Alison Fraser - Love Without Reason

Love Without Reason

Alison Fraser

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

‘IS IT mine?’ were his very first words, when they met outside the village store.

Riona stood a moment, caught by memories. It had been over a year and she’d never expected to see him again. She wasn’t ready for this.

She murmured a faint ‘What?’ in response.

‘The baby you’ve had—is it mine?’ he repeated coolly.

No ‘It’s good to see you!’ No ‘How are you?’ Just straight to the point for Cameron Adams.

‘No, it isn’t.’ She gave him the answer he wanted.

It was a surprise that he even bothered adding, ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded.

They stood a moment longer, looking at each other, remembering...

Then Riona turned to walk away.

He blocked her path.

‘In that case—’ his lips formed a contemptuous curve ‘—I guess Fergus Ross is the lucky man.’

‘You can guess what you like,’ Riona threw back, and pushed past him.

He let her go and she hurried up the road, turning a couple of times to check he wasn’t following. He remained outside the shop, watching her retreat. He probably thought she was running away from him—and he was right.

She was out of breath when she reached Dr Macnab’s house. She rang the bell with some urgency.

‘He’s back, Doctor,’ she gasped as the door opened. ‘I just met him. At the store. He’s heard about Rory. I have to go—’

‘Now, calm down, lass,’ Dr Macnab advised, leading her inside. ‘You mean Cameron Adams?’

She nodded, before going to pick up the baby lying on the living-room carpet. He gave her a beautiful toothless smile.

‘Cameron knows about the lad here.’ Dr Macnab was clearly less distressed by the fact. ‘Then he must have come to help you. I was certain he would. If only you’d let me write him—’

‘No, Doctor.’ Riona shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he’s come, but it’s not to help. More likely he’s scared I’ll bring a paternity suit against him.’

‘Ah, Riona, lass.’ The old doctor sighed at her cynicism. ‘I can’t think that’s so. He took advantage of you, it’s true, but he’s not a bad man. Now he knows he’s fathered Rory—’

‘Actually, he doesn’t,’ Riona stated, before the doctor’s optimism could carry him away.

‘But you said...’ Hamish Macnab tried to remember exactly what she had said.

‘Someone told him I’d had a baby,’ Riona explained. ‘He wanted to know if it was his. I said it wasn’t.’

‘ What? ’ The old man was plainly shocked.

‘I just told him what he wanted to hear, Doctor,’ Riona justified her actions. ‘You won’t tell him differently, will you?’

‘I can’t. You know that.’ As her doctor, he couldn’t break a confidence, even if he wished to. ‘But, lass, you can’t hope to get away with it. He just has to see Rory...’

Riona frowned at this mention of the likeness between baby and father. She adored her son, but that was how she thought of him— her son, and nobody else’s.

‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t.’ Her jaw set with determination as she dressed the baby in his outdoor clothes and went to put him in the carrier she used.

Dr Macnab stopped her, saying, ‘Come away, lass, I’ll give you a lift.’

She accepted the offer. It was quite a walk back to her crofthouse and she didn’t want to risk a second meeting with Cameron Adams.

Unfortunately the doctor used the car journey to try and persuade her to tell the truth to the American. She listened politely and, on parting, agreed to think about it, knowing full well she wouldn’t. A year ago Cameron Adams had returned to Boston without a word or a backward glance. He’d left her with a breaking heart and a baby on the way. In time her heart had hardened and life now centred on her son; they needed no help from his father.

She carried young Rory into the crofthouse and sat him in a bouncing cradle close to the old-fashioned range. When they weren’t out on the hills, they inhabited the kitchen, because it was the warmest room.

Rory had actually been born in the house. He’d arrived a few weeks early, allowing no time to travel to hospital in Inverness, and Dr Macnab had delivered him in the bedroom upstairs. He had been a healthy eight pounds, the birth had been relatively easy, and love for her son had flowed through her from the moment he’d been placed in her arms. Giving him up would have been impossible.

Yet keeping him sometimes seemed an act of selfishness. She looked round her shabby kitchen, furnished with an ill-assorted collection of sideboards and tables from her granny’s day. Some work had recently been done by the estate to try and eradicate damp in the walls and warm up the cold stone floor with linoleum, but it was still a shabby place. It made her realise how little she had to offer Rory. She didn’t even own the small, cheerless house, and she barely eked a living from working the croft. She carried Rory with her when she herded the sheep, and, despite the doctor’s assurances, she worried that the fresh air was too bracing for a five-month-old baby.

It wasn’t just the practical difficulties, either. For herself, she could put up with the gossip and the disapproving looks, but what would happen when the boy was older? The peninsula of Invergair might cover a wide area, but its society was narrow. An illegitimate baby was still a talking-point, especially when the father’s identity was uncertain, and in time Rory would be the one to suffer. She had considered leaving the West Coast for Edinburgh, but she would have to find a place to stay and a job to do, and there wasn’t much call for crofters in the city. So she stayed in Invergair, living the life of a virtual recluse.

Of course she couldn’t do that forever, couldn’t keep her son hidden away from curious eyes. She just hoped that, given time, the likeness to his father would fade enough to pass unnoticed.

It seemed a vain hope, however, as she cradled her son in her arms. He had a shock of black hair, dark blue eyes and the hint of a dimple in his chin. All babies were born with blue eyes, she’d been told, but his would stay blue. She knew this because her son was a tiny replica of his father.

Cameron Adams. The thought of their meeting today sent a chill through her. His directness had always been disconcerting. Now it seemed brutal. She supposed he’d been angry about the baby; he’d done his best to ensure there would be no consequences from their brief affair. Even as he’d talked of a future together, he’d known all along it would never be.

Riona’s mind slipped back once more to last summer. It had mainly been a good summer, warm and dry and sunny, but not on the June day they’d met. Then it had been raining. She’d been returning from her weekly trip to Inverness and had caught the bus that went as far as Achnagair. She had started walking home the six more miles to Invergair, hoping for a lift from a local, when a car slid to a halt beside her. It was a posh car, a sleek black BMW. An electric window rolled down and the driver leaned over the passenger-seat to speak to her. She stood a cautious step or two from the door.

‘Hey, kid, am I on the right road for Invergair?’ the driver called to her.

She nodded in response, but didn’t volunteer more.