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Mack, too, had been impressed by Bindi’s knowledge and enthusiasm. She obviously listened when Steve talked, and had even mentioned at one stage that she’d like to do the same thing one day; turn around a run-down property and make it viable again. Mack fought back a grin as he noticed Timmo dismount awkwardly, and then shake out his legs while he thought no one was watching. Timmo had admitted he’d learned to ride when he was a lot younger—a previous girlfriend had been into showjumping—but he hadn’t been near a horse in over five years. The man was going to be sore and chafed tonight.
Dean and Ron were still talking with their heads together, so Bindi raised her voice and said, “If you want to make your way down to the lodge, lunch will be served soon.”
“Are you sure you don’t want a hand unsaddling the horses?” Naomi asked.
“No, we’ve got that covered. We’ll meet you down there in a jiffy,” Bindi replied.
“Thank you. That was a lovely ride.” Naomi placed a hand on Bindi’s arm and gave her a warm smile. “You’ve definitely given the men something to talk about.” Naomi turned and ushered Dean and Ron down the gravel road. “Come on, you two,” she teased. “I’m starving.”
The men led the way down the gravel road, still talking animatedly together, while Naomi and Marge followed at a more leisurely pace, taking in the sight of the billabong shimmering in the midday sun below the lodge.
Bindi began to unsaddle Sahara, and Mack did the same with Picasso. She headed inside the main stables to put the saddle away in the tack room, Timmo following a few steps behind. Mack stifled a grimace. Even though he’d changed his mind about the bodyguard, surely the man was taking this all a little too seriously. Bindi shot him a look, and he could see by the glower on her face she was thinking the exact same thing.
But it wasn’t until she’d unsaddled Captain and was heading back inside with his tack, Timmo again following in her footsteps, that she said, “You know, I’m sure I’m safe in the stables. You could do something helpful, like unsaddle your own horse.” She gestured toward Chico, and Timmo merely grunted, seemingly preoccupied with his ear comms. “Or you could just stay out of my way if you don’t want to help,” she added with an exasperated sigh.
Timmo ignored her and tapped his ear, but it seemed the words of whoever was on the other end were indecipherable.
“The tin walls of the shed often block a signal,” Bindi said.
Timmo nodded and motioned that he was going outside.
“Bloody hell,” Bindi said quietly. “That man is very…shall we say…committed to my safety.”
“He’s only doing his job,” Mack replied with a laugh. It hadn’t taken Bindi long to get tired of Mafia Man’s presence. He gave a low chuckle. “I would’ve thought you were enjoying his attention. He is built like a Greek God, after all.”
Bindi shot him a dark look. “Not my type,” she said, rounding on her heel and disappearing into the tack room.
Somehow, that information made him feel much more charitable. Because he hoped it meant that perhaps he was her type.
“Would you mind unsaddling the rest?” she asked, reappearing a few seconds later. “If you finish that, I’ll go and organize their feed.” She pointed toward the feed room in the back corner of the stables. “Then we can grab something to eat. I agree with Naomi. I’m starving.”
“Sure,” he said, whistling a tune under his breath as he returned to the saddling yard, letting the gate swing shut behind him. Timmo was leaning against the outside of the yard fence, talking quietly into his comms, which must be working better now. Mack ignored him and ran a hand down Chico’s front leg, lifting it to inspect his hoof. The horse had looked slightly lame on the return journey, and he wanted to make sure—
A scream issued from inside the barn.
Bindi.
Not bothering to unlatch the gate, Mack was up the first two rungs of the fence, vaulting over the top and landing on the ground, sprinting into the stables.
Timmo was two strides behind him.
Another scream drove Mack on. Shit. What was going on? Who was there? Was someone hurting her? The thought almost made his knees buckle beneath him.
He reached the door to the feed store and swung into the room, only to be confronted by a scene from a nightmare.
Bindi was lying on her back on the ground, fending off Mutt with both hands, who was on his knees beside her, trying to drive a knife into her heart. The knife hovered mere centimeters from her chest as Mutt strained to get to her.
With a snarl, Mack launched himself at the man, knocking him onto his back as they rolled together in the hay. This was the second time Mack had fought hand-to-hand with Mutt, but last time, the other man had been intoxicated. Now he was just as powerful, but moved with a lethal grace that hadn’t been there before. Mutt might be super strong, but Mack had speed and agility on his side.
He rolled to the side, not letting Mutt get a proper hold on him, but then had to duck his head as the knife landed in the dirt directly where his head had been only a split second earlier. The knife flashed again, and it was all Mack could do to stop it slashing his neck, instead of catching the edge of the blade across his bicep. The pain was immediate and intense, a burning sensation that made Mack grimace.
All of a sudden, Mutt was lifted off Mack and thrown bodily onto the ground a few meters away. The knife went flying as Timmo kicked it from his grasp. Timmo inflicted a few good kicks into Mutt’s side, then he landed, knees first, on Mutt’s chest, knocking all the air from his lungs.
Timmo stood up slowly and glowered down at Mutt, while he gasped for air and writhed on the ground. “Don’t you fucking move,” Timmo threatened.
Mack got to his feet, holding his arm where he’d been slashed. Circling warily away from the two prizefighters, he went to where Bindi was backed into a stack of hay bales, watching with terrified fascination.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he demanded.
