shadow to their left. “See that trough?”
He began to walk. Maddy threw a look at the back door then inwardly shrugged. Slapping the impression of bark from her palms, she followed. If he was making an effort, she would, too.
“This trough was a wedding gift,” Jack was saying. “My great-great grandfather suggested to his wife he should cut a hole in the bathroom wall and they could use it as a tub as well as to water the horses in the yard.”
Maddy blanched. She had a feeling he was serious. Thank heaven for modern-day plumbing. How had women survived out here back then?
“I carved my initials here when I was six,” he went on and swept one long tanned finger over an etching in the wood. “Our dog had just had pups.” He pointed to several nicks—One, two, three … Seven pups. He straightened and, studying her, weighed the bridle in his hand. “You never had a dog? “
“I had piano lessons and lots of dresses.”
“But no dog,” he persisted.
“No dog.”
Something rustled in the brush nearby at the same time he lifted and dropped one shoulder. “You missed out.”
Focused on the brush—was it a snake, a dingo?—she admitted, “I was attacked by a Doberman cross when I was young.”
His expression froze before he blindly set the bridle down on the trough. “Maddy … God, I’m sorry.”
Weeks spent in hospital, years of fighting the phobia. She made herself shrug. “Could’ve been worse.”
He held her gaze for several heartbeats then slipped her a wry smile. “I got the shakes once. I broke my arm jumping a stallion over a creek when I was ten. He was the most cantankerous horse I’ve ever known.”
Maddy openly grinned. Quite the confession coming from Crocodile Dundee.
He walked again, a meandering comfortable gait that invited her to join him.
“Piano and dresses,” he murmured. “So you were a mummy’s girl.”
“My mother died when I was five.”
His step faltered. She almost saw the shudder pass through his body. “Wait a minute. I need to take that other foot out of my mouth.”
She wasn’t offended. He couldn’t have known.
“I have one perfect memory of her tucking me into bed. She had a beautiful smile.” Her favorite photo she kept in her wallet—a candid shot of her mother laughing and holding her first and only baby high against a clear blue day.
“Your dad still around?”
The snapshot in Maddy’s mind faded and she squared her shoulders. “Uh-huh. He’s great. Really energized. I work for him at Tyler Advertising.”
“I’ve heard of it. Well-respected firm.” He kicked a rock with the toe of his boot. “So you’re a chip off the ol’ block?”
“Hopefully. I have my first big deal coming together soon.”
“In for a big bonus?”
“I guess.”
In the moonlight, his lidded gaze assessed her. “But that’s not your motivation.”
“Not at all.”
“You want to make your father proud,” he surmised and she nodded.
“That’s not so unusual. Besides I really like the industry,” she added. “Lots of exciting people and events. It’s where I belong.”
She believed that and finally her father was believing it, too. She’d seen the look in his eyes when she’d told him at sixteen she wanted to be an account executive with the firm; he didn’t think she had it in her. He’d said the words, You’re more like your mother, which meant she wasn’t strong enough. Her mother had been a gentle person and, no, she hadn’t been able to beat the leukemia, but she and her mother were two separate issues, two separate people. And once she had the client’s signature on the bottom line …
“You must be chomping at the bit to get back,” Jack said, coming to stand beside a weathered post and rail fence.
Her lips twitched. “I won’t deny I’ll be happy to leave the flies behind.”
“They don’t eat much. It’s the bull ants you have to worry about.”
“So I’d better not stand in one spot for too long.”
He chuckled—a rich easy sound that fit him as well as those delectable jeans. She couldn’t think of another man with more sex appeal … the energy he expelled was as formidable and natural as thunder on a stormy night. On the What Makes a Man Maddeningly Irresistible list, Jack got double ticks in every box.
When she realized their shared look had lasted longer than it ought to, a blush bloomed over her cheeks. As the heat spread to her breasts and belly, Jack rubbed the back of his neck and moved off again.
“How did you meet Dahlia?”
“A university friend,” she said, willing the husky quality from her voice. “Dahlia was a couple of years younger than me. We were enrolled in different majors, but we met at a party and hit it off. She had the best laugh. Infectious.” Kind of like yours, she wanted to say, only not so deep.
Looking off, he scrubbed his temple with a knuckle. “Yeah. I remember her laugh.”
Maddy stayed the impulse to touch his arm—to offer some show of comfort. Men like Jack were all about strength, intelligence and making decisions. Jack was a leader and leaders didn’t dilute their power with displays of emotion, either given or received. In an emergency, he would act and act well. Even standing in the uneventful quiet of this night, Maddy found a sense of reassurance in knowing that. Some silly part of her almost wanted to admit it out loud.
Instead she said, “You must have missed that sound when she left here.”
A muscle ticked a strong beat in his jaw and he let out a long breath. “My wife begged me to go after her but I was determined not to. Some sorry home truths came out that last night. I figured if Dahlia wanted to find her own way, I wouldn’t stop her.”
But his tone said he regretted it.
“She didn’t like Leadeebrook?”
“She liked it okay,” he said, crossing his arms as he strolled, “but she didn’t feel the same way I feel. The way my father felt, too. She didn’t want to stay here, ‘shrivel up and die,’ as she put it. She’d said she’d had enough of station existence to last a lifetime.”
Which would have cut her brother’s loyal Prescott heart in two.
“And your wife … how did she feel about the station?”
He searched the sky as if she might be listening and looking down, and
