“So he didn’t. Because he also knew you didn’t want him to. That tells me he’s thought about you and how you think, how you feel. Therefore he likes you. A lot.”
Jillian narrowed her eyes at her friend. “Are you sure you’re not a detective or something? Do you keep notes on all this stuff?”
“Just observant, hon. And even an old duck like me isn’t going to turn down an opportunity to observe someone like James Macleod. Especially that mighty fine butt of his.”
“Birkie!”
“Just stating a fact, hon.” Birkie’s grin was unrepentant. “Privilege just to
see
a butt like that. . . .”
Jillian poked fiercely at her ice cream with a tightly held spoon as she told herself she didn’t give a damn about James’s butt, the fact that she’d once wanted to compare it to the rest of his appealing physique notwithstanding. And for the five hundredth time she ruthlessly yanked her mind back from the sexy dream she’d had in the night about him. Much more of this and she was
so
going to order a shiny new vibrator off the Internet. Maybe that blue one . . .
“Come to think of it, seeing Mountney peel out of here with his forked tail between his legs was a close second,” Birkie added. “But James’s butt is still at the top of the list, don’t you think?”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I admit it. James is hot, and I’m attracted. I don’t know what difference it makes. Maybe he looks at me, maybe he even kind of likes me—maybe. But it’s not like he’s ever asked me out. We never really talk. We probably have nothing in common.”
“Bah. I’ll bet you have plenty in common. For one thing, both of you are very talented with animals. James has taken over Connor’s farm for him, and you’d better believe that place is going to flourish from now on. He’s already made a lot of changes.”
“I heard something about that. I guess it’s a good thing for Connor. He’s so busy, I don’t know how he ever had time for a farm.”
Birkie carefully spooned a chocolate-covered almond out of her ice cream, savored it for a long moment. “Connor bought the place about ten or eleven years ago at an auction. He wanted to live out of town, and he liked the land. Big place and pretty too, backing right onto the Peace River. But you’re right, he just hasn’t had the time to make the farm produce. Really, the place is just a catchall for some of the unwanted animals he comes across in his practice.”
“God knows there’s too many of those.”
“Amen. And we try to find homes for as many as we can, but when we can’t, the creature generally finds its way to Connor’s farm. He must have quite a menagerie by now.”
“So James is managing the place for him?”
“Yup. More than a manager, though, he’s a full partner in the operation. Moved into a house of his own out there too.”
“Huh. Guess he’s not homeless and jobless anymore.” Jillian found herself unexpectedly relieved.
“Exactly. So when are you going out to visit the Macleod farm?”
“What? When Connor invites me, I guess. I’d say when James invites me, but I’ll be old and gray before that happens.”
Birkie made little tsk-tsking noises. “My dear, you have to be a lot more proactive if you ever expect to get to know James any better.”
“I know that look. What you really mean is
devious
. I don’t know if I’m that interested.”
Her friend just looked at her.
“Okay, okay, I am. Just out of curiosity, mind you.”
“Of course. So when do you want to visit James on his home turf?”
Jillian put up her hands. “I give up. You’re the mastermind, you tell me.”
“Well, it just so happens I have some plants and things for Connor. Maybe you could find time to do me a favor on your day off, make a little delivery?”
Chapter Nineteen
A
s a veterinarian, Jillian had been to countless farms. But she’d never assign the word
beautiful
to any of them. The Macleod farm was an exception. A long wooded lane led to a sprawling two-story house nestled in the trees. The old building had been made over into something that spoke of both history and comfort. The roofed porch that wrapped around two sides of the house had a charming assortment of mismatched chairs and rockers scattered about, and a couple of hanging swings. Pots of newly planted flowers sat in groups everywhere. Carefully tended beds of yellow daylilies and purple irises flanked the steps. The effect was one of invitation, of welcome.
She parked the truck in front of the steps, took Birkie’s trays of plants to the porch and set them carefully in front of the door. She knew there was no one at the house. Connor was in surgery this afternoon. There was no sign of anyone else either. No sign of James, and that was a bit of a letdown, even if she knew he was likely busy. It was a sunny and pleasant day, however, and who could blame her if she decided to walk around a little?
Most farmyards were as clear-cut and visually barren as the fields beyond them but not here. Jillian counted five species of trees she knew and two she didn’t in tall dense stands between every building. And every barn and shed was freshly painted in clean bright white with simple black trim to match the house. A refreshing change from the usual garish red barn paint most farmers favored, when they bothered to paint anything at all.
The buildings, although in good repair, looked to be of the same era as the house. The fencing, however, was a sharp contrast. No battered wood here, no patched and spliced wire. Instead, steel rails gleamed between steel posts, all in basic black. Jillian recognized the brand label as top of the line. No haphazard enclosures here either, but tidy, organized corrals and paddocks, linked in places by modern chutes. A clean and efficient operation yet far from sterile, Jillian thought.
