Africa instead. Bursting with high ideals, he’d dived into aid work.

For the next nine years he’d been committed to doing good work for strangers and, sure, they’d really needed help. But, all that time, there’d been a son who’d needed him back in Australia.

The thought of that boy made him want to cry out with rage. Despair. Self-pity. Where was the morality in trying to save the world when he’d contributed absolutely zilch to his own son’s welfare?

The worst of it was that Freya had tried to tell him.

She’d turned to him in trouble and, instead of becoming the prince who rescued her, he’d let her down. Very badly, it seemed.

Oh, he’d gone through the motions that day. Resisting the crass option to sneak her back to his college room for a quick tumble between the sheets, he’d taken Freya back into the city on the bus and splashed out on an expensive supper at a posh café overlooking the Brisbane River. But throughout the meal she’d been strained.

Looking back, he could see that he’d been far too impressed with himself as a student. Too caught up in his new and exciting world. He probably hadn’t given Freya a chance to get a word in edgeways.

Guiltily, he remembered that he’d been rather relieved to put her back on the train to Sugar Bay. It was only when he’d walked along the railway platform, keeping up with her carriage as the train lumbered off, that he’d seen the tears streaming down her face.

Too late, he’d understood that he’d disappointed her. And now, way too late, he realised that he’d been so self-absorbed he’d left no room for her to offload her dilemma. He’d been a complete ass.

The big question was—if he had known about the baby, would he have made room in his life for Freya? Happily? Without resentment?

He’d loved her, sure. That summer with her was his sweetest, most poignant memory. But, in that first term at university, he’d loved the idea of Freya waiting back in Sugar Bay far more than the reality of her intruding into his busy new life.

Gus sat in silence, mustering his thoughts while he listened to the soft lapping of the sea. After a bit, he said, ‘You stopped answering my letters.’

‘We decided it was better to make a clean break.’

‘We?’ For a moment he imagined she was talking about another boyfriend. Then he remembered Poppy. Freya’s mother had always been more like her sister or her best friend than her mother. ‘I suppose Poppy was in on this too. She very effectively blocked my phone calls.’

‘She was a tower of strength.’

Oh, yeah, she would have been, Gus thought grimly. Poppy would have been in her element. She’d never been able to hang on to a man for long, but she would have clung for dear life to Freya and the promise of a grandchild. She would have aided and abetted Freya’s decision to end it with him and raise the baby alone.

So it boiled down to the fact that his relationship with Freya had just faded away. She hadn’t answered him and he, distracted by his bright new world, had simply let her go.

In other words, he, Freya and Poppy had made separate choices twelve years ago, and now they were paying the price.

Rather, the boy, Nick, was paying the price.

Gus looked up at the darkening sky—navy-blue, almost black—and he saw the evening star, already shining and sitting alone in the heavens like a bright solitaire diamond.

Staring at it, he felt shock like a fist slamming into his solar plexus. Hell. He still didn’t know why Freya had contacted him so urgently. He’d been hung up about what happened in the past, but hadn’t she said that her son had a problem right here and now?

A matter of life and death?

He bit back a horrified groan. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? You still haven’t told me why you need my help.’

To Gus’s dismay, Freya seemed to slump beside him as if her strength had suddenly deserted her. He reached out, wanting to draw her against him, to rest her head against his shoulder, but his hand hovered inches from her. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

A sob tore from her throat and she covered her face with her hands.

A hot knife of fear sliced through Gus. For an instant he felt an urge to flee, to refuse to listen to her bad news. He couldn’t bear the tension.

He forced himself to speak. ‘Is…is the boy sick?’

Freya nodded and the knife in his guts twisted sharper, deeper. Life and death. Terror chilled his blood. Was his son dying?

His throat tightened painfully. He hadn’t known it was possible to care so instantly and painfully for a boy he’d never met.

Freya, sensing Gus’s distress, lifted her head. Hands clenched in her lap, she sat very still, willing herself to be strong. This was the point of no return, the worst part of her mission. She couldn’t fail her boy now.

So many times she’d thought about what she would say to Gus at this moment, and she’d searched for the wisest and kindest starting point. Each time she’d come up with one answer. She had to tell him the hard news straight up.

This wasn’t a time for breaking things gently. To pussyfoot around would be both cruel and unhelpful.

But…oh, God. She felt as if she were plunging from the highest possible diving board into the tiniest thimble of safety.

