Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement: Bargaining for Baby / The Billionaire's Baby Arrangement
Robyn Grady
Charlene Sands
Bargaining for Baby Queensland sheep-station owner Jack Prescott was all bad-boy sex appeal, but he’d agreed to do his duty and care for his orphaned baby nephew. Still, Maddy wasn’t sure Jack had a place in his battered heart for the child, so she was going with him and she’d try to ignore her attraction to the rugged millionaire! The Billionaire’s Baby ArrangementA road crash brought together more than their two cars. Suddenly Nick Carlino was face to face with a woman from his past…and her five-month-old baby. Nick offered Brooke and her child shelter and emembered their past…
Bargaining
for Baby
Robyn Grady
The Billionaire’s
Baby
Arrangement
Charlene Sands
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Bargaining
for Baby
Robyn Grady
“I don’t need you to understand me. Believe me, you don’t want to.”
“But know this. I want you to keep your promise. I want to do right by this boy. I want to give him a home.” Under the artificial light, his green eyes sparkled. “Come back with us to Leadeebrook.”
A choking breath caught in her chest.
Infuriating. Insufferable. How dare he be charming and sincere now!
But although she’d like to deny it, the note of caring in his voice had touched her. Maybe there was an ounce of human in Jack Prescott, after all.
Sensing her slide, he moved to take over the carriage’s handles. Still wary, she shook her head. “I’m not sure …”
But then he actually smiled—a damnable slow, bone-melting smile. “I think you are, Maddy.” He began to walk, and when she relented and followed, he added, “I’ll give you two weeks.”
Dear Reader,
At a recent family wedding, I enjoyed the company of a wise lady who said, “If you’re lucky enough to find the one person in this world who really ‘gets who you are,’ you should hang on tight and never let them go.” Years earlier, this lady had met and married the man of her dreams. They were beyond suited and immeasurably happy, particularly when their beautiful dark-eyed daughter was born. Sadly, when that little girl was only four, her loving father was taken from them.
To look into this woman’s eyes is to know she will love her husband forever. And logic says … if you’ve already gifted your heart to another, you haven’t another to give. For some I believe this is true.
But not for all.
When his wife passed away, Jack Prescott—my hero in Bargaining for Baby—felt as if his life was over, too. Knowing that their unborn baby had died at the same time seemed to cement the headstone over those emotions. But when Jack’s nephew needs a permanent guardian, the baby’s temporary caregiver, Madison Tyler, finds an unsuspecting chink in this wealthy cowboy’s cast-iron armour.
However, Jack is unwilling to gamble on love … as unwilling as Maddy is to live in Australia’s harsh Outback. And yet an increasingly vulnerable part of this savvy city girl continues to wish that their mutual smouldering attraction will heat Jack’s heart enough for him to realise that he still has love enough to give.
I hope you enjoy Bargaining for Baby series!
Best wishes,
Robyn
About the Author
ROBYN GRADY left a fifteen-year career in television production knowing that the time was right to pursue her dream of writing romance. She adores cats, clever movies and spending time with her wonderful husband and their three precious daughters. Living on Australia’s glorious Sunshine Coast, she says her perfect day includes a beach, a book and no laundry when she gets home. Robyn loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.robyngrady.com.
This story is for Maxine, Katie and dear Aunt Jenn.
Three generations of smiles,
spunk and unfailing devotion.
With thanks to “Snow”
from Jondaryan Woolshed for your entertaining stories
and fascinating inside info, and also to my fabulous
editor, Shana Smith.
Go us!
One
Jack Prescott wandered out from the public hospital room, his senses locked in a mind-numbing daze.
He’d received the call at ten that morning. He’d immediately jumped in his twin engine Piper Navajo and had flown to Sydney with his heart in his mouth the whole way. He and Dahlia hadn’t spoken in three years. Now he’d missed the chance to say goodbye.
Or I’m sorry.
Through stinging eyes he took in the busy corridor. The air smelled of antiseptic and, beneath that, death. As of today, he was the last surviving Prescott and there wasn’t a soul to blame but himself.
A passing doctor, deep in conversation, knocked Jack’s shoulder. He swayed, braced his legs then spread out his remarkably steady hands to examine the calloused palms. How long before the nightmare truly hit? Before he fell to his knees and cursed this godless world? Where was the mercy? Dahlia had only been twenty-three.
A woman in the crowded waiting room caught his eye, her fair hair streaming over one side of a red summer dress. She held a bundle. A swaddled child.
Jack rubbed a gritty eye and refocused.
Beneath fluorescent lights, tears glistened on her lashes, and as she gazed back down the corridor at him, Jack wondered if they’d met before. When her mouth pressed into an I’m-so-sorry smile, his gut hollowed out.
One of Dahlia’s friends.
But he wasn’t sure he could put words together yet. Those token pleasantries like, “Oh, you knew my sister. Yes, she was very beautiful. Sorry, but I have to leave … make arrangements.”
When the woman continued to wait, her pale hand supporting the baby’s head, Jack couldn’t avoid a meeting. He forced one leaden foot in front of the other and, an eternity later, stopped before her.
“You’re Dahlia’s brother, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re Jack.” Her flushed cheeks were tearstained, her nails bitten to the quick and her eyes …
Her eyes were periwinkle blue.
Jack sucked in a breath. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? He wasn’t sure he even knew the color of Tara’s eyes. Perhaps he should take note when he got back. Not that theirs would be that kind of marriage. Not from his perspective, in any case.
After the death of his wife three years ago, Tara Anderson had spent increasing amounts of time at Leadeebrook, the Queensland sheep station where he lived. Jack had been slow to appreciate Tara’s company; he wasn’t much of one for talking these days. But as close as his deceased wife and this woman had once been, so he and Tara had become good friends, too.
Then, last week, Tara had offered more.
He’d been straight. He would never love another woman. His wedding band was threaded on a gold chain that never left his neck while his wife’s ring lay at the foot of a photo he kept on his bedroom chest of drawers. Sue had not only been his wife, she’d been the other half of his soul. The better half.
Still Tara had put her argument forward. He needed someone steady in his life, she’d said. She needed someone to help manage her property. That had gotten Jack’s attention. Twenty years ago, Jack’s father buckled under hard times and had sold half his land to a neighbor, Tara’s great-uncle. Later, he’d tried to buy the land back but Dwight Anderson wasn’t interested.
After Sue’s death, Jack’s life had seemed pointless. He’d found no joy in occupations that had once caused the blood to charge hot and fast through his veins. Even throwing a saddle over Herc and giving his stallion free rein down a beloved Leadeebrook plain had seemed a chore. But the idea of fulfilling his father’s dream of regaining those choice acres had offered Jack’s darker days a glimmer of meaning.
Tara was a good woman and attractive by any man’s standards. Perhaps they could help each other out. But before he married again, a matter needed sorting.
The human race relied on the power of maternal instinct—women wanted children and Tara would make an excellent mother. But he had no wish to become a father.
He’d made mistakes—one error unforgivable. He thought about it often and not only when he visited the tiny grave which lay beside his wife’s in the Leadeebrook family plot. Having your heart ripped from your chest once was enough for any man. He wouldn’t tempt fate by siring another child.
If Tara wanted a marriage of convenience, it would be without plans of a family. Although she had acquiesced with a nod when he’d told her as much, the mist in her eyes had said that she hoped he’d change his mind. Not tomorrow. Not ten years from now. On that point he was firm.
Jack’s gaze had settled on the lightly-swaddled bundle when the woman in the red dress spoke again.
“Dahlia and I were friends,” she murmured in a thready voice. “Good friends.”
He inhaled, rushed a hand through hair that was overdue a cut and got his thoughts in order. “The doctor said it was a hit-and-run.”
At a pedestrian crossing, of all places. Dahlia had died of internal injuries only minutes before he’d arrived. He’d touched her hand, still warm, and remembered how he’d taught her to ride Jasper, his first mount, and how he’d consoled her when her pet lamb had passed away. When she’d reached out and had begged him to understand … when his sister had needed him most.
“She regained consciousness briefly.”
The woman’s words took Jack off guard. The back of his knees caved and he sat, wishing he hadn’t. Taking a seat implied he wanted to talk. What he wanted was to take off his boots, down a stiff Scotch and.
He looked up too quickly and the light faded in and out.
And what? Face forms, funeral directors, a choice of clothes for the coffin?
“She spoke to me before … before she slipped away.” The woman’s lips were full and pink now, the bottom trembling the barest amount. “I’m Madison Tyler.” She repositioned the baby and lowered to sit beside him. “Friends call me Maddy.”
He swallowed hard against a closed, dry throat. “You said she regained consciousness … spoke to you.”
Surely not about him. Dahlia had been a wreck after their parents’ deaths. Not even his wife’s patience and support had gotten through to her. That final night, Dahlia had shouted she didn’t want another thing to do with her brother, his stupid rules or Leadeebrook. She’d come to Sue’s funeral but he’d been too dazed to speak. Over the years, he’d received Christmas cards, but no forwarding address.
His hands clenched on his thighs.
Lord and Holy Father, he should have set pride aside and found her. Protected her. Brought her back home.
The baby stirred and Jack took in the sleeping face, the shadow of tiny lashes on plump healthy cheeks. So new and full of promise.
Full of life.
Clearing his mind and the thickness from his throat, he found his feet and the bulk of his control.
“We can talk at the wake, Miss …”
“Maddy.”
He drew his wallet from his back pocket and dug out a card. “I’ll see that the notices are posted. You can get me on this number if there’s anything.”
Finding her feet, too, she searched his eyes.
“I need to speak with you, Jack. I need to speak with you now.” She stole a glance at her baby. “I didn’t know … Well, Dahlia hadn’t spoken about you before.”
When her gaze meshed with his again, her eyes were round and pleading, as if she wanted an explanation. She seemed sweet enough, and understandably shaken, but whatever Dahlia had said, he wasn’t about to justify himself to a stranger. To anyone, for that matter.
His gaze broke away as he waved the card. “I really ought to go.”
“She told me that she loved you,” she blurted out, jerking half a step closer. “That she forgave you.”
Bent over, placing his card on the chair, he stopped, clamped his eyes shut and willed away the thumping heartbeat in his ears. He wanted this week to be over. Wanted to get back home. Back to his land. What he knew. What he could keep.
He straightened slowly and kicked up a firm chin. The baby was stirring, beginning to squeak and complain. A part of Jack was drawn to the sound while another only wanted to plug his ears and stalk away. The last straw would be to hear an infant cry.
Exhaling, he shoved the wallet in his back pocket. “There’s nothing you can do here. You should get that baby home.”
“I’m trying.”
When she purposely held his gaze, he shook his head then shrugged. “Sorry. You’ve lost me.”
But she only rolled her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes huge and …
Frightened?
He assessed her classic bone structure—flawless porcelain complexion, the delicate curve of her jaw—and, despite the day, an instinctive flicker of arousal licked over his skin.
Was she implying that the child was his?
Some time after his wife’s death, concerned friends had tried to lure him out from behind the walls he’d built around himself. They’d invite him to Sydney, to introduce him to suitable ladies within their circles. Although his heart had remained closed, there’d been a time or two he’d invited a date back to his inner city penthouse.
Was that why this woman seemed familiar? Had he slept with her sometime in the past?
He shucked back tense shoulders.
No. He’d have remembered those lips.
“Look, Miss—”
“Maddy.”
He spared a tight smile. “Maddy. Neither of us is in any mood for games. Whatever you have to say, I’d appreciate it if you would spit it out.”
She didn’t flinch or coil away from his candor. Rather her expression took on a steely air.
“Dahlia left the baby with me today,” she said. “He’s not my son. This baby is your nephew.”
Two beats of roaring silence passed before her words hit his chest, winding him as surely as if he’d been rammed by a twenty-foot log. He blinked rapidly, tried to find his breath. He must’ve heard wrong.
“That’s … not possible.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, catching and beading on the bunny blanket’s blue hood while her periwinkle eyes gleamed with quiet strength.
“Your sister’s last wish was for me to introduce you to one another. She wanted you to take him, Jack. Take him home with you to Leadeebrook.”
Two
Fifteen minutes later, sitting across the table from Jack Prescott, Maddy brought the china cup to her lips, certain that she’d never seen anyone look more drawn.
Or more handsome.
With the shadow on his strong square jaw—as well as his demeanor—growing darker by the minute, his teaspoon click-clacked as he stirred sugar into his cup.
Over the intercom, someone called for Dr. Grant to go to ward 10. An elderly woman at a nearby table smiled at the baby before tasting her scone. By the cashier, a nurse dropped a full plate. The clattering echo bounced off the walls yet Jack Prescott seemed oblivious to it all. His hooded yet intense gaze was focused only inward.
From beneath her lashes, Maddy analyzed the planes of his rugged, Hollywood face—the cleft chin, the straight proud nose. How he managed to look both passionate and detached at the same time she couldn’t guess. She sensed a fierce, almost frightening energy broiling beneath the mask. He was the kind of man who could single-handedly beat a bushfire in forty knot gusts and refuse to let anything he cared for suffer or die.
The million dollar question was: What did Jack Prescott care about? He’d barely looked at the baby, the orphaned darling he’d only just met. The man sitting at this table seemed to be made of stone, a perfect enigma. She might never know why Dahlia had excluded her brother from her life. If it weren’t for little Beau, Maddy wouldn’t want to know.
Jack settled his cup in its saucer, and then slid a bland expression toward the baby, who was settled again, asleep on his side in the carriage with a tiny fist bunched up near his button nose. Jack had been the one to suggest coffee, but after so long of a silence, Maddy couldn’t stand his chilly calm a moment more. She had a task to complete—a promise to keep—and a finite amount of time in which to do it.
“Dahlia was a great mother,” she told him. “She’d finished her degree in business marketing before the baby was born. She was taking a year off before finding and settling down to a good job.” Maddy’s gaze dropped to her cup as a withering feeling fell through her center. Now was the time to say it. Now was the time to confess.
