Falling For The Rancher

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Sierra nodded. She’d witnessed patients and their families handle crisis in dozens of ways. Sometimes, catastrophes brought people together; other times it drove a wedge between them. There were patients who spiraled into a dark place and needed help finding their way back; others rebounded with astonishing resiliency.

Kate gave a small shake of her head, as if brushing away her moment of melancholy. “I live near the Twisted R—at least, I do until my wedding. My fiancé, Cole, and I are having a house built that won’t be ready for months. Meanwhile, Luke and I are staying on my grandmother’s farm, which is out the same direction as the Ross place. If you ever need anything, we’re much closer than town. I’ll give you my number. Maybe we can get together if you have an afternoon off.”

“Thank you.” Given Vicki Ross’s surly attitude, Sierra might need to occasionally escape the ranch to keep her sanity intact. “I’d love to visit that boutique you were telling me about.”

They had just finished exchanging cell-phone numbers when the two kids returned.

“Sorry we took so long,” Luke said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I—”

“He was talking to a girrrlll,” Aly reported, making the last word three syllables.

He shot her a sidelong glare. “I ran into a classmate—”

“A girl classmate!”

“—who had questions about Friday’s math assignment.”

“No problem,” Kate said. “Sierra and I were busy chatting, too. But I guess we should dash if I’m going to get these groceries to Cole’s house for lunch. He and Mandy are probably starving. Call me soon, Sierra!”

“Will do.”

As she finished her own grocery shopping, Sierra felt a little smug. She’d been told more than once that she didn’t play well with others and that some people mistook her independent nature for aloofness. Yet she hadn’t been in town an hour, and already she’d made her first friend.

Maybe Cupid’s Bow wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

JUST WHEN SIERRA was starting to think she’d driven too far, she spotted the intersection where she needed to turn for the Twisted R. On her first trip out to the ranch, she’d been irritable because she was late for her interview. This time around, she could appreciate the scenery more.

The wide-open space was both tranquil and somehow humbling. Picturesque pastures dotted with clusters of Queen Anne’s lace and mesquite trees framed the road, and she’d never seen a clearer blue sky than the one overhead. A deer lifted its head from the plants it was lazily munching to watch her pass, and she half expected that if she glanced in her rearview mirror she’d find animated woodland creatures singing some kind of welcome song behind her car.

It was all very bucolic. But she still couldn’t imagine living in a place where the closest store was half an hour away. The land that delivery food forgot.

She turned left onto a winding road barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other and saw the sprawling white house atop the hill ahead. She liked the Rosses’ place—it wasn’t as linear and pristine as her parents’ three-story mansion with its pretentious columns in the front and a detached garage in the back. Jarrett’s home was endearingly lopsided, with one corner that seemed out of proportion to the rest of the house—probably a room that had been added on long after the place was originally built. The roof was all crazy angles, hinting at slanted ceilings and interesting attic space. A carport was linked to one side of the house, a screened deck jutted out in the back and there was a generous porch that began within a foot of the front door and wrapped around the opposite corner of the house.

A moment later, she passed beneath the Twisted R sign, her car jostling over the metal grid that kept cattle from wandering out through the entryway between fences. By the time she parked, two dogs had come to greet her. A golden retriever gave an amiable woof as Sierra opened her door; a slightly smaller dog hung back a few feet. It was mostly black with gold paws and a white throat.

“They’re friendly,” Jarrett called from the porch steps. “But they probably have muddy paws, so if Sunshine looks like she’s about to jump on you, tell her no. She’ll listen—she just likes to test boundaries.”

Sierra grinned down at the retriever, scratching behind her ears. “Fellow boundary-pusher? You and I should get along just fine.” She looked up to see Jarrett closing the distance between them with rangy strides. The lighter streaks in his dark hair gleamed in the sun, and the way his jeans fit made her take back any snarky thoughts she’d had about denim.

She spun on her heel toward the back of her car, seizing the distraction of luggage to keep herself from staring at her new boss.

“Can I give you a hand?” he asked from right beside her. Since he was already reaching into the car trunk, the question seemed rhetorical.

She blinked up at him. “You move deceptively fast.”

“Long legs.” He hefted a suitcase. “We’d just finished lunch when I heard the dogs barking. Have you eaten?”

“I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t share that her stomach was twisted in knots. Despite the bravado-filled pep talks she’d given herself during the drive, now that she was here, she acknowledged that moving in—even temporarily—was unnerving. She was used to having sole dominion over things like the television remote and the thermostat. Sharing a living space would be an adjustment, no matter who her roommates were. How much would Jarrett’s appeal complicate the situation? And then there was Vicki’s hostility.

Before Sierra had left the other day, the two women had reached an understanding, but physical therapy was tough. When Vicki was in pain, Sierra would be an easy target for anger. It came with the territory. Sierra was accustomed to dealing with a range of emotions from her patients. But usually she was able to retreat home at the end of a long day and leave the stress of a contrary client behind. Now the contrary client would be sitting across from her at the dinner table.

Good thing I like a challenge.

