Greedy for a taste of her, Wyatt stroked his tongue across the lush, moist curve of Hannah’s bottom lip.

Her flavour hit him with the punch of a straight shot of single malt whiskey, making his head spin and his body temperature spike.

Why her? Why did this woman who stood for everything he despised get to him? Hadn’t he been burned by her type often enough to learn his lesson? Before he could make sense of her strange magnetism or get his fill, she jerked back, eyes wide and wary, and pressed her fingers over her mouth.

“You can’t do that. You’re my boss.”

Reality slammed into him like an oncoming train. Stupid move, Jacobs. “You’re right. A personal involvement would be unwise.”

But even as he spoke the words he registered her heavy-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks and erect nipples—sure signs that her hormones were pumping as rampantly as his. And as impractical and ill-advised as it might be, he wanted her.

Dear Reader,

Horses were a huge part of my childhood, and I miss them terribly. If I ever win the lottery, you can be assured my first purchase will be a horse farm somewhere in central North Carolina.

Fortunately, Hannah and Wyatt’s story gave me an opportunity to revisit one of my first loves, although my horse experiences were never anything as lavish as Grand Prix show jumping! There is nothing more breathtaking than watching a spindly legged foal take its first steps or taking those initial tentative steps into a new love.

I hope you enjoy the often unsteady steps of Wyatt and Hannah’s journey. Let me know what you think. You can reach me online at my website, www.emilierose.com.

Happy reading!

Emilie Rose

About the Author

Bestselling Desire™ author and RITA® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in her native North Carolina with her four sons and two adopted mutts. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She’s managed a medical office and run a home day care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening and cooking (especially cheesecake). She’s a rabid country music fan because she can find an entire book in almost any song. She is currently working her way through her own “bucket list,” which includes learning to ride a Harley. Visit her website at www.emilierose.com or email EmilieRoseC@aol.com. Letters can be mailed to PO Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619, USA.

Her Tycoon
to Tame

Emilie Rose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the Man upstairs for giving me more

time with my mom.

Each day is a blessing.

One

Hannah Sutherland pressed the pedal of the golf cart to the floorboard, racing the battery-powered machine up the long curving driveway toward the main house.

Guest. My office. N.O.W.

That had been her father’s text, and as irritable as he’d been lately, she didn’t dare keep him waiting. But who could be so important that she had to drop everything and hurry to the house?

When she reached the stairs leading to the back patio, she slammed on the brake, leaped from the vehicle and hustled into the house, straightening her hair and adjusting her hastily changed clothing as she crossed the black-and-white marbled foyer. The sound of her boots echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

At the sight of the closed office door, her step hitched. She hadn’t seen that door closed since the day her mother had died. Apprehension climbed her spine like a spider.

She shook off her uneasiness and knocked on the glossy surface. A moment later, the panel opened revealing Al Brinkley, the family’s lawyer. He’d been her father’s friend as well as his legal council for as long as Hannah could remember.

“Good to see you, Mr. Brinkley.”

Brinkley’s smile seemed forced. “Hello, Hannah. I swear you look more like your mother every day.”

“So I’ve been told.” Too bad looks were all she’d inherited from her mom. Hannah’s life would have been so much easier if she’d picked up a few more traits.

His expression sobered, resurrecting Hannah’s concern. “Come in.”

Her father stood behind his desk, his face tense, a highball glass in his hand. It was a little early for cocktails.

Movement by the French doors overlooking the east paddock interrupted the thought. Tall and lean, the other occupant of the study smoothly pivoted in her direction.

His glossy brownish-black hair had been clipped short, but not short enough to hide a tendency to curl that did nothing to soften his uncompromisingly hard jaw and a square chin.

And while his features combined to form a tough but attractive face, nothing would soften those cool, distrusting eyes, and no amount of expensive tailoring could conceal his broad shoulders and firm, muscled body. He had the lean, mean, fighting machine look often displayed on military recruiting posters and an alert and dangerous air. She estimated his age as mid-thirties, but it was hard to say. He had old eyes.

“Come in, Hannah.” The odd tension in her father’s tone made her wary. “Brink, close the door.”

The lawyer did as he was bid, sealing Hannah into the wainscoted room with the three men and a tense atmosphere. Private discussions were not the norm in the house. Nellie, who served as housekeeper, house manager and surrogate mother, was the only one who might overhear, and she was family in every way but blood. So why the secrecy?

“Wyatt, this is my daughter, Hannah. She’s the veterinarian overseeing Sutherland Farm’s breeding operation. Hannah, Wyatt Jacobs.”

Jacobs’s searing scrutiny strangely repelled and yet attracted her. Duty compelled her into motion. She crossed the Aubusson carpet. Who was he and what kind of closed-door business could he have with the stable?

Judging by his expensive clothing and the platinum watch on his wrist, he had money, but then all of their visitors did. Grand Prix show jumping wasn’t for paupers or even the middle class. Their clients ranged from nouveau riche to established royalty, spoiled brats to dedicated, die-hard horsemen. Where did Wyatt Jacobs fit in?

She’d bet he looked good on a horse with that erect, confident carriage. His eyes were the color of roasted coffee beans, the pupils barely discernible with the sun streaming through the French doors at his back.

“Welcome to Sutherland Farm, Mr. Jacobs,” she recited by rote and extended her hand.

