Читать книгу Captivated By The Single Dad - Barbara Hannay - Страница 17

AS GRAY drove away from the homestead with a cloud of dust pluming behind his vehicle, Holly was reacquainted with how very isolated Jabiru Creek Station really was.

They’d only just passed the last outbuilding before they were once again following a faint dirt track across endless plains that stretched and stretched to the distant horizon. She saw nothing but cloudless blue skies, red dirt and dusty faded grass, with occasional mobs of silvery hump-backed cattle sheltering in the scant shade of straggly white-trunked trees.

‘It must be fabulous to tear across this country on horseback,’ she said, partly because she meant it, and partly because she wanted to say something positive about the monotonous scenery.

Gray turned to her, clearly surprised. ‘Do you ride?’

‘I haven’t for ages.’

‘But you know how to.’

‘Sure. There was a time when horse-riding was my favourite sport.’

His eyebrows shot high. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I came here to be your children’s nanny. Not to prance around on horseback.’

Still watching the track ahead, Gray shook his head. ‘But I’m sure you could squeeze in a little riding time while you’re here.’

‘That would be wonderful—although I’m sure I’d be sorry when I was stiff and sore.’

His eyes sparkled as he turned to her. ‘You’ll soon loosen up.’ A little later he said, ‘I’m planning to teach Anna and Josh how to ride.’

‘Oh, good. They’ll love it.’

‘Even Anna?’

‘Especially Anna,’ Holly assured him. ‘She’s getting more into life in the Outback every day.’

Gray smiled. ‘I’ll have to measure them up for riding helmets.’

After that, he seemed to lapse back into thoughtful silence, and Holly sensed his focus shift from conversation to the ancient landscape all around him.

Eventually, a red range of hills appeared, rising out of the flat land ahead of them. Holly was reminded of the backdrops of the old western movies her dad used to watch on Sunday afternoons, and she almost expected to see smoke signals puffing from the jagged ridges.

When they crested a hill, Gray braked and in front of them the land dropped away, plunging, without warning, down sheer red cliffs.

‘Oh, my gosh!’ Holly was glad of her seatbelt. Leaning as far forward as the belt would permit, she peered through the dusty windscreen. ‘I guess this must be the gorge?’

‘It’s not quite the Grand Canyon.’

‘But it’s spectacular.’ She glanced back over her shoulder to the rear window and the view of the empty plains they’d just crossed. ‘Are we still on your land?’

‘Sure.’ Already Gray was opening the driver’s door. ‘Come and take a look. I love it out here.’

Outside, the sun was scorching hot. Holly jammed her hat firmly on her head, but she wasn’t keen to step any closer to the edge of the gorge. It was an awfully long way down to the glinting water of the rock pools at the bottom. After just a hasty glance down there she felt dizzy.

‘Here, come with me.’ Gray had retrieved their backpacks from the rear of the truck and he handed the smaller one to Holly. ‘I’ll show you the best way to see the view.’

She almost declined. She had quite a nice view from where she was standing, and she had a safe hold on the truck’s sturdy metal bull bar, thank you very much. But Gray was holding out his hand to her, and his air of confidence was very convincing.

Summoning her courage, she managed to loosen her grip on the bull bar and his hand holding hers felt wonderfully strong and trustworthy, but she clung to him so tightly she was afraid she’d leave bruises.

To her relief, he led her away from the cliff’s edge to what at first seemed like a hole in the ground, but turned out to be a man-made staircase cleverly hewn out of the rock.

‘This leads down through the roof of a cave,’ he said.

‘Wow. Did you make these stairs?’

Gray laughed. ‘No way. They’ve been here for over a hundred years, but my grandfather helped to carve them out.’

Intrigued, Holly allowed him to guide her down the rocky staircase. Already she could see that the cave below them wasn’t gloomy or dark, but filled with sunlight. And it had a wide sandy floor, so she began to feel calmer.

By the time they reached the bottom of the steps, she looked around with amazed delight. The cave was set into the side of the escarpment and it formed a safe shelf, a fabulous, cosy viewing platform offering a spectacular view all the way down the gorge.

‘Gray, it…it’s fabulous.’

His blue eyes met hers, watching her closely, as if he was intensely interested in her reaction. Apparently satisfied, he smiled. ‘Not bad, is it?’

‘It’s amazing. I think I’ll sit down though, so I can take it all in.’

