Roping in the Cowgirl

by Judy Duarte

  “I’m tempted to stay. I love Joy’s cooking, but I have some things to do at home and should also stop by the dry cleaners. When I got home yesterday, the manager had left me a message, saying I’d forgotten to pick up a dress I’d dropped off a few months back.”

  She probably could have worn it one more time, but it carried the scent of Michael’s favorite cologne, reminding her of their last date. The evening had ended in tears—hers. And in her decision to avoid snobs who thought they were better than a “country girl” like her.

  So instead of throwing away the expensive dress, just as she’d tossed Michael aside after that disappointing evening spent at a five-star restaurant with his friends, she’d dropped it off at the cleaners instead. She rarely went anywhere that would require her to wear something that fancy, so she hadn’t missed it. Besides, ever since starting work at the Rocking Chair Ranch, she hadn’t found much need for anything in her closet other than scrubs and jeans.

  Shannon stole a glance at Blake, wondering if he thought she was backwards or a novelty of some kind, and caught him studying her as though she’d revealed something about herself and her new life.

  “I suppose there’s not much chance for you to dress up around here,” he said.

  He was right about that. And apparently, he was good at connecting dots. “With the time I spend juggling a fifty-or sixty-hour workweek, plus working on the T-bird, there isn’t much time for parties or going out on the town.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said.

  She crossed her arms and arched a brow. “From what I’ve heard about you, all work and no play makes Blake a dull boy.”

  “You think so?”

  Actually, she had no idea what kind of activities he enjoyed during his spare time, but as their gazes met and locked, a flood of heat warmed her cheeks. Was he flirting with her? It had been so long since someone had that she might be imagining non-existent signs.

  Either way, there was no way she’d act upon it. Besides, once she snagged a job at the medical center in Brighton Valley, she’d start making friends and create a new life for herself. God willing, she might even find a man like her father.

  “Well,” she said, “I’d better not put off those errands. I’ve got to work again tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning.” He blessed her with a dazzling, heart-strumming smile that only served to weaken her resolve to get on the road.

  Were those few chores she planned to do at home all that important?

  Would it hurt to wait and stop by the dry cleaners on her next day off? It’s not like she had need of that black dress.

  Again, she glanced at the sky, trying to gauge just how badly the first storm would hit. Realistically, the road probably wouldn’t flood until after a second or third rain.

  Before she could consider changing her mind, Alicia Maldonado, the nurse on duty, stepped out the front door and made her way toward Shannon. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Alicia’s olive complexion normally made her look as though she’d just returned from a tropical vacation, but today she was pale, her brown eyes red-rimmed and glossy.

  “What’s the matter?” Shannon asked.

  “I’m not feeling well. It might be something I ate, but if I’m coming down with that virus that’s going around, I probably shouldn’t be here.”

  She was right. Doc had given all the residents flu shots, but there was no need to put any of them at risk. “Go on home. I’ll cover for you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to call in someone else to work this afternoon?” Alicia asked. “You’ve put in quite a few hours this week already.”

  Shannon couldn’t think of anyone to ask, especially at the last minute. “No, I’m sure. Take care of yourself and get some rest. I’ll stay until Darlene gets here this evening.” In fact, she’d probably stay longer than that.

  The only problem was that whenever she’d spent the night at the Rocking C in the past, she’d slept in Joy’s bedroom, which was in the big house. But now that Blake had arrived, Sam was sleeping there. She supposed she’d have to make a bed on the sofa in the office.

  As Alicia walked away, Blake said, “It looks like you’ll be staying for lunch after all.”

  “The weatherman has predicted a series of storms coming through. The first one will hit tonight. It might not be all that strong, but since I could have trouble getting in and out of here, it might be best if I don’t leave.”

  “You’re going to spend the night?”

  That particular question coming from this particular man set off her imagination—and not in a good way. She envisioned a sleepover with the handsome attorney, a slow fire in the hearth, rain pattering softly against the window panes... But there was no way she’d let anything like that happen.

  Still, when she glanced at his gorgeous face and saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested he’d had a similar thought, her hormones soared and her senses reeled. But she quickly roped them all in. Blake wasn’t the kind of guy who’d be any more than a passing blip on her radar. She suspected he was a little too much like Michael—and not a thing like her dad.

  Don Cramer had been a sweet, gentle soul. An easygoing family man who didn’t have a temperamental bone in his body. And Blake Darnell was just the opposite. He’d rise up to any challenge, maybe before one was even made. That probably worked well for him in the courtroom, but it worked against him when dealing with people—especially his uncle.

  Shannon, who was a peacemaker at heart, wouldn’t want to cross him, but she could be as tough as rawhide when she had to be. If it ever became necessary, she’d go to battle for what was just and right, and she’d do it without a heartbeat’s hesitation.

  Blake might think of Shannon as a healer, but she was also a fighter when it came to defending the weak, the downtrodden and those she cared about. So if push came to shove, she wouldn’t be afraid to go against him.

  Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to.

  * * *

  The rain began at four o’clock, just a gentle sprinkle at first.

