Her Tycoon to Tame (5 page)

“She could jeopardize the safety of the other horses,” Wyatt objected.

“She'll be quarantined until the test results come back.”

The vet nodded. “Thanks, Hannah. I'll take care of the legalities. Can you send me the pictures documenting the abuse ASAP? I took some video with my cell phone and shot that off to the authorities. But detailed still shots will help our case.”

“I'll get photos before and after I clean and treat her wounds, and I'll email those and the lab results to you as soon as I'm done.”

Wyatt didn't like the way this was playing out. “The mare's suffering should end. Put her down. I'll cover the cost.”

Hannah gripped Wyatt's forearm. Her touch burned
through his sleeve like tongues of fire. Heat licked up his limb and settled in his torso.

“If you don't care about the mare, let me put it another way. To stand any chance of making the bastard who did this pay for his heinous crimes and to keep him from hurting another animal, we'll need documentation. Not only was this mare beaten and malnourished, she was obviously living in filth. The judge has to see what a sadist her owner is or the jerk might be allowed to own and torture other animals. No creature deserves to live or die in those conditions. Please, Wyatt, let me do this for her.”

When she put it like that how could he refuse? Reports of abuse and neglect had been the top reasons he'd refused to put Sam in a facility. The mare, like Sam, deserved to be treated with dignity.

Her movements slow and deliberate, Hannah approached the mare and smoothed a hand down the white blaze. The horse shied away, tossing her head and almost knocking Hannah over, but the stupid woman wouldn't quit. She kept sweet-talking and caressing until the horse tolerated her touch.

“Look at that face. She deserves a second chance, don't you, girl?” Hannah's eyes, soft and wide, beseeched him. “Give me two weeks. Unless she tests positive for something I can't cure, I'll prove to you, and to her, that she deserves a better life. When I'm done she'll be healthier so someone else might be willing to foster her. Worst-case scenario, her final days will be good ones. She'll be warm and clean and well-fed.”

Wyatt couldn't care less about Hannah's bedroom-soft purr or the horse's face. He didn't believe for one minute this spoiled rich girl had what it took to bring the mare back from near-death, but her point about final days got to him. That's why he'd bought the farm for Sam.

“Two weeks. You pay for the costs, and no heroic measures.”

Relief softened Hannah's expression. “Wait and see the miracles a little TLC can create.”

“I don't believe in miracles.”

She shrugged. “Your loss. They happen every day.”

“That's Pollyanna garbage.”

“Beats pessimism.”

The vet's pager buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at the message. “Hannah, darling, I have a colic call on the other side of the county. I have to go. Can you manage without me?”

“Jeb and I can handle her.”

Hannah flicked her fingers at Wyatt in a dismissive gesture. “You can go, too. I'm going to be busy here for a while. I'll call you when I'm done, and if there's still enough daylight left, you'll get your tour. If not, I'll make time tomorrow.”

The liability of her getting hurt on the job outweighed his disgust with the situation, and he couldn't think of a better way to keep an eye on her than to help. “I'm not leaving. You'll be shorthanded without Doc.”

Hannah frowned. Her mouth opened, then closed as if she'd considered arguing but had changed her mind. “If you insist on staying, then go into the office and get my camera out of my desk drawer. You can take the before photographs while I get my suture kit. But stay out of my way.”

Her bossy tone reminded him that she was probably used to men jumping at her command. She'd learn quickly that he had no intention of being one of her minions.

H
annah could barely concentrate on cleansing the mare's wounds. She wished she could think of a way to get rid of her new boss—one that didn't include angering him and making him renege on their bargain.

Her collision with Wyatt earlier had left her more than a little mystified. His touch had filled her with some weird, almost kinetic energy that she couldn't identify and didn't like. And since then it was almost as if she'd grown antennae that stayed tuned into the Wyatt channel. The constant awareness of him was exhausting. She wanted it and him gone.

His hawkeyed presence made her uncomfortable—something the sensitive mare picked up on and displayed with each nervous swish of her tail. Add in that he had removed his sweater ten minutes ago, revealing a newsworthy set of broad shoulders in his snug white T-shirt, and Hannah was practically salivating over a pair of deliciously defined pectorals.

Pitiful, Hannah. Just pitiful.

She glanced up and her gaze slammed into Wyatt's dark brown one over the mare's withers. Her pulse bucked.

“When will Jeb return?” he asked in that rumbly, make-her-insides-quiver voice of his.

“It'll take him a while to run all the tests. We'll probably finish before he does.”

“Does the staff always dump the dirty work on you?”

She couldn't tell if his question arose from genuine curiosity or from the quest for information he could use against her coworkers. She would have to guard every word she said.

“They know I like cleanup detail. It gives me a chance to assess the damage and get to know the horse. But for what it's worth, a number of the employees volunteer their free time to FYC like Jeb is today. Weekends are hectic for most of us. Our trainers are away at horse shows, and the staff left behind is tied up with current or prospective clients.”

Despite the crowded farm,
this
barn was empty except for the two of them—something her crazy hormones couldn't seem to ignore.

