Barbara Hannay - A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle - A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle

‘I hope you’ve washed your hands.’

‘Washed them at the sink just now.’

‘Would you like tomato with this?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Cheese is fine.’ He added an extra slice, then fetched a plate for his sandwich.

They looked so at home, Gus thought. This routine was so familiar to them, and his outsider status washed over him like a physical pain.

As if sensing how he felt, Freya said, ‘What about you, Gus? Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?’

He smiled. ‘No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.’

Leaning against the counter, plate in hand, Nick munched on his snack. He was still wearing his football gear and Gus saw green smears where he’d landed heavily on the grass, and there was a graze on his knee.

How the hell can this kid be sick? Gus thought. He looks so normal.

It seemed so wrong. So cruel.

‘So has Mum told you all about my global warning?’ the boy asked suddenly, smiling between mouthfuls.

Gus’s stomach took a dive. ‘Yes, it’s rotten luck, but I’m hoping we can turn that around.’

Freya, in the middle of retrieving coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard, appeared to freeze.

‘Awesome,’ said Nick. ‘So do you have O blood, the same as me?’

‘I do.’

‘But Gus still has to have more tests before we can be absolutely sure he’s a perfect match,’ Freya countered.

Nick nodded and looked thoughtful as he chewed again on his sandwich, while the kitchen filled with the smell of coffee.

Across the silence, Gus met Freya’s gaze. She sent him a wobbly smile.

‘If you could help to carry these things, we can make ourselves comfortable,’ she said.

‘Sure.’ Immediately he snapped into action, and they carried the pot and mugs, a milk jug and a plate of pecan cookies to a low coffee table set amidst comfortably grouped squishy armchairs upholstered in cream linen.

‘You want me to hang around?’ Nick asked.

Freya’s throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Yes, honey, of course. We need to talk to you.’

He came and perched on the arm of one of the chairs, sports drink in one hand, plate with the remains of his sandwich in the other, and he frowned as he watched his mother pour coffee. ‘So did you guys know each other before? When Gus used to live here?’

‘Yes.’ Freya’s voice was a shade too tight.

Nick stared at her and his face sobered. He slid a quick look to Gus, then another glance back to his mother. ‘You’re not going to tell me anything really crazy, are you? Like Gus is my father or something?’

FREYA almost dropped the coffee pot. It clattered onto the table and Gus was instantly attentive.

‘Did you burn yourself?’

She shook her head. She was too mortified by Nick’s question to worry about the stinging patch of skin on the inside of her wrist. She wished she could think more clearly, wished she could find the right words so that everything made instant sense to Nick. And she wanted to defend Gus.

When she opened her mouth, nothing emerged.

She looked helplessly at Nick, who was watching her and Gus with his lips tightly compressed and a look of anguish in his eyes, as if he wished he could bite back his words.

I have to answer him.

But, as she struggled to find the words, she heard Gus’s voice above the fierce hammering of her heartbeats.

‘That’s exactly right, Nick.’ Gus spoke quietly, calmly. ‘I’ve come here because I’m your father and I’m the best person to help you. I want to help you.’

There…

It was out.

Thank you, Gus. Freya felt relief, but a sense of failure too. She should have been ready for this. She knew exactly what her son was like, knew he was smart and perceptive.

When at last she found her voice, she hurried to make amends for her silence. ‘Gus really wants to help you, darling. We know there could be other donors, but Gus is your best chance for a really good match.’

A bright red tide was creeping up Nick’s neck and into his cheeks. His eyes shimmered with tears.

The sight of his tears tore at Freya’s heart. She felt lost. Totally thrown.

Slowly, her son slid from the arm of the chair and he set his plate and drink down on the coffee table.

‘Thanks,’ he said shakily, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. ‘That’s great.’ Then he shot a nervous glance to Freya. ‘If it’s OK, I’m going to get changed and take a shower.’

This was so not what she’d expected, so out of character. Nick hardly ever volunteered to have a shower. Freya usually had to shove him into the bathroom. Now, she felt compelled to let him go.

The adults watched in uncomfortable silence as the boy walked from the room, sports shoes squeaking on the polished floors. Neither of them spoke nor moved until they heard Nick’s bedroom door close down the hallway.

Freya let out a soft groan. ‘That went well.’ She felt terrible for Gus. What must he be thinking? Of her? Of their son? ‘I’m sorry, Gus. That wasn’t quite the reception I imagined.’

‘Do you want to go and speak to him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, feeling dazed. ‘I’m not sure it would help. I…I’ll try.’ Her legs felt as weak as limp rope when she stood. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

She went down the hall and knocked on Nick’s door. ‘Nick?’

‘I’m getting undressed.’

‘Do you want to talk?’

She heard the thump of his shoes hitting the floor. ‘Later.’

‘Don’t be long,’ she called.

When she went back into the living room, Gus gave an easy non-judgemental shrug.

‘The boy’s had a shock.’

‘But you’ve come all this way to meet him.’

To her surprise, Gus didn’t seem angry.

‘All in good time,’ he said smoothly. ‘Nick needs a chance to get his head around everything.’

Gus would know what Nick was going through, of course. He’d had a similar shock less than twenty-four hours ago.

As Freya picked up the coffee pot again, she gave him a grateful smile. ‘So…would you still like a cuppa?’

He was staring at her arm, frowning. ‘You did burn yourself.’

She’d been trying to ignore the stinging, but now she looked down and saw the angry red welt on the pale skin of her inner wrist.

‘You need to get something on that,’ he said. ‘Do you have burn cream?’

‘Oh—I have some of Poppy’s aloe vera growing in a pot. That’ll fix it.’

Frowning, Gus rose and followed her into the kitchen, watching as she snapped off a piece of succulent herb growing on the windowsill.

‘Here, let me,’ he said, taking the aloe vera from her. ‘That will be hard to manage one handed.’

Before Freya could protest, he was holding her arm, gently, ever so kindly. He squeezed the plant to break up the juicy fibres and began very gently to rub it over her reddened skin.

His touch sent an electric shiver trembling through Freya. She was remembering a time when they were young, when she’d had a coral cut on her ankle, and Gus had been so caring—just like this—washing the cut clean and making sure she got antiseptic straight onto it.

OK, so he’s a caring guy. I know that. It’s why he’s here. It’s why he’s been working in Africa for all these years. That’s no excuse for swooning.

‘Thanks,’ she said extra brightly when he was done. ‘That’s feeling better already. Now, about that coffee—’

Gus was still holding her arm. She was still flashing hot and cold. And when she looked into his eyes, she saw a look she remembered from all those years ago.

An ache blossomed inside her, treacherous and sweet, and she almost fell into his arms.