Читать книгу The Mighty Quinns: Brody - Kate Hoffmann, Kate Hoffmann - Страница 8

“WILL YOU EXCUSE US for a moment?”

Payton nodded, sitting primly on the edge of her chair as Brody and his brother Callum stepped out of the cluttered office. They didn’t go far and their whispered discussion in the hallway soon became loud enough for her to hear.

“And who was whinging about all the work to be done just a few hours ago?” Brody accused. “She claims she knows horses and isn’t above mucking out the stables. If she takes care of that, then you’ve got more help mustering.”

“You met her in the jail,” Callum shot back. “That might give you a clue to her character.”

“She’s just down on her luck,” Brody said. “She needs a job. I’ll vouch for her. If you catch her stealing, I’ll haul her back to Bilbarra without a word.”

“And what about you?” Callum asked. “If I give her a job, what are you going to do? Just lay about the house all day feeling sorry for yourself?”

“I reckon I’ll give you a hand,” Brody said. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

There was a long silence and she heard a curse, though she wasn’t sure who it came from. A moment later, the two brothers reappeared in the door. “Brody tells me you’re good with horses. You’ll be expected to put in a full day.”

“I really need this job. I’ll work hard, I promise,” Payton said. It was the truth, though she didn’t want to sound too desperate. This station was the perfect place for her, a good spot to stay until she figured out her next step. She’d have a place to sleep and three decent meals a day. She’d have a job to occupy her time. And then there was Brody. “You won’t regret this.”

“All right. You can stay in the south bunkhouse,” Callum said. “It’s got a proper dunny and shower. But you’ll have to share it with Gemma.”

“Who’s Gemma?” Brody asked, frowning.

“The genealogist,” Callum explained. “Gemma Moynihan. She’s from Ireland, doing some sort of research on the Quinn family. I told her she could stay until she finished her work here.”

“No worries,” Payton said, adopting the local language. “The bunkhouse will be great.”

“All right,” Callum said. “You’ll start in the stables and you’ll lend a hand in the kitchen when Mary needs help. You slack off and you’ll earn yourself a ride back to Bilbarra. You work hard and I’ll pay you a fair wage.”

Payton nodded, relieved that he’d agreed to Brody’s plan. It was the first real job she’d ever held and she was determined not to mess up. Her new life began here and now and Payton couldn’t help but be a bit excited at the prospect.

Callum glanced at his brother. “Brody will show you around and get you settled. If you have any questions, ask him.”

The elder Quinn brother strode out of the office and Brody followed after him. “I’ll give her a day. Two at the outside,” Payton heard Callum say.

When Brody returned, she pasted a smile on her face. “He’s wrong. I’ll work hard.”

Brody reached out and took her hand, turning it over so he could examine her palm. Running his thumb over the soft skin, he slowly smiled. “You’ll need a pair of gloves,” he said. “And a proper hat.”

Payton laced her fingers through his and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for this. I won’t disappoint you.”

He hooked his finger beneath her chin, forcing her gaze up to his. At first, she hoped he might kiss her again, but then he must have thought better of it. “No worries. I can’t imagine that ever happening.”

“No worries,” she repeated.

Brody picked up her bag and motioned her toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you what’s what. We’ll see the homestead first. Maybe Mary will make us a bite.”

As they walked through the beautifully furnished room that Brody called the parlor, Payton’s attention was caught by a huge oil painting hanging over the fireplace. She walked up to examine it more closely. “This is a beautiful portrait,” she said.

“We call him the old man,” Brody explained as he stepped up beside her. “His name is Crevan Quinn. He was the first Quinn in Australia. Came on a convict ship when he was nineteen.”

“He was a convict?”

Brody nodded. “A bit of a thief, a pickpocket they say. He had the portrait painted for his seventieth birthday, in the late 1800s. Went all the way to Sydney to sit for it. And then he died the day after it was finished. It’s hung in this house ever since. His only son was my great-great-grandfather.”

