“I think … I think I need some fresh air.”

They abandoned the floor midsong, and Sierra made a beeline toward the exit. Outside, the night air was cool against her skin, but the second she looked into Jarrett’s eyes, she was feverish again.

He spoke first. “I hope I didn’t upset you with what I said.”

“No. I’m glad you showed up here. Glad I got to dance with you.”

“We don’t have to stop,” he said, pulling her closer.

“But maybe we should.” Despite her sensible words, she leaned into him, indulging herself in the feel of their bodies tangled together. Her hands glided up his back. This was such a bad idea. “I work for you. My professionalism is very important to me.” She was beginning to realize her job was all she had. “I would never compromise myself with a patient.”

He brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth, and she shivered. “Then I guess,” he said as he lowered his head, “it’s a good thing I’m not your patient.”

Falling for the Rancher

Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TANYA MICHAELS, a New York Times bestselling author and five-time RITA® Award nominee, has been writing love stories since middle school algebra class (which probably explains her maths grades). Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have received awards from readers and reviewers alike. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker. She lives outside Atlanta with her very supportive husband, two highly imaginative kids and a bichon frise who thinks she’s the center of the universe.

While I was writing this book that features someone in health care, my daughter actually had quite a few medical appointments. Thank you to her nurses—and nurses in general—for their time and effort in a demanding profession.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was surreal, staring at a photo of himself and feeling as if he were looking at a stranger. No, that wasn’t exactly right, Jarrett Ross amended, studying the framed rodeo picture on the wall of his father’s home office. The word stranger implied he didn’t know the dark-haired cowboy, that he had no feelings about him one way or the other.

A wave of contempt hit him as he studied the cocky smile and silvery, carefree gaze. Selfish SOB. Six months ago, his only concerns had been which events to ride and which appreciative buckle-bunny to celebrate with after he won. A lot had changed since then.

Six months ago, Vicki wasn’t in a wheelchair.

“Jarrett?”

He turned as Anne Ross entered the room. He’d been so mired in regret he’d almost forgotten he was waiting for his mother. Dread welled as she closed the door behind her. Did they need the privacy because there was more bad news to discuss? He wanted to sink into the leather chair behind the desk and bury his face in his hands. But he remained standing, braced for whatever life threw at them next.

“How did Dad’s appointment go?” Jarrett hadn’t been able to accompany his parents to the hospital this afternoon. There was too much to do at the Twisted R now that he was the only one working the ranch. But even without the countless tasks necessary to keep the place running, he would have stayed behind in case Vicki needed him—not that his sister voluntarily sought out his company these days.

“You know your father. He’s a terrible patient.” Anne rolled her eyes, but her attempt to lighten the situation didn’t mask her concern. “Overall, the doctor says we’re lucky. He’s recovering as well as can be expected from the heart attack and the surgery. The thing is...”

Jarrett gripped the back of the chair, waiting for the other boot to drop.

His mother came forward and sat down in the chair across from him, the stress of the past few months plain on her face. Even more telling was the slump of her shoulders. She’d always had a ramrod-straight posture, whether sitting in a saddle or waltzing across a dance floor with her husband.

“I have to get your father off this ranch,” she said bluntly. “I’ve been after him for years to slow down, to get away for a few days. I even tried to talk him into selling the place.”

That revelation stunned Jarrett. He’d never realized his mom’s complaints about the demands of ranch life were serious. He’d thought her occasional grumbling was generic and innocuous, like jokes about hating Mondays. People griped about it all the time, but no one actually suggested removing Monday from the calendar. It was impossible to imagine Gavin Ross anywhere but at the Twisted R. Not sure how to respond, he paced restlessly around the office. Despite the many hours he’d spent here over the past month, it still felt like trespassing. As if his father should be the one sitting behind the desk making the decisions that would affect the family.

“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

“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?

“Really? With whom?”

“Um...” Sierra rubbed her temple. “Oh, I think that’s my other line. Gotta go, love to Dad, ’bye!” She disconnected before her mother could respond, poured a glass of water and went to the living room, where her laptop sat on the couch. For a moment, she considered checking flights to Africa. Maybe she should follow Paul’s example—go help people in another part of the world and put an ocean between her and her parents.

Instead, she checked email to see if her job search had netted any new responses, then fired off a quick note to Kyle.

Subject: Our Mother Is Off The Rails

Annabel must REALLY love you to put up with Mom. Hope you know what a lucky guy you are. See you in December—and not a single day sooner! S.

Her brother never replied to any of her messages. No doubt he was too busy plotting corporate takeovers.

She started to close her email, but her gaze lingered on a name in her inbox. Daniel Baron. He’d written to her two days ago, but she still hadn’t decided whether to act on the information he’d passed along.

Daniel was a former bull rider and past patient. She’d reached out to him last week when it became clear she needed more references. Not only had Daniel been happy to hear from her and more than willing to endorse her, he’d learned of an unusual job posting through a friend of a friend. He’d told her about a family in Cupid’s Bow, Texas. She’d almost rolled her eyes at the town name, but she supposed it was no quirkier than Gun Barrel City, Texas. Or Ding Dong, Texas.

According to Daniel, the teenage daughter of the family had been in an accident, and the Rosses were looking for someone to live on the ranch and work with the kid for about a month. A ranch...where there were horses. She shuddered.

I am not a small-town person. But she prided herself on being tough when she needed to be, and it wouldn’t be a long-term situation. With a guaranteed roof over her head, she would have time to investigate other opportunities. Three and a half weeks could make the difference between finding a position where she truly fit and simply accepting a paycheck so she could continue indulging in luxuries like food and water.

