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‘Suitability?’
‘They move in the same circles,’ Jack told her. ‘They’ve been an on-again off-again item for years. It always seemed to the district they just used each other as a social convenience between more interesting partners—but suddenly it’s more than that. She’s getting long in the tooth—and he wants a wife.
‘Caroline’s groomed herself well for the job. She’s done a cordon bleu cookery course or some such thing in France. She makes a wonderful hostess and as a social organizer she’s second to none. Mike McTavish lived a pretty messy bachelor existence until the twins. So... he’s made up his mind to marry a lady trained for the job.’ He grimaced. ‘Can’t say I’d like to wake up next to that every morning, though.’
‘But...Grandpa, surely he must...well, he must love her. To ask her to marry him...’
‘Folk say he panicked,’ Jack said slowly. ‘And who’s to blame him—a single man saddled with two grief-stricken six-year-olds out of the blue? Maybe anyone would have panicked in the same circumstances. Grace Brown does housework for him two mornings a week, but she has her own husband and boys and farm to run. Domestic help here is darned hard to find. For Mike McTavish—a lad who doesn’t know one thing about raising kids—our Caroline must have seemed a sensible solution.
‘And maybe she’s just as pragmatic. Word is that her father’s running short on money; she’s not trained for a lot beside social niceties and Mike’s offer must have looked as good to her as it seemed sensible to him.’
‘Ugh.’
Erin shuddered and Jack O’Connell subjected his granddaughter to a long, scrutinizing stare.
‘What the squatocracy do with their lives isn’t our business, though, Erin girl,’ Jack said softly. His gaze grew a little anxious. ‘Now... You did say...you did say you were staying a while?’
‘If you’ll have me.’ Erin hesitated and then took his hand. ‘Your last letter said you’re thinking of selling.’
‘I don’t have a choice,’ her grandpa said roughly. ‘I can’t manage the place on my own any more.’ He looked out over the lush green pastures to the rolling hills beyond. This area of the western district of Victoria, with its rich river plains and scattered red gum trees was arguably one of the most beautiful parts of Australia. ‘It’ll break my heart, though, lass,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t mind admitting it.’
‘Well, that’s why I’m here.’ Erin caught his hand. ‘Grandpa, you know I love this place. You know I always have. I’ve done two years’ agricultural training between my mucking about with horses. I’ve been working part-time as farm hand and horse strapper since I left home. And all I want...’ She took a deep breath. ‘All I want from life is to live here and run this farm for you. For us. What do you say, Grandpa? Could you bear to have me?’
The old man’s eyes filled with tears. He put a hand up to shove them away but more welled up after them.
‘You wouldn’t be bored silly?’ he managed in a choked voice.
‘I promise.’
‘There’s not much social life round here.’
‘I don’t need social life.’
‘But...a girl like you should be going to parties. Enjoying yourself. Meeting young men and getting married.’
Erin shook her head.
‘Not me, Grandpa,’ she said softly. ‘Believe me. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need anything. Only you and Paddy and this farm.’
‘You’re crazy,’ the old man whispered, a smile wavering out between tears.
‘Crazy or not, if you’ll have me I’m staying.’
Erin slept soundly in the same bed she’d slept in as a teenager. She was woken at dawn by magpies and kookaburras, and when she flung open the window to greet the day she was met by a huge Hereford cow. The creature shoved her nose in and inspected Erin’s pyjamaclad figure with interest.
‘Ugh...’ Laughing and supremely content, Erin shoved the nose back outside. ‘Introductions later, ma’am.’
Still laughing, she showered and dressed fast and made her way outside.
Breakfast took ages. Jack O’Connell was almost absurdly anxious that she’d changed her mind in the night, but was intent, nevertheless, on telling her the worst.
There was a small voice at the back of Erin’s head telling her she wanted to spend the morning visiting the twins—and their uncle—but on that first morning Jack went through the farm figures with her.
Erin blocked the McTavishes from her thoughts and listened with care. This was important. This was her future life. As she went slowly through the books she was never more grateful for her farm management training.
There were things wrong here that needed to be faced, but there was nothing insurmountable. By the end of the morning there was hope in both their faces. Jack and Erin ate a companionable lunch, both immeasurably cheered, and then Jack disappeared for an afternoon nap. Finally Erin let her inner voice hold sway. She went to saddle Paddy.
