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“Really? With whom?”
“Um...” Sierra rubbed her temple. “Oh, I think that’s my other line. Gotta go, love to Dad, ’bye!” She disconnected before her mother could respond, poured a glass of water and went to the living room, where her laptop sat on the couch. For a moment, she considered checking flights to Africa. Maybe she should follow Paul’s example—go help people in another part of the world and put an ocean between her and her parents.
Instead, she checked email to see if her job search had netted any new responses, then fired off a quick note to Kyle.
Subject: Our Mother Is Off The Rails
Annabel must REALLY love you to put up with Mom. Hope you know what a lucky guy you are. See you in December—and not a single day sooner! S.
Her brother never replied to any of her messages. No doubt he was too busy plotting corporate takeovers.
She started to close her email, but her gaze lingered on a name in her inbox. Daniel Baron. He’d written to her two days ago, but she still hadn’t decided whether to act on the information he’d passed along.
Daniel was a former bull rider and past patient. She’d reached out to him last week when it became clear she needed more references. Not only had Daniel been happy to hear from her and more than willing to endorse her, he’d learned of an unusual job posting through a friend of a friend. He’d told her about a family in Cupid’s Bow, Texas. She’d almost rolled her eyes at the town name, but she supposed it was no quirkier than Gun Barrel City, Texas. Or Ding Dong, Texas.
According to Daniel, the teenage daughter of the family had been in an accident, and the Rosses were looking for someone to live on the ranch and work with the kid for about a month. A ranch...where there were horses. She shuddered.
I am not a small-town person. But she prided herself on being tough when she needed to be, and it wouldn’t be a long-term situation. With a guaranteed roof over her head, she would have time to investigate other opportunities. Three and a half weeks could make the difference between finding a position where she truly fit and simply accepting a paycheck so she could continue indulging in luxuries like food and water.
After she’d first read Daniel’s email, she’d looked up Cupid’s Bow online. It was tiny. Her parents’ country club probably had a higher population—ironic, since the club worked at actively excluding people. Sierra doubted there were any symphony performances or science museums in Cupid’s Bow. But worse than a potential dearth of culture or even the presence of horses was the possibility of nosy neighbors. Weren’t people in close-knit communities subject to scrutiny and gossip? Given her parents’ wealth and high social standing, Sierra had spent her teen years feeling conspicuously visible. People who’d never even met her had opinions about who she was and who they thought she should be. She detested feeling as if she had to answer anyone.
All right then, don’t call the Rosses. Stay here and get a job waitressing. With your gracious nature, you’re sure to make enough tips to pay off those student loans.
Lord. No wonder she couldn’t get a job—she even gave herself attitude.
Decision made, she pulled her phone from her pocket before she could change her mind. As she dialed, she reminded herself there was no guarantee the Rosses would hire her. If they did, she’d survive roughing it in Cupid’s Bow one day at a time. How many times had she lectured patients on the necessity of breaking down tasks into less intimidating chunks?
“Quit looking at it as months of PT,” she’d tell them. “Just get through each set of exercises, one day at a time. This first set’s only ten minutes. It may be uncomfortable, but you can handle ten measly minutes. Don’t wuss out on me now...”
She cajoled, encouraged and berated people into cooperating. The least she could do was take her own advice.
The phone rang, and she inhaled deeply. After a couple more rings, she began mentally rehearsing the message she would leave on the voice mail. But then a man answered.
“Hello?” The irritation in his deep voice made the word less a greeting and more a challenge.
She hesitated, but for only half a second. Tentativeness wasn’t in her nature. “May I speak with Jarrett Ross?”
“You got him. But if you’re selling something—”
“Only my professional services.” Someone should tell Mr. Ross that anyone who placed a Help Wanted ad should curb his hostility; it made people not want to help. “My name is Sierra Bailey. I’m a physical therapist, and Daniel Baron, one of my former clients, gave me this number. He mentioned your family is looking for someone with PT experience.”
“Oh! Yes. God, yes. Sorry, you just caught me at a bad time. Of course, that describes all of the time lately, but— Sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t expecting applicants to call me. Most of them have been phoning my mother.”
“Ah. You’re not the girl’s father?” Daniel had given her a name and a number. He hadn’t outlined the family tree.