After she’d first read Daniel’s email, she’d looked up Cupid’s Bow online. It was tiny. Her parents’ country club probably had a higher population—ironic, since the club worked at actively excluding people. Sierra doubted there were any symphony performances or science museums in Cupid’s Bow. But worse than a potential dearth of culture or even the presence of horses was the possibility of nosy neighbors. Weren’t people in close-knit communities subject to scrutiny and gossip? Given her parents’ wealth and high social standing, Sierra had spent her teen years feeling conspicuously visible. People who’d never even met her had opinions about who she was and who they thought she should be. She detested feeling as if she had to answer anyone.

All right then, don’t call the Rosses. Stay here and get a job waitressing. With your gracious nature, you’re sure to make enough tips to pay off those student loans.

Lord. No wonder she couldn’t get a job—she even gave herself attitude.

Decision made, she pulled her phone from her pocket before she could change her mind. As she dialed, she reminded herself there was no guarantee the Rosses would hire her. If they did, she’d survive roughing it in Cupid’s Bow one day at a time. How many times had she lectured patients on the necessity of breaking down tasks into less intimidating chunks?

“Quit looking at it as months of PT,” she’d tell them. “Just get through each set of exercises, one day at a time. This first set’s only ten minutes. It may be uncomfortable, but you can handle ten measly minutes. Don’t wuss out on me now...”

She cajoled, encouraged and berated people into cooperating. The least she could do was take her own advice.

The phone rang, and she inhaled deeply. After a couple more rings, she began mentally rehearsing the message she would leave on the voice mail. But then a man answered.

“Hello?” The irritation in his deep voice made the word less a greeting and more a challenge.

She hesitated, but for only half a second. Tentativeness wasn’t in her nature. “May I speak with Jarrett Ross?”

“You got him. But if you’re selling something—”

“Only my professional services.” Someone should tell Mr. Ross that anyone who placed a Help Wanted ad should curb his hostility; it made people not want to help. “My name is Sierra Bailey. I’m a physical therapist, and Daniel Baron, one of my former clients, gave me this number. He mentioned your family is looking for someone with PT experience.”

“Oh! Yes. God, yes. Sorry, you just caught me at a bad time. Of course, that describes all of the time lately, but— Sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t expecting applicants to call me. Most of them have been phoning my mother.”

“Ah. You’re not the girl’s father?” Daniel had given her a name and a number. He hadn’t outlined the family tree.

“Definitely not. I’m Vicki’s older brother. But I might as well talk to you. After all, you and I would be the ones living together while my parents are away.”

Living together. The words gave her an odd jolt. Although Paul had spent enough nights at her place to warrant his own dresser drawer and a sliver of counter space in the bathroom, she’d never technically lived with a man. You wouldn’t be living with this one, either. Not in any personal way.

“My parents’ trip is why we’re seeking the extra help with Vicki,” he continued. “Not only could she benefit from physical therapy here at the house, we could use someone to keep her company while I’m working the ranch. If she needs something, I’m not readily accessible on the back forty. What was your name again?”

“Sierra. Sierra Bailey.”

“And Daniel Baron gave you my number? He’s a good guy. I used to compete against him and his brothers all the time.”

“Ah. So you’re a rodeo rider.” She hadn’t meant to sound judgmental. It just wasn’t a lifestyle she could wrap her head around. She worked with so many people who were injured through no fault of their own that it was hard to understand anyone deliberately pursuing such a potentially dangerous career.

“I was,” he said tightly, “but not anymore. I’m committed to the ranch. And to Vicki’s recovery.”

The patient. Here was comfortable ground. In her other interviews, she’d had to talk about herself, which made her prickly. It was easier to sound competent and professional while discussing the person she’d be treating.

She asked about the girl’s age—nineteen was older than she’d expected—and injuries. There was a pause before Jarrett began describing them. When he started talking again, the words came in an uncomfortable rush, as if he wanted to get through the list as quickly as possible. His younger sister was healing from several injuries, including a broken wrist, but the major issue was that her pelvis had been crushed in the accident.

Sierra winced. It was the kind of pity she’d never show in front of a patient because pity made a person feel weak. But the young woman had a rough time ahead of her.

“You obviously know your field well,” Jarrett said after they’d spent a few minutes discussing medical specifics. Yet he sounded more grim than impressed. Wasn’t her expertise a good thing? “To tell you the truth, Ms. Bailey, you may be overqualified. We were thinking more in terms of a semiretired therapist or a home health care assistant who might not mind some light housekeeping and making sure Vicki gets dinner if I’m working past sundown. I don’t know if Daniel mentioned salary, but—”

“He did.” Calling that sum a salary was a generous overstatement. “It’s below what I would normally consider, but honestly, I’m taking some time off to decide between several future options.” Yeah, like whether to waitress at a steak house or bartend at a West End nightclub. “This gives me time to carefully evaluate my choices.” Well done, Bailey. She’d managed to make herself sound methodical, not desperate.

“So you’re all right with our terms?”

“Well, I won’t argue if you decide after a week that I deserve a raise, but what you’re offering is at least worth my driving to Cupid’s Bow for a face-to-face meeting.”

“That’s fantastic.” It was the happiest he’d sounded during their entire conversation, and it highlighted how dour his mood had been—from his tense tone when he’d answered to his obvious discomfort discussing his sister’s accident to his doubt Sierra would deem the job worth it. Jarrett Ross clearly wasn’t the president of the Cupid’s Bow Optimists Club. “I just wish my parents hadn’t already booked their flight. They’re leaving in two days, so unless you can be here tomorrow, they won’t be available to sit in on the interview.”

“Sorry, tomorrow’s full.” Since she hadn’t known where and when she’d be working again, she’d scheduled a number of personal appointments, taking advantage of the time left before her health and dental insurance ran out. “I can manage the next day, though.”