She passed a large duffel bag to Jarrett, appreciating the ripple of muscles in his forearm as he resituated everything he was carrying. Once they were both loaded down like a couple of pack mules, she followed him up the porch stairs and into the blessedly air-conditioned house. September wasn’t as brutal as July or August had been, but the Texas heat was still enough to make her regret the short-sleeved sweater she wore.

They went through the entry hall and past the study, kitchen and Vicki’s room. At the end of the hall was a living room decorated in Southwest tones and worn but comfy-looking furniture. A spiral staircase in the far corner led to the second story.

Jarrett flashed a sheepish look over his shoulder. “It’s a bit of a climb.”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug to show she didn’t mind. “It’ll help keep me fit.”

His gaze swept over her body, and for a second, she thought he might say something. But he turned around without further comment.

The steps were narrow, and she had to concentrate on not letting her luggage scuff up the walls. At the top, Jarrett gave her the lay of the land. “That’s the master bedroom, and that one is—was—Vicki’s.” He ducked his gaze, his tone flat. They both knew it would be a long time before Vicki Ross climbed those stairs again. “I’m at the other end of the hall, along with the guest room where you’ll be.”

He gestured for her to go ahead, and Sierra chuckled as she got her first good look at her room—the Island of Misfit Furniture. If she had to guess, she’d say that anytime a room in the house had been remodeled and there was a perfectly good piece of furniture they hadn’t wanted to get rid of, it had been shoved in here. The king-size bed was too big for the space. The pink vanity in the corner had probably been Vicki’s when she was twelve. The brass headboard was unlike any she’d seen before, a series of whimsical curlicues that curved around the edges of the bed, hugging the mattress.

A few steps into the room, Jarrett had to duck. Because of how the roof slanted down at the edge of the house, there were places where she could probably touch the ceiling if she stood on her toes.

Jarrett frowned. “I haven’t been in here since I helped Mom move that old wardrobe. I forgot how claustrophobic it is.”

“Not so claustrophobic when you’re five foot one.”

He set down a suitcase. “Would you rather stay in my parents’ room? With as little as we’re paying you, the least we could do is offer you comfortable accommodations.”

She wasn’t her mother, who insisted she couldn’t sleep in sheets with less than an eight hundred thread count. “I like the funky vibe. And the wardrobe reminds me of one of my favorite books when I was a kid.” Stifling the urge to climb inside and look for magical portals, she turned and ran her hand over the lacy vintage comforter. As long as the mattress was comfortable, even Muriel would have to call this bed luxurious. It was freaking huge. Sierra sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test it. “This bed’s almost too big for one person.”

There was a sudden heat in his gaze that made her skin prickle. He looked away, but not before she realized his mind was in a different place than hers. Great start to the first day—telling your boss you don’t want to sleep alone. Now he was staring fixedly at the wall, as if embarrassed by his wayward thoughts.

She stood, brazening through the moment by making a joke of it. “You don’t mind if I host wild orgies on my nights off, do you?”

For a split second, he didn’t react. But then his lips quirked in a slow smile. “Orgies, huh? Call me old-fashioned, but I think if one guy can’t make you happy, he’s not doing it right.”

Her heart clutched—not at the outrageous teasing, which she’d started, but at how that grin transformed his face. In town, Kate Sullivan had called Jarrett a charmer. The word didn’t fully capture the wicked glint in his eyes or the thrill Sierra got from having coaxed a playful moment. She’d already been drawn to Jarrett more than was appropriate, given their circumstances, but now that she knew about that dangerously tempting smile and his sense of humor?

For the first time since they’d met, she was the one who lowered her gaze. “I should get settled in,” she said, striving for an efficient, professional tone. “The sooner I unpack, the faster I can start helping Vicki.”

He flinched. “Vicki. Of course. I’ll...see you at dinner.”

With that, he was out the door. She honestly didn’t know if she was sorry to see him go or relieved.

* * *

AT THE RISK of being overly optimistic, Sierra thought that her first hour of PT with Vicki had gone quite well. The young woman hadn’t made a single bitchy comment. Granted, she was glaring as if she wanted to kick Sierra’s ass, but the good news was, if she ever managed to achieve that, Sierra would know she’d done her job even better than anticipated.

They’d wrapped up a set of exercises, and Vicki was glowering over the top of the water Sierra had handed her.

Sierra slid one of the chairs away from the kitchen table and spun it around, straddling it. “Did your post-surgery therapist talk to you about imagery?”

“No, but my Freshman Lit teacher did. Want to discuss symbolism in ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’?”

“I’m talking about positive thinking and having a mental picture of exactly what you want to accomplish, something specific and concrete.” At Vicki’s disdainful look, Sierra added, “There have been actual medical studies concluding that imagery can help accelerate the healing process.”

“So your clinical approach is for me to close my eyes and chant ‘I think I can, I think I can’?”

Well, it had been too much to hope that Vicki’s sarcasm was cured forever. “Yeah,” Sierra drawled, matching the young woman’s scathing tone, “that’s exactly what I said. To hell with the carefully researched exercises and the grueling muscle stretches. Let’s just hold hands and hope for the best.”

