by Robyn Grady
“He doesn’t talk about that day, though I’m sure he thinks about it often. Poor love, he blames himself.”
Jack exuded the confidence and ability of a man who could defeat any foe or would die trying. Having to face that he hadn’t been able to save his wife, his child…
Maddy swayed. She couldn’t imagine the weight on his conscience. Perhaps it was similar to the guilt she felt about pushing Dahlia out the door that day to have her nails and hair done. Would she ever forgive herself?
Maddy dragged herself back to the here and now. Knowing this much about Jack’s loss, she felt compelled to know more. More about how Jack’s past might affect his relationship with Beau. More about the steel cowboy who was very much a flesh and blood man underneath.
Before she could ask, Maddy’s senses prickled and she felt a presence at their backs. Heartbeat hammering, she rotated to face him.
Jack’s impressive frame filled the doorway. The baby lay asleep in one arm. His other hand was bunched by his side.
“Beau’s asleep,” he said.
Maddy secretly gripped the counter for support. He’d come up on them so quietly…how much had he heard? She was so taken aback, she could barely get her lips to work.
When she’d gathered herself, she came forward and with her arms out to take the baby, she managed a smile.
“I’ll put him down.”
With a single step, Jack retreated into the hall. “I can do it.”
Maddy’s arms lowered. When they’d met, she didn’t believe he had the wherewithal to care for this child beyond a grudging sense of duty. She certainly hadn’t envisaged him being hands-on, wanting to change and feed and put Beau to bed. Initially, when they’d arrived here, she’d placed his insistence to help in the ‘male pride’ slot—he’d once run a sheep stud empire, therefore looking after an infant should be a piece of cake.
But she’d seen a shift in his attitude, like when he’d spoken about the baby’s cheeky smile this afternoon, and when he’d lifted Beau out of the playpen to take him outside into the cool night. There’d been true caring in his eyes, a look that had touched a tender, hope-filled place inside of her.
Was he beginning to see Beau as a replacement for the child he’d lost? If so, wasn’t that a healing move for Jack as well as a good outcome for the baby? Her head said yes.
Yet something niggled.
Jack moved off down the hall to put Beau to bed and Maddy returned to the sink. Whether he went to his room later or out to the stables, she didn’t know but she didn’t see Jack again.
Afterward, she went to her room and sat on the edge of her downy bed. She’d experienced a gamut of emotions these past few days. Guilt and deepest sadness over Dahlia’s death. Fierce protectiveness toward Beau. Anger then curiosity toward Jack, followed more recently by acute physical desire and ultimately, tonight, empathy.
Slipping off her shoes, she took in her surroundings.
She didn’t fit here, but Beau would—or did. The walls of this homestead contained memories, connections, history that were a part of who he was and Dahlia had known it. But this cozy quiet room, with its lace curtains, white cast iron headboard, patchwork quilt and rustic timber floors, was so not her. Madison Tyler was tailored suits and classic jewelry, multiple meetings and hardnose decisions. At this point in her life, Madison Tyler was the Pompadour account.
Exhaling, she studied her BlackBerry on the bedside table. Good or bad, she couldn’t put that phone call off any longer.
Her father picked up with his usual abbreviated greeting. “Tyler here.”
Maddy held the phone tighter to her ear. “Hey, Dad.”
He groaned a sigh of relief. “Thank God. I need you back here yesterday.”
Holding her brow, she fell back against the quilt. Worse than she’d thought.
“What’s wrong?”
“Pompadour wants to look at the campaign at the end of next week.”
Her eyes flew open while her heart sank. “That’s two weeks earlier than scheduled.”
“They’re eager to see what we have. I’m eager to show them.” His voice cooled. “What about you?”
She visualized her big desk in her corner office suite even as she gazed at the vintage molded ceiling and felt today’s soft fleece beneath her fingers. Then she heard Jack’s plea…you and I are staying the night.
Her stomach knotted.
Her father wanted her to leave straight away?
