Her Tycoon to Tame (3 page)

His knowledge of horse breeding was limited. Sam had always given Wyatt more menial jobs—the kind that built character as well as muscle and calluses. Or so Sam had insisted. “Noon, Dr. Sutherland.”

“I'll find someone else to show you around, someone who has the time.”

“Your father claims you know more about Sutherland Farm than any other employee. I don't want someone else. I want you. That's not negotiable.”

“Of course I know the most about the farm. I've lived here all my life, and I've covered every inch of the property. But as much as I'd love to show you all the wonderful things about Sutherland Farm, I have a production schedule to maintain.”

Something—maybe a primitive urge to knock her off the pedestal she'd put herself on—made Hannah's resistance both challenging and a turn-on.

That makes you one twisted fool, Jacobs.

A nerve at the corner of his mouth twitched as he fought to conceal his irritation with her and himself. “You're not going to make it that easy for me, are you, Hannah?”

“What do you mean?”

“Per your contract, if you fail to meet my expectations you'll be fired. Make time to show me around or pick up your final paycheck.”

Her lips flattened into a thin line and anger flagged her cheeks with red. “You like the power of holding the contracts you made us sign over our heads, don't you? We're all here on a trial basis even though we've been successfully doing our jobs without your interference for years.”

“I'm the boss.
Your
boss. That's the way it works.”

Her irritated gaze snapped up and down his Armani suit without the admiration he usually received. She heaved an aggravated breath. “I'll be there, but leave the fancy duds behind unless you plan to stay in the golf cart.”

She pivoted on her heel with military precision then marched off the patio, her firm, round bottom swishing with each long, angry stride. He couldn't peel his gaze away and his body reacted with unexpected and unwanted appreciation.

Oh, yeah, he'd called it right. Hannah Sutherland with her expensive jewelry, highlighted hair, manicured hands and entitled attitude was going to be nothing but trouble.

Until he got rid of her.

And that couldn't happen soon enough.

T
he door to Hannah's lab opened abruptly on Saturday morning, startling her. Wyatt stalked in as if he owned the place…which he did, technically. But this was
her
domain—the only place that remained orderly and tranquil no matter what chaos reigned in other parts of her life.

Her muscles snapped taut and the hair on her nape sprang to attention. She'd never experienced such instant antagonism toward anyone before, and the strength of the emotion roiling inside her now surprised her.

“You said twelve. You're early.” She tried to keep her tone polite, but judging by his scowl, she failed.

His dark eyes panned the spotless room as if inventorying each piece of equipment before returning to her and examining her as thoroughly. “The rain is predicted to worsen. I want my tour now.”

Rain?
Hannah blinked and listened. Sure enough, rain snare-drummed on the barn's metal roof. She'd been so engrossed in her tasks and her troubles that she hadn't even
noticed the rat-a-tat-tat before now. Usually the sound relaxed her. But not today, thanks to the irritant in front of her.

She stood her ground and returned his appraisal. The hard line of his jaw gleamed from a recent shave and his hair looked damp—either from the weather or a recent shower if he were the type to waste a morning lying in bed. A picture of him on twisted sheets popped into her head.

Where had that come from? She kicked it away.

A black cashmere sweater stretched across his broad shoulders, the white of a T-shirt showing in the V-neck, and faded jeans clung to his hips and long, muscled thighs. Something—most likely aggravation—quickened her pulse. It couldn't be anything else. She didn't like him or his arrogant attitude.

“I still have orders to process before the courier service arrives. Come back at twelve. Please,” she added. She wasn't going to let him disrupt her schedule and thereby give him grounds to fire her.

“Reviewing employee performance is part of any new business venture. I'll start with yours. You work. I'll observe.”

Anxiety tangled with the coil of exasperation snaking through her. She couldn't throw him out. “Then at least close the door. This is a controlled environment. The room needs to remain dust-free, and the temperature as constant as possible.”

“Is it that important?”

“Considering I handle thousands of dollars' worth of product every day, yes, quality control is important.”

Curiosity sharpened his eyes. He strolled toward her, encroaching on her personal space, but she kept her boots planted, refusing to surrender her spot by the microscope despite an almost visceral urge to back far, far away.

“What are you working on, doc?”

An odd question from the man who owned everything in front of him. Everything except her, that is. “I'm confirming the viability of the sample before I chill and ship it.”

“Sample of what?”

He was kidding. Right? But if so, he did so with a straight face. Hey, she could play along. “Sperm. Want to take a look?”

