sounded like a snort of contentment. The care Tom took with the big animal touched her.
Helpless to resist while he had his back to her, she ran her eyes over his frame. The muscles in his broad shoulders rippled and bunched with each long, powerful sweep of his arm. His light shirt followed the contours of his torso as it tapered to his trim waist and narrow hips.
After a few moments, he turned aside to put the brush in a carrier nearby and bent to pick up Ziggy’s nearest front foot. The horse turned its head to rest its muzzle on Tom’s lumbar region. There was a sweetness and trust in the gesture that brought an unexpected lump to her throat. As Tom worked his way around to each foot, she realised that Ziggy was obligingly lifting each foot for attention. Man and horse were obviously a well-established partnership.
When Tom had finished, he straightened, ran a hand over the horse’s haunches then walked across to the corral. Ziggy ambled after him and Kayla realised the animal wasn’t tethered. Tom unhitched a section of tape. The horse walked over to a pile of hay on the ground and took a mouthful. After a detour to check the bucket, Tom let himself out of the makeshift yard and turned towards her. His long legs began eating up the short distance between them.
She swallowed and snapped her attention to the cooker in front of her where steam was now rising out of the narrow spout. Glad to have something to do with her hands, she picked up the pot and poured hot water over the teabags she had ready.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Tom open a couple of folding chairs as she added a splash of milk to both brews.
With the teaspoon poised over the sugar, she asked, ‘Heaped or flat?’
‘Heaped.’
‘Need sweetening?’ She stirred the liquid.
‘Some might say so.’ He gave her a lopsided grin then leaned down to pick up the drink. ‘Thanks. Grab a seat.’
She lifted her own mug and moved to join him. They relaxed into the chairs and the silence between them stretched. To her surprise, it was undemanding, almost comfortable. Sounds around them filled the void. Ziggy’s steady munching, the clip-clop of hooves as a competitor trotted past, lowing of cattle. An empty stock truck clattered through the grounds to the other side of the arena.
‘I saw you arrive this morning,’ Tom said.
‘Did you?’ She blew on her steaming drink and took a small sip.
‘Of course. I’m a policeman. We notice things.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Thank goodness he hadn’t been at the tents to see her reaction to the camping arrangements. She hated to think what conclusions he might have drawn from her appalled expression.
‘What do you think of the camp draft?’
She sent him a sideways glance under her lashes and, tongue firmly in cheek, she said, ‘As far as I can see, it’s a glorified excuse to chase around after a cow.’
‘Bite your tongue.’ He laughed and the sound rolled over her deliciously. ‘It’s not a cow. It’s called a beast .’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘And we don’t chase around after it, we control it.’
‘Mmm, control. I understand.’ She nodded. ‘So camp drafting is a sport for men who like to control things?’
‘Hardly,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Half a ton of beef on the hoof can be a tad stroppy.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘As for being in control—who doesn’t like things to go their way?’
‘True. Very true.’ She looked down at the scuffed toes on her boots and contemplated that she was enjoying being here with him, just talking. Her system had started to settle. Her heart no longer thrummed in the desperate, unsustainable beat that felt like it would break out of her ribcage. Now it was a more pleasant, alive feeling. A hum of vitality and energy. Perhaps she’d been tackling the issue of Tom Jamieson all wrong. Maybe she needed to stop avoiding him and see more of him instead. Desensitise herself with small doses often.
She turned the option over in her mind,
Helpless to resist while he had his back to her, she ran her eyes over his frame. The muscles in his broad shoulders rippled and bunched with each long, powerful sweep of his arm. His light shirt followed the contours of his torso as it tapered to his trim waist and narrow hips.
After a few moments, he turned aside to put the brush in a carrier nearby and bent to pick up Ziggy’s nearest front foot. The horse turned its head to rest its muzzle on Tom’s lumbar region. There was a sweetness and trust in the gesture that brought an unexpected lump to her throat. As Tom worked his way around to each foot, she realised that Ziggy was obligingly lifting each foot for attention. Man and horse were obviously a well-established partnership.
When Tom had finished, he straightened, ran a hand over the horse’s haunches then walked across to the corral. Ziggy ambled after him and Kayla realised the animal wasn’t tethered. Tom unhitched a section of tape. The horse walked over to a pile of hay on the ground and took a mouthful. After a detour to check the bucket, Tom let himself out of the makeshift yard and turned towards her. His long legs began eating up the short distance between them.
She swallowed and snapped her attention to the cooker in front of her where steam was now rising out of the narrow spout. Glad to have something to do with her hands, she picked up the pot and poured hot water over the teabags she had ready.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Tom open a couple of folding chairs as she added a splash of milk to both brews.
With the teaspoon poised over the sugar, she asked, ‘Heaped or flat?’
‘Heaped.’
‘Need sweetening?’ She stirred the liquid.
‘Some might say so.’ He gave her a lopsided grin then leaned down to pick up the drink. ‘Thanks. Grab a seat.’
She lifted her own mug and moved to join him. They relaxed into the chairs and the silence between them stretched. To her surprise, it was undemanding, almost comfortable. Sounds around them filled the void. Ziggy’s steady munching, the clip-clop of hooves as a competitor trotted past, lowing of cattle. An empty stock truck clattered through the grounds to the other side of the arena.
‘I saw you arrive this morning,’ Tom said.
‘Did you?’ She blew on her steaming drink and took a small sip.
‘Of course. I’m a policeman. We notice things.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Thank goodness he hadn’t been at the tents to see her reaction to the camping arrangements. She hated to think what conclusions he might have drawn from her appalled expression.
‘What do you think of the camp draft?’
She sent him a sideways glance under her lashes and, tongue firmly in cheek, she said, ‘As far as I can see, it’s a glorified excuse to chase around after a cow.’
‘Bite your tongue.’ He laughed and the sound rolled over her deliciously. ‘It’s not a cow. It’s called a beast .’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘And we don’t chase around after it, we control it.’
‘Mmm, control. I understand.’ She nodded. ‘So camp drafting is a sport for men who like to control things?’
‘Hardly,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Half a ton of beef on the hoof can be a tad stroppy.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘As for being in control—who doesn’t like things to go their way?’
‘True. Very true.’ She looked down at the scuffed toes on her boots and contemplated that she was enjoying being here with him, just talking. Her system had started to settle. Her heart no longer thrummed in the desperate, unsustainable beat that felt like it would break out of her ribcage. Now it was a more pleasant, alive feeling. A hum of vitality and energy. Perhaps she’d been tackling the issue of Tom Jamieson all wrong. Maybe she needed to stop avoiding him and see more of him instead. Desensitise herself with small doses often.
She turned the option over in her mind,
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