“Maddy, you there?”
Thinking quick, she sat up. Today was Tuesday.
“The Pompadour proposal is polished and printed,” she told him. “There’s only the Powerpoint to tidy up and a final briefing with the staff involved. If I get back mid-next week, say crack of dawn Wednesday, that’ll be plenty of time to pull those last strings together.”
Tension crackled down the line. “Honey, I’ve been patient. I understand what good friends you were with that girl. But you’ve done what you promised. You’ve delivered the boy to his new home. Now it’s time to get back to looking after you. Looking after your own future.”
Maddy drew her legs up and hugged her knees. He was right. Absolutely. Given the circumstances, it was only logical she get back to her life, pronto. Still…
She gnawed her bottom lip. “Dad, can you give me until Monday?”
She imagined her father shutting his eyes and shaking his head.
“You have a choice to make,” he said, not unkindly. “Either come back and finish the job or I’ll have to give it to someone who can.”
Her throat closed. “But I’ve put so much work into that campaign.” Storyboards, multiple media schedules, months spent on research both in Australia and overseas.
“This isn’t about being fair. I love you, but that’s personal. This is about business. You’re either with Tyler Advertising a hundred percent or you’re not.”
She let go of her knees and straightened. “I understand.”
She really did. And yet leaving Beau here after only one day seemed…worse than heartless.
As if reading her thoughts, her father sighed the way he used to when she was young and had pleaded for another scoop of ice cream after dinner.
“If you really think you can pull it off…all right. I’ll give you ’til Monday to get back.”
She pushed to her feet, beaming. “Really?”
“Monday eight a.m.,” he decreed. “Not a minute later.”
She said goodbye and thought over how thirteen days at Leadeebrook had dwindled down to five. At least she didn’t have to hop on a plane back to Sydney as soon as tomorrow. But now she needed to make the most of every minute she had with Beau.
She crept the short distance down the darkened hall and when she reached the nursery, the door was ajar. After tiptoeing in, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows and moonlight streaming in through the partly opened window. The outline of the crib grew more distinct as the smell of baby powder and Beau filled her lungs. Feeling the cool timber then soft center rug beneath her feet, she inched closer until her fingers curled over the sturdy cot rail. She smiled. Beau was sound asleep.
She stood there for she didn’t know how long, simply drinking in the angelic form, filing this memory away for later. In this wedge of time, Sydney and Tyler’s Advertising were another world away. Another universe.
And she was more than okay with that.
A creak came from behind. Heart zipping to her throat, Maddy spun around. A hulking shadow in the corner took on shape as it straightened out of a chair and edged toward her. She smothered a breathless gasp. An intruder?
But as the figure drifted closer, its build became unmistakable. Of course it was Jack. Saying not a thing the whole while she’d been there.
“Why didn’t you let me know you were in the room?” she whispered, hoping the irritation showed in her voice. No one liked to be spied on.
“I didn’t want to disturb you.” He came closer. “But when you stayed…”
He stopped beside her and his simmering magnetism at once drew her in. It was as if she were a planet being sucked into the heat of the sun, or the day needing to surrender to the unconditional blanket of the night.
Bracing herself, Maddy locked her weakened knees.
She needed to get out of here, away from him, before she did something foolish like let him kiss her again. She had to keep focused. But she needed to say something important—something that couldn’t wait—before she left this room.
“I spoke with my father tonight,” she told him. “He needs me back in Sydney early.”
The dark slashes of his brows swooped together. “How early?”
“Monday morning.”
His frown lowered to Beau. “How do you feel about that?”
She batted a reply around in her head and decided on, “I don’t have a choice.”
“Doesn’t give me much time to get you in a saddle.”
When he grinned, she gave in to a smile, too. You wish. “But it does give us time for the gala,” he went on. “Do you have a dress?”
Her jaw dropped and an exasperated sound escaped her throat.