They agreed on a time, and he asked for her email address so he could send her directions. “GPS or internet maps will get you most of the way, but we’re a bit off the beaten path.”

Which didn’t bolster her enthusiasm for making a temporary home in Cupid’s Bow.

Then again, if the town could evade the reach of an orbiting satellite system, she should easily be outside the meddling reach of Muriel Bailey. Ever since Sierra’s last relationship ended, her mother, undaunted by living three and a half hours away, had tried arranging meetings between Sierra and Dallas’s most eligible bachelors. The good news about a town the size of Cupid’s Bow was that there couldn’t be many men who met her mother’s exacting standards.

So when she ended her call with Jarrett by saying “I look forward to meeting you,” she very nearly meant it.

Chapter Three

“Knock, knock,” Jarrett said tentatively, unsure of his welcome as he stood in the doorway of his sister’s room. His voice seemed to echo unnaturally. The house had been damned quiet in the hours since their parents had left at the crack of dawn. According to his mother, Vicki had barely said a word when they came into her room to exchange goodbyes. Did she feel like the Rosses were abandoning her?

His mother was excited that Jarrett was interviewing another candidate this afternoon. Until Sierra had called, the family had decided to offer the position to local retired nurse Lucy Aldridge, a grandmother of five. Lucy was kind, if a bit absentminded, but she was also more than three times Vicki’s age. Anne Ross had worried Vicki wouldn’t relate to her. Jarrett didn’t know specifically how old Sierra Bailey was, but judging from the credentials she’d emailed, she’d been out of med school for only a couple of years. And she certainly hadn’t sounded like a woman approaching seventy. When they’d spoken, Sierra had sounded... Feisty was the word that sprang to mind.

“Did you need something?” Vicki asked, her voice empty of inflection. Her wheelchair was pulled up to her desk, and he couldn’t tell if she was looking at her laptop or simply staring out the window. This used to be a guest suite, but since it was on the first floor, they’d relocated Vicki after the accident. All the essentials were here, but she’d said not to bother with miscellaneous belongings, like the posters that hung on her walls upstairs. Or the gleaming softball trophies that sent blades of guilt through him whenever he saw them.

Her blond hair hung crookedly in a limp ponytail. She was able to shower by herself in the remodeled bathroom, but she only bothered to brush her hair when her mother said something about it. And the last time she’d applied makeup was when her boyfriend, Aaron, had visited weeks ago.

“I just wanted to remind you that Sierra should be here in an hour or so.” When Vicki didn’t respond, he prompted, “Sierra Bailey, the potential therapist. I thought you might like to meet her.”

She hadn’t sat in on any of the interviews, dismissing it as unnecessary. All of the candidates had been local, which meant she’d met them all at least in passing. Anne hadn’t pushed the issue, since she’d already had her hands full convincing Gavin to leave the ranch. Jarrett was surprised by his sister’s apathy. Vicki had always been opinionated. Surely she wanted to have a say in who was chosen to be her companion?

“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

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.”

Nice going, Bailey. Three minutes after he offers you the position and you’re already giving ultimatums. What happened to demure and diplomatic and all that other crap?

He clenched his jaw, and she wondered uneasily if he would throw her out. Then he shoved a hand through his hair, the anger in his expression fading. “She’s my responsibility.” It didn’t sound like a protest, more like...a plea.

Her heart twisted at the jagged vulnerability in his voice. She added “lack of professional detachment” to her list of today’s sins.

Jarrett sighed, rounding the desk toward her. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

LAST SPRING, JARRETT had subdued a towering drunk intent on a bar fight until Sheriff Trent and Deputy Thomas could get there. During the summer, he’d calmly faced an angry bull and the occasional venomous copperhead. But women? They were scary.

Caught between Vicki’s inevitable displeasure and Sierra’s implacable resolve, he held his breath and knocked on the closed bedroom door. Normally, he did just fine with ladies, but now he was trapped in a house with two females he couldn’t charm. His sister was immune, and flirting with an employee was unethical.

A rebellious part of his brain that didn’t care about ethics wondered, if he were free to flirt with Sierra, how would she respond?

She was tough, with an unyielding force of will, hardly a woman who batted her lashes and giggled when a guy looked in her direction. Yet there’d been a sizzling moment in the study when their eyes met and— He broke off the thought. What had happened to not allowing himself to lust after the therapist?

Annoyed at his lack of discipline, he banged his fist against the door a bit harder this time. Still no response.

“She’s not answering.” From behind him, Sierra stated the obvious. Her palpable impatience was a vibration in the air. He could just imagine the nuclear confrontation when her hardheaded personality clashed with his sister’s. Was it a mistake to hire the redhead instead of sweet-natured Lucy Aldridge, who would affectionately fuss over Vicki as if she were an honorary grandchild?

“We should go in,” she urged.

Nearly a month of this woman bossing him around? Jarrett ground his teeth. “I’m not in the habit of invading her privacy.”

Sierra’s hand curved over his shoulder, surprising him, and when he turned to meet her gaze, he saw genuine concern. “You’d be checking to make sure she’s okay. The way you’ve described her state of mind...”

He turned the knob and shoved the door open a few inches. “Vicki?”

She was lying on her back with her eyes closed, but her features were creased with aggravation. “I’m trying to sleep. Go away.”

Sierra squeezed past him into the room. “Since you’re awake, I was hoping we could talk.”

At the unfamiliar voice, Vicki opened her eyes. “Now’s not a good time.” She glared past the redhead at her brother. “I’d appreciate you not letting strangers into my room.”

“I—”

“Not a stranger for long,” Sierra interrupted cheerfully. “I’m your new physical therapist. Sierra Bailey. Pleased to meet you.”

Jarrett wasn’t sure when she’d officially accepted the job, but he didn’t undermine her authority by asking the question out loud.

