Brooke nearly jumped when Ryan placed his plate in the sink.

“Thanks again for breakfast.”

He was so close, she’d swear his breath caressed her cheek, a manly scent of the outdoors and honest work. It was headier than any cologne.

“You’re welcome.”

Brooke fought the crazy urge to turn slightly, to see just how close he was, what he might do. Before she had time to act on that thought, he was out the back door.

She closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the sink and exhaled. Then, unable to resist, she walked into the family dining room and watched as he headed back toward his slice of the ranch, doing more for a worn pair of jeans than any high-dollar model could ever dream of doing.

Brooke sighed, she was in trouble, and she wasn’t sure she minded it one bit.

Dear Reader,

I believe it’s impossible for a writer to not have her own experiences color her stories. I know that each one of mine is influenced by the things I’ve done, seen and heard. Cowboy to the Rescue is no different. It takes place in a fictional town, but Blue Falls sprang from my imagination while I was traveling through the Texas Hill Country. Its beauty is very different from that of the verdant South where I have lived all my life, but I think the difference is what attracts me. In the place of green rolling hills, the Hill Country has fields of wildflowers, cactus plants, views that go on for miles and a rich ranching and German heritage. How could I not be inspired by that?

Brooke, the heroine of Cowboy to the Rescue, has one sibling, a sister, and two nieces. I have the same. And like Brooke, I live several states away from them, so I can write those feelings of missing them with some authenticity. My sister and I share a lifelong love of books, and we can often be found instant-messaging each other with the question, “So, what are you reading?” When this book hits store shelves, I know what her answer better be.

I hope you enjoy Ryan and Brooke’s story. I loved writing this book, a story of two broken souls who finally heal when they find each other. When I write a book that can make me tear up, I know I’m doing something right.

Trish Milburn

Cowboy to the Rescue

Trish Milburn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Mary. I love you, sis. (P.S. I found it. LOL!)

Chapter One

Brooke Vincent wiped her sweaty palms on her khaki slacks, hoping the woman sitting across from her didn’t notice. She needed this job, but didn’t want to appear as desperate as she actually was.

“You seem like a nice girl, but your résumé is a little thin,” Merline Teague said as she sat back in her office chair.

Understatement of the year.

“I know,” Brooke said. “I guess I’ve been one of those free spirits, trying to experience lots of different things.” Brooke winced at the lie, at how it might make her seem like a bad bet to hire. Of all the untraceable things she’d put on her résumé, the only one that held any truth was the summer backpacking trip through Europe. It’d been an unexpected and fantastic gift from her mother before Brooke had gone to college, the first thing to really expose her to the wide and varied world outside of West Virginia.

“Well, there is something to be said for seeing a bit of the world and finding yourself while you’re still young,” Mrs. Teague said.

Brooke tried not to get her hopes up too high at the older woman’s seeming understanding.

“Do you feel like your wandering days are over, at least for a while?” Mrs. Teague asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” A little surge of hope swelled in Brooke, but she did her best to hide it.

The proprieter of the Vista Hills Guest Ranch rested her elbows on the arms of her chair and clasped her hands over her chest. “Being a cook for a guest ranch seems tame next to touring the Yorkshire moors and walking in the Brontë sisters’ footsteps.”

Brooke hurried to assure Mrs. Teague she wouldn’t be disappointed in life in rural Texas. “Not really. Every place has its own personality,” Brooke said. “Here, there seems to be a real connection to the land, a unique identity like you’ve stepped out of one world and into another.”

When she noticed the surprised expression on her potential employer’s face, Brooke nearly kicked herself. She sounded like a splashy tourist brochure. If she truly wanted to leave her old life behind and start over, she had to stop acting like a polished city dweller who was very good at reading people and telling them what they wanted to hear.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t really want to start over. Sometimes you just didn’t have a choice.

She forced a laugh she was far from actually feeling. “Sorry. Guess I’ve been reading too many travel magazines. I just really enjoy cooking and believe I could do a good job for you.” At least that much was true.

Mrs. Teague didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she sat staring at Brooke as if she was dissecting every word Brooke had spoken, every facial expression and eye movement. It proved remarkably difficult not to fidget.

“I tell you what,” Mrs. Teague finally said. “I’ll give you a tryout. The guests are on their own tonight, so you can cook for the family. If it goes well, we’ll talk again after dinner.”

Brooke schooled her expression, cloaking an excitement she would have never imagined a year ago. “What would you like?”

Mrs. Teague smiled. “Surprise us.”

Her mind jumped to all the elegant menus at the Davenport, the hotel where she’d been the convention manager, a parade of high-end entrées and decadent desserts. But this wasn’t a four-star hotel in Washington, D.C. A guest ranch in the Hill Country of Texas required a bit different fare from Maine lobster and hazelnut soufflé.

“Okay. You won’t be disappointed, Mrs. Teague. I promise.”

Please let me fulfill that promise.

“Well, come on.” Mrs. Teague stood and motioned for her to follow. “Let me show you the kitchen and dining areas. You can look through the supplies, see if you need to go into town for anything.”

When they reached the kitchen, it was bigger and more modern than she expected. It occupied the back half of a great room that also included the family’s comfortable-looking living area. A large dark-wood island stood in the center of the kitchen with copper-bottomed pots hanging from an iron rack overhead. Cobalt-blue and terra-cotta tiles covered the floor and backsplashes, and marble countertops gleamed. Her hands itched to put the stainless steel appliances to work creating something scrumptious. Amongst the appreciation was a pang for the kitchen she’d left behind, that entire life.

She shook off those negative thoughts and made herself focus on the tour.

Mrs. Teague pointed toward the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. “When it’s just family, we eat in here. But when guests are here for meals, we use the dining area we added to the back of the house.” She motioned for Brooke to follow her through a set of glass double doors on the back side of the kitchen.

The room she stepped into had the same feel as the other parts of the house she’d seen: homey, Western, welcoming. Several wooden tables were scattered around the room. Punched-tin napkin holders sat alongside salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of cowboy hats and boots. A long wooden sideboard with leather-covered front drawers and forged-iron drawer pulls occupied one wall. A mammoth antler chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling.

“We have ten guest cabins, so we’re set up here to feed up to forty people,” Mrs. Teague said. “Though it’s not often that many. Sometimes it’s mainly couples, so the number might be half that. Then you have late sleepers who skip breakfast, and the tourists who want to try out the restaurants in town. But we ask the guests to give us a meal count each day for the next day so we know how many to cook for.”

Brooke continued to scan the facilities. “It’s a lovely room.” More intimate than the hotel ballrooms she was used to.

“Thanks. We didn’t want it to feel impersonal like a lot of places that serve large numbers all at once.” With that, Mrs. Teague led the way back into the kitchen.

“That’s about it,” she said after she’d pointed out a few more highlights. “Any questions?”

Brooke shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s shoot for six o’clock.” She patted Brooke’s hand where it sat palm down on the large, cool surface of the island.

The friendly, familiar gesture surprised Brooke. But based on her limited knowledge of the other woman, it seemed totally in character.

The phone rang, drawing Mrs. Teague’s attention to the caller ID. “Oh, I’m sorry but I have to take this.”

“Okay, no problem.”

Brooke smiled as Mrs. Teague headed out of the room, hoping only a few more hours stood between her and a job. Because, honestly, if she didn’t get this position, she didn’t know if she had the energy to start her search over again. When she’d found the ad online for the ranch cook opening at Vista Hills, something had made her latch on to it, planning her new life around the idea of working here.

She hoped that decision proved wiser than the one that had led her to Texas. The one that had forced her to walk away from the person she’d been before, as if Brooke Alder had never existed.

RYAN TEAGUE PRESSED the hot brand into the board, the last piece of a large trunk he’d just finished constructing. When he pulled the branding iron away from the wood, his nose tingled as it always did from the scorched scent in the air.

