human equivalent of a prized thoroughbred. Her olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean descent and her onyx eyes were filled with affection as she drew back and peered up into Jack’s—passionate and loyal.
Maddy’s mouth pulled to one side.
Seemed Jack had indeed moved on since the death of his wife—the auburn-haired woman whose photo she’d seen on that chest of drawers. When they’d come face to face earlier in the nursery and she’d copped an eye full of Jack’s all-male-and-then-some chest, she’d imagined he’d felt the moment, too. She’d told herself that’s why he’d been particularly brusque afterward. The lightning bolt—the overwhelming awareness—had struck him, as well, and, taken aback, he hadn’t known how to handle it.
But clearly that fiery, unexpected reaction had been one-sided. He’d seemed vexed by the scene in the nursery because he was embarrassed over her ogling. Embarrassed and annoyed. He was spoken for, and this woman in front of her might capture and hold any man, even I-am-an-island Jack Prescott.
With a fond but strained smile, Jack unfastened the woman’s hold and her palms slid several inches down from his thick neck to his shirt. She toyed with a button as she gazed adoringly into his eyes and sighed.
“You’re home.” Then she tilted her head, that ebony mane spilled over her shoulder and her smile became a look of mild admonition. “I wish you’d have let me come to Sydney with you. It must have been so hard facing the funeral on your own. I shouldn’t have promised that I’d stay behind.”
Jack found her hand on his chest and carefully brought it to her side. “Tara, I brought somebody back with me.”
The woman slowly straightened, blinked. Then, having dialed into her personal radar, she honed in on Maddy. The woman’s thickly lashed eyes darkened more while her complexion dropped a shade. As their gazes locked, Tara surreptitiously found and held the veranda rail at her back.
Maddy’s face flushed hot. She knew what this woman, Tara, was thinking. The accusation blazed in her eyes. But she and Jack were not an item. They weren’t even friends, and from the venom building in this woman’s eyes, the sooner she knew all the facts the better.
Maddy found her feet at the same time Jack beckoned her over.
“This is Madison Tyler,” he said, then nodded to the woman. “Tara Anderson.”
An uneven smile broke across Tara’s face. “Madison. We haven’t met before—” her eyes narrowed slightly “—have we?”
Jack stepped in. “Maddy’s staying at Leadeebrook for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh?” Tara’s practiced smile almost quivered. “Why?”
Before anyone could answer, Cait appeared at the back doorway, holding Beau. The housekeeper’s jovial expression slid when she recognized their visitor.
“Tara, love. I heard the truck. I thought it was Snow.”
Tara’s hand slipped off the rail and when her startled, glistening gaze slid from the baby to Jack, Maddy’s heart sank in her chest. Tara’s thoughts were as loud as war drums. She thought the child belonged to them—to her and Jack. Yet everything in Tara Anderson’s stunned expression said she couldn’t let herself believe the worst. She wanted to trust the man she so obviously cared for.
As if afraid he might vanish, Tara tentatively touched Jack’s hand and her voice cracked when she asked, “Jack …?”
“This is Dahlia’s son,” he said in a somber tone. “The father isn’t on the scene. Maddy was Dahlia’s friend. She promised my sister she’d help the baby settle in here.”
Drawing back, Tara audibly exhaled, then touched her brow with an unsteady hand. She shook her head as if to dispel a fog but her expression remained pained.
“Dahlia’s son …” She breathed out again before her gaze pierced his. “You agreed to this, Jack? To a baby? I thought you said—”
His brows tipped together. “We won’t discuss it now.”
“When were we going to discuss it?” she asked. “How long have you known?”
But the line of his mouth remained firm. Turning, he set his hands on the rail and peered out over the barren landscape.
The anxiety in Maddy’s stomach balled tighter. Hearing that Jack was responsible for a baby had been a massive shock for Tara Anderson; she wanted answers. Without knowing their history, Maddy couldn’t help but think she deserved them. And yet Jack kept his shoulders set and his gaze fixed on something in the distance. He could be so bloody stubborn sometimes.
It wasn’t her place to interfere, but if she could ease the tension a little by extending the hand of friendship, Maddy decided she would. If Jack and this woman were as close as this scene suggested, Beau would be seeing more of Tara … more than he would see of his aunt Maddy.
She edged closer. “Do you live in town, Tara?”
Tara’s bewildered gaze whipped around, as if she’d forgotten they had company.
“I own the adjoining property,” she said absently. Then a different emotion filtered over her face and she exhaled once more, this time with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, please. I’m being rude. It’s just …” She sought out Jack’s gaze. “I’ve been worried these past days.”
“Will you stay for supper?” Cait asked from the back door, giving Beau, who had half his fist in his mouth, a jiggle. “There’s always plenty.”
At the same time Tara quizzed Jack’s face for his reaction, Maddy felt a brush against her leg. She lowered her gaze. Nell had taken up a seat between herself and Jack.
Stiffening, Maddy rubbed the goosebumps from her arm and slid a foot away. A mime act made more noise than this dog.
When Jack rotated away from the rail to face Tara, the familiar furrow between his brows was gone. Accommodating now, he reached for her hand. “Yes, of course. Stay for supper.”
But Tara stole a quick glance between the baby and Maddy then, put on a lighthearted air and shook back her ebony hair.
“I would’ve liked to, but I’m staying in town tonight. Taking a buyer to dinner.”
Jack eased back against the rail and crossed his arms over his chest, interested. “Which horse?”
“Hendrix.” She addressed Maddy. “I breed Warmbloods.”
Maddy raised her brows. And she was supposed to know what that meant? But she imitated Jack’s cross-armed stance, pretending to be interested, too.
“That’s … great.”
“Warmbloods are bred for equestrian sports,” Jack explained. “Tara’s trained a stable full of champions, mainly Hanoverians.”
Maddy tacked up her slipping smile. If she’d felt inadequate before.
No wonder Jack was involved with this woman. Beautiful, ultimately gracious under pressure, and a proven breeder of champions to boot. What more could a man want?
With