Sierra took a step closer to the bed, nodding toward the brace that covered most of Vicki’s forearm. “Are you regularly seeing a therapist about your wrist?”

Vicki grunted a sound that was more or less agreement.

“How much have you been working at home?” Sierra asked, switching to a question that required a more specific answer.

“When I can. It hurts.”

“The more you build your strength—within medically approved parameters, of course—the faster you’ll heal. What exercises have you been doing?”

“You’re the one who needs this job,” Vicki snapped. “Shouldn’t I be doing the interrogating?”

Folding his arms across his chest, Jarrett waited to see how Sierra dealt with his sister’s uncooperative attitude. He knew from their exchange back in his dad’s study that the redhead had a temper.

Yet Sierra’s tone was only one of mild reproach when she said, “I didn’t realize you had any questions for me. According to your brother, you willingly forfeited any say in the decision-making process.” She paused. “But if there’s something you’d like to ask, fire away.”

“Have you even been a therapist long enough to know what you’re doing?” Vicki raked her over with an expression that made it clear she wasn’t impressed with what she saw. “You barely look old enough to buy beer.”

Despite the younger woman’s sneering, Sierra smiled broadly. “Twenty-seven in November. But if you keep up the flattery, I might make it the whole time I’m here without trying to smother you.”

Jarrett bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Technically speaking, it was poor bedside manner to threaten one’s patients. But Vicki’s outraged expression was downright encouraging. It reminded him of fights they’d had in years past, when she’d been whole and spirited. He’d take her anger any day of the week over the hollow-eyed stare she’d developed.

Although he’d wanted to gauge how the two females interacted without his interference, now he spoke up on Sierra’s behalf, defending his hiring decision. “Ms. Bailey’s well qualified for her job—educated and experienced. According to Daniel Baron, she’s one of the best in the state of Texas.”

Sierra glanced back, looking surprised by the endorsement. The smile she flashed him decimated his vow not to notice how attractive she was.

“Thank you. But it’s silly to call me Ms. Bailey. We should be on a first-name basis since we’ll be living together. Who knows—by this time next month, we’ll probably all have nicknames for each other.”

“I have a few ideas,” Vicki muttered.

“So do I. As for my qualifications, I graduated college early and finished my med school program at the top of the class. Before that, I logged hundreds of volunteer hours in clinics and my high school athletic department, learning from the trainers. I’ve been learning everything I can about physical therapy since a PT helped me after I fractured my spine. You’re not the only one held together with screws and plates,” she added softly.

Jarrett was caught off guard by this revelation. During their conversations on the phone and in the study, she’d never volunteered why she’d chosen the field. He hadn’t thought to ask. With the knowledge that they’d faced similar obstacles, maybe Vicki would—

“We’re not gonna be besties just because we’ve both had surgery,” his sister said.

“Definitely not,” Sierra agreed. “I don’t do ‘bonding.’”

Oddly, the disdainful words seemed to mollify his sister.

Vicki was quiet for a long moment. “You’ve only asked me about my wrist. Why not the big thing?”

“You mean the fact that you’re in a wheelchair? Don’t let that loom large in your mind as The Big Thing. In principle, the broken pelvis is just like the broken wrist. Both are physical challenges you can overcome with time to heal and lots of hard work. The question is, are you willing to do the work?”

When Vicki slowly nodded, something like hope shining in her dark eyes, Jarrett knew he owed Daniel Baron a debt of gratitude. Sierra Bailey was definitely the right woman for the job.

* * *

DINNER THAT NIGHT was quiet, and as he washed off the plates, Jarrett found himself anxiously awaiting Sierra’s return in two days. He’d always loved the spacious ranch house, but with just him and his sullen sister, the empty space around them magnified the silence. That wouldn’t be the case when Sierra moved in. Despite being a petite woman, she somehow filled an entire room with her energy.

Jarrett had invited her to stay for supper after her conversation with Vicki, but she’d insisted she needed to get going as soon as possible.

“The sun’s setting earlier every day,” she’d pointed out, “and I need to get at least somewhere close to civilization before it’s completely dark. If I never return, it’s because I got lost on one of your meandering, quaintly unmarked roads. Seriously, is there like a town ordinance against signs?”

In the short time she’d been at the ranch, she’d made several comments suggesting Cupid’s Bow was not her ideal location. Thank God she’d agreed to take the position anyway. He glanced to where Vicki sat at the table, trying to touch her thumb to her finger. It was one of the exercises Sierra had insisted Vicki do.

“You follow this regimen exactly until I get back,” Sierra had said, handing over a sheet of paper. “Or incur my wrath.”

Vicki had rolled her eyes. “You really scare me, shorty.”

Was it wishful thinking on Jarrett’s part or had there almost been a smile in her voice? Even though parts of his sister’s encounter with Sierra had been contentious, it was still the most animated he’d seen her in weeks—not counting the infrequent times her doofus boyfriend bothered to phone.

Jarrett had no real reason to dislike Aaron, but seeing how much those short conversations meant to his sister, he resented that the guy couldn’t make time in his busy college schedule to call more often. Or maybe Aaron’s inattention makes you feel guilty because you know damn well there are women who probably expected a call from you that never came.

He balled up the dish towel and threw it on the counter. “You ready to try that rice thing?” Sierra had left instructions for Jarrett to fill a bucket with dry rice and for Vicki to place her hand inside and try to rotate it. The rice would provide resistance.

The physical therapist had arched an eyebrow at Vicki. “Resistance is right up your alley, yeah?”