He smoothed his hand over the image—a VHR flanked by a simple wildflower on one side and a horse on the other. He made a mental note to call the doctor in San Marcos who’d ordered the trunk as a wedding gift for his daughter.

After hanging the branding iron in its spot next to his shop’s large outdoor stone fireplace, Ryan wiped the sweat from his face and headed inside to cool off and get a drink. It was only mid-May, but central Texas was already doing its damnedest to give Hades a run for its money in the heat race. Still, anything was better than the merciless inferno that was the Iraqi desert.

He froze halfway to the fridge as a chill swept through him, one that had nothing to do with the cranked air-conditioning. He closed his eyes, brought a view of the ocean to mind, and imagined the sound of the waves. He inhaled and exhaled slowly—once, twice, three times.

The moment passed, thank God not a true flashback this time. They were less frequent now than they’d been two years ago, when he’d been shipped home with a hole in his leg the size of a baseball.

As if the injury had happened yesterday, he felt that blinding pain again. He fought the urge to reach down and rub the side of his thigh. But the pain was all in his head, his memories. He hardly ever even limped anymore. Months and months of hard work had him walking normally so he didn’t have to be reminded of that horrible day every time he put weight on his leg.

Harder to banish was a head full of images no one should ever have to see. Despite the therapy and his family’s support, he still wasn’t sure the lessening of the flashbacks was a good thing. Part of him still believed he deserved them.

With a curse, he shoved those thoughts back to the other side of the world and crossed the distance to the fridge. He jerked the door open and … found it empty.

He’d forgotten to restock. What a surprise. Sometimes he’d swear being nearly blown up had knocked some of his memory loose. As if to punish him for his absentmindedness, the sides of his parched throat stuck together. Time to go pilfer some sodas from his parents until he could get into town to buy his own. And with the length of the order list for his custom-made furniture, God only knew when that would be.

He walked the short distance from his shop-home combo to the main drive into the ranch. His parents’ house, the ranch office and the horse barn were visible the moment he made the turn. Even though he didn’t live far from his parents, a hill and several large live oak trees gave him the privacy he needed.

Choco, the family’s chocolate Lab, descended the steps from the front porch and ambled out to meet him.

“Hey, boy,” Ryan said as he crouched and gave the dog a good scratching between the ears. He nodded toward where Nacho, the yellow Lab, lay watching them from the porch. “I see your buddy is as lazy as ever.”

Choco snorted as if agreeing. Ryan laughed then resumed his trek toward refreshment.

When he stepped in the back door to the kitchen, he noticed his mom standing behind the open refrigerator door.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “Please tell me you have a cold 7-Up in there.”

When the fridge examiner leaned back, it most definitely wasn’t his mother. Instead, a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty stared back at him.

“Oh, sorry. Thought you were my mom.” For a moment he felt as though he’d wandered into the wrong house, then he thought maybe this woman was a guest. But why was she in the kitchen with no one else around?

Or had his mom finally hired a new cook? After years of seeing Trudy helping his mom in the kitchen, he hadn’t been prepared for someone near his own age. He hadn’t even known his mom’s weeks of interviews had finally come to an end.

“You’re Mrs. Teague’s son?” Was that a touch of nervousness in her voice?

“One of them. Ryan. Are you the new cook?”

The woman placed a package of chicken on the island and closed the fridge.

“Not yet. I’m making your parents dinner tonight, sort of a tryout.”

A tryout? His mom hadn’t required that of any of the other applicants. Then it clicked what day it was. He laughed, but at the stricken look on the woman’s face he reined himself in.

“Sorry. Bit of a family joke.” He pointed toward the calendar on the wall, one adorned with prints by famous Western painters like Frederic Remington and Charles Russell. “Thursday is family night around here, with mandatory attendance by all. We each take a turn providing the meal and entertainment. Guess whose night it is.”

“Your mother’s?”

“Bingo.”

She smiled, just a little, but it was enough to make something in his chest perform an unexpected flip-flop.

Not a good thing.

He forced any hint of a smile from his expression and headed toward the refrigerator. Damn, he had to remember to buy his own drinks.

“I shouldn’t have assumed I was just cooking for two,” she said.

“Mom didn’t tell you how many to cook for?” That was odd.

“She got a phone call she had to take when we were talking, and then headed over to the office. I guess she just forgot when she got busy, and I assumed when she said ‘just the family,’ she meant her and your father.”

Ryan stared into the fridge, not seeing any 7-Up. He grabbed an orange soda instead and closed the door. When he turned around, she—whatever her name was—was eyeing the chicken and chewing on her lip.

“Seven adults, one six-year-old boy.”

Her gaze met his, and for some reason he got the feeling that part of her was somewhere else. “Huh?”

“That’s how many you’re cooking for.”

She exhaled as though she’d been holding her breath. “Oh, thanks. That helps.”

They stared at each other until it grew awkward. She broke eye contact first, picking up a pen and pad from a basket on the island.

“Well, good luck,” he said, then headed toward the back door that led outside.

“Thank you.”

He nodded then hurried outside, overcome with the need for fresh air, to not be trapped in the kitchen with a nameless woman who’d caused his system to jump off its normal, everyday rails with one look of her big, brown eyes. Doe eyes.

After he stalked several yards away, he stopped and looked back at the house.

What had caused him to react to her that way? It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d seen a beautiful woman. He couldn’t remember ever fleeing from one before as if she was a giant spider on the verge of capturing him in a web.

Choco nuzzled his hand, looking for more affection. Ryan gave the dog what he wanted without even looking. The longer he stood in the middle of the driveway, the more realization sank in.

He was attracted to the mystery woman in his mother’s kitchen. Really attracted. Other than panic and fear from his nightmares, he hadn’t felt anything that strongly since he’d come home. And that frightened him more than facing armed insurgents.

BROOKE KEPT LISTING possible dishes to make for dinner, then crossing them off—too fancy, too country, too exotic, always too something. It didn’t help that she kept glancing at the back door, wondering if Ryan Teague might reappear.

She shook her head and pressed her palm against her forehead. Daydreaming about a tall Texan with blue-green eyes so striking she’d momentarily forgotten how to speak wasn’t going to help her get this job. Focusing on him instead of her task would probably ensure she didn’t.

Another look at her list gave her an entirely new idea. Two menus. Two different menus to show her versatility.

Twice as much work.

But twice the opportunity to showcase her skills, and worth it if she secured the position.

She located and mixed ingredients for spiced pork chops with butternut squash, filet mignon with twice-baked potatoes, orange-juice cake and caramel brioche. And to cater to the child Ryan had mentioned, she whipped up some fancy cupcakes that, she had to admit, were almost too pretty to eat. As she arranged them on a serving tower, she wondered if the little boy was his.

Not important.

The minutes ticked ever closer to six o’clock, but she squeezed them for all they were worth. By the time she was done, she had enough food to feed a platoon of hungry stomachs.

Only when she stopped to take a breath did she realize no one had entered the kitchen since Ryan had left. And she felt she knew the Teagues’ kitchen as well as the one she’d cooked in for the past year.

Now that the food was prepared and the table set, she had to make herself as presentable as she could in, oh, three minutes. She hurried to the bathroom located down the hall, smoothed her hair, dusted the flour off her red blouse, washed the sheen of exertion from her face and reapplied a touch of blusher.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t think she showed any of the desperation rumbling inside her like a different type of hunger.

“Stop worrying,” she told her reflection. “You can do this.” With a deep, fortifying breath, she retraced her steps to the kitchen, arriving just as a little boy barreled through the back door.

The miniature cowboy skidded to a halt and stared up at her. “Are you Brooke?” he asked as several more people arrived for dinner.

“Yes, I am.”

He smiled. “You’re pretty.”

