Except now here he was, wearing that crooked smile that had always surprised her because it made his serious face look so different. Now it made him look . . .
Gorgeous.
The thought alarmed her. She was entirely unprepared for Scotty as a man. When she had last seen him, he had been twenty-one: still an overgrown boy. A little too tall. A little too thin. Features a little too big for his face. He had always been beautiful in her eyes, but now, at twenty-nine, Scotty had grown into himself. All the girls who had ignored him at school would swipe right on his Tinder profile for sure. His height was commanding rather than gangly. He’d filled out: his chest and shoulders were broad and sturdy, his hands tanned and powerful. The lines on his face that he’d had even as a teenager had deepened and given his face a craggy character. In his dark blue jeans, scuffed workboots, fitted casual shirt and wide-brimmed hat, he was the quintessential strapping country guy. He’d let his sandy hair grow and the natural curl softened him, lent him an easygoing air. His green eyes were as arresting as ever.
He was, Claire realised with a sinking sensation in her stomach that felt like dismay, sexy as hell. She certainly hadn’t anticipated that. And she was staring at him in stupefied silence.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’ she said at last.
Scotty blinked, as surprised by the question as she was. ‘Sorry?’ he said.
‘The mare.’
‘Oh, of course.’ Scotty shook his head as understanding dawned. ‘Autumn. She’s not mine. She belongs to my little brother. You remember Chris? He runs Cape Ashe now.’
Claire crossed her arms and glared.
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘Autumn has been, uh, enjoying some gentlemanly company at a stud farm down on the South Coast for the last few months and Chris wants her brought back to Bindy to give birth. I was in Melbourne for a conference so I offered to pick her up and drive her home. We got as far as Wollongong yesterday and she was absolutely fine, but on our way past Sydney today she just crashed.’
Past Sydney. Not to Sydney. So he’d had no intention of stopping off to see her. If Autumn hadn’t fallen ill he would have continued on to Bindallarah without a word. Not that she had any right to feel disappointed, Claire sharply reminded herself.
‘Of course she crashed, Scotty!’ she snapped. Saying his name aloud in his presence felt strange and forbidden after so many years. ‘It’s nearly forty degrees out there today. It was probably close to twice that in the float. She’s pregnant. How could you do that to her?’
She saw anger flash across his face. ‘The float is air-conditioned, Claire.’ He hurled her name at her like a grenade. ‘Autumn was in climate-controlled comfort all the way. That’s why I want you to test her for MH. You know stress can be a trigger in horses that carry the gene. It must have been the anxiety of the transport that caused it, not the heat.’
Claire frowned. His expression was a mix of irritation and appeal for understanding. If it had been anyone else, she would have picked up the phone and dialled the local RSPCA inspector. But this was Scotty. Aside from the fact that he was an accomplished vet, he had been around horses every day of his life. He knew the majestic beasts better than anyone she’d ever met – even her, and she had close to ten years of study to become an equine specialist under her belt.
And he was a good guy, despite this heated exchange. Scotty was a big-hearted, earnest person, whose instinct was to do the right thing by everyone at all times. Deep down, Claire knew he would never have intentionally risked Autumn’s safety.
‘I’ll run the test,’ she said. ‘The results will take twenty-four hours.’ She picked up her collection of needles and vials.
Scotty’s breath came out in a whoosh. ‘Thanks, Claire. Hey,’ he said as she turned to leave. ‘Autumn will be fine, but obviously we won’t be going anywhere for a day or two. Got any plans tonight?’
Claire dropped the kidney dish with a clatter. Syringes and tubes rolled across the floor. Was he going to suggest she put him up for the night? The idea filled her with panic, which was absurd. What did it matter if Scotty crashed on her couch? They’d known each other forever and – she hoped – were on their way to being real friends again. Friends should offer each other their sofa beds.
But the thought of him in her home, filling the meagre space with this potent masculinity he now possessed, felt dangerous. Five minutes in his presence and she was already practically catatonic.
She dropped to her knees to gather the spilled equipment, buying time. Scotty squatted beside her. ‘Because if you don’t,’ he said, handing her a hermetically sealed syringe, ‘how about meeting me for a drink? I’ll book into a hotel in the city. We can catch up properly.’
Relief washed over her. A casual drink she could do. It was lovely to see him again, and a catch-up in a public place where there was no chance she’d succumb to the long-buried ache now stirring deep inside her would be fine. Safe.
‘That would be great, Scotty,’ she said, smiling at last. Saying his name felt a little easier each time.
He knew Claire worked there, but it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d be there.
He’d been cruising on the freeway on Sydney’s outer western fringe when he’d seen on the dash-mounted video monitor that Autumn was becoming distressed in the float. He hadn’t wanted to pull over and risk her collapsing, or worse, bolting into four lanes of speeding traffic, so Scotty had simply googled the nearest emergency
