Falling For The Rancher

“Your dad refuses to accept that he’s not in his twenties anymore,” his mom continued. “At the rate he’s going, he’ll work himself to death! And after the added stress of Vicki’s accident...”

Guilt sliced through him. Was his dad’s heart attack one more thing to trace back to that night in July? His mind echoed with the metallic jangling of the keys he’d tossed to his younger sister. He hadn’t gone with her because a blonde named Tammy—or Taylor?—had been whispering in his ear, saying that as impressive as he’d been in eight seconds, she couldn’t wait to see what magic he could work in an hour’s time.

Jarrett pushed away the shameful memory. “So you and Dad want to take a few days of vacation?” he asked, leaning against the corner of the desk closest to her.

“A few weeks, actually. I haven’t discussed it with him yet, but Dr. Wayne agrees that it’s a good idea. My cousin has a very nice cabin near Lake Tahoe that she’s been offering to let us use for years, and Dr. Wayne said he could give us the name of a good cardiologist in the area. Just in case.”

When you were recovering from open-heart surgery, “just in case” wasn’t nearly as casual as it sounded.

“Your father is mule-headed. Now that he’s starting to feel a little better, he’ll try to return to his usual workload. I can’t let him do that. He may seem larger than life, but he’s not invincible.” Her gaze shifted downward. “And...without us as a buffer, Vicki would naturally turn to you for company and assistance.”

The soft words were like a pitchfork to the gut. His sister, younger than him by almost seven years, had grown up idolizing Jarrett. Now his parents had to evacuate Texas just to force her to speak to him again.

“She’s going to forgive you.” Anne reached over to clasp his hand. “The drunk driver who plowed into the truck is to blame, not you.”

He wanted to believe her, but it was his fault Vicki had been on the road. They’d had plans to grab a late dinner. Between his travel on the rodeo circuit and her being away for her freshman year of college, they’d barely seen each other since Christmas. But instead of catching up with his kid sister as promised, he’d ditched her in favor of getting laid. Vicki had been trapped amid twisted metal and broken glass when she should have been sitting in some restaurant booth, debating between chicken-fried steak and a rack of ribs. She’d always had a Texas-sized appetite, but her athletic hobbies kept her trim and fit.

Past tense. She no longer had much of an appetite. And although the doctors assured her that, with physical therapy, she would walk again, it would be a long damn time before she played softball or went to a dance club with her sorority sisters. She hadn’t even been able to return to campus for the start of the new semester in August, another consequence that ate at him. Unlike Jarrett, who’d earned a degree with a combination of community-college courses and online classes, Vicki had been accepted into one of the best universities in the state. How much academic momentum was she losing?

Anne blamed Gavin’s heart attack on years of working too hard and his stubborn insistence that “deep-fried” was a valid food group. But it was no coincidence that the man had collapsed during one of Vicki’s multiple surgeries. The stress of his daughter’s ordeal had nearly killed him.

“Jarrett.” Anne’s scolding tone was one he knew well from childhood. “I see you beating yourself up. You have to stop. If not for yourself, then for me.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. She was shouldering enough burden already without fretting over his well-being, too. “I was just processing the logistics of running the Twisted R while taking care of Vicki. I’ll figure it out. You and Dad should definitely go.”

“Thank you. Be sure to voice your support when he objects to the idea.” She pursed her lips, considering. “We probably have a better shot at convincing him if you’re not handling Vicki and the ranch by yourself. What if we found a part-time housekeeper who could act as her companion? Or, ideally, even someone with medical experience. My friend Pam’s a retired nurse. I can ask her about home health care.”

“Are we sure that’s in the budget?” The mountain of medical bills was already high enough that Gavin had recently let go of their sole ranch hand after helping him find a job on another spread. Gavin insisted the Twisted R could function as a father-and-son operation if Jarrett was available to help full-time. No more rodeos for the foreseeable future.

Or ever. He hadn’t competed since the night of Vicki’s accident, and it was hard to imagine enjoying it again. Everything he’d loved—the adrenaline, the admiration of the spectators—seemed shallow in light of what his sister and dad had suffered.

“I’m not suggesting we hire a long-term employee,” she said. “Just some help for a month or less. We have plenty of space. Maybe with Pam’s help we can find someone temporarily willing to accept low pay in exchange for room and board. There could be someone young who needs the experience and a recommendation.”

His mother made it sound almost reasonable, as if there were lots of people who would work practically for free and wanted to move in with a surly nineteen-year-old and a rodeo cowboy who’d taken early retirement. What are the odds?

Then again, they had to be due for some good luck.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Call Pam and see what she says.”

Meanwhile, he’d cross his fingers that his mom’s friend knew someone who was truly desperate for a job.

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL do you mean I’m out of a job?” In her head, Sierra Bailey heard the familiar refrain of her mother’s voice chiding her. Unladylike language was one of Muriel Bailey’s pet peeves. I just got fired. Screw “ladylike.”

Eileen Pearce, seated at the head of the conference table, sucked in a breath at Sierra’s outburst. It was too bad Eileen and Muriel didn’t live in the same city—the two women could get together for weekly coffee and commiserate about Sierra’s behavior. “The board takes inappropriate relationships with patients very seriously, Ms. Bailey.”

