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

He let her wrist go and said, ‘I’d love a coffee.’

Just like that, the moment was gone and, as Freya crashed back to earth, she wondered if she’d imagined that look.

She went back to the coffee table, filled their mugs and handed one to Gus.

He sat down and took a sip and made an appreciative noise. ‘I remember now. You make very good coffee.’

She smiled faintly and sat very still, holding her coffee mug without tasting it, thinking about Nick, and Gus and…the repercussions of the decision she’d made all those years ago.

From down the hallway came the sound of a shower turning on. Freya and Gus exchanged cautious glances.

‘I’d always planned to warn him, to get him ready before he met you,’ she said defensively. ‘But you insisted on meeting him today.’

Gus sent her a strange look and took another sip of coffee. ‘You said Nick had a bad experience when he met your father.’

‘Yes. I think it’s safe to say he was quite disillusioned.’

‘Do you mind telling me what happened?’

She let out a slow huff. ‘Well…my father turned up here a few weeks before Christmas. He sailed into the Bay in a pretty little yacht called Poppy. ’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You can picture it, can’t you? All smart white paint and lovely tanned sails.’

‘Like a romantic fantasy,’ Gus suggested.

‘Exactly.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Sean Hickey.’ Freya drank some of her coffee, then settled back in her chair, as if getting ready to tell a long story. ‘He certainly looked the part, all lean and sunburned, with a weather-beaten sailor’s tan. Quite handsome, actually, in a wicked, boyish way. White curly hair and bright blue eyes— and a charming Irish lilt to his voice.’

‘How did Poppy react to seeing him?’

‘Oh, she welcomed him with open arms, and she seemed to grow ten years younger overnight. Nick adored him, of course. I mean, he had another male in his family for starters.’

As she said this, she felt a stab from her guilty conscience. She’d always felt bad about denying her son a male role model. ‘Nick was seven at the time, and he was over the moon. Sean was the ideal grandfather—lively and friendly and full of fun, and very interested in his grandson.’

Gus regarded her steadily. ‘And you?’

‘Oh, I was beyond excited too. I had a father, at last.’ She avoided Gus’s eyes as she said this and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. She stumbled on, hoping to make amends. ‘Admittedly, Sean wasn’t quite the way I’d pictured my father.’

‘I seem to remember,’ said Gus dryly, ‘that you had a list of famous Australians who might have been your father.’

The heat in Freya’s face deepened. Gus hadn’t forgotten. She, however, had conveniently pushed that memory underground, hadn’t let herself think that Nick might feel equally deprived. Or worse.

‘Well, Sean wasn’t a film star,’ she said tightly. ‘He was more like a charming pixie, but he lavished praise on my paintings and I lapped it up. He even told me about an artistic grandmother who still lives in County Cork in Ireland.’

Gus smiled. ‘So that’s where your talent comes from.’

‘I’m not sure any more.’ Freya shrugged. ‘Anyway, he taught Nick how to sail, and he took the three of us out in Poppy , and we sailed to the islands and had lovely picnics. He even painted Poppy’s house for her.’ This was said with an accompanying eye roll. ‘Do you remember how Mum’s cottage used to look?’

‘Of course. It was fabulous. The only house right on the edge of the sand. And painted every colour of the rainbow. It was a talking point in Sugar Bay.’

‘Yes, well…wait till you see it now.’

‘Why? What did Sean do to it?’

‘Painted it white.’

‘The whole house?’

She nodded. ‘Spanking white with neat aqua blue trims. Spotless and tidy, just like his boat.’

‘My God. Spotless and tidy are two words I’d never associate with Poppy. Did she hate it?’

Freya gave another shrug. ‘She pretended to love it. She was smitten at the time, though, so her judgement was clouded.’

‘But I take it your dad eventually blotted his copybook?’

‘Oh, yes. Big time. A week before Christmas he totally blackened his name. He and his little yacht just disappeared into the wide blue yonder.’ Freya paused significantly. ‘Along with Poppy’s savings.’

It was gratifying to watch Gus’s jaw drop.

‘How did he manage that?’

‘Oh, you know Poppy. Didn’t trust banks, and didn’t worry much about money. What little she did accumulate she kept at home in a ginger jar.’ Freya sighed. ‘It was the gloomiest, most depressing Christmas ever. We tried to be cheerful for poor Nick’s sake, but we weren’t very good at it, I’m afraid.’ Leaning forward, she put her coffee mug back on the table. ‘I found out later from one of the local fishermen that Sean had moved on, up to Gladstone. He’d changed the name of his yacht to Caroline , and he was living with a new woman, a widow named Mrs Keane. Caroline Keane, of course. And he showed no sign of an Irish accent.’

‘So he was a con artist.’

‘Through and through. And Poppy admitted later that he’d always had a gambling addiction. She’d known that, and she still wasn’t careful.’

Gus let out his breath in a whoosh, then rose and paced to the big picture window and stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips as he looked out to sea. ‘I see why fathers have a bad name around here.’

Freya stood too and followed him across the room. ‘I know you’re nothing like Sean, Gus. In fact, you’re the opposite. You’ve come here to give, not to take.’

‘That’s certainly the plan.’ He didn’t turn from the window. Outside, it was almost dusk and the sea and the sky had turned a deep pearlescent grey.

‘I know Nick liked you, straight off,’ Freya said. ‘Actually, I’m sure he wants to get to know you. He’s just—’

‘Scared.’

‘Yes.’ We’re both scared.

Trouble was, though Gus might not be a con man, he still had his own special brand of dangerous charm. If he entered their lives, even for a short time, and then left again, as he must, he would almost certainly leave a huge raw-edged hole.

Gus turned from the window. ‘I guess I should head off now. You need to talk to Nick, and I need to book into the hotel.’

‘You’re welcome to stay here.’ Freya had no idea she was going to say that. She was pretty sure Gus wanted to stay in the hotel, to keep an emotional distance, but the invitation had tumbled out spontaneously and she couldn’t take it back without looking foolish. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

To her surprise, his lip curled in a faintly amused smile. ‘Don’t you think you should consult Nick before making such rash offers? He hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, has he?’

‘But you’re doing a wonderful thing for us, Gus, and we’re in your debt. What if I go and talk to him? He’s sure to have calmed down by now.’

‘Not now, Freya.’ Gus wasn’t smiling any more. He was deadly serious. ‘It will be better for all of us if I stay at the hotel.’

It was ridiculous to feel disappointed. Freya was dredging up a smile when Gus surprised her by reaching for her arm.

‘Before I go, let me see that burn. I’m not sure you should trust Poppy’s home-grown remedies.’

‘Oh, it’s fine.’ It was true. The burn no longer stung and, when she looked at her arm, the aloe vera was already working. The angry redness was fading.

Gus’s fingers, however, encircled her wrist and, in spite of her beach girl’s tan, they looked very dark and strong against her skin. His other hand touched her wrist gently, unbelievably gently. So gently he was killing her.