by Maddie James
“Parker,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “Of course.”
The hell it wasn’t an imposition, but she did have her manners.
****
Parker stepped through the back door and onto the porch. He watched the dirt trail billow up behind the older model Suburban as his new neighbor drove away from the house and toward the main road.
Where she had come from, he had no clue. He supposed everyone was too caught up in his or her own lives to gossip right now—including himself. Not that he was into gossip, but word did get around quickly when someone new moved into the area.
Reba was pretty. And pleasant. Nice. Her smile was welcoming, and those flashing green eyes were wickedly sinful. With each blink of her black lashes, she’d touched a place inside of him that hadn’t been touched in a long time.
Been too long without a woman.
Yes, it had been too long, and his crotch was growing tight just thinking about it.
Not the time.
No, it wasn’t. Too many other things on his agenda now.
He was thankfully alone, the sun setting and leaving an orange-pink halo glow to the west, reminding him of just how long this day had been. He’d been up before sunrise, sitting right here on the porch, contemplating what it was going to be like to put his father in a grave today. He’d needed those long moments of quiet reflection, and he was glad he’d taken them. The remainder of the day had been one difficult moment after another.
But he made it through. The sun was about to set on the day. He’d be damned if he’d let it set on his father’s memory.
Shaking his head, he stepped forward and leaned into a post, relieved to have escaped the kitchen in time to avoid Liz as she’d bustled in. She’d called his name as he closed the door behind him, but he simply moved on, pretending he didn’t hear.
It was a difficult day for everyone. Liz had lost her husband, the girls their father, and Brody his stepdad. Of course, he’d lost his dad, too. Hell, every single person who lived or worked on this ranch had their own significant relationship with his father. It was a loss any way you looked at it.
Parker only wanted to deal with his own emotions right now. He also wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in six months. Dammit. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he shoved them into his pockets and stared over the landscape leveling out in front of him.
Reba Morris’s taillights blinked in the distance as she neared the main road, her vehicle dipping into and over small hills and gullies as she drove. He froze as he watched her brake lights flash and spin and, then finally, roll.
He pushed off the porch post and yelled, “Brody! Murphy! Get your asses out here now!”
He ran for his truck.
Chapter Two
The deer came from out of nowhere.
With dusk falling and the setting sun streaming through the windshield, Reba saw the animal too late. It came from the right, and for a fleeting moment, hooves pounded against the glass and the windshield crackled and popped as it shattered. It scared the hell out of her.
She was used to deer darting into the road in Kentucky, and knew the times of day to watch for them, but never had she actually tangled with one. This deer had taken her totally off guard.
Instinct, rather than any kind of driving skill, made her jerk the steering wheel in the opposite direction. It could have been the wrong thing to do—her worn tires slipped and spun on the soft dirt road.
Then she hit the ditch—and rolled the truck.
It all happened in a nanosecond. A blur. Fast forward and slow motion at the same time. Thank God she always wore her seatbelt.
The truck came to a rapid, jarring halt on the passenger side, rocked a bit, and then she was hanging from her seat. Sort of. Sideways. For a moment, she stayed still, trying to get her bearings straight. The windshield had cracked significantly.
She brought her right hand to her forehead. Good God, she had a goose egg already, right above her left eye. She pulled her hand away. Sticky. Blood. She’d hit her head on the steering wheel. Had she cracked her head open?
Glancing around her inside the cab, she attempted to orient herself. How to get out? Could she unlatch the seatbelt and drop to the other side of the truck or somehow wiggle up and out of the driver’s side door?
She didn’t know if she could do either. Her head hurt, darn it, and she was more than a little stunned. Probably not thinking straight.
She tried the power window beside her. Pain shot through her left forearm toward her elbow. She gasped and cursed. The window didn’t budge.
She tried lifting the door handle to open the door. Nada.
Finally, she felt for the seatbelt latch and tried to push it with a forefinger. Stuck.
Dammit. She was stuck.
She sighed, deep, and let her head fall against the seat. Dammit, dammit! It would soon be dark, and she certainly didn’t want to spend the night hanging here inside the vehicle until someone discovered her in the morning. Certainly, she could maneuver herself out of this belt, but no amount of twisting and squirming in her awkward position seemed to help. Besides, the strain made her head hurt more.
That scenario of her hanging there all night might indeed play out, and she resigned herself to that fact.
Then she jerked. Cell phone? Where was it? She always kept it on the charger. Was it still attached to the cigarette lighter? There. Jammed between the console and passenger seat. She stretched to snag it, but it was too far down, out of reach. And the more she tried to poke at it, the farther it slid down in that narrow crack.
Hell’s bells. Reba closed her eyes and tried to think. If only the pounding in her head would stop. “Just think, Reba. You’re a smart girl. Just think.”
When she opened her eyes again, the headlights of another vehicle cutting through the night blinded her.
Thank God.