A few laughs bubbled up from a couple of guys who appeared to be a few years older than her.

“I thought you didn’t like girls yet,” one of them said, teasing evident in his words to the boy.

“But my nephew is right,” the other man said as he looked at Brooke.

She couldn’t meet the man’s eyes, so she focused on the little boy. “Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself.”

He blushed and scuffed his booted toe against the floor. What an adorable kid.

The boy’s uncle scooped up the boy. “You gotta wait your turn with the pretty ladies, Evan.” The guy tipped his hat and winked at her. “Simon Teague, ma’am.”

She managed a smile, though she feared it wavered. “Brooke Vincent. Nice to meet you.” Simon topped her by several inches, and he had an air of command and authority about him that had her edging away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

That’s when her gaze found Ryan stepping into the room alongside his mom and an older man who must be his father. The elder man was the spitting image of a lifelong cowboy—tanned, lines next to his eyes from squinting into the bright sun, gray hair but still handsome. Like the Marlboro Man when he became a grandfather.

Ryan was just as tall as the rest of the men, but his presence didn’t overwhelm her like Simon’s had. She couldn’t pinpoint why his appearance calmed her blazing nerves, especially when earlier he’d made her all kinds of nervous, but it did. She smiled at him in unconscious gratitude.

Merline Teague clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone, I see you’ve noticed we’ve got a new face in the kitchen. Brooke has applied to fill the cook’s post, and she’s giving us a sampling of her culinary skills tonight.”

“Looks like she’s planning to feed all of Blue Falls,” said the man who had teased little Evan about liking girls. By the way he stood close behind the other woman in the room, she’d guess they were a couple and maybe Evan’s parents.

“You do know this isn’t fair, Mom,” Simon said. “You never had Trudy cook on family night.”

“Trudy would have told me to go jump in the lake. I figure I have a narrow window of opportunity here.”

Everyone laughed, and Brooke felt she was the one person not in on the joke. Did Merline mean she was leaning toward giving her the job and she figured Brooke would soon set limits on her work? She resisted the urge to tell Merline that she’d cook every meal every day if the agony of not knowing could just end.

As the laughter died down, Merline caught Brooke’s eye. “Now, let’s quit the silliness and let Brooke tell us about what she’s made.”

Brooke took a breath and dived in. “I’ve prepared two types of menus—one simple and comforting, the other a bit fancier. You could use the latter for special occasions, like if you were hosting an anniversary party or wedding.” She proceeded to tell them about each of the dishes, drawing nods and sounds of appreciation. She hoped they liked everything as much after they tasted it.

“Let’s eat. I’m starving.” This came from the elder Mr. Teague.

As everyone filed through, filling their plates, Merline stationed herself next to Brooke and introduced her to everyone as they passed by.

“Simon’s already introduced himself,” she said when the flirty cowboy paused in front of them to nab a piping-hot yeast roll.

“What, you’re not going to tell her how wonderful I am?” He smiled as he wrapped his free arm around his mom’s shoulders.

Merline looked at Brooke. “This one doesn’t have a problem with self-confidence.”

“Hmm. I think I’ve just been insulted,” he said.

Merline patted his cheek. “Not at all, dear. Now quit holding up the line.”

Simon shot Brooke another smile and winked a blue-gray eye at her before heading for the table.

Next, she met Nathan and Grace, Evan’s parents, who were newlyweds despite Evan’s age.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Grace said. “It’ll be good to have another woman around here. We’re a bit overrun with testosterone.”

“And you love it,” Nathan said as he bumped the side of her hip with his own, causing Grace to smile up at him.

A pang hit Brooke at how in love these two obviously were. Once upon a time, she’d dreamed of that kind of love for herself.

“And this here is our youngest, Ryan,” Merline said as Nathan followed Grace to the dining room and Ryan took their place in front of Brooke.

She had trouble maintaining eye contact with him. Again, she wondered how a man could calm her and make her nervous at the same time.

“We’ve met,” she said.

She noticed the slight widening of Merline’s eyes. “You have?”

Ryan glanced from Brooke to his mother. “Yeah. I ran out of drinks, came up here to get one.”

Merline shifted her attention to Brooke. There was something seeking in her expression, making it difficult to not squirm. With a slight nod to Brooke, Ryan made his way toward the dining room, as well, to be replaced by his father.

“This is my husband, Hank.”

Brooke looked up into the face that was an older version of his three sons. He extended his hand, which Brooke accepted and shook.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Merline has been working too hard lately.”

Everyone was acting as if she already had the job. Did they know something she didn’t?

Merline waved away her husband’s worry and shoved him gently toward the dining room before filling her own plate.

Brooke eyed the people sitting around the table, noticed that two empty seats remained.

“Are you expecting someone else?” she asked Merline.

“No, everyone’s here.”

“Oh, I could have sworn Ryan said there’d be seven adults.”

Merline glanced at the table. “He was counting you too, honey.”

A jolt hit Brooke. Honey. She could still hear her mother calling her the same thing, and missed it terribly.

The idea that the Teagues expected her to eat with them hadn’t even entered her mind. She was the potential help and had planned to nibble on leftovers after they were finished.

“I don’t want to intrude on your family night.”

“It’s not an intrusion if we invite you.” Merline caught Brooke’s gaze again. “Seems you and Ryan talked about several things.”

Something about the way Merline spoke had Brooke’s instinct for caution firing. “Just about the number for dinner since I forgot to ask you.”

“He should have also made clear that we don’t expect you to cook and not eat.”

Now that Merline had put the idea of eating in her head, Brooke realized how hungry she was. As if to put an exclamation point on that thought, her stomach growled.

Merline laughed. “Go on and fill a plate.”

As Brooke did exactly that, she wondered if the now-retired Trudy had ever eaten with the family. And if not, why was Merline suddenly changing things? Or maybe Trudy had just had a family of her own to get home to, something very much absent from Brooke’s life.

When she finished filling her plate, she turned toward the dining room. Awkwardness cut through her like a chilly wind off the Potomac River.

Merline waved her toward a chair between Evan and his uncle Simon. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

“Yeah. Shy doesn’t work around here,” Simon said.

When she took her seat, she looked up and realized Ryan was sitting directly across from her. He averted his eyes, as if she’d caught him watching her.

Or maybe she was just letting paranoia get the better of her, something she’d sworn not to let happen. Whether or not she got this job, she was starting a new life. And she refused to let the old one have control over her anymore.

Despite her determination, however, she still froze when Simon grabbed her hand.

“Oh my God, marry me.”

The comment and look of ecstasy on his face hit her as so ridiculous that she laughed—a short burst that escaped before she could stop it.

“What?” Simon asked. “This is the best thing I’ve tasted in … ever.”

“Hey!” Merline said.

“Except your food, of course,” he quickly added.

“Well, that’s it, I’m afraid,” Merline said. “Can’t have that kind of competition.”

Brooke’s heart sank. After all her work, she would leave this ranch as broke as she’d arrived here. More days or weeks living off of her savings.

Simon squeezed her hand and leaned closer. “She’s just kidding.”

Brooke turned her attention to Merline for confirmation.

Merline grinned with mischief. “I am kidding. How can I not hire you? You’ve already got at least one of my sons proposing marriage.”

Everyone laughed, including Brooke. She used the moment to pull her hand free of Simon’s. He seemed like a nice guy, funny, handsome, but she wasn’t going down that road again anytime soon. Maybe ever.

“Thank you,” she said to Merline.

“You might not be thanking me after a few more days with this bunch.”

But as she looked around the table, at the smiling and teasing and obvious love, she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. If she couldn’t have that kind of life herself, she could at least bask in the reflected glow of people who did.

When her gaze met Ryan’s again, he offered a momentary smile before returning his attention to the food on his plate. Maybe she was crazy, but she had the oddest feeling he’d been staring at her as she was focused in other directions. Her skin warmed at the thought that, as soon as she lowered her gaze, he might do so again.

