Page 13 of The Science of Attraction

“Family stuff.” It was all he was gonna get.

He grunted, but when I didn’t offer any further explanation, he reached for the quad cane and used it to lever himself forward on the seat. He eyed the ramp with disgust. “Bloody... thing.”

I raised a brow. “You’d rather I carried you in?”

His gaze jerked up.

“Well, there’s no way you’re climbing a flight of narrow steps on your own just yet.”

He took another look at the ramp and his expression shifted to resignation. “Fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I repositioned his quad cane and helped him to his feet. “Besides, when I asked Jules about the chances of getting something like this built, he and Zach got it done in just two days.”

A raised brow. “Zach?”

“Yeah.” I closed the car door and adjusted Paddy’s posture. “He was here in a couple of hours.”

Paddy chewed on his lower lip but said nothing.

I let him think about that and got myself into position to assist him up the ramp. “Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Then let’s do this. But fair warning, I’m not letting you do this on your own the first time, and that means hands-on, got it?”

He nodded and I moved close to his affected side so I could guide his steps, take some weight if it was needed, or catch him if he stumbled. It took a while to get him safely up the ramp, his weaker right leg seemingly determined to get in his way, but we eventually made it. I opened the door and Chip burst through, no doubt on a mission to find the other dogs. Paddy and I followed at a much more leisurely pace.

Paddy did a good job of hiding his nerves, but I knew him well enough by then to recognise the signs. A flickering eye, a constant licking of his lips, and a lowered head. But once inside, his whole demeanour changed, like he’d had a sudden injection of purpose. His back straightened and he took in the clamour and the busyness of the space with a shrewd assessing eye, his disability momentarily forgotten.

“Take a minute to rest,” I told him, pulling back on his arm as the combined odour of sweat, lanolin, damp wool, old wood, new construction, and sheep manure stormed my nostrils. That, along with the buzz of the electric shears, loud music, and a dozen or so people shouting, singing, and joking around, and I was quickly in sensory overload.

That was mollified somewhat by the spectacle of six sweaty singlet-clad men wielding clippers over the merinos sandwiched between their legs. There was an awful lot of raw muscle on display and more than a few interesting tattoos. If my mouth went a little dry, who could blame me? But the last thing I needed was Paddy clocking my less-than-PG interest in his shearing gang, so I reluctantly dragged my eyes away and guided him further into the shed.

“Hey, Boss.” Tennyson gave Paddy a wave from where he was standing, talking with one of the shearers. “Welcome back to your real home!”

Around forty and taller than Jules by a few centimetres, Tennyson, or Ten as Jules called him, was a broad-shouldered man with keen blue eyes, a ready smile, and salt and pepper just beginning to show in his short blond locks. Lane’s stock manager had struck me from the first as one of life’s eternal optimists, which was saying something considering he’d worked for Paddy for over ten years. I addedresilientto that list of character traits.

At Ten’s booming welcome, a dozen sets of curious eyes turned our way and someone began clapping. The mood caught on until everyone in the woolshed had downed whatever they were doing to join in. The applause was heart-warming and without an ounce of pity.

I hoped Paddy saw that too, and when he unexpectedly flushed bright red to the roots of his hair, it told me a lot about how nervous he’d truly been. But there was also a tiny, pleased smile on his lips.

He brushed the welcome aside with his usual grunt and a wave of his hand, but he wasn’t fooling anyone in that shed. He’d been touched by the welcome, and that alone made the effort to get him there worthwhile. But he was also exhausted.

I took his elbow and he shot me a grateful look. Well, maybe not grateful, exactly, but as a step up from homicidal, I was counting it as a win.

“Dad?” Jules scaled a holding pen in a single fluid move that did interesting things to my nether regions. He wore filthy jeans and a loose black singlet that showed way too much slick skin for my libido to handle before lunch. His tousled shortish hair fell carelessly over his brow like he’d come straight from bed, his thick dark scruff looking like it hadn’t seen a blade in a day or so, and I wasn’t complaining. A smudge of something greenish black striped his brow, and although I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know what it was, it made me want to shove him into a shower with a sponge and... well, me... naked... and stuff.

All in all, he looked fucking delicious, and I rushed to roll my tongue up from the floor and back in my mouth before anyone noticed.

“Wow. This is a surprise. Agoodsurprise.” His gaze switched to mine and the sunshine in his smile knocked my heart flat on its back.

Dammit.What was wrong with me? When it came to men, I’d worked hard to make nonchalant my middle name, and I’d been trying all week not to obsess about thesexy shepherd—and who knew those two words together were even a thing.

I’d failed miserably, of course, and then wasted far too much shower time painting the walls and regretting my life’s choices. Suspicions aside, I had no idea which way the man swung, and I was old enough to know better than to lust after straight guys.

Jules ran a critical eye over his father. “You’re looking good, Dad.”

Before Paddy could answer, Stuart shouted from the pens, “Hey Jules, which ones do you want next?” Built like a rugby prop with tree-trunk thighs and shoulders to infinity, Stuart was the youngest and most extroverted of the team.

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