by BA Tortuga
“Hamish, find out what she wants, then get rid of her. I’m going out to check the horses.”
“Can’t it wait?” Sophie asked. A vision of what she’d interrupted danced in her head. She had to resist the urge to fan her face. “Nothing was so urgent a moment ago.”
Hamish laughed. “It was getting that way.”
Sophie’s face flamed in total humiliating embarrassment. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t talking about that!”
Every word tightened the tangled knot she was creating. She shut her mouth with an audible snap.
“Maybe you’d better have a drink,” Hamish said. “What would you like?”
“The biggest scotch in the world,” she replied. But she wouldn’t be able to drink it. It was obvious the two men lived in the house. They had a lease. And an agent. She sighed. She’d packed bedclothes and pillows into her car, but she wasn’t going to be using them because she couldn’t stay. And if she couldn’t stay, she couldn’t drink.
The nearest hotel was at least an hour and a half’s drive away. Since it was dusk, she’d have to proceed very cautiously to avoid the kangaroos and wombats that came out at night to feed and seemed to invariably end up in the middle of the road at the worst possible time. Driving was risky enough without adding alcohol to the mix.
Before she had a chance to tell Hamish she’d prefer a cup of coffee after all, he pushed a cool glass into her hand, the contents a mellow gold, ice clinking softly against the sides.
It was so tempting. She lifted it to her mouth, inhaling the peaty aroma of a good single malt. The smoky liquor moistened her lips. Then her self-discipline kicked in and she pulled the glass away.
“I can’t. I’ll be driving.”
“Why?” Hamish asked. “You obviously intended to stay here. You wouldn’t have arrived so late if you hadn’t.”
“I thought the house was empty. I didn’t know…”
“That Jackson and I lived here. I got that.” He slid his hand under hers and nudged the scotch upwards. “Go on. Drink it. You need to relax. We have a spare bedroom and we wouldn’t think of letting you drive again. You must be tired. Where did you drive from today? Muswellbrook? Scone?”
“Sydney,” she replied on a tired gust of air.
“That settles it then. It would be dangerous to send you out onto the road again after such a long journey.”
“My welfare is not your responsibility,” Sophie said.
“The health and safety of every living thing on this property is my responsibility,” Hamish replied.
“How so?”
“I’m a doctor and a qualified vet.”
Sophie blinked. “Both? That’s unusual isn’t it?”
He laughed. His teeth were straight and white and once again that surprising jolt of sexual attraction kicked in. “But you’re gay.” Sophie blurted out.
This time it was Hamish who blinked. “I’m really not sure what that has to do with me starting out as a doctor then deciding I prefer to work with animals. And I’m not gay, I’m bisexual.”
Sophie wished she could crawl under the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just opened my mouth and it came out.”
“It’s better that you know. I wouldn’t want you to misinterpret anything.”
His smile seemed to suggest he was telling her something more than the surface words. Rather than take offense at her crass comment about being gay, he’d felt it necessary to correct her.
“We can discuss that later,” Hamish went on. “Right now we have a more pressing matter to deal with. You obviously came here expecting to stay a while.” His inflection rose on the final words, turning them into a question.
He was owed an explanation and Sophie wanted to make sense of the situation. “I inherited the house and property. I didn’t know anyone lived here anymore, and I wanted a place to…” A lump settled in her throat and she broke off.
“A place to grieve,” Hamish said sympathetically.
“You know?”
“The agent told us. He wanted to be sure we knew the agreement we’d made was still binding after your grandmother’s death.”
“I miss them so much. I thought coming back here would be a connection. Make them seem less…gone.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She wanted to stop them but the long drive, the weeks of torment had broken the dam and she was helpless to hold back the flood.
Hamish stood then walked to her, drawing her up and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in close. He didn’t say anything, just held her while she cried.
When the flood of tears slowed, he dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. She looked at it for so long he said, “It’s okay. It’s clean.”
“Oh. I wasn’t doubting it.” Damn. Why did she have to do everything just that bit wrong around this man? “It’s just…you don’t see many people carrying actual hankies these days.”
“It’s habit,” he said. “We’re out in the country. Tissues just aren’t up to it.”
“I’m such a city girl.” She blew her nose. “I used to come here for holidays when my grandparents were alive, but that was so long ago I’ve forgotten anything I learned.”
“You’ll pick it up again quickly.”
“But I won’t. I can’t stay here now.”
“Why not? You still need a place to regain your equilibrium. We have plenty of room.”
“I couldn’t.” She rubbed her hands across her face. “It would be too awkward and Jackson wouldn’t want me here.”
“You leave him to me. He has his own issues. His reaction this evening wasn’t about you.”
As if their mention of him had conjured him out of the air, Jackson came back in. “The sorrel mare is almost ready to go into labor.”
“I know, I checked her at lunchtime,” Hamish replied. “I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.”
Jackson nodded and narrowed his eyes as he glared at Sophie. “I thought you’d be gone.”
“She’s staying.” Hamish moved forward and dropped his hands onto Jackson’s shoulders, facing him.
Jackson stiffened and pulled back. “Not now.”
“Why? Because Sophie might see? She’s already done that and she’s still here.” He leaned in and kissed Jackson. The kiss wasn’t long, but it wasn’t a meaningless peck either. Jackson’s shoulders tensed then relaxed as he slipped his arms around Hamish. When Hamish lifted his head, he kept Jackson close. He spoke, not loudly, but clearly enough so both Jackson and Sophie could hear. “There’s nothing wrong with us loving each other, Jackson. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Sophie doesn’t mind, do you, Sophie?”
“No. It’s fine.” It was more than fine, it was hot.
The two men were handsome seen on their own, Hamish like a blond sun god. Jackson was harder, his craggy face lined with experience. He appeared elementally male. Together the two of them were stunning. Sophie’s face heated as she recalled what they’d been doing when she’d first walked in on them. If she hadn’t dropped her bag, hadn’t drawn attention to herself… Moisture pooled between her legs. She shifted restlessly and shook her head, trying to dislodge the image before she embarrassed herself.
Hamish’s nostrils flared as if he could detect the scent of her arousal. But when he spoke, his words were neutral. “I’ll show you to your room. Freshen up and come down to dinner.” He met her gaze and held it. “Then we’ll go to bed.”
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 realized 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 color, 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 toward 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 demeanor 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 tunneled 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.
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About the Author
Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA spends her days with her basset hounds, getting tattooed, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia, her best friend, Sean, and coffee. Lots of good coffee.
Email: [email protected]
BA loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.