She thought of Nick again—her gorgeous, talented rascal of a boy—and she knew she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she said, quietly but clearly, so there could be no mistake. ‘Nick’s kidneys are failing and he needs a transplant.’

It was almost dark but Freya didn’t miss Gus’s reaction. It was like watching a man in agony turn to stone.

Horrified, she began to shake and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of his distress. I’m sorry, Gus. I wouldn’t have done this to you if I’d had a choice. But I had no choice. I’m so, so sorry.

The awful silence seemed to stretch for ever. Somewhere overhead fruit bats screeched and chased each other, tattered black wings flapping noisily as they raced on their nightly raid of local gardens.

It was a full minute before Gus spoke and, when he did, his voice was dull and lifeless, dropping into the tropical night like a handful of pebbles thudding onto sand.

‘I guess you’re on the hunt for a donor. That’s why you need me.’

Freya tried to answer but when she opened her mouth a noisy sob broke from her. Blindly, she groped in her bag for her tissues.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she spluttered. ‘I know this is the worst possible way to find out.’

‘You’re not wrong.’ His tone was disturbingly unreadable.

She bit down on her bottom lip to stifle another sob. She couldn’t imagine how Gus felt, but she knew it would be beyond heartbreaking to be told one minute that he had an eleven-year-old son and then…Oh, by the way, we’re hoping you can give the boy your kidney.

Gus couldn’t help but be shocked and angry but, when he spoke, his tone was almost expressionless. ‘I assume you’re not a suitable donor.’

Freya shook her head. ‘Poppy and I both wanted to help, but we’re the wrong blood type.’ The breeze blowing across the water turned chilly and she shivered.

‘We’re both type B and Nick is O, so we knew that you must be O as well. Apparently, type B people can receive type O kidneys, but people who have O blood can only receive a kidney from another type O donor.’

Beside her, Gus was moving, lurching to his feet. In a heartbeat he’d shifted from the rock onto the grass. When Freya tried to follow, he held up his hands, warning her to stay put.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said stiffly. ‘I just need to…to get my head around this.’

‘Of course.’

He began to pace back and forth, jaw tight, hands thrust deep in his pockets, his dark hair lifted by the wind. Abruptly, he stopped pacing and stood glaring out to sea.

Freya opened her mouth to say something—anything that might serve as a peace offering—but she had no idea what to say. She knew Gus was battling a storm of emotions and he needed space. Head space. Emotional space.

She could only pray that, somewhere within that turmoil, he could find it in his heart to help Nick.

Suddenly, he whirled on her, his face pale, eyes wild, arms stiff by his sides, fists clenched.

‘Gus,’ she said hesitantly, ‘are you OK?’

Oh, God, what a stupid, stupid question.

His cold laugh mocked her. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ He prowled closer, his body taut as a hunter’s, his expression dark and menacing. ‘Of course I’m not OK. I’m mad, Freya. I’m mad with you. With Poppy. With a crazy universe that lets this happen to my kid. To anybody’s kid.’

She hadn’t moved from the rock but she realised now that she’d drawn her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, turning her body into a defensive ball.

She’d never seen Gus like this. ‘I don’t blame you for being mad with me.’

‘Hell. If this hadn’t happened, you’d never have told me about the boy, would you? You only made contact with me now as a last resort.’

What could Freya say? It was the awful truth. Things might have been different if Gus hadn’t been away in the depths of Africa for nine years…or if her own father hadn’t turned up, out of the blue, proving that family reunions could be disastrous…

‘Damn it, Freya, if you or Poppy had been able to help Nick, you’d have let me go my entire lifetime without ever knowing my son existed.’

She shook her head, but Gus had already spun away again. He’d had too many shocks at once and he was hurt, deeply hurt.

She wished she hadn’t had to do this to him. Wished she’d made wiser choices earlier. But, even if she had been braver, even if everything had turned out miraculously and she and Gus had been married and raised Nick in a perfect fairy tale family, she couldn’t have stopped Nick getting sick.

Gus still would have faced this challenge.

But of course he had every right to be angry. She half-expected him to grab a rock and hurl it into the sea.

Instead, he slammed a balled fist into his palm, then stood, hands on hips, breathing deeply, dragging in lungfuls of fresh sea air.

Watching him, Freya felt a band of pain encircle her heart, squeezing painfully. Her vision blurred.

