Her Tycoon to Tame (11 page)

“A few staff members have volunteered for shifts when they're off the clock, and with the state vet school only an hour away I'll try to recruit students to lend a hand. Twins are unusual, so the mare's pregnancy and the foals' development are of interest. One of the professors has already asked to use my notes as a case study for his class. It helps to know that losing Sable might teach future vets how to get better outcomes in similar situations.”

“Could you have gotten a better outcome?”

She shivered beneath her inadequate coat and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Probably not. Anyway, thanks for stopping by. Good night.”

“You can't sleep here.”

“I couldn't sleep anywhere else,” she replied without hesitation.

He pointed to the camera mounted in the corner of the
stall. “If that's video surveillance you could watch them from wherever your monitors are located—somewhere warmer, I'll bet.”

Half-defiant, half-exhausted, she glared at him. “I won't leave them, Wyatt. You can't make me.”

Her challenge sent adrenaline pumping through him. “The hell I can't.”

“Then you'll have to have security haul me out, and I doubt you can convince Jeremiah to manhandle me. He's worked here twenty years.”

So Jeremiah was the security guard. Wyatt didn't doubt what Hannah said. In his two meetings with management, he'd learned one thing. The staff was extremely loyal to Hannah. “Why would you camp here when you could pay one of the grooms to do it?”

“You're the one who harps on not spending unnecessary money, remember?” The defiant color drained from her cheeks. “But even if I did have a rich benefactor to foot the bill, I wouldn't leave. I couldn't save Sable. Trying to pull her foals through is the least I can do for her.”

The cynical side of him told him this cold, disheveled woman who put orphaned animals ahead of her own comfort seemed too good-hearted to be true. But when he looked into Hannah's eyes her dedication seemed genuine, and as unlikely as it might be, he wanted to believe she was as unselfish and unspoiled as she appeared at this moment.

Had he completely misjudged her? Or had the chemistry between them demolished his objectivity? Had to be the latter.

Whatever the case, it didn't change the fact that she stood between him and his plans for this farm.

He had to get rid of her. But having her die of hypothermia wasn't the way to accomplish his goal. And it would be bad for business.

W
yatt turned and stalked in the direction he'd come taking his narrow beam of light with him.

“Good riddance,” Hannah mumbled under her breath. She didn't want him here anyway. The night had been difficult enough. She didn't have the energy to deal with him. He kept her on edge, and he had a gift for sucking the strength right out of her.

But it had been decent of him to check on her, and he hadn't seemed angry. Sam must not have let anything slip about their adventures during the trip or Wyatt would have been livid.

Forget Wyatt. You have more important things to deal with tonight.

Nearly numb from the cold, Hannah shuffled closer to the heat lamps, trying not to disturb the sleeping foals. Exhaustion weighted her muscles. She should have brought a heavier coat or maybe worn thermals, but the late spring days were so warm she hadn't brought a parka with her and she hadn't
wanted to go home to get one. The wind kicking up outside didn't help. It siphoned heat from the barn.

She checked the foals' respiratory rates, then moved back to her corner and started doing knee bends to work some circulation into her legs.

A noise down the aisle made her pause and cock her head. Jeremiah wasn't due for another pass, but he did tend to worry about her. She looked over the stall wall and spotted someone stalking toward her in the darkness. The glare of a bright flashlight beam obscured his features, but she couldn't mistake that confident stride. Wyatt had returned. Adrenaline pumped through her veins chasing away her chill.

As he drew nearer she noticed he carried bundles under each arm. “What is all that?”

“Sleeping bags. Jeremiah told me where to find them. If you insist on bunking here, you need insulation. Open the door.”

She did as he asked. “There are four of them.”

“Two for beds. Two for pillows.”

Her neck prickled a warning. She didn't have to be a mathematician to know—uh-uh. “That's two too many.”

“If you're staying, I'm staying.”

No!
Her internal muscles contracted. “You don't need to—”

“There's only one way to get me out of this stall, Hannah. You leave first.”

She didn't want him here, but she could hardly order him off his own land. And she had to admit a tiny part of her was impressed that Mr. Designer Duds would stoop to sleeping in a barn. “Not happening.”

“Then you're stuck with me.”

No sweet dreams in her future. “You're the boss.”

“Don't forget it.”

“As if you'd let me,” she grumbled and took two of the bags from him. She unrolled one in her corner, then propped the second against the wall for a back brace. Determined to ignore
him, she sank into the cushiony softness, slipped into the sack, tugged the warm covers to her chest and closed her eyes.

The air stirred. Her lids popped open as Wyatt's bag fluttered to the floor an inch from hers.
No, no, no.