****
Parker’s heart raced. The last thing he needed right now was another night of drama—but he would never refuse help to anyone in trouble.
And especially not a new neighbor.
There was something about Reba Morris. He wasn’t certain what. She was different, that was for sure. A little softer around the edges than many women he knew. She appeared smart and well put together, and not in an off-putting way. She was friendly and open.
Perhaps a little guarded. He couldn’t put his finger on it.
And she was probably in trouble right now, if what he thought just happened, had.
Murphy had jumped in with him as he turned the truck around, and Parker yelled to Brody to follow in his own truck. You never know when you’ll need two vehicles. Perhaps someone to run and fetch more help.
They raced down the bumpy, washboard road, and his gut clutched as he saw the SUV sitting on its side. He didn’t see anything else, which could be good and bad. At least she wasn’t thrown from the vehicle.
He parked and then jumped out, grabbed a flashlight from under the seat, and slammed the door behind him. “Reba!”
“Over here. Oh, thank God!”
Her voice was high-pitched and laced with panic. He rushed to the truck and could see her as he aimed the flashlight beam down through the driver’s side window. “We’re going to get you out. Are you hurt?”
“Just my pride!” she shouted back.
It was more than that. Her face was streaked with blood. He jerked on the door handle.
“It’s jammed. And I can’t unlatch my seatbelt.”
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. Stay calm.”
“I’ll try.”
Yeah, and so would he. For some reason, his insides were nothing but calm.
Good thing was, he couldn’t smell fuel, so he didn’t think there was imminent danger of explosion or fire. But when he rounded the front of the truck, he immediately jumped back and yelled.
A deer leaped forward, startled at Parker’s approach. The deer’s back hooves pummeled the wi
ndshield, and it cracked even more. Reba shrieked. Parker aimed the flashlight beam toward the animal’s direction and watched it buckle to the ground again.
Broken leg, likely. “Brody!”
His younger stepbrother joined him. “Ah, dammit. I hate that.”
“I know. But she’s suffering. Your gun in the cab?”
“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”
Parker turned his attention back to the truck and Reba, intent now on getting her out of there as quickly as possible. He gripped the flashlight firmly in his hand and shouted out, “Reba, cover your face best as you can. I’m coming in through the windshield to get you out of there.”
“Okay.” Her voice quavered a bit, and it only spurred him on.
The deer was nearly forgotten until he heard the single gunshot crack the night. Murphy and Brody were behind him, and he realized they were taking the deer to Brody’s truck. Someone would benefit from the meat. One good thing…
“Here we go,” he said, and with the flashlight started knocking out the rest of the crackled glass in the windshield. Luckily, it was coming out in large pieces and pellets, and not jagged shards of glass. Thank God for safety glass and modern technology. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t sure she was. With most of the glass out of the way now, he edged into the cab, crouching a bit and facing Reba who had to be extremely uncomfortable hanging there. It was a wonder the airbags hadn’t deployed.
She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He could still see the emerald twinkle of them in the moonlight. His heart melted a little, and he reached up to brush long strands of hair out of her face and then saw the swelling over her forehead and a cut. “You’re not okay,” he said softly.
She nodded and then said, “No. I’m not.”
“Tell me where it hurts,” he asked.
“My head. My left arm.”
“Anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Not your neck? Back?”
“No. No. I’m okay there.”
Good. “All right.” He pulled a knife out of his pocket and looked straight into her eyes. “I’m going to cut the seatbelt, and you are going to fall, but I’m going to do my darnedest to keep you from going down hard. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Hold onto my shoulders if you can and just watch my face. Don’t look at the knife.”
Her stare was fixed on him as he grabbed a section of the seatbelt at her hip and started cutting away from her body. It was like cutting through steel, but he wasn’t about to give up.
“Almost there. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“There.”
Reba’s weight shifted, and Parker caught her. He tossed the knife to the side. She fell into his arms, and with his awkward crouch in the cab, they both pitched forward onto the ground.
Reba landing on top of him.
She raised her head up and looked at him through a fringe of falling hair. “Well, this is awkward,” she said.
Parker grinned and chuckled. He liked a woman with a sense of humor. “Why don’t you roll away from the truck and let’s get out of here,” he told her.
She did, and he scooped her up and carried her to the cab of his truck. She protested all the way, of course, about being able to walk. That he should put her down. That she was perfectly capable.
But he didn’t listen. He did what his cowboy instinct told him to do. Protect. Take care of her. And that was what he was about to do.
****
Reba tried to be patient as this cowboy, her neighbor, Mr. Parker McKenna, fawned all over her. She sat at her kitchen table and mentally assessed the situation as he rinsed out a washcloth and then sat in front of her, carefully swiping grime and blood from her face.
He’d pulled back her hair with a clip he found in the bathroom, to keep it from hanging in her eyes. She had no clue when she’d lost the band holding her ponytail.
