Her Tycoon to Tame (9 page)

Despite his anger, his blood headed south. Did she have any idea how alluring the gesture was? Of course she did. Hannah might be stubborn, but from what he'd seen, she wasn't stupid. Except fiscally.

“Sam's exactly the kind of person who benefits most from our therapeutic riding program.”

Her statement dashed ice water over his distraction. He would have to be especially careful about keeping her away from Sam. A woman with her skills could lure an unsuspecting old man down the wrong road.

“You're an animal doctor, not a people doctor. Leave Sam's care to the specialists who know what they're doing.”

“Maybe you're seeing the wrong doctors,” she retorted.

“I've hired the best in the business.”

“Apparently not, or you'd have Sam physically involved in something he cares about greatly.” She crossed to a desk in
the corner, then returned with a sheaf of papers and stabbed them in his direction. “I printed these out for you. Read what the enlightened professionals have to say. Engaging in physical activity improves mental acuity and coordination. If you really care about Sam and want to help him, then you'll bring him to our riding class Sunday.”

“You have the disposition of a leaky faucet. Do you plan to erode my resistance with persistent nagging? We've already covered this ground.”

“We haven't even begun to scrape the surface. Read the documentation. Unless you're afraid I'm right. And you're wrong.”

He yanked the papers from her hand. He might even glance through them while he was stuck on the plane tomorrow—just so he could discredit her research.

“Wyatt, when I invited you to observe the class before, it was with the abstract notion that you might have a crumb of human decency and compassion for others who are less fortunate somewhere inside your calculator heart. Now that I've met your stepfather, I know Find Your Center can touch
you
personally and change
your
life for the better by improving Sam's. This isn't about you generously helping others any more, Wyatt. This is about helping yourself. Looking out for number one—something at which I'm sure you excel. Sam and FYC will just happen to benefit in the process.”

Anger and frustration volcanoed through him. He couldn't believe she'd stoop so low as to use Sam for her own self-interest and accuse
him
of being selfish. He shot to his feet. “Don't try to cloak your agenda behind a feigned desire to help Sam. Mind your own business.”

“Find Your Center is my business. It's also yours.”

“It's not profitable, and, like any other wasteful expense, it will be cut from the budget.”

“You bottom-line thinkers are all alike. You're too blinded by numbers to see that sometimes there's a greater reward than profit.”

“This from a woman who lives beyond her means?”

She rolled her eyes. “I have been very fortunate, but I work hard. I don't demand or expect any concessions because I'm the—I
was
the boss's daughter.”

“I've seen no evidence of that.”

“Give me a chance and you will.” Concern replaced the fire in her eyes. “Forget your prejudices and the money for a minute, if you can, and tell me about Sam. He seemed very cognizant when we spoke, and in a span of two minutes he made more progress with the new mare than my trainers and I have made since she arrived.”

That was the old Sam. The new one couldn't be trusted not to put himself in jeopardy—a point he'd proven with near disastrous results. Watching his decline helplessly from the sidelines these past few years had to be the most frustrating challenge Wyatt had ever faced. It was one of the reasons he hadn't intended visiting the farm often once he had Sam installed. He couldn't bear to watch.

“Sam has good days and bad. You caught him on a good one. Keep him off the horses.”

“Why?”

“He might get hurt.”

“I told you we take every precaution to—”

“No riding.”

“Wyatt, Sam isn't a cask of whiskey that you can stash in storage and expect him to improve with age. Quality of life is important. Don't take away something he cares so much about. He has an affinity with horses that he should be allowed to pursue. He needs to feel useful. If you want to slow his decline you have to challenge him and keep him mentally and physically engaged. Let him participate in the class.”

Her eyes narrowed, then she cocked her head and studied him the way she had the mare's infected wounds. “Maybe you don't want him to get better. Perhaps his decline benefits you and strengthens your role in the company.”

Fury boiled inside him at her implication. “I am paying a
damned fortune to protect Sam and keep him comfortable. I am not holding him back.”

His voice sounded more growl than human. Anyone who knew him would back off. Not Hannah. She threw back her shoulders. But it would take more than great breasts to distract him.

“And yet you're still losing him. How much worse can it get?”

“You have no idea what you're talking about. You haven't heard the doctors' prognoses or watched Sam fade away right before your eyes.”

