Her Tycoon to Tame (10 page)

Wyatt stood by one of her charts, hands on hips, aggression in every lean line of his body. She closed her office door for privacy. If she was going to be fired, she didn't want the rest of the staff to hear or try to come to her rescue, thereby jeopardizing their jobs.

She slid behind her desk in an effort to establish a wall of professionalism between them and quickly realized her mistake. Sitting gave Wyatt the advantage. He loomed over her, making her tilt her head back to meet his diamond-hard gaze.

“If Constantine is here to buy horses, why wasn't he talking to our highly paid sales staff?”

“One, because he wanted detailed information about the bloodline and temperament bred into each horse—my specialty since both horses are bred from Sutherland stock. And two, Megan referred him to me.”

“Who is Megan?”

“My cousin. She rides the European Grand Prix circuit.” She gestured to the framed photo on her shelf of Megan with one of her champion horses.

It seemed ironic or maybe a cruel twist of fate that Megan had inherited Hannah's parents' grace, talent and the aggressive nature required to compete successfully on the Grand Prix circuit. Unfortunately, Megan's competitive instincts hadn't rubbed off on Hannah, even though the two of them had been as close as sisters—especially after her cousin had moved into Sutherland Farm following her parents' and brother's deaths fifteen years ago. The loss of their mothers had linked the cousins in a way no one else could comprehend.

And right now Megan would be telling me to put the enemy on the defensive by striking his weak spot.
Wyatt's weakness was his lack of practical horse knowledge.

Only Hannah hadn't told Megan about Wyatt because…she didn't know what to say. The man put her emotions in a blender and churned them into an unrecognizable mush.

Hannah took a deep breath. “What were you thinking to let
your pilot fly that close to the ground? You scared the horses. If we'd had riders in the outdoor ring, as we did earlier, their mounts could have been spooked and the riders thrown.”

“I was trying to locate you.”

Her stomach muscles contracted.
Here we go.
“Why?”

He parked his fists on her desk and leaned forward, encroaching on her space and making her heart beat double-time and her mouth dry up. “I read the literature you gave me, and then I did more research on the studies and the doctors. Your theories might not be complete snake oil.”

Surprise and relief whooshed the air out of her lungs. Wow. A man who wasn't afraid to admit he was wrong. “Really? I mean, of course they're not. I told you I've seen rehabilitation therapy work.”

“I've made an appointment for Sam with the doctor leading one of the studies. You're coming with us. You've seen his theories in practice and will know if what he says about Sam has merit.”

Problem. If she and Sam spent any time together in front of Wyatt, Sam was bound to let something slip about his work with Phoenix and their secret would be out. As much as Hannah ached to gloat over Sam's progress after only three days' work, it was too soon to prove her point. She had to bide her time until she had irrefutable evidence that even Wyatt couldn't ignore.

And then there was the whole spend-a-night-in-the-same-hotel-as-Wyatt issue. Not a good idea. Not with this unsettling whatever-it-was between them.

“Um…when?” she stalled while trying to think of a good excuse.

“The chopper is waiting to take us to the airport as soon as you pack. Sam's appointment is tomorrow afternoon. We'll fly to Atlanta tonight via the company jet and return Thursday evening.”

Tension drained from her, chased by worry at the reason she had to stay here. “I can't go.”

His expression darkened. “It wasn't a request, Hannah.”

“Wyatt, I'm not refusing for the sake of being obstinate. I really can't go. Not this week…and probably not next.”

“You'd better have a good reason for refusing an order.”

She twisted a pencil in her fingertips, battling a sense of hopelessness. “One of the mares is about to foal any hour now. I need to be here with her.”

“She can't give birth alone or under someone else's supervision?”

“She's older and carrying twins. Twins might be routine in humans, but not in horses. Sable is already showing signs this will be a difficult delivery.”

“Why isn't the mare manager handling this?”

He wasn't going to like her answer. “Sable is one of my rescue horses.”

The corners of his mouth turned down.

