Rancher's Twins: Mum Needed. Barbara Hannay

months—being cut off by the floods, almost running out of supplies, busting his leg in a flooded river.

      Doubts crowded in. What was he doing here? How could he take his kids away from this safe and secure world that they knew and loved?

      Abruptly, he stood and strode to the window where he dipped a slat in the blinds with one finger and stared down at the crowded pavements and busy traffic below.

      Without looking at Holly, he said grimly, ‘If the experts in your books are right, the last thing my children need is another big change.’

      Unhappily, he folded his arms over his chest and his jaw jutted belligerently. ‘I’m planning to drag Anna and Josh halfway across the world to a place that’s completely different from here, and your book-writing experts are telling me it’s the worst thing I can do.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      FOR a moment, Holly was seriously tempted to tell Gray that yes, his children would be much better off if they stayed right here in Manhattan. Of course they’d be happier if they were allowed to continue in this familiar environment—living in this apartment, going to their highly acclaimed school, playing with their select circle of appropriate friends.

      For three months she’d been trying to follow the psychologists’ advice. She’d built little rituals into the children’s days so they always had something to look forward to.

      She’d carefully planned mealtimes around their favourite nutritious foods, and she’d scheduled regular after school treats. Of course, she’d made sure that bedtime was special with their favourite stories. And plenty of hugs.

      But she couldn’t suggest that Gray would not be able to meet his children’s needs. She’d witnessed his deep emotion when he’d first greeted his children, and she could see the incredible tension in his face right now as he waited for her answer.

      Gray wasn’t just a proud, possessive male reclaiming his rights. He was a man who loved his children very deeply. Chelsea’s parents had told her that over the past three years he’d made the arduous journey from Australia to America several times a year, just to see them.

      Holly knew that her possibly selfish opinions about the benefits of staying in America had no place in this conversation.

      She drew a deep breath. ‘Anna and Josh want to be with you, Gray. You’re their father.’ After a beat, she added gently, ‘They’ve missed you very much.’

      His face softened a fraction. ‘But it’s still going to be hard for them to leave here and to make the change, isn’t it?’

      She couldn’t deny this. ‘You should probably be prepared for one or two tricky moments.’

      ‘I was hoping that if I stayed in New York for a few days, and gave them a chance to get used to me again—’

      ‘I’m sure that will help. And, while you’re here, we can both talk to them about what to expect on the journey and when they arrive in Australia.’

      Gray nodded, and let his thoughtful gaze fix on the row of windows on the opposite wall, as if he was seeing far into the distance. Then he sent Holly a slow smile.

      Despite the fact that Holly was thinking about Gray’s children and not his looks, something very odd happened to her insides. She dropped her gaze from the sudden flare in his light blue eyes and found safety in the tan leather duffel bag, dumped on the floor by the sofa.

      It was the sort of bag that would look at home on a dusty homestead veranda, or in the back of a battered pickup. Here, in this city apartment, however, the scuffed leather holdall looked out of place, almost like a symbol of everything that had been wrong about Gray’s marriage to her cousin.

      Chelsea had rarely talked about the problems that had sent her scurrying home from Jabiru Creek to New York. It was clear to everyone that her decision had been painful—that she hadn’t stopped loving Gray, but that she’d loved her ballet and choreography more. There’d been no jobs for a choreographer of Chelsea’s calibre in Outback Australia and, in the end, she’d found it too difficult to relinquish her city life and her career.

      She’d told Holly once, ‘It was a fatal attraction. Gray and I were wrong for each other and in almost every way. I think we both sensed from the start that our marriage was doomed, but our feelings were so intense we still had to give it a try.’

      Now, sitting mere metres from Gray Kidman’s intensely masculine presence, Holly was all too aware of the force that had urged Chelsea to take that risk. He was still disturbingly attractive. Looking at him, the word manly seemed to take on new meaning.

      Abruptly, she jumped to her feet. ‘If you’ve finished your coffee, I’ll show you to your room and you can stow your things away.’

      She charged across the room, feeling a need to put a sudden distance between them.

      ‘Holly, before you go—’

      Slowly … she turned.

      Gray offered a dangerously shy smile. ‘I know I’m probably old-fashioned and you’re a contemporary New Yorker, but I just wanted to make sure you’re completely okay with having me stay here in your apartment.’

      ‘Of course. It’s perfectly fine.’ Holly tried to sound offhand. ‘It makes sense.’

      ‘And your boyfriend? Is he cool with it, too?’

      A horrible knife-in-the-heart pain pierced Holly, the pain she always felt whenever Brandon was mentioned. After two months, the shock was still very raw—especially the painful discovery that Brandon had been seeing Maria Swain for six whole months before he’d found the courage to tell her.

      Somehow she forced a breezy smile. ‘That’s not a problem. I’m between boyfriends right now.’

      Not wanting to see Gray’s reaction, she hurried on to the spare room. ‘It’s important for you to stay here, Gray.’ She tossed the words over her shoulder. ‘You need to maximise your time with the children before you set off.’

      ‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’

      At the doorway, she stepped aside to let him into the room. ‘It’s nothing special, but I guess it’s adequate.’

      ‘It’s terrific.’ Gray dropped his bag onto the rug at the foot of the single bed. Holly was about to leave when he said, ‘What about you, Holly?’

      ‘Me? Oh … my room’s … um … just down the hall.’

      Gray looked a tad embarrassed and scratched at the side of his jaw. ‘I wasn’t asking where you sleep. I meant—what are your plans now—once the children are off your hands.’

      ‘My plans? Oh …’ Holly gulped. Talking to this attractive man about bedrooms must have scrambled her powers of thinking. ‘I’ve just finished my final exams, so I’ve started sending out job applications. Who knows where I’ll end up?’

      With luck, anywhere except Vermont.

      Taking three quick steps backwards, she added, ‘Right now, I need to fix lunch.’

      ‘Anything I can help with?’

      ‘No, thanks. It’s only chicken salad. You go and see the children. Join in their game.’

      Gray suggested a trip to Central Park after lunch. He always felt more at ease entertaining his children in wide open spaces with grass and trees and blue sky overhead, instead of pavement and department stores and hurrying crowds.

      This time, Holly came with them.

      Initially Gray hadn’t invited her. He’d assumed she’d be keen to grab a few hours of freedom to paint her toenails, or go shopping, or whatever city girls liked to do when they had time to themselves.

      Just as the children and he were about to leave the apartment, however, Holly had handed him a pamphlet.

      ‘This