By this time, she’d become super-aware of their linked hands—of the heat of Gray’s palm against hers, of the pressure of his fingers as he gripped her firmly and safely. To her surprise, she was incredibly reluctant to release his hand before she lowered herself to the sandy floor.

Once she was seated, Gray edged forward, closer to the mouth of the cave, and he hunkered down, taking in the view. He loved this place with its rock pools that reflected the sky and the spectacular sandstone escarpments carved out of the ancient landscape. He never failed to be moved by its grandeur.

But today he was trying to imagine how the gorge might look through Holly’s eyes. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but he found himself hoping that she might somehow understand what it meant to him.

At least she wasn’t talking non-stop. She seemed happy enough to drink in the atmosphere, or to quietly take photographs with her small digital camera.

In the languid silence Gray let his shoulders relax against a warm wall of sandstone. He heard the warbling notes of a pied butcherbird and a flock of galahs calling in the distance. Below, on the water, a pair of grebes floated.

After a while, he asked quietly, ‘So, what do you reckon?’

‘This is so beautiful,’ Holly said softly. ‘It feels almost…spiritual.’

A good answer. ‘It is spiritual,’ he said. ‘At least it is for the Aborigines.’

And for me, he added silently, thinking of the many times when his life had hit rock bottom and he’d come to this place to search for some kind of peace.

Moving carefully on her hands and knees, Holly crawled a little closer, then sat cross-legged, looking out. ‘It’s awesome. Unforgettable.’ She spoke in a hushed undertone, the way people talked in church.

She took a few more photos, then lowered her camera. ‘I’m sure this gorge has been here for ever. A dinosaur could come lumbering out from behind a rock and it wouldn’t look out of place.’

Her face was soft, her dark eyes luminous with wonder. And Gray had to look away, concentrating his attention on a lizard as it disappeared down a crack in a rust-stained rock.

He’d hoped Holly would like this place, but he hadn’t expected her to so totally get its timeless mystery.

‘Is it weird to feel that there’s someone here?’ she asked. ‘A gentle spirit, looking after us?’

He had to swallow the hard lump in his throat before he could speak. ‘Not weird at all. That’s why I love it. Sitting here quietly, taking in the silence, always makes me feel stronger. Uplifted. The Aborigines call it “listening to country”.’

He turned and saw Holly nodding slowly, a pretty smile lighting her eyes.

‘Listening to country,’ she repeated softly. ‘I like that. I used to do a lot of that when I was growing up in Vermont. On my way to school I used to love walking over the covered bridge on Staple’s Brook and along the banks beneath sugar maples and birches. Listening to country. I am so on that page.’

Launching to his feet, Gray moved to the very mouth of the cave, appalled to realise he’d been on the brink of tears. He’d never expected to meet a woman like Holly, someone lovely and sweet and in tune with his world. For a heady moment there, he’d almost pulled her close and kissed her, tasted her smile, her laughter.

Not a bright idea. She was here to help his children, and she was going home to America to start a fancy new job. Besides, she’d just had her heart broken by some fool of a boyfriend. Last thing she needed was her cousin’s Australian ex making a move on her. Especially as that ex was absolutely useless at making women happy—or keeping them happy, at any rate.

For all kinds of reasons, he’d be a fool to start anything with Holly. Even if she did claim to love his Outback, he couldn’t expect her to want to stay here. Not with him. She’d soon realise her mistake, just as his wife had.

Hell. He should wear a danger sign, warning women to keep their distance.

‘This country must inspire musicians and artists,’ Holly was saying. ‘Or writers. I’ve never read any literature about your Outback, but there must be novels and poetry. Do you have any—?’

She stopped in mid-sentence and her face turned bright red, as if she realised she’d made a dreadful gaffe. ‘Sorry. I know reading’s not your thing.’

Gray’s entire body tensed, as if the cliff had suddenly crumbled away beneath his feet. Fear knifed through him—the fear of ridicule that he’d never managed to shake off.

His only hope was to change the subject…

‘I could give you a few lines of bush poetry,’ he said quickly.

Anything, even the embarrassment of a recitation, was better than risking exposure of his incompetence.

‘Poetry?’ Holly sounded shocked, and already he was feeling foolish.

She was leaning forward now, hands wrapped around bent knees. ‘Gray, I’d love to hear some bush poetry.’

Of course he was already regretting the offer. He wasn’t a performer and he wished he could come up with an excuse—he’d forgotten the lines—anything. ‘It’s pretty basic stuff. Hardly Wordsworth or Shakespeare.’

