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They were halfway down the hill, and she would bet if he didn’t fear a runaway wheelchair, he would have used his hands to jerk away from her.
“Once I get to my cabin, I want to be left alone.”
He sounded like a petulant child, and in a way he was. He was having to learn how to walk again, was completely dependent on other people to teach him to do exactly that. Things he’d taken for granted were no longer easy—like making his way to a cabin in the woods. And as she thought about all that he’d had to overcome, including the death of his best friends in the tragic car wreck that had almost cost him his life, well, suffice it to say she started to wonder if she wasn’t being a little too hard on him.
That was until they reached the bottom of the hill and he did exactly what she knew he’d been dying to do. He wrenched away.
“Damn.” She stopped and rested her hands on her hips, her fingers stinging from the force of the handles being ripped from her grasp. “You’re good at that.”
He ignored her, just made a beeline for his cabin. He must have seen that it was handicapped equipped because he zipped toward the place as if he rode in a two-wheeled sports car. A ramp had been built to run straight up to the front door. His wheels hit the slats with a clackity-click-click. His bag nearly slipped from his lap he stopped so hard as he spun his chair so he could push on the handle.
“It’s locked,” she called out in a singsong voice, knowing it wasn’t very nice of her to take such naughty pleasure in his impatience.
He glanced at the door, then her, clearly frustrated.
She contemplated for an instant how it would feel to walk away and leave him there. She wished she had the gumption to do exactly that, but in the end, she really did understand what he was going through. She’d watched Rana go through the same type of emotional turmoil. Grief was tricky. It brought out either the best or the worst in people. If he was anything like her, he felt the loss of his friend like a kick to the stomach.
She headed for the front door.
Sunlight turned the surface of the wood-framed window into a mirror. She spotted her reflection as she walked toward the cabin. Reflected, too, was the image of blue sky, the mercury-like surface of the river and the meadow that lined the water’s edge, and the low-lying mountains.
“Here.” She turned the key with a flourish. The smell of pine and beeswax greeted her as she opened the door. “Light switch to the right. Bathroom straight ahead, just before the bedroom. It’s handicapped equipped, by the way.”
He rolled past her. She caught the scent of him then, an interesting combination of citrus and cinnamon, which she might have taken a moment to admire if he wasn’t a guest and a soon-to-be patient. He really was good with that chair, judging by the way he wheeled around the small table and chairs to their right. He paused in the sitting room area that lined the front of the cabin. To her surprise he suddenly faced her, cowboy hat momentarily shielding his gaze until he lifted his chin.
“Tell the girl I’m sorry.”
It took a moment to realize who he was talking about.
The hat dipped down again. She saw his jaw work, the little muscle along the side of it ticking as if he were grinding his teeth.
“Long flight.”
He leaned forward, suddenly slipping out of the jacket he wore and exposing a toned upper body covered by a white button-down shirt.
My, my, my.
As patients went, he was pretty dang easy on the eyes.
“Three-hour flight from Colorado to the West Coast, another wait to catch the small plane that brought me here, then a long drive to what felt like the middle of nowhere, all to get to a place I don’t want to be.”
Maybe he wasn’t such an ass after all.
She studied him anew. He really was a handsome cuss with his dented chin and his piercing gray eyes. She could see why girls the world over had followed his rodeo career.
“You really should give the place a try.” She clutched her sweater around her tighter. Good-looking or not, this man came with a lot of baggage. “It’s worked wonders for some people.”
His chin moved up a notch. “You some kind of therapist or something?”
She almost laughed. “Didn’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“That’s what I do here. Physical therapy. And cook on occasion for Cabe and Rana, although Cabe’s the better cook. I do make a mean pot of chili, though.”
He stared at her anew, looked at her hard. She could see the wheels turning behind those pretty eyes of his.
“You were Braden Jensen’s fiancée, weren’t you?”
The nerves of her face suddenly turned cold.
“I remember seeing you at the Pendleton show. He told me you were in college. That you were studying sports medicine. That you wanted to help athletes with injuries.”
Breathe, Alana. Breathe.