His long fingers closed around hers, and his firm, warm grip combined with the impact of that hard, dark gaze made it difficult to breathe. She might as well have had a girth cinched around her chest considering the sudden pressure on her lungs.

“Dr. Sutherland.” His deep, slightly raspy and seriously sexy voice would be perfect for radio.

He held her hand, extending the contact and making her wish for a split second that she’d taken the time to freshen her makeup, unbraid and brush her hair and splash on some perfume to mask the scent of stables when she’d quickly changed from her soiled work clothes in her office. But she’d been rushing and done only the absolutely necessary repairs.

Stupid girl. He’s a client. And you’re not looking for romance, remember?

She tugged her hand and after a brief resistance he released her. She pressed her prickling palm to her thigh. She’d broken her engagement fifteen months ago and in that time she hadn’t thought about sex even once. Until now. Wyatt Jacobs made her tingle in places that had been dormant for a long time.

Her father offered her a highball glass of amber liquid. “Dad, you know I can’t drink when I’m working. I still have to deal with Commander this morning.”

Her frustration with the stallion she’d left in the stables resurfaced. Commander wanted to kill everyone—especially the vet in charge of collecting his semen. In the arena he’d been a phenomenal competitor, but in the barn he was a bloodthirsty beast. His bloodline and list of championships meant she couldn’t ignore him. His ejaculate was liquid gold. But she, her team and the stubborn stud had needed a cool-down period after an unproductive hour. Her father’s interruption had actually come at a good time.

Her father set the glass on his desk beside her as if he expected her to change her mind, reactivating the warning itch on her nape. Hannah brushed aside her misgivings and returned her focus to their guest. Jacobs watched her with an unwavering, laser-like intensity that stirred a strange, volatile reaction inside her, and try as she might she couldn’t look away.

She’d met movie stars, congressmen and royalty with less charisma. For pity’s sake she’d dated and even kissed a few of them with no effect. So why did Jacobs rattle her cage?

Wait a minute. Was that anger lurking in his eyes?

There was only one way to find out.

“What brings you to our stables, Mr. Jacobs?”

“Luthor, would you care to explain why I’m here?” Jacobs deferred. Funny, she would have sworn on her mother’s earrings that he wasn’t the type to defer anything and doing so now appeared to irritate him.

When the silence stretched, she pried her eyes from Jacobs’s handsome face and discovered her usually unflappable father looking defensive and uncomfortable, his pale features set—totally unlike his usual calm demeanor. He drained his glass in one gulp and set the tumbler on the desk with a thump.

Her anxiety level spiked. “Daddy, what’s going on?”

“I’ve sold the farm, Hannah,” her father stated baldly.

She blinked. Her father had never possessed a sense of humor. Odd time for him to find one. But the idea was too ludicrous to be anything but a bad joke. “Really?”

He glanced at Brinkley’s stoic expression, then back. “I have places to go and things to see—none of which I can do if I’m tied to this business every single day of the year.”

She searched her father’s resolute face. He wasn’t joking. The floor beneath her feet seemed to shift. She clutched the edge of the desk for balance. Her knuckles bumped the cold highball glass, but the chill of the crystal couldn’t compare to the ice spreading through her veins.

She could feel her mouth opening and closing, but couldn’t force out a sound. She shuddered in a breath then stuttered it out again while struggling to gather her shattered thoughts.

“You couldn’t have sold the farm. You wouldn’t have. You live for the stables.” As far as she knew he had no other interests, no hobbies. Nothing except horses, winning and Sutherland Farm. He didn’t even have friends outside the horse biz.

“Not anymore.”

Something had to be wrong. Terribly wrong. Fear splintered through her and cold sweat beaded her lip.

Her neck felt like a rusty hinge as she forced her head to turn to Jacobs. “Would you excuse us a moment, Mr. Jacobs?”

Their visitor didn’t budge. He studied her—as if trying to gauge and anticipate her reaction.

“Please.” She hated the desperate edge of her voice. It verged on begging. And she never begged.

After a moment he nodded, crossed the room in purposeful strides and stepped through the doors out onto the veranda. A fresh-cut grass-scented breeze drifted in the open door, but the familiar aroma failed to do its usual job of soothing her.

“Would you like for me to go?” Brinkley asked.

Her father held up a hand. “Stay, Brink. Hannah might have questions only you can answer.”

“Daddy, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

He sighed. “No, Hannah. I’m not sick.”

“Then how could you do this? You promised Mom you’d keep the farm forever.”

The lines in her father’s face seemed to deepen. “That was nineteen years ago, Hannah, and she was dying. I said what I had to say to let her pass peacefully.”

“But what about me? I promised Mom, too, and I meant it. I’m supposed to take over Sutherland Farm. I’m supposed to keep Grandma and Papa’s property in the family and pass it on to my children.”

“Children you don’t have.”

“Well, no, not yet, but one day—” She paused as an idea pierced her like a nail. “This is because I didn’t marry Robert, isn’t it?”

Disapproval clamped her father’s mouth into a tight line. “He was perfect for you, and yet you refused to settle down.”

“No, Dad, he was perfect for you. Robert was the son you always wished you’d had. Instead, you got me.”

“Robert knew how to run a stable.”

“So do I.”

