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“I want every employee’s file before I leave today,” he demanded without looking away from the smoky blue eyes shooting flames at him.
“That’s confidential information,” Hannah protested.
“Hannah,” Sutherland’s lawyer interjected, “as the new owner of Sutherland Farm, Mr. Jacobs has unrestricted access to employee records.”
“But—”
Wyatt nailed her with a hard look. “I’ll start with yours. I have a pretty good idea what I’ll find. Private schools. Sororities. European vacations paid for by Sutherland Farm.”
Hannah glared at him. Tension quivered through her slender, toned body. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and despite his aversion to spoiled women and his anger over his predicament, awareness simmered beneath his skin.
Something about her got to him. She had a subtle grace and elegance about her that both attracted him and, because of his past relationships with her type, repulsed him. He’d been burned by her kind before.
“I graduated from an accredited veterinary school,” she said through barely moving lips. “My credentials are valid, and since Warmbloods are a European breed, visiting the established and successful breeding farms to study their setups and evaluate their stock for potential matches is a necessary part of my job.”
“I’m sure you have references from your previous employers to prove your worth as an employee.”
Her chin jerked up a notch and she managed to look down her straight nose at him in the way only wealthy women could—a lesson he’d had driven into him like a railroad spike when he’d been seventeen and green and working at his stepfather’s stable. Back then he hadn’t been smart enough to know rich daddy’s darlings didn’t marry boys who cleaned stalls for their stepfathers’ stables no matter how intimate the relationship might have become.
“I have worked here since graduating—almost five years. I’m good at what I do.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She folded her arms and cocked back on one of those long legs. “Tell me, Mr. Jacobs, what exactly are your credentials for determining whether or not staff members are performing well?”
“Hannah—” the attorney cautioned, but Wyatt silenced him with a look.
“I’m CEO of Triple Crown Distillery. I employ over six hundred. I recognize incompetents and slackers when I see them.”
Anger stained her cheeks a fiery red, proving she’d picked up his implication that he considered her one. “As I’ve already stated, the Sutherland team doesn’t have any weak links. We’re a cohesive unit, one of the best in the industry.”
“That remains to be seen.” Wyatt was beginning to wish he’d chosen one of the other dozen properties the real estate agent had presented. But as wise as that option now appeared, none of those farms had fit Sam’s descriptions and all would have required Wyatt’s input as a manager. Input he didn’t have the time or inclination to give.
When Sam reminisced about the Kentucky thoroughbred farm he’d once owned, he sounded so lucid Wyatt could almost forget his stepfather was fading away right before his eyes. Sutherland Farm resembled Sam’s old farm more than any of the other properties, and Sam deserved to be comfortable, happy and, most importantly, safe for however long he had left. He would be here. Wyatt would make damned sure of it.
And he had no intention of letting Hannah Sutherland prevent him from repaying the debt he owed to the man who’d been a better parent to him than his own flesh and blood.
“Just watch your step, doc. Your father may have indulged you, but I won’t. You’ll earn your keep if you want to remain employed here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have files to review and you need to get back to work.”
Exhausted, Hannah plodded down the driveway toward her cottage, a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine.
One of her rescue mares kept pace beside her on the opposite side of the white board fence. Hannah found the horse’s undemanding company soothing. Unlike people, who were easily disappointed, horses never expected too much.
It had been a tough week. Since her world crashed she’d been juggling her usual duties plus the new ones thrust unexpectedly on her. The staff had turned to her for answers—answers she didn’t have.
The mood in the barns grew more oppressive, like an impending summer storm, with each day that Wyatt Jacobs failed to make an appearance. Usually affable employees were on edge and snapping at each other. Even the horses had picked up on the bad vibes and been harder to handle than usual. Hannah wished Jacobs would show up just to break the tension. Not that she wanted to see him again.
The phone on her hip vibrated. The digital display read private caller. Could be a client or, if she was lucky, a wrong number. She didn’t have the energy to deal with another crisis or panicking coworker.
She hit the answer button. “Hannah Sutherland.”