“We weren’t officially engaged,” she heard herself say. “He hadn’t asked me yet, but we’d talked about it. After...it happened, I learned he’d bought me a ring. He was going to ask me at Christmas.”
And that had been a lifetime ago.
His gaze flicked over her, as if assessing her for damage, too. When their eyes locked again, there was an expression in his, one that made her face come back to life, her skin blazing with color.
Get the hell out of here, Alana.
“Dial zero if you need to reach the main house.” She crossed her arms in front of herself, for some reason uncomfortable with this new and more friendly version of Trent Anderson. “Breakfast will be brought to you around eight, unless you think you’re capable of making your own.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Good. Your refrigerator is fully stocked. We have a cleaning service that comes in once a day. Just hang out the sign on the door if you’d rather we leave things alone.”
“Is that why you stick around? Is this your therapy?”
Go to hell.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson.”
Because, no, this wasn’t her therapy. She was here for Rana, a girl who needed her mother, but who’d lost her instead. She might be a poor substitute, but she loved Rana like a daughter. The therapy? That was just a job, a good job, one she enjoyed. Helping people was her calling in life, always had been. Of course, she’d assumed she’d use her degree working for the Professional Bull Rider’s Association or something. How ironic that she might find herself treating the very type of athlete she’d originally trained to help.
“I guess I’m not the only one with old wounds,” she heard him call out.
“Good night, Mr. Anderson.”
Ignore him.
She was over Braden. She had been for years.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Chapter Three
She dreaded the coming day.
The moment her eyes popped open, Alana groaned.
Trent Anderson.
The good-looking son of a gun was going to be a royal pain in her behind. She could tell. Normally, that wouldn’t pose much of a problem. She’d dealt with her share of unpleasant clients over the years. They were rare. As she’d told Trent, most people came to New Horizons Ranch of their own free will, but every once in a while someone would come along who would try her patience.
Yeah, but they weren’t good-looking...like Trent.
She shoved her pillow over her head and groaned. And, okay, she could admit to herself that over the years when she’d spotted Trent on TV once or twice, maybe she might have noted to herself that he was a good-looking man. With his cocky cowboy attitude, he was the kind of guy most women drooled over—herself included—although never in an ooh-I-wish-I-could-date-him kind of way. Nope. Never.
She whipped the covers off, determined to begin her day even though a part of her wanted to stay in bed with the covers firmly over her head.
A half hour later she stepped onto the tiny porch built off her home. The little house was blue with picture windows and trim that matched the main homestead. Cabe and Rana had wanted her to stay with them, but tongues had started to wag in town over their sleeping arrangements, especially after a year had passed, so Cabe had built her the cabin. It was perfect.
“Brrr.”
Chilly. Go figure. The black poufy jacket did little to keep her warm this time of morning. That was the problem with living at a higher elevation, she thought, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the barn. Nights and mornings were always cold, thanks to a snow-cooled breeze that blew in from the mountains. One learned to dress in layers, because by noon it’d be warm again. But nothing could beat the view, she admitted, passing beneath a thick stand of pine trees that surrounded Cabe’s backyard. Gray mountains in the distance. Meadows nearby. And a sky so blue it looked almost purple. Paradise.
Her breath misted as she stepped beneath the trees’ canopy. Soon enough, she spotted the arena. To her left was the barn, a state-of-the-art facility with room for twelve horses, an office above that featured windows across the front and side, and a board-and-batten exterior painted white. It looked as though the barn was made out of wood, but it was really made out of an artificial compound resistant to fire, not that you’d ever guess.
It looked so pretty sitting there this early in the morning, diffused sunlight painting the outside a pale orange, steam rising off the dark green roof above. The weather vane pointed west, she noticed. That was why it was so cold. Wind coming in from the hills, just as she’d suspected.
A horse spotted her. Its neigh echoed across the stable yard between the barn and the arena.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Behind the barn was the main pasture, the ranch horses that they used for guests grazing in the distance, and behind them a faint line of trees that signaled the Bureau of Land Management’s property line. Cabe had the grazing rights.
