by Kayn, Debra
"No. He stays."
"Jesus, Trace. Are you suicidal? That horse isn't worth the sweat of training him." Devon shook his head. "Count yourself lucky, and move on. Some horses aren't trainable, and even you can't change their ways. It's inbred in them to be mean."
Trace flinched. He'd heard the same thing about himself. He was inbred for meanness. He wouldn't amount to much. His resolve to train Thunderbolt grew stronger. Many folks had given up on him, including his father, but he was damn sure Thunderbolt was deserving of his attention.
"Thunderbolt stays," he said.
Chapter Ten
"I'm coming." Joan hurried out of the bathroom, crossed the bedroom to open the door. "Oh…hey, Brody. Does Trace need me?"
She'd returned to the house an hour ago, risking life and limb on the back of Red Moon, to save her the energy of walking back to the house after spending a day indulging in self-pity. She'd evaded Brody's questions of why she was upset, and blamed it on hormones and not enough sleep last night.
"No. He's fine. In fact, he's outside sitting on the edge of the pool cooling off. Don't worry though. We're making sure he doesn't get his cast wet." Brody cocked his head to the side, studying her. "We were all wondering if you'd like to go swimming. The water's nice, and the stars are out. There's really no better way to cool off and relax after suffering through a hot summer day."
She glanced behind her at the luggage stacked in the corner of the room. She was positive she'd packed her swimsuit, and the exercise would lessen the tension she was experiencing. Maybe she'd be able to get more sleep tonight if she wore herself out first.
"Thanks. I think a swim sounds great. Let me change and I'll meet you outside." She reached out and touched his arm. "Thanks again for giving me a ride back to the ranch. I walked further than I thought I did."
"Whenever you want to get away, just tell one of us and we'd be happy to help out. It should be easier now that calving season is behind us, and we have more free time. We don't want you to burn out before Trace can get back on his feet and working. Call us selfish, but none of us are too wild about being stuck inside the house while Trace is healing." Brody reached out and squeezed her hand. "We owe you our thanks. You've kept him down, giving his leg a chance to heal. Last time he was laid up, he was back on a horse three days after surgery, while wearing a cast on his arm."
"You're kidding?" She shook her head. "Never mind. I believe you. I'm learning Trace is tougher and more stubborn than anyone I've ever met before."
Brody's smile faded. "He's the best friend I have. I wish…"
She waited for him to explain, but he shook his head and walked back down the hallway. She closed the door and leaned against it for support. Curious about what Brody was going to say before he caught himself, she had to admit it wasn't the first time one of the guys seemed to hold back from speaking their mind when the subject came to Trace.
Ten minutes later, Joan stared down at herself and had second thoughts. Despite how much she liked all the men, and had grown comfortable around them, she was still Trace's nurse, and a bikini meant for backyard sun tanning was not appropriate clothing.
Digging through her bag, she found a yellow, oversized T-shirt and slipped it on. More confident now that she had less showing, she relaxed. She'd just sit beside the pool, dangle her legs in the water, and make sure Trace did nothing to get his cast wet.
Downstairs, at the back of the house, the lights under the water lit up the pool area in the night. Joan slid the glass door open and paused. Her stomach fluttered. This wasn't a shared dinner or conversation in the living room with the guys.
Swimming was an intimate act, with bare skin, muscles, and moonlight.
"Great. You decided to join us." Devon stood behind the freestanding bar, smiling. "You caught me playing server. What's your pleasure?"
She strolled to the mini bar. "What's everyone else having?"
"Pop, ice water, and lemonade." He shrugged. "But, we have beer, wine, juice, and anything else you can imagine."
"I'll take lemonade. Thank you." She turned and found Trace. Brody had been right.
Trace sat at the end of the pool with his bad leg stretched out on a towel, and his other leg dipped in the pool, keeping his cast out of harm's way. He slouched with his gaze directed toward the water. The ripples on the surface Brody created in the pool when he jumped in reflected on Trace's face.
The glow emphasized the tired expression, as if he'd given up on ever getting rid of the cast on his leg that kept him from normal activities. Raven hair lay loose around his shoulders. She headed in his direction, her heart softening.
Trace didn't watch her approach, but kept staring down into the pool, lost in his thoughts. She reached out and touched his shoulder.
With a wounded cry, his arm flew back and knocked her glass out of her hands and into the water. However, it was the way he jolted, ducked his head, and flung his arm over his face that made her physically sick. She reached out, but his mouth hardened and his eyes shot out wounding her. Gone was the frightened mask she saw seconds before, and in its place was anger, ready to lash out at her once again.
"What the hell are you doing out here? You're a nurse, go find someone who needs their ass wiped and leave me the hell alone." He leaned back for the crutches.
Shocked and traumatized, she'd never, in all her life, forget the fear that'd spilled out of him and poisoned the night.
Many times over the past weeks, she wondered what would cause his defenses to come out and shut him off from her. The pain she witnessed on his face on occasions wasn't coming from his leg. It came from deeper inside of him.
