Her Secret, His Son

Harlequin Romance®

presents

international bestselling author

BARBARA HANNAY

Her Secret, His Son won the CataRomance Reviewer’s Choice Award 2004:

“Barbara Hannay has produced an emotional rollercoaster of a novel that packs a heavy punch. Her Secret, His Son reduced me to tears and I loved it. The novel is chock full of emotions and heart-warming characters. The author has used an entertaining blend of American and Australian settings to produce a lush novel that anyone would want to visit…. This book is a pure gem that has a charm and an emotional depth that shines through to the reader. Do not miss this very special book that will take you on an unforgettable journey. Barbara Hannay: Her Secret, His Son a truly magical ride.”

—Kelly Bowerman, CataRomance

Dear Reader,

Sometimes when I’m in the middle of writing a book I realize I’m tapping into something bigger than I expected. I uncover characters and issues and emotions that seem to have a power of their own.

I felt this happen when I was writing Her Secret, His Son. This book is a little different from my Outback stories in that it is mostly set in Washington, D.C., and Virginia. The hero, Tom Pirelli, is an Australian SAS soldier, fighting in an elite antiterrorist unit with Ed McBride, a U.S. Army Ranger.

I should mention that I haven’t tried to justify war. This book is 100 percent romance—deeply emotional romance. My heroine, Mary, has terrible choices to make. But her story is played out against a background of contemporary strife.

The city of Townsville, where I live, has a large military base and our links with the U.S. forces go back to World War II. Her Secret, His Son is my small tribute to the huge sacrifices made by our military people and their loved ones now and in the past.

Lastly, this story finishes in one of my favorite places in the world—the beautiful Atherton Tablelands of north Queensland—where I am now spending more time in our little cottage, tucked away on a misty green hillside.

Warmest wishes,

Barbara Hannay

Her Secret, His Son

Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit www.barbarahannay.com

Barbara Hannay on her inspiration for Her Secret, His Son:

“In 2003 I had the privilege of spending a week as the houseguest of a top-ranking U.S. general and I was taken on a private tour of the Pentagon. This visit and the sights of Washington, D.C., Arlington and the Lincoln Memorial were wonderful inspirations for this book.”

Books by Barbara Hannay

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE*

3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE*

3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE*

3873—CHRISTMAS GIFT: A FAMILY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

AT TEN minutes before midnight Mary Cameron crept out of bed, fully clothed, her heart racing. Thick carpet silenced her movements as she tiptoed to the window, drew the curtain aside and peered through the slanted slats of the venetian blinds.

Tom was waiting for her.

He was standing on the corner, just outside the pale lemon circle cast by the street light. She could see the defiant splash of his white T-shirt beneath the bulkiness of his black leather jacket. His wide shoulders were squared and his hands rested lightly on his hips, as if he were poised ready for action.

Truth was, Tom Pirelli was always ready for action. And, on this balmy North Queensland winter’s night, he was ready to run away with her.

A delicious thrill rippled through her. With one finger she dipped a slat in the blind so she could see Tom more clearly and he lifted his hand to wave. His mouth tilted in his familiar unhurried smile and her heart flipped. By this time tomorrow they would be far away from Townsville.

And she would be Tom Pirelli’s wife.

Over the past weeks she had thought of nothing but marrying Tom. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on her studies, had hardly heard any of her family’s conversations. The single most important thing in her life was a twenty-two-year-old soldier with a devastating slow smile and even more devastating, slow kisses.

He filled her head and her heart and she was certain she couldn’t possibly live without him.

‘I’m coming, Tom,’ she whispered as she released the slat and let the curtain drop back into place.

Heart knocking in her chest, she stooped to pick up her small backpack. It held little more than a change of clothes and her toiletries, but she couldn’t risk carrying a bulky pack through the dark house. It would be a disaster if she knocked something over and woke her parents. Besides, she would be travelling on the back of Tom’s motorbike, which meant travelling light.

Travelling light and lighthearted and in love.

With Tom.

Her insides jumped and danced with excitement. She was so heart-and-soul in love with Tom that it still came as a shock that he loved her back. She had to be the luckiest girl in Australia. No, make that the universe.

Without a backward glance at the pretty bedroom that had been home to her secret dreams for so many years, she hurried out into the hallway.

Here, there was danger.

The polished timber floors of the living areas were noisy, so she carried her shoes in her hands and prayed that her socks would muffle her footsteps. All would be lost if her father woke up.

Oh, help! At the thought of her father, Mary came to an abrupt halt, frozen by a panicky rush of guilt. Heaven knew this wasn’t the way she wanted to be married. Until she’d met Tom she’d enjoyed a happy relationship with her parents, and it was just awful now to be torn between her family ties and her passion for her man.