Jarrett went into the walk-in pantry for a bag of rice without waiting for his sister’s answer—these days, he couldn’t always count on her to give him one. When he joined her at the table, she was still doing the first set of exercises, wincing in visible pain. He desperately wanted to say something helpful, but what? The closest he could come to empathizing with what she was going through were the many bruises and sore muscles that came with riding rodeo. He’d voluntarily endured those because he liked to win. There was nothing voluntary about her suffering.

As she slid her left hand into the bucket, he tried to sound encouraging. “Sierra is highly recommended. Follow her advice, and I’m sure all of this will get easier.” Eventually.

Beads of sweat dotted Vicki’s forehead as she attempted to turn her wrist. “She’s pretty, too. Like, obnoxiously pretty.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Don’t you think so?”

The question felt like a trap. Saying he hadn’t noticed Sierra’s appearance would be a ridiculous lie and an insult to his sister’s intelligence. But survival instincts warned that admitting Sierra was beautiful would only increase the household tension. “I’m not sure what ‘obnoxiously pretty’ means.”

“Well, she’s way more fun for a guy to look at than old Lucy Aldridge.”

The realization of what she was suggesting bit into him like barbwire through the skin. Shame bubbled to the surface instead of blood. His sister truly believed he was so selfish that he would hire the woman in charge of her well-being based on sex appeal? Of course she does. He had a track record of putting pleasure before loved ones or responsibility.

He clenched his hands into fists, and the reflexive action only heightened his guilt. He could move all ten of his fingers with no effort at all, while Vicki had gone pale in her wheelchair from trying to stir around grains of rice.

“Vic, I would have hired a wart-covered, hunchbacked troll if I thought she could get you better faster. Maybe some guys would find Sierra Bailey ‘fun to look at,’ but I won’t be looking at her. I’ll be working the ranch and staying out of her way so she can focus on you. Your recovery is all that matters to me.”

She cast him a brief, skeptical glance before ducking her gaze without comment. The little sister who’d once idolized him no longer trusted him.

Why should she? He’d given her reason to doubt. I know I let you down, Vic, but I swear it won’t happen again.

Chapter Five

Even though she’d packed up her car with luggage and turned off all her utilities, accepting the job with the Rosses didn’t feel real until Sierra drove past the Welcome to Cupid’s Bow sign on Saturday. Sure, the town welcomes you—then they hide all the other road signs so you can never find your way back out. Cupid’s Bow, Texas. Come for the home cooking, stay for...ever.

On the phone last night, Muriel had asked, “Are you sure about this, darling? Living in some backwater town for a month when you could be at home with your loving family?”

If Sierra hadn’t already been convinced that she should take the job, that would have done the trick.

Now, alone in the car, she reiterated what she’d said to her mother. “This is where I need to be right now.” So why the nervous butterflies in her stomach? Anxiety that Vicki Ross would be a difficult patient?

No way. I am Sierra Bailey, and I eat difficulty for breakfast. I pour it into my coffee to give it that extra kick.

And yet...tummy flutters. She refused to even consider that they might be a reaction to seeing Jarrett Ross again. Sure, the rancher was good-looking, but she’d spent many hands-on hours working with hot athletes. She was not jittery about moving in with a tall, gray-eyed cowboy. The more likely explanation for her apprehensive stomach was that breakfast hadn’t agreed with her.

There was a grocery store up ahead. She could stop for antacids and other essentials she’d want to have on hand for the next few weeks. Plus, Jarrett had mentioned that grocery shopping and meal preparation would be part of her job. Might as well investigate the supermarket’s selection and get her bearings.

Fifteen minutes later, she’d discovered that the local produce prices were fantastic and that she didn’t own enough denim to fit in around Cupid’s Bow. The two pairs of jeans she did own were in a suitcase in her car; she felt conspicuous in her circle skirt, swirled with autumn colors, and green chenille V-neck sweater. The only people she’d seen who weren’t wearing jeans either wore denim shorts or overalls.

Rounding an endcap, she pushed the cart into the pharmaceutical section, gratified to spot a blonde woman, her hair pulled back in a loose French braid, wearing a sundress not made of denim. The bright geometric print and pattern of straps holding the bodice in place made the outfit fashionable without looking ostentatious.

“Love your dress,” she said impulsively.

Turning from the shelf of vitamins she’d been contemplating, the woman flashed her a bright smile. “Thank you. All that jazz.”

“I... Pardon?”

“The boutique just off of town square,” the woman clarified. “All That Jazz. Run by Jasmine Tucker?” She grinned at Sierra’s blank expression. “You must not be from around here.”

At that moment, a teenage boy with a little girl in tow barreled toward them. They weren’t running, exactly, just moving at the uninhibited speed of childhood. “Mom! They didn’t have the brand you normally get,” the boy announced, skidding to a stop by his mother’s cart. “Will one of these work?” He held up two different boxes of cake mix.

Before the woman could answer, the little girl in the unicorn T-shirt tossed a box of crayons into the cart. “I need these.”

“Doubtful,” the boy scoffed. “You own more crayons than anyone else in North America, Aly.”

“These are scented. I don’t have scented.” At Sierra’s chuckle, the girl looked up, registering her presence for the first time. “Hey, we don’t know you!”

Sierra shook her head. “Nope. Today’s my very first day in town.”

“Welcome to Cupid’s Bow,” the blonde said. “I’m Kate Sullivan. This is my son, Luke, and my future stepdaughter Alyssa.”

“She’s marrying my daddy!” From the huge smile on Alyssa’s face, she was obviously excited about the upcoming nuptials. “Me and my sister get to be flower girls, and we’re gonna wear poofy dresses that—”

“How about you go with Luke and return the cake mix we don’t need?” Kate interrupted, taking one of the boxes from her son’s hand. “And don’t run, okay?”

“Okay,” the kids chorused without looking back at her.

