Falling for the Rancher

by Tanya Michaels

  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 a
ll 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’r
e 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?”