“Backler. I’ve never heard of the artist,” she said. “It’s quite lovely.”

Brody gave her a dubious look.

“The technique,” she said. “The layering of color.” She stared at the subject, a man with wild white hair, huge muttonchops and a fierce expression.

“Good thing his looks don’t run in the family,” Brody said.

“His penchant for crime does,” Payton teased.

With that, Brody grabbed her around the waist and gently pushed her back against the mantel. His hand cupped her cheek and he looked down into her eyes. Payton held her breath, caught by the desire in his gaze.

“And where would you be right now if it weren’t for my criminal activities?”

“Or mine,” she countered. “I’d be without a job and with no prospects for finding one.”

“I think that deserves a kiss, don’t you?”

“I suppose I could spare one. But don’t get greedy.”

She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him, not waiting for Brody to make the first move. She liked the taste of him, the way his hands felt on her body. His touch made her feel alive, as if she was doing something far too dangerous for her own good. It was exhilarating and frightening all at once.

Payton looped her fingers in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his hips against hers. He groaned softly as the kiss deepened and their bodies melted into each other. Her hands slipped beneath his T-shirt and she ran her nails up his spine and back down again.

She’d never been so aggressive with a man, but with Brody, all her inhibitions seemed to fall away. There were no rules when she kissed him. Here in Australia, she’d live every day as if it were her last, with no regrets and nothing left undone.

Suddenly, he pushed himself away from her. He sucked in a sharp breath and Payton could see he was trying to regain his self-control. She glanced down and noticed the bulge in the front of his jeans. His reaction pleased her.

“Later,” he assured her. He picked up her bag, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the front door of the house.

They ran into a man jogging up the front steps and he stopped and pulled off his hat, glancing back and forth between Payton and Brody, before noticing their linked hands. “Hello,” he said.

“Teague, this is Payton Harwell. Payton, this is my brother Teague.”

He held out his hand and Payton was forced to let go of Brody’s to shake it. “Pleasure,” he said with a wide grin.

“She’s going to be working with the horses,” Brody said.

“Good onya,” Teague replied. “That’s where I’ll be working for the next few days. You have much experience with stock ponies?”

Payton shook her head, grateful for the welcome but worried that she might not prove herself useful. “No. But I’ve been around horses since I was six or seven. Show jumpers. But horses are horses. They all have four legs and a tail, right?”

Teague chuckled, as if pleased with her little joke. “Yeah. They usually do. So I guess I can’t give you any of our three-legged ponies.”

Payton’s eyes went wide.

“Crocs,” Teague said, a serious expression on his face. “They’ll eat the legs right off a pony if you let them. One leg we can deal with. But a two-legged stock pony just doesn’t work.”

“Oh, no,” Payton said. “That’s horrible. Can’t you—”

“Don’t be a dipstick, Teague.” Brody shook his head.

An older woman appeared at the screen door. “Doc Daley is on the phone,” she said to Teague, motioning him inside. “Says it’s an emergency and he’s tied up in surgery this afternoon.”

Teague frowned, shaking his head. “Probably another croc attack,” he said. “Another three-legged pony. Mary, have you met Brody’s new friend?”

The woman stepped out onto the porch, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. She wiped her hands on her apron, then smoothed a strand of gray hair from her temple. “Well, now. It is a pleasure to meet you, dear. I’m Mary Hastings. No matter what these Quinn boys tell you, I’m the one in charge here.”

Payton shook her outstretched hand.“ Payton Harwell.”

“Ah, an American. We seem to be attracting an interesting group of ladies. First, an Irish lass and now a Yank. If you need anything, you come to me, dear. We girls have to stick together.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And don’t believe a word about those three-legged ponies. These boys get too cheeky.”

Teague grabbed Mary around the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. “And don’t you love it? Don’t worry, Mary, you’re still my girl.”