“You'll have more room to stretch out over there.” She pointed to the opposite corner.

“You'll have more warmth if I'm here.”

True, but— “Don't even suggest zipping our bags together. I'm not sharing body heat with you.”

He shot her a lowered eyebrow look. “I wasn't offering.”

Dread snagged like a fur ball in her throat and agitation skipped along her nerves. It only worsened when he stretched his long legs beside hers and his warmth radiated in her direction, beckoning her closer. She clenched her muscles and fought the urge.

He leaned against the stall wall. “This isn't like any stall I've ever been in. Why are you using rubber mats and fresh straw instead of shavings?”

“Birthing stalls require surfaces we can disinfect to keep the bacteria count down. So you
probably
won't catch anything sleeping here. But if you don't want to chance it…”

“Good try, doc.”

“Would have been better if it had worked.”

His lips twitched in what could have been a smile if he hadn't checked it, and for a moment Hannah was happy to have his company. Then she came to her senses. If he was staying, he must have an ulterior motive.

Wyatt shifted his attention to the babies in their straw nest. She could have sworn some of the rigidity in his jaw softened. “I've never seen horses this small.”

“That's because the usual foal is around a hundred pounds. Each of these weighs roughly half that. The bay colt is slightly heavier than the black filly. She's the one in the greatest danger, but as long as she eats she has a chance.”

He turned suddenly and their gazes collided. The boyish wonder on his face made her breath catch. When he shed his
arrogant I'm-the-boss-of-you demeanor, she could
almost
like him. Suddenly sharing a stall seemed too intimate, too…close.

He observed her in that lingering, silent way of his, making her want to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. As long as it was away from him. Her toes curled in her boots and her nipples stiffened—unfortunately not from the cold. She tugged the sleeping bag to her chin and cursed her overactive hormones.

Hannah Faith, you are no better than the animals you work with. One whiff of a potential mate and you get all hot and bothered.

Okay, so Wyatt is sexy. Big deal.

And he knows how to kiss. So what?

She wasn't going to let anything happen between them. Because he was a coldhearted jerk and her boss, and she was
not
interested. But her hands grew clammy and her pulse raced out of control.

“Get some sleep,” he commanded with his usual superiority.

Did he honestly believe she could calmly lie down and sleep with the enemy when he'd made it crystal clear that he wanted her long gone? “Just because you order it doesn't mean it'll happen.”

“Does my presence disturb you, Hannah?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

His hiked eyebrow called her a liar. “Am I being ridiculous?”

She scowled at him. Her body tingled with awareness. Not awareness. Irritation. Heat invaded her limbs and torso. On the upside, she wasn't cold anymore. But on the downside… It had been a tough night. Watching Sable's struggle had brought back horrible memories, and she needed a hug.

But not from him.

His lips tipped in a half smile. “Good night, Hannah.”

Cocky, autocratic bastard. “I have to feed them in a couple of hours.”

“I'll help.”

“Wyatt, you don't need—”

“Didn't we already establish that I'm the boss?”

She clamped her molars shut and silently fumed. She should have known the nice guy wouldn't last. At least now she had her hormones under control.

“I'm not likely to forget who's in charge since you rub it in my face every few minutes. If you want to rough it in a cold, drafty barn, I won't try to stop you.”

In fact, she'd even enjoy his discomfort—even if it meant she had to suffer his company. But if he thought he could order her to sleep and she'd blindly obey, he had another thought coming. She would never, ever be able to relax with him nearby—especially now that she'd discovered Wyatt had a crumb of human decency buried somewhere under his thick ogre hide.

 

“Hannah.”

Hannah ignored the voice, snuggled deeper into the pillow beneath her cheek and curled her fingers into the pillow case. Then several things needled her to consciousness simultaneously.

That hadn't been her father's voice trying to wake her for school. Her pillow smelled like sandalwood and cypress rather than her lilac-scented sheets, and the case didn't feel like crisp Egyptian cotton. Her down pillow was hard, warm and thumping.

Thumping?

Awareness of where she was and why and who she had her cheek pressed against thundered through her like a jumper's hooves racing the time clock. She stiffened and her eyes flew open to the dim red glow of the heat lamps. A strong band tightened around her and long, strong fingers curled into her waist, anchoring her in place.

Wyatt's arm. Wyatt's hand.

“Move slowly. Don't startle them.” His chest rumbled
beneath her ear, and the vibration traveled straight down her spine, settling like a seltzer tablet in the pit of her stomach.

She shoved her hair out of her eyes and eased upright. Wyatt reclined beside her with his head and shoulders propped against the rolled up sleeping bag and his legs stretched out in front of him. His coat had fallen open to reveal his charcoal grey cashmere sweater—the softness she'd felt against her palm and cheek.