The corner of Vicki’s lips twitched. “I’m not holding your hand.”

“You will if I tell you to,” Sierra said mildly. “You’re missing the big picture—everything I do is for your benefit. My only goal here is to help you make progress.” Her only primary goal, anyway. She had secondary objectives of figuring out her future after Cupid’s Bow and repressing her attraction to Jarrett. “Look, Vicki, try to keep an open mind and trust that I have the experience to do my job well.”

When she didn’t respond, Sierra decided to take the silence as acquiescence.

“All right,” she continued, “we want to come up with a specific image that you can focus on during sessions, something that will help keep you motivated when you want to quit.”

Anger flashed in Vicki’s brown eyes. “I’m not a quitter.”

“Good. Me neither. So let’s harness our collective stubbornness and work together. What is it that you want?”

“To walk again. Without a walker or crutches or anything that makes me feel—” She shook her head fiercely, unwilling to voice her frustration and fear.

“You’ll get there,” Sierra promised. “Not all the way there in the three weeks we have, but eventually. But if you could walk right now, no limitations, what would you most want to be doing? Think in terms of sensory details. Build a clear goal in your mind. Hiking outside and feeling the warmth of the sun on your face? Strolling through your favorite store and looking for great sales items?”

“Dancing with Aaron.” A smile lit her face. “Aaron Dunn is my boyfriend. There’s a dance hall near campus that we love to visit. Aaron’s a great dancer. He was teaching me how to jitterbug before last semester ended.”

“Perfect. So close your eyes and imagine everything—the song you’re listening to, the clothes you’re wearing, the smell of beer—er, Aaron’s cologne,” she amended for her underage client. “Got it?”

Vicki nodded.

“Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter Six (#ulink_5783a7ca-1c7f-59ed-b205-d95aaeb3f35c)

Jarrett came in through the mudroom that connected the carport and the kitchen. As he pulled off his boots, he heard the sound of female voices arguing on the other side of the door. Damn. Maybe it had been irresponsible of him to leave Sierra and Vicki alone all afternoon, but there was so much that needed to be done on the ranch.

Plus, exercising the horses being boarded at the Twisted R and preparing soil for fall crops kept him almost busy enough to avoid picturing Sierra Bailey on that massive bed upstairs.

He groaned, wondering if he had time for a cold shower before he helped negotiate a truce between the women in the kitchen. But then Sierra laughed, a rich throaty sound, and he realized that the bickering he’d overheard was good-natured, not spiteful. He couldn’t make out Sierra’s words, but whatever she said made Vicki snicker, too.

He froze, trying to recall the last time he’d heard his sister laugh. Amusement had been in short supply since her accident. He’d been confident Sierra could help facilitate his sister’s physical rehabilitation, but he hadn’t expected that, in one short day, she could help Vicki rediscover joy, too. Gratitude struck him full in the chest. Hearing Vic sound happy, even for an instant, highlighted just how miserable and withdrawn she’d been. He wanted his lighthearted sister back, the one who had a bright future ahead of her and thought her big brother hung the moon.

Then be that guy, her hero, not the jerk who jokes about sexual prowess with the hired help.

Right. No more flirting with Sierra. That moment up in her room had been an anomaly, not proof that he was slipping back into his old habits.

Filled with renewed purpose, he opened the door and entered the kitchen. The door to the walk-in pantry was wide open, and Vicki sat in front of it, craning her head to read some of the cans and boxes on the top shelf from her wheelchair.

Sierra stood at the kitchen counter, writing in a spiral notebook. She spared a quick glance in his direction. “Hey, cowboy. Have a good afternoon milking cows and—”

“They’re beef cows,” Vicki corrected her. “Not dairy.”

“Alrighty.” Sierra tried again. “Have a good afternoon herding dogies and riding the range or whatever it is you do?”

Vicki snorted. “You’ve never spent time on a ranch before, have you?”

“Nah. I’m a fan of civilization—places you can find with GPS, towns with movie theaters that show more than one movie.”

“I think the Cupid’s Bow Cinema is up to three films at a time,” Jarrett defended his hometown. “Although, they might all be from last year. What are you ladies up to?” he asked, crossing the kitchen to get a cup out of the cabinet.

“Grocery list,” Sierra said. “I have an exciting Saturday night ahead of meal-planning. It’s vital that Vicki gets lots of vitamin D and calcium right now. Meat’s important, too, so I’m relieved she’s not a vegetarian.”

Contemplating a bleak, steakless existence, Jarrett made a face of reflexive terror. “We come from a long line of carnivores.”

“Except for softhearted Aunt Pat,” Vicki interjected. “She used to help her dad take care of their cows and got too attached. Now she’s— What do you call those people who don’t eat meat except for seafood?”

“Pescatarian,” Sierra supplied.

Vicki snapped her fingers. “Right. But Uncle Gus got her a saltwater aquarium for Christmas, so seafood might be out now, too.”

“Fish would be a good staple for your recovery diet,” Sierra said. She turned toward Jarrett. “I already went over some options with Vicki. She said she likes trout. That sound okay to you?”