Cowboy for Keeps

by Debra Clopton

  Wyatt’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I would have been fine.”

  They glared at each other, seconds ticked by and slowly sanity seeped back to Amanda. What was she doing? She was behaving very unprofessionally. She’d just basically told him that he was an invalid and that was unforgivable. He had every right to be angry at her. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m way out of line. My only excuse is that I was really scared.”

  It was the truth. “I mean, I’ve never seen hogs that size. And when that one headed toward you all I could think of was Old Yeller—”

  “I should have known,” he groaned.

  “Well, it was scary. The hogs killed that poor dog—”

  “Amanda, you’re here to help me get back on my feet. You are not here to get yourself hurt. Stay inside at night no matter what. Do you understand me?”

  Loud and clear. “You are absolutely right. I’m going back to get a little more shut-eye right now.” She held her fuzzy housecoat closer around her.

  Wyatt’s eyes glinted a hard warning. “Don’t come outside again if you see hogs.”

  Just as mad as he was, she locked gazes with him. “I reacted without thinking to what I saw. Maybe it’s you who needs to think about staying inside.”

  Wyatt’s glare iced over. “I’m not kidding, Amanda.”

  And he thought she was? Hardly. “That makes two of us. Sleep well, Wyatt, because work begins at eight-thirty.” Turning, she started carefully across the yard. The last thing she needed was for Wyatt to see her fall. From the standpoint of her pride, that wouldn’t be good. And now wouldn’t exactly be the opportune moment for him to realize she had only one leg. Maybe she should have told him earlier. But right now certainly wasn’t a good time to reveal it…no telling how mad he’d be. Knowing Wyatt, he’d fire her all over again and this time she’d be gone for good.

  Chapter Five

  Wyatt sat on the back porch long after Amanda weaved her way back to the trailer. She was plucky, that was for certain—plucky enough to get herself into trouble. When she was safely back inside he breathed a sigh of relief. If that wild boar had headed her way, he’d have been hard-put to do anything to help her. He’d almost died of fright when she’d come outside yelling for him to get back.

  What had he been thinking? He knew he’d put her in danger by his decision to come outside to run off the hogs. It would have been okay had he been standing and able to handle himself. With this hip injury he was useless. Of course he hadn’t expected her to come outside, either. But that was beside the point—he shouldn’t have come out here, plain and simple. He’d put them both in danger.

  Disgusted, he spun the chair and drove back inside, letting the door slam behind him. He didn’t even pretend that he was going to go back to sleep. He knew he wouldn’t—he hadn’t been sleeping ever since the crash. Instead he put on a pot of coffee and headed to the shower—and the ordeal that it represented to him. Standing for any length of time was hard. Getting dressed or undressed was trouble, too, often sending his back into spasms. Hopefully therapy would help.

  Twenty minutes later, in pain, he poured himself a cup of coffee and headed to his desk, but he couldn’t concentrate on the transcripts he was trying to go over.

  Back before he’d crashed the plane, if he’d been disturbed about something when he was here, he’d have saddled a horse and gone for a ride across the pasture, even in the moonlight. Something about being in the saddle always helped ease his mind. He’d spent more time on horseback growing up than Cole and Seth put together. Then again, he’d helped out on the ranch from the day he’d turned eight. There was always something that could be done at almost any age and his dad had instilled a great work ethic in all of them. Those had been good days spent with his dad and his granddad, too. It was hard to realize how long it had been since both of them had passed away. First his granddad when a tractor had overturned on the side of a hill he was mowing. And then later his dad and mom when their plane had gone down over Missouri. He’d spent long hours in the saddle during those days. He’d been eighteen when his parents had died. When he’d become the head of the family. Being in the saddle had helped. In college he’d started running to do his thinking. He’d taken up flying then, too, much to his brothers’ surprise. As odd as it seemed, being in the pilot’s seat had helped him feel connected to his mom and dad. Now, all he could do was sit in this chair and stare out across the land.

  The spasm grabbed him suddenly. As if he were being twisted apart by two different forces, the excruciating pain snarled through him, through his leg and upper body while the spasm tightened and jerked. Sweat popped across his forehead and despite trying not to, he groaned. Never in his life had he felt this weak. This out of control.

  This scared.

  There, he admitted it. The doctors had assured him he would recover, but he wanted out of this chair—the need to be out of it consumed him. The fear that it was all a lie worried him. He gripped the chair arms and fought off a wave of nausea as a flashback of waking up in the plane wreckage overcame him…the caustic smell of burning gas and oil hit him anew. He’d awakened to find himself trapped. He’d tried to move but couldn’t, his legs were pinned. Blood had been everywhere and then the pain…even now he couldn’t forget it. What he was feeling now was nothing. Needing to be free of the flashback, he forced memories away and drove his wheelchair to the kitchen. With an unsteady hand, he poured himself another cup of coffee, watching the pot shake as he did so.

  Think of something good. His sister-in-law, Melody, had come over and made certain he could reach the things he needed. That had been sweet of her. Seth had a great woman in his life. That was a very good thing.

  He took a drink of the hot brew and felt the burn all the way to the pit of his stomach. You are alive.

