Melissa James - Her Galahad

“A whole month, wasn’t it, before you married again—out of respect for my memory? Nice grief, Tessa.”

She blanched. “If I’d known you were alive—”

“What? You wouldn’t have committed bigamy?” At her gasp, he continued. “That’s right, princess—little Miss High Society is a bigamist. Surely with a daddy, brother and husband as barristers, one of them checked out the facts for you before you walked down the aisle for the second time in just over a month?”

“I didn’t know you were alive!” Tessa’s cry throbbed. “They gave me a death certificate! They had a memorial service for you!”

She still sounded stunned. As if she hadn’t known where he’d been all those years. As if she hadn’t betrayed him for wealth, success and a handsome face.

Maybe she hadn’t?

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is a mother of three living in a beach suburb in county New South Wales. A former nurse, waitress, store assistant, perfume and chocolate (yum!) demonstrator among other things, she believes in taking on new jobs for the fun experience. She’ll try almost anything at least once to see what it feels like—a fact that scares her family on regular occasions. She fell into writing by accident when her husband brought home an article stating how much a famous romance author earned, and she thought, “I can do that!” Years later, she found her niche at Intimate Moments. Currently writing a pilot/spy series set in the South Pacific, she can be found most mornings walking and swimming at her local beach with her husband, or every afternoon running around to her kids’ sporting hobbies, while dreaming of flying, scuba diving, climbing down a cave or over a cliff—anywhere her characters are at the time!

For my mum,

who always said that this book would be the one.

And for Jaime, for her contribution.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Lynch Hill Primary School

Outback New South Wales

It happened again.

The quiet whisper of chilling menace limped up her spine and entered her flesh with pinprick accuracy, congealing her blood to ice. This primitive instinct, like a savage voodoo curse, always came when she had to run. Run for her life.

The depth of terror that came alive when Cameron was close.

A furtive search of the school grounds, the lane and the road beyond revealed trees, grass, the half-tarred road, softly lowing cows meandering around the paddock opposite the tiny Outback school. A tranquil country scene, nothing to fear.

But she wasn’t paranoid. The pulsing beat of urgency inside her—the need to bolt—never failed. Cameron was here in Lynch Hill, using his cultured angel’s face, the smooth persuasion of his TV evangelist’s voice, the aura of wealth and success to get the information he wanted.

Have you seen this woman?

Like a nightmare in automatic rewind, she could almost smell his spicy lime-coconut scent lingering in the air: the subtle benediction of fear. I’m here, Theresa.

“How’d I do, Miss Honeycutt?”

Tessa started, clicked the stopwatch and walked to the boy panting by the ragged finish line at the end of the playground. “Fifty-nine point five-eight, Matt—a brilliant four hundred! You’ll blitz Sam Iliah at the Country Carnival. Any scout coming from the Australian Institute of Sport is bound to spot you.”

“Awesome!” Matt lifted his hand; they slapped a high-five.

A two-ton utility truck drove into the grounds of the school. The rushing breeze in its wake caused golden-ochre leaves to drift down from the trees lining the road, warming the cloudless autumn day with hues of fire. The horn beeped. “Matty!”

Relax, Tessa. Breathe. It’s not Cameron.

“Hi, Dad!” Matt jumped the fence, raced to his father’s truck and hopped in. He hung halfway out the window to yell, “Thanks, Miss Honeycutt. You’re the best teacher we ever had!”

Moments like this made all the hours she put in after school with the kids worthwhile. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t be here to see Matt win his race, or to help Amy blossom into a great outback artist, or enjoy little Tani and Jarred’s smiles of wonder at kinder gym again. Her darling kids would have to travel twenty miles each way to school every day. “Have a great holiday.”

Matt’s father waved and drove away.

In the sudden hush of the truck’s departure, it returned. The slow, prickling sensation rose above her spine, making all the hairs on her neck lift.

It was real. It was now. Without turning her head, she searched her peripheral vision with swift glances—

And she saw him: the silent menace. A man hiding deep within the shadow of a thick belt of windbreak trees across the road. Anonymous clothes. Dark hat. Faceless, motionless, silent.

Oh, God. One of Cameron’s goons had found her.

Her stomach churned. Her heart pounded. Sweat broke out on her face. Every instinct screamed at her to run—

Act like you never saw him.

She strolled across the field to the whitewashed building that was Lynch Hill Primary School. She locked the door, slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the lane. She opened the old wooden gate, flicking a quick look from beneath her lashes.

He was still there, a silent shadow in the deep green darkness. And somehow she knew he’d been there before. Just watching her. Waiting.

Whistling a little tune, she ambled down the lane to the main road. She turned left toward the doubtful safety of her boardinghouse, heart slamming against her ribs and sweat trickling in the valley between her breasts. Get to the car, to the car….

Pretending to tie her shoe, she shot a glance back. He was still there, unnerving her with his dark sense of quiet. Almost invisible. A ghost of the pines.

The taste and scent of fear filled her mouth.

She straightened and continued down the road away from him, kicking at rocks and fallen leaves, making a hopping step once or twice. A country teacher celebrating the Easter break.

A soft, oh, so soft crunching of pine needles behind her. She spun around. He was coming out of the shadows into the sun.

Tessa braced herself to run—

But her silent watcher turned in the opposite direction, walking without hurry to an old red one-ton pickup truck.

Even from his back view, she could feel the heat emanating from him, the sense of power and strength held deep inside. So much purpose in every movement. Hints of simmering fury kept under tight leash. Hidden danger radiated from him like an aura: a raw, earthy male.

Fascinated, she kept watching as he half turned for a moment. Five-eleven, maybe six feet. Broad shouldered, strong build. A taut backside encased in well-worn Levi’s. Scuffed boots long past their quality prime. A dented Akubra hat kept his face in shadow. Loose dark curls touched the collar of his form-fitting shirt. Such beautifully muscled light coffee skin, he almost appeared a statue: an ancient messenger of Zeus. Obviously a physical man. So perfect of form…