
Second Chance with the Single Dad
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Kandy Shepherd
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14
CHAPTER ONE
WIL HUDSON WAS a handsome, handsome man. Georgia Lang had recognised his exceptional good looks from day one of their friendship. What red-blooded female wouldnât? But she had never allowed herself to acknowledge even a flutter of attraction to him.
It was way safer to be âjust friendsâ with a man who attracted women as effortlessly as gorgeous Wil didâand discarded them as readily. Especially when she was just an ordinary girl, attractive enough, but hardly a winner in the head-turning stakes. Nothing like the women Wil dated. Girl next door was the way people described her. On self-doubting days, she wondered if that was shorthand for distinctly unexciting. Most of the time she embraced the label as a good fit.
As Wilâs girl next door pal, his buddy, his good mate from university days, sheâd watched as his glamorous girlfriends came and went while their friendship endured. To be sure, it had ebbed and flowed. Theyâd always seen more of each other when theyâd been between relationships; there had been moments when sheâd wondered if they could be more than friends. But, fearing rejection, she hadnât dared suggest it; he hadnât either, and theyâd each dived back into the dating pool.
But all that had been before Wilâs whirlwind marriage. After heâd wed, none of their group of friends had seen much of him. Theyâd seen him even less after his wife had left him. Georgia hadnât seen him at all. Heâd ghosted herâjust stopped all contact without explanation. Not a call, not a text, not even a âlikeâ on social media. Sheâd seen him interviewed on television, heâd become a reluctant go-to spokesperson for the young generation of millionaires. But he might as well have been a ghost for all the personal contact sheâd had with him.
Now, just days into the new year, he stood at the doorstep of the North Sydney apartment she shared with two other schoolteachers. She was so taken aback to find him there she had to clutch at the door frame for support. Wil. Her heart started a furious beating. How sheâd missed him.
Incredulous delight flooded through her at seeing the friend sheâd painfully accepted was no longer part of her life. She started to blurt out her pleasure at his unexpected appearance, wish him the happiest of new years. To tell him she was moving house and he was just in time to help her lift some heavy boxes of books and sheâd reward him with the cookies she knew were his favourite. But she held herself back. This Wil wasnât her best friend. She hadnât deserved how heâd treated her. This Wil seemed like a stranger.
If it had been any other guy she might have shrieked about what a wreck she looked, in shorts and a past-its-use-by-date vest top, no make-up, hair rioting every which way from the January summer humidity. But sheâd never worried about her appearance with Wil; she doubted heâd ever noticed what sheâd worn.
But sheâd always noticed him. The impact of his good looks hit her afreshâtall, broad-shouldered, in dark jeans and a white T-shirt that showcased his athletic physique. For a long moment she stared at him as he met her gaze through narrowed eyes. What was he doing here? Why now?
âGeorgie,â he said slowly, his voice as deep and resonant as it had always been. His eyes searched her face, acknowledging that it had been a long time between meetings, waiting for her reaction. She met his gaze unflinchingly, drinking in the sight of him.
He was the same, but not quite the same. Wil had always been well groomed in a clean-shaven, country-boy kind of way. Now he was a few days away from a shave and stubble shadowed his jaw. His dark hair, longer than he used to wear it, fell unkempt over his forehead. Fine lines scored the corners of his eyes, the colour of bittersweet chocolate. At twenty-eight, a year older than her, he seemed somehow...weary. Perhaps making so much money so quickly did that for you, she thought cynically. Maybe it had also made him think heâd outgrown his old friends.
âItâs been two years,â she said at last, determined not to let a note of accusation edge her voice but failing dismally. Laughter and good-humoured teasing had been the keynotes of their friendship but she couldnât find it in herself to summon them up. It had hurt, the way he had so abruptly discarded their friendship of six yearsâ duration.
Friendship not just diminishedâas did happen when friends met âThe Oneââbut extinguished. As if those years had meant nothing when he had finally fallen in love. As if she had just been a convenient prop, of no further use in his new life. Good old Georgiaâno longer required. She couldnât hide that hurt. Couldnât pretend it didnât matter.
And Wil wasnât fooled for a moment. âIâm sorry itâs been so long, Georgie, I really am,â he said.
She attempted to tease but her words fell flat. âYou know whose fault that is.â
âMine. I know. And I regret it.â He paused.
âYet youâre here now.â She made no move towards him. No kiss on the cheek or hug in welcomeânot that their friendship had ever been the kind that involved physical contact beyond the socially polite. There had always been an unspoken âno touchingâ barrier between them.