“Definitely not. I’m Vicki’s older brother. But I might as well talk to you. After all, you and I would be the ones living together while my parents are away.”
Living together. The words gave her an odd jolt. Although Paul had spent enough nights at her place to warrant his own dresser drawer and a sliver of counter space in the bathroom, she’d never technically lived with a man. You wouldn’t be living with this one, either. Not in any personal way.
“My parents’ trip is why we’re seeking the extra help with Vicki,” he continued. “Not only could she benefit from physical therapy here at the house, we could use someone to keep her company while I’m working the ranch. If she needs something, I’m not readily accessible on the back forty. What was your name again?”
“Sierra. Sierra Bailey.”
“And Daniel Baron gave you my number? He’s a good guy. I used to compete against him and his brothers all the time.”
“Ah. So you’re a rodeo rider.” She hadn’t meant to sound judgmental. It just wasn’t a lifestyle she could wrap her head around. She worked with so many people who were injured through no fault of their own that it was hard to understand anyone deliberately pursuing such a potentially dangerous career.
“I was,” he said tightly, “but not anymore. I’m committed to the ranch. And to Vicki’s recovery.”
The patient. Here was comfortable ground. In her other interviews, she’d had to talk about herself, which made her prickly. It was easier to sound competent and professional while discussing the person she’d be treating.
She asked about the girl’s age—nineteen was older than she’d expected—and injuries. There was a pause before Jarrett began describing them. When he started talking again, the words came in an uncomfortable rush, as if he wanted to get through the list as quickly as possible. His younger sister was healing from several injuries, including a broken wrist, but the major issue was that her pelvis had been crushed in the accident.
Sierra winced. It was the kind of pity she’d never show in front of a patient because pity made a person feel weak. But the young woman had a rough time ahead of her.
“You obviously know your field well,” Jarrett said after they’d spent a few minutes discussing medical specifics. Yet he sounded more grim than impressed. Wasn’t her expertise a good thing? “To tell you the truth, Ms. Bailey, you may be overqualified. We were thinking more in terms of a semiretired therapist or a home health care assistant who might not mind some light housekeeping and making sure Vicki gets dinner if I’m working past sundown. I don’t know if Daniel mentioned salary, but—”
“He did.” Calling that sum a salary was a generous overstatement. “It’s below what I would normally consider, but honestly, I’m taking some time off to decide between several future options.” Yeah, like whether to waitress at a steak house or bartend at a West End nightclub. “This gives me time to carefully evaluate my choices.” Well done, Bailey. She’d managed to make herself sound methodical, not desperate.
“So you’re all right with our terms?”
“Well, I won’t argue if you decide after a week that I deserve a raise, but what you’re offering is at least worth my driving to Cupid’s Bow for a face-to-face meeting.”
“That’s fantastic.” It was the happiest he’d sounded during their entire conversation, and it highlighted how dour his mood had been—from his tense tone when he’d answered to his obvious discomfort discussing his sister’s accident to his doubt Sierra would deem the job worth it. Jarrett Ross clearly wasn’t the president of the Cupid’s Bow Optimists Club. “I just wish my parents hadn’t already booked their flight. They’re leaving in two days, so unless you can be here tomorrow, they won’t be available to sit in on the interview.”
“Sorry, tomorrow’s full.” Since she hadn’t known where and when she’d be working again, she’d scheduled a number of personal appointments, taking advantage of the time left before her health and dental insurance ran out. “I can manage the next day, though.”
They agreed on a time, and he asked for her email address so he could send her directions. “GPS or internet maps will get you most of the way, but we’re a bit off the beaten path.”
Which didn’t bolster her enthusiasm for making a temporary home in Cupid’s Bow.
Then again, if the town could evade the reach of an orbiting satellite system, she should easily be outside the meddling reach of Muriel Bailey. Ever since Sierra’s last relationship ended, her mother, undaunted by living three and a half hours away, had tried arranging meetings between Sierra and Dallas’s most eligible bachelors. The good news about a town the size of Cupid’s Bow was that there couldn’t be many men who met her mother’s exacting standards.
So when she ended her call with Jarrett by saying “I look forward to meeting you,” she very nearly meant it.