“Dahlia had barely been out of the apartment since bringing him home,” she went on. “I’d talked her into going to the hairdressers, having her nails done—”
Maddy’s stomach muscles gripped and she grimaced under the weight of her guilt.
If she hadn’t suggested it, hadn’t made the appointment and practically pushed her friend out the door, Dahlia would still be alive. This baby would still have his mother and have no need to rely on this brusque man who seemed set on ignoring him.
“He’s three months old today,” she added, in case he was interested, but Jack only concentrated on stirring more sugar into his drink.
Maddy blinked several times then pushed her cup away and glanced, sick at heart, around the noisy room. This exchange was never going to be easy, but could it have gone any worse? What was she supposed to do now? The man was as sensitive as a slab of cold steel.
“Where’s the father?”
Maddy jumped at his graveled question. But the query was an obvious one, even if he wouldn’t like the answer.
She lowered her voice. “Dahlia was the victim of a rape.” His face darkened before he swore and shoveled a hand though hair black as ink. “And before you ask,” she continued, “she didn’t report it.”
Flecks of gold ignited in the depths of his hostile green eyes. “Why the hell not?”
“Does it matter now?”
Like so many in her situation, Dahlia hadn’t wanted the misery of a trial. She hadn’t known her assailant and preferred to keep it that way. She’d needed to heal as best she could and bury the horror as well as the hurt. Then Dahlia had discovered she was pregnant.
Choking on raw emotion, Maddy focused and straightened her spine. “What matters is she had a beautiful baby.” This bright little boy she’d loved very much.
Jack studied the baby, the single line between his dark brows deepening as a pulse ticked at one side of thick, tanned neck. His next question was a grudging growl.
“What’s his name?”
“Beauford James.”
Jack Prescott’s nostrils flared and his gaze slid away.
Maddy smothered a humorless laugh. Was this man a machine? Certainly these were special circumstances—he’d lost his only sibling today. But did he ever deign to show the world any emotion other than irritation?
Hot tears pricked behind Maddy’s eyes as her hand tightened around her cup and rising emotion blocked off her air. She couldn’t hold her tongue. No decent person would. Nothing had mattered more in her life than the outcome of this meeting—fulfilling the promise that she’d made—and if she had to brush an over-indulged ego the wrong way to get results, then by God, that’s precisely what she’d do.
“He’s your flesh and blood,” she challenged. “Don’t you want to pick him up and hold him?”
Promise him everything will be all right? That he’ll be safe?
A dreadful thought struck and the fine hairs on her arms stood up at the same time as she slumped back. “Or would you rather he go straight to foster care?”
Not that she would let that happen. She’d take Beau herself first. Her own mother had died when Maddy was five. Growing up she’d longed for someone to braid her hair in the morning, burrow down beneath the covers with and read to her at night.
Maddy’s father was a good man but obsessed with his business—sometimes it seemed as if Tyler Advertising was more Drew Tyler’s child than his only daughter. He ran his corporate castle with an iron fist and didn’t see a place on its staff for a “delicate girl” like Maddy. She disagreed. After serious and extended debate, she’d won and had gone to work at the firm.
These past weeks her father had become understandably edgy over his daughter closing her first big solo deal. Beneath the brave face, Maddy was nervous, too. But, come hell or high water, she’d have the signatures she needed and by the date promised. One month from today.
No one would guess how painfully shy she’d been as a girl, how hard she’d worked on her flaws in order to reflect her father’s celebrated style of business savvy and determination. Now, not a day went by that Drew didn’t in some way acknowledge his daughter’s efforts. Still, there were times she wished she’d known a mother’s love.
Her gaze fell to the baby.
How would this little one fare?
Jack’s long, tanned fingers reached for the sugar bowl. “I don’t recall saying I wouldn’t take him,” he drawled.
“You hardly seem gripped by the idea.” Maddy slid back and one inky black brow arched.
“You’d do better not to be so hostile,” he said.
“You’d do better not to be such a cold fish.”
While her heart pumped madly, his expression didn’t change. Those lidded sexy-as-sin eyes merely peered into hers until a not unpleasant shiver rippled over her skin, heating her from crown to curling-toe.
Blinking rapidly, she shifted back into the hard plastic seat.
Not only was this man dripping with bad-boy sex appeal, in that last point he’d been right. He might be as demonstrative as a stunned salmon, but now was the time for calm, not commotion. No matter how difficult, for the baby’s sake, she must keep her emotions in check.
All of them.
Maddy loosened the grip on her cup and found the calm place inside that served her well in trying situations.
“This day has been a shock for us both,” she admitted, “but, believe me, I only have one objective in mind, and that’s to make certain Beau is cared for the way Dahlia would’ve wanted.” She leaned in again, praying her heart would be there for him to see in her eyes. “Jack … he needs you.”
A muscle in his cheek flexed twice. “So it would seem.”
When he downed the rest of his coffee that must be three parts sugar and stone cold by now, Maddy’s hackles went up.
All her life she’d mingled with powerful men, business associates from her father’s advertising firm, influential patriarchs of the boys she’d dated in university. She’d seen an investment banker multimillionaire for a while. But never had she met anyone who stirred such strong emotions within her.
Both negative and shamelessly positive.
The hot pulse that kicked off low and deep inside whenever she looked at Jack Prescott was real. His presence was so commanding, despite the day, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. The breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his neck … his man-of-the-land build was magnificent. His gestures, his speech, everything about him whispered confidence. Intelligence. Superiority.
Detachment.
The angel asleep in that carriage hadn’t another living relative left in the world. Yet this specimen of masculine perfection, this emotional ice man, couldn’t bring himself to even ask to hold him. She wouldn’t have been able to leave Beau with his uncle and simply walk away, even if she had a choice.
Her stomach churning, Maddy nudged the blanket higher on the baby’s shoulder and kept her eyes on the soft rise and fall of his little chest. There was never going to be a right time. Might as well bite the bullet and get the final bombshell out in the open.
“There’s something else I need to say,” she murmured. “About a promise I made.”
Jack consulted his Omega platinum wristwatch. “I’m listening.”
“I promised that I wouldn’t hand Beau over until you were ready.”
While her heart jack hammered against her ribs, the man across from her slowly frowned and folded his arms. Eventually he tugged his ear.
“I admit it’ll take time to adjust to the idea of having.” His words ran dry, but then he cleared his throat and put more grunt into his voice. “You only need to know that I don’t renege on my responsibilities. My nephew won’t want for a thing.”
It wasn’t enough. If he’d greeted the baby with open arms, she’d still need to keep her word. She’d promised on her mother’s grave to make certain Beau was settled.
Turning from the baby, Maddy clasped her hands in her lap and met Jack’s superior gaze square on.
“I promised Dahlia that I’d stay with Beau until you were comfortable with each other. I imagine you have plenty of room,” she hastened to add, “and I’m happy to pay for any expenses incurred.”
The haunting cool in his eyes turned to flickering questions. He cocked his head and a lock of black hair fell over his suntanned brow while the corners of his mouth lifted in a parody of a smile.
“I need to have my ears checked. Am I getting this straight? You’re inviting yourself to stay with me?”
“I’m not inviting myself anywhere. I’m passing on your sister’s wishes. I’m telling you I made a promise.”
“Well, it won’t work.” He shook his head, almost amused. “Not in a million years.”
Maddy drew back her shoulders. He might be big. He might be intimidating. But if he thought he was inflexible, these days stubborn was her middle name.
She’d try a different tack.
“This baby knows me. I know him. His routine, his cries.” Hopefully what to do when he wakes up, wanting his mummy. “It’s in your best interest to let me help you both adjust.”
“I’ll have help.”
He’d said it without blinking and her heart missed several beats.
Dahlia said this morning that she’d followed what she could of her brother’s life, really only that he still lived at Leadeebrook and hadn’t remarried since the death of his wife. Of course he would need to hire a nanny. But what kind of person would be looking after Beau? Would she be severe and by-the-book or would she use her heart as well as her skills? Would she encourage him with gentle words of praise, or rap his knuckles if he forgot to say please?
“Miss Tyler …” A glimmer of warmth shone in his eyes when he amended, “Maddy. Are you sure this isn’t more about your inability to let go? “
A dark emotion she couldn’t name spiked and she kicked her chin up. “Rest assured, if I could be certain he’d be happy, if I could walk away with a clear conscience, nothing would please me more than to give you both my blessing.”
That glimmer froze over. “Only I don’t need your blessing, do I?”
Given that he was this baby’s sole surviving relative, she conceded, “I suppose you don’t. But then you don’t appear to need anything—” she dammed her words then let them spill out anyway “—particularly this hassle.” Lashing her arms over her chest, she challenged his hard gaze. “Am I right?”
When he didn’t answer—merely assessed her with those striking gold-flecked eyes—her core contracted around a hot glowing knot. Before the heat flared any higher, she doused the flame and pushed to her feet.
Walking out wouldn’t help matters, but she’d had all she could take for one day. The term animal magnetism was invented for this man: Jack Prescott was uniquely, powerfully attractive, but no way was he human. And before she left, damned if she wouldn’t tell him just that.
“I respected Dahlia,” she got out over the painful lump in her throat. “I loved her like a sister, but I can’t imagine what she was thinking choosing you to care for this precious child.”
With unshed tears burning her eyes, Maddy readied the carriage and headed for the exit. Jack called her name, but he could go to hell. He was no more interested in this baby’s welfare than she cared what team won the national dart competition. If he was so uninspired, he could fly back to the scorched red plains of the Australian outback and leave Beau here in civilization with her. No child should need to grow up in a wasteland anyway.
One moment the cafeteria doorway was an arm’s length away, the next Jack’s impressive frame was blocking her escape. His legs braced shoulder-width apart, he deliberately set his fists low on his hips.
Maddy huffed over a smirk.
Well, whaddaya know. I got a reaction.
His head slanted. “Where are you going?”
“What do you care?”
She angled the carriage to swerve around him, but he shifted to block her path again. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”
But she was done with words. She moved again. He moved, too. Narrowing her eyes, she let out a jaded sigh. “I’ve tried being reasonable. I tried understanding. I’ve even tried appealing to your better nature. Now I give in. You beat me, Jack Prescott.” She raised her hands. “You win.”
“I didn’t realize we were in competition.”
Oh, please. “Only from the moment you laid eyes on me.” He’d wanted her gone? He could clap himself on the back. Mission accomplished. If Dahlia had heard this exchange, she wouldn’t blame her friend for walking out.
“So, you’ve made up your mind?” he asked and she smiled sweetly.
“If you’d kindly step aside.”
“And the baby?”
“We both know how you feel about raising Beau.” It was in every curl of his lip.
A sardonic grin tugged one corner of his mouth. “You think you have me figured out, don’t you?”
“I wish I could say I had the slightest interest, but I’m afraid I have as much curiosity about your workings as you’ve shown toward your nephew today.”
While she simmered inside, his gaze drilled hers for a protracted, tense moment before his regal bearing loosened slightly. “What are you proposing?”
“What you’re dying to have me propose. I’ll relieve you of any obligation and take Beau off your hands.” She would raise him, and show him love and loyalty and a million other values of which this man was clearly devoid. She’d work it out somehow with her job, with her father. “And if you’re worried that I’ll ask for financial support, don’t be. I’d rather wash dishes fifteen hours a day than take one penny from you.”
The air heated more, crackling and sparking between them before those big bronzed hands lowered from his belt.
“How are you in small aircraft?”
Her mouth fell open then snapped shut again. What was he talking about? Hadn’t he heard a word she’d said?
“I flew down in a twin engine,” he went on. “There’s room for passengers but some people get queasy about small planes.” His mouth twitched. “Though I have a feeling you’re not the queasy type.”
“I meant what I said—”
“You meant what you said to Dahlia,” he cut in, but then dropped his voice as a curious older couple wove around them. “I don’t need you to understand me. Believe me, you don’t want to. But know this. I want you to keep your promise. I want to do right by this boy. I want to give him a home.” Under the artificial light, his green eyes sparkled. “Come back with us to Leadeebrook.”
A choking breath caught in her chest.
Infuriating. Insufferable. How dare he be charming and sincere now!
But, although she’d like to deny it, the note of caring in his voice had touched her. Maybe there was an ounce of human in Jack Prescott, after all.
Sensing her slide, he moved to take over the carriage’s handles. Still wary, she shook her head. “I’m not sure …”
But then he actually smiled—a damnable slow, bone-melting smile. “I think you are, Maddy.” He began to walk and when she relented and followed, he added, “You’ve got two weeks.”
Three
Four days later, Maddy clutched her passenger seat armrest as Jack Prescott’s private aircraft touched down on Leadeebrook Station’s unsealed airstrip.
Jack had given her two weeks to fulfil her promise to Dahlia. Two weeks, no more, to have Beau settled in his new home with his new guardian. She would’ve liked more time, or at least the option to discuss the possibility of an extension should she deem one necessary. But, in the short period she’d known Jack, of one thing she was certain—he didn’t speak for the sake of hearing his own voice. He was prepared to tolerate her company for precisely fourteen days. She supposed she ought to be grateful he’d seen the light and had relented at all.
When she stepped out from the plane onto the floor of the open ended hanger, the heat hit her like the long breath off a fire. The urge to spin around and crawl back inside the cool of the sumptuous cabin was overwhelming. Instead she gritted her teeth and edged out into the blinding white sunshine.
Shading her brow, she cast a curious glance around the endless isolated plains—miles of bleached dry grass, parched scattered gum trees, lazy rolling hills shimmering a hazy purple in the distance.
She worked her dry throat enough to swallow.
Practically any part of Australia could get hot enough to fry eggs on the pavement. A serious summer’s day in Sydney could rival a stint in a sauna. But out here the heat was different—bone dry—as if any sign of moisture would evaporate off a person’s skin as soon as it surfaced. Within a week she’d be as dehydrated as the lifeless leaves hanging from those tired eucalypts.