How many times had he stepped away from her touch, turned his back on her, or snapped at her to push her away? Her chest tightened, until she thought her next breath wouldn't come. She swallowed past the cry stuck in her throat. It all made sense.
They'd taught her how to spot abuse in college, but she'd misread the signs in Trace because he was an adult, a man. She stopped herself from covering her mouth. Somewhere in his past, he'd suffered from the hands of someone else.
Without thinking, she kicked his crutches out of his reach and sat down beside him. Her hands shook, but she managed to fish her glass out of the water and set it beside her. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Now that the truth was revealed, what was she supposed to say?
The beating of his heart, or maybe it was her own, filled the silence stretching between them. Her vision blurred and she made no effort to blink the tears away. Pain should never be hidden, but healed.
He'd looked so lost and broken. The impulse to wrap her arms around him had been so strong she'd almost given in to her need to help him. She glanced at Trace. His hands remained fisted in front of him and he'd lost himself somewhere in the memories of his past. She ignored the banter at the other end of the pool. For the last month, she'd spent all her time with Trace. She'd denied how she felt about him, but she couldn't do that anymore.
Without thinking of the consequences, or what trespassing over the line of what she deemed a professional distance, she lightly stroked his fist until he allowed her to slip her hand into his. She never spoke a word, only offered him a light touch. He squeezed her fingers, grasping, holding, and taking the comfort she offered like a dying man with only minutes to live.
It wasn't much, but she only hoped holding his hand would comfort him.
She'd like to offer him more. An ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, if that's what he needed. Whatever he wanted her to do, she'd willingly do it, if only because she sensed he needed something, someone, to tell him it was okay to react the way he had moments ago. He was living a secretive life that was too painful for one person to handle.
Deep inside, she knew he'd never ask for help.
Connected, but miles apart, Joan knew there was more to her feelings than being fascinated with Trace and the mystery behind his distance. She'd fallen in love with the gruff, stubborn, magnificent, man.
>
"Hey Joan. Are you going swimming or not?" Brody motioned for her to jump in.
Not wanting to put Trace in any more of an uncomfortable position by having to explain why she was holding his hand, she let go of him but not before Trace gave her fingers an extra squeeze. Not knowing what to do and afraid to leave him after having shocked him into a place he feared, where he had to battle his demons, she gazed up at him. She wouldn't leave if he wanted her to stay beside him.
He motioned his head toward the water. "Go. I'm fine."
He was lying.
"I could stay here." She glanced down at her shirt. "Swimming's really not in my job description."
He spoke softly for her ears only. "Since when have you let rules stop you when you've set your mind to something?"
"Don't let the red hair fool you." She gently bumped her shoulder into his arm. "I'm not always stubborn."
They were back on even ground. Trace had found the strength to move past what happened, and accepted her back as a friend. She inhaled deeply. They'd tackle what happened tonight on another day, when he was ready.
"Go. You deserve to have fun." He grinned, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
Eyes, which would haunt her for the rest of her life.
***
Joan stood and pulled her shirt over her head.
Trace's breath whooshed out, and his body reacted. Shit.
He had to get out of here. Not trusting himself around her, he blamed his leg for his inability to run away.
His gaze traveled the length of her. From her long, lean, bare legs up to the pink bikini bottoms. If he could call that thin strip of material tied at the sides with a string, a bikini. He swallowed through the rise of desire consuming him. Not sure if he'd survive if she got her satiny skin wet.
Her flat stomach undulated as she checked all the ties on her suit. A sparkle flashed. He leaned closer and struggled to draw in a breath. She had a red-jeweled belly button ring. Now that was something he never expected to see all those times he imagined her with her clothes off.
He forced himself to look away from the jewelry, but what came next stole his breath. Her plump breasts swayed with her movements as she lazily adjusted her top. He was unable to turn away. His anger and embarrassment of earlier faded away and in its place, he reacted like any man who'd been too long between women.
Even the splash of her diving into the water didn't faze him. He had one focus. Joan.
Her thick, wild hair spread over the surface of the water, further reminding him how well he was feeling. All he could think about was how he was glad it was dark, and the others couldn't see his reaction to her.
Devon swam to Trace's side of the pool, hooking his elbows along the edge. "Need anything?"
He shook his head, and then cleared his throat. "No."
Devon pulled himself out of the water, picked up the glass Trace had knocked out of Joan's hand, and kept his eyes averted. "You'll survive. You've been down this road before. Another few weeks and you can heal all those horses that need you, and Joan will be out of your life."
His friends knew him. They'd been there when he'd needed somewhere to hide, to lie for him, and covered his ass more times than he could count. He was grateful for their friendship, but no one knew how much he wished he didn't need them. How he didn't want to need anyone.
Somehow, the beautiful nurse with the soothing voice and compassionate personality had braved the hardened shield he always kept carefully in place, and had him feeling again. He gazed out at her splashing Brody with water, laughing and full of life. How did someone so gentle cause him so much pain?
Chapter Eleven
Joan spun in a circle in the middle of the weight room in Brody's part of the house. The wall composed entirely of mirrors, and the ceiling littered with skylights would work perfect for Trace's physical therapy. The light and cheery atmosphere would help keep him positive as he fought through the pain.