A horse nickered impatiently, its knee bumping the stall door. “All right,” Alana said, less patiently. She turned toward an open area to her left filled to the brim with grass hay. “Sheesh, you guys.”
It wasn’t her job to feed the horses, not really. Cabe usually took care of it, but when she was up early enough and she had no guests to attend, she didn’t mind lending a hand. She enjoyed feeding the horses, loved the smell of a freshly opened bale of hay. Alana inhaled deeply as she grabbed a flake, then turned around. She couldn’t help but smile at the horses’ looks of anticipation.
“Hey,” Cabe said from her right. Alana paused, a flake of oat hay in hand, the rich, loamy scent filling her nose. The horse she’d been about to feed stamped its foot in impatience, sending up a flurry of dust that caught the early morning light, particles swirling through the air.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Gray eyes and dark blond hair flashed into her mind.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Trent’s handsome face had haunted her all dang night.
“Oh?” Cabe teased as he walked toward her. “Guess he really got under your skin, too, huh?”
It bugged the you-know-what out of her that Cabe could read her so easily. She thought about denying it, but she knew better than to try to con her best and oldest friend, so she frowned, shaking her head a bit.
“I have a feeling he’s going to be a real pain in the rear.” She tossed the flake of hay through the feed door, much to the bay gelding’s delight.
“He’ll settle in.”
He’d stopped in front of her—Cabe Jensen, one hundred percent cowboy in his dusty brown Carhartt overalls, with a dark green button-down shirt beneath.
“You make him sound like a new horse.”
Cabe pressed his lips together, considering her words, then moved to the edge of the stall so he could peer through the metal bars that kept the horses’ heads away from guests, his gaze sweeping over the animal she’d just fed. Jacob. His best rope horse.
“He might be as fractious as a new horse.” He met her gaze, obviously satisfied with what he saw. Cabe wore the same cowboy hat he’d worn for years, one that was black but looked faded these days, its flat brim warped and somewhat frayed.
“Just remember—” he tucked his hands in his pockets—probably because they were cold “—it wasn’t long ago that we were dealing with similar emotions from Rana.”
It was true, and something she’d reminded herself of at least a hundred times last night. Somehow, though, it was different coming from Cabe. Trent wasn’t family, and his good looks made her uncomfortable. There. She could admit that.
“I just hope he’ll at least try some of the therapies I suggest. I’m not even certain he’ll let me assess the damage done to his legs.”
“Maybe you can do that without actually examining him.”
“How?”
Cabe smirked. “I was giving it some thought last night and I agree. He doesn’t want to be here, but to be honest, I was already warned about that. So I was thinking we need to outsmart him.”
“You were warned?”
A crafty look entered Cabe’s eyes. “I called his mom last night. She told me it took all her persuasive powers to get Trent on the plane. Apparently, he called her last night, too, and he made it perfectly clear he wasn’t happy.”
“Oh, great.” She could understand reluctance, but out-and-out hostility would make things difficult.
“That’s what I’m saying. We need to outsmart him.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“Put him up on a horse today.”
She lost her power of speech for a moment. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A million things bubbled through her mind, but she couldn’t voice them...except for her next words. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Why not? He has partial use of his upper legs. He should be able to hold on just fine.”
“Yeah, if he had some training.”
“That’s what the special saddle we use is for. He won’t fall off.”
“You’re right, he won’t because he’s not going to agree to it.”
Amusement filled his face, wrinkles crinkling the corners of his mouth all the way to the line of his jaw. “Doesn’t hurt to ask.”
Her boss had lost his mind.
The words repeated themselves as she went about her morning chores. Truth was, she was a lot more than a therapist. She wore a lot of hats: cook, chauffer, ranch hand. No two days were ever alike, so as they headed into breakfast it didn’t take her by surprise when Cabe said, “You going to check on him this morning, or shall I?”
The words you do it almost escaped her lips. One thing stopped her—the twinkle in Cabe’s eyes. It was as if he dared her to beard the lion in his den, and to be honest, Alana wasn’t as averse to the idea as he might think. It wouldn’t hurt to show the man that she wasn’t intimidated.