  The thought hovered about him in the silent kitchen.

  It was a good thought. God had kept him alive in the wreckage of that tiny plane. Unlike his parents, his life had been spared. It was a miracle that he’d lived. He knew this. He should be grateful.

  Instead he continued to feel at loose ends. Lost.

  Wyatt had always known where he was going. What he wanted out of life and who he was as a man.

  The truth was…something had changed in that wreckage. He’d lost something of himself and he wasn’t sure how to get it back.

  The alarm blasted at 7:30 a.m. Amanda woke from a dead sleep, cracked one eye open and glared at the clock. Normally she was a morning person, but not today. She groped for the alarm, shut it off and pushed herself up on her elbows then dropped onto her back. Had she really had an encounter with wild hogs?

  Yup, it wasn’t a nightmare. Wyatt had actually put himself in danger. The memory of that hog heading toward him flooded back to her, sending terror racing through her once more. Obstinate man!

  No wonder she was so tired—being scared witless by ugly hogs and an irritating man would do that. And then to jump on her the way he had—the nerve of the man!

  Yes, no doubt at all that they were going to grate on each other’s nerves. She could see it coming as plain as day. Sighing, she sat up, threw her covers aside and rubbed the end of her leg. It was a habit she’d started right after she’d first lost her leg all those years ago. Her leg was gone but she still felt it. She’d gotten used to it now but still, the habit of rubbing the scar remained. Kind of like saying, “I haven’t forgotten you.” The kids liked the idea and had found comfort in knowing it was okay to miss the limb they’d lost. She yawned then stretched. Hopefully there would be no more hog incidents and she could get a good night’s sleep tonight. She needed to not get too tired or she really would have a hard time dealing with Wyatt.

  Wyatt. It was time to get up and get busy.

  Thirty minutes later, after she’d showered and dressed, she felt wide-awake and ready to tackle her first day of work. She made her way across the shredded yard. It was amazing how bad it looked.

  She found herself glancing
toward the direction in which they’d vanished, making certain they didn’t come charging out of the woods after her. She shivered. She’d lost her mind last night.

  At the front door, she knocked. She’d begun to think he was asleep when he swung it open.

  “Good morning,” she said. He, too, looked as if he’d just showered. The hair at the back of his neck curled up slightly with dampness. Wyatt had great hair—not that it mattered to her, but he did have that run-your-fingers-through-his-hair sort of vibe going on.

  Instead of returning her greeting, he gave her a quick nod and pointed to the phone earpiece he was wearing. “Yes,” he said to the person on the other end as he whirled the wheelchair around and headed back down the hall, deep in conversation.

  “Okey-dokey,” she grunted under her breath. Entering the ancient building, she watched him disappear through the second doorway on the right. She peeked around the first doorway and saw that both openings led into the large living room/kitchen combo. Since he was on the phone, she decided to look at the wall of old photos in the hallway. There were many, many of them.

  “I see you found the wall.”

  “Yes.” She looked over her shoulder to where he’d reappeared in the doorway. She’d been so intent on the pictures that she hadn’t realized his conversation had ended. “These are wonderful. I feel like I’m in a museum.” Would he hold the hog incident against her?

  “It is in a way. Those are all authentic. We don’t know who many of them are, but Melody is trying to figure that out. Being a history teacher, she’s really interested in discovering who everyone is.”

  “That’s awesome. I’m afraid my family knows nothing of its history past my great-grandfather.” Obviously they were going to ignore the hog incident and move forward. He looked tired and she wondered if he’d slept much. It dawned on her that he might have been up before the hog attack.

  His gaze ran down the length of the photos. “If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was born into a family whose history had been so documented because of this place then I probably wouldn’t know anything, either. I’m proud of it, though. This ranch represents a lot of hard work and dedication.”

  He was halfway through this conversation when it dawned on her that they were actually carrying on a decent conversation. She wanted it to keep on; maybe talking about family was a way to pull him out. “So what exactly do you know about your family?”

  He shifted in the chair. “This ranch has our roots in it six generations back.”

  “Really?”

  His lip hitched on one side. “My great-great-great-great-great-grandpa Oakley won this stagecoach house in a poker game.”

  She laughed. “Get-out-a-here! A poker game.”

  “That’s right. Ole Oakley was a card. He didn’t have the best reputation around and was a horse trader, too. Word is you never knew if you were getting a stolen horse or not. But he could spin a tall tale and convince anyone to do what he wanted. He was also a man with a perfect poker face. Thus the winning of this place. Can you imagine throwing away your livelihood in one roll of the dice?”

  “No, I can’t,” she said.

  “Pretty sorry, if you ask me.”

  “I agree. So he won this and then what?” She was totally interested in this conversation but she was also thankful for the opportunity to visit with Wyatt.

  “He moved his wife and son here and they ran the stop for years. There were only seventy acres with the stagecoach house, but Oakley’s son, Mason, married a girl whose family owned the rest. Through the years each generation has added land as it came available.”