“And they’re off,” Kate said with an affectionate sigh. “I came to the vitamin section to get more gummies for the girls, but, honestly, maybe I should be looking for a supplement for me so I can keep up with all of them. Let’s try this again, with fewer interruptions. I’m Kate Sullivan.” She extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Sierra Bailey,” she said as they shook hands.

“I’m so delighted you’re moving here.” Kate grinned. “With you around, people will have to stop referring to me as ‘the new woman in Cupid’s Bow.’ It’s been months!”

“Happy to help,” Sierra said, “but I’m not moving here, exactly, just working for a few weeks at the Twisted R.” Assuming she could successfully locate the ranch again.

“Oh!” A female voice from the other side of the shelf cut into their conversation and an elderly lady peeked over the top, only her tightly rolled white curls and gold spectacles visible. “Are you working with that poor Victoria Ross? Such a tragedy what happened to her. Hello, Kate, dear.”

“Hello, Miss Alma. This is Sierra Bailey.”

“I heard. My new hearing aids are a miracle. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Cupid’s Bow, Sierra. You tell poor Vicki that the whole town’s pulling for her.” She clucked her tongue. “Absolute tragedy.” A minute later, she pushed her cart away and disappeared down the bread aisle.

Kate smiled after her. “Not everyone is as active an eavesdropper as Miss Alma—she’s almost ninety and says living here almost a century gives her a vested interest in local events—but this is a small town. We all heard about Vicki’s accident. The Ross family hasn’t been the same since.”

“I haven’t met her parents.” She only knew they were traveling for “health reasons.” “Just Vicki and her older brother.”

“Jarrett. A real charmer, that one.”

“He’s...attractive,” Sierra said neutrally. “But charming? For the first hour of my interview, he read questions verbatim off a legal pad and barely said anything else. I can count on one hand the number of times he even looked up at me.”

The corners of Kate’s mouth turned down, and sympathy filled her amber eyes. “After his dad’s heart attack, I took some meals to the family. Jarrett was so shell-shocked, not himself at all. I haven’t seen him recently, but I was hoping that with his father and Vicki both doing better... Well. I suppose we all cope in our own time, don’t we?”

Sierra nodded. She’d witnessed patients and their families handle crisis in dozens of ways. Sometimes, catastrophes brought people together; other times it drove a wedge between them. There were patients who spiraled into a dark place and needed help finding their way back; others rebounded with astonishing resiliency.

Kate gave a small shake of her head, as if brushing away her moment of melancholy. “I live near the Twisted R—at least, I do until my wedding. My fiancé, Cole, and I are having a house built that won’t be ready for months. Meanwhile, Luke and I are staying on my grandmother’s farm, which is out the same direction as the Ross place. If you ever need anything, we’re much closer than town. I’ll give you my number. Maybe we can get together if you have an afternoon off.”

“Thank you.” Given Vicki Ross’s surly attitude, Sierra might need to occasionally escape the ranch to keep her sanity intact. “I’d love to visit that boutique you were telling me about.”

They had just finished exchanging cell-phone numbers when the two kids returned.

“Sorry we took so long,” Luke said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I—”

“He was talking to a girrrlll,” Aly reported, making the last word three syllables.

He shot her a sidelong glare. “I ran into a classmate—”

“A girl classmate!”

“—who had questions about Friday’s math assignment.”

“No problem,” Kate said. “Sierra and I were busy chatting, too. But I guess we should dash if I’m going to get these groceries to Cole’s house for lunch. He and Mandy are probably starving. Call me soon, Sierra!”

“Will do.”

As she finished her own grocery shopping, Sierra felt a little smug. She’d been told more than once that she didn’t play well with others and that some people mistook her independent nature for aloofness. Yet she hadn’t been in town an hour, and already she’d made her first friend.

Maybe Cupid’s Bow wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

JUST WHEN SIERRA was starting to think she’d driven too far, she spotted the intersection where she needed to turn for the Twisted R. On her first trip out to the ranch, she’d been irritable because she was late for her interview. This time around, she could appreciate the scenery more.

The wide-open space was both tranquil and somehow humbling. Picturesque pastures dotted with clusters of Queen Anne’s lace and mesquite trees framed the road, and she’d never seen a clearer blue sky than the one overhead. A deer lifted its head from the plants it was lazily munching to watch her pass, and she half expected that if she glanced in her rearview mirror she’d find animated woodland creatures singing some kind of welcome song behind her car.

It was all very bucolic. But she still couldn’t imagine living in a place where the closest store was half an hour away. The land that delivery food forgot.

She turned left onto a winding road barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other and saw the sprawling white house atop the hill ahead. She liked the Rosses’ place—it wasn’t as linear and pristine as her parents’ three-story mansion with its pretentious columns in the front and a detached garage in the back. Jarrett’s home was endearingly lopsided, with one corner that seemed out of proportion to the rest of the house—probably a room that had been added on long after the place was originally built. The roof was all crazy angles, hinting at slanted ceilings and interesting attic space. A carport was linked to one side of the house, a screened deck jutted out in the back and there was a generous porch that began within a foot of the front door and wrapped around the opposite corner of the house.

A moment later, she passed beneath the Twisted R sign, her car jostling over the metal grid that kept cattle from wandering out through the entryway between fences. By the time she parked, two dogs had come to greet her. A golden retriever gave an amiable woof as Sierra opened her door; a slightly smaller dog hung back a few feet. It was mostly black with gold paws and a white throat.

“They’re friendly,” Jarrett called from the porch steps. “But they probably have muddy paws, so if Sunshine looks like she’s about to jump on you, tell her no. She’ll listen—she just likes to test boundaries.”