Compassion softened her face. “No, I haven't witnessed Sam's decline. But I've seen the magic happen for people worse off than Sam. I've seen hope restored to a lot of defeated faces—faces like yours. And Sam's. Riding may not be a cure, but it does buy time in a positive, enjoyable way. Give FYC a chance to work a miracle. For Sam. For you.”

Rage against the situation and his helplessness surged through him. He wanted to punch something. He clenched his fists so hard the skin around his knuckles felt as if it would split. He didn't know how much time Sam had left, but he wasn't going to shorten it by letting his stepfather take unnecessary risks.

“I've told you before, I don't believe in miracles. Stay away from Sam.”

“But—”

“He's too fragile and unsteady to get on the back of a horse.”

“As I've explained, his balance and muscle tone will improve if—”

“I repeat, Sam is not riding. That is not negotiable. Find your new stable and get the hell out of my life.”

He turned on his heel and left before he did something to relieve the tangle of volatile emotions she stirred in him. Something like yanking that lithe body of hers close and
kissing her manipulative mouth to silence her. But if he did any of those things he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop at kisses.

Without a doubt, he'd end up doing something both of them would regret.

J
eb blasted through the lab door Monday a little before noon, jerking Hannah from her mental meanderings about a second kiss that should never have happened. And how dare Wyatt accuse her of using sex to sway him anyway.

“There's some old guy in the field with the bay mare. He says his name is Sam and he claims he has your permission to be there.”

Hannah's heart jumped. She dropped the packaging tape on the work bench. If Sam got hurt by one of her horses, Wyatt would shut her down with no questions asked. “Sam is Wyatt's stepfather. He lives in the main house. I'll take care of him. Could you finish packaging this last shipment for me? The courier is due in ten minutes.”

“Sure.”

As soon as Jeb nodded she raced past him and sprinted toward the field. Not wanting to spook the mare she slowed as she neared the pasture and tried to catch her breath. Running wasn't her thing. She'd bet Wyatt ran if the lack of fat on
his rock-hard body was any indication. There hadn't been anything soft or flabby about him Friday night.

Sam's nurse stood outside the fence frantically calling, “Sam get out of there.”

Sam squatted in a traditional farrier's stance beside the mare's powerful hind quarters. He held a hoof in his hands, but this mare didn't need shoeing. A fist of dread clenched in Hannah's stomach. One sharp, well-placed kick could prove disastrous. “What are you doing, Sam?”

“I brought bacon grease for these fetlocks. Nellie was nice enough to provide it.”

She groaned. “Nellie's in on this?”

Beside her Carol nodded. “She said something about letting Sam do a little ‘horse healing.' What is that?”

Without taking her eyes off Sam, Hannah replied, “Horse healing is when you need the therapy of talking to somebody who'll listen without a bunch of backchat or judgment, someone who appreciates everything you do. Around here that
somebody
is usually a horse.”

“That's crazy.”

“It beats paying a therapist hundreds of dollars an hour when all you need is a good listener. Does Wyatt know you brought Sam down here?”

“I didn't bring Sam. He snuck out the door after breakfast. The wily ol' coot is always looking for an escape. When I ordered him to stop, he ignored me. I guess from now on I'll have to keep him locked in his room even at mealtimes.”

Shocked, Hannah shot a quick glance at Sam, making sure he couldn't overhear. “Wyatt keeps Sam locked in? Why?”

“He claims Sam's a danger to himself so he installed dead bolts on the suite doors to keep Sam from wandering.”

“Is Sam suicidal?”

“No. But there was a near-accident at the last residence. I'm not privy to the details. All I know is that close call got the last nurse fired, and it's one of the reasons Mr. Jacobs is a tad overvigilant.”

“You call dead bolts on the bedroom door a
tad
overvigilant? What if there's a fire? Is there any health reason why Sam shouldn't get outside? Other than what looks like mild Alzheimer's.”

“None. He's in decent shape for a man of seventy. I'm allowed to take him on walks but not near the barns. However, if Mr. Jacobs hears about this escapade, even that'll change.”

“Sam, I'm coming in.” Hannah climbed the fence and cautiously moved toward the mare and man. “You know Wyatt doesn't want you near the horses.”

“Horses are my life…or they used to be back when I had a life.”

She winced in sympathy. “He's worried about you getting hurt.”

“I'd rather be dead than incarcerated.”

The sincerity in his tone sent alarm jolting through her. She didn't know him well enough to know if he was serious. “You don't mean that.”

