Claiming the Cowboys Read online

  Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth then shut it again.

  “It’s a working farm. We have to get up early.” Hamish winked. “You didn’t think I meant anything else, did you?”

  “No, of course not,” Sophie said. “I assume you have to milk the cows at sunrise?” Sophie asked. “My grandparents ran dairy cattle.”

  “We breed horses, not cattle,” Jackson said. “Thoroughbreds. I’ve invested a lot of money in stables and breeding equipment. I’m not leaving here. I’ll fight you every step of the way if you try to break the lease.”

  “I don’t want to break it,” she said and realised she spoke the truth. These men had worked hard and this place was theirs. Coming here had been an impulse. Her need to escape was nothing in comparison to their livelihood. “I’ll accept your offer of accommodation for tonight, Hamish, but tomorrow I’ll return to Sydney.”

  Hamish shrugged and led her down the hall. He pushed open one of the doors and she gasped. It was the room she’d always slept in during her visits to her grandparents. The furniture was exactly the same, polished as it had been under her grandmother’s regime. The bed was made, covered in the same antique, white coverlet she remembered. Even the walls were the same colour, although they must have been repainted at least once in the intervening years. It felt unexpectedly like home.

  She unpacked her bags, freshened up, then made her way to the kitchen, the layout of the house coming back to her easily. When she got there, Hamish was serving up something fragrant and delicious from a huge pot on the stovetop.

  “You cook too?” she asked. “Is there no end to your talents?”

  “If you stayed a little longer you could find out,” Hamish replied. “Cooking is a necessity. We’re too far out for take-away or restaurants to be a regular thing.” He nodded towards the serving bowls. “Would you mind helping me take those through?”

  She picked up two of the plates and carried them in to the dining room. Hamish followed behind with the third bowl.

  “I’ll get Jackson,” Hamish said. “He’s in the office going over the accounts.”

  Because her presence here had threatened his security, Sophie wondered? Was he making sure he had the resources to fight her if he needed to?

  Jackson came to the table. His stiff demeanour discouraged any personal questions and she could hardly ask about their horse breeding business without it sounding like she was an avaricious landlord keen to find out if there was enough profit to justify raising the rent. She had no idea whether the lease allowed for that, no idea who handled the details.

  He made no attempt to make conversation but every time she looked at him, his gaze was fixed firmly on her, an expression on his face she found difficult to interpret. The skin seemed to pull tight over his cheekbones, painting them with a faint flush of red. His lids drooped over his eyes, hiding their expression. His lips were parted as if he were going to speak, but they shut with a snap and he lowered his gaze to his plate.

  Hamish glanced from Jackson, to Sophie and back again, amusement clearly revealed in his smile. Several times he asked if she needed anything. He was a toucher, open and friendly. She found herself responding, canting forward, making eye contact, her heart rate speeding up as he put his hand on hers to make a point, or leaned closer when he spoke, or pushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

  It was open and it was obvious. In spite of Jackson’s silent, glowering presence, Hamish was flirting with her. And he did it very well. Even though she knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help responding to him. Because he was gorgeous and so admiring, he was good for her wounded spirit.

  She knew it didn’t mean anything. How could it with Jackson right there? She wondered whether Hamish was deliberately trying to provoke Jackson. As the meal progressed and the Hamish’s comments became more outrageous, Jackson’s lips narrowed, his nostrils flared and there was no mistaking the flashes of something hot and burning in his eyes. Yet he didn’t protest. Didn’t once turn his head away.

  By the time the meal was finished she was confused. Hamish’s flirtation made her skin feel tingly and tight. Jackson’s brooding focus stirred something darker. She was aroused and paradoxically exhausted.

  “I’ll clean up,” Jackson said, uttering the first words since he’d come to the table. “You go to bed, Hamish. You’ll need to get what sleep you can. The mare will have a hard time foaling.”

  “Can I help you clean up?” Sophie asked.

  “No,” Jackson said shortly, adding, “Thank you,” clearly as an afterthought.

