if that was the top half …
Cursing under his breath, Jack tore the sleeves from his arms and dumped the damp shirt at his feet.
He’d helped birth lambs more times than he could count. In comparison, this was child’s play—literally. Being hosed by a baby wasn’t a big deal. Three years ago he’d have done anything to have experienced just this kind of scene … to have been given the chance to care for his own little boy.
Raw emotion torqued in his chest. But he beat the pain down before black memories took over. Feeling nothing was better than feeling angry.
Feeling helpless.
When he glanced up from the shirt, Maddy was standing stock still, jaw hanging. Holding Beau tight, she was staring at everything between his neck and his navel. Then her gaze dropped lower. Taken off guard—again—his muscles contracted as a coil of dark arousal snaked up his legs.
Inhaling, Jack set his jaw.
He’d already acknowledged his feelings for Madison Tyler. She was a looker, obviously intelligent. She also had guts. When Jack Prescott drew his pistols, most people had the good sense to run, but back in Sydney she’d stood her ground. She’d insisted she do right by his sister. He admired her for that. Frankly, his curiosity was piqued by the whole package.
But this physical attraction was headed nowhere. He was as good as engaged. Practically set to marry. Even if he were free, this woman wasn’t what he needed. And vice versa. Clearly she was not the least impressed by what he held most dear—this rugged, sprawling land. Hell, she didn’t even like horses whereas Tara was the only female he knew who could give him a run for his money galloping full bore down a straight.
So why was his gaze pinned to this woman’s legs?
A growl of appreciation rumbled in his chest.
Because they were shapely, that’s why. Long and milk white, and his fingers itched to know if they were as fine and silky smooth as they looked.
The baby squeaked and Jack came back to earth with a jolt. Shoving a hand through his hair, he shifted the thickness from his throat. He had no business indulging those images, particularly the vision of his houseguest in a negligee … the filmy, sultry kind that might wave and swirl around her slim ankles on a breezy summer night.
When heavy footfalls sounded down the timber floors of the hall, the full quota of Jack’s senses came reeling back. Needing a distraction, he swiped his shirt off the floor and wadded it up while Maddy, seemingly needing a distraction, too, spun back to the changing table, busying herself with the baby’s bag.
Jack had assumed a cool mask by the time Cait appeared and chimed, “Bottle’s ready. I’d be happy to give him his feeding. It’s been a long while.” Cait extended her arms and Beau put out one of his. Sighing happily, she took and jiggled the wide-eyed baby. “Seems I haven’t lost the touch.” Then her attention skated over to his state of undress and her lips twitched. “Can I get you a fresh shirt, Jack?”
He held the wadded shirt higher and replied in a low, even voice. “S’right. I’ll get one.”
On her way out, the housekeeper tossed over one shoulder, “There’s a pot of tea on the back veranda and a cool pitcher, too.”
Maddy thanked Cait, flicked him an anxious glance, then, for something more to do, performed a fidgety finger comb of her flaxen hair behind each ear.
The entire “checking each other out” episode had lasted no more than a few seconds. They were a man and a woman who’d experienced a moment where natural attraction and physical impulse had temporarily taken over.
Jack drew up tall.
It wouldn’t happen again. He hadn’t brought city girl Madison Tyler here to seduce her. She was on his property only for the baby’s sake. He owed that to his sister. But in two weeks, Maddy would be gone from Leadeebrook. Gone and out of his life. No use getting tangled up in it.
He headed for the door and didn’t stop when her voice came from behind.
“Cait’ll be a big help with Beau,” she said, conversationally.
“She’ll take good care of him.”
“So you won’t be hiring a nanny?”
“Won’t need one.”
Tara wanted a family. Now, ready or not, they had one. But there was time enough to tell Maddy about Beau’s future stepmother. Time enough to let Tara know she was about to become an instant parent. After the news sank in, he couldn’t imagine Tara would be anything other than pleased. But that wasn’t the kind of information one shared over the phone. He’d tell her in person, in private.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
As he sauntered down the hall, Jack felt Maddy’s gaze burning a hole in his back. Not meeting her eyes, he jerked a thumb toward his bedroom doorway.
“I’ll grab a shirt and we’ll get to that pot of tea.”
A moment later he stood in front of his wardrobe, retrieving a button-down from its hanger. Out of the corner of his eye he spied movement—probably Nellie-girl keeping tabs on things. But when he checked, it was Maddy who hovered in the doorway, and this time her gaze wasn’t fused on him. Her attention was riveted on the chest of drawers to her immediate right. On the photo he kept there and never put away.
Her face visibly pale, her round gaze hovered over to his.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I had no idea. I thought you must be going to the laundry. I thought the main bedroom would be upstairs.”
Jaw tight, he drove his arms through the sleeves then, leaving buttons undone and tails hanging. He took her arm and ushered her out into the hall. Did she have to follow him around like a newborn calf? Was she purposely trying to get in the way and whip up his blood?
Once in the hall, he released his hold and told himself that would be the last time he’d feel her skin on his. If looking was bad, touching was a million times worse. Or was that a million times better?
Growling, he shook that unwelcome thought from his brain and headed toward the veranda, purposefully fastening each shirt button, then rolling the sleeves to the elbow. “Cait’ll have set the tray out here.”
Out on the veranda, he fell into a chair, lifted the food net and nodded at the spread of scones and cupcakes. After she accepted a scone, he grabbed a cake. He chomped off a mouthful and chewed, studying the plains and daring her to ask the question that must be tingling on the tip of her tongue. He could hear the words rattling around in her head.
The lady in the photo … was she your wife?
But Maddy didn’t ask. Rather she sat quietly on the other side of the small square table, her chair backed up against the wall, as was his. She poured one glass of lemonade and one cup of tea and passed it over.
After a tense moment, he flicked her a sidelong glance. She was sipping her drink, surveying his favorite stretch of land—the dip between what was known on the property as Twelve Gum Ridge and Black Shore Creek. The knot binding