“I do. Wyatt flies off to work—at the company I started, mind you—and leaves me at home to do puzzles like a school boy. I don't want to live like that.”

She hated playing devil's advocate for the jerk, but she didn't want Sam upset. “Puzzles are supposed to exercise your brain.”

“My brain isn't all that needs exercising. I need to keep the old ticker pumping. Puzzles put me to sleep.”

“I could try talking to Wyatt again…”

But after Friday night's kiss, she wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere near the man. She'd been tossing and turning each night, restless and itchy and needy and furious, reliving the kiss and cursing his effect on her, even though he thought the worst of her. Thoughts of him had invaded the sanctuary of her lab. She'd been disgustingly inefficient and clumsy.

Until recently she'd been satisfied with her celibate life. Why did Wyatt Jacobs, of all people, have to upset her contentment? She'd thought she had better taste in men, but
apparently not. She got hot and bothered over a hunky package with no soul or personality.

“Sam, I'll get your nurse to talk to him, too, but—”

“Carol. Her name's Carol. Some days I don't remember. Today I do. Today I remember a lot of things.” He seemed quite proud of the fact. The mare irritably twitched her tail and ears. “Let me finish here before this lady loses patience.”

Hannah gripped the horse's halter while he worked and searched for a solution for Sam's predicament—one that could benefit them all.

Sam finished his task and straightened, then wiped his greasy hands on the rag he had tucked into his waistband.

“Mixed a little sulfur in there. That'll fix 'er right up.” He tucked the rag through his belt loop.

“Dare I ask where you found sulfur?”

“Garden shed. Passed it the other day when Carol and I were walking.”

Sam had thought this out sequentially and planned ahead, Hannah realized, so he wasn't mentally in too bad a shape. She'd seen worse cases in the FYC client roster, and she'd seen those clients improve. Sam would, too. “We'll give your remedy a try.”

“Don't care how much pharmaceutical companies spend on product development, sometimes the old ways are the best. She'll be healed by the end of the week. What's her name?”

Hannah blinked in surprise. “I don't know. I haven't received the paperwork on her yet.”

“Then I'll call her Phoenix. She's going to come back and be a fine horse. She has spunk and she's smart.”

Hannah marveled that the usually skittish animal stayed close, as if wanting more of Sam's attention. “I agree with the spunky part. She's been a handful for us. I'm not sure about her intelligence yet—unless she's been outsmarting us to get out of exercising.”

“Let's take her to the round pen and work out some of her excess energy. I'll need a lunge line.”

Objections danced on Hannah's tongue.

“She needs to work out as much as I do,” Sam insisted before she could protest. “Neither of us is ready to be put out to pasture.”

Another band of sympathy squeezed her chest. “Wyatt—”

“Is in Asheville. Won't be back until Friday.”

Torn between wanting to help Sam and not wanting to upset Wyatt, she chewed the inside of her lip. If she let Sam spend time with the horse, she'd get in trouble. But how could she send him back to a life he considered worse than death? She'd have to talk to Wyatt about that. One of her high school friends had threatened suicide and everyone had ignored Terri's cries for help—until it was too late.

Hannah knew she couldn't take the risk with Sam. But she still had reservations. Big ones. “Sam, Carol and I could get fired if we let you have your way.”

“I'm not gonna tattle. Are you? Besides, the boy told me to stay away from the barn. He didn't say anything about the pens or pastures.” Mischief glimmered in the faded blue eyes.

Hannah's lips twitched as she fought a smile. The mare wasn't the only one with spunk. And Sam was right. Wyatt had only forbidden her to let Sam ride. He hadn't said anything about letting Sam lunge a horse.

Semantics. You're looking for trouble, Hannah.

Against her better judgment, she ignored the warning. Maintaining that keen spark of excitement in Sam's eyes took forefront. Normally, the odds of keeping a secret on a farm like Sutherland where the employees were as close-knit as family were slim. But Wyatt never interacted with the staff.

She turned to Carol. “Is Sam this alert and happy at the house?”

The woman shook her head. “I've seen a side of him today that I've not seen before. It's a definite improvement.”

That settled it. Hannah had never been a rule-breaker or one to push boundaries before. That had been her cousin's forte.
But this time Hannah had too much to lose by not taking a risk. Sam needed to have a sense of purpose and she could provide it.

“Sam, I'll let you rope me in on this escapade of yours on two conditions.”