Something bit her calf. She slapped at a beast of a fly then cringed at the red dust clinging to her new Keds. Who would choose to live in this godforsaken wilderness? No wonder Dahlia had escaped.
“Welcome to Leadeebrook.”
At the husky voice at her back, Maddy angled around. Jack had followed her off the plane, aviator sunglasses perched upon his proud nose, carrying the diaper bag with one arm and Beau in the other.
Grinning, Maddy set her hands on her hips.
Heck, her iron cowboy looked almost relaxed. Nestled against that hard chest, Beau certainly did, which was a good sign. She’d been so worried.
Since the accident, she’d taken time off work to be with the baby 24/7. While her father sympathized with the situation, he wasn’t pleased that his star junior account executive had asked for a leave of absence. He was less pleased when she’d told him she needed an additional two weeks out of the office. He needed the national deal she was working on bagged, no excuses.
She’d worked to reassure him. The Pompadour Shoe and Accessory campaign and media schedule were a wink away from being polished to a “simply-sign-here” shine. She’d be back in plenty of time to tidy loose ends. But these two weeks belonged to Beau, and today, in this unfamiliar environment, she felt more responsible for that baby than she could ever have dreamed possible.
When Jack had insisted she leave the plane cabin first—that he would bring the sleeping baby out directly—she’d automatically gone to object. She’d grown so used to the weight of him, his powdery scent, his smile; she ought to be the one to carry the baby out to greet his new home. But her friend’s final request had echoed again in Maddy’s mind.
Her job here was to do everything in her power to nurture an environment in which these two could connect and she could walk away knowing that Beau would be happy and cared for … that, God willing, he’d be loved and appreciated for the special little person he was.
That meant stepping back.
Watching the baby blink open his sleepy blue eyes and frown questioningly up into Jack’s suntanned face—seeing Jack shift the nappy bag higher on his arm in order to push the sunglasses back into his thick hair and return the curious look—a cord in Maddy’s chest pulled tight.
There’d been a slight shift in Jack’s attitude toward his nephew. It seemed that now the funeral was behind them, he’d begun to show a tentative interest in his ward. Tender looks. Once the barest hint of a smile. But this was the first time he’d carried the baby, and while his wall was still steadfastly up, hopefully these small steps were seeds that would grow into a lasting, mutually loving relationship. Maybe, despite her misgivings and the sinking feeling that had minced around in Maddy’s belly the whole uncommunicative flight here, Dahlia’s wish would come true. That by the time she returned to Sydney, this aloof lone cowboy would have opened up, not only his home but also his heart to the person who needed him most.
Maddy stepped forward. But rather than take the baby, she cupped Beau’s soft warm crown and smiled.
“He’s awake. I can’t believe he slept the whole flight.”
“Isn’t that what babies do? Sleep?”
When Jack’s dubious gaze met hers, a frisson of awareness shot like the crack of a pistol through her blood. His sex appeal went beyond powerful; it was mesmerizing. The urge to tip close and savor that hypnotic lure was near irresistible.
Clearly Jack didn’t mean for her to melt whenever they came within arm’s distance. He had not the slightest interest in her that way. But she could do without him looking at her like that—as if she puzzled or intrigued him. As if he needed to know how her mouth might fit beneath his.
Her insides twinged and, guilty, she averted her gaze.
Those kinds of feelings were not only misplaced, they were dangerous. Next thing, she’d be looking at him cross-eyed. If she wanted to survive the following days—and nights—alone out here in Nowheresville with this maddeningly tempting man, she’d best make a pact with herself right now.
No matter how strong the tug—no matter what words Jack said, or smiles Jack gave—she’d allow nothing other than these searing outback temperatures to tamper with her body heat.
Composure restored, she straightened and replied, “Babies do a little more than sleep.”
“Sure. They eat.”
When he cocked a brow and managed to look both naive and sexier still, she couldn’t contain a grin. “You know nothing about babies, do you?”
He dropped the glasses back onto his nose. “Not if lambs don’t count.”
He headed off, his focus hooked on the two-story homestead a walk away. Maddy’s step slowed as she took a moment to drink in the place that Jack called home. Or, perhaps, a better word might be palace.
Leadeebrook Homestead was an impressive structure that radiated both elegance and a proud sense of endurance. Skirts of yesteryear lace ironwork surrounded both levels of veranda. Bordered by decorative masonry arches, large stately windows peered down at her. The lower floor sprawled out on either side in grand style. Maddy envisaged lavish drawing rooms, perhaps a ballroom, definitely a contemporary office, equipped with every convenience and littered with sheep stud memorabilia. The overall picture substantiated what she’d heard about the days when the country’s wealth and glory had ridden on a sheep’s back. Maddy could imagine the menagerie of characters who’d frequented its floors and the thrilling early settler stories they could tell.
A flock of pink galahs squawked overhead. She cast another resigned glance around the sun-scorched scene and hurried to catch up.
When a churning tunnel of disturbed dirt appeared in the near distance, Maddy wasn’t certain what it meant. She shaded her eyes and narrowed her focus. A rangy dog was tearing up the track toward them leaving a swirling plume of dust in its wake.
A dart of panic hit her in the ribs.
Dogs were unpredictable. They could be savage. She didn’t like being around them and she liked Beau being around them less. But this was a sheep station. Why hadn’t she thought ahead? Of course there’d be a sheep dog. Maybe two or three.
As the dog sped closer, a hot-cold chill rippled up her spine. Maddy’s fingers began to tingle and her breathing shallowed out. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in years. Now she recognized the signs and took measures to control them.
Regulate your breathing. Think calm thoughts.
But that comet of a dog kept coming. When the space between them shortened to within feet, she clenched her muscles, ready to dive and shield the baby. If someone was going to be slammed, it wouldn’t be Beau.
At the last moment, the dog peeled away. Maddy’s soaring adrenaline levels dipped and she slumped with relief—until a shiver fluttered up her limbs and her senses heightened again.
She carefully turned.
Head low, the dog was crouching up behind them. They were being stalked, like deer by a practiced wolf.
Jack growled out a playful “Git here, you,” and, ears alert, the dog shot up to her master’s side, her dark eyes blind with adoration and anticipation as she waited for the next order.
Shuddering out a shaky breath, Maddy worked to gather herself and force her leaden feet forward while Jack hoisted the baby higher against his chest.
“Meet Nell,” he said.
Maddy preferred not to. Nevertheless she nodded curtly at the dog with the lolling pink tongue and penetrating brown eyes while keeping her distance. “Hello, Nell.”
Jack paused to give her a dirty look. “You don’t like dogs?”
“Let’s say dogs don’t like me.” She had no intention of explaining further. “She seems to hang off your every word.”
“Nell’s a working dog.” A muscle ticked in his square, shadowed jaw. “Or she was.”
Maddy tilted her head. Was a working dog. Had Nell had an accident? God knows she seemed agile enough. But Maddy had a more important question to ask.
“Is Nell good with children?”
Jack picked up his pace. “How should I know?”
As they moved toward the house, Nell trotted wide circles to manage her human flock, every so often darting up behind to nose their heels. Although Maddy remained outwardly calm, suffocating tendrils twined around her throat. But clearly this Border collie was well-trained. There was nothing to fear, for herself or the baby. Her falling blood pressure—her tingling brain—was an automatic physiological response to past stimuli. Just because she’d been mauled by a dog many years ago didn’t mean it would happen again.
Breathe deeply. Calm thoughts.
As Nell flew past, the dog’s tail brushed her wrist. Maddy’s anxiety meter lurched again and she coughed out a nervous laugh.
“I have to say, I’m feeling a little like a lamb chop.”
Jack flattened his lips and a sharp whistle echoed out over the plains. When he nodded ahead, Nell tore off. Maddy spluttered as more dust clouded her vision and filled her lungs. Fine grains of dirt crunched between her teeth. She needed a bath and a drink—a big fat Cosmopolitan with an extra shot of everything.
His broad shoulders rolling, Jack glanced across and measured her up. “There’s reception for your cell phone if you need it.”
“That’s nice to know. Thanks.”
“You bring any jeans?”
“Of course.” The new season’s latest cut.
“Good.”
Goosebumps erupted down her arms. Something in his assured tone worried her. “Why good?”
“You can’t ride in a dress.”
She blinked. Ride?
Then she laughed. “Oh, I don’t ride.” Certainly not horses. She hadn’t even swung a leg over a bicycle since that day when she was twelve.
Jack’s brows fell together. “You don’t like horses either?”
Her brows fell, too. “I didn’t realize it was a federal offense.”
Then again she was “out west.” He probably slept with his saddle tucked under one arm and his Akubra glued to his head.
While she smacked another fly, Jack sucked air in between his teeth. “So you’re not a fan of animals.”
“Not up close.”
He grunted. “What do you like?”
“I like the theater. I like chocolate custard. I like rainy days when I know I don’t have to get up.”
“Are there many days you don’t get out of bed?”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. Was he serious? His tone and expression were so dry, she couldn’t tell.
“What I mean,” she explained in an overly patient tone, “is that I love to prop myself up against a bank of pillows, snuggle down and read when rain’s falling on the roof.”
He grunted again—or was that growled—and kept his strides long while she wiped her damp brow and cringed as sweat trickled down the dent in her back. Up ahead, the homestead shimmered like an extravagant desert mirage.
A few minutes yet before they reached shade. But the sun was behind them, the baby seemed settled and the dog had disappeared. On his own turf, Jack seemed to be opening up, a little. Time to get to know more about Beau’s legal guardian.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
She rolled her eyes. She would never be able to talk to this man.
“Do you read, Jack?”
“No,” he stated in a deep and definite voice. “I don’t read.”
Maddy blinked. She might have asked him if he wore pink stockings on a Saturday night. “But you do ride.” He kept striding and she gave a skip to keep up. Okay. Obvious answer. No need to reply.
“I imagine you’ll teach Beau to ride, too, one day,” she tried again.
“Imagine I will.”
Maddy nodded slowly, let the words sink in, and for the first time the finality of this situation truly hit.
The moment she’d stepped off the plane, she’d begun counting the seconds until she could flee this desolate place. But when she left she would also be leaving Beau behind, her best friend’s beautiful gift to the world. When, if ever, would she see Beau again? There must be occasions when Jack flew to Sydney. Perhaps he could bring Beau, too.
Maddy was busy planning when they rounded the side of the homestead. A woman was moving down the wide front steps, winding her hands over a white apron, which was tied at the nape as well as around her ample girth. Her glossy hair was cropped short, polished jet threaded with silver. Soft lids hung over inquisitive cappuccino eyes, and as she rolled down each step, Maddy’s nose picked up the mouth-watering smell of scones fresh from the oven.
Negotiating the last step, the woman extended both her hand and a cheery grin. Maddy smiled at the dab of flour on the woman’s cheek and the aura of hominess and good humor she gave off.
“You must be Madison.” The woman’s grip was firm though not at all challenging. “I’m Cait.” She nodded heartily, wiping her free hand down the apron. “Welcome to Leadeebrook.”
“Jack’s told me all about you.”
Not exactly true. He’d provided minimal detail and only after some solid pressing. Cait Yolsen had been Leadeebrook’s housekeeper for ten years. She was a widow with two children and two grown grandchildren. Maddy had been there when Jack had rung Cait to let her know to expect visitors. Afterward he’d relayed that Cait’s cooking was exceptional. Maddy could taste those buttery scones now.
Cait moved close to Jack and the baby. Maddy’s heart dissolved as Beau peered up at the stranger, eyes wide and intelligent, while he lay nestled in the crook of his uncle’s arm.
Work-worn hands went to Cait’s mouth as a hiccup of emotion escaped. “Oh, my, my, my.” A tender smile glistened in her eyes. “Isn’t he the handsome one.” Her gaze darted to Maddy. “Did he sleep the whole way?”
“He was an angel—” Maddy turned to Jack “—wasn’t he?”
Jack made a noise of affirmation, but the ghost of an approving smile lifted one corner of his mouth. No colicky kid here.
“He’ll need a diaper change,” said Cait.
“Absolutely,” agreed Maddy.
Then they said together, “I’ll take him.”
But Jack rotated the baby away from two sets of eager hands.
Above those mirror glasses, his brow wrinkled. “Do I look helpless? “
Maddy blinked. “You want to change him?” In response, one wry dark brow rose. She rephrased. “I mean, don’t you want a lesson or something first?”
“I’ve shorn over two hundred sheep in a single working day.” He sidled past the women and up the steps. “I think I can shake a little talc and do up a couple of pins.”
There were no pins; Dahlia had put Beau in disposables. That was what filled one of her big bags back on the plane. But Maddy held her tongue. If Jack wanted to assume the reins straight away—if he needed to dive in to prove himself—who was she to argue?
The man could shear two hundred sheep in one day.
At the top of the steps, Maddy noticed Nell, her dark eyes super-glued on Jack’s every movement.
“You must be parched,” Cait was saying as she ascended the steps, too.
When Nell padded into the homestead after Jack, Maddy followed the housekeeper. “I am a little dry.”
“How’s a cup of tea sound?”
“I’d prefer something cold, if you have it.”
Still climbing, Cait gave a knowing, wistful sigh. “My husband was a stockman. We dated for two weeks and next I knew we were shacked up, working in the Northern Territory. Rugged land. Crocodiles, you know. Never thought I’d get used to the heat and the bull dust and the flies.” The corners of her mouth swept up. “But you do.”
Maddy blew at the hair clinging to her forehead. “I won’t be here long enough to find out.”
She had a career back in Sydney … friends … an exciting full life. Needing to say goodbye to Beau until she saw him again would hurt terribly—she slapped another fly—but she already knew she wouldn’t miss this place.
Halfway up, Cait stopped and touched the younger woman’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about poor Dahlia. You must have been fast friends to help her out this way.”