His short, thick lashes flickered, then he moved forward, calling her bluff and forcing her to yield territory to avoid contact. He bent over the microscope. “Tell me what I'm looking for.”

Unsure whether he was testing her knowledge or simply being a pain in the rear, she scowled at the thick, dark strands covering the back of his head. “You're checking to see whether the sample has enough potency to get the job done.”

He straightened. Their gazes collided unexpectedly and held. Her thoughts scattered like bowling pins. Tension crackled between them.

“And the answer?”

She inhaled slowly, trying to remember his question, but a trace of his cologne—something hinting of patchouli, sandalwood and cypress—distracted her. He smelled good and looked good. Too bad he was a jerk. She'd dealt with enough overinflated egos over the years to know bad attitude cancelled out any positives.

“Yes, this is a fertile stud, and a good thing, too, since Commander is Sutherland Farm's top moneymaker.”

Determined to get back to business, she waved him out of the way and bent over the eye pieces, but his presence disturbed her. She could feel him dissecting and cataloging her every action as if he were waiting for her to make a mistake. When she adjusted the focus her hands weren't as steady as they'd been before his arrival, and it annoyed her that he could rattle her so easily.

“What's the purpose of all the equipment and charts?”

Another odd question from Sutherland's new owner. She lifted her head and put down the pencil she'd been using to make notes. “If I explain, will you go away and let me finish my job?”

“I'm not leaving until you've given me a satisfactory tour.”

Not what she wanted to hear. “Are you completely ignorant of the business into which you've invested millions?”

Whoops. Not nice, Hannah. What happened to killing him with kindness and not making waves?

“You mean the business I own, the one that pays your salary?”

He had her there. And if she wanted to continue receiving that paycheck so that she could care for her horses and put food on her table, she'd better dam the resentment pouring from her mouth. “I apologize. The clock is ticking and I really need to get this order ready before the sample is ruined.”

“Answer my question, Hannah.”

“The shelves are filled with the collection equipment we use. Each stud has his own—” Her cheeks warmed and her tongue tangled. Oh, for pity's sake. Reproduction was her job. Discussing it was routine. So why did explaining it to
him
make her uncomfortable? They weren't discussing
her
personal sexual preferences.

Or his.

An image of him bare-chested, braced on his forearms above her and with passion instead of irritation tightening his features flashed in her mind. Her womb clenched. She inhaled sharply.

Girl, you have been too long without a man's attention.

She cleared her throat and, trying to ignore the unwelcome warmth seeping through her, carefully chose her words. “Stallions have likes and dislikes that could interfere with or assist in production and collection. We get our most successful outcomes when the positive elements are in place, and we keep track of each stud's preferences with the charts.”

His eyes narrowed and for a moment the air seemed to hum with tension. “Sutherland Farm has two veterinarians on staff. Your position seems redundant. Why should I continue paying your salary?”

Alarm froze any lingering awareness faster than a liquid nitrogen dip. “You're asking me to justify my job?”

“Correct. Convince me nepotism wasn't a factor in your hiring.”

She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “Our staff vet oversees general animal health. I oversee breeding.”

“Something animals have managed without assistance or all this equipment since the beginning of time.”

“Breeding is Sutherland Farm's bread and butter. Without the raw material, our trainers can't produce champions. We continue to make money off successful mares and studs for years, sometimes even decades, after they leave the show ring.”

“And why can't the staff vet oversee that?”

“Developing a winning bloodline is far more complicated than randomly pairing animals and hoping for a pretty foal. It's an intricate mix of genealogy, genetics, biology and veterinary science aimed at producing an animal with optimal traits and minimal deficiencies. It's a science—one at which I happen to excel.”

He didn't look impressed.

“Tell me, Wyatt, exactly how much do you know about horse breeding?”

“My knowledge of horses is limited to thoroughbreds.”

That explained a lot. “And yet you bought a Warmblood farm. Thoroughbreds are bred naturally. Sutherland Farm does almost everything by artificial insemination.”

“Why?”

“There are several reasons. Our horses are too valuable to risk one of them getting injured during the natural breeding process, and artificial insemination allows us to service mares globally and not only in our barns. It's cost-effective and less stressful for the mares than being shipped to the stallion's home stable. Shipping a horse overseas is expensive and often disturbs her cycle. Plus quarantine is a hassle. Shipping semen is less aggravating. We simply freeze or chill it and send it out.”

He pointed to yet another chart. “And this?”