  Inside the ranch house, music flowed from the living room, where a couple of volunteers from the Wexler Junior Women’s Club played a variety of music for the residents. They’d brought an Mp3 player, as well as a variety of CDs, mostly vintage country tunes. While the cowboys joined in and turned the small event into a sing-along, Blake had taken the opportunity to go out onto the porch to spend some quiet time to himself—albeit, to the background sound of Willie Nelson singing “Georgia on My Mind.”

  About an hour earlier, the men who usually sat out here in their rocking chairs on the porch had returned to the house where it was warm and dry. But Blake preferred standing at the railing, looking out at the ranch, listening to the raindrops pelt the roof and watching them fall to the ground. He found it both peaceful and energizing at the same time.

  When the screen door creaked open, he turned to see who’d broached his serenity. When he spotted Shannon, a lazy grin slid across his lips.

  “Hey,” he said. “Aren’t you into sing-alongs?”

  “Only if there’s a karaoke.”

  “Seriously?” His smile deepened. “You’re a wannabe singer?”

  “Not really. And only when there are drinks involved.” She made her way outside and joined him at the railing. “There was a honky-tonk near our ranch, and sometimes my dad and I liked to go there on Tuesday nights, when they had happy hour prices until closing. Sometimes, when the karaoke started up, we’d sing duets.”

  Her admission surprised him, and his expression must have given him away. She crossed her arms, emphasizing not only a bit of annoyance but the fullness of her breasts.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Does a city boy like you think there’s something wrong about having a little fun in a honky-tonk?”

  He hadn’t meant to suggest any such thing. “Actually, I’m just a little surprised by your...many talents.”

  As Patsy Cline’s bl
uesy, country voice belted out “Crazy” in the living room, Blake found himself reaching out a hand to Shannon. “Dance with me.”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. But why wouldn’t they? His bold suggestion had taken him by surprise, too.

  “Are you...messing with me?”

  He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he certainly wasn’t teasing her. “I’m just a little caught up in the music.” And in the romantic moment.

  Shannon waited a beat, then she slipped her hand in his and stepped into his embrace. As they moved together on the porch, the faint scent of her perfume—wildflowers?—taunted him, luring him into a place he’d never been before, a feeling he’d never quite had.

  The porch, once rustic and restful, evoked an almost dreamy longing within him. The falling rain created a heavenly veil, enclosing them in a sensual outdoor setting.

  The autumn air was cool and crisp, but Shannon’s shapely body was warm, fanning a spark that had lain dormant deep in Blake’s chest for far too long.

  He’d never considered himself to be a romantic, but there was something about the way their bodies moved together and the way their hearts beat in the same rhythm that made the spontaneous dance as mesmerizing and sexy as hell. In spite of his better judgment, he hoped that whatever was flickering between them would go on long after the music ended.

  As the song played on, Blake was bombarded with a hodgepodge of emotion, heightened by a growing sense of lust.

  A relationship with Shannon, thanks in large part to the distance between them and completely different dreams, was impossible. Yet he couldn’t help wondering if she’d consider spending an evening with him.

  And sharing more than a dance.

  * * *

  Shannon had no idea why Blake had asked her to slow dance with him on the front porch. Nor did she know why she’d agreed to do it. The whole idea was as crazy as the song implied. He’d told her he was impressed with her talents, which she’d assumed had been sarcastic. After all, he probably frequented fancy clubs in the city, rather than honky-tonks like the Stagecoach Inn.

  But for some reason—the way his gaze had locked on hers—she’d felt compelled to take his hand, to step into his arms and to savor the warmth of his muscular frame, the scent of his woodsy cologne.

  While the rain poured down around them, creating a cascading wall of water flowing from the eaves, the moment turned romantically surreal. Yet, at the same time, it was incredibly sexy and almost...magical.

  But the dance, the intimacy, had to stop. Sharing a romantic moment with Blake Darnell was worse than crazy. Could the two of them be anything other than a match destined to crash and burn before it even got off the ground?

  The California attorney was absolutely nothing like the Texas cowboys Shannon had either known or dated in the past, men who valued her and her country life. Sure, he had a solid, muscular build that seemed to have come from hard work. But more likely, it probably came from working out with the weights and equipment at an exclusive Southern California gym he visited regularly, rather than from lifting bales of hay and roping cattle.

  And in spite of how well he might fit into those worn jeans that rode low on his narrow hips, he wasn’t a man who belonged on a ranch. Instead, he was a city boy through and through, a workaholic who was too consumed with building a lucrative career to find time for his family—or to value a simpler way of life.

  He also lived more than a thousand miles away, which meant a relationship between them was completely impossible.

  Yet as they swayed to the sensual beat, their bodies fit together so perfectly, and she found herself leaning into him, holding him close, breathing in his musky scent... And, believe it or not, wishing the song would never end.

  It would, though. And so would this brief romantic moment.

  Shannon really should’ve pulled away and stopped the stupid dance that was stirring her hormones to a dangerous level and making her weak at the knees, but she couldn’t seem to do it. Not when his arms held her close, when his musky scent snaked around her and the sound of the rain pattered on the roof. Who would have guessed that she and Blake could create a harmonious tune of their own?