Maddy remembered how she’d made it through the chapel service yesterday with Beau asleep in her arms and a run of tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. Whenever the raw ache of emotion had threatened to break free, she’d concentrated on the pastor’s calming words and the soft light filtering in through serene lofty windows.
Jack had sat beside her in the front left-hand pew. In an impeccable black suit, the set of his shoulders hadn’t slipped once. Dahlia’s university friends had recited prayers, poems or anecdotes, but her brother had kept his lidded gold-flecked eyes trained dead ahead.
Funneling down a breath, Maddy brought herself back and nodded. “Dahlia was the best friend I ever had.”
Never too busy to listen. Never judgmental or rude. She was the easiest-going person Maddy had ever met. Which begged the question: how had two siblings with the same parents ended up with such different natures? Jack must be the most ornery person south of the equator.
Cait resumed her climb. “The bairn is lucky to have you.”
Maddy smiled. Bairn as in baby.
“Dahlia wanted Jack to raise him,” she explained. “I promised I’d help with the transition.”
Cait dropped her gaze. “I’m sure she knew what she was doing.”
Maddy’s step faltered. Cait had reservations about Jack’s suitability as a guardian, too? Dahlia hadn’t got along with Jack; Maddy felt certain she, herself, would never penetrate his armor. Nell, on the other hand, idolized him. But Nell was a dog.
How had Jack treated his wife?
A curse blasted out of a nearby window and both women jumped. Maddy’s palm pressed against her stomach. Jack. Was he having trouble opening the talc bottle?
Nausea crept up the back of her throat.
Oh Lord, had he dropped the baby?
Cait bolted, flinging open the front screen door, and when she sped into a room to the right, Maddy quickly followed. Her gaze landed on the baby, lying bare-bottomed on his back on a changing table, which was set up against a side wall. Jack stood before the table, his posture hunched, hands out, fingers spread, his expression darker than usual. He was gaping at a wet patch on his shirt while Beau kicked his feet and cooed. A bemused Nell was backed up in the corner, her head angled to one side.
When Jack had taken off the diaper, the baby must have squirted him.
Maddy cupped her mouth to catch the laugh. Why were the strongest men sometimes the biggest babies?
Struggling to compose herself, she sauntered forward. “I see you had a waterworks accident.”
“I wasn’t the one who had the accident.” He touched the wet patch then flicked his hand. “At least he’s a good aim.”
Cait’s chuckle came from behind. “I’ll leave you both to do damage control,” she said then asked about the baby’s formula. Maddy handed her a bottle and can from a separate segment of Beau’s bag. Cait called, “C’mon, Nell.” The dog skulked out the doorway behind the housekeeper and Maddy gave a sigh of relief.
When Beau was cleaned up and in a fresh diaper, Maddy slipped him carefully up and nuzzled her lips against his satin soft brow.
“I’m amazed he didn’t freak out when you yelled like that,” she said, rubbing the baby’s back the way he liked. “I thought you might’ve dropped him.”
When Maddy pivoted around, her mind froze solid while her response systems went into overload. His frown deep, Jack was grumbling, wrestling out of that soiled shirt.
Bronzed. Breathtakingly broad.
The walls seemed to darken and drag away at the same time the breath left her lungs and a sizzling, marvelous current swept through her body. Maddy unconsciously licked her lips.
Jack Prescott’s chest was better than any she’d seen, airbrushed billboards included. His shoulders were sculpted from polished oak, his biceps were naturally, beautifully pumped, and the knockout expanse in between was dusted with the quintessential amount of coal black hair. She knew his flesh would be hot to the touch. Knew the landscape would be bedrock hard.
Maddy’s gaze dropped.
And if that was the top half …
Cursing under his breath, Jack tore the sleeves from his arms and dumped the damp shirt at his feet.
He’d helped birth lambs more times than he could count. In comparison, this was child’s play—literally. Being hosed by a baby wasn’t a big deal. Three years ago he’d have done anything to have experienced just this kind of scene … to have been given the chance to care for his own little boy.
Raw emotion torqued in his chest. But he beat the pain down before black memories took over. Feeling nothing was better than feeling angry.
Feeling helpless.
When he glanced up from the shirt, Maddy was standing stock still, jaw hanging. Holding Beau tight, she was staring at everything between his neck and his navel. Then her gaze dropped lower. Taken off guard—again—his muscles contracted as a coil of dark arousal snaked up his legs.
Inhaling, Jack set his jaw.
He’d already acknowledged his feelings for Madison Tyler. She was a looker, obviously intelligent. She also had guts. When Jack Prescott drew his pistols, most people had the good sense to run, but back in Sydney she’d stood her ground. She’d insisted she do right by his sister. He admired her for that. Frankly, his curiosity was piqued by the whole package.
But this physical attraction was headed nowhere. He was as good as engaged. Practically set to marry. Even if he were free, this woman wasn’t what he needed. And vice versa. Clearly she was not the least impressed by what he held most dear—this rugged, sprawling land. Hell, she didn’t even like horses whereas Tara was the only female he knew who could give him a run for his money galloping full bore down a straight.
So why was his gaze pinned to this woman’s legs?
A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest.
Because they were shapely, that’s why. Long and milk white, and his fingers itched to know if they were as fine and silky smooth as they looked.
The baby squeaked and Jack came back to earth with a jolt. Shoving a hand through his hair, he shifted the thickness from his throat. He had no business indulging those images, particularly the vision of his houseguest in a negligee … the filmy, sultry kind that might wave and swirl around her slim ankles on a breezy summer night.
When heavy footfalls sounded down the timber floors of the hall, the full quota of Jack’s senses came reeling back. Needing a distraction, he swiped his shirt off the floor and wadded it up while Maddy, seemingly needing a distraction, too, spun back to the changing table, busying herself with the baby’s bag.
Jack had assumed a cool mask by the time Cait appeared and chimed, “Bottle’s ready. I’d be happy to give him his feeding. It’s been a long while.” Cait extended her arms and Beau put out one of his. Sighing happily, she took and jiggled the wide-eyed baby. “Seems I haven’t lost the touch.” Then her attention skated over to his state of undress and her lips twitched. “Can I get you a fresh shirt, Jack?”
He held the wadded shirt higher and replied in a low, even voice. “S’right. I’ll get one.”
On her way out, the housekeeper tossed over one shoulder, “There’s a pot of tea on the back veranda and a cool pitcher, too.”
Maddy thanked Cait, flicked him an anxious glance, then, for something more to do, performed a fidgety finger comb of her flaxen hair behind each ear.
The entire “checking each other out” episode had lasted no more than a few seconds. They were a man and a woman who’d experienced a moment where natural attraction and physical impulse had temporarily taken over.
Jack drew up tall.
It wouldn’t happen again. He hadn’t brought city girl Madison Tyler here to seduce her. She was on his property only for the baby’s sake. He owed that to his sister. But in two weeks, Maddy would be gone from Leadeebrook. Gone and out of his life. No use getting tangled up in it.
He headed for the door and didn’t stop when her voice came from behind.
“Cait’ll be a big help with Beau,” she said, conversationally.
“She’ll take good care of him.”
“So you won’t be hiring a nanny?”
“Won’t need one.”
Tara wanted a family. Now, ready or not, they had one. But there was time enough to tell Maddy about Beau’s future stepmother. Time enough to let Tara know she was about to become an instant parent. After the news sank in, he couldn’t imagine Tara would be anything other than pleased. But that wasn’t the kind of information one shared over the phone. He’d tell her in person, in private.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
As he sauntered down the hall, Jack felt Maddy’s gaze burning a hole in his back. Not meeting her eyes, he jerked a thumb toward his bedroom doorway.
“I’ll grab a shirt and we’ll get to that pot of tea.”
A moment later he stood in front of his wardrobe, retrieving a button-down from its hanger. Out of the corner of his eye he spied movement—probably Nellie-girl keeping tabs on things. But when he checked, it was Maddy who hovered in the doorway, and this time her gaze wasn’t fused on him. Her attention was riveted on the chest of drawers to her immediate right. On the photo he kept there and never put away.
Her face visibly pale, her round gaze hovered over to his.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I had no idea. I thought you must be going to the laundry. I thought the main bedroom would be upstairs.”
Jaw tight, he drove his arms through the sleeves then, leaving buttons undone and tails hanging. He took her arm and ushered her out into the hall. Did she have to follow him around like a newborn calf? Was she purposely trying to get in the way and whip up his blood?
Once in the hall, he released his hold and told himself that would be the last time he’d feel her skin on his. If looking was bad, touching was a million times worse. Or was that a million times better?
Growling, he shook that unwelcome thought from his brain and headed toward the veranda, purposefully fastening each shirt button, then rolling the sleeves to the elbow. “Cait’ll have set the tray out here.”
Out on the veranda, he fell into a chair, lifted the food net and nodded at the spread of scones and cupcakes. After she accepted a scone, he grabbed a cake. He chomped off a mouthful and chewed, studying the plains and daring her to ask the question that must be tingling on the tip of her tongue. He could hear the words rattling around in her head.
The lady in the photo … was she your wife?
But Maddy didn’t ask. Rather she sat quietly on the other side of the small square table, her chair backed up against the wall, as was his. She poured one glass of lemonade and one cup of tea and passed it over.
After a tense moment, he flicked her a sidelong glance. She was sipping her drink, surveying his favorite stretch of land—the dip between what was known on the property as Twelve Gum Ridge and Black Shore Creek. The knot binding the muscles between his shoulder blades eased fractionally. A moment more and he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.
As three full-grown red kangaroos bounded across the shimmering horizon, Maddy sighed.
“I can’t get over the quiet.” She craned her neck, trying to see farther. “Where do you keep the sheep?”
He uncrossed his ankle and sat straighter. “Don’t have any.”
She tossed him a look. “Sorry. I thought you said you don’t have any sheep.”
“I got rid of them … three years ago.”
She blinked several times then offered a nod as if she understood. But she didn’t. Unless you’d lived the nightmare, no one could understand what it meant to lose both your wife and your child in one day. The world had looked black after that. As black and charred as his heart had been. He hadn’t cared about sheep or money.
About anything.
“What do you do on a sheep station with no sheep?” she asked after a time. “Don’t you get bored?”
He set down his cup and said what should have been obvious. “Leadeebrook is my home.”
Urban folk weren’t programmed to appreciate what the land had to offer. The freedom to think. The room to simply be. As much as his father had tried to convert her, his mother had never fully appreciated it either.
Besides, there was plenty of maintenance to keep a man busy if he went looking for it.
He dumped sugar into his cup. “It’s a different way of living out here. A lot different from the city.”
“Alot.”
“No smog.”
“No people.”
“Just the way I like it.”
“Don’t you miss civilization?”
His face deadpanned. “Oh, I prefer being a barbarian.”
She pursed her lips, considering. “That’s a strong word, but in a pinch …”
He had every intention of staring her down, but a different emotion rose up and he grinned instead. They might not see eye to eye, but she was … amusing.
Seeing his grin, a smile lit her eyes and she sat back more. “How many acres do you have?”
“Now, just under five thousand. Back in its heyday, Leadeebrook was spread over three hundred thousand acres and carried two hundred thousand sheep, but after World War II land was needed for war service and agricultural settlement so my great-grandfather and grandfather decided to sell off plots to soldier settlers. The soil here is fertile. Their forward planning helped make an easier transition from grazing to farming. That industry’s the mainstay of this district now. Keeps people employed.”
“I take it back.” Her voice carried a sincere note of respect. “You’re not a barbarian.”
“Save your opinion until after you’ve eaten my brown snake on an open spit.”
She chuckled. “You do have a sense of humor.” Her smile withered. “You are joking, right?”
He only spooned more sugar into his tea.
One leg crooked up under the other as she turned toward him. “Did you have a happy childhood growing up here? “
“Couldn’t have asked for a better one. My family was wealthy. Probably far wealthier than most people even realized. But we lived a relatively simple life, with some good old-fashioned hard work thrown in for good measure.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Went to the town first off then boarding school in Sydney. I came home every vacation. I’d help with dipping, shearing, lambing and tagging.”
Her smile wistful, she laid her elbow on the table between them and cupped her jaw in her palm. “You make it sound almost romantic.”
Almost?
He forced his gaze away from her mouth and let it settle on the picturesque horizon.
“Have you ever seen a sunset like that? I sit out here, lapping up those colors, and know this is how God intended for us to live. Not rushing around like maniacs on multilane freeways, chained to a computer fourteen hours a day. This is paradise.”
Sue had thought the same way.
They sat saying nothing, simply looking at the rose-gold pallet darken against a distant smudge of hills. Most nights he took in the dusk, soaking in the sense of connectedness it gave. Sometimes, for a few moments, he felt half at peace.
“Will you ever stock up again?” she asked after a time.
He had plenty invested in bonds and real estate around the country. Despite the wool industry having seen better days, he was more comfortable financially than any of his ancestors, and had harbored dreams of reshaping Leadeebrook to its former glory. He and Sue used to discuss their ideas into the night, particularly during the last stages of her pregnancy. There’d been so much to look forward to and build on together. Now.
His stomach muscles double-clutched and he set his cup aside.
Now he was responsible for Dahlia’s boy. He would give the lad every opportunity. Would care for him like a father. But that feeling …?
He swallowed against the stone in his throat.
He wished he could be the man he’d once been. But when his family died, that man had died, too.
“No,” he said, his gaze returning to the sunset. “I’ll never stock up again.”
She was asking another question but his focus had shifted to a far off rumbling—the distant groan of a motor. He knew the vehicle. Knew the driver.
Lord and Holy Father.
He unfolded to his feet and groaned.
He wasn’t ready for this meeting yet.
Four
The white Land Cruiser skidded to a stop a few feet from a nearby water tank, dry grass spewing out in dusty clouds from behind its monster wheels. A woman leaped out and, without shutting the driver’s door, sailed up the back steps.