“Don't worry. If the foals survive, there will be horses to sell to recoup some expenses.”

“If?”

She bit her lip and pushed up from her desk. “The odds aren't the best. In fact, I need to check the mare's status now. I don't know how you managed to get an appointment with the specialist so quickly when most people wait months, but thank you for agreeing to take Sam. You won't regret it, and I can't wait to hear what the doctor has to say.”

She just hoped Sam didn't let their secret slip or she'd be out of a job and her dream—hers and her mother's—would be killed.

 

Using a flashlight Wyatt checked the brass stall numbers in the darkened barn. As crazy as it seemed, he needed to see Hannah. Tonight.

It wasn't because he missed butting heads with her, but simply because she deserved to know the doctor's findings supported her program. The neurologist believed involvement with horses could slow Sam's decline. The question was how
to implement the practices without risking Sam's well-being. Wyatt was counting on Hannah's knowledge of the program to help him develop a safe but effective strategy.

When she hadn't answered the door at her cottage he'd made his way to the stables where he'd run into the security guard who'd told him where to find Hannah.

Wyatt located the stall. A strange energy hummed through him as he approached the chest-high solid wall. An eerie red glow lit the box, but he didn't see or hear Hannah. Two of the smallest horses he'd ever seen lay intertwined on a bed of straw on the far side of the compartment beneath the red lamps. Heat lamps?

Those had to be the twins Hannah had been expecting. But where was their mother and why had she been separated from them? Even with his limited knowledge of horse reproduction, he knew babies fed almost immediately after birth and often thereafter.

And where was Hannah? He'd seen no sign of her in the silent building. Had she taken the mare elsewhere? He swung the beam up and down the dark aisle. No Hannah.

A sigh and shuffle caught his attention. He leaned closer to peer through the vertical slats and spotted boots in the near right corner—boots connected to long, denim-clad legs. Legs he'd recognize anywhere because they'd planted themselves in the forefront of his thoughts lately.

His pulse jumped. Hannah slept slouched in the corner with her head tilted at an angle guaranteed to reward her with sore neck tomorrow.

He eased open the latch, but the click echoed through the silent barn. Hannah jerked upright, her owlish gaze shooting straight for the foals then turning to find him. She squinted at the flashlight beam and threw up an arm to shield her face.

“Jeremiah?”

Her sleep-husky voice zapped him like a shorted wire, jolting his pulse into overdrive.

“No. Wyatt.” Who in the hell was Jeremiah and why would
she be expecting him in the middle of the night? He lowered the beam and pulled the door shut behind him while he willed his unacceptable reaction to her away. “What are you doing?

“Keeping an eye on the babies.”

“Where's the mare?”

Hannah ducked her head. Her hair fell forward to conceal her face behind a tangled curtain. “I had to put Sable down. I knew the odds were against her, but I was hoping… She's gone.” Her voice grew smaller and tighter with each word until the last was barely a whisper. She took a shuddery deep breath.

Irritation surged through him at Hannah's feigned struggle for composure. The women he'd known always used emotional routines to milk sympathy and cash from men. A part of him was disappointed that she had confirmed his initial opinion of her.

Then she leaned her head against the wall and swallowed. The dark strands slid across her pale skin, drawing his attention to the circles of exhaustion smudged like lavender thumbprints beneath her eyes and to what looked to be dried tear streaks on her cheeks.
Dried.
Not freshly generated for his benefit. Something shifted inside him. Her grief was real, not an award-worthy pretense.

She took a deep, shaky breath. “Life and death are routine aspects of living on a horse farm. Age, colic and injuries take horses all the time. When all else fails, putting them down is routine and humane.”

The stilted speech sounded like one she'd chanted a hundred times. “Who are you trying to convince, doc? Me or yourself?”

She blinked. “I'm just stating the facts.”

But the pain straining her voice was unmistakable, and the way she tried to deny she was upset impressed him a hell of a lot more than crocodile tears or pleas for sympathy would.

Empathy welled in his chest. “I saw you with the other mare. I'm sure you did everything you could with this one.”

