Australian Quinns. Kate Hoffmann
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.”