“Beats pessimism.”
The vet’s pager buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and frowned at the message. “Hannah, darling, I have a colic call on the other side of the county. I have to go. Can you manage without me?”
“Jeb and I can handle her.”
Hannah flicked her fingers at Wyatt in a dismissive gesture. “You can go, too. I’m going to be busy here for a while. I’ll call you when I’m done, and if there’s still enough daylight left, you’ll get your tour. If not, I’ll make time tomorrow.”
The liability of her getting hurt on the job outweighed his disgust with the situation, and he couldn’t think of a better way to keep an eye on her than to help. “I’m not leaving. You’ll be shorthanded without Doc.”
Hannah frowned. Her mouth opened, then closed as if she’d considered arguing but had changed her mind. “If you insist on staying, then go into the office and get my camera out of my desk drawer. You can take the before photographs while I get my suture kit. But stay out of my way.”
Her bossy tone reminded him that she was probably used to men jumping at her command. She’d learn quickly that he had no intention of being one of her minions.
Four
Hannah could barely concentrate on cleansing the mare’s wounds. She wished she could think of a way to get rid of her new boss—one that didn’t include angering him and making him renege on their bargain.
Her collision with Wyatt earlier had left her more than a little mystified. His touch had filled her with some weird, almost kinetic energy that she couldn’t identify and didn’t like. And since then it was almost as if she’d grown antennae that stayed tuned into the Wyatt channel. The constant awareness of him was exhausting. She wanted it and him gone.
His hawkeyed presence made her uncomfortable—something the sensitive mare picked up on and displayed with each nervous swish of her tail. Add in that he had removed his sweater ten minutes ago, revealing a newsworthy set of broad shoulders in his snug white T-shirt, and Hannah was practically salivating over a pair of deliciously defined pectorals.
Pitiful, Hannah. Just pitiful.
She glanced up and her gaze slammed into Wyatt’s dark brown one over the mare’s withers. Her pulse bucked.
“When will Jeb return?” he asked in that rumbly, make-her-insides-quiver voice of his.
“It’ll take him a while to run all the tests. We’ll probably finish before he does.”
“Does the staff always dump the dirty work on you?”
She couldn’t tell if his question arose from genuine curiosity or from the quest for information he could use against her coworkers. She would have to guard every word she said.
“They know I like cleanup detail. It gives me a chance to assess the damage and get to know the horse. But for what it’s worth, a number of the employees volunteer their free time to FYC like Jeb is today. Weekends are hectic for most of us. Our trainers are away at horse shows, and the staff left behind is tied up with current or prospective clients.”
Despite the crowded farm, this barn was empty except for the two of them—something her crazy hormones couldn’t seem to ignore.
As much as she disliked the arrogant jerk she needed his cooperation and financial support to keep FYC going. If Wyatt fired her, who would care for her horses? They weren’t ready for adoption yet and had little monetary value in their current conditions. She had to take every opportunity to sell the concept of Find Your Center to Wyatt and not only make him a believer, but a willing sponsor.
Making nice wouldn’t kill her—or so Nellie always claimed. Afraid she’d choke on the necessary words, Hannah swallowed and forced a smile. “I appreciate your help and the extra set of hands today. You’ll see that it’s time well spent.”
“Doubtful.” He capped the antibiotic salve, drawing her attention to his hands—as if she hadn’t been fixated on them already. He had good hands. Firm. Strong. Gentle when necessary.
The kind of hands a woman wanted in a lover.
Don’t go there.
But she couldn’t help it. She would never have anticipated tenderness and patience from the arrogant oaf. “You were good with the mare. I expected squeamishness from a guy wearing cashmere and Gucci, but you applied that slimy salve to her wounds with a deft touch and no gagging.”
His appraisal turned suspicious, as if he suspected an ulterior motive behind her compliment. “I have some experience.”
“So you’ve said, but you’ve left out the details.”
He ignored her invitation to fill in the blanks. She smothered a sigh. There was only one way to find out what she wanted to know—by getting to know the boss better. Not something she relished, but it was a tactic she’d learned from her more competitive cousin. Megan always found out what motivated her adversaries, then used it against them to trounce them in the show ring.
“Tell me about your years on the thoroughbred farm,” Hannah prompted.
Wyatt wiped his hands, slowly and deliberately on a rag, then stepped back to check his handiwork. “Not much to tell. My mother married the stable owner when I was fourteen. He gave me odd jobs to keep me out of trouble until I went to college.”
She studied his tightly controlled hair and expression and his traditional attire. “You don’t look like the type to find trouble.”
His lips flattened. “Are we done here?”
“You avoided answering.”
He gave her a level look. “You didn’t ask a question, and my personal life is none of your business.”
She tried to hide her frustration, but she wasn’t admitting defeat so easily. “We’re finished for now. We have pictures of her wounds and details on the severity of infection. I’ll put her in the quarantine stall and let her rest. She should be exhausted from the travel and all this first aid. Once Jeb has the test results, there will likely be more work to do.”
She dropped the irrigation syringe into the bucket, peeled off her gloves, set the pail aside and hitched a lead line to the halter. The moment she released her patient from the cross ties the mare tossed her head, almost dislocating Hannah’s shoulder.
“She’s going to hurt you.”
“And let me guess, you’re more worried about the worker’s compensation claim than me.” Oops. Shut up, Hannah.
“Triple Crown Distillery prides itself on running a safe operation. I will expect Sutherland Farm to do the same.”
“We do, but this isn’t a manufacturing plant. We work with live animals that have personalities instead of stationary vats and casks. The mare doesn’t know whether we’re friends or foes, and after what we’ve just put her through she probably thinks we’re every bit as bad as her owner. Don’t hold her skittishness against her. She’ll reveal her true nature as she gets to know