‘But the simplest things are often the truest.’

Damn. Gray knew he’d talked himself into a corner. He’d look even more foolish if he backed out now. He made a show of clearing his throat and then, keeping his gaze fixed on the gorge, he began to recite.

‘I’ve crossed harsh country parched and red,

With ghost gums shining white,

Where sand dunes choke the river bed,

And all day I prayed for night.

I’ve heard that country sing to me

In the stillness of my mind,

A Dreamtime chant from rock and tree—’

Gray paused and he realised that Holly was staring at him, her eyes full of questions.

‘Sorry.’ He could feel his face burning. Why the hell had he grabbed onto the poem to get him off the hook?

‘Don’t apologise. I loved it, Gray.’

He shrugged elaborately and looked away again, down the gorge to where a mob of black-tailed rock wallabies were feeding quietly on the moist vegetation at the edge of a waterhole.

‘When did you learn that poem?’ she asked, with the nosiness he should have expected from a teacher.

Gray shrugged. ‘Can’t remember.’

‘Who wrote it?’

The heat in his face deepened and he answered brusquely, without looking at her. ‘It’s nothing. Just something I made up.’

He heard her shocked gasp. ‘You made it up?’

‘Yeah. No big deal.’

‘But…when did you write it?’

He gave another big-shouldered shrug. ‘Years ago. I can’t really remember. Beside a campfire. Sitting here. Alone.’ Sure that his face was crimson now, he got to his feet and scooped up his backpack, eager to be done with this conversation.

‘Gray, please don’t be embarrassed, but it is a big deal that you’ve made up such a lovely poem. I’m seriously impressed.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Did Chelsea love it?’

Chelsea? He sighed, then stared out at the deep blue of the sky and the deeper red walls.

‘I shared my poetry with her once, but she saw it as yet another excuse to plead with me to give up my cattle and head for the city. She wanted us to be artists together—she could be a choreographer in Sydney and I could perform my poetry.’

‘That doesn’t sound very…practical.’

‘She was convinced I’d be a great hit. She was always looking for something else for me to do besides raising cattle.’

Holly made no comment, but she was frowning and then, as if she’d been struck by a bright idea, she flipped open her backpack and pulled out a notebook. ‘I’d like to write your poem down.’

‘Why?’ Still thinking about Chelsea, Gray growled the word suspiciously.

‘Because it’s great. I really like it. I want to be able to read it again later, when I’m back in America.’

Already, she was sitting with her small spiral notebook in her lap, open at a blank page, her pen poised, ready to write.

Gray forced himself to relax. There was no threat in Holly’s request. He actually liked the idea of her taking out her notebook when she was back in busy, bustling Manhattan, turning to his poem…reading it… Maybe she’d recall this moment. This peace.

Where was the harm in that?

Feeling self-conscious but no longer uncomfortable, he began to recite again: ‘I’ve crossed harsh country parched and red…’

Holly’s pen flew across the page leaving a neat curving script in its wake.

‘With ghost gums shining white…’

She nodded enthusiastically as he continued on to the end of the first verse, then added a second stanza.

‘Wow, that’s fabulous,’ she said when he’d finished. ‘Thank you.’ She spoke warmly, and her cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes were suspiciously shiny as she slipped the notebook back into the pack and closed the flap.

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Having a copy of your poem makes this trip to the gorge even more perfect.’

He was more pleased than he should have been, but he was determined not to show it. Poker-faced, he said, ‘So…would you like to keep going all the way to the bottom of the gorge?’

‘Sure.’ Holly scrambled to her feet and accepted his hand with almost childlike trust. ‘Lead the way.’

Gripping Gray’s hand once more as they made their way carefully down the rough, steep track to the bottom of the gorge, Holly discovered she was in deep, oh-my-God trouble.

She’d learned two important things about Gray just now—his soul-deep love of his land, and a strong reason for the breakdown of his marriage.

And then she’d learned something about herself.

While she’d sat in the cave in the middle of Gray’s shatteringly beautiful wilderness, listening to him shyly recite his poetry, something huge had happened, something totally unexpected, something guaranteed to break her heart.

The noonday sun reached deep into the gorge, warming the wide ledge of rocks where they ate their simple picnic of egg and lettuce sandwiches on homemade bread, along with doorstop slices of rich fruity cake, and oranges.

Holly leaned down, dipping her fingers into water so clear she could see tiny silvery fish feeding on the sandy bottom.