‘Your first gallop on an Australian farm,’ she said fondly to the horse as she saddled him. ‘I hope you like it, Pad. I think we’re here to stay.’
She should be checking Jack’s stock, she thought as she and Paddy finally rode east across the paddocks towards the McTavishes. From here the Hereford herd looked lazy, well fed and contented, but, by the look of the books, Erin knew there were problems. Grandpa hadn’t got round to drenching this year, and his calving had been a disaster.
There was also the little matter of the hay...
The problems would have to wait. Erin’s inner voice was fair screaming at her now. It was a case of priorities again, she told herself. Laura and Matthew were top of the list.
The fact that she’d see Mike McTavish again had nothing to do with it!
The twins were waiting for her—two small urchins hanging over the gate—and their matching grins as Erin and Paddy appeared over the rise made Erin grin herself. What a difference! This was certainly a change from yesterday.
‘We’ve been waiting and waiting,’ Laura announced importantly. ‘Since crack of dawn!’
‘Crack!’ Erin whistled, impressed. ‘Wow!’
‘Mike says we have to tell him as soon as you arrive—and we asked Mrs Brown to make scones before she went home. All we have to do is stick them in the oven and they’ll take twelve minutes.’ Both children regarded Erin anxiously, as if she might dig her heels into Paddy’s flanks and gallop off. ‘You can stay twelve minutes, can’t you?’
‘Of course I can,’ Erin smiled, dismounting. ‘For fresh scones, I could stay an hour.’
They hardly heard. Their matching whoops of delight filled the yard as both children screamed off towards the house.
‘Uncle Mike...Mike, she’s here. Mike...’
The title seemed to be dropped at will, Erin thought, noting that the children were more accustomed to just plain ‘Mike’ than ‘Uncle Mike’. It seemed a healthy sign. With Aunt Caroline there was no such dropping of the guard.
‘Mike... She’s here, Mike, and she’s brought Paddy.’
The children were pretending to be aeroplanes, Erin figured, watching them swoop their arms and veer from side to side as they ran. Two happy, healthy, normal six-year-olds. The change from yesterday was amazing.
Ten seconds later they reappeared from the house, each towing the unfortunate Mike’s hand. Whatever their uncle had been doing had clearly been deemed unimportant.
Mike was laughing, though. A willing prisoner...
‘Now, you stay and talk to Erin,’ Laura bossed importantly, towing her uncle close and abandoning him. ‘Matthew and I have to fix the scones.’ She hesitated. ‘But you’ll come in and take them out of the oven when we yell, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Mrs Brown said we weren’t allowed to do that ourselves.’
‘I sure will.’ Mike ruffled Laura’s hair before sending both aeroplanes winging back across the yard: He watched them go with affection and then turned to Erin. The smile Erin knew so well creased his face.
‘Thank you for coming.’ He smiled. ‘The twins were counting on it.’
His smile deepened—and locked. And then faded as if Mike McTavish was suddenly unsure.
‘I...I promised.’
‘So you did.’
There was no sign of Caroline. The relief of not having to face the supercilious woman was making Erin feel light-headed; Mike McTavish had always had the power to make her feel different. Special.
‘Would you like to let Paddy loose to graze? There’s a small paddock behind the sheds.’ With a perceptible effort Mike shifted his gaze to Paddy.
‘No.’ Erin fought to make her voice less breathless. ‘I’ll just hitch him...’
‘You’re not staying long?’
‘Long enough for some scones.’ Still the same stupid breathlessness.
‘Paddy’s a great horse.’
Mike McTavish’s voice seemed almost as constrained as Erin’s. Both of them were focusing their attention on the horse to take off the pressure. Mike ran a hand over Paddy’s gleaming flank. Erin had groomed him for half an hour before saddling him and it showed, his jet-black coat shining like velvet. The farmer stood back and looked at the gleaming thoroughbred, assessing him carefully. ‘He looks...he looks almost as if he could have been a racehorse.’
