Australia: Handsome Heroes: His Secret Love-Child

‘OK. But I’ve also brought you your son.’

CJ. She sat up, cautiously, still holding her sheet. ‘What have you done with CJ?’

‘You sound as if you expect that I’ve corrupted him by just existing.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she told him, still trying to hold her glower. Drat the man, why did he have to smile like that? ‘Where is he?’

‘He was right behind me but his puppy escaped into the garden. I can see them from here. The puppy seems to be investigating the lorikeets in the grevillea and CJ is supervising.’

She tried to sort this information but found it even more confusing. ‘His puppy?’

‘The Grubbs have given your son…our son…a puppy.’

There was a lot in that statement to consider—so she stuck to the easiest bit. ‘CJ can’t have a puppy,’ she said blankly.

‘I would have thought that.’ Cal stood at the end of her bed and looked at her, speculation and amusement lurking in those deep eyes. ‘But you did leave him with the Grubbs for the night.’

‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘No, but you did, and the Grubbs are warm-hearted people who maybe lack a little in the grey-matter department. They have a puppy they don’t want—their bitch has a habit of finding all sorts of unsuitable partners and the Grubb puppies are legion in this place—and they’ve seen a little boy who falls in love. So they’ve done the obvious thing.’

Still too much information. She couldn’t figure it all out. And why was he standing there, just…smiling?

‘We’re going back to the States,’ she told him.

‘I guess the puppy is, too, then.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ She went to toss back the covers, remembered and grabbed them back again. ‘Go away so I can dress.’

‘I’ll wait on the veranda.’

‘Wait anywhere you like. Just not here.’

‘I’ll watch CJ, shall I?’

‘Watch him all you want.’

‘Gina…’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not being very kind.’

‘Why should I be kind?’ she demanded. ‘Just go away, Cal Jamieson. You don’t make me feel kind at all.’

By the time she’d showered and dressed she’d simmered down a little—but not much. Not enough. She walked out onto the veranda wearing her own clothes, a soft linen skirt and a T-shirt that didn’t look businesslike but at least made her feel clean and normal and almost in charge of her world. It was great to have her own gear. Or almost all her own gear. Then she saw Cal with her son and she forgot about her luggage and she wasn’t in charge of her world any more at all.

They were so alike it was breathtaking. Heartbreaking.

From the time CJ had been born she’d seen Cal every time she’d looked into her son’s face, and now, seeing them side by side, it was almost too much for her. When she walked out onto the veranda CJ was wearing Bruce’s hat, but the pup bounced up and knocked it off. Cal retrieved it and together they carefully inspected it for damage. CJ’s wiry curls, the intent look in his eyes, the way his forehead puckered in concentration…Their heads were almost touching, the sound of Cal’s grave voice telling the pup to leave the hat alone, CJ’s higher voice raised in a copied command—and then a low chuckle and a high-pitched giggle as the puppy bounced up and raced off with the hat again…

Practicalities, she told herself fiercely as she dug her hands deep into her skirt’s side pockets and walked steadily down the steps to meet them.

They heard her sandals on the steps and Cal turned—but as he turned, the pup saw a new pair of legs coming toward him, dropped the hat and bounced over to investigate.

For the first time she focussed on the dog. What was it?

A cross between a Dalmatian and a boxer with a bit of cocker spaniel thrown in, she thought. It looked half-grown, long and gangly and all legs. White with black spots. A face that looked like it had just been punched flat. Great ears that dangled past his collar.

He reached her and jumped up, his large paws landing on her thigh and darned near knocking her over. He looked up at her, and she could swear his big stupid canine face was grinning, and his black and white tail was wagging so fast it could have made electricity.

‘What sort of a dog is this?’ she gasped, trying to back off. But the pup wasn’t having any of it. He was leaping up and dancing around her, barking and grinning and grinning, and despite herself she had to grin back.

‘His name is Rudolph, after a ballet dancer Mrs Grubb saw on TV,’ CJ told her, looking at his mother with a certain amount of anxiety. ‘Mrs Grubb says he’s going to be the best dog in the world and he prances just like a ballet dancer. Can we keep him?’

Rudolph had raced back down to his new would-be owner. Now he squatted in pounce position, leapt at CJ, knocked him down, licked his face, then galloped back to Gina. Gina backed fast but he jumped up, the backs of her legs caught the veranda steps and she sat down. Hard.

Rudolph licked with a tongue that was roughly the size of a large facecloth.

‘Ugh,’ Gina said, stunned. She wiped her face and watched the dog gallop over to Cal.

‘Sit,’ Cal said.

Rudolph sat.

The tail was going ballistic.

‘CJ, we can’t keep this dog,’she said, and if her voice sounded desperate, who could blame her? ‘For a start there’s no way we can take him home. He can hardly sit on my lap on the plane.’

‘He can sit on mine,’ CJ said stoutly, and Cal choked.

‘You laugh and I’m going to have to kill you,’ Gina said conversationally, and focussed on CJ. Or tried to focus on CJ. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she told him. ‘Did you mind sleeping at Mrs Grubb’s?’

‘No, because of Rudolph,’ he told her. ‘Mom, Mr Grubb says he has to take a dead tree to the rubbish tip and I can go in his truck if I want, and Rudolph can come, too, but I have to ask you first so Cal said we should wake you up.’

‘Gee, thanks, Cal,’ she said, and glowered.

‘Think nothing of it,’ Cal said, smiling blandly. ‘But Mr Grubb’s waiting. Can CJ go? Grubb’s very reliable.’

There were three faces looking at her in mute appeal. CJ’s, Cal’s, Rudolph’s. She was so out of her depth she was drowning.

‘Fine,’ she told them all, and was rewarded by a war whoop and the sight of her small son—and dog—flying away across the lawn to the dubious attractions of Crocodile Creek’s rubbish tip.

‘I haven’t even thought about when we’re leaving,’ Gina said, staring after her son in dismay.

‘Good,’ Cal told her.

‘You’re not still on about Townsville?’ she snapped, and he had the grace to look a bit shamefaced.