Gray was busy lighting a fire for their billy tea and he called to her, ‘Is the water cold?’

‘Cool, but not freezing.’

‘We could go for a swim if you weren’t afraid of crocodiles.’

‘Well, of course I’m afraid of crocodiles. Who wouldn’t be?’

Catching his grin, she knew he’d only been teasing.

She sat up to watch him work, to watch the smooth tanned skin on the back of his neck and the damp line of sweat on his collar, the stretch of his cotton shirt over his wide shoulders, his long fingers deftly snapping twigs and poking them into the flames.

She imagined changing into bathers and swimming with him—if there were no crocodiles—and sweet shivers ran through her.

‘The billy will take a few minutes to boil.’ Gray’s voice broke into her musings. ‘We may as well make a start on our tucker.’

Holly discovered, to her surprise that she was ravenous and the sandwiches were surprisingly fresh with just the right balance of mayonnaise and pepper.

The gorge was completely silent now. Earlier there’d been bird calls but, in the midday stillness, the birds had retreated. Gray, looking very relaxed, sat with his back against a warm rock wall, his long jeans-clad legs stretched in front of him, his face shaded by his broad-brimmed hat.

Holly was quite prepared to eat her lunch in silence, lazing like a lizard in the sun and growing drowsy. And she was sure that was what Gray wanted, too, so she was surprised when he spoke suddenly.

‘So…what made you decide to become a teacher?’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ she said. ‘I was inspired by my fourth grade teacher, Miss Porter. She was lovely and brilliant and kind. And she turned our whole class onto books and reading.’

Gray nodded slowly, watching her from beneath his shady brim.

‘I started out as a regular classroom teacher in Vermont,’ Holly explained. ‘That was fine for a few years, but all the time I was in the classroom I could feel the library calling to me, so I decided to get extra qualifications to run school libraries. That’s when I moved to New York.’

‘And you left your boyfriend behind.’

‘Yes.’ Holly waited for the slug of pain that always hit her when she thought about Brandon. It eventually came, like a delayed reaction, and it still hurt but, to her surprise, it was no longer crippling.

She realised that Gray was watching her, but he swiftly switched his gaze to the fire and the boiling billy and he lifted it from the fire, then added tea leaves and gave them a stir.

‘Are you ready for your tea?’ he asked after a few minutes.

‘Thank you.’ Gratefully, Holly accepted an enamel mug of tea that was black and sweet and hot. Sipping it helped to calm the strange new tension inside her—a tension that had nothing to do with talking about Brandon and everything to do with her present company.

‘Gray—’

‘Hmm?’ He leaned comfortably back against the rock and sipped his tea.

‘Did you have School of the Air when you were a child?’

‘Do you have to start talking about school right now?’

‘I don’t suppose it’s essential, but I just told you about my favourite teacher. And I was thinking about your lovely poem, and I wondered where you learned about poetry.’

‘It certainly wasn’t on School of the Air.’

‘Did you go away to boarding school?’

This was greeted by a deep sigh. ‘Can we give this a miss, Holly?’

‘I’m a teacher. I can’t help wanting to know these things.’

‘School is not everyone’s favourite subject.’

‘Is this another conversation stopper?’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It seems to me that every time I have a conversation with you I run into trouble. There’s always something you don’t want to talk about. Chelsea, I can understand. But what’s wrong with talking about school?’

‘The school a person went to doesn’t matter out here in the bush. We’re not snobs about that sort of thing.’

‘I’m not asking you to show off. I was just curious—anything about your school would do. Best teacher, worst teacher. Favourite subject, favourite sport—’

There was a movement on the rock beside her. A beat later, Gray was close beside her, leaning in to her, and Holly realised with a shock that he was planning to kiss her.

Small explosions detonated all over her body.

She was sure she should say something to stop him, but her brain refused to cooperate.

When Gray touched his lips to hers, her surprise melted like sugar in hot tea and—oh, man—she responded like a person in a dream.

His mouth was like the sun burning across the sky, moving over her mouth, inch by fiery inch, cautious at first, and testing. Holly remained perfectly still, afraid that at any moment she might wake up and feel obliged to behave responsibly.

She didn’t want to behave responsibly. She was too curious initially and then she was bewitched by his totally masculine enchantment.

Already, she was melting, softening and, when her lips drifted apart, Gray accepted her invitation without hesitation. His hands cradled her head and his kiss, tasting faintly of orange and tea, became clever and darkly seductive.