“Hannah, you don’t ride. You don’t compete. Your heart is not in this business, and you don’t have the drive to keep Sutherland Farm at the top of the Grand Prix community. Instead you waste your time and money on animals that ought to be euthanized.”

No matter how many times she heard it, the old attacks still chafed. She stuffed down her emotional response and focused on the facts. “Mom believed in rescuing horses, too, and my horse rehabilitation program is a success. If you’d take the time to look at the statistics and read the success stories—”

“Your operation runs in the red every quarter. You’re careless with money because you’ve never had to fight and scratch for a living.”

“I work.”

He grunted in disgust. “A few hours a day.”

“My job isn’t the eight-hour-a-day variety.”

“When your mother and I assumed responsibility for my parents’ old tobacco farm, this place was losing money hand over fist. We built Sutherland Farm into the showplace it is today by fighting and clawing our way up the ranks. Your mother had ambition. You do not. Robert might have managed to talk some sense into you and divert your attention to more suitable hobbies. But that didn’t work. Did it?”

She’d ended her engagement the day she’d realized Robert had loved the horses and farm more than he had her. He’d been willing to trample people in pursuit of the almighty dollar. But her father would never listen to that. The men were like peas in a pod—identical in their drive for success despite the costs.

Robert had been her father’s ideal of the perfect son-in-law—aggressive in business and a star in the show ring—but ultimately, he wasn’t her ideal husband or life partner. She would have come lagging in a distant third in his heart at best. But she could hardly tell her father the only time Robert was passionate was in the riding ring.

“Robert wasn’t right for me.”

“You’re twenty-nine, Hannah, and no man has ever held your attention for more than a few months. You’re too picky.”

“Daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t inherit mother’s grace and ability on horseback or your competitive streak. But this farm was her dream. And now it’s mine. I can run it. I may not know how to ride a champion, but I know how to breed one. I have what it takes.”

“No, Hannah, you don’t. You’ve had a few successes with your stock, but you lack fire and ambition and you have absolutely no head for business. You’re never going to be ready to take the reins of Sutherland Farm.”

She flinched. His cruel words only confirmed what she knew he’d been thinking for years, but they still stung like the whip of a crop. “That’s not true.”

“I’m doing you no favors by continuing to coddle you.” He paused and glanced at his friend. “I won’t always be here to support you, Hannah. It’s time you learned to take care of yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m cutting you off.”

Shock followed by a chaser of panic sent her staggering backward. “What do you mean?” she repeated.

“I will no longer support you or your lost causes.”

“Why? What did I do? How will I survive?”

“You’ll have to learn to live on your salary.”

Hurt, fear and betrayal ignited like a barn fire beneath her breastbone. “Couldn’t we have talked about this before you made such a drastic decision?”

Her father shrugged and realigned the pen beside a thick pile of papers on his desk. “What good would that have done?”

“I would have talked you out of it. Somebody should have talked you out of it.” She shot an injured and confused glance at the attorney who shrugged apologetically. “This farm, this property has been in our family for generations. There are a lot of people depending on you and me and—”

“It’s too late, Hannah.” Her father sighed and suddenly the starch left his spine, making him look old and tired. He refilled his drink, then sank into the leather chair.

She turned to Brinkley. “Can he do this? What about my mother’s share of the business?”

“Your grandparents put the farm in your father’s name before he married your mother. Her name was never added to the deed. You received the only inheritance you’ll get from her estate when you turned twenty-one.”

And most of that was gone. She’d spent the money on her horses, confident in the belief that her father would continue to fund her efforts.

Then realization clicked, jolting Hannah out of her stupefaction. Wyatt Jacobs must be the one who’d bought the farm right out from under her. The sneaky, conniving, inheritance-swindling bastard.

Cold eyes, cold heart, Nellie had always said.

Hannah’s pulse galloped in her eardrums like stampeding hooves. If she couldn’t make her father or Brinkley see sense, she’d have to talk to the jerk who had usurped her and convince him to renege on the deal. Then she’d figure out a way to change her father’s mind before he found another buyer.

She stalked through the patio door and spotted the interloper at a table, calmly eating from a plate of Nellie’s cookies and drinking a glass of milk as if he hadn’t just blasted the foundation right out from under her life. She marched toward him and pulled up at his elbow.

“This is my home. You can’t waltz in here and steal the property. My father is having a momentary bout of senility and—”

Jacobs rose to tower above her, his face like granite. “I didn’t steal Sutherland Farm, doc. I paid more than fair market value.”

He calmly lifted the cookie and took another bite. His insolence stung like a slap in the face. Then as she focused on the cookie she realized she wasn’t the only one who would be blindsided by today’s disastrous news. She swung to her father who had followed her onto the patio.

“What about Nellie? She’s lived with us since Mom died. She has no other home, no other family. Just us. You can’t turn her out to pasture. She’s too young to retire, and jobs are hard to find right now.”

“Wyatt has promised to continue employing Nellie.”

Wyatt has promised. Right. And she trusted him about as far as she could throw all six feet plus and two hundred whatever rock-solid pounds of him. She glared at him. “What about the other employees, the clients’ horses and the stables? Are you going to do a clean sweep?”

Most new owners brought in their own teams, and she hated to think of the people she’d known and loved like an extended family being scattered across the globe—that was if they were able to find jobs with so many farms downsizing.