  Wyatt’s phone rang and he answered it. Obviously it was his office again. She wondered how much work he was still doing. She lingered in the hall a few more minutes and then gave up hope that he would hang up anytime soon. She walked into the living room/kitchen. Their gazes met as he pointed to the coffeepot. She shook her head, which he barely acknowledged as his full attention was drawn to the phone conversation. Finally, after a lot of talk that sounded like something out of an episode of Law and Order, he hung up. But from what she’d gathered he was about to receive a ton of casework to review.

  “So it sounds like you’re working hard.” She tried to hold back the censure in her voice but it was impossible. He was, after all, the high achiever who probably thought the office wouldn’t continue to function without him.

  “Consulting on a case with a junior partner.”

  “I hope that doesn’t get in the way of our therapy.”

  “Nothing will get in the way of that,” he assured her, his jaw tightening as he spoke. “Nothing is more important than me getting out of this chair and back on my feet.”

  They stared at each other across the old wooden kitchen table as a heavy silence cloaked the space between them. “Good.” She was used to having confrontations with her clients over cell phone usage during workouts—texting their friends or surfing the Web. She was used to them being fresh-faced teens or younger, not a handsome man with challenge in his gaze. Telling him how to behave felt totally uncomfortable, since there was no obvious doubt that he didn’t appreciate her interference. “I guess we should get started,” she said, attempting to diffuse the tension between them. This was her job and she needed to do it. “Where is the room we’ll be using for the therapy?”

  “Across the hall.” He led the way into what had probably been a bedroom but now held an assortment of workout equipment.

  “You have a regular fitness center in here.”

  He stopped his chair in the center of the room. “I wasn’t sure what we would need, so I had everything brought in.”

  Was that embarrassment she was seeing?

  There was a bench press, a state of the art universal machine, a treadmill that looked like it could do everything for you—even walk for you. There was a massage table center stage and a rolling cart with towels and room for anything she’d brought. “The table is great.” She moved over to it. “This is where we need to start this morning. I’m going to evaluate your situation and then we’ll get started with your treatment. How does that therapeutic massage sound this morning?”

  His forehead crinkled—cutely. “Now that I can get excited about.”

  “If you’ll get up here, we’ll get started.” A beeping sound came from another room in the house and then the distinct sound of a fax working as pages came through.

  “Let me check that.”

  He was gone before she could say anything. She had the distinct feeling she was going to have to compete with his office. She wasn’t going to jump to conclusions just yet because he’d sounded so determined yesterday.

  She had the massage table prepped when he came back ten minutes later.

  “Do I need to help you?” She got a quick shake of the head in answer and watched as he stood. Putting all his weight on the one leg, he balanced on his good leg. His face told more than he probably wanted it to about the pain he was experiencing.

  She knew it was hard for a man like him to ask for help, so she held back but still took a step forward. There was nothing weak looking about him. He had on gym shorts and his well-developed calves had a good dusting of dark hair and were tanned enough for her to pretty much know he jogged outside—if he was a jogger like she suspected he was.

  She started to ask him, but he turned too quickly, winched in pain and lost his balance. If he’d had the use of his left arm, he would have reached out for the table to help him regain his balance, but he didn’t. One minute he was standing, the next he was toppling. Once again, Amanda reacted on instinct. Heart pumping, she scooted into the line of what seemed like a toppling oak tree and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Here we go,” she gasped, looking up at him. Relieved she’d gotten to him.

  His good arm curled about her shoulders for support. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he grunted.

  “I won’t.” Amanda concentrated on her own balance and not on the fact that Wyatt’s arm was around her and hers
around him. He smelled great—

  “Nothing like being a klutz,” he ground out.

  Amanda laughed. Poor man was so out of his comfort zone needing help. Especially help from a woman. She squeezed his waist encouragingly. “I feel your pain,” she told him as she met his eyes. Their faces were so close. Her nerves jangled like alarms, and looking at him, she felt breathless. Goodness. She couldn’t look away as his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips then shot back up to hold hers. Her breath caught. She was close enough to see the iridescent blue flecks encircling his darker blue irises.

  They both reacted at the same time. He dropped his arm, but she was already moving away. Putting the table between them, she gave a weak smile. “You’re not a klutz.” A hunk, no doubt about it, but not a klutz. “You’re doing great.”

  He scowled. “I’ve managed until now to not fall on my face. And I don’t need to break your back or your leg in the process of doing it now.” And just like that he slammed a door between them as he sat down on the edge of the massage table.

  “You didn’t,” she snapped. Flustered from the encounter and not exactly sure how to deal with it, Amanda set to work evaluating his shoulder. What was she doing—she’d just been dumped by her fiancé, and yet here she was noticing how amazingly attractive her new client was. It was disturbing on so many levels and very much unlike her.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Wyatt asked finally when it looked like he wasn’t going to speak. Amanda had clammed up after he’d almost crushed her—and what was with him? He’d found himself almost drowning in her eyes when he’d looked down at her. He’d forgotten himself for a minute. But he wouldn’t have lost his balance if his hip hadn’t seized up on him. That was all it took to remind him Amanda was going to help him walk again. And that was the only thing he needed to be thinking about where she was concerned.