Maddy clutched her chair’s arms while her gaze hunted down Jack.
He’d heard the engine before she had. Had pushed up and now came to a stop by the veranda rail, his weight shifted to one side so that the back pockets of his jeans and those big shoulders lay slightly askew. When the woman reached him, no words were exchanged. She merely bounced up on tiptoe, flung her arms around his neck and, her cheek to his, held on.
Maddy pressed back into the early evening shadows. This scene was obviously meant for two. Who was this woman? If she wasn’t Jack Prescott’s lover, she sure as rain wanted to be.
Maddy’s gaze tracked downward.
The woman’s riding boots—clean and expensive by the emblem—covered her fitted breeches to the knee. She was slender and toned; with a mane of ebony hair, loose and lush, she might have been the human equivalent of a prized thoroughbred. Her olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean descent and her onyx eyes were filled with affection as she drew back and peered up into Jack’s—passionate and loyal.
Maddy’s mouth pulled to one side.
Seemed Jack had indeed moved on since the death of his wife—the auburn-haired woman whose photo she’d seen on that chest of drawers. When they’d come face to face earlier in the nursery and she’d copped an eye full of Jack’s all-male-and-then-some chest, she’d imagined he’d felt the moment, too. She’d told herself that’s why he’d been particularly brusque afterward. The lightning bolt—the overwhelming awareness—had struck him, as well, and, taken aback, he hadn’t known how to handle it.
But clearly that fiery, unexpected reaction had been one-sided. He’d seemed vexed by the scene in the nursery because he was embarrassed over her ogling. Embarrassed and annoyed. He was spoken for, and this woman in front of her might capture and hold any man, even I-am-an-island Jack Prescott.
With a fond but strained smile, Jack unfastened the woman’s hold and her palms slid several inches down from his thick neck to his shirt. She toyed with a button as she gazed adoringly into his eyes and sighed.
“You’re home.” Then she tilted her head, that ebony mane spilled over her shoulder and her smile became a look of mild admonition. “I wish you’d have let me come to Sydney with you. It must have been so hard facing the funeral on your own. I shouldn’t have promised that I’d stay behind.”
Jack found her hand on his chest and carefully brought it to her side. “Tara, I brought somebody back with me.”
The woman slowly straightened, blinked. Then, having dialed into her personal radar, she honed in on Maddy. The woman’s thickly lashed eyes darkened more while her complexion dropped a shade. As their gazes locked, Tara surreptitiously found and held the veranda rail at her back.
Maddy’s face flushed hot. She knew what this woman, Tara, was thinking. The accusation blazed in her eyes. But she and Jack were not an item. They weren’t even friends, and from the venom building in this woman’s eyes, the sooner she knew all the facts the better.
Maddy found her feet at the same time Jack beckoned her over.
“This is Madison Tyler,” he said, then nodded to the woman. “Tara Anderson.”
An uneven smile broke across Tara’s face. “Madison. We haven’t met before—” her eyes narrowed slightly “—have we?”
Jack stepped in. “Maddy’s staying at Leadeebrook for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh?” Tara’s practiced smile almost quivered. “Why?”
Before anyone could answer, Cait appeared at the back doorway, holding Beau. The housekeeper’s jovial expression slid when she recognized their visitor.
“Tara, love. I heard the truck. I thought it was Snow.”
Tara’s hand slipped off the rail and when her startled, glistening gaze slid from the baby to Jack, Maddy’s heart sank in her chest. Tara’s thoughts were as loud as war drums. She thought the child belonged to them—to her and Jack. Yet everything in Tara Anderson’s stunned expression said she couldn’t let herself believe the worst. She wanted to trust the man she so obviously cared for.
As if afraid he might vanish, Tara tentatively touched Jack’s hand and her voice cracked when she asked, “Jack …?”
“This is Dahlia’s son,” he said in a somber tone. “The father isn’t on the scene. Maddy was Dahlia’s friend. She promised my sister she’d help the baby settle in here.”
Drawing back, Tara audibly exhaled, then touched her brow with an unsteady hand. She shook her head as if to dispel a fog but her expression remained pained.
“Dahlia’s son …” She breathed out again before her gaze pierced his. “You agreed to this, Jack? To a baby? I thought you said—”
His brows tipped together. “We won’t discuss it now.”
“When were we going to discuss it?” she asked. “How long have you known?”
But the line of his mouth remained firm. Turning, he set his hands on the rail and peered out over the barren landscape.
The anxiety in Maddy’s stomach balled tighter. Hearing that Jack was responsible for a baby had been a massive shock for Tara Anderson; she wanted answers. Without knowing their history, Maddy couldn’t help but think she deserved them. And yet Jack kept his shoulders set and his gaze fixed on something in the distance. He could be so bloody stubborn sometimes.
It wasn’t her place to interfere, but if she could ease the tension a little by extending the hand of friendship, Maddy decided she would. If Jack and this woman were as close as this scene suggested, Beau would be seeing more of Tara … more than he would see of his aunt Maddy.
She edged closer. “Do you live in town, Tara?”
Tara’s bewildered gaze whipped around, as if she’d forgotten they had company.
“I own the adjoining property,” she said absently. Then a different emotion filtered over her face and she exhaled once more, this time with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, please. I’m being rude. It’s just …” She sought out Jack’s gaze. “I’ve been worried these past days.”
“Will you stay for supper?” Cait asked from the back door, giving Beau, who had half his fist in his mouth, a jiggle. “There’s always plenty.”
At the same time Tara quizzed Jack’s face for his reaction, Maddy felt a brush against her leg. She lowered her gaze. Nell had taken up a seat between herself and Jack.
Stiffening, Maddy rubbed the goosebumps from her arm and slid a foot away. A mime act made more noise than this dog.
When Jack rotated away from the rail to face Tara, the familiar furrow between his brows was gone. Accommodating now, he reached for her hand. “Yes, of course. Stay for supper.”
But Tara stole a quick glance between the baby and Maddy then, put on a lighthearted air and shook back her ebony hair.
“I would’ve liked to, but I’m staying in town tonight. Taking a buyer to dinner.”
Jack eased back against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest, interested. “Which horse?”
“Hendrix.” She addressed Maddy. “I breed Warmbloods.”
Maddy raised her brows. And she was supposed to know what that meant? But she imitated Jack’s cross-armed stance, pretending to be interested, too.
“That’s … great.”
“Warmbloods are bred for equestrian sports,” Jack explained. “Tara’s trained a stable full of champions, mainly Hanoverians.”
Maddy tacked up her slipping smile. If she’d felt inadequate before.
No wonder Jack was involved with this woman. Beautiful, ultimately gracious under pressure, and a proven breeder of champions to boot. What more could a man want?
With an elegant, slightly possessive air, Tara looped her arm through Jack’s. “Will you walk me down to the car?”
As Jack pushed off the rail, Maddy piped up, “If I don’t see you before I head back to Sydney, it was nice meeting you.”
Tara’s lips tightened even as they stretched into a charming smile. “Oh, you’ll see me.”
As she and Jack meandered down the steps, Maddy couldn’t help but notice—Tara didn’t say goodbye to Beau.
Later that evening, Maddy went to join Jack in the yard. With his back to her, he didn’t seem to hear her approach, so she cleared her throat and asked, “Don’t suppose you want any company?”
When Jack turned his head—his eyes glittering in the evening shadows, his face devoid of emotion—Maddy drew back and withered in her shoes. She shouldn’t have left the house and come outside. Standing amidst the cricket-clicking tranquility, it was clear Jack didn’t want company. Particularly not hers.
After that awkward scene three hours ago with Tara Anderson, Jack had taken a vehicle out to the hangar to bring the bags in. Then he’d mumbled something about heading off for a while. From the window of her guest bedroom, Maddy had caught sight of a big black horse cantering away. With an Akubra slanted low on his brow, the rider looked as if he’d been born to rule from the saddle.
As he headed off toward the huge molten ball sinking into the hills, her chest had squeezed. She might have been watching a scene from a classic Western movie. Talk about larger than life.
While Cait prepared dinner, Maddy had enjoyed a quick shower. Then it was Beau’s turn. He’d splashed and squealed in his bath until she had a stitch in her side from laughing and the front of her dress was soaked through. She didn’t want to dwell on the fact that someone else would be enjoying this time with Beau soon.
Would that someone be Tara?
She neither saw nor heard Jack return, but when Cait called dinner, as if by magic he appeared in the meals room. With his gaze hooded and broad shoulders back, he’d promptly pulled out a chair for her at the table. She’d grinned to herself. Jack might be a lot of things, but Beau would learn his manners in this house.
The baked meal smelled divine, but Jack’s masculine just-showered scent easily trumped it. His wet hair, slicked back off his brow, was long enough to lick the back of his white collar. He’d shaved, too, although the shadow on his jaw was a permanent feature … an enduring sexy sandpaper smudge.
When the baby was settled in the playpen beside the table, Jack had threaded his hands, bowed his head and said a brief but touching grace about missing loved ones and taking new ones into their home. Maddy had swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. There was a deeper, more yielding side to this seemingly impenetrable man. There must be. In that moment, Maddy regretted she wouldn’t come to know it.
As they sat down to dinner, Cait told Maddy of Leadeebrook’s main dining room, with its long, grand table and crystal chandelier set in the center of a high, molded ceiling. But that room was kept for special occasions. She and Jack mainly ate here, in the meals area off the kitchen. After promising to show Maddy around the house the next day, Cait flicked out her linen napkin and asked to hear all the news from the city.
Jack didn’t seem to care either way. The gold flecks gone from his eyes, he seemed more distracted than ever. While he cut and forked his way through the meal, the ladies chatted, watching over the baby who played with his bunch-of-keys rattle.
When Beau began to grumble, Maddy left to put him down. After firmly taking charge earlier, she was interested that Jack didn’t say boo about helping with Beau’s first bedtime in his new home. Maybe the memory of that wet shirt still haunted him, but Maddy suspected thoughts of Tara and her reaction to his guardianship of the baby weighed heavily on Jack’s mind tonight. How would he handle the divide?
Beau had drifted off without a whimper. After laying a light sheet over his tiny sleeping form, she tiptoed back into the kitchen. That’s when Cait had suggested she join Jack outside here in the cool.
Maddy had grown warm all over at the thought, which only proved that being alone with Jack under the expansive Southern Cross sky was not a good idea. But she’d made the effort. She didn’t want to provoke any fires—physical or anything else—but neither could she afford to leave here, for the most part, a stranger. Jack had to know that if he needed her, for Beau’s sake, despite any personal hiccups, she would always be there. Dahlia would’ve wanted that, and Maddy wanted that, too.
She and Jack needed to be able to communicate, at least on some level.
She’d found him here, one shoulder propped up against an ancient-looking tree, while he rubbed a rag over a bridle.
“Is the baby down?” he asked.
With nerves jittering in her stomach, she nodded and inched closer. “Now he’s down, he shouldn’t wake up till around seven.”
Stopping at his side, she joined him in taking in a view of the hushed starry sky while that rag worked methodically over the steel bit. A horse’s whinny carried on a fresh breeze. A frog’s lonely croak echoed nearby. And Jack kept polishing.
If anyone was going to start a conversation, it’d have to be her.
She shifted her weight. “How long have you had the black horse?”
“From a colt.”
“Bet he was glad to see you back.”
“Not as glad as I was to see him.”
She raised her brows. Well, a cowboy’s best friend was supposed to be his horse.
She leaned against another nearby tree, her hands laced behind the small of her back. “Where did you ride off to earlier?”
“I needed to catch up with Snow Gibson. He lives in the caretaker’s cabin a couple miles out.”
Maddy recalled an earlier conversation. “Cait said Snow’s quite a character.”
A hint of a smile hooked his mouth and they both fell into silence again … tangible and yet not entirely uncomfortable. Guess there was something to be said for the advantages of this untainted country air.
Giving into a whim, she shut her eyes, tilted her face to the stars and let more than the subtle breeze whisper to her senses. She imagined she felt that magnetism rippling off Jack Prescott in a series of heatwaves and her own aura glowing and transforming in response. She imagined the way his slightly roughened hands might feel sliding over her skin … sensual, stirring. Enthralling.
Opening her eyes, willing away the awareness, she shut off those dangerous thoughts and focused on a heavy star hanging low on the horizon. She wasn’t here to indulge in fantasies, no matter how sweet or how strong. She was here to do a job and get back to where she belonged.
Besides, Jack’s affections were spoken for. Tara had made her position on that clear: Hands off.
Suddenly weary, Maddy pushed off the tree.
She shouldn’t have come out here. Talking with Jack was like trying to push an elephant up a hill. She needed to accept this situation for what it was. She needed to chill out and let things between herself and Jack unravel naturally. Right now, she needed to say good-night.
She was about to take her leave when Jack’s deep graveled voice drifted through the night.
“This property’s been in my family since 1869.” He angled his head toward a long stationary shadow to their left. “See that trough?”
He began to walk. Maddy threw a look at the back door then inwardly shrugged. Slapping the impression of bark from her palms, she followed. If he was making an effort, she would, too.
“This trough was a wedding gift,” Jack was saying. “My great-great grandfather suggested to his wife he should cut a hole in the bathroom wall and they could use it as a tub as well as to water the horses in the yard.”
Maddy blanched. She had a feeling he was serious.Thank heaven for modern-day plumbing. How had women survived out here back then?
“I carved my initials here when I was six,” he went on and swept one long tanned finger over an etching in the wood. “Our dog had just had pups.” He pointed to several nicks—One, two, three … Seven pups. He straightened and, studying her, weighed the bridle in his hand. “You never had a dog? “
“I had piano lessons and lots of dresses.”
“But no dog,” he persisted.
“No dog.”
Something rustled in the brush nearby at the same time he lifted and dropped one shoulder. “You missed out.”
Focused on the brush—was it a snake, a dingo?—she admitted, “I was attacked by a Doberman cross when I was young.”
