her to his bedroom and make love to her all night long. But he had time. And when it happened, they’d both be awake and completely aware of what they were doing. It would be good between them. Maybe better than it had ever been with any other woman.
For that, Brody was willing to wait.
PAYTON GRABBED the hoof pick, then pushed the horse up against the side of the stall with her shoulder. Lifting the gelding’s front leg, she held its hoof between her thighs and began to clean out the debris between the frog and the bars.
Unlike the horses she rode for show, the horses on the station didn’t spend much time in the stable. They were brought in after a day’s work and then quickly groomed and sent out to a large paddock where they were fed. The ground was dry and the stable kept clean, so there was no need for a farrier and horseshoes.
The Kerry Creek horses were a sturdy lot, most gentle and accommodating—the furthest thing from the pampered, high-spirited show horses she’d learned to ride. Brody had informed her that the stockmen were responsible for the daily care of their own mounts, but she was expected to care for the remainder in the paddock and the stables—nearly forty by her count.
These included mares that were in foal and the colts who were yet to be broken, along with at least ten extra stock ponies. She’d also spend part of each day in the tack room, keeping the stockmen’s saddles and bridles in good working order. And with what time was left over, she’d turn her attention to mixing feed and keeping the stables tidy.
The dry season was the busiest of all on a cattle station. The stockmen were getting ready to bring the cattle in for the yearly mustering, setting off to the far corners of the station to gather the herd, sometimes staying out three or four days. The new calves would be examined, vaccinated, tagged and branded with the K that signified Kerry Creek station.
The horses that were part of the breeding operation were pastured closer to the homestead where they could be watched closely and brought inside as their time grew near. Foals that were dropped outside could be easy prey for dingoes.
“You look like you know what you’re doing.”
Payton glanced up to see Brody’s brother Teague standing just outside the stall, his shoulder braced against a post, his arms crossed over his chest. Like Brody and Callum, he was gorgeous. But unlike Brody, he didn’t send shivers of desire coursing through her body, nor did she spend hours thinking about kissing him.
She shoved the sleeves of her oversize work shirt above her elbows, then nodded. “It’s a whole different kind of horse,” she said with a smile. “They have a wonderful temperament.”
“That’s the way we breed them and train them,” he said. “And for stamina and strength and agility. They need to be able to last all day long. Sometimes all week.”
Payton continued her work. “What are the bloodlines?”
“Originally thoroughbreds and Arabians with some Welsh mountain and Timor pony thrown in.”
“When do they foal?”
“They tend to start in September and go through the first of the year. Usually right after mustering ends, we start in with foaling.”
“Davey said the colt in the next stall has been sold. He’s beautiful.”
“He’s going to be trained as a show horse. Some of our horses are used for polocrosse. And some for campdrafting.”
Payton set the horse’s hoof onto the concrete floor and straightened, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “What’s that?”
“Besides Aussie-rules football, polocrosse and campdrafting are the only native Aussie sports. Polo-crosse is a mix of polo, lacrosse and netball. And I reckon campdrafting is kind of like your rodeo riding. The horse and rider cut a calf from the herd, then they have to maneuver it around a series of posts.”
“I’d like to see that,” she said.
“I’ll take you sometime,” Teague promised. “There’s a campdrafting event in Muttaburra in August if you’re still around.”
“I’d like to try it.”
“Then I’ll teach you.”
“Teach her what?”
Brody appeared at his brother’s side. He was dressed in traditional stockman’s attire, a work shirt, canvas jacket, jeans. He wore a felt hat on his head and his hands were clad in well-worn leather gloves. She hadn’t seen him since the previous evening and she’d forgotten just how beautiful he was.
“Hey, little brother. Where have you been?”
“I went out with Davey to fix the windmill in the high pasture.”
Teague clapped his brother on the back. “Good to see you putting in an honest day’s work.” He touched the brim of his hat and nodded at Payton. “I’ve got a call. I’ll see you later, Payton. Maybe you can give me a hand tomorrow morning. I’ve got vaccinations to do on the yearlings.”
“Sure,” Payton said. “I’d be happy to help.”
He nodded again. “I think I’ll like having you here.” Teague turned to Brody, arching an eyebrow and examining him critically. “Have you had all your shots?”
Payton watched Brody’s jaw grow tense. As the youngest brother, he probably had to put up with a greater share of the teasing. “Don’t mind Teague,” Brody said as his brother turned and walked away. “He has a bad habit of yabbering to anyone who’ll listen.”
“So, is Teague in charge of the horse-breeding operation?”
“When he’s around. He’s a vet.”
“A veterinarian? Really?”
Brody nodded. “He’s usually flying from station to station. He spends a few days at home, then takes off again. He’s the brilliant one in the family.”
“He’s nice,” Payton murmured. She met Brody’s gaze and her breath stopped in her throat. It was all there, the desire, the need and even a tiny hint of jealousy. She drew a ragged breath as he crossed the short distance between them to pull her into his arms.
Payton had tried to put all of this out of her head. From the moment she woke up that morning she’d been waiting to touch him, to taste him. It had been eight hours of sheer torture and now she felt the tension in her body release as their mouths met.
The more she saw of him, the more difficult it was to resist him. And yet, that didn’t frighten or confuse her. She didn’t need to figure out the consequences of her every action and reaction. She could kiss Brody and that was all it was, a kiss. It felt good to cast aside her penchant for planning and just go with the flow.
But how long could that last? How long before a simple fling turned into something more complicated? Her feelings for him were already so intense, her desire undeniable. She’d promised herself that she’d be guided by her instincts, and every instinct told her to enjoy their time together. They didn’t need to make promises to each other. This was enough.
He cupped her face in his palms and drew her deeply into the kiss, as
