Bittersweet. Laura Browning

Barlow to look at his stud, then get her and her baby off Fincastle so he could regain his equilibrium and detachment. They made him nervous.

      His mother set the paper in her lap. “Yes, please. The poor girl looks exhausted.”

      “I’m sure she can take care of herself,” he said, trying to shut off the momentary stab of concern he’d felt for her.

      His mother’s polite inquisition continued through breakfast, making Chris begin to wonder if she had decided to take the job of finding him a wife into her own hands. If that was her thinking, she was way off base with Anna Barlow. Not his type. He preferred his women blond and tall, like Sydney. Bitterness rose like bile.

      He studied Anna once more, as she talked with his mother. She wore little makeup, he noticed, if any. Many people found his mother intimidating, but Anna chatted with her as if they’d known each other for years instead of a couple hours. There were two topics, though, about which Anna seemed to reveal nothing: any specific mention of her family, or any real details about her daughter other than the usual baby conversations. Whenever his mother probed too close, a wall of reserve went up at least a mile thick.

      “Thank you for inviting me to share breakfast with you,” he heard Anna remark. Chris brought his attention to what was said as she turned to look at him. “I should check on your stallion and get on my way.”

      His mother leaned forward and put her hand on Anna’s arm. “Why don’t you leave Becca here while the two of you go to the barn,” his mother suggested. “I’ll be happy to keep an eye on her.”

      “She can get fussy…” Anna began, her tone hesitant, even cautious. Chris wondered at her reluctance to let the infant out of her sight.

      His mother smiled at the younger woman. “I can handle that. This might be the closest I get to having a grandbaby since Chris doesn’t seem to be doing much in that area.”

      He stepped forward when he saw Anna falter as she bent to pick up Becca. She waved him away and stood with the baby’s car carrier.

      “I’ve got it,” she snapped. She seemed pale, he thought, studying her through narrowed eyes. Was it something his mother said? Or was Anna Barlow teetering on the edge of exhaustion?

       Chapter 3

      Anna gripped the steering wheel of her truck like a drowning man holding on to a life preserver. Chris lounged in the passenger seat, describing the farm as they drove to the barn. She was thankful he seemed to be unaware of any undercurrents. This had been such a bad idea. She should never have agreed to breakfast. Now his presence was almost overpowering in the confines of the truck.

      Last night had been one thing, but everything had shifted when she’d awakened on that porch to find him watching her with those silvery eyes of his. She should have kept their encounters on a business-only footing. What on earth had she been thinking to even take the job here in Redfield? She knew Stevenson lived in the area. She should never have brought Becca here. Too much was at stake, but her other job opportunity had been far too close to where she had grown up.

      At the time, being close to her family had seemed to be the greater evil. Now she wasn’t sure. She had thought she was immune to him, her hero-worship a thing of the past. And that part of her attraction was, but she couldn’t deny the tug she felt every time she looked at him. She’d have to keep any contact with the Stevensons to a bare minimum, invent some excuse so Jim or one of the other vets took any future calls here.

      When they reached the barn, Anna jumped from the truck and grabbed her barn clogs from the backseat. She didn’t bother with the coveralls since she was just rechecking the stitches and getting away would be much faster if she didn’t take time to change.

      “Whoa!” Chris ordered from behind her as she rushed down the aisle. “Why the hurry?”

      Anna glanced over her shoulder at his lean, tanned face. He had the looks and the body of a god, or perhaps a fallen angel might be more appropriate. And he looked much better than he had a year ago. No matter what her body’s response to him, he would never be the man for Anna, but most importantly, she couldn’t afford for him to be anything to her. Becca had to come first.

      “Sorry,” she mumbled, slowing. When she started to enter the stallion’s stall, Chris stopped her.

      “Better let me bring him, he can be a bit testy.”

      The stallion flicked his ears and stared at them. Anna scowled, but waited as Chris led the big horse to the crossties and snapped them on each side of his halter.

      She should have been used to the overprotective male syndrome. For some reason it seemed to follow diminutive women throughout life, but it hadn’t her, at least not until recently. Bart fidgeted, no doubt as irritated for his own reasons as she was. Anna once again approached him from the front and let him smell her. As he lowered his head and relaxed, she stroked along his body and back to the hip she’d stitched.

      “Would you bring me the mounting block, so I can get a closer look?”

      Chris’s hands bracketed her waist and she stiffened with outrage. Part of her reaction stemmed from the instantaneous response she felt at even this simple touch. Her breasts throbbed, and heat coiled through her core. As he lifted her off the floor, outrage turned to genuine anger. All her life, people had treated her like a kid because she was short. This was different than trying to be courteous. She’d had to prove herself over and over again, especially in a family of athletic amazons where misfit didn’t even begin to describe how different she was.

      “Put. Me. Down,” Anna snapped. “I am not a child.”

      The stallion skittered at her sharp tone.

      “Don’t get bent out of shape. I was trying to help.” He dropped her to her feet. “By all means, let me back off.”

      Anna glared at him. How dare he look as if he’d been the one wounded? “You would never do such a thing for a male veterinarian.”

      He arched a brow. “I wouldn’t need to. A male veterinarian would be tall enough to do his damn job,” Chris retorted.

      Anna thought she would burst a blood vessel. “I can do my job fine. Now, are you going to bring the mounting block or do I need to get a stool from my truck?”

      Chris’s eyes narrowed. So she had roused his anger as well. “That’s an interesting tone to take with a client, don’t you think, Dr. Barlow?” He spun on his heel and stepped around the corner to the wash stall. After setting the mounting block next to the stallion, he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his broad, muscular chest.

      That’s right. Keep away. Distance was a good thing.

      Anna ignored his slouching form and stepped up to look at the wound. Everything else faded as she entered her world, her element, the place where she felt at ease. The animals and the science possessed her. She pressed on the area around the wound with as much gentleness as she could. The stitches appeared to be holding and there was no sign of heat or swelling.

      She climbed down and turned to Stevenson, who still looked at her with narrowed, icy gray eyes. She would not be intimidated, but he was right about one thing–he was one of the clinic’s most important clients. Arrogant man! And she’d pissed him off. She would have to deal with the consequences.

      “Everything looks fine. If you want to turn him out, that might be better than keeping him hemmed up. Make sure someone checks him twice a day. If there are any problems with the stitches, call the clinic. Otherwise, I’ll be back in a week to see if he’s ready to have them removed. Do you have any questions?”

      “No, ma’am,” he drawled in a rich southern accent as dripping in sarcasm as honeyed sweetness.

      “I need to be on my way.” She paused. “Do you need a ride?”

      He studied her in a way designed to make her bristle. “No, I have plenty of riding to do right here.”

      Anna