“I seriously cannot believe you.” The baby stirred. Gathering herself, she pressed her lips together and hushed her voice. “I’m not going anywhere with you, particularly not now that I only have five days left with Beau.”
Even if, admittedly, when she’d spoken on the phone with her father and had asked for more time, going to the gala with Jack had been something of a consideration.
“Five days, yes,” Jack agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t come back.”
The words hit her, caressed her, and she could only blink. Just days ago he’d barely wanted to know her and now…
She half smiled. “You want me to come back?”
“Now don’t be shy. I know you’re secretly attached to the Mitchell grass and the dust.”
She almost laughed. Never, ever would that happen. But…
“I would like to come back and see Beau,” she added to be clear.
“That can be arranged. On one condition.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is this going to be an offer I can’t refuse?”
“Hope so.” He turned to her and held her with his eyes. “Come away with me, Maddy. One night. Just one. Don’t make me beg.”
They’d known each other such a short time. But she was convinced of his strength and confidence and, above all else, his pride. The idea of him begging…
She touched her forehead.
He made her feel vulnerable. Desirable. Hot. How a woman should feel with a man. He almost made her feel too intensely.
“What are you afraid of?” His head angled and a lock of hair fell over his furrowed brow. When he moved closer, his height, his overpowering presence, seemed to curl over and absorb her.
“Once I thought I had all the time in the world,” he murmured into the dark. “But we both know life isn’t always that way. If we had more time, I probably wouldn’t have suggested this.” A corner of his mouth hooked up. “Then again, maybe I would have.”
Her heart squeezed so much that it ached.
She was physically drawn to a ruggedly handsome man who wasn’t hiding the fact that he was seriously drawn to her. He’d told her in the plainest of terms—he wanted them to spend the night together. He was saying he wanted to make love.
What did she want?
Not the girl who’d grown up without a mother, or the cosmo-chick who lived for her decaf soy latte each morning at eight. What did Madison Tyler, the woman, want?
He seemed to read her mind. His big hand threaded around her waist and brought her close. “This might help you decide.”
His lips met hers, a feathery, devastatingly gentle caress. The steam in his blood found a way into hers and, in that mist-filled instant, she burned white-hot from the inside out. She told herself to keep her wits…to try to find her feet. Useless. Her defenses fell away and any remaining doubt drifted off like weightless wisps from a dandelion ball.
His mouth reluctantly left hers but the hold on her waist remained firm. When her eyes fluttered open, she didn’t have the strength to even pretend she was annoyed. She understood the arguments. She barely knew him. She wasn’t a leap-in-think-later type. God, what would Dahlia have thought?
And yet suddenly none of that mattered.
For so long she’d wanted to feel as if she truly belonged, without pressure, without fear of disapproval. Right or wrong, for one night she wanted to belong to Jack Prescott.
Siphoning in a much-needed breath, she sorted her thoughts.
“I’ll go with you,” she said, “but I have a condition of my own. That you don’t do that again while we’re under this roof.”
His grin was lazy. “Was the kiss that bad?”
Her brows knitted. This wasn’t a joke.
“I won’t deny that I want you to kiss me again, because I do.” At this moment more than she could ever have dreamed possible. “But if we start stealing kisses in every darkened corner, where does that leave Beau? The days that I’m left here, he deserves my attention. All of it.” Maddy thought of Dahlia’s trust in her—that sacred promise—and her throat swelled and closed off. “The least we can do is give him that much.”
Jack’s gaze turned inward before falling to the baby. A moment later, his hand left her waist. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he nodded.
“Agreed.”
“But I will go with you on Saturday,” she continued, “if we leave after he’s gone down for the night and we arrive back early. Can you live with that?”
Jack studied Beau for a long moment before his gaze found hers once more. His expression changed. A knuckle curved around and lifted her jaw and for a strangled heartbeat Maddy thought he might kiss her again.
But he only smiled a thoughtful smile and murmured, “I can live with that.”
Seven
The next day, back from his early ride, Jack headed for the house, remembering Maddy’s words from the previous night. They’d rattled around in his head all morning. Had made him smile and made him wonder.
