Falling For The Rancher

“I’ll pass,” she said. “I was about to take a nap. I’m exhausted.”

From all the energy it took to stare out the window? Don’t be an ass. You don’t know anything about the effort it takes her to perform daily tasks you take for granted. Besides, fatigue wasn’t always physical.

He attempted a compromise. “If she seems like a good fit for the job, do you want me to wake you up before she leaves? Then you could—”

“No.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. It was jarring how her dark eyes flashed with so much emotion while her clipped words held none at all. “Makes no difference to me who pushes my wheelchair.”

Nobody pushed the chair. They’d rented an electric one to make her as self-sufficient as possible. “Vicki—”

“I don’t care who you hire, just make it clear she’s not my babysitter. And anytime Aaron visits, we want our privacy.”

He clenched his jaw, conflicted about his little sister’s “alone time” with her boyfriend. Hypocrite. Like you were celibate at nineteen? Hell no. He’d always been ready and willing to hit the sheets with a pretty lady—a character trait he deeply regretted. If he’d had any self-discipline, Vicki wouldn’t be in the wheelchair. Or in this room. She’d be at college with Aaron and her friends.

“Close the door on your way out,” she said woodenly.

“Okay.” As conversations went, he couldn’t call this one a rousing success. On the other hand, it was the most sentences she’d spoken to him at one time all month. Maybe his mother was right about his parents’ trip forcing Vicki to deal with him. Jarrett just wished his sister would let loose and scream at him. Call him an irresponsible ass. Maybe even hurl something at him with that pitcher’s arm of hers. She’d broken her left wrist, but her right was undamaged.

He went to the kitchen, where he pulled a casserole from the freezer for its two hours in the oven and brewed iced tea for his expected guest. He’d briefly spoken to Daniel Baron this week about Sierra. The man sang her praises. Daniel had worked with her after the bull-riding injury that made him quit rodeo for good, not that he sounded disappointed about his new lifestyle. He was happily married in San Antonio with twin toddlers. If Sierra was under fifty and even half as promising as Daniel made her sound, she had a job.

While he waited for Sierra to arrive, Jarrett caught up on emails and the paperwork that accumulated while he spent most of his time outside. In addition to taking care of the cattle and preparing to plant the winter crops, he generated income by offering riding lessons and equine therapy. He was happier doing physical work than crunching numbers, but it was on his shoulders to make sure nothing fell through the cracks while his father recuperated.

He’d just finished entering some figures in the banking spreadsheet when the doorbell rang. If either the golden retriever or shepherd-Lab mix had been close to the house, he would have heard barking long before the visitor reached the front porch, but in pretty weather, the dogs enjoyed the wide-open spaces of ranch life.

In case his sister had been genuine about needing sleep, he hurried to the door to make sure Sierra didn’t ring the bell a second time. Mentally crossing his fingers that the woman on the other side was everything Daniel said, he swung the door open.

He felt his features freeze midsmile. Shock made it momentarily difficult to form words, even one as basic as hello. He’d been hoping for younger than fifty, but the stunning redhead appeared to be in her twenties. And, although his mama would smack him upside the head for the stereotype, she looked more like a lingerie model than a med school graduate.

Well, technically, she was probably too short to be a model, but that body... “Sierra Bailey?” he asked, half hoping she wasn’t.

She nodded. “Jarrett Ross?”

“One and the same.” As he ushered her inside, he tried to recover his composure. The view from behind wasn’t helping. Her slim-fitting suit skirt fell just below her knees, modestly professional, but the material lovingly cupped the flare of her hips and shapely butt.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he spared a dark thought for Daniel Baron. His friend should have warned Jarrett what to expect. Daniel was so head over heels in love with his wife, Nicole, that other women probably paled in comparison, but the man wasn’t blind.

The irony would have been laughable if Jarrett’s sense of humor weren’t dormant. He hadn’t had sex in months. He’d ignored flirty texts and used the isolation of the ranch to avoid temptation, but that hadn’t been penance enough. Karma had sent him a gorgeous woman whose green eyes flashed intelligence and whose curves would make a centerfold envious. His past self would have found sleeping down the hall from her a tantalizing prospect.

Hell, the old Jarrett would already be working to seduce her. But he was a recovering ladies’ man and, potentially, her employer. You will not so much as look at Sierra Bailey.

Too late.

* * *

IT WAS TOO soon to tell whether this interview would be an improvement over her others, but, so far, it was certainly weirder. Sierra had entered the house ready to apologize for being late. She’d got lost twice, not that she’d been able to call Jarrett Ross and tell him because she’d apparently been driving through a cellular dead zone. She’d finally happened across a tiny gas station where a friendly guy with elaborate tattoos gave her directions to the Twisted R.

She knew it was bad form to show up tardy to an interview, but before she’d had a chance to explain, Jarrett had suddenly declared, “Tea!” the way a scientist might shout “Eureka!” Then he’d pointed her into a wood-paneled study and bolted in the opposite direction. Presumably, to fetch tea.

Her first impression of the rancher was that he was tall—although, from her perspective, lots of people were. More specifically, he was hot. His dark hair, threaded with a few sun-streaked threads of gold, contrasted dramatically with pale silvery eyes. He had a chiseled jaw and defined cheekbones.