Back in the day, when Wil had smiled there had been a hint of a dimple in his left cheek that, in spite of herself, sheâd always found appealing. He wasnât smiling now. Georgia didnât smile either. Once theyâd been such close friends theyâd joked they could read each otherâs minds. Now she could see in his eyes that he knew heâd hurt her by the way heâd dumped her. She wasnât inclined to be forgiving. But this was Wil and he had sought her out. She had to give him a hearing.
âI need your help,â he said, his voice gruff.
Georgia could tell the effort it took for him to force out those words. Once she would have immediately jumped in to ask what she could do for him. Good old Georgia would have cancelled prior engagements. Rearranged schedules. Bent over backwards to accommodate himâfar more, she realised, than he had ever done for her as his good friend. Now she remained with her feet planted firmly at the threshold. âI heard you and your wife had divorced.â
Angie, tiny, blonde, with a waif-like air that hadnât hidden her calculating eyes. None of the girls in their friendship group had been taken in by her. Not so the guys. But none had been so smitten as Wil.
âYes,â he said shortly.
Georgia crossed her arms across her chest. âIâm no longer available as number one shoulder to cry on when you break up with a woman.â Not one word from him in two years. âIâm afraid my give-a-damn quota has expired,â she said.
Only a tightening of his lips let her know that her words had met their target. He cleared his throat once, then again. âAngie...she... Angieâs dead,â he said.
Georgia clutched a hand to her heart. âWhat?â She expelled just the one word, tinged with disbelief. But Wilâs bleak expression told her to believe him. âWhen? How?â
âCar accident in the Blue Mountains. New Yearâs Eve. She...she died the next day in hospital. Three days ago.â
âOh, Wil, thatâs dreadful. Iâm so sorry.â She remembered all the bitchy thoughts sheâd had about Wilâs fluffy little wife. Regretted every one of them. Also regretted the just-spoken ânot giving a damnâ remark. Angie wasâhad beenâtwenty-seven, the same age as her. Frighteningly young to die. âIâm sorry,â she said again, not certain what else she could say. âCome in. Please. How can I help?â
She stepped aside to let him through the door. Apologised for the half-packed boxes around the place. Led him through to the living room, glad neither of her flatmates was home. Opened her mouth to offer him coffee. Maybe something stronger, even though it was only mid-morning. But Wil spoke first.
âI have a baby. A little girl called Nina.â
âOh.â Another stab of hurt shafted through her, that he hadnât cared to tell her something so momentous. âI didnât know you were a father.â
âNeither did I,â he said.
Georgia was too shell-shocked to find an immediate reply. âWhat do you mean?â she eventually choked out. âHow could you not know?â
âAngie didnât tell me. I wasnât aware she was pregnant, let alone that sheâd had a baby. We werenât in contact after our short marriage ended. Only through divorce lawyers.â
Yet she was pregnant? Break-up sex perhaps. Georgia couldnât ask. Sheâd heard the marriage had lasted less than six months. âWhy didnât she tell you?â
Wil swore under his breath. âI donât know. To punish me. To... Hell. I donât know why. Or if she ever intended to tell me. But she put my name on the birth certificate.â
The Angie that Georgia remembered would have milked a guy for all he had in child support. Sheâd had dollar signs flashing in her eyes when sheâd met successful, wealthy Wil. Heâd been an amateur inventor who had made a lot of money through patents after heâd appeared on a television show. âThen howâ?â
âA social worker from Katoomba Hospital in the Blue Mountains contacted me on New Yearâs Day. Told me my ex-wife had died. After the accident, she regained consciousness briefly and told the social worker she wanted me to take custody of the baby. It...it came from out of the blue.â
Wil a father. Now Georgia realised her old friend didnât just look weary. He looked dazed, as if his world had turned upside down, as if he wasnât sure where to place his feet so he wouldnât topple over. And he had reached out to her.
Wil had missed Georgiaâs friendship. He hadnât realised quite how much until just now when sheâd opened the door to him, not with her customary wide, open smile but tight-lipped and guarded. The full impact of how he had hurt her had hit him like a blow to the gut.
But two years ago, his first loyalty had been to Angie. She had been pretty, sexy and funâin the beginning. Thereâd been a vulnerability to her too that had drawn him to her. But sheâd got very demanding very quickly. When Angie had begged him not to see his close female friendânot even to say goodbyeâheâd had to go along with it. That was what a guy did for his woman. Besides, heâd learned very early that to disagree with Angie wasnât worth it. No matter how large a gap Georgia had left in his life.