Embarrassment toasted her face. “I'm sorry. I—”

“Forget it. Look.”

The softness of his voice snagged her attention, and then he smiled and she couldn't have turned away if flames had been licking at the stall door. Her stomach swooped like a barn swallow.

Wow.

That white smile slashing across his stubble-darkened face was a sight to behold. She'd never seen him smile before. And he looked good. Good enough to make her remember the kisses they'd shared and to want to curl up beside him and experiment with a few more. Her gaze fell to his tenderly curving lips.

Bad idea. Seriously bad idea, Hannah.

But the troublemaker in her head automatically registered the still-dark skylights overhead, which meant the staff hadn't arrived yet. Unless Jeremiah did a walk-by, then she and Wyatt were alone and unlikely to be interrupted.

His gaze locked with hers, and the temperature climbed a dozen degrees. The high stall walls enclosed them in a private world, wrapping them in a cocoon of intimacy. A hundred heartbeats raced past. Then his Adam's apple bobbed and a muscle in his jaw bunched. “Hannah.
The. Foals.
”

An itty-bitty part of her brain noted his quietly rumbled order, but processing the words was a different matter when her skin steamed and her mind had apparently drowned in a hormonal hot spring.

He cupped her jaw. Desire bubbled up her throat. Her mouth watered in anticipation of his kiss, then his lips hardened. He pushed her chin toward the opposite side of the stall and withdrew his hand.

The sensual haze clouding her vision vanished like a popped bubble. The filly trembled on her haunches, extending one spindly front leg then the other. Everything in Hannah urged her to rush forward and help, but as if he'd read her mind, Wyatt's long, strong fingers closed around her wrist and held her back.

The filly's fumbling efforts rousted the colt. He wobbled and wavered and made it to his feet seconds before his sister, then he gave a triumphant little buck and promptly stumbled and fell.

Wyatt's low laugh startled them all—probably Hannah more than the four-legged occupants of the stall. She stared at him. How had she ever thought his eyes cold? The brown irises glimmered like the tiger's-eye ring she'd bought as a teenager.

Her entire body tingled at the awareness in his eyes. Awareness and restraint.
He
had control of
his
impulses. They shared another moment of silent connection—a connection she didn't want or need
with him.
She tried to shake off her unacceptable response, cleared her throat and twisted her wrist from his hold.

She peeled her gaze from his and spotted the straw clinging to his no-longer-crisply-pressed pant leg. She grimaced. “I'm sorry about your clothes.”

He shrugged, bringing her attention to those broad shoulders. Specifically the one she'd slept on—the one with the tiny damp spot where her mouth had been. She'd drooled on him. A fresh wave of embarrassment swamped her.

“They're just pants, Hannah.”

“Yes, I guess they are, and if you can afford to spend millions on a farm more or less sight unseen, then I guess you can afford to replace a pair of custom-made pants.” She
forced out the acidic words hoping to sever the intimacy of the moment. Judging by the way his expression hardened, she'd succeeded.

Strangely, annoying him didn't provide nearly as much satisfaction as she'd hoped.

Then he shook his head. “Seeing this is worth an entire wardrobe.”

Her breath hitched in surprise. Who was this man and where had the arrogant bottom-line bastard who'd been her boss gone? She actually liked this version of Wyatt. And liking a man with a calculator for a heart was dangerous territory. She could
actually
feel her body willing her to move in his direction. Instead, she swallowed and shook her head. “This chemistry between us can't go anywhere. You know that, don't you, Wyatt?”

Wyatt, like Robert, wanted her land and not her. Both were bottom-line, budget dictators like her father, who had apparently forgotten all about the farm he'd once loved.

And yet the knowledge that Wyatt shared traits with the men who'd done her wrong didn't stop her heart from bucking in her chest. A current of electricity hummed from his palm to hers, then traveled up her arm across her breasts and down her torso to settle heavily below her navel.

“At least you're admitting there is chemistry now. And yes, it is inappropriate.” If she wanted to break this link—and she did—she'd have to find the strength to push him away.

“What happened with Sam and the doctor?”

Wyatt's expression went blank, but at least she'd broken the push-pull bond. He rose and towered over her. “Isn't it time to feed the foals?”

“In other words, none of my business.” Maybe Sam would tell her later.

“It's not none of your business. It's just—” He shook his head and extended his hand. “We need to prepare the formula.”

She didn't want to risk touching him again, but she couldn't pretend she didn't see the big, broad palm in front of her face.
Reluctantly, she put her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers and her body, apparently still in loco land, reacted with a skipping pulse and another bubbly burst of fizz.