And abs worthy of inspiring legend.

That highly unprofessional observation struck as she caught sight of a framed picture among the dozen or so that hung on the far wall behind a massive desk. In the photo, a shirtless Jarrett stood on the shore of a river, displaying a fish he’d caught. She was already moving in for a closer look before she realized what she was doing, as if mindlessly drawn in by a tractor beam. Tractor abs. Plus, sculpted shoulders and arms that—

Bailey! What the hell happened to being professional?

Right.

It was ironic that she’d been fired over Lloyd Carson, given that she’d never entertained a single thought about him half as improper as what she’d just been feeling for Jarrett Ross. Get your act together. She moved on from the shirtless picture to the other shots decorating the wall. Several had been taken at rodeos, and while she’d never understand bronc-riding as a career choice, she had to marvel at the raw grace displayed in one action shot. Repressing the memory of her own horrific fall from a horse, she wondered how Jarrett managed to stay in the saddle. For that matter, how was the black cowboy hat staying on his head?

Next to that photo was a snapshot taken right here on the house’s front porch. Jarrett’s arm was casually draped around a blonde girl’s shoulders. Sierra was willing to bet money that the young woman was his sister, Vicki. Their coloring was reversed—the girl had light hair and brown eyes—but the similarity of their features was unmistakable. As was the affection between them.

Sierra glanced from Vicki’s face to Jarrett’s. His expression was so self-assured. He was grinning as though he didn’t have a care in the world, and his eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence—a far cry from the somber man who’d opened the door to her.

She supposed no one chose to display family photos where the subject was scowling or looked troubled, but his image was the same in every picture—the self-satisfied lord of all he surveyed. Was it Vicki’s accident that had changed him? Sierra knew a lot of siblings were closer than she was to her own brothers. Jarrett had been notably tense while detailing his sister’s injuries over the phone, as if he felt her pain.

Vicki may be the one in the wheelchair, but apparently she wasn’t the only one who needed to heal.

Chapter Four (#ulink_f55fb248-40a4-53a5-a4e7-5fd4368f2750)

Sierra shifted her position in the leather chair and sipped her sweet tea, waiting for Jarrett to say something. They’d reached the end of his list of questions, and she assumed he was mulling over her responses. He hadn’t said anything in several seconds. He’d been terse throughout the conversation, lending credence to the strong, silent cowboy image, but, on the bright side, he hadn’t mentioned her family connections or leered at her. He’d barely looked at her at all, either focusing on the pad of paper where he was jotting notes or staring at some point just over her shoulder.

The interview had reached its logical conclusion. All that was left was for her to talk to the patient and assess for herself the work that needed to be done. Jarrett had handed her a folder of medical records after joining her in the study with two glasses of iced tea, but X-rays told only part of the story.

Sierra set her glass on the desk and cleared her throat. “When can I meet Vicki?”

His head jerked up, his eyes almost meeting hers before he resumed that unfocused gaze into the beyond. “Oh, uh, that won’t be necessary. She’s sleeping now and authorized me to make the decision on her behalf. And I’m happy to say, the job is yours. If you want it.”

Fantastic. She was employed again—by a laconic cowboy who lived at the butt-end of nowhere and kept staring eerily into space as if he were about to have a psychic vision. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll be able to give you my answer after I meet your sister.”

He frowned. “I told you, she’s sleeping.”

She rose from her chair, eager to escape the awkward confines of the study. “So we’ll need to wake her up.” Every patient case she’d ever worked had started with an evaluation. And this wasn’t just any case—she’d be living with these people! No way was she packing her bags and relocating before meeting both of her new roommates.

Jarrett’s gaze locked with hers, and the sudden connection was like an electric current that ran all the way down to her toes. The masculine energy in his rigid body language caused a wholly inappropriate tingly sensation. She could almost understand how a stupid cliché like “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” had originated.

“Vicki expressly asked not to be disturbed,” he said, his sharp tone matching the metallic glint in his eyes.

Sierra lifted her chin, determined to make him see reason. “Is she ill?” If the girl was sick, then Sierra would come back another day to meet her—especially if Vicki was contagious. Otherwise...

“You mean like with a cold or something? No. But, as a professional, you must know that people recuperating from such serious injuries need plenty of bed rest and—”

“It’s been a couple of months since her accident. Too much bed rest leads to atrophy. I’ve been here over an hour,” she said with a glance at her watch. “That’s adequate for a nap. Sleeping the day away can also be a sign of depression. Part of my job will be keeping Vicki engaged, whether she likes it or not.”

“You mean bullying her?” he asked. The way he shot to his feet, as if preparing to physically protect his sister, might have been endearing under other circumstances.

“I wouldn’t say ‘bullying.’” She might not put it that way...but a few of her patients had. Bully. Drill sergeant. Hard-ass. Daniel Baron, sweating through a session with his handsome features contorted into a grimace, had once called her a demon tyrant with no soul. But she was pretty sure he’d meant it as a compliment.

“Look, I’m good at what I do,” she asserted. “If you want me to take this job, you have to trust me.”