And part of her really liked the idea that he might want to.

Chapter Two

It took more effort than he was used to expending, but Ryan did his best not to pay undue attention to Brooke. Or to the way his mother kept watching him, as if she knew he was attracted to the new cook. Just last week, Simon and he had lamented their mother’s increased interest in matchmaking for her two unattached sons on the heels of Nathan’s marriage to Grace.

“She thinks she’s one of Cupid’s minions,” Simon had said as they sat on the corral fence after dinner one night.

“Yeah. She’s been bitten by the grandma bug.”

“And I don’t think Nathan and Grace having another baby on the way is going to be enough to satisfy her. We better keep on our toes and prepare to run fast.”

They’d laughed at the time, but now he wondered if Simon had changed his mind. Granted, his oldest brother was the family flirt, but he sure seemed to be trying extra hard this time. That whole impromptu marriage proposal had been a bit over the top, even for Simon.

Ryan tried to ignore the fact that it annoyed him.

Fact was, he should encourage Simon. Brooke seemed nice, could cook like a taste bud’s dream come true, and was pretty. No, she was more than pretty. But he was afraid to put a name to how he thought she looked. He didn’t want to risk wanting something he couldn’t have. Shouldn’t have.

And the last thing any woman needed in her life was him.

“Ryan, why don’t you help Brooke with the dishes?” his mom said as they all began scooting away from the table.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” Grace said.

“Nonsense. You worked hard all day.”

Ryan thought about how he’d worked nearly nonstop since daybreak, but he didn’t point out that fact, didn’t even meet his mom’s eyes. Objecting would just draw more attention to the situation and give his mom fuel for her matchmaking fire.

“Sure.” He stood and started collecting dishes.

When Brooke joined him in the kitchen, she started loading the dishwasher as he scraped what little was left on the plates into the trash.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Go on and be with your family.”

“I’d rather do this. I think Mom has a Scrabble tournament planned.”

“I heard that,” Merline called out from the dining room. “Don’t think either one of you is getting out of it.”

He caught the surprise on Brooke’s face that was coated with a layer of fatigue. With a lowered voice, he said, “Don’t feel you have to stay.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s good to get to know everyone I’ll be interacting with.”

Working together, they finished the cleaning by the time his mom got the Scrabble board set up.

“How are we doing teams this time?” Simon asked as he stepped over Nathan’s outstretched legs and took a seat in the living area.

“Guys versus girls,” Grace said.

“Oh, no,” Nathan said. “You all killed us last time.”

Grace smiled wide. “That’s why I like that team structure.”

“How do you think we should divide?” his mom asked, looking at Brooke.

“Uh … names in a hat?”

“Well, we got plenty of hats,” his dad said, grabbing his from the rack by the front door. He tossed it bottom up on the coffee table made from a slab of a huge tree trunk polished to a high shine.

Ryan wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be on Brooke’s team or not. On the one hand, he had to get used to her and over the initial attraction. He didn’t want to deal with the awkward feelings every time he saw her. On the other, what if being around her just increased the attraction? That was a complication he didn’t need in his otherwise simple life.

He shook his head, telling himself just to focus on getting through family night. He could do that—he certainly had enough practice.

They ended up on the same team, and in the shifting of positions he found himself sitting next to Brooke on the couch.

She smelled like roses.

He took a slow, deep breath so no one would notice. Of all the flowers, she had to smell like roses. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the day when he’d been sleeping on the side of the road outside Baghdad. The air had been choked with dust, heat and sweat, not fit for man or any other living creature to breathe. Out of nowhere, he’d wanted nothing more than to smell roses. It hadn’t made sense. The Hill Country was filled with wildflowers, and his family didn’t grow roses. But the desire to smell them had taken over and dogged him for days. He’d begun to think the heat had finally used his skull for an oven and baked his brain.

When he’d been shipped back to San Antonio to mend, he’d asked one of the nurses at Brooke Army Medical Center to get him a vase of roses. She hadn’t even blinked at his request, making him wonder what other types of odd things broken soldiers asked for after they’d been to hell and back. The scent of those roses had helped him more than the therapy sessions during those early days, convincing him each day that he was truly back home in Texas.

“Yoo-hoo, Earth to Ryan,” Simon said.

Ryan opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented.

“It’s your turn to draw tiles,” Brooke said beside him. Her voice sounded as soft as those yellow rose petals.

He plunged himself fully into the present, drawing letter tiles from the bag and refusing to catch his mother’s gaze. He suspected she would be wearing that too-familiar expression of worry for him. She thought she hid it well, but she was wrong.

When he revealed the three tiles to his teammates, Nathan groaned at the Q. But Brooke took it and the other tiles and immediately started rearranging letters. He did his best to hide the wide grin that wanted to spread across his face at the word her quick fingers produced. If the other team made the right play, his was going to be off to a great start. Suddenly, a game of family Scrabble didn’t seem like such a hardship.

BROOKE KEPT HER expression neutral, but she almost lost it when she glanced at Ryan and saw the edges of his mouth twitching. If she knew him better, she’d be tempted to nudge him in the ribs to keep him from giving away that she had a high-scoring play in the making.

“They’ve got something good,” Grace said as she nodded toward him.

Simon looked up from examining his team’s tiles. “What? No one’s even made a play yet.”

Brooke kept her competitive spirit tamped down until the other team placed their opening word, stare, on the board for a total of ten points. Only when she put her team’s last tile into its spot did she meet the eyes of her opponents and smile.

The forty points of oblique stared up at everyone.

Merline slapped her palms against her knees and laughed. “We’ve got ourselves a serious player.” Her pale blue eyes sparkled, and Brooke recognized the look of excitement at the upcoming challenge.

As play after play was made, Brooke wondered if there had ever been a more raucous game of Scrabble. She found herself laughing along with everyone else, and it felt good, like a massage to her bruised emotions. It’d been a long time since she’d had anything to laugh about. It was nice to be appreciated again, too, and that’s exactly how she felt when the various members of the Teague family went back for seconds—or in a couple of cases, thirds—of her desserts.

“I’m going to be fat in a week with your cooking, Brooke,” Simon said as he polished off another slice of orange-juice cake.

“You’ll just have to find more crooks to chase,” Ryan said.

Crooks? She met Ryan’s gaze, and he must have seen her unspoken question.

“Simon is our local sheriff. Ranching isn’t enough for him. He has to chase bad guys, too.” Ryan said it as though it was an old joke, but the revelation caused Brooke’s mood to shift. She thought of the last time she’d spoken with police officers and the horrible aftermath. Would Simon be able to tell she was hiding something?

Fatigue settled on her like a heavy, suffocating second skin. As soon as her team pulled out a win, she decided to make her exit. Luckily, it appeared as if everyone else was calling it an evening, too, so she didn’t stand out.

“Sorry if it felt like you got a bit of trial by fire tonight,” Merline said as she accompanied Brooke into the kitchen.

“It was actually fun. Can’t tell you the last time I played a board game.”

“Good. Now do you need some time off tomorrow to get settled?”

“No, I can be here whenever you need me.” She tried not to think about how early life got started on a ranch and how tired she was.

They nailed down the details of the work schedule for the next few days, and it felt good to have a solid plan instead of the uncertainty that had been her constant companion lately.

“Where are you staying?” Merline asked.

Heat crept up Brooke’s neck. “The Rochester.” The lofty name did not fit the run-down little motel a few miles outside Blue Falls, but the place had two things going for it. One, the low rental rate. Two, never in a million years would Chris think to look for her there.

“Oh, honey. You can’t stay there,” Merline said. “It’s awful.”

“It’s okay. I’ll look for a more permanent place on my day off.”