She could smell the sunlight on his skin, could feel its warmth on her closed eyelids, and she was sinking beneath it. Melting beneath his persuasive lips. Melting and needy. So needy. She could no longer resist him even if she’d wanted to.

A sweet, compelling ache started low inside her, urging her to lean into him, to link her hands behind his neck and to return his kiss, to communicate with her body the shocking, thrilling impatience that had taken possession.

Oh, heavens, she might die if he stopped.

A sound broke the noonday silence—half a whimper, half a moan. Amazingly, it had come from her, but she couldn’t stop to worry about decorum now.

But, to her dismay, Gray pulled away from her.

‘Holly.’

Noooo. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

In the stillness she could hear the hammering of her heartbeats and the reckless pace of Gray’s breathing.

He dropped a soft kiss on the bridge of her nose, then moved further away.

‘What—?’ she began, then had to pause to catch her breath.

His sexy blue eyes were apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Sorry?

Oh, God. How could he share the hottest kiss of her life, possibly the most fabulous kiss since the beginning of time, and then apologise as if it were a mistake?

Distraught, Holly stared at him. ‘Why are you sorry?’

‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ His throat rippled as he swallowed. ‘Please don’t read too much into it.’

‘But why did you do it? Why did you kiss me?’

He offered her a rueful smile. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘You kissed me to shut me up?’

Gray merely shook his head and Holly sank back against the rock in dismay.

What a klutz she was.

She’d gone into swoon mode, allowing herself to be completely carried away, while Gray had merely found a new technique to stop her from asking nosy questions.

‘I’m an idiot,’ she said out loud.

‘No, Holly.’

‘What am I, then?’

His answer was a smiling shake of his head. ‘Another question? I should’ve known it’s dangerous to kiss a teacher.’

‘Yes, you might learn something,’ she snapped, but her response was even testier than she’d intended. She’d never been any good at jokes, and light-heartedness was doubly impossible when she was so upset.

Damn Gray. She could still feel the warm pressure of his lips on hers. She could still smell him and taste him, could still feel the ripples of pleasure pooling low and deep inside her, like aftershocks.

But for Gray the kiss had been a game, a purely practical ploy to stop yet another annoying conversation.

Not daring to look at him, Holly jumped up quickly and, in a bid to cover up her embarrassment, she began to tidy away their picnic things.

As they took the climb back to the top in easy stages, Gray was uncomfortably aware that he’d spoiled a perfect day. He’d let Holly think that he’d kissed her to distract her and, yes, it was true. More or less. She’d pushed their conversation in a direction he had no wish to follow. She’d been holding his feet to the fire of a secret shame and he’d had to stop her.

It was a bad habit that had started during his marriage. Whenever his wife had come up with one of her grand schemes for getting them away from Jabiru Creek, he’d found it easier to seduce her than to tell her the truth—that he had no employable skills beyond running this cattle property.

But, although his initial impulse to kiss Holly had been self-preservation, everything had changed the instant their lips had touched.

A kind of spell had come over him. Admittedly, it was way too long since he’d kissed a woman, so that might explain why he’d been so totally fired up. But abstinence couldn’t explain why he’d felt emotionally connected to Holly, or why there was so much that felt right about kissing her, so much that felt right about just being with her.

In spite of her nosy questions, she was amazingly easy company, and she was surprisingly at home here in his Outback. He found himself wanting a deeper connection with her, and his body still throbbed with a need to lose himself in her sweet, willing embrace.

It was a lucky thing that her soft needy cry had brought him to his senses. Without that warning, he might never have found the willpower to stop. But now he’d hurt Holly by once again going into defensive mode. He’d protected himself, but he’d spoiled something special.

Damn it, he should have known better.

Hadn’t his marriage taught him that he was no match for a clever, educated woman, no matter how strong her appeal? Hadn’t his life lessons proved that he was better on his own?

He was fine on his own.

Or at least he would be until his kids’ education caught up with him.

The journey back to the homestead was wrapped in uncomfortable silence, which meant Holly had plenty of time to brood as they rumbled across the trackless plains.

She thought about the moment, while she and Gray were looking down at the gorge, when she’d experienced a feeling of true connection with him. In the same moment, she’d realised something else—she hadn’t wanted to fall for Gray but it had happened, almost against her will.

Which meant he had the power to hurt her, just as Brandon had.