Brody took Payton’s hand and led her off the porch. “Come on, I’ll show you the bunkhouse.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Payton said, waving at Teague and Mary.

“See ya later, Payton,” Teague called.

“When you’re settled, you come back to the kitchen for tea,” Mary called.

They walked together to the south bunkhouse, a low building set near a small grove of trees and a neatly tilled vegetable garden. “That’s Mary’s garden,” he said. “You might want to avoid walking by when she’s working. She’ll have you pulling weeds all day long.”

“She’s nice,” Payton said.

“After my mum left the station, my dad hired her. She’s kept the house running.”

“Are your parents divorced?”

He shook his head. “Nope. They’re living together in Sydney. But there was a time when they were separated, my dad here and Mum in the city. Station life is hard, especially for women.”

Payton gave him a sideways glance, wondering if he was warning her off. She was just looking for a job. She didn’t intend to spend the rest of her life in the Australian outback. “I can imagine,” she replied.

Brody opened the front door of the bunkhouse, then stepped back to let her enter. Payton found the interior simple but clean. In one corner of the room, several overstuffed chairs were gathered around a small iron stove. There was a scarred desk beneath one of the windows and a dry sink beneath another, complete with bowl and pitcher. An old wardrobe stood near the backdoor. Each of the three walls held a bunk bed, crudely constructed of rough planks and a pair of mattresses. One of the lower bunks was made up with a colorful quilt and two pillows.

“That must be where the genealogy lady is sleeping,” Brody said. “Bedding is in the chest at the end of the bunk. The dunny is out back, through that door.”

“The dunny.”

“The toilet. There’s a shower back there, too.” He walked over to the wardrobe and rummaged through the contents until he found a pair of gloves and an old felt hat, like the one his brother Teague wore.

Brody set the hat on her head and handed her the gloves. “There you go,” he said, tugging on the brim. “Pretty spiffy.”

“I’d like to get to work,” she said.

“You don’t have to. It’s your first day. Take some time and settle in. We’ll have some lunch.”

“No, I’m ready to start,” she insisted, well aware that she’d have to prove herself to Callum.

“You’re not really dressed properly. We’ll need to find you something to wear.”

“I don’t really have anything else along,” Payton said, glancing down at the peasant blouse and jeans she’d bought in Brisbane. “Just a few dresses. This will have to do for now. I’ll find something later.”

“All right,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the bunkhouse and through the dusty yard. The station was almost like a small village. Brody pointed out each paddock and barn and shed, telling her what function it served. There were two more bunkhouses for the stockmen and a small cottage for the head stockman.

The stables consisted of a long building with stalls along one side and tack, feed and supplies stored on the opposite side. “We breed stock ponies here, so we keep a lot of mares. We break the ponies and then sell them to stations all around Queensland. Kerry Creek ponies fetch a good price.”

Payton pulled on her gloves and braced her hands on her hips. “All right. Well, I’d better jump right in.” She spotted a pitchfork in a corner and grabbed it. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

He seemed to be a bit surprised that she was blowing him off so quickly. Though Payton found him wildly attractive, she needed to keep this job and first impressions would count. If she had to ignore her desires for a few hours, it was a small price to pay.

“We eat dinner at six this time of year. I’ll come and fetch you.”

“That’s all right,” Payton said. “I’ll find my way.”

He turned and walked out of the stable. Payton folded her hands over the end of the pitchfork and watched his retreat. Her girlfriends had always told her how hot Sam was and she’d never quite understood what they meant. Sam was handsome, but Brody Quinn was hot. He oozed masculinity from every pore.

She tried to imagine him without the T-shirt, without the jeans, without any clothes at all. A shiver skittered down her spine and she felt her pulse quicken. Sleeping with the boss was never a good thing. But was Brody her boss or was Callum?

Payton made a mental note to find out as soon as she could. For now, she had a bed and free meals and something to occupy her time—along with a man who made her heart race and her body tingle. What more did she need?

