A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle. Barbara Hannay
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obviously wasn’t about a high school reunion. Gus shot a quick glance through the window of his makeshift office to the untamed bushland that stretched endlessly to ancient red cliffs on the distant horizon. ‘You know I’m way up in Arnhem Land, don’t you?’
‘Yes, they told me you’re managing a remote housing project for an Aboriginal community.’
‘That’s right.’ The project was important and challenging, requiring a great deal of diplomacy from Gus as its manager. ‘It’s almost impossible for me to get away from here just now. What’s this all about?’
‘I could come to you.’
Gus swallowed his shock. Why would Freya come to him here? After all this time? What on earth could be so suddenly important?
His mind raced, trying to dredge up possibilities, but each time he drew a blank.
He pictured Freya as he remembered her, with long sunstreaked hair and golden tanned limbs, more often than not in a bikini with a faded sarong loosely tied around her graceful hips. Even if she’d cast aside her sea nymph persona, she was bound to cause an impossible stir if she arrived on the all-male construction site.
‘It would be too difficult here,’ he said. ‘This place is too…remote.’
‘Don’t planes fly into your site?’
‘We don’t have regular commercial flights.’
‘Oh.’
Another eloquent syllable—and there was no mistaking her disappointment.
Grimacing, Gus scratched at his jaw. ‘You said this was very important.’
‘Yes, it is.’ After a beat, Freya said in a small frightened voice, ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’
They agreed to meet in Darwin, the Northern Territory’s capital, which was, in many ways, an idyllic spot for a reunion, especially at sunset on a Saturday evening at the end of a balmy tropical winter. The sky above the harbour glowed bright blushing pink shot with gold. The palm trees were graceful dancing silhouettes on the shorefront and the colours of the sky were reflected in the still tropical waters.
Not that Freya could appreciate the view.
She arrived too early on the hotel balcony. It wasn’t very crowded and she saw immediately that Gus wasn’t there, so she sat at the nearest free table, with her legs crossed and one foot swinging impatiently, while her fingers anxiously twisted the straps of her shoulder bag.
These nervous habits were new to her and she hated them. Having grown up in a free and easy beachside community, she’d prided herself on her relaxed personality and as an adult she’d added meditation and yoga to her daily practice.
Her serenity had deserted her, however, on the day she’d needed it most—when the doctor delivered his prognosis. Since then she’d been living with sickening fear, barely holding herself together with a string and a paper clip.
Freya closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then concentrated on imagining her son at home with Poppy, her mother. If Nick wasn’t taking his dog, Urchin, for a twilight run on the beach, he’d be sprawled on the living room carpet, playing with his solar-powered robot grasshopper. Poppy would be preparing dinner in the nearby kitchen, slipping in as many healthy vegetables as she dared.
Already Freya missed her boy. She’d never been so far away from him before and, thinking of him now, and the task that lay ahead of her, she felt distinctly weepy. She dashed tears away with the heel of her hand. Heavens, she couldn’t weaken now. She had to stay super-strong.
You can do this. You must do this. For Nick.
She’d do anything for Nick, even tell Gus Wilder the truth after all this time.
That thought caused another explosion of fear. The process of tracking Gus down and making the first telephone contact had been the easy part. The worst was yet to come. Gus still didn’t know why she needed him.
A tall, flashily handsome waiter passed Freya, carrying a tray laden with drinks. The smile he gave her was flirtatious to the point of predation. ‘Would you like something from the bar, madam?’
‘Not just now, thanks. I’m waiting for…’ The rest of Freya’s sentence died as her throat closed over.
Beyond the waiter, she saw a man coming through the wide open doorway onto the balcony.
Gus.
Tall. Dark-haired. White shirt gleaming against tanned skin. Perhaps a little leaner than she remembered, but handsome and athletic enough to make heads turn.
Angus Wilder had aged very nicely, thank you.
But what kind of man was he now? How many gulfs had widened between them, and how would he react to her news?
As he made his way towards her, weaving between tables, memories, like scenes in a movie, played in Freya’s head. Gus at sixteen on his first day at Sugar Bay High, desperate to throw off the taint of his posh city high school. Gus, triumphant on the footie field after he’d scored a match-winning try. Herself, floating with happiness as she danced in his arms at the senior formal.
The two of them walking together, holding hands beside a moonlit sea. The sheer romance of their first kiss…
Suddenly Gus was beside her, leaning down to drop a polite kiss on her cheek. ‘Freya, it’s good to see you.’
He smelled clean, as if he’d just showered and splashed on aftershave. His lips were warm on her skin.
Without warning, Freya’s eyes and throat stung. ‘It’s great to see you, Gus.’ She blinked hard. This was no time for nostalgia. She had to stay cool and focused. ‘Thanks for coming.’
He pulled out a chair and sat, then slowly crossed his long legs and leaned back, as if he were deliberately trying to appear relaxed. His smile was cautious, the expression in his dark eyes warm, but puzzled. ‘How are you?’ Quickly, he countered his question. ‘You look fabulous.’
Deep down she couldn’t help being pleased by the compliment, but she said simply, ‘I’m well, thanks. How about you? How’s business?’
‘Both first-rate.’ Gus sent her a slightly less careful smile, but his throat worked, betraying his tension. ‘So, I take it you still live at the Bay?’
‘I do.’ She smiled shyly and gave a careless flick of her long pale hair. ‘Still a beach girl.’
‘It suits you.’
Freya dampened her lips and prepared to launch into what had to be said.
‘How’s your mother?’ Gus asked, jumping in to fill the brief lull.
‘Oh, she’s fine, thanks. Still living in the same crooked little house right on the beachfront. As much of a hippie as ever.’
He let his gaze travel over her and, despite the nervous knots tightening in her stomach, Freya indulged in a little staring too. His eyes were as rich and dark as ever and his hair still had the habit of flopping forward onto his forehead.
She felt an ache in her chest—she couldn’t help it. She’d missed Gus Wilder so much. For a dozen years she’d been out of his life. She knew he’d worked in Africa, and there was so much more she wanted to know. Where exactly had he been? What had he done and seen? Whom had he loved?
‘I know you have something very important to discuss,’ Gus said, ‘but would you like a drink first?’ Without waiting for her answer, he raised a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.
‘What can I get for you?’ The waiter’s manner was noticeably less cordial now that Gus had joined Freya.
‘A lemon, lime and bitters, please,’ she said.
‘And I’ll have a mid-strength beer.’