His expression froze before he blindly set the bridle down on the trough. “Maddy … God, I’m sorry.”
Weeks spent in hospital, years of fighting the phobia. She made herself shrug. “Could’ve been worse.”
He held her gaze for several heartbeats then slipped her a wry smile. “I got the shakes once. I broke my arm jumping a stallion over a creek when I was ten. He was the most cantankerous horse I’ve ever known.”
Maddy openly grinned. Quite the confession coming from Crocodile Dundee.
He walked again, a meandering comfortable gait that invited her to join him.
“Piano and dresses,” he murmured. “So you were a mummy’s girl.”
“My mother died when I was five.”
His step faltered. She almost saw the shudder pass through his body. “Wait a minute. I need to take that other foot out of my mouth.”
She wasn’t offended. He couldn’t have known.
“I have one perfect memory of her tucking me into bed. She had a beautiful smile.” Her favorite photo she kept in her wallet—a candid shot of her mother laughing and holding her first and only baby high against a clear blue day.
“Your dad still around?”
The snapshot in Maddy’s mind faded and she squared her shoulders. “Uh-huh. He’s great. Really energized. I work for him at Tyler Advertising.”
“I’ve heard of it. Well-respected firm.” He kicked a rock with the toe of his boot. “So you’re a chip off the ol’ block?”
“Hopefully. I have my first big deal coming together soon.”
“In for a big bonus?”
“I guess.”
In the moonlight, his lidded gaze assessed her. “But that’s not your motivation.”
“Not at all.”
“You want to make your father proud,” he surmised and she nodded.
“That’s not so unusual. Besides I really like the industry,” she added. “Lots of exciting people and events. It’s where I belong.”
She believed that and finally her father was believing it, too. She’d seen the look in his eyes when she’d told him at sixteen she wanted to be an account executive with the firm; he didn’t think she had it in her. He’d said the words, You’re more like your mother, which meant she wasn’t strong enough. Her mother had been a gentle person and, no, she hadn’t been able to beat the leukemia, but she and her mother were two separate issues, two separate people. And once she had the client’s signature on the bottom line …
“You must be chomping at the bit to get back,” Jack said, coming to stand beside a weathered post and rail fence.
Her lips twitched. “I won’t deny I’ll be happy to leave the flies behind.”
“They don’t eat much. It’s the bull ants you have to worry about.”
“So I’d better not stand in one spot for too long.”
He chuckled—a rich easy sound that fit him as well as those delectable jeans. She couldn’t think of another man with more sex appeal … the energy he expelled was as formidable and natural as thunder on a stormy night. On the What Makes a Man Maddeningly Irresistible list, Jack got double ticks in every box.
When she realized their shared look had lasted longer than it ought to, a blush bloomed over her cheeks. As the heat spread to her breasts and belly, Jack rubbed the back of his neck and moved off again.
“How did you meet Dahlia?”
“A university friend,” she said, willing the husky quality from her voice. “Dahlia was a couple of years younger than me. We were enrolled in different majors, but we met at a party and hit it off. She had the best laugh. Infectious.” Kind of like yours, she wanted to say, only not so deep.
Looking off, he scrubbed his temple with a knuckle. “Yeah. I remember her laugh.”
Maddy stayed the impulse to touch his arm—to offer some show of comfort. Men like Jack were all about strength, intelligence and making decisions. Jack was a leader and leaders didn’t dilute their power with displays of emotion, either given or received. In an emergency, he would act and act well. Even standing in the uneventful quiet of this night, Maddy found a sense of reassurance in knowing that. Some silly part of her almost wanted to admit it out loud.
Instead she said, “You must have missed that sound when she left here.”
A muscle ticked a strong beat in his jaw and he let out a long breath. “My wife begged me to go after her but I was determined not to. Some sorry home truths came out that last night. I figured if Dahlia wanted to find her own way, I wouldn’t stop her.”
But his tone said he regretted it.
“She didn’t like Leadeebrook?”
“She liked it okay,” he said, crossing his arms as he strolled, “but she didn’t feel the same way I feel. The way my father felt, too. She didn’t want to stay here, ‘shrivel up and die,’ as she put it. She’d said she’d had enough of station existence to last a lifetime.”
Which would have cut her brother’s loyal Prescott heart in two.
“And your wife … how did she feel about the station?”
He searched the sky as if she might be listening and looking down, and Maddy knew in that moment that he’d loved his wife very much.
“This was Sue’s home. Always will be.” His thoughtful expression sharpened then, frowning, he angled toward the house. “Was that the baby?”
Maddy listened then shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything. Cait said she’d keep an ear out.” They walked again, toward a timber structure she thought was the stables. When next she spoke, Maddy put a lighter note in her tone.
“Tara Anderson is obviously a big fan of the land, too.”
His gaze caught hers and as his look intensified, Maddy’s skin flared with a pleasant, telling warmth. The way he was looking at her now, she could almost fool herself into believing that she, not Tara, was the woman with whom he was involved … that the primal heat smoldering in his eyes was meant for her and her only.
When a different, more guarded light rose up in his eyes and he broke the gaze, Maddy’s shoulders dropped and she told her pulse to slow down. Dynamic in every sense of the word, he was more of a man than any she’d known. That was the reason she imagined heat waves rippling off him and wrapping themselves around her. Not because this moonlight was affecting him as it was clearly affecting her.
“Tara and I have known each other a long while,” he said. “Her uncle and my father were friends. Sue and Tara became good friends, too. They shared similar values, similar interests. So do we.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
A red-hot bolt dropped through her middle at the same time her eyes grew to saucers and she swallowed a gulping breath. Had she actually said that? Yes, she’d been wondering—a lot. But to ask …
She held up both hands. “I’m sorry. That is so none of my business.”
Beneath the star-strewn sky, Jack’s gaze held hers for a protracted moment. Then he set his hands low on his belt and tracked his narrowed gaze over to the distant peaks of the Great Dividing Range.
He nodded. “There’s been talk of it.”
Maddy let out that breath. So Tara had good reason to be so demonstrative this afternoon. She saw Jack as her future husband. A husband who’d gone to a funeral and had brought back a baby.
Maddy chewed her lip. She shouldn’t ask—she might not like the answer—but she couldn’t keep the question down.
“Does Tara like children?”
He scratched the tip of his ear. “That’s a sticking point. Tara wants a family very much …”
He’d been slow to accept responsibility for Beau. He approached his guardianship as a duty to be performed rather than a gift to be treasured. Now he was admitting that he didn’t want a family.
Maddy knew one day she wanted be a mother. Caring for Beau had only heightened that knowledge. She couldn’t imagine why any person wouldn’t want to have their own family—to give and receive unconditional love. What had Jack’s first wife to say about his aversion to fatherhood? More importantly, what did that admission mean for Beau?
She’d hoped, she’d prayed, but did Jack have what it took to be a good father to that baby? And there was Tara. She hadn’t shown an interest in Beau other than out of shock and suspicion yet she wanted children of her own. If she and Jack married—if they had children together—would Tara see Beau as a nuisance or inconvenience when her own brood came along? If that were the case, what sort of family would poor Beau grow up in? What sort of damaged self-image would being an add-on leave him with?
A whinny sounded in the night and Maddy was brought back.
“Herc can hear us,” Jack told her and jerked a thumb at the stables. “Want to meet him?”
Deep in thought, Maddy absently agreed but before long the scent of horse and leather pulled her up. With a sneeze tickling her nose, she made an excuse.
“It’s getting late. We probably shouldn’t disturb him.”
Jack laughed and kept walking. “Herc won’t mind the company.”
She pinched her nose. “I think I might be allergic.”
That got his attention and he angled back around. “Have you been around horses before?”
“A real one?”
He grinned—a breathtaking, cheeky smile—and Maddy’s breasts tingled with unbidden desire.
“You know, Maddy, there’s nothing quite like the rhythm of a strong dependable horse rocking beneath you.”
Rhythm … strong … rocking. Maddy blew out a breath. She wanted to fan herself. Did he have any clue how fiercely attractive he was?
“Thanks,” she announced, dabbing her brow, “but I’ll pass.”
That smile widened and she imagined the fire in his eyes had licked her lips.
“Why not broaden your horizons? There’s more to life than a wardrobe of pretty dresses.”
“Or a stable of horses.”
“You’re right.”
He sauntered over to stand, shoulder to shoulder, beside her as he checked out the trillion-star lightshow dancing over their heads. His innate energy—the physical pull she felt when he was this close—was as tangible as his body heat. She wished he hadn’t moved nearer. And, dammit, she wished he’d moved nearer still.
“There’s a cool breeze after a long muggy spell,” he said, “and the dependability of a vast rich land like this. There’s the satisfaction that comes with a hard day’s work, and the lure of a full moon on a still night just like tonight. And then …”
His dark brows nudged together as if an odd idea had struck. When he turned his head, his expression had softened with an emotion she hadn’t seen in him before. He blinked once then, as if he’d read all her earlier thoughts, he cupped her cheek and she stopped breathing.
“And then,” he said, “there’s this.”
The pad of his thumb raised her chin and as his head dropped over hers, Maddy’s faculties shut down. She might have wondered, might have dreamed, but having Jack Prescott’s undivided smoldering attention focused only upon her had seemed beyond reason or possibility.
And yet now.
Maddy trembled, leaned in and pressed up.
With his mouth closed so perfectly over hers and his hard muscular frame pressed in tight all the world seemed to spiral away. With her heart beating high and hard, she couldn’t think beyond the thrill of this moment, beyond the wonder of his fingertips working against her nape … the heavy throb low in her belly … and a fiery internal pulse that whispered to her about the promise of a slow, hot night spent in Jack Prescott’s bed.
His thumb ran down her throat as he sipped and tasted and explored. When his mouth reluctantly left hers and her heavy eyelids opened, his eyes were smiling into hers. A delicious full-body quiver ran through her blood. She was light-headed, dizzy. Had Jack truly just kissed her? Had she truly kissed him back? On one level she couldn’t digest the reality. The possibility that he would embrace her, gift her with the world’s steamiest kiss, didn’t compute. And yet as she stood now looking up into the shadowed perfection of his face, improbability faded into another understanding.
Her belly felt heavy with a need that acknowledged only deep physical desire. She wanted his mouth on hers again. With a longing she hadn’t known she was capable of, she wanted his lips on her neck, on her breasts.
He stole another light, lingering kiss from the side of her mouth before his lips skimmed her jaw. “See what I mean about that full moon?”
His hand slid down her spine to circle the sensitive dip low in her back and the urge to coil her fingers up through his hair and mold herself against him became overpowering. Every labored breath compounded the desire building in her blood. Every thought confirmed that this felt way too good to let go.
How a bit of common sense survived the fire ripping through her veins, Maddy couldn’t say. She didn’t want to listen to reason. She only wanted to know his kiss again and again. And yet the danger … the dishonesty of this situation was as apparent as the aching desire. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t ignore the harm this kind of scene could and would do.
Finding her strength and her breath, she angled her head away. “This isn’t right.”
With a knuckle, he coaxed her mouth back to his. “This is very right.”
When he drew her bottom lip into his mouth and the shaft behind his zipper flexed against her belly, her resolve slipped like hot wax spilling down a candle. The urge to give in was so sweet and so strong … but she couldn’t ignore what was most important.
She pushed against his sturdy chest. “Jack, what about Tara?”
They needed to keep this complicated time as uncomplicated as they could. Yes, she was physically drawn to Jack—she’d like to meet a woman who wouldn’t be. But a kiss would lead to more—to dark heady places she wasn’t prepared to go. She wanted some kind of future with Beau. The last thing she needed was an ill-planned night hanging over her head and a stepmother who would then have good reason for suspicion.
He’d been so intense, so driven, she half expected him to ignore the obvious question. But he surprised her. Comprehension dawned in his eyes. His head pulled slowly back and his gaze searched hers as if he were coming out of a daze. When the horse whinnied again, he took a step away and his previously insistent palm left her back. His hand found the V at his opened collar and his gaze speared through her, as though he were seeing someone else.
His deep voice rumbled through the shadows.
“You should go inside.”
A shiver chased up her spine. His face looked changed. almost vulnerable. Gingerly, she touched his strong hot arm but his intense expression didn’t change.
He said again, “You should go.”
Then he wove around her toward the stable.
Later, as she lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling, she heard the retreating beat of hooves. Still glowing from the feel of him, still buzzing from the high, she rolled over and lightly touched her lips.
She thought she’d been kissed before. Thought she knew what desire was … how it felt to be on fire.
She’d been wrong.
Five
The next morning, Jack drove into Hawksborough, a town that pretty much consisted of a main street lined with Leopard trees, a federation-style library, town hall and courthouse, and a series of fading shop fronts which led to the Shangri-la Motel.
Parked in front of Bruce’s Barber’s, a residence which co-let to Hawsborough’s only bank, Jack swung out of the driver’s side of his four-wheel drive and absorbed the town’s aura of timelessness. Sue had loved this place almost as much as she’d loved the station. If he ever came in, Sue would, too, to catch up with the locals then veg out in the town square, working her way through one of her tomes. Sue had been as laid back as supper on Sundays.
Sophisticated Madison Tyler, on the other hand, fit in more with canapés and cocktails at five. She would find Hawksborough’s sole set of traffic lights and single movie theater gauche. Possibly unsettling. Maddy cared about what happened to Dahlia’s baby—he respected her for that—but as soon as her job here was done she’d be gone, back to the city and “civilization”. Thirteen more days.
And nights.
As he removed his hat and crossed into the Shangri-la foyer, Jack knew he could fool himself and say he understood why he’d cast off proper conduct last night: he’d wanted to sample an intriguing wine, just a taste. He’d kissed Maddy. Had enjoyed the act immensely. Curiosity supposedly done and dusted. Trouble was, while all this rationalizing had been taking place, he’d forgotten about Tara. About the commitment he’d made to her. And that just wasn’t him.