She shouldn’t have allowed him to kiss her. Why hadn’t she shown more sense? Here she was—still suffering from shell shock after Brandon’s dumping—and the last thing she wanted was another romantic entanglement—especially with Chelsea’s ex.

She wanted freedom, not complications. Why would she put her heart at risk when she had a fabulous job lined up to go home to?

Please don’t read too much into it he’d said.

How could Gray kiss her into oblivion simply to shut her up? What was his problem? Where was the crime in asking him about his school? Or about his lack of books, for that matter.

He knew schools and books were her thing, and just because—

Oh, my God.

A sudden chill skittered down Holly’s spine as all sorts of puzzling things about Gray suddenly started to fall into place.

The lack of books in the Jabiru homestead. The fact that he’d never heard of Winnie-the-Pooh. His reaction in New York when she’d suggested he should read to his children. The way he’d waved away menus, and brushed aside the Central Park pamphlet—

Could he have literacy problems?

She stole a glance at him now…at the snug stretch of denim over his thighs to his strong, sun-weathered profile.

Gray Kidman…expert cattleman, gorgeous, take charge of anything…

Surely he couldn’t be illiterate?

It was hard to take in.

But if he’d grown up out here, miles away from schools and possibly without a tutor, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe that he might never have learned to read. He probably knew a few words that enabled him to function— Departures and Arrivals in airports, for example—but beyond that—

Holly remembered his mother’s lack of warmth. What had her role been in her son’s early years? Had the tension between them started decades ago? Holly knew from her teacher training that literacy problems often stemmed from emotional issues connected to early schooling experiences.

She also knew that illiterate people could still be incredibly astute and competent—and Gray was clearly intelligent and gifted. He made up poetry in his head. How many people did that? With Ted’s bookkeeping help, he managed his business very successfully.

Her soft heart ached to think that a proud and capable man like Gray could have a problem he’d felt compelled to hide, managing superbly in spite of it.

Then again, she might be overreacting—jumping to totally incorrect conclusions.

The last of the daylight was turning the paddocks to pink and mauve as they pulled up outside the homestead. Crickets and katydids were already singing their dusk chorus in the trees by the creek.

Anna and Josh, freshly bathed and in their dressing gowns and slippers, came running down the front steps to greet Holly and Gray, while Janet hurried after them like a fussy mother hen.

‘They’ve been no trouble,’ Janet assured Gray. ‘They’ve been busy in the school room for most of the day.’

‘I thought they’d be playing with their puppets,’ he said.

‘The puppets have had a good airing, but mostly they’ve been doing their homework.’

‘Homework?’ Holly frowned. ‘But I didn’t set any homework.’

‘Well, they’ve been beavering away on some kind of writing project for the puppet house.’ Janet laughed. ‘I’m definitely renaming them Shake and Speare.’

‘We’re going to have a puppet show after dinner,’ Anna explained with great excitement. ‘And there’s a part for everyone.’

Out of the deep pockets of her cherry-red dressing gown, she pulled folded sheets of paper and, glowing with pride, the little girl separated three pages for Holly, three for Janet and three for Gray.

Each sheet was covered in photocopies of her best printing.

‘You’re Hector Owl, Daddy, and I’m Timothy Mouse and Josh—’

Holly didn’t hear the rest. She was too busy watching Gray and the dawning horror in his eyes.

Her heart galloped as she looked down at the paper in her hand. Clever little Anna had written a rudimentary play script with a list of characters and lines of dialogue beside the characters’ names.

It was the sort of creative writing exercise the twins had been encouraged to try at their progressive school in Manhattan, and Holly wanted to be thrilled for them. She was thrilled, actually, but she was also very worried about Gray.

Were her suspicions about his literacy correct? Was this his personal D-Day?

Judging by the sudden paleness of his complexion and the unhappy twist of his mouth as he stared at the paper, the answer was…

Yes.

Her heart broke for him as she watched him force a crooked smile.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘A play. Aren’t you two clever?’

‘You have to put on your growliest voice,’ Josh informed him.

‘I see.’ Gray tapped the paper and blew out his cheeks thoughtfully. ‘So have you changed much of my original story?’

‘We’ve changed lots!’ exclaimed Anna. ‘See!’ She pointed importantly to her script. ‘You can read it all here. We’ve made up a whole new story, so we can have the owl and the mouse, as well as a frog and a wombat and a pig. There are parts for everyone.’

Gray looked decidedly ill.