When the blinkers had come off, when heâd realised that Angie was too damaged for a normal relationship, heâd cut his losses and ended it very quickly. His gentlemanly instinct had been to let Angie tell people sheâd been the one to leave. It had probably been doomed from the startâtwo people with troubled pasts drawn to each other, he wanting to rescue her, she deciding to blame him for all that was wrong with her life.
But that was in the past. Angie was tragically gone. And heâd found he was a father.
Now his lovely friend of such long standing stood near to him, cheeks flushed, her chestnut hair a riot of waves around her face, her blue eyes warm with both sympathy and a shocked surprise.
âWas the baby injured in the accident?â she asked.
âThankfully not. Angieâs sister was babysitting that night.â
âThank heaven.â Georgia shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. âIâm having trouble taking this in. I canât imagine how you must have felt at such news.â
Wil briefly closed his eyes at the intensity of his relief that she hadnât turned him away. Breathed in his friendâs sweet scent, immediately familiar, immediately comforting. Georgia.
âNothing could have prepared me for it,â he said.
He still couldnât articulate his shock and disbelief at the call from the hospital. Angieâs tragic death had been enough to cope with, without the news of his unexpected paternity. Then heâd had to deal with the anger heâd felt towards his ex for keeping him out of the loop. The doubt that the child was his.
âWhat did you do?â
âDrove straight to Katoomba. Met with the social worker. Met...met my daughter.â
My daughter. Emotion swamped him as he remembered seeing the impossibly little girl in the social workerâs arms. How she had looked up at him with dark solemn eyesâhis eyesâthen reached over one tiny starfish hand to grip his finger strong and hard. He struggled not to let that emotion show on his face. Not to Georgia. Sensible, steady Georgia to whom he had been so careful never to reveal who he was, what he was, for fear she would turn away from him.
âHow...how old is she?â He could see Georgia was struggling with the fact he had a child. Heâd only had a few days to get used to the idea himself. But already he thought of himself as a father, determined to give that tiny scrap of humanity everything in life that had been denied him.
âSeven months.â
âThatâs very young. What are you going to do?â
âGo get her today,â he said without hesitation.
âWhat do you mean?â
âAngieâs sister in Katoomba is kicking up a fuss. Seems to think she has a claim on Nina. She doesnât, of course. Legally she hasnât got a leg to stand on. But the sooner I have Nina with me, the better.â
Georgiaâs blue eyes widened. âYou mean you intend to bring Nina up by yourself?â
âSheâs my responsibility. Iâm heading up to the Blue Mountains to pick her up and take her home.â
âWhoa.â Georgia put her hand to her forehead. âIâm reeling here. Youâre going to be a single dad?â
âIâm her father. Sheâs my flesh and blood. There is no choice.â
âYouâre sure Nina is yours?â
âHave I done a DNA test? No time for that yet. But sheâs mine all right. Looking at her is like looking into a miniature mirror. The social worker from the hospital laughed when she saw me. âNo doubt about this little oneâs daddy,â she said.â
Georgia nodded thoughtfully, as he had seen her do so many times. âThatâs reassuring. And she must be very cute if she looks like you. But have you really thought this through?â
âSheâs my child and I will do my duty by her.â
Heâd been orphaned at five years old. His time in foster care had marked him for life. No way in the world would any child of his go through what he had gone through. But he couldnât tell Georgia that. For all the years of their friendship heâd never told herâor anyone from his ânew lifeâ in Sydneyâthe truth about his childhood back in Melbourne. Heâd made no secret that heâd been adopted. But as far as his university friends were concerned heâd been adopted at five by his wonderful parents. Not at fourteen years of age. Not after having found himself in a heap of trouble for doing what heâd thought was the right thing.
âGood for you,â Georgia said. âBut it wonât be easy. I guess you know that.â
âNone of it will be easy,â he said. âWhich is why Iâve come here to ask you for your help. I need a friendââ She started to protest but he spoke over her. âI know I probably donât deserve your friendship, not after those years of radio silence. But Iâm asking you anyway, Georgie. For moral support. Please come with me to Katoomba. Today.â
Her eyes widened and she frowned. âMe? Why?â
âYou know about kids. You teach elementary school. You have nieces and nephews by the bucketload.â He didnât want to sound desperate. But none of his friends had started families yet. Not that he would expect them to put their own lives aside and rush to his help.
Yet he expected that of Georgia. He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside. She had always been there for him. Until he hadnât been there for her. But Nina needed him. And he needed Georgia.
âThat doesnât make me an expert on babies,â she said.
