‘Brains or balls.’ Erin nodded sagely as she gazed at Cecil’s amazing appendages. ‘Yep, I can see the choice has been made here.’ Then, as Matt drew in his breath, she took a wise step away from him. ‘Come on, twins,’ she said, choking back laughter at the expression on Matt’s face. ‘There’s no way you can get Cecil more beautiful than he is right now. It’s time for Matt to take him out.’
‘Wait a bit.’ Matt had control of himself now-almost-and he was thinking. He was enjoying himself enormously, he thought, and the realisation was hitting home that his enjoyment was coming to an end.
It shouldn’t be. The Grand Parade here was the ultimate achievement. Already he’d had a steady stream of potential customers, national and international, pass by Cecil’s stall and assess for themselves his stud potential. In the parade, they’d be watching from the stands, making their final decision on which stud farm to choose.
Cecil moved magnificently. In the stalls he looked great, but out in the open he swayed with a majesty that had to be seen to be believed. For potential customers interested in Herefords there was now no choice, Matt knew, and he also knew his income for the next twelve months would skyrocket.
So, for Matt, the parade was the culmination of years of hard work. This was what he, his father and his grandfather had spent years achieving.
Why then, did he feel reluctant to take the rope attached to Cecil’s halter and tug the giant beast toward the parade ring?
Because this year showing Cecil and winning first prize wasn’t the highlight, he thought suddenly. It was working side by side with others; with this funny, warm and lovely woman and her two troubled charges.
This was pure novelty factor, he thought harshly, trying to bring himself back down to earth. He had no intention of working side by side with a woman. He worked alone. That was the way he’d been brought up. It was the order of things, now and forever…
‘Matt! Oh, darling, he’s wonderful!’
It was almost a relief to look up and see Charlotte bearing down on them-a Charlotte refreshed by a good night’s sleep in the hotel, and wearing her signature apparel of white on white. White slacks. White linen blouse with collar that just stood up the right amount. A white on white silk scarf, casually knotted. The very epitome of casual elegance in a wealthy farmer’s wife.
She didn’t have straw sticking out of her hair like Erin did. She hadn’t stepped in a cow pat in her only pair of shoes, forcing her to wear borrowed gum boots three sizes too big-as Erin had.
She was a much more suitable woman, Matt told himself.
The trouble was, she might be more suitable, but she wasn’t nearly as much fun.
Life wasn’t fun, he told himself. Hadn’t his parents taught him anything? Work wasn’t fun. Fun was something you had intermittently with your mates, when the women weren’t around. Fun was…
Hell, he didn’t know what fun was any more.
Wasn’t fun what they’d had this morning?
‘He’s a fine-looking beast.’ With a jolt, Matt hauled himself out of his strange line of thought and realised Charlotte wasn’t alone. Bradley was right behind her, his portentous tones echoing through the pavilion. ‘I hope you don’t mind me escorting Charlotte back here?’
Yep, the weed still remembered the drubbing Matt had given him at school when he’d paraded his self- importance from age ten, and he wasn’t risking anything here.
‘But when I found Charlotte had no one to drive her…’
‘You brought her from the hotel. Very kind.’ Matt was suddenly feeling almost overwhelmingly claustrophobic. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have to go. Cecil’s required in the ring. Bradley, could you look after Charlotte for me?’
‘Creighton Bow is also required in the ring,’ Bradley said stiffly. ‘The horses come in straight after cattle. My lads are grooming him for me now.’
‘Creighton Bow.’ Oh, right. Bradley’s wonderful horse. ‘Um…right. Did he win, then?’
‘He gained a second placing. I felt the judging overlooked-’
‘I’ll look out for him,’ Matt said hastily. ‘Well done.’ But inside he was cringing in repugnance. To let his lads groom what he knew was a magnificent stallion, without even supervision… To stay the night in the hotel while his precious bloodstock was here… The claustrophobia was rising by the minute.
‘I need to go.’
But then there were two urgent little hands tugging his shirt. ‘Can we come, too? Please, Matt? Can we come, too?’
Matt hesitated-and was lost. A thought hit him, and it was as if a thunderbolt had crashed into his solar plexus. Good grief!
‘Matt, please…’
Why not?
He’d seen this happen. Livestock had been led into the ring by youngsters before, and he’d always thought, how the hell could you put all that work into breeding and preparing an animal and then let someone else show it?
It was like Bradley letting someone else groom his horse.
But it wasn’t like that, he realised suddenly. Bradley let someone else do the hard work and then would take the glory himself. He’d lead Creighton Bow into the ring. Matt looked down into the two desperately eager little faces and he knew that if he let his bolt of lightning idea have its way he’d have two levels of pride. Not one.
He’d never seen it before, but there it was. All those years of watching kids…
His father would never have dreamed of such a thing, he thought, and if he did his mother wouldn’t have allowed it.
But he wasn’t his father, and the idea was like slicing the past from the future. He cast an uncertain glance at Erin, unsure how she’d react, but there was no chance of taking her aside and sounding his idea out.
She looked ridiculous, he thought. She looked unkempt, frazzled, over-booted and underdressed beside Charlotte’s perfect dress code, but his lips twitched at the sight of her and it was only with difficulty that he turned his attention back to the twins.
They were waiting to be turned down. He could see by their eyes that they’d asked to come, too, but they were accustomed to knock-backs. As Erin was accustomed to knock-backs on their behalf.
‘I have a proposition,’ he said, and they stared in incomprehension.
‘A…a propos…’
‘An idea. If you’re willing.’
‘What’s your idea?’ They were all looking at him. Charlotte and Bradley. William and Henry.
And Erin.
Mostly Erin. Or maybe it was mostly Erin he was aware of.
‘You’ve seen how quiet Cecil is?’ He was talking more to Erin than the twins, aware it was she he had to convince rather than them.
‘Yes.’
‘Then if I take him to the entrance and get him into position in the parade, would Erin allow you to take him around the arena for me?’
There was an audible intake of breath from every last one of them-including from Matthew himself. Was he mad? Trusting his precious bull to two urchins?
But he looked down into their incredulous faces and he knew that he had nothing to fear at all. Cecil would be as safe as houses. They considered him theirs, and he was as precious to the boys now as their Tigger.
Heaven help anyone or anything that threatened their Cecil!
Bradley was the first to find his voice. Of course.
‘You’d trust your beast to these…’ He paused, stuck for words, and then found what he was looking for. ‘These brats?’
‘They’re not brats,’ Matt said evenly. ‘They’re my right hand men, and I’d rather trust my bull to these two than to hired hands-as you have your precious horse.’ It was impossible to keep the disdain from Matt’s voice. Bradley might come from a family who bred champion steeplechasers, but you’d never catch Bradley doing anything as menial as grooming.
And as for calling his kids brats!
Erin’s kids, he reminded himself hastily. Not his. Erin’s.
‘Matt, you’re not serious.’ It was Charlotte, putting in her two-bob’s worth, but Matt’s eyes were on Erin.
‘Erin? Is it okay with you?’
