Her Tycoon to Tame (12 page)

Why did she react this way to the one man who had the power to destroy everything that mattered to her?

They stood inches apart—inches that seemed to shrink like the formerly spacious enclosure around them. His pupils expanded and his gaze dropped to her mouth, causing it to flood with moisture. The shared hours and kisses encircled them with a tightening lasso of awareness cinching tighter with each passing second.

“Should I stay with them?”

She blinked. At least one of them was thinking. “No. They'll be fine for a few minutes.”

Gathering every fading thread of resistance she possessed, she yanked her hand free, and with one last glance at the babies, hurried toward the prep room. Wyatt followed like a dark shadow. His looming, hawkeyed surveillance as she measured and scooped made her clumsy and slow. She had to think through every action as if she were performing the task for the first time instead of the hundredth.

Even then, warm rivulets of formula splashed over the rim of the bottle and her fingers because her thoughts drifted into the taboo territory of what would have happened if she'd unwisely given in to the hunger they were both trying to deny.

Once both bottles were full Wyatt took them from her and headed toward the birthing stall.

“I'll take the colt,” he volunteered and, grasping the container awkwardly, offered it. The colt ignored him.

Hannah set down her bottle, grabbed Wyatt's arm and hand and positioned him. “Tuck the bottle into the crook of your arm like this and brace yourself. He's going to pull hard.”

Then she realized she was touching him, smelling him, and quickly stepped away. “Offer him the teat.”

The colt immediately latched on—a great sign.

Hannah repeated the process with the filly, but the poor
baby seemed too tired from her earlier antics to nurse. Worry gnawed Hannah's middle. “Come on, girl. You have to eat.”

But the velvety muzzle wouldn't open. Anxiety and desperation stretched her nerves. She tried again and again, then after several failed attempts the filly latched on with startling suddenness. Hannah's eyes stung, and a sob of relief built in her throat. She bit her lip hard to keep the sob there and turned her head to hide her reaction from Wyatt. The last thing she needed was for him to believe she was too much of a wimp to do her job.

“You don't give up easily, do you?” he asked.

She risked glancing his way and instead of disgust, she found compassion and maybe even a touch of admiration in his eyes. She would swear he—the man she'd deemed a soulless bastard—cared.

“Nellie says when I set my mind to something I can outstubborn a mule. Some days that trait's an asset…and some days a curse.”

The colt finished his breakfast first and nudged Wyatt for more. “Now what?”

“Rub him. Pick up his feet. Get him used to being handled.”

He frowned. “Why waste the time if they might not survive?”

“For the same reason you're taking care of Sam. You want whatever time he has left to be the best it can be. And if they make it we'll be ahead of the game because we didn't lose an opportunity for training them.”

Wyatt's reserve was obvious as he stroked the colt's back. The little guy responded by nuzzling Wyatt's hip, then dancing away and back again. Slowly, Wyatt relaxed. His frown faded and his touch became surer. She even caught a brief smile at the colt's antics.

The filly finished her meal. Hannah raked her fingers through her fuzzy mane and smothered a sigh. Despite their lack of verbal skills, horses were so much easier to understand than people. Their needs and motives were simple. She
handled the filly, gently lifting each tiny hoof under Wyatt's watch.

She finally opened the stall and headed for the prep room to clean up. “They'll be okay alone?”

“They'll probably sleep off their breakfast, and my first volunteer is due soon.”

Wyatt kept pace beside her. “You were right about Sam. The doctor says he needs more physical and mental stimulation than he's getting. Your horses could be the answer.”

Hope swelled tentatively in her chest. “I hear a
but.
”

“The studies weren't as controlled as they should have been, and the results are open to misinterpretation. I don't want to put too much faith in this unorthodox approach until I see Sam progress.”

A skeptic. Hannah sighed. “I understand your reluctance to believe without proof, but what do you have to lose, Wyatt? Let Sam join the Sunday class.”

