Mctavish And Twins

‘Not yet, you’re not.’ Erin smiled her sweetest smile. Once upon a time women like this had been able to make Erin quail, but not any more. ‘Until you marry their uncle I assume you’re not the children’s legal guardian, and that’s who I need to speak to.’

The woman stared.

This was aristocratic reaction to the news that the peasants were revolting, Erin thought with grim amusement, and looked down with a rueful smile at her soiled jeans and T-shirt. In fact, Erin had to admit that this peasant was extremely revolting! Smelly to go with it.

It couldn’t be helped. Erin waited calmly to see what the woman would say.

She never found out. There was a sudden sound of frantic barking, two collie dogs flew out from behind the machinery shed to investigate the strange truck on their property—and behind them strode Mike McTavish.

Mike stopped dead when he saw the truck, and as the farmer saw Laura and Matthew in the cab Erin saw his face slacken with relief.

As Erin’s face froze...

Mike McTavish...

Erin stared, and somewhere around her heart she felt a sickening jolt. It seemed that the ghost of fourteen-year-old Erin still had the power to hurt. Mike McTavish was just the same as Erin remembered—only more so!

The farmer had the build of someone who pumped weights, but this man hadn’t built his muscles in a sweaty gymnasium. He’d built his muscles from heaving hay-bales and working constantly on the land. The McTavishes had money, Erin knew, but this man obviously didn’t sit back and expect the hired help to do his hard work for him.

He was older, of course—ten years more mature than the Mike McTavish she remembered. His face had become weathered from a life spent outdoors, and the hardworking image was deepened by the rough moleskins, open-necked khaki shirt and heavy work boots he wore.

Erin blinked and blinked again as her heart gave the same lurch she remembered. She still remembered the sensation when a youthful version of this man had walked across the dance floor—all those years ago.

Mike was still blatantly good-looking. His deep brown unkempt hair showed traces of bleaching from the harsh Australian sun and his farmer’s eyes were creased from the same bright glare—but he was still the same Mike McTavish...

For heaven’s sake, get a hold on yourself, Erin told herself harshly. Somehow she forced herself to move, jumping down from the truck and moving swiftly round so she was between children and both uncle and aunt.

‘Mr McTavish,’ she said softly, ignoring the horrible Caroline completely and holding out her hand.

Mike stopped five feet from Erin. He stared, his dark eyes taking in Erin from the tip of her stable-mired boots to her roughly tied back mass of chestnut curls.

‘I don’t think I know you,’ he said slowly.

I’m not sure I want to, his gaze seemed to imply, and Erin flushed. He showed not the least sign of recognition, and that in itself hurt. She could cope with Caroline’s nasty tongue more easily than this man’s frank uninterest.

She caught herself, fighting down a mounting blush. Mike McTavish’s gaze had moved past her to the children in the truck. Ignoring Erin’s extended hand, he took a step forward. But Erin would have none of it. Her body blocked his path.

‘Mr McTavish, I’m Erin O’Connell...’

Mike’s attention was no longer on Erin at all. It was all on the children.

‘Laura...Matt...are you okay? You’re not hurt?’ His voice was hoarse with worry.

And in that moment Erin forgave Mike McTavish for not recognizing her. There was sheer, raw anxiety in the farmer’s desperate question, and she realized he’d ignored her solely from concern for the twins.

Neither child answered. Mike was looking straight past Erin, practically pressing against her, and it took all Erin’s resolve to continue blocking his path.

‘They’re fine,’ Erin told Mike quickly, glancing back at the children’s white little faces. Her body was hard against the open passenger door and Mike McTavish was so darned close... ‘They’re just tired, stressed and—and very, very unhappy.’

Mike’s gaze carefully studied both children, searching their faces himself for assurance that what Erin had said was true.

Finally he looked back down to Erin, his extra height making her feel tiny.

‘Who did you say you were?’ he demanded, finally reassured she was telling the truth. He took a step back—but he was still too close. ‘You sound... American.’

‘Half-American, half-Australian.’ Erin smiled. ‘I’m Erin O’Connell. My grandpa owns the farm next door.’

‘O’Connell...’ Mike’s brow cleared, relief deepening. This was a relative of a neighbour, bringing his children home. Not so bad after all. He looked at her more closely. ‘Did they...? Were they on your place?’

‘They were two miles down the road,’ Erin told him, her smile fading. ‘Walking dead centre of the road on a blind curve. I nearly hit them.’

Mike flinched. The farmer closed his eyes, as if in pain. Beside him, the woman called Caroline had grown silent, her eyes cool and watchful.

Finally Mike McTavish opened his eyes and looked down at Erin again.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly, and the gentleness Erin remembered so well was there in force. He smiled, a weary smile that still had the power to light his eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated, and his eyes smiled directly into hers with all the warmth Erin had carried in her heart for so long. ‘For driving carefully and for bringing them home safely.’ He shook his head, wondering. ‘I drove down the lanes round here looking for them, but I couldn’t believe they’d gone so far. I decided they must be trying to cut across paddocks, so I’ve had the farm bike out searching cross-country.’

‘They were very determined,’ Erin said. ‘They tell me they were making for Sydney.’

Once again there was a look of raw pain flashing across Mike’s face.

‘Of course.’ His eyes still held hers but any trace of a smile was completely gone. ‘Sydney was their home before—before my brother and his wife were killed. But they can’t go back.’

‘The twins explained that to me.’ Erin was acutely conscious of the children behind her, listening to every word. She’d promised the children she’d speak up for them and they were waiting for her to carry out her promise.

So do it, she told herself firmly, searching for the right words. Just do it!

‘I believe both the children understand their home’s been sold,’ she continued finally, her soft voice tremulous in the farmyard stillness. ‘But they were desperate.’

‘Desperate?’ Mike’s face was confused.

‘The children ran away because you cut Laura’s hair,’ Erin managed. For some reason it was difficult to get each word out—it was so desperately important to make Mike see the children’s hurt. ‘Their parents loved Laura’s hair and told her she should leave it long. Last night you cut it. Both Laura and Matthew felt it more than if you’d beaten them. I believe—I believe you were wrong to cut it. I think you owe Laura an apology, and if she wants to grow her hair long again she should have your full support.’

Caroline’s breath hissed in.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ the woman whispered, casting an uncertain glance at Mike. ‘What gives you the right...?’

‘What gives you the right?’ Erin demanded, her eyes flashing fire. If she couldn’t hug these children as she wanted, at least she could fight their battles for them. ‘Laura didn’t want her hair cut. Would it have hurt so much to leave it long?’

‘Michael has enough to do in the mornings without combing the b...the child’s hair.’

‘Were you going to say brat?’ Erin asked slowly.

‘No.’ It was Mike again, his voice heavy. He placed a hand on Caroline’s silk-clad shoulder, stilling her with the gesture. ‘Of course she wasn’t.’ He sighed. ‘How do you know all this?’ he asked Erin, and the pain was still in his voice.

‘The twins told me,’ Erin said gently. ‘They told me when I asked. I think—I think they’re desperate to have an adult on—on their side.’

It was a direct hit and it went home hard. Mike winced.