My Husband’s Child by Alison Ragsdale: Excerpt

My Husband’s Child

When I find a little girl standing on my doorstep, I don’t know what to do. But as I take her small hand in mine, she whispers words that will change my life. ‘Mummy said you’d look after me.’

Ever since her husband left her for another woman, Cora has been trying to put her life back together. But when she hears he started a family, her heart breaks all over again. And so, when the doorbell rings late one night, the last person Cora expects to find is her husband’s child.

The little girl is shivering, clutching her baby brother’s hand. With no other choice, Cora ushers the children into her home. As she settles them by the fire, she tries to work out what happened. But as the days pass and her phone calls go unanswered, she realises the children’s parents have vanished without a trace…

Over the following weeks, Cora grows to love the children as if they were her own. And as she tucks them into bed each night, pressing a kiss to their foreheads, her heart feels fuller than she ever could have imagined.

But when her ex-husband’s wife reappears, Cora senses she isn’t telling the truth about why she abandoned her children. And when Cora’s ex-husband returns, claiming the children aren’t safe with their mother, she faces an impossible choice. Should Cora believe him or the children’s mother? And should she trust her instinct that something is terribly wrong?

An utterly compelling and heartbreaking story about motherhood and a devastating family secret. Readers who love Kate Hewitt, Jodi Picoult and Diane Chamberlain will be totally captivated by this deeply emotional novel.

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

April – Two months later

In the eight weeks that Cora had been caring for the children, everything about her peaceful, ordered life had changed.

The events that had unfolded after she’d discovered Evie and Ross on her doorstep had been surreal. For days, a maelstrom of shock, disbelief, and anger had kept her awake at night, her eyes burning as she stared at her laptop, trying every possible way she could think of to trace their mother, Holly, or their father, her ex-husband, Fraser Munro.

Cora knew that her former father-in-law, James Munro, had spoken with the police, contacted anyone he could think of that Fraser might turn to for sanctuary, even some of his old university friends, to no avail.

Cora occasionally imagined Fraser was on a sunny island somewhere, sipping icy cocktails, and painting portraits of tourists while fooling himself into believing that he was unattached to anyone or anything. As for Holly, Cora avoided thinking about her whereabouts as it only sparked anger and pain at what the children had gone through over the past two months.

Today, on a day that was unfolding like many others before it, with Cora navigating her new existence, she sat across the kitchen table from Ross, who was eating a chocolate biscuit, his fingers now good and sticky. As she watched him licking the chocolate off the top of the biscuit and then wiping his hands on his trousers, Cora sighed, resigned to having to do yet another load of washing that afternoon.

‘Not on your trousers, wee man.’ She handed him a piece of kitchen paper, amused by the way he scrunched it between his palms rather than wipe his fingers on it.

Two months ago, on a perfect Sunday morning like this, Cora would have risen at dawn, eaten a quick breakfast, then packed her fishing gear and headed for the River Dee, near her home. She had learned to fly fish with her soft-spoken father, Andrew, catching salmon and sea trout. She’d sit on her fold-out chair and watch him bait their hooks. He’d got her a little bucket hat and pinned it with hooks and colourful flies, just like his own, and Cora treasured those precious mornings with her dad, the gentle calm of them now a distant memory.

Ross’s face was now clownlike, with a dark, chocolate ring circling his mouth.

‘You mucky pup.’ She laughed at the endearing expression of mischief, deciding to let him finish before bothering to wipe his face.

‘Choc-lit.’ He grinned, waving his sticky fingers at her. Now twenty months old, Ross was a sunny-natured child. His white-blonde hair glistened in sunlight and his eyes, the same, distinct pale blue rimmed with black as his father’s, followed Cora wherever she went, like a portrait in a gallery. He was easy, and trusting, and Cora was quickly growing to adore him.

‘Yes, chocolate.’ She smiled, then glanced at the broad window above the farmhouse sink, overlooking the back garden.

His sister, Evie, had finished her biscuit quickly and gone outside, the bright spring morning luring her outdoors. Now almost four, she was a quiet child, fond of reading and colouring at the coffee table in the living room, and she would often sit on a deckchair in the back garden, singing to herself as Cora worked in the planter boxes.

Though it had taken longer than it had with Ross, Cora had worked hard to develop a close bond with Evie. Cora had felt inadequate, helpless in the face of Evie’s distress over the disappearance of her parents, the colossal change to her little life having rocked the child’s world, but after weeks of struggling to comfort her, Cora’s perseverance had paid off and, to her surprise, it had been their mutual love of nature that had provided a welcome conduit to connect them, and for Evie to begin to heal.