“I’ll maintain the status quo while I assess the property and the business.”

“And then what?”

“My decisions will depend on what I discover about the operation.”

“What’s to discover? You bought a world-class stable—”

“Hannah,” her father interrupted, “Brink will go over the particulars of the agreement with you. All you need to know is that Wyatt has agreed to keep the current staff for a full year unless obvious incompetence leads him to decide otherwise.”

Her shoulders snapped straight at the insult. “Sutherland Farm doesn’t employ any incompetents.”

“Then no one need be concerned,” Jacobs said.

Desperation clawed at her throat. “Daddy, please don’t do this. I’m sure there’s a way you can undo the paperwork. Give me a chance to prove to you that I can run the farm and—”

“Hannah, we closed the deal a week ago. Today was merely the first time Wyatt and I could meet personally to discuss the transition.”

“A week ago,” she parroted. Her world had crashed and she’d been oblivious. Head reeling and legs shaking, she tried to make sense of the upheaval to come.

“I’ve already purchased a townhome and the movers have been scheduled,” her father added, sending another shockwave rippling through her.

Jacobs stiffened. “A townhome? What about the cottage?”

My cottage! Ohmigod. Where will I live?

Her father’s expression turned cagey. “Hannah lives in the cottage.”

Jacobs’s hands fisted by his sides and anger lit his eyes.

Confused by the exchange, Hannah looked from the interloper to her father. “My home and my job are part of Sutherland Farm. Where will I go? Where will I live and work?”

Her father sighed and turned toward the bar cart. “I’ll let Wyatt explain.”

“Luthor excluded the cottage and two acres inside the stone fence surrounding it from the deal. You’ll get to keep your house. And, as your father has already explained, like any other employee you’ll be kept on staff as long as the quality of your work meets my standards.” Jacobs’s voice carried about as much warmth as liquid nitrogen.

The man would be her boss.

“Your standards?” From his tone she gathered his standards would be impossible to meet.

Her cottage, the original Sutherland homestead, sat smack in the middle of Sutherland Farm. She’d be surrounded by enemy territory. But at least she’d have a roof over her head.

She swallowed her panic and fought to clear her head. “When is all this upheaval scheduled to take place?”

“I’m taking over as CEO today and moving into this house as soon as your father has vacated.”

In other words, life as she’d always known it had ended.

Two

Anger licked along Wyatt’s nerve endings like kindling catching fire. Luthor Sutherland had deliberately deceived him.

The man had no intention of “retiring” to the original homestead as he’d led Wyatt to believe when he’d insisted the parcel be excluded from the sale, and Sutherland’s daughter was one of the employees Sutherland had been so eager to protect. If Wyatt had known, he would never have signed the employee agreement Sutherland had insisted on.

But if Luthor expected Wyatt to cut his princess any slack, he’d be disappointed. If Hannah couldn’t carry her weight, she’d be fired—per the performance clause Wyatt had included.

What incensed him the most was that he knew he had no one but himself to blame for deception getting past him. He’d been neck-deep in closing an international distribution deal and because he didn’t have the time, interest or knowledge in running a horse farm, he’d delegated the job of finding a self-sufficient operation—one that wouldn’t require him to be on-site—to the best buyer’s agent in the business.

Sutherland Farm met all his criteria. He couldn’t help wondering if there were any more surprises in addition to the leggy brunette liability yet to discover. Whatever the issues, he would find and eradicate them.

He had enough problems without having to deal with a pampered heiress who had been living out of her daddy’s deep pockets. The snippets of conversation he’d overheard through the patio door made it clear that description fit Hannah Sutherland from her silk shirt to her polished high-heeled boots.

He’d bet his seven-figure investment portfolio that Hannah had coasted through life on her beauty and pretty-please smiles. His gut warned him she’d be nothing but trouble. And his instincts about people were rarely wrong. He didn’t need to see the two carats of diamonds in her ears or the watch on her wrist so pricey that a thief could pawn it to buy a car or her short but perfectly manicured nails to confirm her overindulged status.

“I want every employee’s file before I leave today,” he demanded without looking away from the smoky blue eyes shooting flames at him.

“That’s confidential information,” Hannah protested.

“Hannah,” Sutherland’s lawyer interjected, “as the new owner of Sutherland Farm, Mr. Jacobs has unrestricted access to employee records.”

“But—”

Wyatt nailed her with a hard look. “I’ll start with yours. I have a pretty good idea what I’ll find. Private schools. Sororities. European vacations paid for by Sutherland Farm.”

Hannah glared at him. Tension quivered through her slender, toned body. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and despite his aversion to spoiled women and his anger over his predicament, awareness simmered beneath his skin.

Something about her got to him. She had a subtle grace and elegance about her that both attracted him and, because of his past relationships with her type, repulsed him. He’d been burned by her kind before.

“I graduated from an accredited veterinary school,” she said through barely moving lips. “My credentials are valid, and since Warmbloods are a European breed, visiting the established and successful breeding farms to study their setups and evaluate their stock for potential matches is a necessary part of my job.”

“I’m sure you have references from your previous employers to prove your worth as an employee.”