As much as she disliked the arrogant jerk she needed his cooperation and financial support to keep FYC going. If Wyatt fired her, who would care for her horses? They weren't ready for adoption yet and had little monetary value in their current conditions. She had to take every opportunity to sell the concept of Find Your Center to Wyatt and not only make him a believer, but a willing sponsor.

Making nice wouldn't kill her—or so Nellie always claimed. Afraid she'd choke on the necessary words, Hannah swallowed and forced a smile. “I appreciate your help and the extra set of hands today. You'll see that it's time well spent.”

“Doubtful.” He capped the antibiotic salve, drawing her attention to his hands—as if she hadn't been fixated on them already. He had good hands. Firm. Strong. Gentle when necessary.

The kind of hands a woman wanted in a lover.

Don't go there.

But she couldn't help it. She would never have anticipated tenderness and patience from the arrogant oaf. “You were good with the mare. I expected squeamishness from a guy wearing cashmere and Gucci, but you applied that slimy salve to her wounds with a deft touch and no gagging.”

His appraisal turned suspicious, as if he suspected an ulterior motive behind her compliment. “I have some experience.”

“So you've said, but you've left out the details.”

He ignored her invitation to fill in the blanks. She smothered a sigh. There was only one way to find out what she wanted to know—by getting to know the boss better.
Not
something she relished, but it was a tactic she'd learned from her more competitive cousin. Megan always found out what motivated her adversaries, then used it against them to trounce them in the show ring.

“Tell me about your years on the thoroughbred farm,” Hannah prompted.

Wyatt wiped his hands, slowly and deliberately on a rag, then stepped back to check his handiwork. “Not much to tell. My mother married the stable owner when I was fourteen. He gave me odd jobs to keep me out of trouble until I went to college.”

She studied his tightly controlled hair and expression and his traditional attire. “You don't look like the type to find trouble.”

His lips flattened. “Are we done here?”

“You avoided answering.”

He gave her a level look. “You didn't ask a question, and my personal life is none of your business.”

She tried to hide her frustration, but she wasn't admitting defeat so easily. “We're finished for now. We have pictures of her wounds and details on the severity of infection. I'll put her in the quarantine stall and let her rest. She should be exhausted from the travel and all this first aid. Once Jeb has the test results, there will likely be more work to do.”

She dropped the irrigation syringe into the bucket, peeled off her gloves, set the pail aside and hitched a lead line to the halter. The moment she released her patient from the cross ties the mare tossed her head, almost dislocating Hannah's shoulder.

“She's going to hurt you.”

“And let me guess, you're more worried about the worker's compensation claim than me.”
Oops. Shut up, Hannah.

“Triple Crown Distillery prides itself on running a safe operation. I will expect Sutherland Farm to do the same.”

“We do, but this isn't a manufacturing plant. We work with live animals that have personalities instead of stationary vats and casks. The mare doesn't know whether we're friends or foes, and after what we've just put her through she probably thinks we're every bit as bad as her owner. Don't hold her skittishness against her. She'll reveal her true nature as she gets to know us.” She stroked the mare's long neck. “Let's go to your new home, girl.”

Wyatt blocked her path with a wall of solid muscle and his upper arm bumped Hannah's, splattering her with warmth. “I'll take the lead. I'll be able to control her better.”

“That's a chauvinist statement if I ever heard one.”

“I'm stronger and I outweigh you.”

She surrendered the line. Any bonding he might do with the horse would work in her favor. “She goes in the last stall on the right.”

Despite the hour they'd spent working as a team, she still knew next to nothing about her new boss. Intent on finding out as much as she could, she kept pace beside him as they traversed the center aisle. “Your parents are divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Father still part of the picture?”

“No.”

“Did you enjoy working at the stable?”

“Parts of it.”

“Did you like your stepfather?”

“Yes.”

“Still keep in touch?”

“Yes.”

“Not exactly a conversationalist, are you, Jacobs?” She winced as soon as the words left her mouth.

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Hannah.

He sliced a sharp glance in her direction. “Do I need to be?”

“Frankly, yes. Running an operation like Sutherland Farm requires you to be equal parts salesman, businessman, diplomat and horseman. From what I've seen, you lack most of those skills. But I can help you.”

His eyebrows dipped. “And if I don't want or need your assistance?”

Stubborn jerk. “I think you do. I know a lot of people in the show jumping world. Connections count. I have them. From what little you've shared, you don't. And I speak four languages fluently, which means I can communicate with more of our global clients.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He turned the mare into the stall, removed the lead and closed the door. His dark eyes pinned Hannah. “You seem like a detail-oriented person.”

Something about his tone set her on guard. Why didn't that sound like a compliment?

“I am.”

“Then you should have comprehensive records on Find Your Center.”

“I do,” she offered cautiously.

“I want them.”

Not good. He needed to see the good FYC did before he saw the balance sheets. “Let's go to my office. I'll show you the portfolio of the horses we've rescued and placed.”

