Bargaining for Baby (8 page)

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.”

S
he’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.”

Tension crackled down the line. “Honey, I’ve been patient. I understand what good friends you were with that girl. But you’ve done what you promised. You’ve delivered the boy to his new home. Now it’s time to get back to looking after you. Looking after your own future.”

Maddy drew her legs up and hugged her knees. He was right. Absolutely. Given the circumstances, it was only logical she get back to her life, pronto. Still…

She gnawed her bottom lip. “Dad, can you give me until Monday?”

She imagined her father shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“You have a choice to make,” he said, not unkindly. “Either come back and finish the job or I’ll have to give it to someone who can.”

Her throat closed. “But I’ve put so much work into that campaign.” Storyboards, multiple media schedules, months spent on research both in Australia and overseas.

“This isn’t about being fair. I love you, but that’s personal. This is about business. You’re either with Tyler Advertising a hundred percent or you’re not.”

She let go of her knees and straightened. “I understand.”

She really did. And yet leaving Beau here after only one day seemed…worse than heartless.

As if reading her thoughts, her father sighed the way he used to when she was young and had pleaded for another scoop of ice cream after dinner.

“If you really think you can pull it off…all right. I’ll give you ’til Monday to get back.”

She pushed to her feet, beaming. “Really?”

“Monday eight a.m.,” he decreed. “Not a minute later.”

She said goodbye and thought over how thirteen days at Leadeebrook had dwindled down to five. At least she didn’t have to hop on a plane back to Sydney as soon as tomorrow. But now she needed to make the most of every minute she had with Beau.

She crept the short distance down the darkened hall and when she reached the nursery, the door was ajar. After tiptoeing in, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows and moonlight streaming in through the partly opened window. The outline of the crib grew more distinct as the smell of baby powder and Beau filled her lungs. Feeling the cool timber then soft center rug beneath her feet, she inched closer until her fingers curled over the sturdy cot rail. She smiled. Beau was sound asleep.

She stood there for she didn’t know how long, simply drinking in the angelic form, filing this memory away for later. In this wedge of time, Sydney and Tyler’s Advertising were another world away. Another universe.

And she was more than okay with that.

A creak came from behind. Heart zipping to her throat, Maddy spun around. A hulking shadow in the corner took
on shape as it straightened out of a chair and edged toward her. She smothered a breathless gasp. An intruder?

But as the figure drifted closer, its build became unmistakable. Of course it was Jack. Saying not a thing the whole while she’d been there.

“Why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?” she whispered, hoping the irritation showed in her voice. No one liked to be spied on.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.” He came closer. “But when you stayed…”

He stopped beside her and his simmering magnetism at once drew her in. It was as if she were a planet being sucked into the heat of the sun, or the day needing to surrender to the unconditional blanket of the night.

Bracing herself, Maddy locked her weakened knees.

She needed to get out of here, away from him, before she did something foolish like let him kiss her again. She had to keep
focused
. But she needed to say something important—something that couldn’t wait—before she left this room.

“I spoke with my father tonight,” she told him. “He needs me back in Sydney early.”

The dark slashes of his brows swooped together. “How early?”

“Monday morning.”

His frown lowered to Beau. “How do you feel about that?”

She batted a reply around in her head and decided on, “I don’t have a choice.”

“Doesn’t give me much time to get you in a saddle.”

When he grinned, she gave in to a smile, too.
You wish.
“But it
does
give us time for the gala,” he went on. “Do you have a dress?”

Her jaw dropped and an exasperated sound escaped her throat.

“I seriously cannot believe you.” The baby stirred. Gathering herself, she pressed her lips together and hushed her voice. “I’m not going anywhere with you, particularly not now that I only have five days left with Beau.”

Even if, admittedly, when she’d spoken on the phone with her father and had asked for more time, going to the gala with Jack had been something of a consideration.

“Five days, yes,” Jack agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t come back.”

The words hit her, caressed her, and she could only blink. Just days ago he’d barely wanted to know her and now…

She half smiled. “You want me to come
back?
”

“Now don’t be shy. I know you’re secretly attached to the Mitchell grass and the dust.”

She almost laughed. Never,
ever
would that happen. But…

“I would like to come back and see Beau,” she added to be clear.

“That can be arranged. On one condition.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this going to be an offer I can’t refuse?”

“Hope so.” He turned to her and held her with his eyes. “Come away with me, Maddy. One night. Just one. Don’t make me beg.”

They’d known each other such a short time. But she was convinced of his strength and confidence and, above all else, his pride. The idea of him begging…

She touched her forehead.

He made her feel vulnerable. Desirable.
Hot.
How a woman should feel with a man. He almost made her feel too intensely.

“What are you afraid of?” His head angled and a lock of hair fell over his furrowed brow. When he moved closer, his height, his overpowering presence, seemed to curl over and absorb her.

“Once I thought I had all the time in the world,” he murmured into the dark. “But we both know life isn’t always that way. If we had more time, I probably wouldn’t have suggested this.” A corner of his mouth hooked up. “Then again, maybe I would have.”