Her chin jerked up a notch and she managed to look down her straight nose at him in the way only wealthy women could—a lesson he’d had driven into him like a railroad spike when he’d been seventeen and green and working at his stepfather’s stable. Back then he hadn’t been smart enough to know rich daddy’s darlings didn’t marry boys who cleaned stalls for their stepfathers’ stables no matter how intimate the relationship might have become.

“I have worked here since graduating—almost five years. I’m good at what I do.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

She folded her arms and cocked back on one of those long legs. “Tell me, Mr. Jacobs, what exactly are your credentials for determining whether or not staff members are performing well?”

“Hannah—” the attorney cautioned, but Wyatt silenced him with a look.

“I’m CEO of Triple Crown Distillery. I employ over six hundred. I recognize incompetents and slackers when I see them.”

Anger stained her cheeks a fiery red, proving she’d picked up his implication that he considered her one. “As I’ve already stated, the Sutherland team doesn’t have any weak links. We’re a cohesive unit, one of the best in the industry.”

“That remains to be seen.” Wyatt was beginning to wish he’d chosen one of the other dozen properties the real estate agent had presented. But as wise as that option now appeared, none of those farms had fit Sam’s descriptions and all would have required Wyatt’s input as a manager. Input he didn’t have the time or inclination to give.

When Sam reminisced about the Kentucky thoroughbred farm he’d once owned, he sounded so lucid Wyatt could almost forget his stepfather was fading away right before his eyes. Sutherland Farm resembled Sam’s old farm more than any of the other properties, and Sam deserved to be comfortable, happy and, most importantly, safe for however long he had left. He would be here. Wyatt would make damned sure of it.

And he had no intention of letting Hannah Sutherland prevent him from repaying the debt he owed to the man who’d been a better parent to him than his own flesh and blood.

“Just watch your step, doc. Your father may have indulged you, but I won’t. You’ll earn your keep if you want to remain employed here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have files to review and you need to get back to work.”

Exhausted, Hannah plodded down the driveway toward her cottage, a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine.

One of her rescue mares kept pace beside her on the opposite side of the white board fence. Hannah found the horse’s undemanding company soothing. Unlike people, who were easily disappointed, horses never expected too much.

It had been a tough week. Since her world crashed she’d been juggling her usual duties plus the new ones thrust unexpectedly on her. The staff had turned to her for answers—answers she didn’t have.

The mood in the barns grew more oppressive, like an impending summer storm, with each day that Wyatt Jacobs failed to make an appearance. Usually affable employees were on edge and snapping at each other. Even the horses had picked up on the bad vibes and been harder to handle than usual. Hannah wished Jacobs would show up just to break the tension. Not that she wanted to see him again.

The phone on her hip vibrated. The digital display read private caller. Could be a client or, if she was lucky, a wrong number. She didn’t have the energy to deal with another crisis or panicking coworker.

She hit the answer button. “Hannah Sutherland.”

“Wyatt Jacobs. Come to my office in the house. Now.”

Click.

Her feet stuck to the pavement as if she’d stepped in fresh tar. She scowled at the now silent phone then she looked across the lawn toward the main house. A light glowed in her father’s—Wyatt Jacobs’s—study.

The usurper had arrived. And he’d hung up on her. The rude, inconsiderate jerk. Anger charged through her system, riding on the back of a burst of adrenaline. How dare he demand an appointment this late in the evening?

She considered calling back and telling him she was off the clock and she’d see him tomorrow. But according to the clause in her new contract, which Brinkley had pointed out, she couldn’t refuse the boss’s summons without jeopardizing her job.

She glanced at her stained clothing. If she were truly interested in making a good impression, she’d clean up first.

She wasn’t.

She’d done an internet search on Jacobs and found nothing linking him to horses in any way. Why had he bought the farm?

Was he one of those new-money guys who thought owning a horse farm would be trendy and fun? If so, he wouldn’t have a clue how much work, money and commitment were involved in a stable the size of Sutherland. If she had to teach him herself, he’d learn, and if she smelled like sweat and horses and other unpleasant stuff, she’d only be furthering his education.

As much as she hated going into the meeting at a messy disadvantage, he’d have to deal with her dirt. “Welcome to the horse business, Wyatt Jacobs.”

Energized by resentment and determination Hannah marched across the lawn and up to the kitchen door. A sideways glance down the patio brought her hand to a halt inches shy of the knob.

An unfamiliar rectangular teak table and chairs occupied the space once graced by elegant glass-topped wrought iron furniture and classic urns overflowing with spring flowers. The sight drove home the reality that this wasn’t her father’s house anymore, and she didn’t have the right to casually enter through the kitchen and feast on Nellie’s delicious cooking.

Ten yards away the patio door leading to the office opened, and Wyatt Jacobs’s tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the gap. His dark gaze pinned her like a thumbtack stabbing into a bulletin board.

“Come in, doc.” He gestured with a sharp beckoning motion of his hand—the same way he would order a dog.

Her hackles rose. Everything about him made her want to snarl and growl and that surprised her. Who was this strange woman with the bad attitude who had taken over her body? It certainly wasn’t her. She preferred gracious smiles, gentle persuasion and Southern charm. Kill ‘em with kindness, Nellie had always said, and the strategy had worked for Hannah thus far.