“Name 'em.”

“One, you promise not to sneak out of the house and come down here by yourself anymore. That's really dangerous, Sam. If you're going to be around the horses, I want someone with you who's familiar with their behavior—that means me, not Carol.” She wasn't about to let anyone else risk their job.

He rocked onto the balls of his feet with excitement. “Agreed. Next?”

“No riding.”

“But—”

“Wyatt forbid me to allow you to get on a horse. I won't go against a direct order from the boss. We're already stretching things.”

His shoulders sank. “If you insist.”

“I do. I'll go get a line. Meet me and Phoenix at the round pen.”

“Are you crazy?” Carol protested as they joined her at the fence. “Wyatt will be livid.”

“Sam needs a little mental and physical stimulation. I'm going to provide it in the safest way possible. And apparently this crotchety mare has taken a liking to Sam. I'm trained to work with people with disabilities, and I'll take full responsibility if Wyatt finds out.”

“It's on your head.”

“Understood and accepted.”

“But for what it's worth, I think you're on the right track.”

Once Wyatt had irrefutable evidence in front of him of how much Find Your Center could help Sam, he wouldn't be able to deny the benefits of FYC or the funding, and maybe he'd quit trying to run her out of her home.

 

A black-and-gold helicopter buzzed the pasture, barely missing the treetops. Hannah ducked. The horses scattered as the craft hovered momentarily over the main barn before moving on.

Crazy pilot. What is he thinking?

“Does that happen often?” the client beside her asked in his sexy French-accented voice.

“It's a first. Our guests usually land at the airport and come over by chauffeur-driven car as you did.”

She kept her eyes on the chopper. If he'd flown over the property two hours ago when Sam had been in the pen with Phoenix and the junior dressage students had been circling the outdoor riding ring, it could have proven disastrous.

“He appears to be landing on the front lawn,” her client added.

“That's odd.” Who would be crazy enough to—

Wyatt.

Her stomach took a nosedive and her heart kicked into overdrive. Wyatt wasn't due to arrive for two days. Why would he cut his trip short and come home early—via chopper, no less—unless he'd found out about her working with Sam behind his back?

She tried to conceal her rising anxiety and focus on business. “Franco, what do you think of these two?”

“Your cousin's faith in you is well-founded. Both the mare and gelding are good choices. Stacy and Natalie will love them. In a few years I'll come back for a mount for my son. At two Theo's too young for anything more than a docile pony.”

“I'll look forward to your return.” She hoped she'd still be employed here. “Please keep me posted on how this pair works out. Let me escort you to the business office where April can assist you with the paperwork and make the arrangements to transport your surprise gifts home.”

They climbed into one of the luxurious golf carts and headed for the business office. A black Mercedes met her on
the driveway outside the building. Wyatt's car. For a few heart pounding moments the vehicles faced off like gunslingers in the street. Bracing herself for a confrontation, Hannah exhaled shakily and pulled into the designated space before swinging from the cart on unsteady legs.

Wyatt parked beside her then exited his vehicle and stalked toward them bearing an I-own-the-world swagger and a custom-made black suit. He looked delicious. Hannah pushed her unwelcome appreciation aside and swallowed the lump rising in her throat.

The last thing she needed was a scene in front of a customer—a customer preparing to write a very big check. “Franco, I'd like you to meet Wyatt Jacobs, the new owner of Sutherland Farm. Wyatt, this is Franco Constantine, CEO of Midas Chocolates and Constantine Holdings. He's flown over from Monaco to purchase horses for his wife and daughter.”

She couldn't help making comparisons while the men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Both were tall, dark and handsome, but while Franco's eyes were a startling blue Wyatt's were fathomless. And Franco's proximity didn't make her pulse stampede—a good thing since he was happily married. But she could see why her cousin found French men appealing.

Wyatt's gaze homed in on her, making her insides quiver. “Hannah, a moment, please.”

Phrased nicely in his deep send-shivers-down-her-spine voice, but she didn't miss the steel behind the request. Her euphoria over closing a two-million-dollar deal evaporated.

“I'll meet you in my office after I introduce Franco to April.”

“I'll be waiting.” The statement sounded like a threat and her fight-or-flight instincts kicked in. But she wouldn't run.

All too soon she'd turned Franco over to the capable sales staff, then with dread miring every step, she forced her feet to carry her to the man whose presence spelled impending doom.