Animals probably enjoy living here. God knows there’re enough of them.
Dogs, cats, goats, chickens, and even a couple of outsized pigs seemed to have the run of the place. She couldn’t help smiling as she recognized a few of the dogs, knew Connor had adopted them when their owners had requested euthanasia for reasons of convenience rather than mercy. They bounced over to her, swarmed her with affection. She laughed and tried to distribute petting and head rubs to all.
A sudden voice made her jump. “Looking for something?”
The dogs left her at once in favor of James. Jillian saw with interest that they didn’t jump and leap but sat grinning at his feet. He gave them each a quick pat and turned his attention back to her. “What brings you out here?”
“Birkie sent some bedding plants over for Connor. I didn’t know what to do with them.”
“Where are they?”
“On the porch.” She stood open-mouthed as he immediately strode across the yard in the direction of his brother’s house. She walked quickly but was forced to break into a jog just to try to catch up. Jillian made it to the bottom of the steps just as James scooped up the trays from in front of the door.
“I’m sorry, should I have put them somewhere else?”
“Anywhere but with Connor. I don’t know how anyone so gifted with animals can have such a black thumb when it comes to plants.”
Jillian looked around at the abundance of flowers spilling out of pots and overflowing the garden on either side of the steps. “He seems to do all right with these.”
James shook his head as he swept by her with the trays. “Zoey filled the pots while I cleaned up the garden. Connor had thistles the size of trees growing here.”
“What kind of plants did Birkie give you?” She was trying to be pleasant but it was irritating to have to hurry to keep up again. She nearly ran into him when he stopped abruptly.
“You don’t know them?”
“No. I studied zoology not botany. I can recognize a few things like the geraniums on the porch, but these have no flowers.” She was surprised to see him—what? It wasn’t a smile or a grin, but the ghost of each, a faint crook of one corner of his mouth. Still it had the effect of lightening his face, easing the fierce brow, although those blue Viking eyes were just as piercing. Jillian scanned the trays he was holding and pointed to a dark-leafed plant. “So what’s this one here?”
In answer he pulled off a leaf and crushed it under her nose.
“Recognize it now?”
“It’s familiar but I can’t place it.”
“Basil. Haven’t you ever cooked with fresh basil?”
“I’ve never even cooked with the dried up stuff in the little jars. But I’ve eaten Birkie’s homemade pizza so at least I know that I
like
basil.” She pointed to another one. “What’s this one that looks like tubular grass?”
“Chives.”
“Are they all herbs?”
“Most of them. Connor is actually a decent cook when he has the time.”
“Connor?
Our
Connor? The same man who gets so busy he forgets to eat? He must only cook about once a year then.”
James chuckled at that and set off across the yard again. At a more leisurely pace.
“I have to say that this place looks terrific.” Jillian was able to fall in step—almost. His legs were still a lot longer than hers. “I see a lot of farms, but this one really stands out. What do you produce here?”
“Nothing much yet. There’s lots of preparation to be done before we raise anything.”
“I’d love to hear about it.” Then she had a brainwave that Birkie would be proud of. “Or I’ve got time for a tour if it’s easier to show me.”
He glanced at her as if to see if she was sincere, then stopped at a shed and tucked the plants inside. “These will be out of the sun here. I’ll get them later.”
The tour began with the closest corral, which contained three enormous Highland bulls. Their sweeping horns reminded Jillian of the Texas Longhorn of cowboy movie fame, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Their shaggy fur and stocky build was more reminiscent of Ice Age oxen. It was a breed that Jillian hadn’t encountered close up yet, and she got closer than expected as James led her right inside the corral with the creatures. They nosed their way over to him with an amiability she’d seldom seen in cattle, stood patiently as James scratched their foreheads under the fringe of long hair that hid their eyes. “Hardy beasts,” he was saying. “Well suited to the kind of winter we get up here in northern Canada.” He talked about their history, the pros and cons of using them as a beef-producing breed.
She thought at first that the bulls were unusually gentle, but the experience was repeated with each enclosure. Jillian began to understand that there was something unusual about James, not the animals. Did he have some sort of calming influence or aura, something that animals were able to sense? Was that why he had been able to restrain Cujo? And that poor pony that had been badly stung by a nest of hornets. It had been a frightened wreck. Until James came by. The animal had settled down immediately and allowed Jillian to treat it.
Too bad James couldn’t calm the owner as well, but you can’t have everything.
Jillian glanced up at James as they walked among the corrals. He was relaxed, at home here. The warrior visage was softened, nearly nonexistent, as he spoke of his visions for the farm. He had a deep passion for what he was doing, she realized. Just as she felt a soul-deep fervor for veterinary medicine, James Macleod had an affinity for the earth. It was easy to listen to him. She’d never paid much attention to agriculture, outside of the health of livestock. Now she was getting a glimpse of how much farming was both an art and a science.