Wyatt Jacobs brought out her witchy side. Her churning stomach warned her to handle this encounter with care. Jacobs, the one man she didn’t know and didn’t care to know, held her future and that of her horses and the rest of the staff in his hands. Being cooperative was imperative.

She’d be damned if she’d let him know how afraid she was of losing everything.

“I’d rather talk out here.” Even though she delivered the words with a civil smile, Hannah Sutherland bristled with visible animosity. She pointed to her dust-covered black low-heeled boots. “Since I wasn’t expecting your call this late in the day, I’ve brought barn with me.”

Her boots weren’t all that was dirty. He noted the smudge filling the hollow beneath one high cheekbone, then a stain on her white Sutherland Farm logo polo shirt drew his eyes to the curve of her breasts. Another dirty streak on her khaki pants ran down the inside of her lean, taut thigh. Her current garb was a far cry from the designer duds she’d been wearing the day they’d met, but she still wore the pricey watch and ice-cube-size earrings.

He caught a subtle whiff of the stables on the breeze. But along with the smell of horses, wood shavings and hay another scent—something feminine and alluring like expensive French perfume—snagged his attention. His heart inexplicably and annoyingly pumped faster.

He’d studied her résumé and bio the way he would a blueprint, searching for flaws and weaknesses, and he’d found nothing to like in her privileged, worry-free upbringing. She’d apparently been given everything she’d ever wanted on a silver platter.

“Other than your years at college you’ve never lived away from dear old dad or his checkbook, have you?”

Her slender frame stiffened and her smile faltered. “No.”

“You never held a job, before waltzing into this one.”

“I didn’t waltz in. I earned my degree. And I gained experience by volunteering at the university’s stables. I wasn’t on the payroll because I didn’t need the money. I didn’t think it fair to take it from someone who did.”

Even with, or possibly because of, Sam’s help, Wyatt had worked his ass off to get where he was today. Sam might have paid the tuition, but he’d made Wyatt prove himself every step of the way. He’d learned the business from the ground up, and Triple Crown Distillery’s distribution and profit margins had increased by sixty percent since he had taken control after Sam’s “retirement.”

But Wyatt’s bitterness and resentment over Hannah’s worry-free life didn’t stop the spurt of energy racing through his veins when Hannah glared at him.

“I’m off the clock, Mr. Jacobs. Was there something you needed that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

The setting sun highlighted the streaks of gold in her brown wavy hair—streaks probably applied by an overpriced hairdresser. Her blue eyes showed no mercy, no interest and no feminine softness. She didn’t want him here, and her attempt at hiding her feelings failed miserably.

“Meet me in the stable’s business office tomorrow at noon.”

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You’re going to show me around the farm.”

Her stiff shoulders snapped back, becoming even more rigid. She hit him with that hoity, looking-down-the-nose appraisal that reminded him of his first love, first heartache and first betrayal by a woman.

“I can’t drop everything to play tour guide for you. Sir,” she tacked on at the last minute.

He wasn’t used to openly antagonistic females. He would have to be an idiot not to realize his looks and money made most of her gender eager to please. But from the tension and displeasure radiating from her, he would hazard a guess that she didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought of her and her disheveled state. Or maybe she’d dirtied up intentionally to make it look as though she worked hard. Yeah, that was probably the case. He doubted Ms. Perfect Manicure ever got her hands dirty.

“You’ll report at noon if you value your job.”

“I have a full schedule tomorrow. This is the busy season.”

“Why?”

She blinked, revealing long, thick lashes he hadn’t noticed before. “Why what?”

“Why is this the busy season?”

A pleat formed between her eyebrows. “Not only do we have a lot of boarders showing up to ride on Saturdays, I shouldn’t have to tell you we’re preparing for the breeding season.”

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.

Three

The 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.

“He got a call to euthanize, but he decided to give you a look first. He’s down at the barn.”

Those big blue eyes rounded. “He’s here instead of calling for a consult?”

“Yep. It’s that critical. He hightailed it off the property as soon as the authorities gave him the okay. He says this one will be a real test of your skills.”

“He’s assuming I’ll say yes.”

The redhead chuckled. “Hannah, you never say no.”

Wyatt tried to make sense of their conversation and couldn’t, but he seriously doubted the twentysomething guy meant the words in a sexual context—which was exactly where Wyatt’s brain headed when he heard a woman couldn’t say no.

He shut down that mental detour and cursed his traitorous libido. Hannah Sutherland might have a rockin’ body and a damned sexy pout, but there would be nothing remotely intimate between him and his temporary employee.

“I’m Wyatt Jacobs. And you are?” His question brought both sets of eyes in his direction.

Hannah grimaced. “I’m sorry. Jeb Jones, our veterinary assistant. Wyatt is the new owner.”

Wyatt shook Jeb’s hand. “Who is Doc Will?”

Hannah ripped off her lab coat and hung it on the hook by the door. “Will is one of our county veterinarians. Your tour will have to wait.”

“Are you willing to risk the consequences of refusing my request?” He didn’t need to elaborate that she’d be fired, but her quick gasp told him she received his unspoken message loud and clear.

Her defiant gaze drilled him. “You didn’t request, Mr. Jacobs. You ordered. And I’m not refusing. I’m postponing your tour until after I’ve handled this emergency.”

Her exasperation came across loud and clear despite the pretty-please smile punctuating her sentence. No doubt that smile worked on most men. Not him.