Chapter Three (#ulink_225da4e4-0cc1-5895-a8aa-6397eae82a1f)
“Knock, knock,” Jarrett said tentatively, unsure of his welcome as he stood in the doorway of his sister’s room. His voice seemed to echo unnaturally. The house had been damned quiet in the hours since their parents had left at the crack of dawn. According to his mother, Vicki had barely said a word when they came into her room to exchange goodbyes. Did she feel like the Rosses were abandoning her?
His mother was excited that Jarrett was interviewing another candidate this afternoon. Until Sierra had called, the family had decided to offer the position to local retired nurse Lucy Aldridge, a grandmother of five. Lucy was kind, if a bit absentminded, but she was also more than three times Vicki’s age. Anne Ross had worried Vicki wouldn’t relate to her. Jarrett didn’t know specifically how old Sierra Bailey was, but judging from the credentials she’d emailed, she’d been out of med school for only a couple of years. And she certainly hadn’t sounded like a woman approaching seventy. When they’d spoken, Sierra had sounded... Feisty was the word that sprang to mind.
“Did you need something?” Vicki asked, her voice empty of inflection. Her wheelchair was pulled up to her desk, and he couldn’t tell if she was looking at her laptop or simply staring out the window. This used to be a guest suite, but since it was on the first floor, they’d relocated Vicki after the accident. All the essentials were here, but she’d said not to bother with miscellaneous belongings, like the posters that hung on her walls upstairs. Or the gleaming softball trophies that sent blades of guilt through him whenever he saw them.
Her blond hair hung crookedly in a limp ponytail. She was able to shower by herself in the remodeled bathroom, but she only bothered to brush her hair when her mother said something about it. And the last time she’d applied makeup was when her boyfriend, Aaron, had visited weeks ago.
“I just wanted to remind you that Sierra should be here in an hour or so.” When Vicki didn’t respond, he prompted, “Sierra Bailey, the potential therapist. I thought you might like to meet her.”
She hadn’t sat in on any of the interviews, dismissing it as unnecessary. All of the candidates had been local, which meant she’d met them all at least in passing. Anne hadn’t pushed the issue, since she’d already had her hands full convincing Gavin to leave the ranch. Jarrett was surprised by his sister’s apathy. Vicki had always been opinionated. Surely she wanted to have a say in who was chosen to be her companion?
“I’ll pass,” she said. “I was about to take a nap. I’m exhausted.”
From all the energy it took to stare out the window? Don’t be an ass. You don’t know anything about the effort it takes her to perform daily tasks you take for granted. Besides, fatigue wasn’t always physical.
He attempted a compromise. “If she seems like a good fit for the job, do you want me to wake you up before she leaves? Then you could—”
“No.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. It was jarring how her dark eyes flashed with so much emotion while her clipped words held none at all. “Makes no difference to me who pushes my wheelchair.”
Nobody pushed the chair. They’d rented an electric one to make her as self-sufficient as possible. “Vicki—”
“I don’t care who you hire, just make it clear she’s not my babysitter. And anytime Aaron visits, we want our privacy.”
He clenched his jaw, conflicted about his little sister’s “alone time” with her boyfriend. Hypocrite. Like you were celibate at nineteen? Hell no. He’d always been ready and willing to hit the sheets with a pretty lady—a character trait he deeply regretted. If he’d had any self-discipline, Vicki wouldn’t be in the wheelchair. Or in this room. She’d be at college with Aaron and her friends.
“Close the door on your way out,” she said woodenly.
“Okay.” As conversations went, he couldn’t call this one a rousing success. On the other hand, it was the most sentences she’d spoken to him at one time all month. Maybe his mother was right about his parents’ trip forcing Vicki to deal with him. Jarrett just wished his sister would let loose and scream at him. Call him an irresponsible ass. Maybe even hurl something at him with that pitcher’s arm of hers. She’d broken her left wrist, but her right was undamaged.
He went to the kitchen, where he pulled a casserole from the freezer for its two hours in the oven and brewed iced tea for his expected guest. He’d briefly spoken to Daniel Baron this week about Sierra. The man sang her praises. Daniel had worked with her after the bull-riding injury that made him quit rodeo for good, not that he sounded disappointed about his new lifestyle. He was happily married in San Antonio with twin toddlers. If Sierra was under fifty and even half as promising as Daniel made her sound, she had a job.
