Love Without Reason. Alison Fraser

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘IS IT mine?’ were his very first words, when they met outside the village store.

      Riona stood a moment, caught by memories. It had been over a year and she’d never expected to see him again. She wasn’t ready for this.

      She murmured a faint ‘What?’ in response.

      ‘The baby you’ve had—is it mine?’ he repeated coolly.

      No ‘It’s good to see you!’ No ‘How are you?’ Just straight to the point for Cameron Adams.

      ‘No, it isn’t.’ She gave him the answer he wanted.

      It was a surprise that he even bothered adding, ‘Are you sure?’

      She nodded.

      They stood a moment longer, looking at each other, remembering...

      Then Riona turned to walk away.

      He blocked her path.

      ‘In that case—’ his lips formed a contemptuous curve ‘—I guess Fergus Ross is the lucky man.’

      ‘You can guess what you like,’ Riona threw back, and pushed past him.

      He let her go and she hurried up the road, turning a couple of times to check he wasn’t following. He remained outside the shop, watching her retreat. He probably thought she was running away from him—and he was right.

      She was out of breath when she reached Dr Macnab’s house. She rang the bell with some urgency.

      ‘He’s back, Doctor,’ she gasped as the door opened. ‘I just met him. At the store. He’s heard about Rory. I have to go—’

      ‘Now, calm down, lass,’ Dr Macnab advised, leading her inside. ‘You mean Cameron Adams?’

      She nodded, before going to pick up the baby lying on the living-room carpet. He gave her a beautiful toothless smile.

      ‘Cameron knows about the lad here.’ Dr Macnab was clearly less distressed by the fact. ‘Then he must have come to help you. I was certain he would. If only you’d let me write him—’

      ‘No, Doctor.’ Riona shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he’s come, but it’s not to help. More likely he’s scared I’ll bring a paternity suit against him.’

      ‘Ah, Riona, lass.’ The old doctor sighed at her cynicism. ‘I can’t think that’s so. He took advantage of you, it’s true, but he’s not a bad man. Now he knows he’s fathered Rory—’

      ‘Actually, he doesn’t,’ Riona stated, before the doctor’s optimism could carry him away.

      ‘But you said...’ Hamish Macnab tried to remember exactly what she had said.

      ‘Someone told him I’d had a baby,’ Riona explained. ‘He wanted to know if it was his. I said it wasn’t.’

      ‘What?’ The old man was plainly shocked.

      ‘I just told him what he wanted to hear, Doctor,’ Riona justified her actions. ‘You won’t tell him differently, will you?’

      ‘I can’t. You know that.’ As her doctor, he couldn’t break a confidence, even if he wished to. ‘But, lass, you can’t hope to get away with it. He just has to see Rory...’

      Riona frowned at this mention of the likeness between baby and father. She adored her son, but that was how she thought of him—her son, and nobody else’s.

      ‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t.’ Her jaw set with determination as she dressed the baby in his outdoor clothes and went to put him in the carrier she used.

      Dr Macnab stopped her, saying, ‘Come away, lass, I’ll give you a lift.’

      She accepted the offer. It was quite a walk back to her crofthouse and she didn’t want to risk a second meeting with Cameron Adams.

      Unfortunately the doctor used the car journey to try and persuade her to tell the truth to the American. She listened politely and, on parting, agreed to think about it, knowing full well she wouldn’t. A year ago Cameron Adams had returned to Boston without a word or a backward glance. He’d left her with a breaking heart and a baby on the way. In time her heart had hardened and life now centred on her son; they needed no help from his father.

      She carried young Rory into the crofthouse and sat him in a bouncing cradle close to the old-fashioned range. When they weren’t out on the hills, they inhabited the kitchen, because it was the warmest room.

      Rory had actually been born in the house. He’d arrived a few weeks early, allowing no time to travel to hospital in Inverness, and Dr Macnab had delivered him in the bedroom upstairs. He had been a healthy eight pounds, the birth had been relatively easy, and love for her son had flowed through her from the moment he’d been placed in her arms. Giving him up would have been impossible.

      Yet keeping him sometimes seemed an act of selfishness. She looked round her shabby kitchen, furnished with an ill-assorted collection of sideboards and tables from her granny’s day. Some work had recently been done by the estate to try and eradicate damp in the walls and warm up the cold stone floor with linoleum, but it was still a shabby place. It made her realise how little she had to offer Rory. She didn’t even own the small, cheerless house, and she barely eked a living from working the croft. She carried Rory with her when she herded the sheep, and, despite the doctor’s assurances, she worried that the fresh air was too bracing for a five-month-old baby.

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