Her Tycoon to Tame (2 page)

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

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

Cold eyes, cold heart,
Nellie had always said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wyatt has promised to continue employing Nellie.”

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

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

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

“And then what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My cottage! Ohmigod. Where will I live?

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

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

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

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

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

The man would be her boss.

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

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

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

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

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

A
nger licked along Wyatt's nerve endings like kindling catching fire. Luthor Sutherland had deliberately deceived him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's confidential information,” Hannah protested.

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'll be the judge of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

She hit the answer button. “Hannah Sutherland.”

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

Click.

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

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

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

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

She wasn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

“Why is this the busy season?”

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