  She stood there, ridiculously uncomfortable. She thought about going into the living room and perhaps reading or watching television but it seemed wrong, as if she were asserting her right to be in the house, so she made her way back down the hall to her room.

  She was sticky and stale from the long day and she thought longingly of a shower. Unless Hamish and Jackson had added a second bathroom, and she could see no evidence they had, the only one in the place was opposite the master bedroom. Surely she wouldn’t have to ask permission to have a shower.

  She gathered a few things and tiptoed over to the bathroom door then stood outside, listening. There was no sound of running water or any other indication someone was in there. To be certain she knocked and waited, then she twisted the knob and went in.

  She turned on the taps, waited until the water was warm, then washed herself quickly. One thing she hadn’t forgotten from all those years ago was that in the country water was a precious resource and never to be wasted.

  Once she was dry, she wrapped herself in her robe, then opened the door and walked right into Hamish’s solid chest. He flung his arms round her to stop her tumbling backwards.

  “Are you okay?”

  He kept a firm hold of her, even after she gasped, “Yes. I’m right now. I won’t fall.”

  “Good.” Hamish’s voice was husky. “Then I can do this.”

  He bent his head and closed his lips over hers. She opened her mouth, whether to protest or to question she wasn’t sure, but as soon as she did, his tongue swept in and any coherent thought she had disappeared.

  Her knees wobbled and sagged and she was grateful for his hard arms holding her up.

  She tunnelled her fingers through his hair before she knew she’d lifted her hands to return his embrace. Her heart thudded as if she’d been running for hours to get to him.

  Just when she thought she’d faint from lack of breath, he pulled back, releasing her gently. He held her gaze with his. “If I didn’t have to look after the mare tonight, I’d…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead he said, “I have to go. Goodnight.”

  She took a shaky step backwards. It required two tries for her trembling lips to shape the reply, “Goodnight, Hamish.”

  He walked away but before he reached the end of the hall, he turned and said, “Don’t go home tomorrow. Stay a little longer.”

  On legs that were disconcertingly shaky, she made her way back to her room and dropped onto the bed. She closed her eyes but it was a long time before sleep claimed her.

  Chapter Two

  A clatter in the hallway woke her. Disorientated, she sat up, turning her head trying to peer through darkness far deeper than she was used to. Familiarity buzzed at the corner of her mind. Her old bedroom at her grandparents’ house. Why would she be there?

  “Jackson!” She recognised the voice even when it was distorted by the edge of urgency.

  Everything came crashing back. The long drive. The house. Jackson. Hamish. Everything. Her face burned as she remembered the searing kiss he’d left her with.

  “What’s wrong?” Jackson’s gravelly voice, even rougher with sleep, came from somewhere down the hall. “Is it the mare?”

  “Yeah. The foal has rotated again. It’s breech. I need to get it back in the right position. You’ll have to hold the mare. And try to keep her calm.”

  Sophie rolled out of bed, dressing quickly. She’d spe
nt enough time around animals to know this was serious. They might welcome an extra pair of hands. She opened the door just in time to see Jackson striding past, dressed in jeans and boots, pulling his shirt on as he went.

  “Can I help?”

  Jackson turned towards her. “Do you have any experience with horses?”

  “I ride.”

  He snorted derisively. “The mare isn’t fit for riding, princess.”

  Sophie’s temper flared. She grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. “I’m not any kind of princess. Hamish has a problem and I’m offering to help. I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

  Hamish stuck his head back inside the door. “Are you coming?” He lifted his head. “Hi, Sophie. Since you’re up, would you mind coming down to the stables? We have a difficult birth and I could use all the help I can get.”

  Sophie swept past Jackson with one haughty glance. If he was going to be a jerk, she’d treat him accordingly.

  Hamish grabbed her hand. “Thanks.”