His obstinate expression returned. “He's not riding. You should understand my concerns. You lost your mother to a horseback riding accident, and I'm sure as a champion athlete she was in peak physical condition. Sam's fragile, and he no longer grasps the concept of danger. He'll take risks and make mistakes. He's getting clumsier. A fall and a broken hip could finish him off. Survival rates after a broken hip are—”

“I know the statistics.” She paused by the sink. “And as I've pointed out before, we take every precaution to ensure the safety of our riders. Sam would only be walking his mount around the ring which is covered with six inches of soft sand.”

“Are you saying you've never had anyone fall off or sustain an injury?”

She sighed. “No.”

“Then he'll work with the horses from the ground or not at all.”

“I can arrange that.” She already had. But she wasn't volunteering that tidbit. Not yet. But she hated the lie between them.

“Sam will want to see these two.” Then his eyes narrowed. “He'll help with the foals.”

It was the open door she'd been waiting for. She liked Sam. His wealth of horse knowledge reminded her of her father, but unlike her father, Sam had a warmer and more approachable personality. “That would be great. I'll supervise him myself.”

“No, I'll do it. As long as my work permits it, Sam and I will take a daily shift with the foals.”

Her stomach sank. “Sam…and you? But—”

“It's a package deal, Hannah. Both of us or neither.”

A blessing and a curse. She'd wanted to get Wyatt involved so he could comprehend the importance of FYC, but if she let him hang around the barns too much, he'd surely find out she'd been working with Sam behind his back and that could destroy any goodwill they had developed.

Not to mention his presence would wreak havoc on her concentration and her ability to get her job done. Wyatt Jacobs was definitely a distraction. She didn't know what to make of his less hostile side or if she could trust it. He'd stated very clearly that he wanted her land. Was he trying to lure her into acquiescence?

The only way to determine his real character was to treat him like one of her rescue animals and spend time with him. But she'd have to tread carefully—the same way she would with any unfamiliar animal.

She didn't want to think what would happen without animosity to keep them apart, but she'd find a way to ignore the attraction, keep Sam quiet and make it all work. She had no choice if she wanted to keep her home and her horses.

“You've got yourself a deal.”

 

Exhaustion clouded Wyatt's thinking and infused his shoulders with a dull ache. His condition had little to do with last night's makeshift bed on the barn floor and everything to do with a certain leggy brunette.

It had been months since he'd slept beside a warm body, and
Hannah's soft curves curled against him combined with her silky hair teasing his chin had kept him awake. And aroused.
Very
aroused.

He needed a shower—preferably cold—and a bed, but more than anything, he needed distance from the woman whose scent clung to him.

Hannah crossed to a chart on the wall. “If you and Sam take a shift with the foals, you'll need to log in the feeding time and the amount each consumes.”

“Got it.”

She faced him, shifting uneasily on her feet. “The least I can do to repay you for your help is make you a cup of coffee.”

Every cell in his body screamed a warning. “Are you inviting me back to your place?”

Her lips parted, then she shook her head. “There's a coffeepot in the lounge.”

He should refuse and head for the safety of the house before he crossed a line he shouldn't cross—one that blurred more every minute. Hannah tempted him too much with her flushed cheeks and sexy disheveled hair. But if he wanted to find a way to convince her to sell her land, then he needed to take advantage of her guard being down to pump her for information.

“I could use a cup.” The caffeine might clear his head and give him back his edge. Against his better judgment he followed her toward the office suite in the main barn.

She headed straight for the small but well-equipped kitchen provided for Sutherland clients. She didn't detour by the luxurious guest bathroom to waste time in front of the mirror as he would have expected of her. But he was beginning to see Hannah was much more complex than he'd originally surmised. She might be her daddy's pampered princess, but she also appeared to be as dedicated to her horses as she was to her expensive toys.

Unless she was giving one hell of a convincing performance.

He prowled the lounge while the fragrant brew perked. A
shelf containing multiple leather-bound volumes lured him across the room. The one with
Horses by Hannah
inscribed in gold on the spine caught his attention. Wyatt opened the cover to a glossy mare's photograph.

