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.’
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.
Rancher's Twins: Mom Needed Page 10