  They hurried outside. The night was cool and clear. The stars Sophie seldom noticed in the city provided enough light for her to see the pale gravel path to the breeding stable. Hamish set a fast pace, only the firm grasp he kept on her hand kept her from stumbling. Ahead of them, Jackson paced out the distance as easily as if it were broad daylight.

  When they entered the stable they went straight to the stall where the mare lay, breathing heavily, her sides rising and falling.

  Hamish dropped Sophie’s hand and sank to his knees next to the mare. “Hang on, girl. It’ll be all right.”

  “How bad is it?” Jackson asked.

  “Bad enough,” Hamish replied. “I’ve tried massage but it wouldn’t turn. I’ll have to go in.”

  He held out his hand. Jackson reached behind him and pulled out a packet and he ripped it open. He dropped the longest rubber glove Sophie had ever seen into Hamish’s waiting palm.

  “What are you going to do?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m going to put my hand inside her and physically turn the foal,” Hamish answered. “If I don’t, we’ll lose the foal and the mother. Sophie, you go to the horse’s head and hold it. Talk softly to her. Try to keep her calm.”

  He pulled on the glove and nodded to Jackson, who moved in to lean on the mare’s flank, holding her steady and starting a constant rotating massage. There were no words spoken between the two men. They clearly understood each other and the routine well enough to make instructions unnecessary.

  For the next forty minutes the only sounds were the soft crooning Sophie kept up at the mare’s head, the huffs and moans of the horse and the grunts of exertion from Hamish. Every now and then Jackson wiped away the rivulets of sweat that poured down Hamish’s forehead, then returned to trying to push the foal around from the outside.

  At last Hamish let out an explosive breath. “Got it.”

  He withdrew his arm, the glove covered in a substance Sophie didn’t want to think about, and collapsed backwards into the straw. Jackson immediately stripped away the soiled latex. Around Hamish’s upper arm the flesh was bright red, with lines of compression scored into it. Below, the skin was an unnatural bluish-white. His lips were clamped together, lines of weariness dragging his mouth downwards.

  Jackson settled beside him, drew his head onto his shoulder and ran his hands in long smooth strokes over the creased skin, down to Hamish’s wrist and back, over and over. The pressure of Jackson’s fingers left white indentations which filled rapidly as the blood began to circulate. Hamish gritted his teeth and moaned.

  “Is he all right?” Sophie asked.

  “His circulation’s been restricted for too long.” The anger that coloured his voice the few times he’d spoken to her had gone. “The ring of muscle’s still tight. Until we got the foal the right way round, the pressure of her contractions was working against her.”

  “I’ll be okay in a minute.” Hamish’s raspy voice reflected his fatigue. “I should check her out again. See if the labour is progressing normally now.”

  “She won’t deliver immediately. You have time to recover.” The tenderness with which Jackson spoke, the gentle touch of his hands, stunned Sophie. She would never have predicted this gruff, hard man could be so caring.

  “I could get you coffee, if you wanted.” She knew where the kitchen was. Jackson looked almost as tired as Hamish. The whole time Hamish had been trying to turn the foal, Jackson had been on his knees pushing hard against the mare’s heaving sides, trying to help turn the foal from the outside.

  Jackson’s hands faltered and he looked at Sophie. He seemed to take a long moment to think, then his lips curved. It wasn’t the kind of smile that lit up his face, but it softened the harsh lines. He gave a short nod. “That would help, thank you. Hamish has his with milk, no sugar.” He returned to his massaging.

  “How do you take yours?”

  “I’m all right. Just make sure Hamish gets a good strong cup.”

  Sophie scrambled to her feet, giving the mare a parting touch on the forehead. “I’ll get some for all of us. So I’ll ask again. How do you take your coffee?”

  Hamish puffed out a laugh. “He takes it black.”

  “I could have guessed. And I bet he doesn’t take sugar either. Nothing sweet about Jackson.”

  “Go and get the coffee,” Jackson grumbled, but he sounded more amused than annoyed. Who knew the big man would respond positively to being teased?