“There was no relationship!” Except, apparently, in Lloyd Carson’s mind. Bodily contact between patient and physical therapist was a necessity, not an attempt at seduction. Sierra had never once thought of Lloyd in a sexual manner, but he’d apparently missed that memo. The man had unexpectedly kissed her during their last session. Which, in turn, led to his wife angrily demanding Sierra’s head on a platter.

Taking a deep breath, Sierra battled her temper. “Patients become infatuated with medical professionals all the time. It’s a form of misplaced gratitude and—”

“Yes, but in the year you’ve been with us, we’ve had multiple complaints about you. Granted, not of this nature, but your track record is flawed. Perhaps if you’d listened on previous occasions when I tried to impress upon you the importance of professional decorum...” Eileen paused with an expression of mock sympathy.

Comprehension dawned. This wasn’t about Lloyd Carson and his romantic delusions. The board of directors had been looking for an excuse to get rid of Sierra. She felt foolish, not having seen the dismissal coming, but she truly believed she was good at her job.

Was she mouthy and abrasive? Occasionally.

All right, regularly. One might even argue, frequently. But sometimes PT patients needed a well-intentioned kick to the rear more than they needed to be coddled. Lord knows I did.

At twelve years old, Sierra had been a pampered rich girl whose parents treated her with a much different standard than her three rough-and-tumble brothers, as if she were fragile. Dr. Frederick Bailey and his wife, Muriel, had raised their sons with aspirations of global domination; they’d raised their daughter with the promise that she’d be a beautiful Houston debutante someday. No one had challenged her until the gruff physiotherapist who’d helped her after she’d been thrown from a horse.

He’d taught her to challenge herself, a lesson she still appreciated fifteen years later. The side effect was that she also tended to challenge authority, a habit the hospital’s board of directors resented.

Given the barely concealed hostility in Eileen’s icy blue gaze, it was a miracle Sierra had lasted this long. You’re partially to blame here, Bailey. While she’d deny with every breath in her body that her conduct with Lloyd Carson had ever been flirtatious or unprofessional, Sierra could have been more of a team player. She could have made an effort to care about occupational politics.

As Eileen went over the legal details of the termination, Sierra’s mind wandered to the future. Her savings account was skimpier than she’d like, but she was a trained specialist. She’d land on her feet. It was a point of pride that she’d been making her way for years, without asking her parents for money.

You’ll find a new position. And when you do? Stay under the radar instead of racking up a file of grievances. In the interests of her career, Sierra could be detached and diplomatic.

Probably.

Chapter Two (#ulink_6c1f915b-f703-5cc3-9d70-6602dda42cfa)

“Darling, you’re being needlessly stubborn,” Muriel Bailey chastised through the phone. “Coming home for an extended visit would be a win for everyone. Since you aren’t busy with work—”

“I’m busy looking for a job.” Word had spread through the medical grapevine from Dallas to Houston that Sierra had been fired. Ever since Muriel had learned about it last week, she’d been relentlessly campaigning for Sierra to move back to Houston. There’s a better chance of my being elected president and moving to the White House.

Her mother sighed. “But it’s always difficult to get vacation time approved after starting a new position. What if they won’t give you the days off for your brother’s wedding?” According to Muriel, Kyle’s December nuptials would be The Social Event of the Decade. “I need you here so you can help me with the millions of details! Then you’ll start job-hunting again after the holidays. New year, new career.”

Trapped under her parents’ roof from September until January? Little spots appeared in front of Sierra’s eyes, and she gripped the edge of the granite-topped kitchen island for support. “I’ll be sure to mention that my brother is getting married during interviews and give prospective employers a heads-up.” Assuming she got any more interviews.

By affronting the hospital’s board of directors, she seemed to have damaged her options here in Dallas. Only two people had been willing to meet with her so far—a sleaze who’d ogled her breasts throughout the entire conversation and a sycophant who’d gushed about what an honor it was to meet the daughter of esteemed Chief of Neurosurgery Frederick Bailey. She didn’t want to take a job that was offered because of who her father was, but if nothing better materialized...

“Sierra, are you even listening to me?”

“Um.” Not for the past five minutes or so. “I may have missed that last part.”

“Douglas Royce has been asking about you. He can’t wait to see you at the wedding.”

Oh, for pity’s sake. Her mother couldn’t possibly think there was still a chance Sierra might one day become Mrs. Douglas Royce? Opening the fridge, she searched for a bottle of wine. Damn. The downside of no paycheck was a serious lack of groceries. “We broke up years ago.”

“Yet you haven’t had a serious relationship since! Perhaps because, deep down, you—”

“Paul and I were plenty serious.” Just not transcontinental serious. When Dr. Paul Meadows had left a couple of months ago to do medical work in Africa, they’d shared an affectionate goodbye. It was true she hadn’t dated much between Douglas and Paul, but three years of grad school and twelve months of residency hadn’t left much free time. “You’re conveniently forgetting, I never loved Douglas half as much as you and Dad did. So you’re not going to use him to lure me home.”

“Parents shouldn’t have to ‘lure’ their own flesh and blood. Where’s your sense of familial duty?” Muriel huffed. “Who’s going to help me with this mountain of wedding tasks?”

Sierra supposed it would be sheer lunacy to suggest the bride. Was poor Annabel getting any say in her big day? I warned Kyle they should elope. “Don’t be afraid to delegate to the zillion-dollar-an-hour wedding coordinator, Mom. That’s what Annabel’s family is paying her for. I hate to cut this short, but I have a phone interview this evening.” Could her lie have sounded less convincing?