“No. You can stay here tonight if you don’t mind the couch. The bedrooms are full of stuff or torn apart for remodeling. And all the cabins are occupied.”

“Really, I’ll be fine.”

“What about the bunkhouse?” Ryan piped up.

Brooke looked across the kitchen island to where he stood on the other side. He didn’t meet her eyes as he twirled an apple that sat atop a pile in a large wooden bowl.

“That’s a good idea,” Merline said. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and way better than the Rochester. Ryan, can you help Brooke get settled in the bunkhouse?”

He hesitated for a moment, as if he might be regretting opening his mouth, before finally nodding. “Sure.”

Brooke thought about objecting again, saying she could manage on her own if they’d just point her in the right direction. But she was exhausted, and the quicker she found a bed to collapse on the better. She could go get what little she’d left in her motel room tomorrow.

After another round of good-nights, she followed Ryan outside, smiling at him as he held the kitchen’s screen door open for her. Chris had held the door for her countless times, but looking back she realized it was all for show, to keep up his image. With Ryan, she got the impression that courtesy was as natural as breathing, that he would never not think to do it. She didn’t know how she’d deduced that about him after so short an acquaintance, but she believed in the absolute truth of it.

“The bunkhouse isn’t far,” he said as they stepped out into the night.

“Good. I think I’m even more tired than I realized.”

“You’ll sleep like a baby out here then.”

She nearly sighed out loud at the wonderful thought. The night before had been anything but restful. On top of her nervousness about her interview was the fact that guests of the Rochester obviously didn’t stay there to sleep.

When they reached her used Focus, packed like the proverbial sardine can, she tried not to think how its purchase was another step she’d taken to distance herself from all that had come before. She hated it. Not that there was anything wrong with the car. Goodness knew it was better than the beater she’d driven in high school and college. But it was what it represented. Like staying at the Rochester, the compact blue car was part of a plan to be as little like her true self as possible. The only thing she hated more than the car was Chris—and her own blindness to what he truly was.

“Got any room in there for a passenger?” Ryan asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

She eyed the pile of stuff on the passenger seat. “If you don’t mind holding a box. It’s that or strap you to the hood.”

He laughed. “I’ll take the box.”

After a bit of rearranging, they got into the car. She knew Ryan was tall, but he seemed even more so wedged into her passenger seat.

“Sorry about the tight fit,” she said.

“No problem. We’re not going far.” He directed her past the barn and down a dirt road that meandered along a fence. It was so dark outside that she couldn’t see anything beyond that. She almost commented on it but didn’t want her remarks on his home to potentially invite questions about where she was from.

Ryan seemed content to sit quietly. She’d noticed he was less talkative than his brothers, particularly Simon. She hoped Simon would tire of his flirting if she didn’t respond in kind. But she had to be careful not to be seen as rude either. She’d worked with enough hotel convention-goers to be able to deal with lots of personality types, but she’d always known they’d be gone within a week. For as long as she stayed at Vista Hills, she’d have to see Simon.

“There it is.” Ryan pointed through the windshield.

Her headlights illuminated a low, rustic building surrounded by sprawling, gnarled trees. Live oaks. While all trees were technically alive, the live oaks seemed more so, as if they had unique personalities. She pulled into a clear area that bore the marks of earlier vehicles.

“Hope you’re not expecting four-star accommodations,” Ryan said as she cut the engine.

She gave him a raised-eyebrow look and allowed herself to relax a little. “You do remember I was staying at the Rochester, right?”

He smiled. “Good point.”

After Ryan got out of the car, it took Brooke a moment to recover from seeing his simple smile up close. It’d been warm, easy, not loaded with expectations.

Maybe Simon wasn’t the Teague brother she was going to have to guard against.

“What do you need tonight?” Ryan asked when she got out of the car.

“I’ll get it,” she said as she started toward the back of the car.

Ryan held up a hand to halt her. “You’re in Texas now. Chivalry isn’t quite dead here yet.”

“You could tell I’m not from Texas?”

“Not enough twang.”

This time, she was the one to smile. “I’ll have to work on that.”

“So?” Ryan nodded toward the car.

She relented and pointed at the backseat. “The suitcase on top.”

Ryan retrieved the suitcase then led her toward the bunkhouse. He unlocked the front door and turned on an overhead light to reveal a main room that was half living room, half kitchen like the main house, only on a much smaller, more rustic scale. A nondescript tan couch, two matching chairs and a scuffed coffee table filled the foreground. Beyond the couch was a simple kitchen a few decades out of date with its Formica countertops and a table suitable for a fifties sitcom.

Ryan sat the suitcase next to the couch. “Nobody’s lived here in years, not since we started focusing more on the guest ranch than raising horses. All our ranch hands now are married, so they have their own homes.”

“It’s nice of you all to let me stay here tonight. I’ll look for another place as soon as I can.”

“No hurry.”

Did he want her to stay here at the ranch? She looked away, telling herself she was being silly. Plus, it didn’t matter. Ryan Teague was simply her employer’s son, would never be more than possibly a casual friend. And it was better that way.

A wave of loneliness as heavy as her fatigue descended on Brooke. Was this the way it was going to be the rest of her life—living a lie and being alone?

“You okay?” Ryan took a few steps closer to her, and she had to fight the deep urge to seek a hug from him, this man she barely knew.

“Yeah, just tired.” She hoped he couldn’t tell how choked her voice sounded. She kept her eyes averted so he couldn’t see the tears welling in them.

When he didn’t respond, she dared a glance and saw recognition in his expression. He knew more than exhaustion was tugging at her, but he didn’t push the subject. Instead, he took a step back and gestured toward the two doors on each side of the main room.

“There are four bedrooms with small bathrooms, all pretty much alike. Make yourself at home.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. This might be where she was starting over, but it wasn’t her home. Would any place ever feel like home again?

“I’ll go so you can get some rest before you collapse.”

Brooke started to move toward the door. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”

He smiled. “I think I can make it.”

“You’re sure?”

He caught her gaze. “Brooke, go to sleep.”

She nodded but still followed him. “Thank you, for everything.”

He gripped the edge of the door as he looked back at her, and she found herself focusing on the lean muscles in his tanned forearm. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Trust me, you did.” She wished she could tell him just how much his small kindnesses meant to her, how they’d kept her propped up when she’d been on the verge of collapse.

He seemed to accept her words. “Good night, Brooke.”

“Good night.”

Despite being more tired than she’d ever been in her life, she slipped out onto the bunkhouse’s porch and watched as Ryan made his way down the road, until the night swallowed him.

The moment she could no longer see him, the deepness of the night grew ominous. She told herself it was only the paranoia taunting her again, but she still hurried inside and locked the door behind her. At the end of her ability to think clearly, she stumbled into the first bedroom she came to. She didn’t even change before falling onto the bed.

As her eyes closed and sleep started to overtake her, her brain replayed the sight of Ryan walking down the road in the dark. Only this time, he turned just before stepping out of sight and smiled at her. Warmth wrapped her in its embrace, and her heart drifted weightless as a child’s balloon. Her lips curved in a return smile as the last light of consciousness went out.

IN THE MORNING, he’d have to find his brain, because he’d obviously lost it sometime since meeting Brooke Vincent. How many times had he told himself to steer away from her since the punch of that first unexpected meeting in the kitchen? So what did he do instead? Suggest she stay at the ranch.

But the idea of her spending another night at the Rochester made his skin crawl. That place wasn’t safe, not for a woman with big doe eyes and a vulnerable smile. His fists clenched as he reached the area outside his parents’ house.

“Man, what’s up?” Simon asked as he descended the front steps. “I go to the john for five seconds and you make off with my girl.”

“Your girl?” Ryan tried to keep his tone light, but it was damned hard.

“What, is she yours?”

Ryan stopped walking and faced his brother. “She’s not anyone’s. Geez, dude, she just got here. You letting Mom’s matchmaking get to you?”