“Wyatt Jacobs. Come to my office in the house. Now.”
Click.
Her feet stuck to the pavement as if she’d stepped in fresh tar. She scowled at the now silent phone then she looked across the lawn toward the main house. A light glowed in her father’s—Wyatt Jacobs’s—study.
The usurper had arrived. And he’d hung up on her. The rude, inconsiderate jerk. Anger charged through her system, riding on the back of a burst of adrenaline. How dare he demand an appointment this late in the evening?
She considered calling back and telling him she was off the clock and she’d see him tomorrow. But according to the clause in her new contract, which Brinkley had pointed out, she couldn’t refuse the boss’s summons without jeopardizing her job.
She glanced at her stained clothing. If she were truly interested in making a good impression, she’d clean up first.
She wasn’t.
She’d done an internet search on Jacobs and found nothing linking him to horses in any way. Why had he bought the farm?
Was he one of those new-money guys who thought owning a horse farm would be trendy and fun? If so, he wouldn’t have a clue how much work, money and commitment were involved in a stable the size of Sutherland. If she had to teach him herself, he’d learn, and if she smelled like sweat and horses and other unpleasant stuff, she’d only be furthering his education.
As much as she hated going into the meeting at a messy disadvantage, he’d have to deal with her dirt. “Welcome to the horse business, Wyatt Jacobs.”
Energized by resentment and determination Hannah marched across the lawn and up to the kitchen door. A sideways glance down the patio brought her hand to a halt inches shy of the knob.
An unfamiliar rectangular teak table and chairs occupied the space once graced by elegant glass-topped wrought iron furniture and classic urns overflowing with spring flowers. The sight drove home the reality that this wasn’t her father’s house anymore, and she didn’t have the right to casually enter through the kitchen and feast on Nellie’s delicious cooking.
Ten yards away the patio door leading to the office opened, and Wyatt Jacobs’s tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the gap. His dark gaze pinned her like a thumbtack stabbing into a bulletin board.
“Come in, doc.” He gestured with a sharp beckoning motion of his hand—the same way he would order a dog.
Her hackles rose. Everything about him made her want to snarl and growl and that surprised her. Who was this strange woman with the bad attitude who had taken over her body? It certainly wasn’t her. She preferred gracious smiles, gentle persuasion and Southern charm. Kill ‘em with kindness, Nellie had always said, and the strategy had worked for Hannah thus far.
Wyatt Jacobs brought out her witchy side. Her churning stomach warned her to handle this encounter with care. Jacobs, the one man she didn’t know and didn’t care to know, held her future and that of her horses and the rest of the staff in his hands. Being cooperative was imperative.
She’d be damned if she’d let him know how afraid she was of losing everything.
“I’d rather talk out here.” Even though she delivered the words with a civil smile, Hannah Sutherland bristled with visible animosity. She pointed to her dust-covered black low-heeled boots. “Since I wasn’t expecting your call this late in the day, I’ve brought barn with me.”
Her boots weren’t all that was dirty. He noted the smudge filling the hollow beneath one high cheekbone, then a stain on her white Sutherland Farm logo polo shirt drew his eyes to the curve of her breasts. Another dirty streak on her khaki pants ran down the inside of her lean, taut thigh. Her current garb was a far cry from the designer duds she’d been wearing the day they’d met, but she still wore the pricey watch and ice-cube-size earrings.
He caught a subtle whiff of the stables on the breeze. But along with the smell of horses, wood shavings and hay another scent—something feminine and alluring like expensive French perfume—snagged his attention. His heart inexplicably and annoyingly pumped faster.
He’d studied her résumé and bio the way he would a blueprint, searching for flaws and weaknesses, and he’d found nothing to like in her privileged, worry-free upbringing. She’d apparently been given everything she’d ever wanted on a silver platter.
“Other than your years at college you’ve never lived away from dear old dad or his checkbook, have you?”
Her slender frame stiffened and her smile faltered. “No.”
“You never held a job, before waltzing into this one.”
