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

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.’