Romancing the Rancher

But Sophia didn’t look exhausted. With her dark hair cut in a short pixie style and her brown eyes sparkling, she looked as adorable as she had when they were kids and just as happy. Ignoring the twinge of jealousy, Theresa said, “You make it work. Now go back to that beautiful baby and hot husband of yours before he tracks you down like we both know he can.”

“He is rather amazing, isn’t he?” Sophia asked with a smile, but rapid blinking told Theresa she was fighting back tears. “He said he loved me enough for both of us and that it wouldn’t matter...”

“But you still wondered,” she filled in softly.

Her cousin shook her dark head. “I shouldn’t have. Not even for a second.”

“You’re a lucky woman, but I still think if you asked him, Jake would say he’s the fortunate one. He has you and your baby.”

“Two for the price of one,” Sophia joked. “Who doesn’t love a bargain?”

After another few minutes arguing that Theresa would be fine waiting by herself until Jarrett Deeks arrived, Sophia finally—reluctantly—agreed. She backed away from the small office with a wave, and Theresa waited until the car was out of sight before slowly lowering her aching body into the rocking chair. The long trip and mini-reunion at Sophia’s place had left her far more exhausted than she dared let on.

The chair swayed beneath her weight as her legs gave out, and she practically collapsed into the seat. She was glad Sophia had a man she could lean on, but past history had taught Theresa she was better off standing on her own—no matter how shaky she sometimes found the ground beneath her feet.

* * *

Jarrett Deeks swore beneath his breath as he heard the approaching sound of a car engine and the crunch of tires over the gravel lane leading past the stables. It could have been someone interested in boarding their horse at his place. Or maybe tourists wanting to take a late-afternoon ride on one of his many trail horses. Even a kind soul looking to adopt one of his rescue horses. Could have been. But he’d bet the ranch it wasn’t.

No, he was pretty sure that car carried his first paying customer and guest to his new rental cabins. He snorted as he gave the gelding he’d been brushing a final pat. When he’d placed ads in hunting and fishing magazines, his plan had been to target men like himself. Guys who enjoyed nature and wildlife and were looking for an escape from city life. Not that Clearville offered much in the way of city life. But the small-town sense of community was almost worse than crowded cities and their towering sky-rises.

Getting lost in the city was almost as easy as getting lost in the wilderness. Both could leave a man feeling small and insignificant, a breath away from disappearing and never being found again. But in this small town—

He couldn’t disappear if he tried. He’d hardly set foot on Main Street before half the townspeople seemed to know who he was while the other half was busy finding out. The instant curiosity and word of mouth had been a help, he had to admit, both to his rescue and to the stables. He didn’t doubt that it would give his newest venture into the hospitality business a boost, too.

But that still didn’t ease the uncertainty he felt about welcoming people onto his property. Though he’d lived much of his professional life in front of a crowd, he’d left that world behind. He had no interest in where-are-they-now stories showcasing him as a has-been bull rider.

The affinity he felt for the animals had given him a second lease on life when his rodeo career ended—when his fans, his friends, even the woman who claimed to love him disappeared from his life. He’d felt as lost as some of the horses and didn’t know where he might have ended up if the rescue hadn’t given him a new purpose.

His boots echoed on the concrete floor as he walked down the center aisle, a sense of pride filling him, as Silverbelle—his latest rescue—stuck her head over the top of a stall. Her long, graceful neck was extended as she looked for a treat. He handed her the piece of carrot he’d saved for her. She’d come a long way, and he was determined to keep the rescue going for other horses just like her.

That was where the idea for rental cabins came into play. Cabins for hunters and fishermen. Outdoorsmen like him. Not so much for women. And sure as hell not for Theresa Pirelli.

What was she thinking, staying at the Rockin’ R in the first place? If she didn’t want to room with family, the bed-and-breakfasts in town were made for a woman like Theresa. Elegant, graceful and delicate, the beautiful buildings with their gorgeous gardens and what he assumed were lace-and-floral guest rooms would be a perfect backdrop for her.

Jarrett didn’t doubt Theresa was very much a modern woman, but with her creamy skin, raven hair and blue eyes, she had an ethereal, timeless beauty. Seeing her at one of her cousins’ weddings, he’d thought she looked like one of those cartoon princesses his half sister had loved as a kid—all big eyes, bright smiles and long, flowing hair.

She didn’t belong in a rustic cabin unless seven dwarves were staying there with her.

Heaving a sigh, he headed out of the stables. As he stepped outside, he gazed out at the dense trees surrounding his property. He inhaled the scent of pine and a hint of ocean air almost as if he could breathe in the peace and quiet. He’d long ago figured out he was far better with animals than he was with people. But at the moment, people paid the bills.

Jarrett wasn’t a fanciful man, but the life insurance policy his father had left him had been a final gift and, more than that, a kick in the butt from the great beyond. Without his father’s investment in his future, it would have taken years if not decades before he would have had the cash or the land he needed to get the equine rescue up and running. Thanks to his dad, he now had both.