This was awkward, and not in the way that she was thinking earlier. She was usually the one to do the caretaking. That’s who she was. Reba Morris definitely wasn’t used to other people taking care of her.
Who was this cowboy and what was he doing in her kitchen?
“I’m not thinking straight,” she said aloud.
He stopped swiping and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to get some ice for that bump.”
“Okay.” She nodded like a dutiful little girl and wondered if she should sit in the chair and swing her legs like one. Would she get a sucker if she were a good girl?
Reba, where is your brain? What are you thinking?
Could she help it if she thought him attractive?
She felt a little off-kilter. Why would she think of that right now? Her head was killing her. “How can you tell if someone has a concussion, and what do you do for it?” she blurted out.
He turned back to look at her, the freezer door open. “You think you have a concussion?”
“I don’t know. I feel fuzzy.”
“Your body has had quite a jolt. Give yourself time. I’m getting ice for the arm too.”
She watched as he scooped cubes into two different quart-sized baggies and wondered how he knew where to find those. Then he wrapped each baggy in a thin dishtowel and crossed the room toward her.
Matter-of-fact. Sure and swift. Do the right thing, Mr. Cowboy Neighbor.
He sat in front of her on one of her carved-oak kitchen chairs.
“You hold this one on your arm,” he said, handing her an ice packet. “I’ll hold the one to your forehead.”
“Goodness, this is unreal,” she said.
Here she was in her kitchen—her new home, her sanctuary, the place where she was supposed to find herself—being taken care of by someone else.
Without impositions.
This wasn’t the plan, was it?
Or was it?
“But thank you, Parker. I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t happened by….”
“I saw your lights spin and flip from the porch. I got there as soon as I could.”
“Well then, again, many thanks.” You were watching me from the porch? “But I think I’m fine now. I know you’re tired; it’s been a helluva day for you. I’m sure you want to head back—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Why don’t you stop talking for a minute, and let’s just take a minute to assess everything. Make a plan for what else needs to be done.”
“No plan,” she said. “I’m fine here.”
“Let’s make sure you don’t need to go to ER.”
She shook her head. “No ER. I’ll be fine.” Her insurance was still being worked out, and she hadn’t had time to establish a health care provider here in Montana. Getting hurt wasn’t on her radar screen, and she didn’t want to deal with the hospital hassle tonight.
Not part of the plan.
Plan. She had to stick with her plan. This hiccup was not going to get in her way.
She’d carried her plan out nice and orderly, up until now. She’d bought the Crandall place, sold most of her possessions back in Kentucky, and moved here to start fresh. She didn’t have to worry about her job because she carried her job with her wherever she went. Have laptop, will travel. She was here to heal from a few difficult years and, according to her plan, find herself.
Even indulge in life’s pleasures. Big and little.
Maybe even all of life’s pleasures. Especially the sexy ones.
She looked into Parker McKenna’s face. Their gazes tangled and darted off each other. Hell’s bells. What kind of pleasure might this cowboy provide?
“You’re not fine.” Parker stood, pulling the ice away from her head. “In fact, in case you do have a concussion, I need to make sure you don’t go to sleep. Let’s move you to someplace a little more comfortable so you can put your feet up.” He nodded off to her right. “Your living room that way?”
“Yes. But—”
Parker took her elbow
and guided her to a standing position. “This way.”
“I’m really okay, Parker. You can go. I’ll stay up and watch late night TV, or work on my project, or bake something.”
He didn’t acknowledge any of that and marched her into the den, where he quickly assessed the room, and evidently decided the sofa was the best place for her. “There. Does the footrest come up on this?”
“It does, but—”
“Good. You sit here. Get that ice pack on your arm. I’ll be right back with the one for your forehead.
Again, she dutifully sat. Within seconds, he had lifted the footrest by pushing a button on the arm, and she sank back into the soft sofa.
“Oh, this isn’t good,” she muttered. “This feels too cozy.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you awake.”
Reba looked up into Parker McKenna’s face, gave him a saucy smile, and burst out with the first words that came to her fuzzy head. “Oh, I look forward to that, cowboy.”
Then, she winked.
Chapter Three
Late Friday night/early Saturday morning
She winked at him.
She winked at him?
His new neighbor, Reba Morris, just winked at him.
Parker turned away and stared across the room. What the hell was that about? Without looking at her, he headed to the kitchen, certain he’d misunderstood. Maybe it was an eye twitch of some sort. That’s it. It was a twitch.
Not a wink.
Beyond the kitchen doors, however, he pulled out his cell phone to see if he had service so he could Google the symptoms for a concussion.
He didn’t think eye twitching was one of them.
Neither was winking.
Parker stared at the phone, which indicated absolutely no bars for service. Reba’s cabin was up in the mountains a bit far, and often service was spotty up here, but—
And then he shoved it back into his pocket. He didn’t need to Google anything, anyway.
I look forward to that, cowboy.