But her father wouldn’t listen when she tried to defend Tom, so he’d left her with absolutely no choice. She could only hope that once she and Tom were married all would be well. Her father would have to see that they were meant for each other.

She had no doubt that she and Tom would win her parents around. Once her dad got to know Tom, he couldn’t help but admire him. Tom would be an adoring husband. In the years to come he’d be a wonderful father for their children and the perfect son-in-law for her parents. Everything would be fine just as soon as she was safely outside. With Tom.

She took a deep breath and began to tiptoe forward again.

She’d practised creeping through the midnight-silent house several times in the past weeks, so she knew about the creaking board outside her parents’ bedroom and another near the entrance to the dining room. Once these were safely bypassed she began to breathe more easily.

As she neared the front of the house she could hear the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was reaching the end of its long cycle. Brilliant timing! She could coordinate the moment she opened the front door with the final gush of the rinse water gurgling down the drain.

At last she was safely through the house and in the slate-tiled front entry, where faint light from the street filtered through long narrow panels of glass on either side of the front door. Almost free.

The hiss of water in the kitchen was her signal. Quickly, Mary thrust her feet into her shoes, took a deep breath and stepped to the door, then slowly, slowly, turned the handle of the doorknob, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound. Not now. Not with freedom so near.

Not with Tom waiting outside.

Already she could picture the glimmer in his dark eyes when she reached him, the way he would haul her close, enfolding her inside the protection of his leather jacket. Already she could feel the warmth of his arms around her and his lips nuzzling the side of her neck as he whispered, ‘Mary-Mary.’

Holding her breath, Mary inched the door open and the potted palm beside her seemed to move. It startled her and she jerked the door back, making its hinges squeak.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Her father’s voice exploded beside her in the dark.

Swift and terrible as a lightning strike, panic flashed through her. With a gasp of despair, she wrenched the door wide and hurled herself forward, but hands, strong as talons, gripped her.

‘No!’ she cried as she struggled to tug herself free. ‘You can’t stop me!’

Her arm was almost pulled from its socket and her backpack fell to the floor as her father hauled her back through the doorway.

‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t do this! Please, no, you don’t understand.’

She cried out as the door slammed shut. Horrified, she slipped sideways out of her father’s grasp and took off through the dark kitchen, skirting the island bench as she headed for the back door.

‘Don’t be so stupid, girl,’ her father roared, hot in pursuit. Again his hands came from behind her and he seized her arm. Again she tried to break free, but he was too big and too strong. She had no hope of trying to outrun a trained army officer in his own home. She was yanked backwards and pushed hard against the slats of the louvred door on the pantry cupboard.

‘You’ve got to let me go,’ she panted. ‘I’m an adult. I have every right.’

Colonel Cameron’s dark face loomed above her. ‘Call yourself an adult?’ he sneered. ‘An adult wouldn’t slink away in the middle of the night to a pick up with a no-good lout like Pirelli.’

‘He’s not a lout. You don’t know him.’

Light flooded the kitchen and, through her pain and her tears, Mary squinted against the sharp brightness. She saw her mother standing in the doorway in her nightgown and, behind her, her cousin Sonia, staring with huge, fascinated eyes.

‘You can’t hold me prisoner,’ Mary sobbed at them. ‘I’m not going to let you spoil this. I have to go. Let me go!’

‘Mary, be reasonable,’ came her mother’s voice.

‘No! You be reasonable,’ Mary cried back, as she struggled against her father’s tight hold.

Refusing to look at his angry red face, she focused on her mother, who looked so much more vulnerable at midnight in her pale nightgown and without the careful mask of the make-up she always wore.

‘You’re backing Dad against Tom when you don’t even know him. You won’t let me bring Tom into our house, but you can’t do this to me. I’m twenty, Mum. I’m old enough to know what I want. Tom and I love each other and you’ve got to let me live my life. I’ve got to go to him. I’ve got to!’

‘Over my dead body,’ her father roared and, to emphasise his point, he gripped her shoulders harder and forced her back against the cupboard again.

‘Ralph, there’s no need to be rough,’ came her mother’s voice.

Mary moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears of rage, not pain. Tom was waiting on the footpath. What had he heard? What had he thought when the kitchen lights came on? What would he do if she didn’t show up?

Would she ever be able to see him again? She had to. No one could possibly understand how desperately she needed him. Every cell in her body yearned for the reassurance of his strong arms around her. She needed him to hold her as he murmured his pet name for her, over and over—the way he did when they made love. ‘Mary-Mary, Mary-Mary.’

Her father’s vicelike grip loosened a fraction, but not enough to release her. ‘Stop snivelling, girl,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t believe my own daughter could be such a fool. When you come to your senses you’ll be grateful. You’ll thank me for this.’

