Falling for the Rancher Read online

  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

  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?”

  He nodded.

  “Have an opinion on mushrooms?”

  “I’m not picky.” That statement could sum up a lot about his life—big appetite but not a man of discerning tastes.

  “Wish the same was true of your sister,” Sierra grumbled. “She shot down half the suggestions on my list.”

  “You tried to get me to eat liver!” Vicki made gagging noises.

  “It’s high in vitamin D.”

  “I think you mean high in grossness.”

  “Well, stay on my good side,” Sierra warned, “or it’ll be liver seven days a week.”

  Vicki’s eyes widened. “Wait...you have a good side?”

  Jarrett didn’t mean to laugh, but an errant chuckle escaped. Poking his head in the refrigerator, he reached for the pitcher of water and hoped Sierra hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want to incur her wrath and end up with an endless banquet of liver lunches and dinners. When he risked glancing in her direction, he found her with her hands on her hips, her posture drawing his attention to her slim waist and the full curve of her hips. Recalling his vow not to be that Jarrett anymore, he immediately raised his gaze to her face.

  Despite her mock frown, humor danced in her eyes. “Trust me, when my bad side comes out, you’ll know the difference.”

  And just what does it take to entice Sierra Bailey to be bad? The flirtatious words hovered on the tip of his tongue. With the uncharacteristically light mood in the kitchen, it would be so easy to tease her, to fall into the trademark banter he’d used to make time with half the single women in the county.

  His grip on the pitcher handle tightened. Hadn’t he reminded himself he was no longer that guy only seconds ago? Being in Sierra’s presence made it difficult to remember his noble intentions. For weeks, he’d been staying out of town, away from the usual places he frequented, in order to avoid temptation. But now one of the most alluring women he’d ever met was under his roof.

  His sense of self-preservation urged him to get out of the house. “I just remembered—I told some buddies I’d try to meet up with them tonight. I can help you make dinner, show you where everything is if you’d like, but after that—”

  “You go on.” Sierra waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sure Vicki can talk me through everything I need to know.”

  He nodded, looking to his sister for confirmation.

  Her eyes were dark pools of disappointment. Her playful manner was gone, her shoulders slumped. Crap. Vicki hadn’t exactly been clamoring for his company lately. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might want him to stick around for the evening. I’m doing this for you, Vic. Staying away from Sierra would help him keep the promise he’d made to his sister.

  “Unless you need me to stay?” he asked his sister cautiously.

  “No, it’s fine. Go. One of us should have a social life.” Her tone was brittle, on the verge of cracking.

  Jarrett rocked back on his heels. The last thing he’d wanted was to upset her. Should he stay after all? Ten minutes ago, Vicki had been laughing; now her expression was grim. Leave. You’ve already done enough damage here.

  * * *

  THE ONLY TRUE bar in Cupid’s Bow, not counting the drink counters at the bowling alley or dance hall, was The Neon Arrow. The house specialty was cold beer at a decent price. As he crossed the gravel parking lot, mushier than usual after heavy August rains, Jarrett wondered how long he could nurse a single beer. At his size, he held his liquor well, but ever since Vicki’s accident, he never got behind the wheel with more than one drink in him.

  After the time it had taken him to shower, change and make the drive, it was fully dark outside. Inside the Arrow, the light wasn’t much brighter. Townspeople sat at dimly lit tables or stood gathered around one of the three pool tables in the back half of the little building. He scanned the room halfheartedly for friends, not sure that he was the best company right now. Considering his mood, perhaps it would be better to—

  “Long time, no see, stranger.” A sudden clap on Jarrett’s back made him realize solitude might not be an option.

  He turned to see firefighter and longtime friend Will Trent. “Hey.”

  “Good to see you out and about. Finally. I was starting to seriously consider rounding up my brothers and physically dragging you off the ranch.”

  “Yeah. Well. Been a rough few months.”

  “I know.” For a moment, grave understanding replaced Will’s smile. “How ’bout I buy you a beer to celebrate your being back in circulation?”

  “Deal.” Jarrett wasn’t sure how much circulating he wanted to do, but he could use the drink.

  As they headed through the crowd toward the bar, one of the blonde Carmichael sisters kissed Will on the cheek. “Find me if you have time for a game of pool later,” she said. “After that bet I lost last week, I want a rematch.”

  “Same stakes?” Will asked.

  Her only answer was a naughty grin.

  They made it about three feet when a brunette punched Will on the arm. “You missed your chance,” she angrily declared. “I’m here with Grady Breelan. I am officially done waiting by my phone for you to call!” She flounced into the crowd before Will could respond.

  “Who was that?” Jarrett asked. “And when did you become the local heartbreaker?” Up until July, that had been Jarrett’s title. Will Trent had always been a one-woman man; he’d dated his high school sweetheart for years, then proposed to her. But she’d jilted him before the wedding.

  “That was...” Will paused, pursing his lips. �
�Denise.”

  “Oh, right. Denise Baker.” He should have realized that sooner—after all, they’d gone out briefly. Very briefly. He was lucky she hadn’t socked him on the arm, too. “I didn’t recognize her with short hair.”

  The line at the bar was considerable, and Will jerked his head toward a nearby high-top table. “We’ll probably get service quicker if we sit down and let a waitress take our orders.”

  That proved accurate when a young woman in a denim vest showed up and asked what she could get them to drink. She was pretty in a freckled, pixie way, but she hardly looked old enough to work in a bar. If Jarrett had run into her on the street, he would have assumed she was Vicki’s age. Or younger.

  “Will.” Her eyes warmed at the sight of the firefighter, and she resituated her tray, leaning in to give him a one-armed hug. “How are you doin’ tonight?”

  “Just fine, Amy. You know Jarrett Ross?”

  “Not personally, but I’ve seen him in the rodeo ring. You’re practically a celebrity,” she said to Jarrett. “You riding next month over in Brazoria County?”

  “No.” Too bad Jarrett didn’t have a drink yet. Beer, water, soda—he didn’t care. His throat was painfully dry. He used to brag all the time about his wins, but now talking about rodeo made him feel as if he were gargling with sawdust. “I’m taking some time off.”

  Her laugh had a sad edge to it. “Wish I could afford some time off every now and then.”

  “You still working two jobs?” Will asked.

  “Three, but who’s counting?” She gave herself a shake, plastering on a bright smile. “Y’all aren’t here to listen to me whine. It’s Saturday night! You should be having fun—have a little extra for me, okay?” With that, she scooted off to retrieve their drinks. She returned with a couple of frosty longnecks wrapped in napkins.

  When Will tried to tip her more than the drinks cost, she protested. “You’re a doll, Will Trent, but I’m no charity case.”