The horses in the far paddock spotted James and trotted over at once, just as every other creature here had done. With a start, Jillian realized she was more than a little envious of that. With the exception of dogs, most animals didn’t run up to greet a person unless they were hoping for food.
Certainly livestock seldom showed interest when most farmers approached unless grain was involved. And animals definitely didn’t run up to veterinarians.
Well, except for Poodle.
He always seemed pleased to be at the clinic, but the old Siamese cat was decidedly eccentric.
“You’re like the Pied Piper,” she blurted as a pig that must weigh close to 600 pounds ambled over to receive a scratch on the head from James.
“Why is that?”
“They all adore you. Look at the parade behind us, for heaven’s sake.” Jillian waved her free hand at the entourage that followed them. Dogs certainly, but also cats, goats, two pigs and an assortment of chickens and geese. “Why do they do that?”
James grinned. “Animals are excellent judges of character.” And that was all the explanation he would give her.
Eventually they came to the edge of the farmyard, where the trees gave way to rolling green fields. “What have you planted here?” she asked. The plants were nothing like the orderly grain fields she’d expected. These were bushy with twisted, sprawling stems and an abundance of leaves.
“Green manure.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What?”
“Seriously. Part of organic farming is to use natural methods to enrich the soil instead of chemical fertilizer. This is a field of alfalfa. It has very long roots that bring minerals up to the topsoil from deep in the earth. And it has the ability to take nitrogen from the air and put that into the soil too.”
“Don’t they make hay out of this stuff?”
“Most of the time, but alfalfa’s a perennial and this field is several years old. Too old to make good hay. See how it’s got a lot of stems? So instead of harvesting it, I’m going to wait another week and then plow it under while it’s still green to enrich the soil even further. Voila, green manure.”
“So there’s no real manure involved?”
“No, it’s just a slang term for growing a crop strictly as fertilizer. Although we do compost real manure to put back into the soil, but it’ll be a year, maybe two before it’s ready to use.”
“It really means a lot to you to convert this farm to organic production.”
Her hand was resting on his arm. He stared at it a moment then covered it with his own hand as if to keep it there. “It does. We don’t have to destroy the land in order to persuade it to feed us. And I feel better eating food that was produced this way. Other people have other opinions of course.”
Jillian looked up at him, studied his face. “You really believe in what you’re doing, and I like that. I like the way you care about the land, and I like the way you care about the animals. I guess that means I like
you
.”
She’d succeeded in surprising him, yet shouldn’t he look pleased or happy or something? Maybe he wasn’t as interested as Birkie thought he was.
Oh great, now he’s frowning.
Maybe coming here was a huge mistake.
Or maybe not.
James was still frowning, but his powerful hands had slid around her, gently gathering her in. He lowered his face to hers, eyes open as if to gauge her reaction. Jillian reached up to tangle her fingers in his white-blond hair and met his lips with her own. She poured herself into the kiss, felt the thrill of it vibrate through both of them. She felt reckless, exhilarated, as if she were leaping from a great height into a deep pool.
But the water wasn’t still. Powerful currents rocked her, an ocean of sensation carried her along at dizzying speed. Each time she tried to surface, James changed the angle of the kiss and pulled her under. His lips were hot over hers, soft but relentless. Jillian had one hand still fisted in James’s hair, the other gripping his shoulder as he simply flowed into her system like the tide. She had tried to meet the kiss as she met everything else in her life, head on, trusting her own strength and mind and skill to prevail. But they were useless tools here. The tide was too powerful, the water too deep and fast, the inescapable pull of an undertow drawing her steadily towards the silky bottom. With James. She sighed and sank willingly into the nameless, sweet sea.
James felt her sigh shiver right through him, felt the subtle shift in her, a yielding. He wanted her, wanted to feel her skin against his, wanted to touch and to taste. The blood was pounding in his head and throbbing in his groin, as he ran his hands over her, held her tightly to him and ached to be closer still. His hand found its way under her blouse and cupped a teacup breast, felt the delicate nipple pressing into his palm through the silky bra. James shifted, trailed kisses along the angles of her face and down her throat.
Yes, yes, yes.
With a start he realized he wasn’t alone. The wolf was present and it was eager. Eager to have him claim Jillian fully.
No.
With difficulty, James pulled back. God, he wanted nothing more than to continue what he was doing. But he wasn’t about to give in to the wolf’s plans for his life, or do something that might eventually endanger Jillian. And so he pulled back while he still could. He smoothed her blouse back into place and rubbed his hands up and down her upper arms. He was about to say he had work to do and she probably did too and maybe she should go—but those sea green eyes, still dreamy with arousal, were looking up at him. “Maybe we should continue our tour,” he heard himself say.