That Maddy was so different from Sue, from Tara—from any woman he’d known—might be a reason for his behavior but it wasn’t an excuse. He felt off-center around her. Couldn’t seem to shake her from his thoughts. At four this morning he’d finally figured out what needed to be done and how he should do it.
Now he strode up to Mrs. Claudia, the friendly gray-haired receptionist he’d known all his life. She slid the Life crossword to one side of the mahogany desk and they exchanged pleasantries about her aging canary and the lack of rain. Then he dialed up to the room Tara took whenever she stayed in town.
When she picked up on the second ring, Jack braced his shoulders. “Tara, I need to see you.”
There was a moment’s pause before a sigh came down the line. “Jack, it’s you. Thank God. Come up.”
From her thready tone, something wasn’t right in her world. He could guess what. But as he set off for the vintage elevator, Jack knew he couldn’t let any bad news delay his own.
When Tara opened her door, her hair was as glossy as usual but her eyes didn’t hold their normal fire. She lifted a large envelope and gave a jaded smile.
“Hendrix’s X-rays. There’s a small cyst on his hock. In my opinion, and the vet’s, nothing to worry about.” She flung the envelope on the TV stand. “But the buyer wants a cut in price.”
“Three hundred G’s is a lot for a horse,” he said, hanging his hat on the hatstand.
“Not for a brilliant jumper.” Then her dark eyes softened and an inviting smile curved her lips. “But let’s not talk about that.”
She took his hand and led him toward the bed. Jack kept his eyes straight ahead but even a blind man couldn’t miss her attire: a short, pale pink silk wrap. From the outline, she was naked underneath.
She drew him toward the foot of the unmade bed. Positioning herself close, she wove her hands up his shirt front then, closing her eyes, she reached on tiptoe to rub her nose with his.
“It’s so good to see you.” Her fingers flexed in his shirt as she murmured, “Will I order up some breakfast?”
“I’ve eaten.”
She opened her eyes at his tone and angled her head. “I need to apologize for the way I acted yesterday. But, you have to understand, I was taken aback. The last thing I expected to see was a baby—” she lowered to sit on the rumpled sheet “—or another woman.” Twining her fingers with his, she urged him to sit beside her. “But I should’ve shown more control. You’re right. We need to speak about this in private.” She pivoted toward him, her wrap slipped but she didn’t cover her thigh. “How do you feel about raising Dahlia’s son?”
He set his jaw. “Committed.”
“There is one big positive.”
“You mean besides giving my nephew a home.”
“Of course that baby deserves a home.” Her touch filed over his thigh and settled on his leg. “And now there’s no reason why we shouldn’t start a family. I understand how you feel about losing your own. Jack, I can’t imagine how much that must hurt, even now. But being given this baby is like being given another chance. We could give that little boy a brother or two.” Her hand squeezed. “A real family, for us all.”
He pushed to his feet and her hand fell away. “We need to talk.”
“If you’re worried about inheritance—that I might be biased toward the children we have together—I’m more than fine with all the children having equal shares …”
“I can’t marry you.”
She recoiled as if bitten by a snake. Her slender throat worked up and down as moisture welled in her eyes. His gut twisted around a heavy knot of guilt. There’d been no easy way to say it. But the admission had sounded blunt even to his ears.
“You can’t marry.” She carefully unfolded to her feet. “We’ve discussed this. Gone through it.” She stepped closer and a note of desperation lifted her voice. “What about the land?”
“I don’t care about the land.”
He cursed under his breath and scrubbed his brow.
Of course he cared, but.
Decided, he met her gaze. “I can’t think about that now.”
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Her slim nostrils flared. “How long have you known her?”
He told her the truth. “I met Maddy the same day I learned about Dahlia.”
“Then she’s a quick worker, getting you to agree to have her stay here.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Tara might have more reason than she knew to be jealous but it hadn’t started out that way. Maddy hadn’t set a trap to ensnare an eligible bachelor. She’d made a vow and had come to Leadeebrook when she would rather not have. Her loyalty to his sister, her indignation toward him, hadn’t been an act.
Neither was the passion he’d felt break free when he’d held her last night. His palms had itched to shape over her curves. Conscience hadn’t been an issue. The primal need to know every inch of her had overshadowed everything.
Tara was imploring him with her eyes.
“Tell me nothing’s going on, Jack. Tell me and I’ll believe you. You’ve made mistakes before.” The passionate look wavered. “You don’t want to make another one.”
His eyes narrowed. He’d forget she said that.
“Tara, you and I are friends. I’ll always think of you as a friend.”
“Friendship can turn into love.” She held his jaw and hitched up to slip her lips over his. “It did for me.”
He found her hand and held it between both of his. “It’s better this way.”
He’d married once. He should have known that would do him a lifetime. The ring he wore around his neck would always live there.
But as he threw his hat back on and left the motel a few minutes later, he reminded himself that physical intimacy was another matter. No license was required to satisfy sexual needs. Needs every man had. Natural, instinctive. In this instance, fierce.
The chemistry was right between Maddy and him. Yesterday under the stars, it had been near uncontainable. Whether this fever was due to the upheaval of emotion these past days—the lasting bond he and Maddy had shared with Dahlia—he couldn’t say. All he knew with absolute certainty was he’d been attracted to Madison Tyler from the start. The attraction had grown to a point where, no matter what excuse he made, he couldn’t deny it.
He wanted her in his bed.
The primal urge was a force unto itself, demanding release, stoking his mind like a stick at a fire every other minute of the day. He’d never felt this intensely about a woman, not even Sue. He’d never gone there with Tara, neither in mind nor in body.
After the way Maddy had held onto him in the moonlight, her fingers twisting in his shirt, her mouth opening under his, inviting and welcoming him in …
Inhaling, he slipped into his vehicle, ignited the engine and pulled away from the curb.
It was foregone. Maddy felt the same way. She wanted what he wanted. Before the week was through, he would convince her they should take it.
Call back. Urgent re Pompadour account.
Biting her lip, Maddy shifted her gaze from the text message to baby Beau lying, happy and energetic, on a nearby blanket.
Beau had had his lunchtime bottle but had been too restless to go down. She’d done some research; babies’ routines changed all the time—teething problems, going to solids, natural decline in naps—all shook up what might seem like a set schedule. Rather than fight the tide, she’d spread a blanket out beneath the sprawling umbrella of a Poinciana tree and for the past twenty minutes had watched him kick and coo to his heart’s content.
Although everyone back home knew she was unavailable, out of habit she’d brought along her BlackBerry. While her father had been frosty about her request for this unscheduled break, he wouldn’t have left that message without good reason.
Maddy set the phone against her chin as her stomach flipped over.
Urgent …
Had Pompadour Shoes pulled the plug without having seen the campaign? Had another agency stolen their business? Or worse … had her father’s disappointment turned to action? Had he replaced her on the account?
Her thumb was poised over Redial when Nell appeared out of nowhere and sat herself down a few feet away. Maddy’s blood pressure climbed and she reached for Beau who, unconcerned, gnawed on a length of his rattle. But Nell’s attention was elsewhere … fixed on the hazy distance, her ears perked high.
Maddy breathed—slowly in, calmly out.
If the dog wanted to sit around, okay. She didn’t have dibs on this square of lawn, as long as Nell didn’t get any ideas about wanting to socialize. But when Beau began to grumble, Nell trotted over and the hairs on the back of Maddy’s neck stood up straight. Thankfully the collie didn’t stop and soon Maddy knew why. The sound of an engine. The same sound she’d heard leaving the property early that morning.
Jack was home.
Maddy’s heart began to thud. How would he tackle the subject of last night? Maybe he wouldn’t bring up that kiss at all, which was fine by her. During the hours before dawn, she’d reflected enough on the blissful way his mouth had worked over hers. Useless thoughts had wound a never-ending loop in her mind, like what if Cait had discovered them? Where would it have led if she hadn’t pulled away?
Maddy shuddered. The fallout didn’t bear considering. If not another word was mentioned about that accident, she’d be happy. Surely Jack—a man considering marriage—felt the same way. As far as she was concerned, that caress never happened.
Nell belted a path out into the open space and a few moments later reappeared, ushering in the late model four-wheel drive. The vehicle braked and when the door opened, Maddy’s limbs turned to jelly. Setting his Akubra in place, Jack angled out, looking taller and more formidable than she remembered.
Everything about him spoke of confidence and ability. Raw outback masculinity and pride. Good thing he was practically engaged or she might forget her resolve about last night’s embarrassment and launch herself at him.
He made a motion. Nell rolled over and he rubbed her belly with the toe of his big boot. Patting her damp palms on her khaki pants, Maddy pasted on a nondescript smile. When Jack’s gaze tracked her down, she gave a business-as-usual salute. He acknowledged her with a short nod and headed over. With each long, measured stride, her heart beat more wildly. She looked at those strong, large hands and felt them kneading her nape, pressing meaningfully on her back. She saw the shadow on his jaw and relived the delicious graze against her cheek, around her lips.
The next thirteen days would be tantamount to torture—not wanting to say goodbye to Beau, yet having to get back to Sydney. Needing to leave the memory of that kiss behind yet craving to know the sensation again. Talk about chronic inner turmoil.
Jack hunkered down beside the baby, his boots dusty and blue jeans stretched at the knee. When Beau’s rattle slipped from his tiny grasp, Jack picked it up and shook the plastic keys until Beau grabbed and stuck one back in his mouth.
A side of Jack’s mouth hiked up. “Guess he’s hungry.”
“He’s had lunch. I think he’s ready to be put down.”
Jack tickled Beau’s tummy and, enjoying it, the baby squawked and threw the keys down. Jack chuckled softly. “He looks like Dahlia. Same cheeky grin.”
Maddy smiled. Cheeky grins must run in the family. Whenever Jack smiled at her that certain way, whenever his gaze dipped to stroke her lips, she could dissolve into a puddle, no problem at all. Guess he’d worked that out last night.
Cait called from the top of the stairs. “Want some lunch, Jock?”
Still on haunches, he swiveled around on the toes of his boots. “I’ll get something later.”
Cait nodded. “Can I put the bairn down for you, Maddy?”
“I can do it,” Maddy called back.
But Cait was already on her way. “You can indeed. But he hasn’t been out of your sight since seven this morning.”
Jack scooped the baby up and gave him a little bounce in the air before handing him up to Cait.
Beaming, Cait brought him close. “Now it’s my turn for a wee cuddle.”
Beau looked so at home in Cait’s arms, Maddy had no reason to cut in … except, after Cait and Beau’s departure, she and Jack would be left completely alone. The idea set her pulse hammering all the more.
As Cait and the baby vanished back into the house, Maddy gathered her highly-strung nerves. She’d simply have to deal with this situation in an adult-like manner. She’d offer a sentence or two while keeping communication friendly but unquestionably aboveboard. Then, after a reasonably short amount of time, she could follow Cait inside. Distance, and safety from possible humiliation and regret, accomplished.
With a blithe air, she collected her BlackBerry off the blanket. “Interesting that Cait calls you Jock.”
“Jock. Jack. Jum. All short for James.”
Maddy’s insides clutched. Jack was James?
She remembered his reaction—the flinch—that first day she’d told him the baby’s name. He and Dahlia hadn’t spoken in years and yet she’d named her baby in part after her big brother—Beau James. Maddy could only imagine the stab of guilt when he heard. The gut wrench of regret and humility.
Her voice was soft. “It must’ve meant a lot to know Dahlia remembered you that way.”
He removed his hat and filed a hand through his thick hair. “It was our grandfather’s name, too. A family name. But, yeah, it was … nice.”
Staring at his hat, he ran a finger and thumb around the felt rim then pushed to his feet. Squinting against the sun sitting high in the cloudless sky, he glanced around.
“Great day. Not too hot.” He cocked a brow at her. “How about a ride? “
Maddy couldn’t help it. She laughed. He never gave up. Which could be a problem if he applied that philosophy to what had happened outside the stables last night. But he hadn’t needed convincing; when she’d put up the wall, reminded him of a couple of facts, he’d promptly taken his leave.
At his core, Jack was an old fashioned type. He’d had an emotional wreck of a week. Their talk beneath the full moon—the comfortable, dreamy atmosphere it created—had caught them both unprepared. Now, however, they were fully aware of the dangers close proximity could bring. He was involved with another woman. Maddy had no intention of kissing Jack Prescott again.
She had less intention of jumping on a horse.
With a finger swipe, she alleviated her phone’s screen of fine dust. “Think I’ll leave the rodeo tricks to the experts.”
“You don’t have to leap six-foot fences. We can start off at a walk. Or we could double.”
Maddy guffawed. With her arms around his waist, her breasts rubbing against his back … After seeing reason so soundly last night, surely he knew that suggestion was akin to teasing a fuse with a lit match.
“I’ll get you riding,” he went on, setting that distinctive hat back on his head, “even if I have to seize the moment and throw you on bareback.”
The oxygen in her lungs began to burn. Quizzing his hooded gaze, she knew she wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t talking about horses anymore and he wanted her to know it.
“In the meantime—” he offered her his hand “—what say I take you on a tour of Leadeebrook’s woolshed.”
Her thoughts still on riding bareback, Maddy accepted his hand before she’d thought. The skin on sizzling skin contact ignited a pheromone soaked spark that crackled all the way up her arm. On top of that, he’d pulled too hard. Catapulted into the air, her feet landed far too close to his. Once she’d got her breath and her bearings, her gaze butted with his. The message in his eyes said nothing about awkwardness or caution.
In fact, he looked unnervingly assured.
After a short drive, during which Maddy glued her shoulder to the passenger side to keep some semblance of distance between them, they arrived at a massive wooden structure set in a vast clearing.
“It looks like a ghost town now,” Jack said, opening her door. “But when shearing was on, this place was a whirlwind of noise and activity.”