“This has nothing to do with Mom and everything to do with that gorgeous new cook. You did notice her being pretty, right?”

Ryan started walking again. “I’m not blind.”

Simon stopped at the back of his truck. “Are you interested in her?”

Yes, you fool.

“You know me, would rather be on my own.” Ryan met Simon’s gaze, well-practiced at not showing what he was really feeling.

And what was that? Anger? Frustration? Jealousy? How could he be jealous when he’d known Brooke less than a day? Maybe it was anger that he no longer considered himself fit for a romantic relationship, nothing more than a casual date, anyway.

Simon seemed to accept his assertion at face value. “So, think she’d go out with me?”

“Not if she’s smart.”

Simon laughed. “You’re no help at all. Man, I wish I had a sister.”

And Ryan wished his mom had hired a safe woman, one old enough to be his grandmother.

We don’t all get what we wish for, do we?

“Want a ride?” Simon asked.

“What is it with people thinking I can’t walk two feet?” Ryan muttered.

“What?”

“No, I’m good.” Before he managed to make a complete idiot of himself, he headed toward home.

But when he got there and undressed, sleep remained elusive. Despite a long day in the shop, he stared at the ceiling as awake as he’d been at noon. Might as well get some more work done. He put his clothes back on and trudged out to the shop. He consulted his list of orders but didn’t feel inspired to work on any of them.

He sank onto the wooden stool next to his large workbench. He reached for the one thing that got him through nights when sleep refused to pay a call. The block of wood revealed only the hint of an angel’s outline. He closed his eyes and mentally scanned the shelf of angels that sat in his bedroom, remembering their details, each one different. When he opened his eyes and ran his fingertips over the surface of the wood, he fixed an image in his mind and started to carve, chipping away to find the angel buried inside the wood.

An hour passed with the chip and scrape of his carving tools against wood the only sound. He lifted the new figure toward his lips and blew away the shavings. An angel stared up at him—an angel with big doe eyes.

Chapter Three

Someone had painted her eyes shut. Or glued the lids together, because they refused to obey her brain’s command to lift. Somewhere in her memory lay a reason why she needed to open her eyes, to move, to wake up.

Brooke sat up so quickly the resulting head rush made her blink and press the base of her palm against her temple. Once her vision cleared, pieces of memory switched her unfamiliar surroundings into familiar. She was in Texas, the Vista Hills Guest Ranch, at her new job.

Her job! She looked out the window, at the strong sunlight pouring into the bedroom. She leapt from the bed and raced to her suitcase for clean clothes. No time to shower. As she stripped off the previous day’s clothes, she searched the kitchen cabinets for a glass then rinsed her mouth. She paused in putting on a fresh blouse to search her purse for a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth.

Her hairbrush, along with the toothbrush and toothpaste, was back at the Rochester, so she finger-combed her hair as she raced for the door.

Please, don’t let me have lost this job before I’ve even really started.

She yanked the door open then yelped when she almost crashed into Ryan. Instinct made her lift her hands, and they made contact with his chest in the same moment he grasped her upper arms.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m late,” she said as she tried to catch her breath. She stepped back, breaking the contact between them. “I can’t believe I’m late on my first day. I’m never late.”

When she skirted Ryan and ran down the steps toward her car, he kept pace with her.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Mom figured you’d need today to rest and get settled.”

“But we made plans last night for me to cook breakfast for the guests this morning.”

“She took care of it.”

Brooke still didn’t pause as she rounded the back of her car. Ryan slipped into the passenger seat as he had the night before. Why was he here?

“You can slow down,” he said as she started the car.

“I can’t lose this job.” She hadn’t meant for her desperation to go verbal, but her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders.

“Mom isn’t going to fire you.”

“You don’t know that. Being late on the first day doesn’t look good.”

“I do know because she’s the one who sent me out here to leave you a note saying it was fine if you wanted to start tomorrow.” He held up a folded piece of paper.

So he hadn’t appeared on her doorstep on his own.

Good. If he wasn’t interested in her, that would make interacting with him way easier than with Simon, who’d kept up a constant barrage of flirting the night before. Of course, neither brother was her chief concern at the moment. She raced down the dirt road, leaving a whirl of dust in her car’s wake.

“You might want to—” Ryan didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before she hit a pothole so hard her teeth slammed together.

“Sorry,” she said as she spared a glance for Ryan.

“That’s okay. I like whiplash.”

Horrified, she slowed to a near stop. “Did I hurt you?”

“Here’s a tip. We tend to joke a good amount, so you’ll want to learn to tell when we’re teasing.”

“So, you’re okay?”

He leaned against the door. “Yes.”

Brooke returned her attention to the road then drove the rest of the way to the main house and parked. She didn’t even look at Ryan as she bolted from the car, simply tossing a “‘Bye” over her shoulder. If he responded, she didn’t stick around to hear.

When she hurried into the kitchen, she found Merline putting away dishes.

“Good morning,” Merline said in a cheery voice. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m so sorry I overslept. It’ll never happen again.” She stepped forward to take over putting the dishes in the cabinets.

Merline placed her hand atop Brooke’s. “It’s okay. Didn’t you get the note I sent?”

“Ryan told me about it, but you and I made arrangements last night, ones I’ve already failed to fulfill.” Her mother had taught her at a young age the importance of fulfilling one’s responsibilities, so by being late she felt as if she were failing not only Merline but her mother as well.

Merline squeezed Brooke’s hand. “Listen to me. Everything is fine. Your job is secure unless you suddenly poison all the guests. That would certainly be bad for business. I saw how exhausted you were last night and should have told you then to take today off.”

“Really, I’m ready to work.”

Merline smiled. “Of that I have no doubt.” With a final squeeze, Merline returned to her task. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can make lunch for the guests. They’ll be back from a wildflower tour then.”

“Thank you.”

They worked side by side the rest of the morning, preparing lunch for the twenty guests. Brooke’s heart twinged because the situation reminded her so much of days spent in the kitchen with her mother. The two women looked nothing alike. Merline had a silver bob and remarkably smooth skin for a woman her age. Brooke’s mom had looked more like an older version of Susan Sarandon, but with a tougher life. Despite the differences, Merline’s kindness started to fill the hole left by Brooke’s mom’s death.

“You seem to lose yourself when you’re cooking,” Merline said as Brooke slid two cherry pies from the oven.

“I’m sorry. Did I miss something?” She could hear her mother’s voice, commenting on Brooke’s constant daydreaming. Back then, she couldn’t wait to leave home, see something new, be someone important. Now, she’d give anything to be able to step into her mother’s West Virginia kitchen and feel her comforting arms around her.

“No. I was just watching the look you get when you’re cooking, like you’re in another world.”

Brooke sat the pies on the island to cool. “There is something about it that takes me away.”

“That’s how I feel when I’m painting.”

“You’re an artist?”

“Evidently.” Merline laughed. “It’s a recent realization. We’re beginning to be overrun with creative types around here. I’m painting. Grace does interior design. Ryan’s furniture.”

Brooke nearly looked up at Ryan’s name but caught herself in time. She’d picked up on just how much Merline had talked about her sons throughout the morning, particularly the two unmarried ones. She wondered if Nathan’s recent wedding had Merline on the hunt for wives for Simon and Ryan. Brooke swallowed, wondering if she’d ever be able to trust a man enough again to be willing to get married. After all, she’d thought Chris was going to be that man.

How wrong she’d been.

If there was anything in her life to be grateful for, it was the fact that Chris had shown his true colors, the man he was behind the mask of his public persona, before she’d had the misfortune of marrying him.

Thankfully, the guests returned, and talk of available Teague sons was replaced with feeding hungry tourists. As she served food and made small talk, she relaxed even more. It felt a little like her old job, making convention guests happy. Only now she accomplished the task by preparing chicken salad and cherry pie rather than consulting with chefs on the fare for special events and hotel guests on the perfect meeting space.

