horizon, but Tyler knew they would not bring rain. His pop had taught him that, how to tell which clouds brought rain and which only teased, just as David Preston had taught his son how to run a stud farm. The son of an Irish horseman, David had tried to pass on all that his own father had taught him, but Tyler had needed little teaching. He’d been riding before he’d started running.
It was in the blood, David had decided. His eldest son had received the Preston horse gene. His younger, Shane, had not.
With the blistering sun beating down on him, Tyler urged Midnight Magic toward one of the three barns on the far side of the paddock. A fourth was under construction. The mares and new foals had claim to the largest structure. His two- and three-year-olds occupied the middle building. The third, original structure, was used primarily for Lochlain’s boarding business.
The buzz of activity intensified as he approached. Most of the training was done for the day, had taken place during the cooler hours before sunrise. But there was still work to be done, and like clockwork, young Heidi Hastings stood in the shade of several gum trees, feeding an apple to her little filly, Anthem. Her father didn’t understand her fixation with the animal she’d sweet-talked him into buying, but Tyler suspected Heidi’s frequent presence at Lochlain had as much to do with a certain groom hovering nearby as it did her interest in horses.
“Afternoon,” he called as his three border collies bounded up to greet him. Carbine and Windbag were pushing ten, but they still thought they were as young as the pup, Tulloch.
Heidi glanced up with a smile so bloody sweet, Tyler winced. Her father was a good man, but Tyler didn’t know how any man could raise a kid alone, much less a young girl racing toward womanhood.
“I think something’s wrong,” she said, with worry both in her eyes and her voice. “She doesn’t want her apple.”
Tyler’s chest tightened. Bloody hell—after the girl’s mother abandoned them, Dylan Hastings had his hands more than full. “Just the heat,” Tyler said. The animals didn’t like it any more than the humans did. They needed rain—badly. But with rain would come lightning, and with the land as parched as a sponge in dry rot, lightning could mean disaster.
Just the week before, some bloke had tossed a cigarette out the car window, and before the sun had set, more than a hundred acres of bush had been scorched. Two national parks had been lost.
“Try this,” he added, pulling a couple of peppermints from his back pocket. He tossed them to her and winked. “Anthem just needs a treat is all.”
Heidi’s smile turned lopsided. “Thanks, I should have thought of that myself.”
“You will,” he promised in the best fatherly voice he could find. “Just give it—”
A blur of motion from the office complex snagged his attention. He squinted against the glare, bringing his office manager, Peggy, into view. She hurried toward him— something she rarely did. In her midfifties, she was an air-conditioning kind of woman.
“—time,” he finished, pulling Midnight Magic to a stop. He swung his leg over the horse and handed the reins to one of the young grooms—Zach, Heidi’s so-called “friend.” “Cool him off,” he instructed, already striding toward Peggy.
“Mr. Preston,” she called as she always did, refusing to call him Tyler, as he’d asked her to a million or so times. She was a stickler for formality, a master at organization, and somehow kept the administrative side of the business running smoothly. “Your one o’clock is here.”
Tyler glanced toward the parking area, where a shiny white convertible sat in the closest space. Looked as though he’d have to talk napkins after all.
“On my way,” he said, veering toward the office building’s shaded entrance. The first stones had been laid six years before, but the facility had only been completed the previous winter.
“But aren’t you—”
With Windbag trotting at his heels, Tyler stopped and pivoted, felt his mouth curve at the look of horror on Peggy’s face. She was old enough to be his mother— barely—but she almost never questioned him. And never, ever corrected him.
“Yes?” he prodded, trying not to laugh.
She bit down on her lip. “Nothing. I just thought… well, she’s a pretty thing. I thought maybe you’d want to clean up first.”
Now he did laugh. Loudly. A pretty thing. It figured. His mother, his new sister-in-law, his office manager…even Daniel’s American wife. It seemed the women of Lochlain and the surrounding area had a bloody intense case of matchmaking fever.
“Freshen up?” Without cracking a smile, he glanced down at the damp white cotton pressed against his skin, his dusty jeans and mud-caked boots, then shot the dog a grin. “What? She thinks I might run the party planner off?”
Peggy had the good grace to flush. “Of course not… I just thought…”
“Right-oh,” he said, adjusting the bush hat that had seen rain and heat and far better days. He knew what Peggy thought…what they all thought. Thirty-four years old was well and past time for the Preston heir to settle down.
“No worries,” he deadpanned with a quick rub of the old dog’s head. “I’m sure Miss—” He slipped off his sunglasses, but couldn’t come up with Andrew’s campaign manager’s name. “I’m late enough as it is. I’m sure she’d rather get this over with than wait for me to shower.”
Peggy sighed. “You make it sound like torture.”
She knew him well. He wasn’t a party kind of guy. He didn’t do galas and benefits. He didn’t do tuxedos or cologne. He only knew a Shiraz from a Chardonnay because his mother, daughter of a local vintner, had drilled it into her boys.
With his best trust-me smile, Tyler sent the dog off to play and strode toward the office.
Air-conditioning blasted him the second he walked inside. The scent of vanilla and sandalwood came next, courtesy of the cluster of candles Peggy kept on her desk. Just because she worked at a stable didn’t mean she had to smell hay and manure all day, she insisted.
It was a modest building by comparison to the nearby Fairchild Acres, but with four offices, a file room, a video room and adjacent meeting room, plus a small lunchroom, the facility suited him. He’d left the decor to Peggy, who’d chosen the same dark woods and rustic furniture found in the main house a couple of hundred meters away.
With the thud of his boots against the hardwood floor drowning out the soft, new age music Peggy said created ambience, Tyler covered the distance to his office and pushed through the partially open door. He had less than twenty minutes to give her. Andrew had departed Sydney a little before noon. He’d return to the stud soon. They had business to discuss. Andrew needed to know about the recent threats. Any talk of the party—
She had her back to him, but the gruff words Tyler had been about to offer stuck in his throat anyway. She stood there so unnaturally still, her posture boarding-school perfect, pale blond hair fastened behind her head in some sleek, elegant twist. A tidy cream suit hugged her willowy frame much too tightly considering the heat that baked the valley. She had to be burning…
The scent slammed into him on a soft wave of air-conditioning, the unmistakable whisper of baby powder and roses—and