  When she returned with the coffee, Hamish and Jackson were sitting as she’d left them. Hamish’s eyes were closed, his limbs relaxed. Jackson looked up as she walked in with a vacuum flask in one hand, three mugs and a small jug of milk dangling precariously from the fingers of the other.

  “I hunted through the cupboards,” she said, holding up the flask. “I hope you don’t mind. I couldn’t work out any other way to get the coffee down here.”

  Jackson reached out one hand and took the jug from her, twitching it upright just in time to prevent himself from being doused. He placed it carefully on the straw covered floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “I tried not to spill it. Did any get on your shirt?”

  “It’s fine,” Jackson said. “By the end of the night I’ll have a lot worse than fresh milk on it.” He took one cup.

  “Black, right?” Sophie asked as she poured.

  “Put milk in this one. It’s for Hamish.”

  “I can get it myself,” Hamish said, opening his eyes and lifting his head. He pushed himself upright and took the coffee from Jackson, mumbling his thanks as Jackson poured in a little of the milk.

  He finished the drink quickly and hauled himself to his knees. “Time to check on the little lady again.”

  He donned another pair of gloves to examine the mare. “That’s better,” he said with a grin. “You’re doing just fine now, aren’t you, girl?” He turned to the others. “There’s not much to do now. The mare can manage the rest on her own. I’ll stay to keep an eye on things, but if you want to go back to bed…”

  Jackson folded his arms. He didn’t have to say a word.

  Sophie wasn’t leaving either. She settled down next to the two men. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  * * * *

  Three hours later she watched a spindly-legged colt struggle to his feet. She shared the elation of the two men who couldn’t keep the smiles from their faces as the foal wobbled to its mother for its first feed.

  They watched for a while longer then Hamish said, “They’ll do. I guess it’s time we got some sleep.”

  Outside, the first yellow-grey streaks of dawn coloured the sky. They ignored the growing light and trudged wearily into the house. Hamish was in the middle, separating her from Jackson. When she’d first arrived, that would have made her more comfortable, but sometime during the long night the snarl that seemed almost constantly directed at her had gone. His eyes remained wary, though. He gave the impression he was leaning away from her. It was not a physical di
stance, more a suppressed tension that held him taut.

  Sophie propped her elbows on the high-backed sofa, slumped over, rested her forehead on her hands and yawned, too exhausted to hide it.

  Hamish rubbed the small of her back, making soothing circles. “Stay another night. By the time you’ve slept long enough it will be too late to make the drive back to the city.”

  “It would be nice to see the foal again before I leave,” Sophie replied. She breathed deeply but kept her head down, hoping to hide the lustful feelings his talented fingers evoked.

  “I’m going to bed.”

  Jackson’s gravelly voice snapped her out of her stupor and she stood and turned.

  Hamish draped his arm around her shoulders. “Good idea. No matter what we’ve got planned, it will work better when we’re rested enough to know what we’re doing.”

  Plans? What exactly did he intend? She opened her mouth to ask him, but before a word came out he took it in a hard kiss. His tongue explored the warm, wet space, then just as suddenly he straightened and stepped back.

  “I’ll see you when you wake up. We may not be in the house, but we won’t be far. Try the stables first.”

  She blinked, trying to regain her equilibrium. She blinked again and met Jackson’s hard gaze. Once more, brush strokes of red lined his cheeks.

  Muttering a hasty, “Goodnight,” she fled down the hall.

  Her stop in the bathroom was as short as she could make it. She didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into either of the men.

  In bed, she pulled up the covers and rolled onto her side. What was happening to her? She wanted to stay. Every time Hamish looked at her, a wave of heat sizzled over her. And every time Jackson touched Hamish, the heat flared into sparks zinging across her nerve endings. She’d never thought of herself as a voyeur, but the sight of the two of them stretched out on top of each other before she’d disturbed them still had the power to make her wet. Even in the stable, with both men working so hard to save the horses, the sexual awareness never completely faded.