Miriam Macgregor - A Most Determined Bachelor

“Do you think this man will follow you to Napier?” “Do you think this man will follow you to Napier?” “I hope not. I don’t want to see him again—ever.” The last word was spat with vehemence. Ryan regarded her with concern. “In that case, you’ll have to take care you’re not caught on the rebound,” he warned. “If a handsome stranger comes along and is particularly nice to you—you might fall flat at his feet Metaphorically speaking, of course,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s most unlikely,” she retorted coldly. “Just as you appear to be allergic to women, I’m in a similar frame of mind concerning men. At the moment I look upon them as being anything but trustworthy.” “Thank you very much,” he growled. “Not even present company excepted, I notice.” Judy decided to be frank. “I just feared you might be referring to yourself as the handsome stranger,” she said, while giving a light laugh to soften her words. About the Author Miriam Macgregor has written eight books of historical nonfiction, but turned to romance in 1980. Many years on a sheep and cattle farm in New Zealand gave her an insight into rural life. She lived on the coast at Westshore, a suburb of Napier, where her desk overlooked Hawke Bay, a corner of the South Pacific Ocean. She has recently swapped the Pacific Ocean for the Atlantic and emigrated to Middlesex, England. She enjoys painting in oils, watercolors and pastels, and does her own housework and gardening while planning her romantic novels. Title Page A Most Determined Bachelor Miriam Macgregor www.millsandboon.co.uk CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

“Do you think this man will follow you to Napier?”

“I hope not. I don’t want to see him again—ever.” The last word was spat with vehemence.

Ryan regarded her with concern. “In that case, you’ll have to take care you’re not caught on the rebound,” he warned. “If a handsome stranger comes along and is particularly nice to you—you might fall flat at his feet Metaphorically speaking, of course,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

“That’s most unlikely,” she retorted coldly. “Just as you appear to be allergic to women, I’m in a similar frame of mind concerning men. At the moment I look upon them as being anything but trustworthy.”

“Thank you very much,” he growled. “Not even present company excepted, I notice.”

Judy decided to be frank. “I just feared you might be referring to yourself as the handsome stranger,” she said, while giving a light laugh to soften her words.

Miriam Macgregor has written eight books of historical nonfiction, but turned to romance in 1980. Many years on a sheep and cattle farm in New Zealand gave her an insight into rural life. She lived on the coast at Westshore, a suburb of Napier, where her desk overlooked Hawke Bay, a corner of the South Pacific Ocean. She has recently swapped the Pacific Ocean for the Atlantic and emigrated to Middlesex, England. She enjoys painting in oils, watercolors and pastels, and does her own housework and gardening while planning her romantic novels.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE small boy tugged at Judy’s sleeve. ‘Isn’t Uncle Ryan here to meet us?’ he queried anxiously.

Judith Arledge’s blue eyes scanned the crowd in the small New Zealand airport. A buzz of happy chatter vibrated on the air as people greeted friends or relatives who had recently disembarked from the plane that had just touched down at Napier. It was nice to be welcomed with enthusiasm, she thought wistfully, then wondered about the man who was supposed to be meeting herself and Robin.

Where was Ryan Ellison?

‘We’d better sit down and wait,’ she said with a hint of resignation, then took Robin’s hand and led him towards two empty seats.

‘Where is Uncle Ryan?’ the boy demanded fretfully.

Judy gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Perhaps he’s been held up. No doubt he’ll be along soon.’ This, she hoped, would prove to be a fact, otherwise she didn’t know what to do or where to go.

Searching in her mind for comfort, she recalled the words of Robin’s grandmother. ‘Ryan will definitely be there to meet you,’ Hilda Simmons had promised, when making arrangements with Judy to take the little boy from Christchurch, in the South Island, to Napier, in the North Island.

But—how shall I recognise him?’ Judy had queried doubtfully. She was not at all happy with the task that had been presented to her, and not for the first time wondered how she’d been catapulted into accepting it. But at least it would give her a short period away from Christchurch, which was something she felt herself to be in dire need of.

Hilda Simmons had been anything but vague. A faint snort had escaped her as she’d said, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll spot him at once. Ryan Ellison will stride into that airport as though he owns the place. Every woman will turn to look at him. I can tell you he’s a man who stands out in a crowd I suppose it’s his success that gives him such an air of confidence.’

‘But—what does he look like?’ Judy had persisted.

‘Tall—broad-shouldered—dark auburn hair. But you needn’t be concerned about him recognising you.’ The older woman had cast a dismissive glance over Judy’s blonde wavy hair. ‘It’s Robin he’ll be searching for. My Verna’s son—you understand?’

Robin’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Judy-is Uncle Ryan my real uncle, or just a pretend uncle like Uncle Alan?’

Judy shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘You can forget Uncle Alan,’ she told him firmly. ‘You’ll not be seeing him again.’

‘Why?’ Hazel eyes regarded her with surprise.

‘Because I’ll not be seeing him again, either,’ she said through compressed lips.

‘Why?’ The boy’s eyes widened.

She tried to remain calm. ‘Because he’s not to be trusted, so please don’t mention his name again—ever. As for Uncle Ryan—I’m not sure where he fits in.’ She realised the boy knew little about his relatives, and that for some reason his mother and grandmother forced him to lead a sheltered life. It made her speak guardedly while turning to brush back his fringe of dark brown hair, that held hints of red when the sun shone on it. ‘It’s possible that Uncle is just a courtesy title,’ she added.

‘What’s courtesy?’

‘It means being polite,’ she explained patiently. Then, regarding the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks, she went on, ‘As you are only six, and he’s a mature man, it’s more polite for you to call him Uncle.’

‘Are you mature, Judy?’

She smiled ruefully. ‘At twenty-three I should be, although I’m now beginning to wonder about it.’ How could a mature person be taken in by a man as disloyal as Alan Draper? she pondered. She should have seen through him from the beginning.

Robin swept away her bitter thoughts. ‘Shall I be going to school in Napier?’

‘No, dear. It’s July. The schools are still closed for the winter holidays. Your grandmother says you’ve been rather bronchial lately, and as Napier is a warmer place than Christchurch she thought it would be wise to get you away from the cold South Island winds. That’s why she rang Uncle Ryan about spending some time with him.’

‘What’s bronchial?’

She simplified the answer. ‘Chest colds that make you cough a lot Have you been like that?’