The doctor had noted that it was important to keep the upper thigh muscles strengthened to support the healing bone for when his cast came off. She ran her hand along the barbell. She had to focus on his leg, and not the person.
Her mind told her to heal him from the inside out, but that wasn't what she was being paid for. The only problem she needed to fix was his broken leg.
"What do you think?" Devon gripped a chin up bar and pulled himself off the floor.
"Are you kidding me? This is better than any gym I've seen advertised on television." She planted her hands on her hips. "No wonder you guys are in such great shape."
She whirled around and scrunched her nose where he couldn't see her, cringing over her blatant confession. Devon laughed. She jerked her head up and gazed straight into his reflection in the mirror. There was no hiding in here, and she really opened her mouth this time.
He flexed his arms. "Although, I think I've only came in here twice since we built the house to work out. The ranch gives me more than enough exercise, and I leave the heavy weights to Brody."
She nodded. It was safer that way. It wasn't in her favor to comment any more on the shape of the men who lived here, or they might not take her care of Trace seriously.
Trace's crutches thunked along the wooden floor outside the door. Joan turned, glad to see he'd come when she'd asked. She never knew if he'd follow directions or not.
Besides being the most stubborn man she'd ever worked with, he neglected to talk about anything that transpired last night at the pool. After breakfast, he seemed eager to change the subject anytime there was a lull in the conversation. She took the hint, and decided it was best not to talk about what battles he'd fought that still caused him pain.
She only had three weeks left at the ranch, and she'd convinced herself that whatever she felt for Trace would disappear when she completed the job. Falling in love with him wouldn't help him get better, but add more to his already confused life. She knew how that was, because there wasn't a minute that went by that she didn't think about the deadline facing her.
"Come on in, and sit down on this bench. We're not going to be working with weights, but gentle manipulations that'll get the blood circulating and promote faster healing. It'll also keep your muscles toned, and you won't lose as much strength while you're in the cast and afterward when you're taking it easy." She patted the leather seat.
Trace glanced from her to Devon. Devon held up his hands in surrender and backed out of the room. She raised her brows, waiting.
"Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it myself." He maneuvered his way to the bench and sat.
"Oh, you'll like this kind of therapy. It's very relaxing. You won't even realize its exercise. Some people have even compared therapy to a day at the spa." She kneeled down in front of him. "You'll feel pampered."
She opened the bottle of lotion she brought with her, and squirted a dollop onto the palm of her hand. He swiveled to the side, away from her.
"I don't think so." He shook his head, keeping his leg out of her reach.
"What?" She held her hands up, afraid she'd done something wrong.
"You're not putting that stuff on me." He moved his crutches, preparing to stand.
She rolled her eyes. "It's lotion. It doesn't hurt."
"It smells like something a woman would wear, and I don't need soft skin. I don't need battling blisters added to the long list of things I need to do when I go back to training horses."
She laughed. "Suck it up, buttercup. I'm not putting this on your hands. It's going on your leg. I need it to massage the deep tissue along the top of your thigh and hamstring."
He still didn't move back.
"God, you talk about me being stubborn. You make me look like a wuss. For once, just trust me. You'll like it. If you don't, you can make me go to bed without dinner."
He frowned, and moved his leg back in front of her. "I wouldn't do that."
She nodded, not looking at his face. "I know."
Rubbing her hands together to warm the lo
tion, she assessed his leg. Faint bruises lined the outside of his thigh, from knee to underneath his shorts. She'd have to be careful and not go too deep in her manipulations today, until he had time to heal more. The good news was his bruises were now a pretty shade of green and yellow, instead of the deep, dark purple when she first started working with him.
She placed her hands above his knee and gently spread the lotion over the exposed skin. His leg quivered underneath her fingers, and she lifted her chin.
"Tell me if anything hurts, and I'll stop." She studied him. "Try to relax. This really will work if you let it."
***
Relax?
Hell, he was on the verge of a heart attack. He clamped his teeth together. Joan's curls hid her face when she went back to messaging his leg. He dug his fingers into the edge of the bench to keep from reaching out and stroking her hair. In any other circumstances, he'd swear she was begging for some attention, touching him that way.
He stared hypnotized by the paleness of her slim, soft hands as they glided across the surface of his darker skin. Too comfortable with the way she touched him, he found himself becoming aroused. Glad that his shorts were baggy, he placed his forearm across his lap to hide how she was affecting him.
"I'm going to use my thumbs—"
"What for?" He swallowed.
"To loosen your muscles. You're awfully hard."
You ain't kidding. He groaned, willing himself not to make a fool of himself. He hadn't felt this way since he'd gone through puberty.
Spanning his thigh with both hands, she used her thumbs to press a trail up his leg. He moaned before he could check himself. Surprised at how good the pressure felt, he let his chin fall to his chest. The aching muscles screaming for movement from their confinement that he'd battled with every night, sighed in relief. His toes, below the cast, flexed and unflexed with the movements of her hands.
Joan switched positions, and ran her fist underneath his leg. He blew out his breath. Damn, that feels good.