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“No. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t spend the night in the car. Two hours. A nap.”
Joe raised a brow.
Rebecca shrugged. “There was a huge accident on I-25 outside the Springs, and then I ran into issues with the starter when I hit Alamosa.”
“Why are you parked here?”
She nodded to the sign on the gate. “I thought this was still the main entrance to the ranch. Until I saw the sign.”
Joe grimaced as he, too, glanced at the sign.
“Do not cross this pasture unless you can do it in nine seconds, because the bull can do it in ten. Please close the gate.”
“That would be my mother’s handiwork.”
“Why not put a padlock on the gate?”
“It’s the ingress for emergency vehicles. If I put a padlock on it, then I have to remember where the key is.” He paused and looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Why are you at Gallagher Ranch?”
“Since I have to drive out here to see you anyhow, I thought I’d do a dry run. By the time I finally arrived, I was a little more tired than I realized.” She lifted a hand. “Thus the nap.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” When he suddenly straightened and raised a hand, the black horse behind him whinnied and stepped back several paces, causing the dogs to bark.
Joe laid a comforting hand on the animal and silenced the dogs again. “Let’s start over here. Did you say you’re here to see me?”
Rebecca glanced at her watch. “Yes. Our meeting is scheduled for Monday morning.”
“Things have been pretty hectic around here, but I don’t forget appointments. And I’m even less likely to have forgotten an appointment with...”
Rebecca swallowed when his words trailed off. What had he been about to say? With someone who had treated him so callously? The girl who dumped him.
Joe pulled the glove off his right hand and then tugged the matching one off his left hand using his teeth, before taking out his phone. The skin tone silicone cover of the myoelectric prosthesis made his right hand appear nearly identical to his left. She couldn’t help assess that he really didn’t use the prosthesis, apparently utilizing the device simply as a placeholder.
After fiddling with the phone for a moment, he paused and slowly met her gaze. Complete shock was reflected in his eyes. “Are you...”
“I’m the therapist who’s been assigned to complete the certification for your prosthesis.”
“You’re a therapist?”
She nodded.
“I thought they were sending someone from Denver. They told me it was someone who would help with those media people who are coming, as well.”
His voice was edged with irritation, and Rebecca held her breath and stepped back from him.
“They are. They did. I am.”
Joe Gallagher’s face looked like he’d just been struck with a cattle prod.
She crossed her arms and stated the obvious. “This is going to be a problem.”
He took off his Stetson and then slapped it back on so that it rested at the back of his head, revealing more of his jet-black hair. She could clearly see that his moss-green eyes were troubled.
“Joe?”
“I guess it better not be, because the way I see things, I don’t have much choice. Do I?”
“You tell me.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Is our history going to get in the way?”
“History? Is that the politically correct term these days?” He offered a bitter chuckle.
She studied him once again. His face was a mask, his gaze shuttered.
“No, Becca,” he finally continued. “You don’t have to worry. Even this Colorado cowboy realizes that was a long time ago. We were kids. This is business. More important, the future of Gallagher Ranch depends on me completing the requirements of my contract with OrthoBorne. I cut a deal to pay off this fourteen-karat-gold myoelectric arm.” His eyes pinned her. “And I always keep my word.”
Joe turned his head to glance out at the land, and she realized she’d been dismissed. The knowledge burned.
“So Monday, then?” she asked quietly.
“That’s fine. I’m past the main house. A bit farther up the road. Two-story log cabin.”
She nodded.
He turned to her. “When do your friends arrive?”
“They aren’t my friends.” Rebecca bristled. “I don’t even know who was contracted for this job, except that there’s a videographer and a copywriter.”
“When will they finish?”
“That is wholly dependent upon you and the weather.”
He offered a slow shake of his head that said her answer wasn’t nearly satisfactory enough. “What about certification? How long do you think that will take?”
“Once again, everything depends on you. I don’t anticipate more than four weeks reviewing your ADLs.”
He straightened, jaw tense, and his face was almost thunderous. “Four weeks! Four weeks? I have a ranch to run.”
“Joe, that’s exactly why it will take that long. In fact, knowing how a ranch runs, I asked for extra time so our sessions don’t interfere with what you have to do at the ranch or with the media crew.”
“And what’s an ADL?”
“Activities of daily living.”
He sucked in a breath but said nothing.
“Look, that doesn’t mean we can’t get everything done earlier than scheduled. I’ll accompany you on your routine chores, schedule one-on-one sessions related to your ranch work. Then I’ll assist you to incorporate the prosthesis into your daily life that isn’t ranch related.”
“Can you still ride?”
“What?” She shook her head, certain she’d heard the terse question incorrectly.
“Ride. Do you ride?”
Rebecca frowned. “I was born in a saddle, like you were. Cowgirls don’t forget how to ride.”