âMore of an expert than I am,â he said. âIâd never even held a baby until the social worker handed Nina to me two days ago.â Heâd been petrified heâd drop her, despite the social workerâs reassurance.
âIâm one ahead of you there,â Georgia said with a wry twist to her mouth. Sheâd used to tell him she was the âafterthoughtâ in her familyâeight years younger than her youngest sister, ten years younger than her oldest. They were both married with kids. Sheâd done a lot of babysitting. If anyone knew how to look after a baby, it was her.
âThatâs why I thoughtââ he started.
âDonât you have a girlfriend?â
âNo.â The relationship with Angie had burned him too badly to even contemplate dating.
âThere must be someone else who couldâ?â
âThereâs no one else I would trust.â
She sighed, took a step back from him against the stack of boxes in the middle of her living room. Pushed her fingers through her riot of dark chestnut, wavy hair. âThatâs not fair, Wil. After all this time you canât just rock up here andââ
âIâve been a bad friend, I know,â he said. Wil didnât expect her to disagree and she didnât.
âI... We... Your friends thought youâd dropped us because when you struck it so rich with your inventions, you wanted to leave us behind.â She looked up at him, her eyes huge with undisguised hurt and bewilderment. He hated that he had hurt her.
âThatâs not how it happened at all,â he said. How could she have thought that of him? Yes, he had made a lot of money but it hadnât changed things, hadnât changed him. He clenched his hands into fists by his sides. He never wanted Georgia to think badly of him. âI felt obligated to do what Angie wanted. She was jealous of you. Thought the others looked down at her.â
By the time he had realised Angie had purposely alienated him from the friends he cared most about, it had been impossible to make amends to them.
âThat wasnât true,â Georgia said.
But she didnât quite meet his eye. None of his friends had liked Angie. If only heâd listened to them, instead of being swept along on an ill-founded urge to be some kind of white knight and rescue her from the effects of her troubled past.
âFact was, Angie didnât like me seeing you. Didnât believe in platonic friendship between a man and a woman. No matter how many times I assured her we were just friends, that we could all be friends. That there was no reason for her to be so jealous.â
âNo reason at all to be jealous,â she echoed. âWe rode horses together. Saw indie bands that no one else liked. But there was never any romance.â
âAngie didnât believe me,â he said. Instead sheâd screamed awful, ill-founded accusations he had no intention of sharing with Georgia.
âAnd after your marriage ended? Still no word from you.â
He gritted his teeth. âI didnât want to admit what a mistake Iâd made by marrying her.â
Georgia would never know how many times heâd got as far as the last digit in her phone number before hanging up. How many times heâd driven past this apartment, slowing down only to accelerate away at the thought of confessing what an idiot heâd been to be taken in so thoroughly by Angie. Because to do that would have meant revealing the truth about those hidden years of his life. And not even the comfort and understanding he might have got from his long-standing friend Georgia had been worth that.
âReally,â she muttered. But the icy edge to her voice was melting.
âIâm sorry, Georgie. If I could go back and change things I would.â
She blinked rapidly, something sheâd always done when she was thinking deeply about something important. Finally, she spoke. âIâm not one to hold a grudge. I see things must have been difficult for you. And nowââ
âYouâll come with me to pick up Nina? That is, if you donât have a boyfriend who has claims on your time.â
âNo. Thereâs no one.â
âWhat about Toby? I thought for sure heâd have a ring on your finger by now.â
âWe broke up a year ago,â she said, tight-lipped.
Good. âIâm sorry,â he said to be polite. Heâd been convinced sheâd marry Toby. He cursed under his breath. If heâd known Toby was going to exit her life, he mightnât have made that rash decision to marry Angie.
She gestured around her. âIâm in the middle of moving house. The landlord has put the apartment on the market and Iâm going home to my parentsâ until I find a new place. There are boxes still to pack, cleaning to be done. Iââ
âIâll pay for packers, movers and professional cleaners. Please, Georgie.â
She paused, looked up at him with an expression he knew of old, halfway between exasperation and affection, then sighed. âFor past timesâ sake,â she said. âNo, for the babyâs sake. Unless youâve changed a lot in the two years since I last saw you, Iâm not so sure youâd know which end was up on a seven-month-old baby.â Her smileâthat lovely smile that had always uplifted himâdanced around the edges of her lips.
Wil didnât realise heâd been holding his breath until he let it out on a whoosh of relief.
âThank you,â he said.
Now that Georgia was back in his life, he wouldnât let her go again too easily. No matter what it took.
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