Hannah grimaced. She was fond of her charts and graphs. Charts were predictable. They made sense. She could weigh the pros and cons of practically any permutation on paper and erase her mistakes. Unlike life's bad choices.

“That's the stallion schedule. Regular, predictable collection encourages better production. In layman's terms, it's our way of aligning supply to demand so we know where to set our stud fees. And the chart beside it is the pending shipment list—the one I need to get back to before I can give you the tour and before this sample loses viability. So please, Mr. Jacobs, go away and let me do my job.”

“Wyatt,” he corrected.

She didn't want to be on a first-name basis with him. That implied friendship—something they would never have. But he was the boss and that meant she had to mind her manners. “
Wyatt.
Sutherland Farm bloodstock has been producing champion jumping and dressage stock for years. Let me show you to the visitors' lounge in the office building. You can have a cup of coffee and look through the catalogue of our studs, mares and foals until I finish here.”

His dark gaze lingered on hers until an odd sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach and her toes curled in her boots. “I can find the lounge.”

The moment he left the room tension drained from her shoulders, torso and legs as if leaking through her soles. She sagged against the work table, bowing her head and taking a moment to collect her composure.

Damn the man. How was she going to work with him when she couldn't even stand to be in the same room with him? He made her uncomfortable with his long, intense examinations and he was clearly searching for a reason—
any
reason—to fire her.

She'd barely gotten back into the groove when the door opened again. She snapped upright. Her stomach sank as Wyatt strolled in carrying one of the farm's many photo
albums and ending her short-lived reprieve. He parked himself on the stool directly across the table from her microscope.

No.
“I thought you were going to let me work.”

“I'm not stopping you. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can get on with business.” He directed his attention to the book in front of him.

Irritation sputtered through her. If he didn't quit distracting her, he'd never get his tour, and he acted as if the delay was her fault.

Determined to ignore him, she gritted her teeth and returned to the job at hand. Every time she looked up from the microscope her gaze slammed straight into his, and each time she felt those dark eyes on her or his body shifted her pulse skipped.

She wanted him gone. From her lab. From her farm. From her life.
Daddy, what have you done?

Forcing herself to concentrate, she powered through her work with sheer determination. When she finally sealed the last tube in the shipping package, relief coursed through her. Dread trotted close behind. Finishing meant she'd have to spend time alone with her new boss.

Resigned to the torture, she sighed. “Where do you want to start?”

He closed the portfolio and slowly rose, unfolding one smooth muscle after the other. As much as she hated to admit it, Wyatt Jacobs had great conformation and grace in motion, like one of Sutherland's prized dressage champions. “Anywhere.”

She swallowed her impatience. She wanted to make this as quick and painless as possible. He wasn't helping. “Narrow that down. We have two thousand acres. Which parts of the property have you not seen?”

“Except for the house, this barn and the office building, I haven't seen any of the farm.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You spent millions of dollars without seeing what you were getting for your money?”

“I had pictures, topography maps and the video package the real estate appraiser prepared. Sutherland Farm suits my needs.”

She remembered the videographer's visit several months ago. Her father had told her the film would be used for promotional purposes and she'd had no reason not to believe him because they often had photographers on the premises. That meant not only had her father lied, but he'd been scheming to tear her world apart for months. That hurt.

But the past was over. She had to deal with the present, and the present included the testosterone-packed problem in front of her.

“And what exactly are your needs?” She winced when she heard the double entendre of her words.

As if a door slammed shut, Wyatt's face instantly turned inscrutable. “To own a horse farm. What else?”

Wyatt Jacobs was lying through his perfect white teeth. Hannah would swear to it. But she couldn't prove it. And even if she could, what could she do about it? Right now she was nothing but a puppet. And he held her strings.

 

Hannah didn't believe him, and frankly, Wyatt didn't care. He wasn't here to make friends. In fact, it would suit him better if she got ticked off and quit her job.

Playing chaperone to a spoiled princess had never been part of his plan. He'd bought the farm for Sam and had intended spending as little time here as possible. But Hannah would require more supervision than his planned sporadic visits.

The door to the lab burst open, shattering the standoff between him and the bothersome brunette. A lanky redheaded guy rushed in. “Doc Will's got another one.”

Hannah's body language changed instantly from resentful and reluctant to alert and attentive. Wyatt found the switch quite intriguing. She didn't snap at the new guy for keeping the door open, dripping on the floor or tracking in mud. Instead, she wiggled her fingers in a give-me-more gesture.