“I'd like to think I did, but…” Drawing her knees up to her chest and hugging them, she stared at the sleeping foals. “It's never easy to give up. I keep thinking of other things I could have tried.”

No, giving up hope was never easy, and watching someone—some
thing
—suffer and fade away was hard, too. “Sometimes it's better to cut your losses and walk away.”

She looked at him through spiky lashes. “I never quit when there's still a chance. I didn't know Daisy was pregnant when Doc brought her. When I discovered her condition I had a choice between terminating one of the twins or hoping for the best. The ultrasound showed that the filly was the smaller of the two. She's the one I would have had to—” Her voice cracked. “But she looked healthy and perfectly formed, and I couldn't—”

She plucked at a piece of straw clinging to her jeans. He caught her surreptitiously wiping her cheek on her sleeve and something inside him unraveled. She was trying to hide her tears rather than use them to manipulate him. How totally unlike the women of his experience.

He liked Hannah better when she was ornery and defiant and trying to con him into opening his wallet for her worthless nags. As perverted as it sounded, their arguments energized him. This vulnerable side of her made him uncomfortable. He didn't know how to handle it or like the way it made him feel.

The impulse to put an arm around her stiff shoulders appeared out of nowhere. He locked his knees against the urge to lower himself to the floor beside her. He wasn't into emotional displays and managed to restrain the impulse to hug her. Barely.

He didn't do hugs. His parents had taught him that hugs were meaningless gestures. Sam had been more likely to give him an encouraging slap on the back than get mushy or sentimental. But even without the hugs, Wyatt had known Sam cared—probably more than either of Wyatt's self-involved
parents and definitely more than the women who had professed their love to Wyatt over the years.

That's why watching Sam become a shadow of the man he'd once been was so agonizing. It was as if Sam were leaving him one memory at a time, and it was why Wyatt had bought the farm with the intention of only making the occasional weekend visit. He wanted Sam safe, happy and comfortable, but mostly he wanted Sam out of sight, he admitted with a stab of unease between his shoulder blades. Hannah's presence and her rescue operation had derailed that plan.

Though she'd averted her face he could see her blinking furiously to keep the tears in her eyes from spilling over. “I played it safe. I didn't intervene other than to give Sable additional supplements and support. Turns out I made a mistake.”

Blame. He understood that, too. Hadn't he repeatedly questioned himself on how and when he'd started missing signs of Sam's battle and what would have happened if he'd paid attention and sought treatment sooner? By the time he'd forced Sam into retirement there had been a few costly errors at Triple Crown.

“Look at that filly, Hannah. She's going to be a beauty. How could giving her life ever be deemed a mistake?”

Surprise and gratitude eased some of the pain from her eyes. Had he been such a bastard to her? Yes, he had. A slow smile curved her lips, and he instantly recalled the texture and taste of her mouth. Damn it.

“You're right. And Sable would want it this way. She'd want her babies to have a chance. Thanks, Wyatt.”

“What are the foals' chances?”

When her smile faltered he congratulated himself on severing the feel-good tug between them. “Good if they make it through the first forty-eight hours, better if they make it seventy-two.” She checked her watch. “We're approaching the twelve-hour mark.”

“Nursing an orphan, let alone two, is a twenty-four hour job. Who's going to care for them?”

Her chin snapped up. She scrambled to her feet and wobbled. He caught her arm to steady her, feeling her muscles flex in his grip before she shrugged him off.

Touching her felt good. And right. But it wasn't. Her employee status made her taboo. And if she was a woman who lived on the edge of her messy emotions, the best he could do was avoid her.

“The foals are my responsibility, but not at the expense of my work, if that's what you're concerned about.”

The prickly woman he knew had returned. Thank God.
Her
he could handle. “You can't do it alone. Who's going to help you?”

She raked her fingers through her tangled hair, then absently began to braid it. The action arched her back and displayed her breasts to mouth-watering advantage. What was it about her that made every move a sensual invitation? It took conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face and not her curves.