The Art of Husbandry (Mackenzie Country, #1)

by Jay Hogan

When life drowns you in lemons, to hell with making lemonade. I wanted to burn the whole world.

His full mouth curved up in a high-wattage smile that made my stomach do a weird-arse, vaguely familiar flip. Oh boy. Attraction. Just freaking dandy. Eighteen months with my libido on military-grade lockdown, and it chose that moment to wake up and get with the program.

I absolutely did not watch the way his criminally thin grey sweats hugged his arse, or the line of smooth, pale skin that appeared between them and the hem of his crumpled white T-shirt, or the glimpse of blond hair that gathered thickly under his navel. Nope, I saw none of that.

His passion shone through every word, reflected in the gleam in his eye and the way his hands moved excitedly, as he talked about warmth and wicking and breathability and a whole host of things that sailed right by me because . . . he was just so fucking there, taking up all the oxygen in the room. Every maddening centimetre of him.

I was coming alive in a smelly, dusty, cobweb-strewn woolshed. I was feeling something more than grief and anger for the first time in forever.

“Ah.” Holden finally smiled. “Then here’s the deal. You do that this afternoon, and I’ll promise to think about telling Mum before she leaves.” “Psychologists don’t make deals,” I said loftily.

Emily’s mouth curved up in a warm smile. “Because I know my son. And I’ve never seen him look at someone the way he does you. If you’re in the same room, he can hardly keep his eyes off you.”

“And also, is there a sign on my forehead or something? Because your vet picked me for not being straight as well.” “Spencer?” Emily looked amused. “No surprise there. That man is like a homing pigeon for dick.

“I understood that grief and attraction and like and love don’t compete in some kind of linear race where only one can be in the lead at any one time. It’s more like a washing machine—everything present at the same time in a tangled, messy jumble. Sometimes one thing is on top, sometimes another. But paying attention to one doesn’t mean all the other stuff disappears.”

Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, do not come anywhere near me or I will strip you where you stand and take you over that boulder in the river.

Then he put his lips next to my ear. “I told you if you were a good boy, I might let you drive home.” He pulled away and winked, his finger moving slowly in and out of my mouth. “But right now, I don’t want you to be a good boy. Right now, you’re mine, Holden, and I’m driving. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

“So, does the age difference make this a cradle-snatching thing—” I shoved my phone in my pocket. “—or a daddy thi—” A pillow hit me on the head. “I’ll take that as a maybe.” I ducked another pillow and scrambled out the door, pulling it shut behind me.

I loved him in my house, in my space, in my life. I loved it all. Loved? Fuck me.

I studied his profile, the smooth line of his jaw, those long curling lashes, and that faint scar that ran across his eyebrow. He was beautiful at any distance, but close like this . . .

If I lost this man, it would rip me in two.

And as he slept with his eyelashes laced over his cheek, his heart beating strong against my chest, and his arm still tight around my waist, I whispered, “I love you.”

His confidence blossomed, and the sight of it filled my heart. It also made me realise how much of my first impression of Holden had been bluster, a front, because if I’d thought that version of capable, bossy Holden was a turn-on, the genuine article, self-assured, take-charge Holden almost made me come in my pants.

“Golden Holden, huh? The swim team and the debating team. That’s one very talented mouth you have there.” Holden leaned in and ran his mouth up my neck to my ear, whispering, “Oh, baby, you have no idea.”

I sipped on my coffee and reminded myself I was a man going on forty, not a love-struck teenager. Love? My coffee cup stalled halfway to my mouth. Holy shit. Is that what I’m feeling? I lowered the cup to my thigh. Am I falling in love with Holden? Am I in love with him?

“I love you, Gil.” Oh god. My heart thumped against my ribs and then pretty much gave out as Holden stumbled on.

“—but I’m also not going to pretend that I don’t feel what I do—head-rushing, parachute-gone, ground-coming-up-fast-with-no-safety-net in love with you. It kind of hit me like a truck watching you put that bastard in his place this afternoon. You’re it for me, Gil. Story done. And I apologise now for the total idiot I just made of myself and for likely scaring you the hell away.”

“You’re clearly losing your mind.” I shuffled onto my back under the sleeping bag and stared up at the stars. “It’s been known to happen during muster.” Gil bopped me on the end of my nose and I felt twelve years old. “I lost my mind and a whole lot more the first time I saw you, Holden Miller.”

Gil wrapped his hands around my face and planted kisses all over it. “Don’t you dare hide that blush. You’re a romantic, Holden Miller. And I love that about you.”

He threw the sleeping bag off and we scrambled to our feet, and goddamn, it was cold. “Jesus.” My balls rocketed northward to land somewhere under my rib cage and my dick instantly shrivelled to the size of a bean, and that was being generous.

Adrenaline fuelled my body as I took those first steps of the day, unable to believe that unadventurous me was actually going to scale a fucking mountain to bring down a mob of sheep. How was this my life? Like he could read my mind, Holden cupped my neck and asked, “You ready for this?” “Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I answered seriously. “Lead on.”

“You will always look cute to me. And I have to say—” He tugged up the collar of my Swanndri. “—this is a very sexy look on you, Doctor Everton.” I almost flinched at the casual reminder of a past life I was pretending didn’t exist. “Blue-balled and drowning in merino you mean?”

“Want me to kiss it better . . . or maybe more?” I shot a sneaky look toward the hut and grumbled, “No. It pains me to say that as good as you are in bed, I doubt I could stay awake past the amuse-bouche.”

All those years together and you’d never looked at me the way you were looking at him.” “That’s not tr—” “I’m not talking about love. I know you loved me. I’m talking about letting someone else have your back. Trusting your secrets and your doubts to another person. You were letting yourself lean on Holden, and he wasn’t taking any of your bullshit, not like I did.”

“I’ll have you know I aced animal husbandry at university. The human version might need a little fine-tuning but I think you’re safe in my experienced hands.” I counted off on my fingers. “Food, water, shelter, managing stress, and a good . . . breeding program.”