“If Max is any example, I’d say you’ve got a major way with them. Were you really a mercenary?”

“Among other things, including the troublemaking hoodlum Mrs. Sullivan claims I am.”

“Oh.” She rolled her eyes at Max, cleared her throat. “I expect Annie’s remembering the boy who gave Josh his first cigarette.”

“One of my lesser crimes. I quit six months ago myself. Easier than worrying about setting fire to the hay.”

“Or dying of lung cancer.”

“You gotta die of something.”

She turned just as he reached up to slip the bridle off Max. Their bodies bumped. As much out of curiosity as to steady her, he took her arms.

Soft. Fragile as he’d imagined. And as he shifted, just a little, the gentle swell of her breasts pressed against him. Her eyes had whipped to his at first contact. They stayed there as her heart hammered.

“I always wondered what kind of handful you’d be.” He smiled, let his hands run up and down those pretty arms. “Never had the opportunity to find out before. Of course, you were too young for me back then. You’ve caught up close enough now.”

“Excuse me.” That was her voice, calm and cool. She was able to manage that, though everything inside her was hot and unsteady.

“You’re not in my way.” Easily, he lifted a hand to toy with a curl that flirted with her cheek.

“Then you’re in mine.” She didn’t know how to handle men. Had never had to, really. But she was smart enough to know that now she needed a crash course. “I’m not interested in flirtations.”

“Me either.”

She borrowed a page from Margo’s book, made her eyes bored. “Michael, I’m sure scores of women would be flattered. If I had the time, I might be flattered myself. But I don’t have the time. My children are waiting to have their dinner.”

“You’ve got that down,” he acknowledged. “Lady of the manor. You were born for it.” He stepped back. “If you find yourself with time on your hands, you know where to find me.”

“Give my best to Josh and Margo,” she said as she set out on watery legs for the house.

“Sure. Hey, sugar?”

Bristling only a little at the term, she looked back. “The mousers. Don’t come bringing me some furry little kittens. I want big hungry toms.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m sure you will,” he murmured as she walked away. “Christ, what a package,” he said to Max. Amused at himself, Michael rubbed the heel of his hand against his heart. It had yet to settle down for him. “She’s the type that makes a man feel like a big hungry tom. And clumsy with it.”

Shaking his head, Michael headed upstairs to wash off the stable dirt.