‘Never!’ Mary cried, hating him. She couldn’t bear to look at him and she let her tears fall, making no attempt to stop the sobs that racked her. ‘You’ve d-decided you don’t like T-Tom simply because he’s not an officer and—and he rides a motorbike.’

Her father swore and gave her shoulders a shake. ‘Pirelli is a hooligan, Mary. You know he’s been up before the Provost marshal for speeding, and he was involved in a brawl at a local nightclub. I’m not letting a man like that touch my daughter.’

‘But he has!’ Mary cried with a surge of triumphant defiance, and she lifted her head to meet her father’s hard grey glare.

I live for Tom Pirelli’s touch.

‘Where is he? I’ll kill him!’

‘Ralph, for heaven’s sake,’ her mother interrupted, coming close enough to tap her husband’s elbow in a hesitant attempt to soothe him. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Keep your voice down. Why don’t we go into the lounge and sit down and talk this through sensibly?’

‘There’s nothing to talk through,’ Mary protested. ‘Can’t you both understand? I truly love Tom and he loves me. I can’t live without him. If you don’t let me go, you’ll have ruined my life.’

‘Consider it ruined,’ her father snapped.

Mary wept noisily. How could her parents be so unjust and cruel to their own daughter? She felt as if they’d hurled her into the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. Inconsolable, she slumped against the pantry door. Her father released his pressure, but she knew it was useless to try to escape. She let her spine bump down the louvred slats as she slid to the floor and crouched in a miserable, undignified huddle with her arms wrapped around her bent knees.

She wanted to die.

Her cousin Sonia’s voice reached her through her misery. ‘Would you like me to go and tell Tom that you’re not coming?’

Mary’s head snapped up.

Sonia stepped closer and Mary realised for the first time that she was fully dressed, as was her father. Had they known her plans?

Her cousin had been living with her family for the past year because she was studying law at James Cook University. Mary drove Sonia to university each day but, because they were in different faculties, they saw little of each other on campus.

They hadn’t become close, and now the bright, fascinated light in Sonia’s eyes bothered Mary. But she couldn’t leave Tom stranded on the footpath waiting.

‘He’s waiting on the corner. Go and tell him what’s happened. Tell him that I’ll work something out,’ she said.

‘Don’t bother yourself, Sonia,’ interjected her father. ‘If anyone talks to Private Pirelli tonight, it will be me. I’d talk to the mongrel with my fists except that I don’t fancy being court-martialled for assault.’

Her mother had switched the kettle on and now it came to the boil. She turned to pour bubbling hot water into mugs with tea bags.

From behind Colonel Cameron’s back, Sonia sent Mary what might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn’t gleamed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’ll go back to bed, then,’ she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room, she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back of the house to find Tom.

She wished she found that thought more comforting.

‘How did you know?’ she asked her parents, suddenly suspicious. ‘You were waiting up for me.’

‘Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron, but it comes in handy,’ her father drawled, and his mouth curved into a smug half-smile.

Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled with venom.

He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Mary, I’m quite prepared to tell you why I’m opposing this. I simply don’t trust Pirelli.’

‘You haven’t given him a chance.’

‘I’m not going to. I can’t afford to take risks when my only daughter is involved. I don’t trust a guy who just doesn’t add up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…he tops bloody everything. IQ tests; language tests; shooting competitions.’

‘Really? He never told me that. But how can that be bad?’

A brief, startled reaction flickered in her father’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. ‘There’s something wrong with a guy who’s as bright as that and still acts like a hooligan. It’s not just his behaviour around town. On exercises, we never know what Pirelli will do. He questions and challenges commands. He won’t conform. That’s why I knocked back his promotion.’

‘Did you really?’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t tell me that either.’

‘No, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Her father’s jaw shot forward like a bulldog’s. ‘Private Pirelli is a bad bet, Mary. He’s the kind of soldier who will want to play heroes. He’ll throw himself into the front line. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

‘You mean he’s courageous.’

‘I mean he’s a fool. And tonight he’s proved it if he thinks I can’t see what he’s planning.’

Mary’s insides turned hollow.

‘Ralph,’ said her mother in a warning tone. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’m not the one who has to be careful, Anne. It’s Mary.’ He crouched low beside Mary and placed a broad hand on her shoulder. ‘Pirelli’s plan was to have his way with my daughter—to play with her and then leave.’

‘No!’ His words winded her. She couldn’t breathe.

‘It’s the truth, Mary. This crazy pretence at elopement is payback.’

‘No!’ Struggling for breath, she felt smothered by a thick black fog. Heavy, suffocating clouds crushed her chest as she tried to stand. She clutched at the pantry doorknob, trying to gain leverage, to regain her dignity. To fight back. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s not like that. Tom loves me. He wants to marry me.’

‘Grow up, Mary. Do you really think there’s going to be a wedding? Wake up, girl. Marriage is the last thing on Private Pirelli’s mind. Did he tell you he’s put in for a transfer to Perth, on the other side of Australia?’

