A Miracle for His Secret Son / Proud Rancher, Precious Bundle. Barbara Hannay

more like a charming pixie, but he lavished praise on my paintings and I lapped it up. He even told me about an artistic grandmother who still lives in County Cork in Ireland.’

      Gus smiled. ‘So that’s where your talent comes from.’

      ‘I’m not sure any more.’ Freya shrugged. ‘Anyway, he taught Nick how to sail, and he took the three of us out in Poppy, and we sailed to the islands and had lovely picnics. He even painted Poppy’s house for her.’ This was said with an accompanying eye roll. ‘Do you remember how Mum’s cottage used to look?’

      ‘Of course. It was fabulous. The only house right on the edge of the sand. And painted every colour of the rainbow. It was a talking point in Sugar Bay.’

      ‘Yes, well…wait till you see it now.’

      ‘Why? What did Sean do to it?’

      ‘Painted it white.’

      ‘The whole house?’

      She nodded. ‘Spanking white with neat aqua blue trims. Spotless and tidy, just like his boat.’

      ‘My God. Spotless and tidy are two words I’d never associate with Poppy. Did she hate it?’

      Freya gave another shrug. ‘She pretended to love it. She was smitten at the time, though, so her judgement was clouded.’

      ‘But I take it your dad eventually blotted his copybook?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Big time. A week before Christmas he totally blackened his name. He and his little yacht just disappeared into the wide blue yonder.’ Freya paused significantly. ‘Along with Poppy’s savings.’

      It was gratifying to watch Gus’s jaw drop.

      ‘How did he manage that?’

      ‘Oh, you know Poppy. Didn’t trust banks, and didn’t worry much about money. What little she did accumulate she kept at home in a ginger jar.’ Freya sighed. ‘It was the gloomiest, most depressing Christmas ever. We tried to be cheerful for poor Nick’s sake, but we weren’t very good at it, I’m afraid.’ Leaning forward, she put her coffee mug back on the table. ‘I found out later from one of the local fishermen that Sean had moved on, up to Gladstone. He’d changed the name of his yacht to Caroline, and he was living with a new woman, a widow named Mrs Keane. Caroline Keane, of course. And he showed no sign of an Irish accent.’

      ‘So he was a con artist.’

      ‘Through and through. And Poppy admitted later that he’d always had a gambling addiction. She’d known that, and she still wasn’t careful.’

      Gus let out his breath in a whoosh, then rose and paced to the big picture window and stood with his hands resting lightly on his hips as he looked out to sea. ‘I see why fathers have a bad name around here.’

      Freya stood too and followed him across the room. ‘I know you’re nothing like Sean, Gus. In fact, you’re the opposite. You’ve come here to give, not to take.’

      ‘That’s certainly the plan.’ He didn’t turn from the window. Outside, it was almost dusk and the sea and the sky had turned a deep pearlescent grey.

      ‘I know Nick liked you, straight off,’ Freya said. ‘Actually, I’m sure he wants to get to know you. He’s just—’

      ‘Scared.’

      ‘Yes.’ We’re both scared.

      Trouble was, though Gus might not be a con man, he still had his own special brand of dangerous charm. If he entered their lives, even for a short time, and then left again, as he must, he would almost certainly leave a huge raw-edged hole.

      Gus turned from the window. ‘I guess I should head off now. You need to talk to Nick, and I need to book into the hotel.’

      ‘You’re welcome to stay here.’ Freya had no idea she was going to say that. She was pretty sure Gus wanted to stay in the hotel, to keep an emotional distance, but the invitation had tumbled out spontaneously and she couldn’t take it back without looking foolish. She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

      To her surprise, his lip curled in a faintly amused smile. ‘Don’t you think you should consult Nick before making such rash offers? He hasn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, has he?’

      ‘But you’re doing a wonderful thing for us, Gus, and we’re in your debt. What if I go and talk to him? He’s sure to have calmed down by now.’

      ‘Not now, Freya.’ Gus wasn’t smiling any more. He was deadly serious. ‘It will be better for all of us if I stay at the hotel.’

      It was ridiculous to feel disappointed. Freya was dredging up a smile when Gus surprised her by reaching for her arm.

      ‘Before I go, let me see that burn. I’m not sure you should trust Poppy’s home-grown remedies.’

      ‘Oh, it’s fine.’ It was true. The burn no longer stung and, when she looked at her arm, the aloe vera was already working. The angry redness was fading.

      Gus’s fingers, however, encircled her wrist and, in spite of her beach girl’s tan, they looked very dark and strong against her skin. His other hand touched her wrist gently, unbelievably gently. So gently he was killing her.

      A tiny gasp escaped her and he went still. She looked up and something in his burning gaze sent a high voltage current through every vein in her body.

      She couldn’t bear it, had to look away.

      He said, ‘I’ll make contact with Nick’s doctor in the morning.’

      She was almost too breathless to respond. ‘If you need me, I’ll be here in the gallery all day.’

      ‘OK. I’ll call you.’

      Without another word, Gus went to the kitchen door where he’d left his overnight bag. Snagging it with two fingers, he let himself out and he didn’t look back.

      Freya was chopping mushrooms and onion for a homemade pizza when Nick came into the kitchen. His hair was still wet from his shower, and she always thought he looked younger somehow when his hair was wet. More vulnerable. Tonight, he looked shamefaced too.

      He sent a quick glance around their open-plan living area. ‘Where’s Gus?’

      ‘He’s gone to the hotel.’ She continued methodically to slice mushrooms.

      ‘Is he buying wine or something for dinner?’

      ‘No, Nick. He’s staying at the hotel.’

      ‘Why? Didn’t you ask him to stay here?’

      Setting down her knife, Freya folded her arms and she sent her son a rueful smile. ‘Gus thought it would be better. He wanted to give you time to get over your shock.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘He’s a good man, Nick. He’s not like Sean. He really wants to help you.’

      The boy stared at the partly assembled pizza. ‘Are you going to put bacon on that?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Plenty?’

      ‘Just the right amount. You know what Dr Kingston said. You’re supposed to have lots of vegetables and not too much salt.’

      Nick sighed theatrically and, for a moment, Freya thought the subject of Gus had been dropped.

      Not so.

      Leaning with his elbows on the counter, her son scowled. ‘I don’t get it. I really don’t get it. If Gus is such a great guy, why isn’t he a proper father? Why doesn’t he live here with us?’

      Freya’s heart thudded and her brain raced as she searched for the exact words to explain. This moment was so critically important. The explanation was complicated, but she had to get it right.