During the first few days of caring for the children, Cora would bundle them up against the cold March wind and, with Ross in his stroller, they’d walk the ten minutes from the house to the River Dee, then along the riverbank, the smell of damp moss and new grass coated in spring rain surrounding them. She’d take them all the way to the Dee bridge, built in 1527, its iconic golden-coloured, Elgin sandstone arches spanning the river at the spot where she and her father had often fished.

The Dee glittered in a unique way, sparks of golden light dancing across the surface, and flashes of silver drawing the eye as sea trout, or salmon, broke the surface and then slipped back below the rippling water. Spotting the fish caused great excitement in the children, Ross squealing as he pointed at the water, and Evie jumping up and down as she shouted, ‘I saw one, there! Over there!’

Wanting to encourage her enthusiasm for the outdoors, Cora had taught Evie about the shrubs and flowers they passed on the riverbank, and then, back at home, about the plants in the narrow bed that ran along the drystone wall at the end of the garden.

Relieved to have found something that brought Evie joy, Cora had let her cut bunches of the silky daffodils and bright purple allium, with their pom-pom blooms, and stalks of the sturdy heathers that filled the bed. Seeing the child’s interest piqued, Cora had encouraged Evie to learn about the vegetables and herbs that Cora grew in the planter boxes her father had built. She’d shown Evie how to gently turn and feed the soil, rotate the seedlings, harvest, and care for the produce as the season changed. She was always keen to get her hands into the earth and loved to point out the glistening worms that surfaced after the rain.

A little squeal drew Cora back to the moment, the sound a jarring screech that she felt vibrate in her temple, as Ross then started to bash a chocolate-smeared dinosaur figure on the tabletop, his chubby hand gripping the triceratops by its tail. The happy abandon with which he was amusing himself made her smile, but the sound was amplified by her cochlear implant, turning it into something akin to dustbin lids being clanged together.

‘Easy, sweet boy.’ She reached over and gently stopped the motion. ‘Not so loud. OK?’

Ross met her gaze for a few moments, the dark-rimmed eyes locked on hers, then he tipped his head to the side like a curious puppy. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he carefully set the dinosaur down, as if he was trying not to make a sound, the gentle, intuitive movement so touching that Cora’s throat narrowed.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, then kissed the tips of her fingers and blew him a kiss. ‘You are such a good boy.’

Ross dipped his chin coyly, a cheeky smile taking over his face as he returned the gesture, his mouth pursed as he blew his kiss back to her from his sticky fingers.

Being a parent was undoubtedly the hardest thing Cora had ever done, and for all the unknowns, missteps, and frequent bouts of disappointment in herself at how she was coping, each smile, or hug, each touch of a small hand or air-blown kiss made her heart soar.

She had always thought that she would be a mother someday, even keeping a list of names she liked in a journal in her bottom drawer, but when her marriage to Fraser had imploded, and the subsequent, solitary years had begun slipping by, she had grown to accept that it might not happen for her.

The irony of how she had ultimately been thrown into parenthood was mind-blowing. Her ex-husband and his new wife’s abandonment of their children had been appalling, and inexcusable, and Cora’s own inexperience with children at the time glaring. But despite her trepidation, and her anger at both Holly and Fraser, Cora was starting to embrace her new family, even if it was borrowed, and often overwhelming.

Ross picked up the dinosaur again and slammed it onto the table, making Cora jump.

‘Right, you little monkey. Let’s get you cleaned up.’ She rose, wiped his sticky face with a wet cloth and set him on the ground. ‘Shall we go out and see what your sister’s up to?’ She patted his backside and followed him as he trotted to the open back door.

Outside, the April breeze was carrying the scent of the waxy rosemary that filled one corner of a planter box at the left side of the compact back garden. The smell always reminded Cora of her mother, Eliza, and the long afternoons they’d spent in the kitchen together.

Eliza Campbell, a petite redhead with turquoise eyes, a trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a soft, lilting voice easy for Cora to hear, had been a keen and talented cook. She had taught Cora how to work with the ingredients that she and her father would forage for on the walk home, after a morning of fishing, and they’d use the various fleshy mushrooms, spicy watercress, and wild onions they’d found to make fragrant stews and soups, supplemented with the herbs and vegetables that Eliza grew herself.

As Cora let the memories wash over her, her heart swelled with love and longing for the kind and nurturing couple who had taken her in. The small, pebble-dash bungalow with its twin bay windows and dark slate roof, one of five that ran the length of Montague Road, was the only home Cora had ever felt she belonged in and now, looking across the sunny garden, she sighed contentedly.