The tension in Joe’s shoulders eased a bit. “That’ll help, because, no offense, Becca, but I plan to graduate way ahead of schedule.”
“While it’s my job to treat you the same as all my clients, there is no doubt in my mind that you’ll beat all records getting this done. Then I’ll be gone, and you can go back to your life.”
Rebecca looked up at him, standing tall and proud, profiled against the land. For a brief moment she imagined she saw a glimpse of something familiar from years ago and the closeness they once shared.
That was crazy because yesterday was long gone. Once again Rebecca reminded herself that it was high time to start looking forward instead of behind.
* * *
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Simpson, but it’s no longer available.”
“How can that be? I called before I left Denver to make sure everything was set.”
Joe turned at the sound of Becca’s voice.
He’d sidestepped the woman for twelve years, and now he managed to run into her twice in the space of a few hours?
She stood on the sidewalk of downtown Paradise, and was obviously doing her best to get her point across to a wiry guy as they stood outside the real-estate office.
How little the years had changed her. He’d been stunned to see her at the fence this morning. The years had tumbled back, and he realized with painful clarity that the tall, lean beauty who’d stolen his heart at sixteen apparently could still tie him in knots.
The difference was that this time he had a strong rope anchored to his heart, holding down those once generous emotions of his. Only a fool gets burned twice.
He’d made more than his share of mistakes in his life, and he liked to believe he’d learned from every single one of them. Joe glanced down at his prosthesis, remembering the farm accident that had taken his limb. He pushed the memory away and focused on the here and now.
Joe glanced back down the street. From a distance, he could feel the tension in the air. He tucked himself back into the doorway of a shop, grateful he stood well behind Becca’s line of sight.
She pushed strands of dark hair away from her face as she dug in her purse to pull out neatly folded papers. “You took my deposit and my credit-card information. Why, you even mailed me a receipt. I have the paperwork right here.”
Confusion laced Becca’s voice. To her credit, she maintained her composure, though her hands were clenched tightly around her purse.
The Realtor adjusted his tie, swallowed and shrugged, obviously avoiding eye contact with her. “I’ve reversed the charges, ma’am. No worries.”
“No worries?” She blinked and began to gesture with her hands. “No worries?”
Joe found himself unable to resist listening to the conversation, and at the same time fighting the urge to come to her defense. Why should he? Becca had made it clear a long time ago that she didn’t want him in her life. No, he reminded himself, her return to Paradise and whatever was going on here was none of his business.
“Are you kidding me?” Becca continued, her voice louder and tight with frustration. “Couldn’t you go inside and check your files again?”
“No need,” the man returned, his voice low and upbeat in an effort to defuse the situation. “That’s why I stepped outside. I saw you coming, and I thought I’d save you some time.”
“Okay, so if that rental isn’t available, do you mind telling me what is?”
“Ma’am, I don’t have anything for you right at the moment. Maybe you could try some of those new condos down by Paradise Lake.”
“I can’t afford those.”
“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Simpson. It’s just one of those things.”
“One of what things?”
The young man squirmed while gesturing helplessly.
“Look, I rented the house a month ago. Not only that, but your ad today in the Paradise Gazette says you have at least five summer rentals still available in the area. Now you’re claiming that you have none?”
“Ma’am, I’m real sorry.”
Shoulders slumped, Becca shook her head. “This is unbelievable,” she murmured.
An ache he couldn’t explain gnawed at Joe. Without thinking, he strode down the sidewalk, zigzagging around people, oblivious to a sudden flurry of shoppers creating obstacles in his path, and stepped up to Becca and the real-estate agent.
“Everything okay here, Becca?”
Startled, her brown eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “I... I have this under control, Joe.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” he returned, purposely shooting the other man a scowl.
“Joe.”
He met Becca’s gaze.
“You need to stay out of this. Besides, my business is done here.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her face shielded by a curtain of chocolate-brown waves.
Behind him, Joe heard the sound of bells as the real-estate agent disappeared into the storefront.
Joe quickly yanked open the door, setting the bells into a wicked frenzy. The guy behind the desk had a solicitous smile on his face when he turned around.
Then he saw Joe.
He straightened and inched back farther behind the desk. “May I help you?”
“I sure hope so...” Joe glanced at the man’s name tag. “Jason.”
Jason came out from behind the desk and thrust a hand in greeting. Apparently his plan was to pretend that the incident outside moments before had never happened. “Have we met?” he asked.
“No, we haven’t. Joe Gallagher. Gallagher Ranch.” Joe looked the other man up and down before offering his prosthetic hand.
Jason’s eyes widened, and he dropped his own hand.
“New to town?” Joe asked.
“Yes, I am. How may I help you, sir?”