‘He’s an old steeplechaser,’ Erin told him, her eyes starting to smile again. Any talk of Paddy made her smile. ‘Well—he was a would-be steeplechaser. He moves like the wind in training, but, given a line-up of horses on a track, Paddy stops dead and waits for the others to disappear. He likes the attention all to himself, does my Paddy.’
There was no disguising the affection in Erin’s voice, and Mike looked across at her curiously.
His gaze unsettled her.
Well, if he was assessing Erin as well as Paddy, at least she wasn’t quite as disreputable as yesterday, Erin decided nervously as Mike’s eyes raked her slim body. She was still clad in jeans and T-shirt but her hair was neatly brushed and tied back with a scarf, and she was almost clean.
Almost. She couldn’t be immaculate after spending half an hour grooming a dusty horse.
‘You are American,’ Mike said slowly as he looked at her. ‘Your accent...’
‘It’s not much of one,’ Erin said defensively, and flushed.
‘It’s definitely not Australian.’
‘If I’ve lost my Aussie drawl I’m happy,’ she smiled. ‘But I’d prefer not to sound too broadly American.’
‘I think your speech is a mixture of both.’ Mike grinned. ‘I wouldn’t worry. It’s attractive...’
Oh, great. Erin had come a long way, then. Fourteen years ago she’d been nothing but a gawky kid. Now at least she had an attractive accent!
‘I’ve been trying to figure you out.’ Mike took Paddy’s reins from her and led him over to the trough beside the verandah. This place was well set up for horses. ‘Erin O’Connell... I didn’t think Jack had any relatives in the country.’
‘He has me.’ Her voice sounded a bit breathless.
‘He hasn’t seen much of you,’ Mike said slowly. ‘He’s been pretty neglected these last few years.’
There was an edge of criticism in his tone and Erin flushed.
‘I would have come before,’ she said softly, not meeting his eye. ‘But it wasn’t possible.’
‘You must be Jack’s son’s daughter?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I recognized you,’ he said slowly. ‘Jack’s son left for America almost twenty years ago and Jack never talks about him. But you...you came back to visit when you were a kid...’
‘That’s right.’
‘I vaguely remember. But that was just you.’ Mike’s brow was still creased in thought. ‘It hasn’t been possible for your father to visit?’ There was no mistaking the implied criticism now, and Erin found her temper rising to match his tone.
‘No.’
‘Money’s a problem, then, is it?’
Whew... Erin took a hasty step back. Michael McTavish’s tone had been sardonic, and Erin’s temper moved from simmering to hiss of steam. If he knew the real reason...
She was darned if she’d tell him. Sympathy was one thing she didn’t want from this man.
‘Our family’s finances are none of your business, Mike McTavish...’ She took a deep breath, searching for control. ‘But you shouldn’t have to ask. I’d imagine you can guess. Tramps don’t earn enough to fund overseas travel.’
‘Ouch!’
Mike blinked at the flaming virago before him and his eyes slowly crinkled into a lazy, self deprecating smile. ‘Touché, Miss O’Connell.’ The sarcasm in his voice disappeared and his smile deepened. ‘I guess, despite your neglect of your grandpa, I do owe you an apology for yesterday. Caroline was overwrought. She’d been very worried.’
‘I could see that,’ Erin agreed, her temper still simmering. ‘Out scouring paddocks with you, was she? Or sitting by the phone, frantic with anxiety?’
It was Mike’s turn to glower then. The easy smile slipped.
‘You’ve a sharp tongue.’
‘It’s my bad upbringing,’ Erin said softly. ‘I didn’t go to the right schools.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake...’ Mike spread his hands. He sighed. ‘Look, Miss O’Connell, can we call a truce? It’s too nice a day for World War Three and the twins are cooking scones. Come on into the house and we’ll see how they’re going.’
‘Do you have a tradesman’s entrance?’ Erin muttered, and Mike’s expression of exasperation deepened.
‘Miss O’Connell...’
‘Sir!’
‘Erin, shut up!’
She glowered some more, but couldn’t quite maintain it. Her eyes peeped up at him and a twinkle lurked in their clear green depths.
He saw it.
‘You’re laughing at me,’ he said slowly.
‘Me? Laugh at you?’ Erin tugged an imaginary forelock. ‘Oh, please, sir, no, sir. I never could, sir. Not in a million years. I know my place, sir.’