She reached for the tissues again. She’d been tense for weeks and now she felt stretched to breaking point. She still didn’t know if Gus would help her.

Was she asking too much of him?

Poor man. He’d had such a lot to deal with—the death of his wife and the demands of Africa and, more recently, managing big remote area projects. And they were just the few things she knew about—heaven knew what else he had on his plate. And now, her news about Nick must have hit him like a bombshell exploding in his face.

She remembered how she’d felt a couple of months ago on the day the doctor had given her the bad news. Heartsick and desperate, she’d paced along the beach and she’d soon found that she couldn’t stop. She’d forgotten to take a hat but she didn’t care. She’d walked the entire length of Sugar Bay and then she’d climbed over the headland and onto the next bay and the bay after that.

She’d come home sunburnt and exhausted but she still hadn’t been able to sleep that night. Actually, she hadn’t slept properly since that day, and even when she had slept she’d either had nightmares about losing Nick or dreams in which Nick was cured and well, only to wake to cruel reality. She’d lived with gnawing fear as her constant companion.

Now, Gus was turning back to her once more, his expression grave yet purposeful. Freya wondered if this meant he’d reached a decision and nervous chills chased each other down her arms.

Her stomach bunched into terrified knots but she forced her facial muscles to relax. She didn’t want to let Gus see how frightened she was.

As he approached her, she scrambled stiffly to her feet and, to her surprise, he held out his hand to help her down from the rock.

Freya held her breath.

‘Relax, Freya. I’m more than willing to help Nick, if I can.’

A massive wave of relief washed over her.

She knew that at some point in the very near future she’d be ecstatic and dancing with gratitude, but right now she couldn’t manage words of more than one syllable. ‘Thanks.’

‘Hey, you’re shaking,’ Gus said.

He was still holding her hand and, for a moment, she thought he was going to put his arms around her. Her mind took a ridiculous leap, instantly imagining his embrace and her head cradled against his broad shoulder.

Oh, heavens, how she longed to be there, in the protective shelter of Gus Wilder’s arms, whispering her thanks while she drew strength and comfort from him. She could almost imagine the remembered scent of his skin mingled with the fragrance of the tropical night.

But of course Gus had no intention of hugging her. How silly to have even thought of it. She’d surrendered that privilege a very long time ago.

‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Your fingers are practically frozen.’ In a purely practical gesture, he rubbed her fingers between his warm palms and she loved it, even though she shouldn’t. ‘You should go inside, Freya. You’re dressed for summer.’

‘I didn’t think it ever got cold in Darwin.’

‘Sure it does. Every year there are at least three days when Darwinians have to put their jackets on.’

He’d almost cracked a joke. Surely that was a good sign.

Gus let her hand go and they walked side by side across the grass to the well-lit concrete path that led back to the hotel.

‘So,’ he said briskly, ‘I guess you’d better tell me what you know about Nick’s condition. I’d like to be fully in the picture.’

He deserved no less, and she’d almost learned to talk about Nick’s illness dispassionately, the way the doctors did, hiding the personal terror that lurked behind every word.

‘It started with a bad case of stomach flu. Vomiting and a high fever. I realised Nick was getting dehydrated, so I took him to the doctor, to our local GP. He took one look at him and rushed him to hospital, to emergency.’

She couldn’t help shuddering, reliving the horror. ‘Nick seemed to make a good recovery from that, but there were follow-up blood tests, and that’s when possible problems showed up.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘So we were sent to Brisbane then, to see a specialist, and they discovered that Nick had a disease called global glomerulosclerosis.’

‘That’s a mouthful.’

‘Yes. I’m afraid I’ve had plenty of practice at saying it. Nick calls it his global warning.’

‘What a champ.’ Gus’s smile was tinged with sadness. ‘It takes courage to make a joke about something so personally threatening.’

‘He’s been incredibly brave.’ Freya blinked back tears. ‘I’ve been a mess. So scared. I used to burst into tears without warning. Day and night. But then I saw how strong Nick was and I realised I had to toughen up for his sake.’

Gus remembered young mothers in Africa, broken-hearted, watching their children grow weaker while they covered their fear behind a mask of stoicism. He hated to think of Freya bearing the same kind of pain for her son—their son.

‘Basically,’ Freya continued, ‘this disease means that Nick’s kidneys are filling up with scar tissue. Eventually it leads to complete kidney failure.’

She stopped walking. They were almost back at the hotel and the carefree sounds of laughter and music from a jukebox spilled into the night.