“I didn’t waltz in. I earned my degree. And I gained experience by volunteering at the university’s stables. I wasn’t on the payroll because I didn’t need the money. I didn’t think it fair to take it from someone who did.”
Even with, or possibly because of, Sam’s help, Wyatt had worked his ass off to get where he was today. Sam might have paid the tuition, but he’d made Wyatt prove himself every step of the way. He’d learned the business from the ground up, and Triple Crown Distillery’s distribution and profit margins had increased by sixty percent since he had taken control after Sam’s “retirement.”
But Wyatt’s bitterness and resentment over Hannah’s worry-free life didn’t stop the spurt of energy racing through his veins when Hannah glared at him.
“I’m off the clock, Mr. Jacobs. Was there something you needed that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
The setting sun highlighted the streaks of gold in her brown wavy hair—streaks probably applied by an overpriced hairdresser. Her blue eyes showed no mercy, no interest and no feminine softness. She didn’t want him here, and her attempt at hiding her feelings failed miserably.
“Meet me in the stable’s business office tomorrow at noon.”
“Why?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“You’re going to show me around the farm.”
Her stiff shoulders snapped back, becoming even more rigid. She hit him with that hoity, looking-down-the-nose appraisal that reminded him of his first love, first heartache and first betrayal by a woman.
“I can’t drop everything to play tour guide for you. Sir,” she tacked on at the last minute.
He wasn’t used to openly antagonistic females. He would have to be an idiot not to realize his looks and money made most of her gender eager to please. But from the tension and displeasure radiating from her, he would hazard a guess that she didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought of her and her disheveled state. Or maybe she’d dirtied up intentionally to make it look as though she worked hard. Yeah, that was probably the case. He doubted Ms. Perfect Manicure ever got her hands dirty.
“You’ll report at noon if you value your job.”
“I have a full schedule tomorrow. This is the busy season.”
“Why?”
She blinked, revealing long, thick lashes he hadn’t noticed before. “Why what?”
“Why is this the busy season?”
A pleat formed between her eyebrows. “Not only do we have a lot of boarders showing up to ride on Saturdays, I shouldn’t have to tell you we’re preparing for the breeding season.”
His knowledge of horse breeding was limited. Sam had always given Wyatt more menial jobs—the kind that built character as well as muscle and calluses. Or so Sam had insisted. “Noon, Dr. Sutherland.”
“I’ll find someone else to show you around, someone who has the time.”
“Your father claims you know more about Sutherland Farm than any other employee. I don’t want someone else. I want you. That’s not negotiable.”
“Of course I know the most about the farm. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve covered every inch of the property. But as much as I’d love to show you all the wonderful things about Sutherland Farm, I have a production schedule to maintain.”
Something—maybe a primitive urge to knock her off the pedestal she’d put herself on—made Hannah’s resistance both challenging and a turn-on.
That makes you one twisted fool, Jacobs.
A nerve at the corner of his mouth twitched as he fought to conceal his irritation with her and himself. “You’re not going to make it that easy for me, are you, Hannah?”
“What do you mean?”
“Per your contract, if you fail to meet my expectations you’ll be fired. Make time to show me around or pick up your final paycheck.”
Her lips flattened into a thin line and anger flagged her cheeks with red. “You like the power of holding the contracts you made us sign over our heads, don’t you? We’re all here on a trial basis even though we’ve been successfully doing our jobs without your interference for years.”
“I’m the boss. Your boss. That’s the way it works.”
Her irritated gaze snapped up and down his Armani suit without the admiration he usually received. She heaved an aggravated breath. “I’ll be there, but leave the fancy duds behind unless you plan to stay in the golf cart.”
She pivoted on her heel with military precision then marched off the patio, her firm, round bottom swishing with each long, angry stride. He couldn’t peel his gaze away and his body reacted with unexpected and unwanted appreciation.
Oh, yeah, he’d called it right. Hannah Sutherland with her expensive jewelry, highlighted hair, manicured hands and entitled attitude was going to be nothing but trouble.
Until he got rid of her.
And that couldn’t happen soon enough.