“Let’s go, Jeb.” Hannah rushed from the lab.

The kid hesitated, as if trying to decide who was in charge, but then he mistakenly fell in behind his cohort. Taken aback by Hannah’s insubordination and the kid’s loyalty, Wyatt rocked on his heels. Then he reconsidered. This wasn’t the case of a woman standing up for her convictions. Hannah was a spoiled daddy’s girl who believed the rules didn’t apply to her. He’d teach her and her flunky differently.

He followed the pair, intent on firing Hannah, giving her follower a warning and informing the veterinarian that Sutherland Farm was no longer a dumping ground for unwanted animals of any kind. Hannah might not be able to say no, but Wyatt had no such problem.

Ahead of him Hannah and Jeb raced down the driveway heedless of the rain. They veered off the paved surface and onto a gravel track leading to a building set behind a copse of trees several hundred yards from the main barn. Wyatt climbed into his Mercedes and drove the distance rather than get soaked.

Once he pulled off the asphalt, the uneven ground tested his car’s suspension. Considering the pristine condition of the rest of the property, the neglect surprised him. He made a mental note to speak to the manager about ordering a load of gravel to fill the potholes.

A pickup truck with a horse trailer attached had backed through the barn’s open doors. He parked beside it and surveyed the stone building through the rain streaming down his windshield. The smaller barn had the same architecturally attractive design as the other barns, but the structure, like the driveway hadn’t been as well-maintained as the rest of the farm. Odd.

He climbed from his car, then squeezed between the trailer and doorjamb. While the outside of the building lacked sparkle, the interior was as spotless as a barn could be. The combined scents of fresh shavings, hay and oats ambushed him with memories of happier times with Sam.

The trailer’s rear ramp had been lowered into the center hallway. Inside the metal enclosure a horse danced restlessly in the right compartment, its feet thumping hollowly on the rubberized mat covering the steel floor.

Hannah occupied the left half of the trailer, a rib-high divider separating her from the agitated creature. She stroked the animal’s withers and back, and spoke calmly. “It’s okay, girl. You have nothing to fear. We’re going to take good care of you.”

Her quiet, soothing tone contrasted with the impatient one she’d used with him each time he’d asked a question this morning.

The horse responded with a panicked sound that raised the fine hairs on Wyatt’s body. It had been almost fifteen years since he’d been around horses, but even he recognized the animal’s terror.

Firing Hannah would have to wait until she wasn’t in physical danger. Distraction in the workplace was an invitation to disaster. “Get out of there.”

“In a minute,” she replied without raising her voice. “Okay boys, let’s ease her out and see what we have.”

“You’re not gonna like it,” an older gentleman wearing muddy jeans and a battered field jacket said as he came from behind the trailer and clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “Best not to get behind this one, son.”

Wyatt flashed back to his teens. He’d heard the same warning from Sam too many times to count when Sam had been at the top of his game and lucid all the time and not just intermittently.

Hannah scowled at Wyatt across the distance. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“If you stay, you’ll end up getting in the way or getting hurt.”

“I worked on a thoroughbred farm from the time I was fourteen until I went to college. But don’t unload that horse. It needs to go back to wherever it came from.”

Her expression turned belligerent. “That’s not an option—a fact the police will confirm if you pick up the phone and ask for Officer—”

“Harris,” the veterinarian supplied when Hannah arched an eyebrow.

Her continued defiance rasped against Wyatt’s last nerve. “I don’t want that animal on this property.”

Hannah descended the ramp and didn’t stop until they were toe-to-toe, chest to chest—so close he could taste the mint on her breath and feel the heat steaming from her rain-dampened clothing.

He fought to keep his attention from the way her white polo shirt had turned almost transparent. Fought and failed. The wet fabric clung to her hard-nippled breasts and outlined her thin white bra. His hormones reacted the way a healthy man’s would and, try as he might, he could not control the sudden increase in his pulse rate.

“Mr. Jacobs, Wyatt, if you feel the same way after I’ve examined her, we’ll discuss other arrangements. But for now, please step aside, and let me do my job.”

“I thought you were the breeding specialist.”

“I only work a half day on Saturdays. In my off hours I wear a different hat.”

“Have you forgotten who pays your salary?”

“You’re not likely to let that happen. Give me an hour to examine the mare and see what we’re dealing with. This could be a matter of life and death. I’m not ready to take a life without just cause. Are you?”

“Are you always so melodramatic?”

“Hardly ever,” she answered deadpan.

Her determination impressed him. “Make it quick.”

“Thank you.” She returned to the trailer, apparently undaunted by the agitated creature’s dancing.

Under her direction the trio coaxed the horse down the ramp in fits and spurts. The mare’s hesitant steps alternated with nervous hops and skips, then in a sudden backward lunge the horse launched from the trailer kicking up a spray of shavings. Once the dust settled the wild-eyed animal quivered in the hall, its terror-widened eyes taking in the scene.

Then Wyatt saw what the shadowy trailer had concealed. Open sores and scars crisscrossed the emaciated back, haunches and muzzle. Bloody rings circled the mare’s back legs just above the hooves.

She’d been abused. His gut muscles seized and rage blazed within him. “Who did this?”