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE at Kerry Creek, Brody had worked the station from the time he’d been able to walk. He’d started in the garden with his mother, then moved to the stables and on to working with the stock as soon as he could ride. But he’d spent most of his teen years in the city, and once he’d signed his first pro contract, he’d made only occasional visits to Queensland, stopping in before a holiday spent surfing or diving on the Great Barrier Reef.

His brothers teased him, insisting that city life had made him soft. Maybe it had. But now that he was living on the station again, it was all coming back to him. He’d spent the afternoon repairing fences with the newest jackaroo, a kid named Davey Thompson, who’d wandered in a few months before to join his older brother, Skip, on the station.

Davey had kept up a constant stream of chatter, moving from women to music to cars and back again. One thing was quite clear. He was glad to have moved up in the pecking order, his stable job handed off to Payton, who was now the lowest in seniority.

“That new girl, she’s a pretty sheila,” he said as he picked up a roll of barbed wire. “She has nice hair. All long and curly.”

“You just steer clear of her,” Brody warned.

“What? She’s your girl?”

“As far as you’re concerned, yes,” Brody said. “She’s my girl.”

“No worries,” Davey replied with a grin. “But does she have a sister? If she does, I wouldn’t mind an introduction.”

They worked until sunset, hauling their gear with quad bikes rather than on horseback. Since his father had left the station to join his mother in Sydney four years ago, Callum had taken steps to modernize the operation and his ideas had made the work at least a bit more enjoyable.

Brody and Davey unloaded the gear from the ATVs, then headed to the big house for dinner. Mary fed everyone at the large table in the kitchen, preparing the heartiest meal at the end of the workday. Brody took time to wash up at the outdoor sink before going inside.

He’d expected to see Payton there, waiting for him, but she wasn’t seated at the table. The other new arrival was the genealogist from Ireland. He’d expected some gray-haired lady with sensible shoes and little reading glasses perched on her nose. Instead, he found himself smiling at a woman almost as beautiful as Payton.

“Gemma Moynihan,” she said in a lilting Irish accent. “And you must be Brody. I can see the family resemblance.”

“Gemma,” Brody repeated. He glanced over at his brother Callum, only to find him staring at them both, a tense expression on his face. It was easy to see why Cal had been on edge. His oldest brother had always been obsessed with the station. But the choice to work or to spend time with Gemma the genealogist was probably causing him to seriously question his work ethic.

“Have you met Payton?” Brody asked, suppressing a grin.

“Yes, I have,” Gemma said.

“Is she coming in to eat?”

“I don’t know. She was lying in her bunk when I left. She looked knackered.”

“Maybe I should take her something,” Brody suggested, stepping away from the table.

This brought amused glances from the rest of the stockmen, but Brody didn’t care. He grabbed a plate and loaded it with beef and potatoes, covering the entire meal with a portion of gravy. Grabbing utensils and a couple of beers, he headed out to the ladies’ bunkhouse.

He found Payton curled up on her bunk sound asleep. He set the meal on the floor beside the bed, then pulled up a chair, straddling it. Reaching out, Brody brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. Her lashes fluttered and she gazed up at him.

“Morning,” he said.

Payton pushed up on her elbow looking worried. “Is it morning already?”

He laughed. “No. I brought you some dinner. Are you all right?”

She sat up, wincing as she moved. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m just not used to shoveling horse poop for four hours.” She groaned, rubbing her shoulder. “I was just going to lie down for a minute, and I must have fallen asleep.”

“Come here,” Brody said, swinging the chair around and patting the seat.

When she was seated, he handed her the plate, then stepped behind her and began to massage her sore shoulders. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Her silky curls fell across his hands. “Right there.”

He rubbed a little harder at her nape, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Here?”

“Mmm,” she said.

“Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

She glanced down at the plate, then scooped up a forkful of beef and potatoes. “This is good,” she said as she chewed. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Don’t you want some?”