The sky was bright beyond the big cherry tree that dominated the far-right corner of the space. A smattering of lacy clouds inched across the horizon as the breeze tugged at the branches, sending a sprinkling of the last, dried-up blossoms, like pale pink confetti, across the tiny lawn.

Seeing Evie on the edge of the circular patio, in the middle of the narrow patch of lawn, Cora smiled. Evie was sitting on the paving stones next to the pedestal birdbath, her head tipped to the side in concentration.

‘Hi, chickadee. What are you doing?’

Evie looked up, her voice dreamy. ‘The birds are singing.’ She pointed behind her at the cherry tree. ‘Robins.’ The breeze was lifting her gilded hair from her shoulder, her cheeks glowing as she closed her moss-green eyes.

Cora’s throat tightened in gratitude at the little girl’s contentment, something Cora had, not so long ago, worried that she might never see again. Eventually, after weeks of upsetting scenes and sleepless nights, Evie had stopped asking when Mummy and Daddy would be coming back.

Blinking away the heartbreaking memories of cradling the child as she wept inconsolably for her parents, Cora lunged forward and caught up with Ross, who was now running at full pelt towards his sister.

‘Watch out, Evie. Here comes trouble.’ Cora grabbed him under his arms and swung him out in front of her, then set his feet, snug in tiny new trainers, onto the patio next to Evie. He had already outgrown much of the clothing that had been in the little suitcase, as had Evie, and Cora had enjoyed shopping for them, surprised at the lift of joy wandering around a quaint children’s shop in Aberdeen had given her.

Ross tottered forwards, then plopped himself down at his sister’s side as she glanced at him, a soft smile lifting the corner of her mouth.

‘Listen, Rossy.’ She leaned towards him and pointed at the pair of robins still sitting on a low branch of the cherry tree. ‘See the birds?’

Ross’s eyes followed her finger as he stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Touched by the sweet scene, and marvelling at Evie’s caring nature, Cora walked to the row of planter boxes. As she absently picked some wilted leaves off a young basil plant, crushing them in her palm and breathing in their citrusy aroma, she mentally planned the menu for this coming week for James.

Thinking about her former father-in-law, the memory of arriving at his home, Locharden House, the impressive seventeenth-century manor on the family estate, to tell him about finding the children the previous night flashed through her mind.

She had been convinced that he would automatically step in. Take the children on until Holly or Fraser returned. Instead, as soon as Evie was out of earshot, pale with shock, James had pleaded with Cora to keep the children with her for a while.

Cora had been horrified. ‘You’re not serious?’ She’d stood in the long, austere hall, the three stags’ heads mounted high on the right-hand wall seeming to look on disbelieving, as she’d shifted Ross higher on her hip.

‘Cora, I can’t keep them here.’ James had clasped the back of his neck, his cheeks florid. ‘I’m an old man with health issues, too much to do, and no help.’ At this, his voice had cracked, and Cora had felt an initial rush of sympathy for him, but then, disbelieving, she’d put Ross back into his stroller.

‘James, these are your grandchildren! I can’t possibly care for them. I have a life, you know. Aside from being your personal chef, I have a life.’ The peaceful existence she had carved out for herself, after she’d healed from heartbreak, had felt as if it were in serious jeopardy.

‘Cora, please. I simply can’t cope with them myself. Just keep them for a few days, then I’ll sort something out.’ He’d pressed his palms together as if in prayer, causing her resolve to waver.

Cora had agreed to keep the children for a few days until James could make other arrangements, but the days had turned to weeks, and now months. Both she and her former father-in-law had been unable to locate either of the children’s parents, despite an exhaustive search, and as time ticked on, Cora had grown increasingly afraid that she might never get her peaceful life back.

Now, as she sniffed the crushed basil again, the only herb her ex-husband had been able to identify, an image of him floated back to her, and she sighed, recalling that the exact moment she had agreed to help him, almost seven years ago, she had had no idea that she was choosing a path that would change her life, forever. A path that had diverted her so far from her intended direction that she could hardly comprehend it.

How was it possible that the man she had divorced four years ago was still controlling her life, while remaining completely absent from it?

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Alison Ragsdale is an Amazon bestselling author, and two-time IPPY Award winner. She writes emotional, contemporary fiction novels with a touch of Scotland. Her books are described as heart-wrenching tales of family dynamics and relationships.

Alison lived and worked in eight countries before settling in the USA. She now lives near Washington D.C., with her husband and super-spoiled dog. She loves to read, spend time with family, throw parties with bagpipers involved, watch So You Think You Can Dance, and cook comfort food.

Join her mailing list and be the first to hear about her new book releases at www.alisonragsdale.com

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