The vet shook his head without taking his eyes from the animal. “Mean SOB who owned her. I hope the cops give him a taste of his own medicine. A billy club upside his head would be a nice touch.”

Hannah handed the lead rope to Jeb then eased around the horse without ever lifting her palm from the animal’s dull, scarred hide. Wyatt recognized the trick as one Sam had employed. By never losing contact, the horse always knew where you were and wouldn’t be startled.

“You know animal abusers get a slap on the wrist at best, Will.” Her frustration came through loud and clear even though she kept her tone low and even. “She doesn’t look good.”

“Nope. Not much to work with,” the vet replied. “She wouldn’t have lasted another week in that hellhole.”

Wyatt focused on the deep gouges and bloody fetlocks. Now that the fight had drained out of the mare her head hung low as if she were resigned to whatever came next and fighting took more energy than she possessed. She’d probably been a beauty once, but now she was nothing more than a broken shell. She looked ready to collapse. Her spirit seemed broken, her usefulness in doubt.

Like Sam.

The parallel was so strong it blindsided Wyatt. He hated to see anything or anyone turned into a victim trapped in a body that could no longer function or fight back. He turned to the vet who’d brought the animal. “You should have put her down.”

“Maybe. That’s Hannah’s call now.”

“Why prolong her misery? Ending her suffering would be more humane.”

Hannah bristled, agitating the mare into a side step. “Just because the owner is worthless doesn’t mean the animal is. Every life has value, including hers. Her teeth indicate she’s less than ten years old. There could be a lot of good years in her yet.”

“She’s debilitated, terrified and in pain,” Wyatt countered, his fists curling in frustration.

“If anyone can pull her through, Hannah can,” the vet said.

A muscle jumped in Wyatt’s jaw. The horse had been through hell, and someone had to find the compassion and make the executive decision to end her suffering. That someone was him, apparently.

“She’s probably disease-ridden and could infect the other horses. And after being abused this severely, her trust in man has likely been irrevocably broken.”

Hannah planted herself between Wyatt and the mare. She didn’t look like a spoiled daddy’s girl now. She resembled a mama grizzly passionately defending her cub. “You can’t write her off without giving her a chance.”

Her stormy gaze hit Wyatt with a fireball of pain, anger and frustration, the same emotions rumbling through him. The fight in her eyes would cause a lesser man to back down.

“Giving horses second chances is what I do, Wyatt. And if you’d done your research on the farm before you tossed around your money, you would realize it’s what you do now, too.”

Wyatt stiffened as the barb hit home. He couldn’t argue with facts. He’d delegated his research. The agent’s report hadn’t included anything about Sutherland Farm being a dumping ground for damaged animals, or Hannah Sutherland, who was going to make damned sure he paid for delegating.

“That right rear leg could be broken.”

Hannah didn’t even glance at it. “It’s cut deep from the hobbles. It looks like the brute bound her back legs so she couldn’t defend herself when he beat her. But from the way she’s bearing weight on it, it’s most likely superficial. I’ll run X-rays to confirm.”

“You mean you’ll run up expenses on a lost cause.”

She glared at him. “This isn’t about money. Find Your Center saves lives. It doesn’t destroy them unnecessarily.”

“What in the hell is Find Your Center?”

Irritation darkened her eyes to storm cloud gray and tightened the tendons running the length of her neck as she stuck out her chin, making the diamonds in her ears sparkle in the barn’s overhead lighting. If she’d been a guy, she probably would have punched him.

“Illustrating once again, Mr. Jacobs, you should have done your homework before your underhanded purchase.”

“There was nothing devious about my purchasing this farm. It was for sale. I bought it.”

She visibly reined in her temper, taking a deep breath then relaxing her tense muscles. “Sutherland Farm specializes in birth and rebirth.”

A bird swooped through the open barn door. The horse spooked and jumped sideways, its haunches knocking into Hannah. She stumbled. Wyatt instinctively sprang forward to catch her. His muscles bunched as he banded his arms around her and braced his thighs to keep them both from going down under the ragged, dancing hooves.

Her feet tangled with his as she scrambled for traction and shifted against him in ways that made him excruciatingly aware of the surprising firmness and strength beneath her curves.

“Are you all right?” he asked through a knotted jaw.

Her wary gaze locked with his. Her cheeks flushed and her lips parted. His pulse spiked and heat flooded him, proving he shared something he wanted no part of with the pampered princess.

Chemistry.

“I’m fine. Thank you. Release me. Please.” She planted her palms on his chest and pushed, broke his hold and backed away. Keeping an equally watchful eye on him, she circled to the opposite side of the horse.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Jeb said. “I have her now.”

“It’s okay, Jeb. My mistake,” she offered. “I know better than to turn my back on an unfamiliar animal.”

She flashed a brief look at Wyatt as if he were the animal in question, then she bent to reexamine the mare’s fetlock the way she’d done everything this morning—with a methodical thoroughness and attention to detail that had frustrated him in the lab because he’d suspected her of deliberately stalling as she checked and rechecked each sample and then meticulously packaged and charted each vial. Slow and steady was very likely her modus operandi and not just a passive-aggressive ploy to get under his skin.

She finally stepped away from the mare and, ignoring Wyatt, approached the vet, who’d been watching Wyatt as much as he had the horse. “I’ll keep her.”

“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.

Four

Hannah 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

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.