A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle. Barbara Hannay
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while you’re here, Gus, drop in to the garage.’
‘Still the same place down on The Esplanade?’
‘Yep. My brother Jim and I have taken over from the old man.’
Gus shook Mel’s hand. ‘I’m staying at the hotel. I’ll call in.’
‘Lovely,’ said Freya quickly. ‘I think we’d better get going now.’ Keen to avoid being held up by anyone else, she shepherded Nick and Gus ahead of her to the car.
The worst wasn’t over yet.
For Gus, it felt surreal to be sitting in the car beside Freya, with their son in the rear, unaware that his life was about to change for ever.
‘So what sights do you want to see, Gus?’ Nick asked, leaning forward eagerly.
Gus shot Freya a questioning glance.
‘I think we should go straight home,’ she said.
‘But you told Mr Crane—’
‘I know what I told Mr Crane, Nick, but I needed an excuse to get away. I want to take Gus back to our place. There’s a lot to talk about.’
‘About the kidney?’
‘Yes.’
Nick flopped back in his seat and stopped asking questions. In the stretch of silence, Gus stole a glance back over his shoulder and found the boy watching him, his eyes huge and wondering. Gus sent him a smiling wink. Nick smiled shyly, and Gus felt his heart turn over.
Freya turned the car onto The Esplanade, where late afternoon shadows stretched across the beach. Sunbathers were packing up but a handful of hardy board riders were still catching waves. He watched them. He’d been like them once, not wanting to leave the water till it was almost dark, much to his mother’s consternation.
To his surprise, he saw that Freya was turning into a driveway. ‘Do you live here? Right on the beachfront?’
‘Where else?’ A quick smile flitted across her features, but it disappeared in a hurry and Gus knew she was nervous again.
The driveway ran next to a modern building of timber and glass. He caught sight of a sign in the front garden, with The Driftwood Gallery painted in pale tan on a cream background.
‘Hey, Urchin!’ A doggy blur and a wagging tail greeted Nick as they got out of the car. After giving the dog a rough and enthusiastic hug, the boy called to his mother, ‘I’m starving.’
‘Nothing new there,’ Freya responded with an elaborate roll of her eyes.
Gus retrieved their overnight bags from the boot while Freya opened bi-fold doors, and he followed her into an open-plan living area.
‘Hey, this is beautiful,’ he said, looking around him.
‘Not bad, is it?’ She dumped her purse and keys on a granite topped counter. ‘I manage the gallery, and this flat is part of the deal. Please, take a seat and I’ll make some coffee. Is plunger coffee OK?’
‘Yes, perfect, thanks.’
Gus remained standing, taking in details of the off-white walls, gleaming pale timber floors and large picture windows looking out to the sea.
The place felt perfect for Freya. It was so much like her—close to the beach and decorated simply but beautifully in neutral tones with soft touches of peach or sea-green. The colours were repeated in the watercolours that hung on the walls and there was a wistful elegance about the paintings that made him wonder if they were hers.
Nick was at the fridge and helping himself to a brightly coloured sports drink. ‘What can I have to eat?’
‘The usual,’ Freya told him. Already, she’d filled a kettle and switched it on and was retrieving the makings of a sandwich. She shot Gus a quick apologetic smile. ‘Excuse us for a moment, please.’
‘Of course. You have to feed the hungry beast.’
Nick grinned at him and came to the counter beside his mother, took slices of cheese from a packet and added them to the bread she’d buttered.
‘I hope you’ve washed your hands.’
‘Washed them at the sink just now.’
‘Would you like tomato with this?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Cheese is fine.’ He added an extra slice, then fetched a plate for his sandwich.
They looked so at home, Gus thought. This routine was so familiar to them, and his outsider status washed over him like a physical pain.
As if sensing how he felt, Freya said, ‘What about you, Gus? Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?’
He smiled. ‘No, thanks. Coffee’s fine.’
Leaning against the counter, plate in hand, Nick munched on his snack. He was still wearing his football gear and Gus saw green smears where he’d landed heavily on the grass, and there was a graze on his knee.
How the hell can this kid be sick? Gus thought. He looks so normal.
It seemed so wrong. So cruel.
‘So has Mum told you all about my global warning?’ the boy asked suddenly, smiling between mouthfuls.
Gus’s stomach took a dive. ‘Yes, it’s rotten luck, but I’m hoping we can turn that around.’
Freya, in the middle of retrieving coffee mugs from an overhead cupboard, appeared to freeze.
‘Awesome,’ said Nick. ‘So do you have O blood, the same as me?’
‘I do.’
‘But Gus still has to have more tests before we can be absolutely sure he’s a perfect match,’ Freya countered.
Nick nodded and looked thoughtful as he chewed again on his sandwich, while the kitchen filled with the smell of coffee.
Across the silence, Gus met Freya’s gaze. She sent him a wobbly smile.
‘If you could help to carry these things, we can make ourselves comfortable,’ she said.
‘Sure.’ Immediately he snapped into action, and they carried the pot and mugs, a milk jug and a plate of pecan cookies to a low coffee table set amidst comfortably grouped squishy armchairs upholstered in cream linen.
‘You want me to hang around?’ Nick asked.
Freya’s throat rippled as she swallowed. ‘Yes, honey, of course. We need to talk to you.’
He came and perched on the arm of one of the chairs, sports drink in one hand, plate with the remains of his sandwich in the other, and he frowned as he watched his mother pour coffee. ‘So did you guys know each other before? When Gus used to live here?’
‘Yes.’ Freya’s voice was a shade too tight.
Nick stared at her and his face sobered. He slid a quick look to Gus, then another glance back to his mother. ‘You’re not going to tell me anything really crazy, are you? Like Gus is my father or something?’
Chapter Five
FREYA almost dropped the coffee pot. It clattered onto the table and Gus was instantly attentive.
‘Did you burn yourself?’
She shook her head. She was too mortified by Nick’s question to worry about the stinging patch of skin on the inside of her wrist. She wished she could think more clearly, wished she could find the right words so that everything made instant sense to Nick. And she wanted to defend Gus.
When she opened her mouth, nothing emerged.
She looked helplessly at Nick, who was watching her and Gus with his lips tightly compressed and a look of anguish in his eyes, as if he wished he