She insisted on doing all the cleanup while Merline retreated to her home office to work. Once Brooke was finished and had planned for dinner, she spread out the local classifieds on the dining room table.

She skipped over the sections that held no interest before locating the For Rent listings. With red pen ready to circle possibilities, she started reading. As it turned out, she didn’t need the pen. What few availabilities she found came with pricey rental rates attached, no doubt a result of Blue Falls being a popular tourist destination.

Brooke closed the paper, already planning to seek information about neighboring communities. How far would she have to go to find something more within her budget? She feared she’d encounter the same problem throughout the Hill Country.

“Find anything?” Merline pointed at the newspaper as she walked into the dining room.

“Not yet. But I’ll get a room in town until I do.” And try not to cringe at the price of the temporary space to lay her head at night.

“Don’t be silly. I was thinking, why don’t you live permanently in the bunkhouse? It’s just sitting out there. You could fix it up however you like.”

The convenience beckoned Brooke. Plus, she liked the idea of not having to venture forth from the ranch more than necessary. She had to believe that the longer she was gone, the less Chris would look for her. Eventually, he’d stop. At least that’s what she told herself.

“Only if I pay rent.”

“I think we can work something out. Now, I’m running into town for a while. Do we need anything?”

Brooke shook her head. “I’m going to do some meal planning this afternoon and may shop after that.”

“Sounds good. See you at dinner.”

Brooke decided to use the sliver of free time she had to go check out of the Rochester. But when she walked outside, she noticed the right rear tire on her car was flat.

She sighed, imagining a day when everything would go perfectly—none of this one step forward, two steps back stuff. She straightened and took a deep breath. No focusing on the negative. She had a job and a place to stay. Compared to only a few short weeks ago, today was absolutely peachy.

Telling herself that things could be so much worse, she opened the trunk and started pulling out boxes and bags filled with pieces of her life. Winter clothes, books, childhood mementoes. By the time she reached the spare tire, sweat was rolling down her back and stinging her eyes.

“Come on, damn you,” she said as she tugged the tire out of the trunk. When it finally came free, she stumbled and nearly fell on her butt. The tire slipped from her slick fingers and landed with a thunk. She eyed the tire then mashed it with her foot. Also flat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She kicked the useless ring of rubber.

“Careful. It might kick back.”

Brooke wiped the sweat from her eyes so she could see who was speaking. Nathan stood a few feet away.

“Sorry I didn’t see you sooner or I would have come out to help,” he said.

“It’s okay.”

“Looks like you’re in need of some tire patching.”

“That or I just shoot the car and put it out of its misery.”

Nathan smiled. “Perhaps a bit drastic. We’ve got a friend with a garage in town. He can fix the tires in no time. Dad and I can’t get away right now. Have to give some riding lessons. But Ryan can probably run you into town.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

“He won’t mind.” Nathan pointed down the driveway. “Hang a left at that mailbox. Ryan’s place is back there.”

So he lived on the property, too. She’d wondered since he tended to pop up often, but she hadn’t wanted to cause speculation by asking.

“Okay, thanks.”

Nathan tapped the front edge of his hat. “Glad to help.”

After Nathan returned to the barn, she shoved her belongings back in the trunk before heading for Ryan’s.

No matter how much she told herself she couldn’t be interested in Ryan Teague, part of her wasn’t having it. In fact, denying the attraction seemed only to make it stronger. Her nervousness grew with each step down the driveway. When she reached Ryan’s mailbox, she stopped and stared up the hill in front of her. Somewhere beyond that hill was a good-looking man who did funny things to her pulse without even trying.

She shook her extremities like a runner trying to rid herself of tension before a race. Maybe the key to getting past this initial attraction was to just acknowledge it—but only to herself. Okay, so Ryan was totally drool-worthy, and he seemed like a nice guy. Based on appearances alone, he was the kind of guy dreams were made of.

But dreams sometimes turned into nightmares.

Stop it!

Brooke took in a slow, cedar-scented breath. No more thinking about the past. From this moment on, she was Miss Looking Forward, at whatever the future might bring. As she started up the hill, her steps fell lighter against the gravel. Hey, she liked this new positive attitude. She felt as if she was shedding anxiety on the road behind her. It could stay there and be ground down even further on her way out. Maybe she’d give it a swift kick for good measure.

At the top of the hill, she spotted Ryan’s home—

a small cabin with what looked like an outdoor woodshop at one end. She wondered what kind of furniture he made. Curiosity as much as necessity drove her forward.

She scanned the outside work area as she approached. Tools and wood shavings lay scattered across a tall workbench. Freshly cut pine and a hint of past fires filled the air. She stepped into the shade provided by the shop’s roof. That’s when she heard cursing from inside the house. She edged closer to the open door.

“Ryan?”

He jerked at the sound of her voice, turning enough that she was able to see the blood on the hand he held under a stream of water flowing from the kitchen faucet.

She rushed toward him. “Oh, Ryan, what did you do?”

“Knife slipped.” His words came out slowly, and now that she was closer she could see how pale he looked.

Brooke took hold of his arm and gently guided his hand back under the water. He closed his eyes and shook as his blood began to mix with the water flowing down the drain. She had to distract him so he wouldn’t pass out.

“Where are your clean hand towels?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he opened his eyes a fraction. “Drawer in front of you.”

She retrieved a mostly white towel and set it on the counter next to the sink. “So, how’d you manage this feat of brilliance?”

“Unparalleled talent?”

She laughed. If he could joke, maybe he wouldn’t collapse in the middle of the floor. “I’ve heard of putting blood, sweat and tears into your work, but this seems a tad excessive.”

When she squeezed some soap into her hand and proceeded to wash the wound on his left palm, she noticed he gripped the edge of the sink tighter with his other hand.

“We’re almost done.” She rinsed the soap away then shut off the water. Careful not to hurt him more than necessary, she pressed the towel against the wound and lifted his hand level with his shoulders. With her other hand pressed against his back, she guided him toward a comfy-looking chair facing his TV.

“I’m fine,” he said just as he reached for the back of the chair to steady himself.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“That sounded sarcastic.”

“Really?” She smiled when he looked at her. “I had no idea. Now, how about you sit before you fall?”

He didn’t argue. Once he was seated and holding the towel against his cut, she returned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the dish drainer. As she filled it with water, she tried to get her racing pulse under control. She was here just to help him, not to think about the texture of his work-roughened hands or the hard heat of his back. Not how pretty his eyes were up close. Not how easy she found it to be with him, especially in the past few minutes when parts of her true personality had shown themselves.

Get a grip.

She took the glass of cold water back to Ryan. “Here.” She extended the glass as she sat on the end of the coffee table in front of him. When he reached for the glass, she resumed pressing the towel against his palm. “I think you need a few stitches.”

Ryan shook his head. “It’ll be okay.”

“This part of one of those tough-guy routines?”

“No. Just don’t like hospitals.”

“You and most of the rest of the population.”

“Really, no need for stitches. I’ve had worse.”

Something about the way he said it, low and far away like the previous wounds were as much emotional as physical, kept her from insisting he go to the hospital. After all, she couldn’t force him.

“Okay, then, where are your first-aid supplies?”

He met her eyes and she got the feeling that he changed whatever he’d been about to say. “Under the bathroom sink.”

As she walked farther into his house, she couldn’t help the feeling that she was also stepping deeper into his life.

Ryan’s bathroom was classic bachelor. Single towel hanging over the shower rod. Shaving cream, razor, hairbrush and a half-used bar of soap on the sink. No frills. Even with so little to see, it felt strangely intimate to be standing in the midst of it. Her gaze drifted toward the shower and her imagination started forming a picture of Ryan below an entirely different flow of water. She jerked her attention back to the sink and knelt to retrieve the first aid supplies.