  When the screen door squeaked open and someone stepped out onto the porch, the short-lived spell was broken, and Shannon jerked free of Blake’s arms. Her cheeks burned at the thought of being caught in... Well, it wasn’t exactly a compromising situation, but she didn’t like the idea of someone seeing her and Blake together like this and assuming it meant more than it did.

  “What have we here?” Sam asked, a twinkle in his eye and a grin on his lips.

  “We just got caught up in the music,” Blake said.

  Shannon wanted to add, It’s not what you might think, but she doubted that would convince Sam, especially when he’d recently fallen in love and thought everyone in the world should experience what he had. Besides, she wasn’t sure what explanation she could give him for why she’d been dancing with his nephew, especially when she still didn’t have an answer herself.

  Sam’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry to bother you, Shannon, but I’m worried about Rex.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He came out of his room, pushing his walker, and joined us in the living room. He seemed to be enjoying the music, but he got a phone call from his family and took it in the dining room. When he returned, he looked beat down. I don’t know what they said to him, but he went back to his room.”

  Shannon ran her hands along her denim-clad hips, wishing she’d taken time to change into one of several pairs of clean scrubs she’d packed and brought with her from home. She could certainly use a more professional stance right now, and not just because of Sam’s presence. She needed to remind Blake, as well as herself, that she was on duty and not here to...play around.

  “I followed him back to his room,” Sam said, “and I helped him get into bed. When I asked him what happened, he said he was just tired, which might be true...

  “But...?” Shannon asked.

  “I don’t think that’s the case. He’s not doing well, and I’m not just talking about his physical health.”

  Shannon knew what Sam meant. Rex’s brother had died last year, after a lengthy stay in a convalescent hospital, and it still bothered him. Not the old man’s loss, but the years leading up to his death. And Shannon certainly understood why it did. That’s why she’d promised him she wouldn’t let the same thing happen to him—if she could help it.

  “I checked on him earlier,” Shannon said, “and his vitals were strong. So you’re right. That phone call probably upset him. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said. “I’d appreciate that.”

  Checking on Rex also gave her a good excuse to go into the house. She needed to get away from Blake and to shake off the lingering effects of the dance they’d just shared.

  If she were to stay outside with him any longer... No, she wasn’t even going to think about that.

  “If you’ll excuse me...” She glanced first at Sam, then at Blake. Without giving either of them a chance to respond, she left them on the porch. She had a job to do, patients to attend to.

  And crazy, romantic thoughts would only lead to nowhere fast.

  * * *

  Blake watched Shannon go into the house. When the screen door slapped shut behind her, he turned to his uncle, expecting to see a teasing glimmer in his eye and to have him make a playful comment about the slow dance he’d just witnessed.

  Instead, Sam’s gaze drilled into him as though Blake had somehow set their relationship back two weeks.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  His uncle folded his arms across his chest. “Rex told me you haven’t talked to him yet. When were you going to do that? After his family admits him to some dark and dank convalescent hospital in Arkansas?”

  Blake understood Sam’s frustration and annoyance. His uncle and Rex were friends, and Sam didn’t want to see his old buddy lea
ve the Rocking C, even if it was for his own good.

  Bypassing Sam’s question altogether and avoiding an apology for not following through on that promised chat as quickly as he should have, Blake took another tack. “Does anyone in his family have power of attorney?”

  “Heck, no. Rex would never willingly give any of them that kind of control over him. He’d give it to me first.”

  “I’m not sure I understand the problem,” Blake said. “Is Rex afraid they’ll move him against his will?”

  “Yep, that’s exactly what he’s worried about. When his only brother had a stroke six years ago and couldn’t talk or put up a fight, they moved him to Arkansas. And Rex doesn’t want the same thing to happen to him.”

  Blake couldn’t blame a family for wanting an ailing, elderly relative to be in closer proximity to them. But he didn’t want this conversation to morph into something more personal and lead to another argument, so he said, “I realize you’re only trying to do what’s best for your friend, but if Rex is having health issues, wouldn’t it be better if he lived near his family?”

  “I can see why you’d make that assumption, but this is different.”

  Blake couldn’t see much difference, although he had to admit that Uncle Sam was doing a heck of a lot better now that he was working on the Rocking C—not just physically, but mentally, too. He’d been only a ghost of a man when Blake had last visited him at the Sheltering Arms.

  Poor Sam had really fallen apart when he’d lost Nellie, and understandably so. Nellie had been a wonderful woman, a loving wife—and she’d been one of a kind. That’s why it had been such a surprise to learn Sam had replaced her already.

  Sam slapped his hands on his hips and cleared his throat. “Will you please talk to Rex and tell him you’ll put a stop to their harassment?”

  Blake didn’t think that a few phone calls to the poor old guy could be considered harassment. They might be pressuring him, but it was not as though they could actually force him to move at this point. Either way, he wasn’t sure what he could actually do to help.

  Sam blew out an exasperated sigh. “I can tell that you’ve already sided with Rex’s family on this, but you don’t know the whole story. And if you did, I think you’d agree that Rex has a right to live his own life and to die with his boots on—and right here in Texas.”