A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle: A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle. Barbara Hannay
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again, she sent a text message to Nick reassuring him that she would be home by tomorrow night. She sent her love but she didn’t mention the F word.
Father.
When she’d flown to Darwin, she’d merely told Nick she was meeting a ‘potential donor.’ At this point, she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle the next huge step of telling Nick about Gus Wilder.
If only there was a way to tell him gently without the inevitable excitement and unrealistic hope. She knew from bitter experience that meetings with fathers could be hazardous.
Freya was brisk and businesslike next morning when she phoned Gus. ‘I have the doctors’ phone numbers and addresses ready for you.’
‘Thank you.’ He sounded equally businesslike. ‘Why don’t we meet in the hotel’s coffee bar?’
‘I’ll see you there in five.’
She’d tidied her room in case Gus planned to drop by, but the coffee bar was a sensible alternative—neutral ground, in line with his aim to retain a discreet distance.
She knew she shouldn’t have checked her appearance in the mirror—it didn’t matter what she looked like—but she did check. Twice. Once to apply concealer to the purple shadows beneath her eyes. The second time to give her hair a final run through with a comb and to add a touch of bronze lip gloss.
When she saw Gus, she noted guiltily that he also had telltale dark smudges under his eyes. And there were creases bracketing his mouth that she hadn’t noticed yesterday. Even the bones in his face were more sharply defined. Clearly, his night had been as restless and sleep-deprived as hers.
Gus didn’t waste time with pleasantries. As soon as they’d ordered their coffees, he got straight down to business. ‘Do you have those contact details?’
Last night, she’d listed everything he needed. Now she retrieved the sheet of paper from her purse and handed it over.
He read the page without comment, then folded it and slipped it inside his wallet. When he looked up again, she was surprised to see the faintest hint of warmth in his dark brown eyes. ‘Your handwriting hasn’t changed. It’s still the curliest, loopiest script I’ve ever seen.’
Freya risked a brief smile. ‘I’m an artist. What do you expect?’
‘So you’ve kept the art up? I’ve often wondered if you continued with your plans to study painting.’
The word often made Freya’s heart flutter. Had Gus really thought about her often?
She tried not to let it matter. ‘I’ve studied in dribs and drabs. A part-time course here, an evening class there.’
‘It must have been difficult with a baby.’
‘I managed. I still paint.’
Their coffees arrived—a soy cappuccino for Freya and a long black for Gus.
As Gus picked up his cup, he asked, super-casually, ‘Does Nick have any artistic flair?’
‘Oh, no.’ With a nervous smile, she selected a slim packet of raw sugar from a bowl of assorted sweeteners, tore off the end and tipped half of the crystals into her coffee. ‘Nick’s sporty and brainy.’
Avoiding the intense flash in Gus’s eyes, she began to stir the sugar. ‘He’s good at maths and science and football.’ Her face grew hot. ‘Like you.’
She looked up then and wished she hadn’t. The stark pain in Gus’s face made her heart thud painfully.
Don’t look like that, Gus.
Last night, as she’d tossed and turned, she’d assured herself that it was possible to get through this without becoming too emotionally entangled with him. But was she fooling herself? He’d merely asked one simple question and now she was struggling, on the brink of tears. And she suspected that Gus was too.
Their situation was so delicate and complicated. They shared a son whose life was in danger, and they shared a past that still harboured a host of buried emotions.
Freya’s wounds were twelve years old and she’d thought they were well and truly protected by thick layers of scar tissue, but the smallest prod proved they were still tender. Gus’s wounds, on the other hand, were new and raw and clearly painful.
‘About the medical tests,’ she said quickly, sensing an urgent need to steer their conversation into safer, more practical waters. ‘I’m pretty sure you can have them done in Darwin. The hospital can send the results on so, with luck, you shouldn’t have too much disruption to your building project.’
Gus dismissed this with a wave of his hand. He frowned. ‘What have you told Nick about…about his father?’
‘I…I said you were someone I knew when I was young.’
‘Does he know my name?’
Freya shook her head and a pulse in her throat began to beat frantically. ‘I said you were a…a good man…that you’d spent a lot of time overseas.’ Her fingers twisted the half-empty sugar sachet. ‘He did ask once, ages ago before he got sick, if he was ever going to meet you. I said it would be better to wait till he’s grown up.’
‘For God’s sake, Freya. Why?’
Unable to meet the blazing challenge in his eyes, she looked away. ‘I knew you were in Africa, and I couldn’t go chasing after you there. I did look up what was involved and it was terribly complicated.’
Gus looked shocked.
Freya shrugged. ‘I…I guess I was waiting for the right time. But then we went through the experience of meeting my father, and it was a disaster.’
‘What happened?’
‘Let’s just say it was a bitter disappointment. Very upsetting for all of us.’
Gus let out his breath on a slow huff. ‘OK…so…I take it Nick doesn’t know you’re meeting me now?’
She shook her head.
His jaw tightened. ‘Do you have a photo of him?’
‘A photo? Oh…um…I…’ Freya gulped, swamped by a tidal wave of embarrassment.
‘I’d like to see what my son looks like.’
Good grief. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a photo? She didn’t even carry one in her purse.
She was rarely separated from Nick. His school was just around the corner from her gallery and she hardly ever left the Bay, so she’d never felt the need to carry her son’s photo. And, coming here, she’d been so stressed, so focused—her mind was a one-way track.
Saving Nick’s life filled her every waking thought.
From over the rim of his coffee cup, Gus was watching her discomfort with a stern lack of sympathy. ‘No photo?’
‘No…I’m sorry.’ How could she have been so thoughtless? ‘I’ll get photos for you, Gus. Of course, you must have photos. Absolutely. I’ll scan the whole album and send them by email just as soon as I get back.’
‘When are you flying back to the Bay?’
‘This afternoon.’
Gus placed his coffee cup carefully on its saucer and, with his mouth set in a grim line, he leaned forward, arms folded, elbows on the table.
To Freya, the pose made his shoulders look incredibly wide and somehow threatening.
‘I’d like to come too,’ he said.
Thud. This was so not something she’d bargained for. Not today. Not so soon.
‘I’m sure you understand that I want to meet my son.’ Gus spoke with the