Sierra grinned down at the retriever, scratching behind her ears. “Fellow boundary-pusher? You and I should get along just fine.” She looked up to see Jarrett closing the distance between them with rangy strides. The lighter streaks in his dark hair gleamed in the sun, and the way his jeans fit made her take back any snarky thoughts she’d had about denim.

She spun on her heel toward the back of her car, seizing the distraction of luggage to keep herself from staring at her new boss.

“Can I give you a hand?” he asked from right beside her. Since he was already reaching into the car trunk, the question seemed rhetorical.

She blinked up at him. “You move deceptively fast.”

“Long legs.” He hefted a suitcase. “We’d just finished lunch when I heard the dogs barking. Have you eaten?”

“I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t share that her stomach was twisted in knots. Despite the bravado-filled pep talks she’d given herself during the drive, now that she was here, she acknowledged that moving in—even temporarily—was unnerving. She was used to having sole dominion over things like the television remote and the thermostat. Sharing a living space would be an adjustment, no matter who her roommates were. How much would Jarrett’s appeal complicate the situation? And then there was Vicki’s hostility.

Before Sierra had left the other day, the two women had reached an understanding, but physical therapy was tough. When Vicki was in pain, Sierra would be an easy target for anger. It came with the territory. Sierra was accustomed to dealing with a range of emotions from her patients. But usually she was able to retreat home at the end of a long day and leave the stress of a contrary client behind. Now the contrary client would be sitting across from her at the dinner table.

Good thing I like a challenge.

She passed a large duffel bag to Jarrett, appreciating the ripple of muscles in his forearm as he resituated everything he was carrying. Once they were both loaded down like a couple of pack mules, she followed him up the porch stairs and into the blessedly air-conditioned house. September wasn’t as brutal as July or August had been, but the Texas heat was still enough to make her regret the short-sleeved sweater she wore.

They went through the entry hall and past the study, kitchen and Vicki’s room. At the end of the hall was a living room decorated in Southwest tones and worn but comfy-looking furniture. A spiral staircase in the far corner led to the second story.

Jarrett flashed a sheepish look over his shoulder. “It’s a bit of a climb.”

She gave a one-shouldered shrug to show she didn’t mind. “It’ll help keep me fit.”

His gaze swept over her body, and for a second, she thought he might say something. But he turned around without further comment.

The steps were narrow, and she had to concentrate on not letting her luggage scuff up the walls. At the top, Jarrett gave her the lay of the land. “That’s the master bedroom, and that one is—was—Vicki’s.” He ducked his gaze, his tone flat. They both knew it would be a long time before Vicki Ross climbed those stairs again. “I’m at the other end of the hall, along with the guest room where you’ll be.”

He gestured for her to go ahead, and Sierra chuckled as she got her first good look at her room—the Island of Misfit Furniture. If she had to guess, she’d say that anytime a room in the house had been remodeled and there was a perfectly good piece of furniture they hadn’t wanted to get rid of, it had been shoved in here. The king-size bed was too big for the space. The pink vanity in the corner had probably been Vicki’s when she was twelve. The brass headboard was unlike any she’d seen before, a series of whimsical curlicues that curved around the edges of the bed, hugging the mattress.

A few steps into the room, Jarrett had to duck. Because of how the roof slanted down at the edge of the house, there were places where she could probably touch the ceiling if she stood on her toes.

Jarrett frowned. “I haven’t been in here since I helped Mom move that old wardrobe. I forgot how claustrophobic it is.”

“Not so claustrophobic when you’re five foot one.”

He set down a suitcase. “Would you rather stay in my parents’ room? With as little as we’re paying you, the least we could do is offer you comfortable accommodations.”

She wasn’t her mother, who insisted she couldn’t sleep in sheets with less than an eight hundred thread count. “I like the funky vibe. And the wardrobe reminds me of one of my favorite books when I was a kid.” Stifling the urge to climb inside and look for magical portals, she turned and ran her hand over the lacy vintage comforter. As long as the mattress was comfortable, even Muriel would have to call this bed luxurious. It was freaking huge. Sierra sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test it. “This bed’s almost too big for one person.”

There was a sudden heat in his gaze that made her skin prickle. He looked away, but not before she realized his mind was in a different place than hers. Great start to the first day—telling your boss you don’t want to sleep alone. Now he was staring fixedly at the wall, as if embarrassed by his wayward thoughts.

She stood, brazening through the moment by making a joke of it. “You don’t mind if I host wild orgies on my nights off, do you?”

For a split second, he didn’t react. But then his lips quirked in a slow smile. “Orgies, huh? Call me old-fashioned, but I think if one guy can’t make you happy, he’s not doing it right.”

Her heart clutched—not at the outrageous teasing, which she’d started, but at how that grin transformed his face. In town, Kate Sullivan had called Jarrett a charmer. The word didn’t fully capture the wicked glint in his eyes or the thrill Sierra got from having coaxed a playful moment. She’d already been drawn to Jarrett more than was appropriate, given their circumstances, but now that she knew about that dangerously tempting smile and his sense of humor?

For the first time since they’d met, she was the one who lowered her gaze. “I should get settled in,” she said, striving for an efficient, professional tone. “The sooner I unpack, the faster I can start helping Vicki.”

He flinched. “Vicki. Of course. I’ll...see you at dinner.”

With that, he was out the door. She honestly didn’t know if she was sorry to see him go or relieved.

* * *

AT THE RISK of being overly optimistic, Sierra thought that her first hour of PT with Vicki had gone quite well. The young woman hadn’t made a single bitchy comment. Granted, she was glaring as if she wanted to kick Sierra’s ass, but the good news was, if she ever managed to achieve that, Sierra would know she’d done her job even better than anticipated.

They’d wrapped up a set of exercises, and Vicki was glowering over the top of the water Sierra had handed her.

