‘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,