But buying the small ranch and refurbishing the stables had taken up a chunk of change already. Add to that the bills for hay and feed and veterinary services, and what he had left wouldn’t last long. That was where the rental cabins came in. If he could make a success out of those, he’d feel better about taking on more animals.

Which meant welcoming Theresa Pirelli onto his property even if she didn’t really belong there. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket as he rounded the curve toward the small rental office cabin.

He immediately spotted Theresa sitting in a shaft of sunlight on the front porch. As he drew closer, he saw her eyes were closed, and he felt as though he’d been handed a slight reprieve. A minute or two to try to come up with some welcome-to-the-ranch spiel he should have thought of long before now.

On a second glance, he realized another reason to be glad Theresa’s eyes were closed. It gave him a chance to take in the sight of her without letting his shock show. Her skin was pale, devoid of any healthy glow, and her dark hair, caught back in a low ponytail, was a stark contrast. Shadows haunted her eyes and made the hollows of her cheekbones more pronounced. Yet somehow, she was still beautiful enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

Cowboy boots weren’t made for sneaking up on people, and her eyes flew open the minute his foot hit the first step. Her blue gaze widened and then widened some more as she took him in—from the hat shielding his face, to the checked shirt beneath his denim jacket, his faded jeans and the boots that had signaled his approach.

Realizing she didn’t recognize him—and why should she when he made a habit of not standing out in a crowd?—he said, “I’m Jarrett Deeks.”

“You— You’re—” She frowned, her delicate eyebrows drawing together, before she shook her head. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting...” Her voice trailed off without telling him what exactly she hadn’t expected, and she said, “Theresa Pirelli. Nice to meet you.”

He managed a quick nod, that welcome speech completely deserting him and leaving him feeling as awkward and out of his element as he probably looked. “Cabin’s not far from here. I can bring the truck around—”

“If it’s not far,” she said with a lift to her chin, “why not walk?”

Because you look ready to fall over in a stiff breeze.

He knew better than to say the words out loud. He’d heard about the car accident Theresa had been in. Knew she was in town to attend yet another of her cousins’ weddings. But he could see she was here for another reason—to recover. Maybe even to figure out where her life went from here.

If he’d been a man better with words—better with women than with horses—he might have tried to tell her he understood. That he knew what it was like when life threw you to the ground and stomped on you with bone-crushing hooves.

Instead, he gave her what little he could. “Sure. Let’s walk.”

He grabbed the two suitcases immediately. Theresa might have won the walk to the cabin, but no way was he going to let her struggle under the weight of that luggage, not even to salvage her pride.

“I can get those,” she insisted.

“All part of the service,” he injected, pleased with how smooth that sounded.

She frowned, and he readied himself for an argument, but her focus and frustration quickly turned toward the challenge of climbing from the low-slung rocking chair. She braced her feet on the porch and pushed off on the chair’s upswing. She overcompensated for a weakness of her left side, and for a split second, he feared she’d fall.

Hands filled with luggage, he swore beneath his breath as she stumbled. He envisioned her hitting the porch the same time as the suitcases he dropped while reaching for her. His hands bracketed her upper arms, and his mind registered the thinness and fragility of muscle and bone even as his body breathed in a feminine scent of wildflowers.

Their gazes collided as she looked up at him. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp—pale pink, inviting and mere inches from his own. Close enough for him to feel a whisper of breath against his skin. Close enough to make him wonder—as he had ever since the first time he saw her—what it would be like to kiss Theresa Pirelli.

Chapter Two (#ulink_61b912d9-506a-5c41-8a9d-549cc0a65e54)

She needed to seriously reconsider her definition of the word retired, Theresa thought, more shaken than she wanted to admit after the brief contact with the rugged cowboy.

Jarrett Deeks didn’t speak with a Texas twang, and she could not for the life of her imagine him spinning tales for guests while sitting in one of the rocking chairs, whiling away the time as the world passed by.

Judging by the few lines bracketing either side of his mouth—she still hadn’t gotten more than a shadowed look at his eyes thanks to the cowboy hat he wore—she figured him to be only a few years older than her own twenty-eight. He was young, virile, and exuded a barely restrained energy like a caged animal or maybe one of his horses, living for the chance to run free.

And she’d experienced a split second of that unleashed energy, hadn’t she, when he reached out and grabbed her. One moment he’d been by the porch steps, her bags in hand. In the next, he’d dropped her luggage, erased the distance between them and caught her in his arms.

And when he’d touched her—

She could still feel the heated imprint of his palms against her shoulders. Still feel that instant spark of attraction when hit with the awareness that Jarrett Deeks was not at all what she’d pictured.

She couldn’t help glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he led the way toward her cabin. He wasn’t much taller than she was. His rugged profile, all masculine planes and angles from the nose that had clearly been broken more than once, to the sharp cheekbones and shadowed jaw, could have been carved from granite, and his leanly muscled body looked just as hard. Thick, chestnut-colored hair peeked out between the brim of his hat and denim collar, the only hint of softness about him.

She steeled herself against the warmth invading her body, threatening to melt even her uninjured muscles and bones. It was a weakness she couldn’t allow. An overreaction to the first man in months to touch her without treatment or therapy or rehab in mind.