Three
The door to Hannah’s lab opened abruptly on Saturday morning, startling her. Wyatt stalked in as if he owned the place…which he did, technically. But this was her domain—the only place that remained orderly and tranquil no matter what chaos reigned in other parts of her life.
Her muscles snapped taut and the hair on her nape sprang to attention. She’d never experienced such instant antagonism toward anyone before, and the strength of the emotion roiling inside her now surprised her.
“You said twelve. You’re early.” She tried to keep her tone polite, but judging by his scowl, she failed.
His dark eyes panned the spotless room as if inventorying each piece of equipment before returning to her and examining her as thoroughly. “The rain is predicted to worsen. I want my tour now.”
Rain? Hannah blinked and listened. Sure enough, rain snare-drummed on the barn’s metal roof. She’d been so engrossed in her tasks and her troubles that she hadn’t even noticed the rat-a-tat-tat before now. Usually the sound relaxed her. But not today, thanks to the irritant in front of her.
She stood her ground and returned his appraisal. The hard line of his jaw gleamed from a recent shave and his hair looked damp—either from the weather or a recent shower if he were the type to waste a morning lying in bed. A picture of him on twisted sheets popped into her head.
Where had that come from? She kicked it away.
A black cashmere sweater stretched across his broad shoulders, the white of a T-shirt showing in the V-neck, and faded jeans clung to his hips and long, muscled thighs. Something—most likely aggravation—quickened her pulse. It couldn’t be anything else. She didn’t like him or his arrogant attitude.
“I still have orders to process before the courier service arrives. Come back at twelve. Please,” she added. She wasn’t going to let him disrupt her schedule and thereby give him grounds to fire her.
“Reviewing employee performance is part of any new business venture. I’ll start with yours. You work. I’ll observe.”
Anxiety tangled with the coil of exasperation snaking through her. She couldn’t throw him out. “Then at least close the door. This is a controlled environment. The room needs to remain dust-free, and the temperature as constant as possible.”
“Is it that important?”
“Considering I handle thousands of dollars’ worth of product every day, yes, quality control is important.”
Curiosity sharpened his eyes. He strolled toward her, encroaching on her personal space, but she kept her boots planted, refusing to surrender her spot by the microscope despite an almost visceral urge to back far, far away.
“What are you working on, doc?”
An odd question from the man who owned everything in front of him. Everything except her, that is. “I’m confirming the viability of the sample before I chill and ship it.”
“Sample of what?”
He was kidding. Right? But if so, he did so with a straight face. Hey, she could play along. “Sperm. Want to take a look?”
His short, thick lashes flickered, then he moved forward, calling her bluff and forcing her to yield territory to avoid contact. He bent over the microscope. “Tell me what I’m looking for.”
Unsure whether he was testing her knowledge or simply being a pain in the rear, she scowled at the thick, dark strands covering the back of his head. “You’re checking to see whether the sample has enough potency to get the job done.”
He straightened. Their gazes collided unexpectedly and held. Her thoughts scattered like bowling pins. Tension crackled between them.
“And the answer?”
She inhaled slowly, trying to remember his question, but a trace of his cologne—something hinting of patchouli, sandalwood and cypress—distracted her. He smelled good and looked good. Too bad he was a jerk. She’d dealt with enough overinflated egos over the years to know bad attitude cancelled out any positives.
“Yes, this is a fertile stud, and a good thing, too, since Commander is Sutherland Farm’s top moneymaker.”
Determined to get back to business, she waved him out of the way and bent over the eye pieces, but his presence disturbed her. She could feel him dissecting and cataloging her every action as if he were waiting for her to make a mistake. When she adjusted the focus her hands weren’t as steady as they’d been before his arrival, and it annoyed her that he could rattle her so easily.
“What’s the purpose of all the equipment and charts?”
Another odd question from Sutherland’s new owner. She lifted her head and put down the pencil she’d been using to make notes. “If I explain, will you go away and let me finish my job?”
“I’m not leaving until you’ve given me a satisfactory tour.”
Not what she wanted to hear. “Are you completely ignorant of the business into which you’ve invested millions?”