Sierra slid one of the chairs away from the kitchen table and spun it around, straddling it. “Did your post-surgery therapist talk to you about imagery?”

“No, but my Freshman Lit teacher did. Want to discuss symbolism in ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’?”

“I’m talking about positive thinking and having a mental picture of exactly what you want to accomplish, something specific and concrete.” At Vicki’s disdainful look, Sierra added, “There have been actual medical studies concluding that imagery can help accelerate the healing process.”

“So your clinical approach is for me to close my eyes and chant ‘I think I can, I think I can’?”

Well, it had been too much to hope that Vicki’s sarcasm was cured forever. “Yeah,” Sierra drawled, matching the young woman’s scathing tone, “that’s exactly what I said. To hell with the carefully researched exercises and the grueling muscle stretches. Let’s just hold hands and hope for the best.”

The corner of Vicki’s lips twitched. “I’m not holding your hand.”

“You will if I tell you to,” Sierra said mildly. “You’re missing the big picture—everything I do is for your benefit. My only goal here is to help you make progress.” Her only primary goal, anyway. She had secondary objectives of figuring out her future after Cupid’s Bow and repressing her attraction to Jarrett. “Look, Vicki, try to keep an open mind and trust that I have the experience to do my job well.”

When she didn’t respond, Sierra decided to take the silence as acquiescence.

“All right,” she continued, “we want to come up with a specific image that you can focus on during sessions, something that will help keep you motivated when you want to quit.”

Anger flashed in Vicki’s brown eyes. “I’m not a quitter.”

“Good. Me neither. So let’s harness our collective stubbornness and work together. What is it that you want?”

“To walk again. Without a walker or crutches or anything that makes me feel—” She shook her head fiercely, unwilling to voice her frustration and fear.

“You’ll get there,” Sierra promised. “Not all the way there in the three weeks we have, but eventually. But if you could walk right now, no limitations, what would you most want to be doing? Think in terms of sensory details. Build a clear goal in your mind. Hiking outside and feeling the warmth of the sun on your face? Strolling through your favorite store and looking for great sales items?”

“Dancing with Aaron.” A smile lit her face. “Aaron Dunn is my boyfriend. There’s a dance hall near campus that we love to visit. Aaron’s a great dancer. He was teaching me how to jitterbug before last semester ended.”

“Perfect. So close your eyes and imagine everything—the song you’re listening to, the clothes you’re wearing, the smell of beer—er, Aaron’s cologne,” she amended for her underage client. “Got it?”

Vicki nodded.

“Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter Six

Jarrett came in through the mudroom that connected the carport and the kitchen. As he pulled off his boots, he heard the sound of female voices arguing on the other side of the door. Damn. Maybe it had been irresponsible of him to leave Sierra and Vicki alone all afternoon, but there was so much that needed to be done on the ranch.

Plus, exercising the horses being boarded at the Twisted R and preparing soil for fall crops kept him almost busy enough to avoid picturing Sierra Bailey on that massive bed upstairs.

He groaned, wondering if he had time for a cold shower before he helped negotiate a truce between the women in the kitchen. But then Sierra laughed, a rich throaty sound, and he realized that the bickering he’d overheard was good-natured, not spiteful. He couldn’t make out Sierra’s words, but whatever she said made Vicki snicker, too.

He froze, trying to recall the last time he’d heard his sister laugh. Amusement had been in short supply since her accident. He’d been confident Sierra could help facilitate his sister’s physical rehabilitation, but he hadn’t expected that, in one short day, she could help Vicki rediscover joy, too. Gratitude struck him full in the chest. Hearing Vic sound happy, even for an instant, highlighted just how miserable and withdrawn she’d been. He wanted his lighthearted sister back, the one who had a bright future ahead of her and thought her big brother hung the moon.

Then be that guy, her hero, not the jerk who jokes about sexual prowess with the hired help.

Right. No more flirting with Sierra. That moment up in her room had been an anomaly, not proof that he was slipping back into his old habits.

Filled with renewed purpose, he opened the door and entered the kitchen. The door to the walk-in pantry was wide open, and Vicki sat in front of it, craning her head to read some of the cans and boxes on the top shelf from her wheelchair.

Sierra stood at the kitchen counter, writing in a spiral notebook. She spared a quick glance in his direction. “Hey, cowboy. Have a good afternoon milking cows and—”

“They’re beef cows,” Vicki corrected her. “Not dairy.”

“Alrighty.” Sierra tried again. “Have a good afternoon herding dogies and riding the range or whatever it is you do?”

Vicki snorted. “You’ve never spent time on a ranch before, have you?”

“Nah. I’m a fan of civilization—places you can find with GPS, towns with movie theaters that show more than one movie.”

“I think the Cupid’s Bow Cinema is up to three films at a time,” Jarrett defended his hometown. “Although, they might all be from last year. What are you ladies up to?” he asked, crossing the kitchen to get a cup out of the cabinet.

“Grocery list,” Sierra said. “I have an exciting Saturday night ahead of meal-planning. It’s vital that Vicki gets lots of vitamin D and calcium right now. Meat’s important, too, so I’m relieved she’s not a vegetarian.”

Contemplating a bleak, steakless existence, Jarrett made a face of reflexive terror. “We come from a long line of carnivores.”

“Except for softhearted Aunt Pat,” Vicki interjected. “She used to help her dad take care of their cows and got too attached. Now she’s— What do you call those people who don’t eat meat except for seafood?”

“Pescatarian,” Sierra supplied.

Vicki snapped her fingers. “Right. But Uncle Gus got her a saltwater aquarium for Christmas, so seafood might be out now, too.”

“Fish would be a good staple for your recovery diet,” Sierra said. She turned toward Jarrett. “I already went over some options with Vicki. She said she likes trout. That sound okay to you?”

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