While he waited for Sierra to arrive, Jarrett caught up on emails and the paperwork that accumulated while he spent most of his time outside. In addition to taking care of the cattle and preparing to plant the winter crops, he generated income by offering riding lessons and equine therapy. He was happier doing physical work than crunching numbers, but it was on his shoulders to make sure nothing fell through the cracks while his father recuperated.
He’d just finished entering some figures in the banking spreadsheet when the doorbell rang. If either the golden retriever or shepherd-Lab mix had been close to the house, he would have heard barking long before the visitor reached the front porch, but in pretty weather, the dogs enjoyed the wide-open spaces of ranch life.
In case his sister had been genuine about needing sleep, he hurried to the door to make sure Sierra didn’t ring the bell a second time. Mentally crossing his fingers that the woman on the other side was everything Daniel said, he swung the door open.
He felt his features freeze midsmile. Shock made it momentarily difficult to form words, even one as basic as hello. He’d been hoping for younger than fifty, but the stunning redhead appeared to be in her twenties. And, although his mama would smack him upside the head for the stereotype, she looked more like a lingerie model than a med school graduate.
Well, technically, she was probably too short to be a model, but that body... “Sierra Bailey?” he asked, half hoping she wasn’t.
She nodded. “Jarrett Ross?”
“One and the same.” As he ushered her inside, he tried to recover his composure. The view from behind wasn’t helping. Her slim-fitting suit skirt fell just below her knees, modestly professional, but the material lovingly cupped the flare of her hips and shapely butt.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he spared a dark thought for Daniel Baron. His friend should have warned Jarrett what to expect. Daniel was so head over heels in love with his wife, Nicole, that other women probably paled in comparison, but the man wasn’t blind.
The irony would have been laughable if Jarrett’s sense of humor weren’t dormant. He hadn’t had sex in months. He’d ignored flirty texts and used the isolation of the ranch to avoid temptation, but that hadn’t been penance enough. Karma had sent him a gorgeous woman whose green eyes flashed intelligence and whose curves would make a centerfold envious. His past self would have found sleeping down the hall from her a tantalizing prospect.
Hell, the old Jarrett would already be working to seduce her. But he was a recovering ladies’ man and, potentially, her employer. You will not so much as look at Sierra Bailey.
Too late.
* * *
IT WAS TOO soon to tell whether this interview would be an improvement over her others, but, so far, it was certainly weirder. Sierra had entered the house ready to apologize for being late. She’d got lost twice, not that she’d been able to call Jarrett Ross and tell him because she’d apparently been driving through a cellular dead zone. She’d finally happened across a tiny gas station where a friendly guy with elaborate tattoos gave her directions to the Twisted R.
She knew it was bad form to show up tardy to an interview, but before she’d had a chance to explain, Jarrett had suddenly declared, “Tea!” the way a scientist might shout “Eureka!” Then he’d pointed her into a wood-paneled study and bolted in the opposite direction. Presumably, to fetch tea.
Her first impression of the rancher was that he was tall—although, from her perspective, lots of people were. More specifically, he was hot. His dark hair, threaded with a few sun-streaked threads of gold, contrasted dramatically with pale silvery eyes. He had a chiseled jaw and defined cheekbones.
And abs worthy of inspiring legend.
That highly unprofessional observation struck as she caught sight of a framed picture among the dozen or so that hung on the far wall behind a massive desk. In the photo, a shirtless Jarrett stood on the shore of a river, displaying a fish he’d caught. She was already moving in for a closer look before she realized what she was doing, as if mindlessly drawn in by a tractor beam. Tractor abs. Plus, sculpted shoulders and arms that—
Bailey! What the hell happened to being professional?
Right.
It was ironic that she’d been fired over Lloyd Carson, given that she’d never entertained a single thought about him half as improper as what she’d just been feeling for Jarrett Ross. Get your act together. She moved on from the shirtless picture to the other shots decorating the wall. Several had been taken at rodeos, and while she’d never understand bronc-riding as a career choice, she had to marvel at the raw grace displayed in one action shot. Repressing the memory of her own horrific fall from a horse, she wondered how Jarrett managed to stay in the saddle. For that matter, how was the black cowboy hat staying on his head?