Maddy took in the adjacent slow spinning windmill, a wire fence glinting in the distance and felt the cogs of time wind back. As they strolled up a grated ramp, she imagined she heard the commotion of workers amid thousands of sheep getting the excitement of shearing season underway. Sydney kept changing—higher skyscrapers, more traffic, extra tourists—yet the scene she pictured here might have been the same for a hundred years.
When they stepped into the building, Maddy suddenly felt very small and, at the same time, strangely enlivened. She rotated an awe-struck three-sixty. “It’s massive.”
“Eighty-two meters long, built in 1860 with enough room to accommodate fifty-two blade shearers. Thirty years on, the shed was converted to thirty-six stands of machine shears, powered by steam. Ten manual blade stands were kept, though, to hand shear stud sheep.”
“Rams, you mean?”
“Can’t risk losing anything valuable if the machinery goes mad.”
She downplayed a grin. Typical man.
Their footsteps echoed through lofty rafters, some laced with tangles of cobwebs which muffled the occasional beat of sparrows’ wings. Through numerous gaps in the rough side paneling, daylight slanted in, drawing crooked streaks on the raised floor. Dry earth, weathered wood and, beneath that, a smell that reminded her of the livestock pavilion at Sydney’s Royal Easter Show.
Maddy pointed out the railed enclosures that took up a stretch of the vast room. “Is that where the sheep line up to have their sweaters taken off?”
He slapped a rail. “Each catching pen holds enough sheep for a two-hour shearing stint. A roustabout’ll haul a sheep out of the pen onto a board—” he moved toward a mechanism attached to a long cord—powered shears “— and the shearer handles things from there. Once the fleece is removed, the sheep’s popped through a moneybox, where she slides down a shute into a counting pen.”
“Moneybox?”
He crossed the floor and clapped a rectangular frame on the wall. “One of these trap doors.”
“Must be a cheery job.” She mentioned the name of a famous shearing tune, then snapped her fingers in time with part of the chorus and sang, “‘Click, click, click.’”
When his green eyes showed his laughter, a hot knot pulled low at her core and Maddy had to school her features against revealing any hint of the sensation. A wicked smile. A lidded look. Being alone with Jack was never a good idea.
“A great Aussie song,” he said, “but unfortunately, not accurate.”
Reaching high, he drew a dented tin box off a grimy shelf. Maddy watched, her gaze lapping over the cords in his forearms as he opened the lid. Her heart skipped several beats as her eyes wandered higher to skim over his magnificent shoulders, his incredibly masculine chest. When that burning knot pulled again, she inhaled, forced her gaze away and realized that he’d removed something from the tin—a pair of manual shears, which looked like an extra large pair of very basic scissors.
“A shearer would keep these sharper than a cut throat,” he told her. “The idea wasn’t to snip or click—” he closed the blades twice quickly to demonstrate “—but to start at a point then glide the blades up through the wool.” He slid the shears along through the air.
“Like a dressmaker’s scissors on fabric.”
“Precisely.” He ambled over to a large rectangular table. “The fleece is lain out on one of these wool tables for skirting, when dags and burrs are removed, then it’s on to classing.”
He found a square of wool in the shears’ tin and traced a fingertip up the side of the white fleece. “The finer the wave, or crimp, the better the class.”
When he handed over the sample, their hands touched. She took the wool, and as she played with the amazing softness of the fleece, she was certain that a moment ago his fingers had indeed lingered over hers.
“After the wool is classed, it’s dropped into its appropriate bin,” he went on. “When there’s enough of one class, it’s pressed into bales. In the beginning, the clip was transported by bullock wagons. From here to the nearest town, Newcastle, was a seven month journey.”
Maddy could see Jack Prescott living and flourishing in such a time. He’d have an equally resilient woman by his side. As she gently rubbed the wool, Maddy closed her eyes and saw herself standing beside a nineteenth-century Jack Prescott and his bullock wagons. She quivered at the thought of the figure he would cut in this wilderness. Confident, intense, determined to succeed. That Jack, too, would conquer his environment, including any woman he held close and made love to at night.
Opening her eyes, feelings a little giddy, Maddy brought herself back. She really ought to stay focused.
“What do you plan to do with this place now?” she asked.
He looked around, his jaw tight. “Let it be.”
“But it seems such a waste.”
“The Australian wool industry hit its peak last century in the early fifties when my grandfather and his father ran the station, but that’s over for Leadeebrook.” His brows pinched and eyes clouded. “Times change.”
And you have to move along with them,she thought, gazing down as she stroked the fleece.Even if your heart and heritage are left behind.
His deep voice, stronger now, echoed through the enormous room. “There’s a gala on this weekend.”
Her gaze snapped up and, understanding, she smiled. “Oh, that’s fine. You go. I’m good to look after Beau.”
“You’re coming with me.”
He was rounding the table, moving toward her, and Maddy’s face began to flame.
They were miles from anyone, isolated in a way she’d never been isolated before. No prying eyes or baby cries to interrupt. That didn’t make the telltale heat pumping through her veins okay. Didn’t make the suggestion simmering in his eyes right either.
What was this? She’d wanted to believe he was a gentleman. An enigma, certainly, but honorable. Yet, here he was, blatantly hitting on her.
She squared her shoulders. “I’m sure your fiancée wouldn’t approve of your suggestion.”
His advance stopped and his jaw jutted. “I spoke with Tara this morning. I was wrong to consider marrying her. I said we should stay friends.”
Maddy’s thoughts began to spin. Clearly he’d broken off plans with Tara not only because of their embrace last night but because he had every intention of following that kiss up with another.
Whether he was spoken for or not, it wasn’t happening. She hardly knew this man. While she was physically attracted to him—shamefully so—she wasn’t even sure she liked him. And if he thought she was the kind to cave to temptation and fall into bed with someone for the hell of it, he was sadly mistaken.
“Jack, if this has anything to do with what happened between us last night … I mean, if you’re thinking that maybe—”
“I’m thinking that while you’re here, you might as well experience everything there is to offer. This is Beau’s new home and you’re our guest.”
Was she a guest or, more than ever, a challenge?
Even as the consequences of such a thought burrowed in to arouse her, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry but I won’t be attending any gala. I’m not here on vacation. It’s not fair to leave Cait with Beau.”
“You’re going to have to leave Beau soon enough.”
His thoughtful look—that fundamental statement—knocked her off balance and her hand, holding the wool, flattened on the table to steady her tilting weight.
Soon enough she would be gone. Depending on what lay behind her father’s ominous text message, perhaps sooner than expected. Her pragmatic side said she should be grateful that Cait was so good with the baby and happy that Jack seemed to be resolved to forge a relationship with Beau. Happy her life would be going back to normal. back to Sydney at this crucial stage in her career.
“You’ll need to pack a bag,” he said. “It’s a half hour flight from here.”
Maddy’s thoughts skipped back to the present. But he’d lost her. Half an hour’s flight? He was still talking about that gala?
“Why would I need a bag?”
“Simple.” He stepped out from the shadows and a jagged streak of light cut across his face. “You and I will be staying the night.”
Six
She’d been wrong. Jack wasn’t self-assured. He was plain-and-simple arrogant.
To think he expected her to not only attend this gala affair with him, but also stay the night, made Maddy more determined than ever to stand her ground. She wasn’t going. Fantasizing about throwing self-control to the wind and submitting to Jack’s smoldering advances was one thing. Agreeing to spend the night together was quite another.
If it’d been any other man, she’d have laughed in his face. Or slapped it. But Jack wasn’t any other man. He was a man of action who didn’t see a thing wrong with going after what he wanted.
And it seemed he wanted her.
Thankfully during the drive back to the house he didn’t bring the subject up again, although she was certain he hadn’t taken her objections seriously. He kept sending out the vibes … lidded looks and loaded phrases that left her half dizzy and, frankly, annoyed. Yes, she’d let him kiss her—deeply. Thoroughly. That did not mean she had any intention of acting impulsively and stealing away with him … even if part of her desperately wanted to.
After dinner, Jack took Beau out onto the veranda for some cool air while Maddy stayed behind to help Cait.
“I’m good here,” Cait told her, frothing soapy water at the sink. “You go keep Jock company with the bairn.”
Not on your life. She’d copped more than enough of Jack’s company—and sex appeal—for one day. Maddy flicked a tea towel off its rack.
“I’m sure he’d like time alone with Beau.” She rescued a dripping plate from the drainer and promptly changed the subject to something safer. “I’ve been meaning to say. the nursery’s beautiful. So fresh and the colors are just gorgeous.” Pastel blues and mauves with clouds stenciled on the ceiling and koalas painted on the walls.
Dishcloth moving, Cait nodded at the water. “I washed all the linen and curtains when Jock let me know.”
“Has that room always been the nursery? I mean, was it Jack’s and Dahlia’s room when they were babies?”
Cait’s hands stopped milling around in the suds. “Jock and Sue … his wife … they did it up.”
Maddy digested the information and slanted her head. “I didn’t think Jack wanted a family.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“In not so many words.” When Cait kept her focus on the sink, a dreadful goosebumpy feeling funneled through Maddy’s middle. What wasn’t the housekeeper telling her?
“Cait?” She set the tea towel aside. “What is it?”
After two full beats, Cait slumped and hung her head. “Sue wasn’t the only one who was taken from Jock that night three years ago.”
Maddy absorbed the words. When her mind settled on a plausible explanation, her hip hit the counter and a rush of tingles flew over her scalp.
Oh God. She closed her eyes and swallowed. “There was a baby, wasn’t there?”
“A baby boy who was wanted very much. And to have that happen just a year after his parents’ passing and Dahlia running off. He’d given up on the idea of family. Having a baby here at Leadeebrook … well, it’s hard for him.”
Maddy pressed against the sick feeling welling in her stomach. She could barely absorb it. “I wish I’d known.”
“He doesn’t talk about that day, though I’m sure he thinks about it often. Poor love, he blames himself.”
Jack exuded the confidence and ability of a man who could defeat any foe or would die trying. Having to face that he hadn’t been able to save his wife, his child …
Maddy swayed. She couldn’t imagine the weight on his conscience. Perhaps it was similar to the guilt she felt about pushing Dahlia out the door that day to have her nails and hair done. Would she ever forgive herself?
Maddy dragged herself back to the here and now. Knowing this much about Jack’s loss, she felt compelled to know more. More about how Jack’s past might affect his relationship with Beau. More about the steel cowboy who was very much a flesh and blood man underneath.
Before she could ask, Maddy’s senses prickled and she felt a presence at their backs. Heartbeat hammering, she rotated to face him.
Jack’s impressive frame filled the doorway. The baby lay asleep in one arm. His other hand was bunched by his side.
“Beau’s asleep,” he said.
Maddy secretly gripped the counter for support. He’d come up on them so quietly … how much had he heard? She was so taken aback, she could barely get her lips to work.
When she’d gathered herself, she came forward and with her arms out to take the baby, she managed a smile.
“I’ll put him down.”
With a single step, Jack retreated into the hall. “I can do it.”
Maddy’s arms lowered. When they’d met, she didn’t believe he had the wherewithal to care for this child beyond a grudging sense of duty. She certainly hadn’t envisaged him being hands-on, wanting to change and feed and put Beau to bed. Initially, when they’d arrived here, she’d placed his insistence to help in the ‘male pride’ slot—he’d once run a sheep stud empire, therefore looking after an infant should be a piece of cake.
But she’d seen a shift in his attitude, like when he’d spoken about the baby’s cheeky smile this afternoon, and when he’d lifted Beau out of the playpen to take him outside into the cool night. There’d been true caring in his eyes, a look that had touched a tender, hope-filled place inside of her.
Was he beginning to see Beau as a replacement for the child he’d lost? If so, wasn’t that a healing move for Jack as well as a good outcome for the baby? Her head said yes.
Yet something niggled.
Jack moved off down the hall to put Beau to bed and Maddy returned to the sink. Whether he went to his room later or out to the stables, she didn’t know but she didn’t see Jack again.
Afterward, she went to her room and sat on the edge of her downy bed. She’d experienced a gamut of emotions these past few days. Guilt and deepest sadness over Dahlia’s death. Fierce protectiveness toward Beau. Anger then curiosity toward Jack, followed more recently by acute physical desire and ultimately, tonight, empathy.
Slipping off her shoes, she took in her surroundings.
She didn’t fit here, but Beau would—or did. The walls of this homestead contained memories, connections, history that were a part of who he was and Dahlia had known it. But this cozy quiet room, with its lace curtains, white cast iron headboard, patchwork quilt and rustic timber floors, was so not her. Madison Tyler was tailored suits and classic jewelry, multiple meetings and hardnose decisions. At this point in her life, Madison Tyler was the Pompadour account.
Exhaling, she studied her BlackBerry on the bedside table. Good or bad, she couldn’t put that phone call off any longer.
Her father picked up with his usual abbreviated greeting. “Tyler here.”
Maddy held the phone tighter to her ear. “Hey, Dad.”
He groaned a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I need you back here yesterday.”
Holding her brow, she fell back against the quilt. Worse than she’d thought.
“What’s wrong?”
“Pompadour wants to look at the campaign at the end of next week.”
Her eyes flew open while her heart sank. “That’s two weeks earlier than scheduled.”
“They’re eager to see what we have. I’m eager to show them.” His voice cooled. “What about you?”
She visualized her big desk in her corner office suite even as she gazed at the vintage molded ceiling and felt today’s soft fleece beneath her fingers. Then she heard Jack’s plea … you and I are staying the night.
Her stomach knotted.
Her father wanted her to leave straight away?
“Maddy, you there?”
Thinking quick, she sat up. Today was Tuesday.
“The Pompadour proposal is polished and printed,” she told him. “There’s only the Powerpoint to tidy up and a final briefing with the staff involved. If I get back mid-next week, say crack of dawn Wednesday, that’ll be plenty of time to pull those last strings together.”
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