Her Cowboy Boss

Whatever you think best, sweetheart. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.

Meredith’s trauma didn’t stem from a freak accident, however. Her terror had been personal, deep, real and instantaneous. The moment he’d put his hands on her, the panic had completely overtaken her. She’d flashed back to some terrifying, horrifying event, and he very much feared that he knew what it was.

The thought made him ill. If he was right, and his gut told him that he very well could be, he wouldn’t have to worry about her developing an interest in him—or likely any other man—anytime soon. No wonder she didn’t like him. Not that he’d given her any reason to.

He wondered how long ago it had happened, who the man was. Surely Rex and Wes knew, but of course he couldn’t ask. Stark hoped sincerely that whoever had done that to her was locked away. Permanently.

Not that it was any of his concern. He had enough to deal with already.

Like a practice that was really far too big for one person alone to handle.

He rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should hire her and be done with it. She was certainly capable, and he wasn’t likely to find anyone else around here to match her skills. It might be the best solution all the way around. The unattainable man hiring the unattainable woman. Perfect.

Except...

Why couldn’t she have been a he? Some gawky kid who wouldn’t think twice about Stark’s rough ways or where he ate his meals?

Because God hadn’t been that good to Stark Burns in a long time, that’s why not.

At least that’s what Stark told himself as he ambled back out to the stable.

An owl hooted from somewhere near the old red barn. It was a lonely sound.

Loneliness, too, Stark knew well. It never left him, hadn’t left him in nearly four long years.

The anniversary of that awful day approached quickly. He tried to ignore it, telling himself that he hadn’t even been aware of the moment when his wife and daughter had left this earth, but that didn’t help. It only added to his guilt.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he walked back to the stable. The horse switched its tail when Stark drew near. Yes, definite improvement. That didn’t mean Soldier would recover, but a good sign was a good sign. He set his alarms and turned in.

His last thought before he slipped into sleep was that Meredith didn’t deserve to be frightened. He saw the look of terror on her face, and in his dreams, instead of standing there like a lump, he held out his arms, and she walked into them, smiling tremulously.

Her hair smelled of coconut. He didn’t know why or how he knew that, but somehow he woke the next morning with that fragrance in his nostrils.

Cathy had smelled of strawberries. He would never forget. The fragrance of strawberries sometimes still threatened to move him to tears, strawberries and sour apples. Bel had loved a certain tart candy that tasted of sour apples. Sometimes he bought a pack and opened it just to savor the smell, but then he had to throw it away.

What did Meredith Billings do to bring herself comfort?

She was trying to move home. And he could help her with that.

She and her strawberry blond, coconut-scented hair arrived with black coffee and a breakfast tray around six in the morning. He was waiting for her, sitting atop the toolbox.

“Morning.”

She gave him that devastating smile along with the breakfast tray. “Good morning.”

“Swelling’s gone down,” he told her, parking the tray on his knees. “I expect to repair the tracheotomy tomorrow.”

“That’s good.”

He removed the dish towel, uncovering a thick omelet topped with salsa and cheese, along with rolled tortillas and sliced melon. The Billings family did not stint in the kitchen. Mouth watering, he picked up his fork and said slowly, “I could use your help.”

Meredith caught her breath, but he pretended not to notice.

“Okay,” she said. “Someone has to miss service tomorrow to stay with Dad anyway.”

He’d forgotten that tomorrow was Sunday. He hated Sundays. They were his slowest days. This particular Sunday he hated most of all. But he wouldn’t think about that. He never thought about that.

Right.

Keeping his gaze on his plate, he said, “Best do it early.”

“That’s fine. After breakfast okay?”

“Works for me.”

“That’s settled then. Now, I have a favor to ask.”

Stark steeled himself, setting aside his fork to slug back strong black coffee, and nodded noncommittally. “You can ask.”

“You said you’d talk to Dad, give him an update on Soldier.”

Stark relaxed. “No problem.”

“We thought you might do that this evening. Ann and Dean are coming over for dinner. We’ll tell Dad everything that’s been going on the last few days, then you can give him the latest update on Soldier’s condition. If that’s all right with you.”

He knew she was asking him to do more than simply speak to her father about his horse, and he meant to tell her that speaking to Wes was all he would do, that he would not join the family for dinner, but he couldn’t seem to think of words that weren’t too sharp, rude or unintentionally wounding. In the end, he nodded curtly and ate his omelet. It had nothing, nothing whatsoever, to do with the date. Or so he told himself. Smiling, she skipped out of the stable, leaving him frowning at her back.

Looked like he was having dinner with the Billings family.

He tried not to think about it, going about his business on Saturday as usual. Plenty needed to be done. Somehow, though, he still found enough time to shower, shave, change and show up at the stable in time to give Soldier a thorough exam before Meredith insisted on dragging him into the house. She’d changed the IV bag before he’d arrived, and, try as he might, he could find no fault with her work.

“You want me to give your father a comprehensive report, don’t you?” he grumbled as she towed him by the arm down the aisle of the stable.

“Yes, and I also want to eat before dinner gets cold.”

He rolled his eyes, dragging his feet, but inside he felt an alarming tendency to smile. Countering it with a scowl, he allowed himself to be escorted to the ranch house. As soon as he passed through the front door into the foyer, he removed his hat and hung it on a peg on the wall. The instant he stepped into the living room, however, a little redheaded tornado hurled himself off the couch and straight at Stark.