I won’t deny that I want to kiss you again, because I do.
Maddy had agreed to go to the gala. In effect they both knew she’d agreed to more than that. Knowing he would soon take to bed the woman he’d been physically attracted to from the start left him with an acute sense of anticipation that released a new and vital heat surging through his veins. But their connection was more than physical. Had to be. He’d been intimate with women over the past three years. The acts had left his body sated, but not his mind. Not his heart. Something about Maddy affected him…differently.
Striding up the steps, he chided himself.
Of course he didn’t kid himself that making love to Maddy could compare with what he and Sue had shared. It wouldn’t, and that was as it should be. Neither could he pretend that he wouldn’t have the hardest time keeping his promise not to touch Maddy again until Saturday evening. She wanted no distractions from her time left here with Beau. Commendable. But when they arrived in Clancy for the gala, he’d have to make up for lost time.
Stopping at the kitchen, Jack expected to see Cait by the sink or the stove, but the room, gleaming in the early morning light, was empty. Further down the hall, Maddy’s door was closed. In passing, his pace slowed. He wanted to invite himself in. To break his promise and be done with it.
Scratching his jaw, he growled and moved on.
This situation was getting ridiculous. He shouldn’t be so preoccupied with speculations over how Maddy would feel beneath him, her thighs coiled around his hips, her warm lips on his neck, on his chest. Family—now that he had one again—was what mattered.
He approached the nursery, confirming again in his mind that he wouldn’t fail this boy. Not like he’d failed Dahlia when he hadn’t brought her back all those years ago. But, hell, had rescuing his sister ever been possible? He might have been bigger. He might have be
en right. Staying at Leadeebrook was far safer for a girl—for Dahlia—than trying to survive on the outside. The rape, her death, proved that. But when Dahlia had left Leadeebrook, she’d been over eighteen. The law said she’d been old enough to make her own decisions, even if they ended in tragedy.
He stopped outside the partly closed nursery door and took stock. Life was known for irony, and that tragedy had also produced a baby, the only surviving link, other than himself, to the Prescott bloodline. Beau was more than Dahlia’s legacy, he was the Prescott future. Beau would grow up, find a nice woman, settle here at Leadeebrook, have a family of his own.
Jack pushed open the door, a smile curving his lips. He felt a great deal of comfort knowing that.
Kicking his heels, Beau was wide awake in his crib. After changing his diaper, Jack decided it was high time he took the boy on a tour. He bundled Beau up and headed for what had been known at Leadeebrook as the portrait hall.
“This is your great-great-grandfather,” Jack said, stopping before the first portrait, which looked particularly regal in its gold-leaf gilded frame. “He was a determined and clever man. He and great-great-grandmother Prescott were responsible for making this homestead into the stately residence it is today.”
Sitting quietly, gathered in his uncle’s arm, Beau stared at the stern-looking gentleman in the frame before Jack moved further down the hall.
“And this,” he said, pulling up in front of the next portrait, “is your great-grandfather. He taught me how to shear.” Jack studied the baby then smiled and tickled his chin. “I’ll have to teach you.”
On the opposite side of the wide hall resided portraits of the Prescott women. He stopped at his late wife’s and clenched his free hand to divert the familiar ache of loss that rose in his chest. The finest artist on the eastern coast had been commissioned for this piece, and the man had captured the loving shine in Sue’s soft brown eyes perfectly.
At the same time Jack’s throat thickened, Beau wriggled and he bypassed the other distinguished portraits until he reached the part of the house he visited often but always alone. After turning the handle, he entered the library—what had become Sue’s library when she’d been alive. An extendable stepladder resided at the far end of the massive room. Numerous shelves, laden with all kinds of reading matter, towered toward the lofty ceiling. Designer crimson-and-yellow-gold swags decorated the tall windows. The cream chairs and couches bore the subtle sheen of finest quality upholstery.