A chart beneath the picture listed the dam and sire as well as the animal's numerous wins to date. He flipped the pages and found more of the same on subsequent entries. As he studied each data sheet something became clear—something he wished he could deny.

He'd underestimated Hannah. She hadn't exaggerated her expertise in equine genetics. In five short years as Sutherland Farm's breeder, she'd racked up credentials. Valid, impressive credentials. She bred winners. And that complicated his situation.

“Wyatt?” Hannah stood beside him holding two tall insulated mugs bearing the Sutherland crest. She glanced past him toward the door as if she couldn't wait to be gone. “Help yourself to cream and sugar.”

“I take it black. Thank you.”

She rocked in her boots. “Thanks again for your help last night. I have to get going. Please tell Sam I said hello.”

“I will.” If this was one of Sam's more lucid days, he might even remember her. Sam's decline since Wyatt had forced him to retire had been rapid. So rapid Wyatt dreaded the first encounter with his stepfather each day because he never knew which Sam he'd see—the wise man or the shell.

Hannah hustled from the lounge. Her butt in snug jeans wasn't a sight Wyatt needed to appreciate at the moment, but the sensual sway pulled his gaze like a tugboat nonetheless. It took far more effort than it should have to concentrate on the remainder of the photos in the album while he drank his coffee.

He closed the cover, his conclusion unaltered. Unfortunately. With Hannah's talent for breeding champions, getting rid of her would be a bad business decision. Whenever Sam no longer recognized his surroundings Wyatt would move Sam to
a more restricted environment and put the farm on the market. Hannah's position as the breeder on staff was undeniably an asset that would make the stable more desirable and valuable.

That meant he couldn't run her off, even though every iota of common sense he possessed urged him to cut her loose. He had to find a way to keep her on board but stay away from her, and still use her skills to help Sam. And he had to control the flow of cash into her money pit. Though the doctor's research showed the validity of such programs, FYC ran deep in the red. That had to change.

Finding a solution required a clearer head than he had at the moment. His concentration was shot. He needed food and a couple hours' sleep.

He left the building and stepped into the empty parking lot. The absolute silence of the farm at 5:00 a.m. settled over him like a heavy, dew-laden blanket.

When he'd begun working for Sam years ago, Sam had insisted Wyatt accompany him on his sunrise inspections of both the barns and later the distillery. During those early hours Sam had dispensed his wisdom and guided Wyatt on life. Back then, Sam would have been able to identify each birdsong and every animal footprint.

Wyatt missed those quiet moments now as much as he'd resented them when Sam first started dragging his ass out of bed before sunup and making him participate. After Wyatt had joined Triple Crown's team, he and Sam had made it a practice to walk the distillery floor together every morning before the machinery roared to life and shattered the silence of the night. Wyatt still prowled the concrete floors each morning, but it wasn't the same without his mentor by his side.

That reminded him he'd neglected to ask Hannah which shift she wanted him and Sam to take with the foals. He scanned the horizon and caught a smudge of movement in the Charleston-style lampposts lining the driveway. Hannah was too far away to shout for her. He dug out his cell phone
and dialed. It dumped straight to her voice mail. She must have turned off her phone.

By the time he'd climbed into his car, started his engine and backed out of the parking space she'd disappeared. He steered toward her cottage, but failed to locate her in the headlight beams ahead of him.

He reached a V-shaped opening in the fence and a line through the damp grass caught his attention. He slowed. In the dim light he could barely make out a path leading toward distant trees. Hannah ought to have sense enough to know it was too cold and dark for her to wander through the woods alone. He pulled over and parked, then grabbed the flashlight from under his seat and followed.

Dew dampened his boots and the cuffs of his pants and slickened the stones underfoot. He'd yet to tour the property beyond the buildings and driveways and had only a vague idea from the topographical maps that an old rock quarry now filled with water lay in this direction.