‘No, no-o-o!’ Her protest edged into a scream.

‘You’d better believe it, honey.’ Her father’s unexpectedly gentle voice reached her through the fog. ‘I’m sorry, but the little adventure he had planned for tonight was all about payback because he missed a promotion. Don’t you see? Tom Pirelli has been using you, sweetheart.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE soft red glow of a night vision light filled the Sea Knight helicopter’s cabin. Dressed in camouflage gear and floppy bush hats, the six members of the elite joint forces anti-terrorist squad sat alert and ready.

‘Five minutes out,’ came the crackling message from the pilot through their headphones.

Tom Pirelli checked his equipment one more time. Everything was ready. His gear was strapped down and the J-hook on his automatic weapon was secured so that it couldn’t pop loose or hook him up when the team made their fast rope descent to the drop zone in the South-East Asian jungle below.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and for a luxurious moment, he allowed his thoughts to turn away from the grim task ahead to a picture of his home—his family’s tea plantation on a sleepy green hillside, high on the Atherton Tableland in Far North Queensland.

He’d been thinking about home a lot lately. The morning mists, the welcoming smells of baking in his mother’s kitchen in winter and, in summer, the lacy splendour of tropical ferns in his nonna’s greenhouse.

It was a long time—too damn long—since he’d seen his family. But, since he’d joined the Australian Special Air Services, he’d been posted to so many foreign hot spots and had been home so rarely he’d almost forgotten how much he loved the old place. Yeah, it had definitely been too long.

A rap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present. Ed McBride, one of the US Rangers who’d teamed with the SAS for this joint forces mission, was leaning towards him.

‘Can you do me a favour, man?’ Ed shouted above the whining engines and the roar of the rotors.

‘What kind of favour?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read Ed’s expression—not easy given that his face was blackened in readiness for the night’s task.

‘Take this.’ Ed thrust a watch into Tom’s hand—not a high-tech serviceman’s watch, but a gold civilian job—an old-fashioned one at that. The kind that accompanied the golden handshake when old codgers retired. ‘Can you stick it in your pocket and look after it for me?’

‘You don’t need me to look after your stuff.’

‘Come on, man. Just this once. In case anything happens to me.’

Tom frowned. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, mate. This mission’s going to be a piece of cake.’

‘I know, I know, but just humour me on this and take the damn watch.’

Turning the watch over, Tom saw that the back was engraved and he used his penlight to read the inscription. To Robert Edward McBride. In appreciation. January 10, 1925.

‘It was my great-grandfather’s watch,’ Ed yelled. ‘It’s been handed down through the family. My dad passed it on to me and I want to keep it safe for my boy.’

‘For your son?’

‘Yeah.’

The team didn’t talk too much about their families—it was if talking about home might soften them somehow, and in this deadly game they couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. But Tom knew Ed had a wife and son back in Virginia. He’d seen a photo of the little fellow. The boy had been wearing his father’s cap and his face was in shadow, but he’d gained the impression that the youngster was sturdy and cute with a cheeky grin.

He shoved the watch back into Ed’s hand. ‘You keep this for your kid. It’ll be perfectly safe with you.’

‘No!’

The urgency in Ed’s voice sent a chill spiking down Tom’s spine.

‘Do it for me,’ Ed pleaded. ‘Just this once.’

‘Don’t talk crap,’ Tom shouted angrily. What was eating Ed? Special Operatives never lost their cool. Never showed fear. Or doubt.

But deep down he knew what Ed was trying to say. It was a feeling a soldier could get—a premonition that something was going to go wrong.

‘Please, Tom,’ Ed insisted. ‘I thought we were buddies.’

‘Well, yeah, of course we are. We’re more than buddies. We’re mates.’

It was true. He genuinely liked this American with his constant smile, spiky blond crewcut and marine-blue eyes. Ed was a crack soldier and an all-round great guy. Easygoing, salt of the earth, apple pie and Fourth of July all rolled into one six-foot, muscle-bound package. A walking-talking-fighting Good Guy.

Tom hadn’t expected to become close friends with the American, but he and Ed had formed a unique bond. They respected each other. Without question they trusted each other’s considerable battle skills, and they shared a similar outlook as well as a similar string of military decorations. But beyond that they shared something more important—a sense of humour that had helped them in the grimmer moments.

Until now.

Tom looked again at the gold watch. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. Its value could only be sentimental. And this was not a time for sentiment.

‘One minute out.’

The signal was given for the team to unbuckle their seat belts and move to the ramp at the rear of the chopper.

Their craft dropped to a hover and the men stood, bracing themselves. Ed would be the fifth man to descend the fast rope, while Tom, who was the squad’s leader, would bring up the rear.