‘He’s been on medication for the past couple of months,’ she said. ‘And it’s working really well. He feels fine but, unfortunately, the medication will only work for a limited time.’ She looked up and met Gus’s stern gaze. ‘That’s why he needs a transplant.’

‘Poor kid.’ Gus’s throat worked furiously. ‘Does he understand?’

Freya nodded and, despite her tension, she smiled. ‘On the surface, he doesn’t seem too worried. He feels fine and he doesn’t need dialysis. That’s a huge plus. The drugs have allowed him to carry on as usual. He can still swim and play sport, take his dog for a run.’

‘He has a dog?’

‘Yes. An ugly little mix of terrier and heaven knows what from the Animal Shelter. Nick adores him. Calls him Urchin. They share every spare minute Nick isn’t at school. They’re the best of mates.’

Gus’s eyes took on a misty faraway look and Freya was almost certain that he was picturing the boy and the dog, running on the beach at Sugar Bay. The fond warmth in his eyes made her throat ache.

Next moment, Gus blinked and the soft light was gone. His expression was sober again. ‘So he understands about needing a transplant?’

‘Yes.’ She gave an imitation of Nick’s typical shrug. ‘But he doesn’t dwell on it.’

‘The benefits of being young, I guess.’ Gus dropped his gaze and sighed.

‘We don’t talk about the alternative,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve promised him I’ll find a donor.’

‘Have you tried elsewhere?’

Freya looked away. ‘We’re on a waiting list, but the doctor said that you were our best chance, Gus.’

He nodded grimly. ‘And the time frame?’

‘The sooner he has the transplant, the better.’

‘Let’s hope I can help then.’

‘It would be—’ Freya’s mouth trembled. She wanted to shower Gus with gratitude. This was such a huge thing he was offering—to submit to an operation, to hand over a vital organ.

But her instincts told her that he wouldn’t welcome such effusiveness from her. He was still shocked and angry. Just the same, she had to say something. ‘I…I’m so sorry to land this on you. I know it’s a terrible shock and a huge imposition, and I—’

He held up a hand, silencing her. ‘It’s not an imposition.’ Harsh anger simmered beneath the quiet surface of his voice. ‘I’m the boy’s father.’

Chastened, Freya nodded. Gus’s reaction was just as she’d expected. He was prepared to help his son, and that was the best she could hope for. It would be too much to expect him to forgive her secrecy.

‘You never know,’ Gus said less harshly. ‘This might be Nick’s lucky day.’

To her surprise, he smiled. Admittedly, it was a crooked, rather sad smile, but it encouraged an answering smile from her. ‘I certainly hope so.’

‘But it’s not just a matter of matching blood types, is it?’

‘Blood type is the major hurdle, but there are other tests they need to do. I know there’s a chest X-ray, but I’m not totally sure about everything else. I was ruled unsuitable before I got past first base.’

It was then Freya realised that she’d been so stressed and worried about Nick that she hadn’t actually planned anything for this meeting beyond asking Gus for his help. Now, she wondered if she should ask him to join her for dinner. ‘Are you staying in this hotel?’

‘Yes.’

Unexpected heat flamed in her cheeks. ‘Do you have plans for this evening?’

‘Nothing special beyond meeting you.’

‘I wasn’t sure…if you’d…like to have dinner.’

Looking mildly surprised, he said dryly, ‘I certainly need to eat.’

Had he deliberately missed her point? Freya felt confused but she also felt compelled to hold out an olive branch. She was so enormously indebted to him, and so very much in the wrong.

Running her tongue over parched lips, she tried again. ‘Please, let me take you to dinner. After all, it’s the least I can do.’

His wary eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she held her breath, knowing she would enjoy dining with him very much. There was so much to talk about, and they could possibly begin to build bridges.

‘Thank you, but not tonight,’ Gus said quietly and he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his door key, checking its number. ‘I’m in Room 607,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could ring me in the morning to give me the doctors’ contact details.’

‘Yes, sure.’

‘For now I’ll say goodnight, then.’

Freya swallowed her disappointment. ‘Goodnight, Gus.’

Just like that, their meeting was over. No peck on the cheek. Not even a handshake. Clearly, no bridges would be built tonight.

Maybe never.

With a polite nod, Gus turned and, without hurrying, he moved decisively and with a distinct sense of purpose, away from her, up the stairs and into the hotel.