“Financials first. If the numbers aren't good, then the rest is irrelevant.”

Her mouth went as dry as a drought-ridden pasture. A bottom-line mindset spelled nothing but disaster for FYC. “What about your tour?”

“It can wait.”

“It'll take me a while to pull the reports together. Study the portfolio in the meantime. I'll get the books to you tomorrow.”

“Tonight.”

She bit the inside of her lip to hold back a grimace. She wasn't going to be able to stall him. “The files are on the computer in my cottage. It's late. I'll print them out after dinner and deliver them to your office first thing in the morning.”

“I'll follow you home and get them now.”

That sounded more like a threat than a promise. “If you insist.”

“I do. And for future reference, Hannah, don't waste my time trying to evade the issue. I always get what I want in the end.”

 

Rain drummed on the car's roof, almost drowning out Hannah's pounding pulse. The short, tense ride from the rescue barn to her cottage couldn't have been more miserable.

Wyatt parked. She debated inviting him inside but his scent enveloping her as surely as the expensive leather upholstery cradled her body muddled her thinking.

Her cottage was the only part of her life he hadn't managed to invade, but if she wanted to persuade him to keep funding FYC despite its dismal bottom line, then she had to endure his presence until she could find another solution. Besides, she had pictures inside that he really needed to see.

Resigned, she reached for the door handle. “Come in while I get what you need.”

She shoved open the door and sprinted toward her front porch, but not even a chilly rain could banish the strange awareness of the man shadowing her like a hawk ready to swoop down on a hare. But she wasn't a defenseless bunny. She could fight for what she wanted.

She stepped into her foyer and held open the door. He
swept past her. “Make yourself comfortable. This'll take a few minutes. Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“No thank you.” Most visitors paused to study the wall covered with framed photographs, but not Wyatt. He marched between her matching camelback sofas, his boots barely making a sound on her wooden floor as he headed for the stone fireplace and the portrait hanging above it.

“Who's this?” he asked without turning. “You look like her.”

“My mother and her favorite horse, Gazpacho. He was a Grand Prix champion many times over and twice a world champion. Gazpacho was a rescue horse. So I guess you could say my mother laid the foundation for Find Your Center by rescuing Gazpacho before I was born.”

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder from her to the oil painting and back, his skepticism clear in his expression. “You expect to find another champion in every nag you rescue?”

His sarcasm stung. Now he sounded like her father. “Of course not. I'm not stupid. Champions are rare. Most of our horses go to therapeutic riding schools after they're rehabilitated.”

“What is a therapeutic riding school?”

She couldn't have asked for a more perfect opening for her sales pitch. She inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts and words and trying to put them in perfect, persuasive order.

“Therapeutic riding is a form of physical therapy used to help individuals with disabilities or brain injuries strengthen their core muscles and improve their balance through finding their center of gravity. Hence, our name.”

“Putting someone with balance issues on a horse is dangerous and foolhardy. Sounds a liability and an insurance nightmare.”

Alarm raised the hairs on her nape. The close-minded were always the hardest to convince. “Our program is well-supervised. We run the classes here on Sundays. You can see for yourself tomorrow. Our instructors and volunteers
are trained and our program is accredited. We take every precaution possible to ensure the safety of the participants. We have a long waiting list of applicants because we're so good.”

“How profitable are the lessons?”

Ouch. Bull's-eye. He'd hit their weakest spot. She hesitated. “In terms of physical recovery, they're priceless.”

His frown deepened. “In dollars and cents, Hannah.”

She'd been hoping he wouldn't ask. “We don't charge for the sessions.”

“How do you cover your expenses?”

She chewed the inside of her lip. He wasn't going to like the answer. “The farm subsidizes us.”

“You're not profitable.”

He seemed determined to focus on the negatives. That wouldn't help her cause. She gestured to the photo collection she'd wanted him to see. “This is my Wall of Winners. Each of these horses is a Find Your Center success story that has been rehabilitated and placed in a new home. But to know the whole story you really need to see the book in my office in the breeding barn, which contains the before and after photos. You'll be amazed by the progress.”

He crossed the room to study the photographs. Silent seconds ticked past, stretching her nerves even tighter. “I don't see any pictures of you on a horse.”

Hannah startled. She hadn't seen that one coming. “I—I don't ride.”

His gaze burned her. “You grew up on a horse farm and you don't ride, and yet you're busting my chops for my lack of horse knowledge?” She bristled.
She
hadn't spent millions on a business she knew nothing about. But being snarky would jeopardize what she wanted—his cooperation and continued financial backing. “I don't have to ride to love horses.”

“Why don't you ride?”

Her nails bit into her palms. “That really isn't relevant.”

In three purposeful strides he invaded her space, stopping close enough that she could feel his body heat and inhale the intoxicating blend of fresh rain and his unique aroma. That crazy current buzzed between them again, making her nipples tingle and tighten. She folded her arms to hide her involuntary response, then realized the defensive body language gave too much away and lowered her hands to her sides. It took a conscious effort to keep from fisting her fingers.