“You eat,” he said. “I’ll go back and get another plate.”

She reached down and grabbed a bottle of beer, then attempted to twist off the cap. When she couldn’t, she handed it to him. “What did you do today?”

“Repaired fences,” Brody said.

“What time does work start in the morning?”

“The stockmen are usually up at dawn. But you could probably sleep later, if you like. The stables aren’t going anywhere.”

“No, I’ll get up with everyone else.”

“I don’t reckon Cal expects you to put in stockman’s hours.”

“What else is there to do except work and eat and sleep?” Payton asked.

Brody bent over her shoulder and sent her a devilish grin. “I can think of a few things,” he whispered.

She filled a fork with food, then held it up to him, and he took a bite of her dinner. “Other than that, what do you do with your free time?”

“We’re five hours from the nearest movie theater in Brisbane, but we’ve got DVDs to watch. Cal favors westerns, I like gangster movies and Teague prefers sciencefiction.” He paused. “We’ve got a pool,” he added. “Sometimes we go swimming when the weather is warm.”

“I didn’t see a pool.”

“It’s not a swimming pool, more like a watering hole. And Cal put in a hot tub out back. That’s nice now that the nights are a bit cooler.”

“Oh, that sounds like heaven,” she said.

“Finish your supper and we’ll go for a dip.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“You won’t need one,” Brody said.

“I’m sure that will create a good impression,” she replied.

To his surprise, she finished the entire plate in ten short minutes, then drank her beer and his. Through it all, she asked questions about the station and he did his best to answer. She’d just assumed he’d worked the station his whole life, and he wasn’t going to tell her differently, at least not yet.

He had his secrets, but Payton Harwell had her own. When he asked for details about her life in the States, she always gave him some airy-fairy answer. After fifteen minutes of questioning, he realized he didn’t know much more than he’d learned on their ride to the station. But the more beer she drank, the more forthcoming she became.

“Let’s go,” he said, anxious to spend some time in a location more conducive to seduction. “The hot water will make you feel better.”

“Later,” she said. “I just want to lie down for a bit.” She crawled back into her bunk and patted the spot beside her. “Just for a minute. Then we’ll go.”

Brody crawled into the tiny bunk, and he had to wrap his arms around her just to keep from falling on the floor. He smoothed his hands over her hair and she looked up at him and smiled. “Who are you, Payton Harwell?” he murmured.

“I don’t know,” she said with a soft sigh. “If you figure it out, be sure to fill me in.”

He bent closer and kissed her, this time allowing himself to relax and enjoy the experience. His hands roamed over her body, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans to cup her backside. Brody pulled her beneath him, his shaft growing harder as the kiss deepened.

His hips pressed into hers and he slowly began to move, creating a delicious friction. He remembered the first time he’d done this with a girl and the rather surprising results. But thankfully, he’d managed to acquire a bit more self-control over the years. Still, the feel of her beneath him, her leg pulled up alongside his, teased at that control. Brody knew Gemma might be back at any second, but he didn’t care.

Payton slipped her hand beneath the hem of his shirt. She smoothed her palms up his chest, then trailed her fingertips down his belly. He groaned softly when she slid her hand lower, across the front of his jeans, then back again. Somehow, it all seemed more intense, more pleasurable, with clothing between them and the chance of discovery.

He pulled her shirt over her shoulder, exposing a delicious curve of flesh. Pressing his mouth to the base of her neck, he slowly worked his way down, to the tops of her breasts, left exposed by her lacy bra.

He slid lower along her body, his lips teasing at her nipple through the lace and satin. Payton furrowed her fingers through his hair and he sucked gently, until she moaned in response.

He fought the urge to strip off all their clothes, knowing they didn’t have much privacy in a shared bunkhouse. Perhaps Gemma would be occupied with Callum for the rest of the evening. Maybe she’d choose to spend the night in his bed instead of her own. But their privacy was cut short when he heard the front door open.