When she stood, Brooke eyed her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t even thought before running into Ryan’s house to help him. Not that she could have left him alone and injured, but it had felt oddly natural. Maybe they were just in the early stages of an easy friendship. That certainly would be nice. New life, new friends. As long as she didn’t get too close.

“You find everything?” Ryan called out.

“Yeah.” She returned to the living room.

“I’ve stopped bleeding like a stuck pig,” he said.

“Yay, progress.” Brooke resumed her spot on the end of the coffee table. “Looks like your color’s coming back, too. You were pulling a Casper a few minutes ago.”

“Can’t say I’m a fan of the sight of blood.” There it was again, an echo of meaning beyond the actual words.

She took his hand in hers, ignoring the zing of unwise awareness, and removed the bloodstained towel. “Then I suggest not stabbing yourself.”

When he smiled, she smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

She cleaned the wound, washing away the last remnants of blood, then applied antibacterial cream and a gauze bandage.

“She cooks, she plays a mean game of Scrabble and makes a pretty fair nurse.”

“A necessity when your sister is the clumsiest person on the planet.” Brooke wasn’t sure why she’d said that, but Holly’s various mishaps had been what sprang into her mind. She hadn’t revealed too much, and if she kept too private that might invite as many unwanted questions as being too open. The trick was finding the right balance between saying enough but not too much.

Mentioning Holly brought on a wave of homesickness—not for her condo in Arlington but for the mountains of West Virginia and her older sister, her only remaining family.

“You all right?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah.” Brooke realized she was still holding Ryan’s hand so she released it and scooted back on the table. “How does your hand feel?”

“Like some idiot stabbed it with a carving knife.”

“Hey, accidents happen.”

He glanced out the door toward his shop. “But never at a good time.”

“Is there ever a good time to stab yourself?”

He lifted his good hand from the arm of the chair then let it drop. “You have a point.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“You a wood carver by chance?”

“Nope, sorry.” She stood and walked toward the door. “Anything else on your to-do list?”

“I have a table and chairs ready to deliver. Maybe I can get Simon or Nathan to help.”

“Or me.” She lifted her hands, holding the palms out, and wiggled her fingers. “See, two good hands.”

“You looking for a second job?”

“How much you paying?”

He raised an eyebrow. “How much do you charge?”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself against a flicker of innuendo she thought she might be imagining. She leaned against the doorframe. “Actually, I just need a ride into town. You might be the idiot who stabbed himself, but I’m the idiot who barreled into that pothole this morning.”

“And you have a flat.”

“Two.”

“Talk about going overboard.”

Laughter bubbled up in Brooke. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

Ryan rose from the chair, steady on his feet this time. In the small space, he appeared taller, broader. Had she just made an offer that would have her spending more time with him instead of less? Had she spent too much time in the sun while digging out that useless spare tire?

Or had the feel of Ryan’s hand in her own caused her attraction to overrule her common sense?

Of the two idiots in the room, she was definitely the bigger.

Chapter Four

Ryan decided not to examine his reasons for accepting Brooke’s offer too closely. He was just going to stick with the fact that he needed help until his hand healed. He still couldn’t believe the klutzy move. It was a wonder the U.S. Army had ever allowed him to pack a gun.

“Turn here.” He pointed to the street coming up on the right. “We’ll drop off your tires first so Greg can have them ready before we head back to the ranch.”

Brooke made the turn. She’d grown quiet on the ride into town, but it didn’t bother him. For the most part, he wasn’t a chatty guy. He’d already talked to her more in their short acquaintance than he had to some of his neighbors in months.

“Hey, there’s your mom.” She pointed out his side of the windshield.

“Yeah, that’s her art gallery.”

“She has a gallery? Wow. She mentioned painting, but I had no idea it was a profession.”

“It’s still pretty new. Grace runs her interior design business out of there, too. Also has the new-car smell.”

Brooke smiled. “You Teagues seem to be a talented bunch.” She nodded toward the furniture riding in the bed of the truck. “Including you.”

“It’s a living.”

“It’s art as much as painting.”

He barely knew this woman, but that simple praise from her sent a wave of warmth through him.

“I can’t imagine doing anything remotely artistic,” she said.

“But you do. With food.”

She glanced at him. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a job.”

“Building furniture is just my job.” Granted, he enjoyed it, but wasn’t that what you wanted from a job, something that wasn’t drudgery? “Do you not like cooking?” He’d have sworn otherwise.

“Oh, I love to cook. Just never thought of it as art before. At least not what I prepare.”

“Take it from the guy whose fanciest dish is mac and cheese from a box, what you do is art.”

She smiled. “Maybe I should autograph all my dishes then.”

His own smile responded to hers. “Maybe you should.”

He directed her to Greg’s garage then hopped out to find his friend. Greg wandered out in his grease-stained jeans and Longhorns T-shirt, wiping his hands on a shop towel.

“Hey, Ry. What’s up, man?” That’s when Greg noticed Brooke approaching. “Damn, I heard the new cook was hot, but Simon was holding out.”

Ryan suspected Brooke was close enough to overhear. “Classy,” he said and punched Greg in the shoulder. “I told her you could fix a couple of flat tires this afternoon. Don’t make me into a liar.”

Greg extended his hand. “Greg Bozeman, ma’am. And for you, all these other jokers can wait.”

Ryan noticed a touch of unease in Brooke’s eyes as she shook Greg’s hand, and he got the feeling it didn’t have anything to do with Greg’s grease-stained fingers. Maybe she just didn’t want to encourage any flirting. Goodness knew she was getting enough of that from Simon.

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“How are you liking your new job?” Greg shoved his hands into his pockets, as if trying to hide them. Brooke seemed to have all the men she met acting out of character.

“I like it.”

“I see you’re having to beat these Teague boys off with a stick.” He gestured toward Ryan’s bandaged hand.

Brooke looked startled for a moment then recovered. “No, he managed that all by himself.”

“No doubt to earn some sympathy from a pretty lady.”

Ryan resisted slugging Greg again. “On that note …” He turned for the truck. “Get those tires done or I’m going to Bernie’s next time.”

Greg laughed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

After Greg retrieved the flat tires, Brooke climbed into the driver’s seat. Ryan thought about offering to drive, but truth was his hand was throbbing as though he’d stabbed a spear right through it.”

“So Bernie’s is the competition?” she asked once they were back on the road.

Ryan barked out a laugh. “If you can call him that. He’s eight hundred if he’s a day, and he piddles with cars on the days when he doesn’t decide to run a roadside taco stand or go into the Christmas-tree farm business.”

“The resident jack-of-all-trades, huh?”

“And master of none.”

Brooke drove slowly through the main part of town. “Blue Falls seems like a nice place, slow-paced.”

She sounded as if part of her liked the idea of the laid-back way of things here and part didn’t know quite how to adjust to it. He resisted the uncharacteristic urge to delve into her past. It wasn’t his business, and he never said anything that invited others to ask about his past.

“It’s home.”

Before they headed to the Rochester, they made the side trip to the Mayfairs’ house to deliver the table and chairs.

“Looks like you’ve got an eager customer waiting.” Brooke indicated Rob Mayfair standing on the edge of his front porch.

“Yeah, we’re trying to get this inside before his wife, Julie, comes home. It’s an anniversary gift.”

“That’s very sweet.” Brooke parked close to the porch and cut the engine.

As soon as they exited the truck, Rob shot them a wide smile. “You must be doing well, son, if you’ve got a chaffeur now.”

Ryan held up his bandaged hand. “Needed some extra hands.”

“Well, I’m sure hers are a damn sight prettier than yours.”

“Definitely.” Ryan glanced at Brooke in time to notice a flush to her cheeks. He wasn’t prepared for how that simple, innocent look punched him in the chest.

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