A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle. Barbara Hannay
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the remote and switched the TV off. Pushing the sliding glass doors open, he went out onto the balcony and looked out at the shimmering stretch of dark water.
Breathing deeply, he told himself that he had to let go of his anger. Anger wasn’t going to help Nick. The only way he could help the boy was to give him his kidney, although at this stage even that wasn’t guaranteed.
The boy might die.
Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He fought it off by concentrating on the positives of this situation. He was in a position to volunteer his help. He was fit and healthy and in the right blood group and he would donate the organ gladly. From what he’d heard about these transplants, there was every chance they’d have a good result.
He just wished he could let go of the hurt he felt whenever he thought about the eleven and a half years that Nick had been on this earth.
In many ways he felt as if he’d been living a lie. Not only had he married another woman, but he’d spent those years working hard to help people in Africa, to give them better lives. He’d even managed to feel noble at times, but all the while, here in Australia, he’d had a son he’d done nothing for.
There could be no doubt that the boy was his. Freya wouldn’t have come looking for him otherwise.
But it was so hard to accept that he’d made his girlfriend pregnant and then she’d chosen not to tell him.
It was even harder to accept the reasons Freya had given him for keeping her pregnancy secret—that she’d felt unworthy, or a nuisance, or just plain unsuitable for him.
Looking at it another way, he’d been deemed unworthy for a role most men expected as their right.
Thoughts churning, Gus stared at the harbour. In total contrast to his turmoil, the water was still and calm, reflecting the smooth silvery path of the moon. His thoughts zapped back to Africa, to the many nights he’d sat on the veranda of his Eritrean hut with Monique, his wife, eating traditional flatbread and spicy beef or chicken, while looking out at this very same moon.
He wondered what Monique would have thought about his situation.
Actually, he knew exactly how she’d have reacted. As a doctor with a fierce social conscience, she would have expected him to donate a kidney without question. She would have supported the transplant, if she’d still been alive and married to him. Monique was a pragmatist and his illegitimate son from a previous girlfriend wouldn’t have fazed her. She’d had a realistic, unromantic attitude to relationships.
Once, he would have said that Monique and Freya were polar opposites. His wife had been a practical scientist and aid worker, while his first girlfriend was a romantic and dreamy artist. After tonight, he wasn’t so sure. Freya, the romantic artist, had made a very hard-headed decision twelve years ago.
A heavy sigh escaped Gus as he looked at the rocks where he’d sat earlier tonight with her.
Freya, the siren.
There’d always been an element of enchantment in his attraction to her, and it seemed she still had the power to cast a spell over him. This evening, sitting on those rocks, listening to her explanations in her soft, musical voice, he’d almost fallen under her spell again.
He’d become enchanted by visual details he’d almost forgotten—the way she held her head, the neat curl of her ear, the way she smiled without showing her slightly crooked front tooth. Hers was a natural beauty that no amount of fashion sense or make-up could achieve, and she’d always had a kind of fantasy mermaid aura.
There were no salon-induced streaks or highlights in her long silky hair and her clothing was utterly simple—a slimfitting plain sleeveless shift in a hue that matched her eyes—somewhere between misty-green and blue.
Her only jewellery had been an elegant string of cut glass beads, again in blues and greens, which she wore around one slim tanned ankle.
Gus remembered that she’d always worn anklets when she was young and this evening, despite his anger and shock, he’d found this one disturbingly attractive. He’d felt the same helpless stirrings of attraction he’d felt at eighteen, and he’d seen a look in her eyes that had sent his blood pounding. He’d almost been willing to forgive her for not telling him about Nick.
Then she’d dropped her bombshell about the boy’s illness and he’d understood that this meeting was not a voluntary move to reunite father and son. It was simply a search for an organ donor and, without that desperate need, Freya might never have told him.
Suddenly, there’d been so much anger raging inside him he doubted he could ever forgive her.
Should he try?
Wasn’t it too much to ask?
A cloud arrived quickly, covering the moon, and the silver path on the water vanished. Wrapped in darkness, Gus felt unbearably lonely. Alienated. Angry. So angry it blazed like a bushfire in his gut.
But tangled up with the anger was niggling guilt.
If only he’d been more perceptive on that day Freya had come to him. Why hadn’t he realised how insecure she’d felt? And, when she’d stopped answering his mail, why hadn’t he gone back to Sugar Bay to demand a response?
Instead, he’d listened to his mates, who’d embraced the plenty more fish in the ocean philosophy, and he’d let his relationship with his schoolboy crush fizzle out.
The weight of those choices wrenched a groan from Gus. But it was too late for regrets and, no matter where the blame lay, the one person who mattered now was his son.
He had to make sure that Nick didn’t suffer because of his anger. Hell, he could remember what it was like to be eleven going on twelve, all the frustrations, the hopes, the energy and the awkwardness. And he hadn’t been facing the prospect of kidney failure.
That thought sent a cold chill snaking over his skin. Sickening desperation gripped him and he prayed that he was a suitable donor. But then he reasoned that, if all went well and he was a match for Nick, he and Freya and their son would find themselves caught up in an even deeper whirlpool of emotions.
So it made sense from the outset to have a very clear plan of how he would negotiate the pitfalls.
Watching the moon shimmer faintly from behind the cloud, he made a decision. He would do whatever was in his power to help his son, but he would maintain a clear emotional distance from the boy’s mother. He had to accept that he would always find Freya attractive. Spending time with her, being close to her would be sweet torture, but he mustn’t contemplate revisiting temptation.
The last thing their boy needed now was the distraction of estranged parents trying to recapture their youth.
Gus had made all kinds of wrong assumptions about Freya when they were young, and this time he wanted no confusion. He was always prepared to admit his mistakes, but he prided himself on never making the same mistake twice.
Normally, Freya didn’t mind dining alone.
Although she’d had several almost-serious boyfriends, she was well and truly used to being seen in public without an escort. This evening, however, when the waitress in the hotel’s bistro showed her to a table for two, then removed the extra place setting, Freya felt unusually conspicuous.
It was ridiculous, but she felt as if everyone in the room could guess that she’d invited a man to dine with her and he’d turned her down.
But, in all honesty, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed that Gus had declined her invitation.
She knew she should be relieved. She’d won Gus’s cooperation but he was going to keep his distance, which meant she would be spared any unnecessary complications. It was, really, the best possible outcome.
Too bad for her that seeing Gus again had stirred up all sorts of longings and heartaches. Too bad that she kept remembering the warmth of his hands, and the deep rumble of his voice, and the exact shape of his curvy,