Whoops. Not nice, Hannah. What happened to killing him with kindness and not making waves?
“You mean the business I own, the one that pays your salary?”
He had her there. And if she wanted to continue receiving that paycheck so that she could care for her horses and put food on her table, she’d better dam the resentment pouring from her mouth. “I apologize. The clock is ticking and I really need to get this order ready before the sample is ruined.”
“Answer my question, Hannah.”
“The shelves are filled with the collection equipment we use. Each stud has his own—” Her cheeks warmed and her tongue tangled. Oh, for pity’s sake. Reproduction was her job. Discussing it was routine. So why did explaining it to him make her uncomfortable? They weren’t discussing her personal sexual preferences.
Or his.
An image of him bare-chested, braced on his forearms above her and with passion instead of irritation tightening his features flashed in her mind. Her womb clenched. She inhaled sharply.
Girl, you have been too long without a man’s attention.
She cleared her throat and, trying to ignore the unwelcome warmth seeping through her, carefully chose her words. “Stallions have likes and dislikes that could interfere with or assist in production and collection. We get our most successful outcomes when the positive elements are in place, and we keep track of each stud’s preferences with the charts.”
His eyes narrowed and for a moment the air seemed to hum with tension. “Sutherland Farm has two veterinarians on staff. Your position seems redundant. Why should I continue paying your salary?”
Alarm froze any lingering awareness faster than a liquid nitrogen dip. “You’re asking me to justify my job?”
“Correct. Convince me nepotism wasn’t a factor in your hiring.”
She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “Our staff vet oversees general animal health. I oversee breeding.”
“Something animals have managed without assistance or all this equipment since the beginning of time.”
“Breeding is Sutherland Farm’s bread and butter. Without the raw material, our trainers can’t produce champions. We continue to make money off successful mares and studs for years, sometimes even decades, after they leave the show ring.”
“And why can’t the staff vet oversee that?”
“Developing a winning bloodline is far more complicated than randomly pairing animals and hoping for a pretty foal. It’s an intricate mix of genealogy, genetics, biology and veterinary science aimed at producing an animal with optimal traits and minimal deficiencies. It’s a science—one at which I happen to excel.”
He didn’t look impressed.
“Tell me, Wyatt, exactly how much do you know about horse breeding?”
“My knowledge of horses is limited to thoroughbreds.”
That explained a lot. “And yet you bought a Warmblood farm. Thoroughbreds are bred naturally. Sutherland Farm does almost everything by artificial insemination.”
“Why?”
“There are several reasons. Our horses are too valuable to risk one of them getting injured during the natural breeding process, and artificial insemination allows us to service mares globally and not only in our barns. It’s cost-effective and less stressful for the mares than being shipped to the stallion’s home stable. Shipping a horse overseas is expensive and often disturbs her cycle. Plus quarantine is a hassle. Shipping semen is less aggravating. We simply freeze or chill it and send it out.”
He pointed to yet another chart. “And this?”
Hannah grimaced. She was fond of her charts and graphs. Charts were predictable. They made sense. She could weigh the pros and cons of practically any permutation on paper and erase her mistakes. Unlike life’s bad choices.
“That’s the stallion schedule. Regular, predictable collection encourages better production. In layman’s terms, it’s our way of aligning supply to demand so we know where to set our stud fees. And the chart beside it is the pending shipment list—the one I need to get back to before I can give you the tour and before this sample loses viability. So please, Mr. Jacobs, go away and let me do my job.”
“Wyatt,” he corrected.
She didn’t want to be on a first-name basis with him. That implied friendship—something they would never have. But he was the boss and that meant she had to mind her manners.
“Wyatt. Sutherland Farm bloodstock has been producing champion jumping and dressage stock for years. Let me show you to the visitors’ lounge in the office building. You can have a cup of coffee and look through the catalogue of our studs, mares and foals until I finish here.”
His dark gaze lingered on hers until an odd sensation stirred in the pit of her stomach and her toes curled in her boots. “I can find the lounge.”