Next to that photo was a snapshot taken right here on the house’s front porch. Jarrett’s arm was casually draped around a blonde girl’s shoulders. Sierra was willing to bet money that the young woman was his sister, Vicki. Their coloring was reversed—the girl had light hair and brown eyes—but the similarity of their features was unmistakable. As was the affection between them.
Sierra glanced from Vicki’s face to Jarrett’s. His expression was so self-assured. He was grinning as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and his eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence—a far cry from the somber man who’d opened the door to her.
She supposed no one chose to display family photos where the subject was scowling or looked troubled, but his image was the same in every picture—the self-satisfied lord of all he surveyed. Was it Vicki’s accident that had changed him? Sierra knew a lot of siblings were closer than she was to her own brothers. Jarrett had been notably tense while detailing his sister’s injuries over the phone, as if he felt her pain.
Vicki may be the one in the wheelchair, but apparently she wasn’t the only one who needed to heal.
Chapter Four (#ulink_f55fb248-40a4-53a5-a4e7-5fd4368f2750)
Sierra shifted her position in the leather chair and sipped her sweet tea, waiting for Jarrett to say something. They’d reached the end of his list of questions, and she assumed he was mulling over her responses. He hadn’t said anything in several seconds. He’d been terse throughout the conversation, lending credence to the strong, silent cowboy image, but, on the bright side, he hadn’t mentioned her family connections or leered at her. He’d barely looked at her at all, either focusing on the pad of paper where he was jotting notes or staring at some point just over her shoulder.
The interview had reached its logical conclusion. All that was left was for her to talk to the patient and assess for herself the work that needed to be done. Jarrett had handed her a folder of medical records after joining her in the study with two glasses of iced tea, but X-rays told only part of the story.
Sierra set her glass on the desk and cleared her throat. “When can I meet Vicki?”
His head jerked up, his eyes almost meeting hers before he resumed that unfocused gaze into the beyond. “Oh, uh, that won’t be necessary. She’s sleeping now and authorized me to make the decision on her behalf. And I’m happy to say, the job is yours. If you want it.”
Fantastic. She was employed again—by a laconic cowboy who lived at the butt-end of nowhere and kept staring eerily into space as if he were about to have a psychic vision. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll be able to give you my answer after I meet your sister.”
He frowned. “I told you, she’s sleeping.”
She rose from her chair, eager to escape the awkward confines of the study. “So we’ll need to wake her up.” Every patient case she’d ever worked had started with an evaluation. And this wasn’t just any case—she’d be living with these people! No way was she packing her bags and relocating before meeting both of her new roommates.
Jarrett’s gaze locked with hers, and the sudden connection was like an electric current that ran all the way down to her toes. The masculine energy in his rigid body language caused a wholly inappropriate tingly sensation. She could almost understand how a stupid cliché like “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” had originated.
“Vicki expressly asked not to be disturbed,” he said, his sharp tone matching the metallic glint in his eyes.
Sierra lifted her chin, determined to make him see reason. “Is she ill?” If the girl was sick, then Sierra would come back another day to meet her—especially if Vicki was contagious. Otherwise...
“You mean like with a cold or something? No. But, as a professional, you must know that people recuperating from such serious injuries need plenty of bed rest and—”
“It’s been a couple of months since her accident. Too much bed rest leads to atrophy. I’ve been here over an hour,” she said with a glance at her watch. “That’s adequate for a nap. Sleeping the day away can also be a sign of depression. Part of my job will be keeping Vicki engaged, whether she likes it or not.”
“You mean bullying her?” he asked. The way he shot to his feet, as if preparing to physically protect his sister, might have been endearing under other circumstances.
“I wouldn’t say ‘bullying.’” She might not put it that way...but a few of her patients had. Bully. Drill sergeant. Hard-ass. Daniel Baron, sweating through a session with his handsome features contorted into a grimace, had once called her a demon tyrant with no soul. But she was pretty sure he’d meant it as a compliment.
“Look, I’m good at what I do,” she asserted. “If you want me to take this job, you have to trust me.”
