by Liz Isaacson
He froze, only his eyes moving up to meet hers. “In the home health center? What did we establish about dating patients?”
Holland gave her cousin a smile. “He’s not a patient.” Because they had established a strict no-dating-patients rule for Holland. “He’s a cowboy.”
Cecil quirked one eyebrow at her. “How did you meet a cowboy?”
“His father broke his hip. He came down for the family consult.” The scent of baking bread filled the house, and Holland took a deep breath, thinking of her mother’s cooking.
“So you spoke to him for five seconds,” Cecil said, shaking his head. “I know this game.”
“He was handsome.”
“I thought you were here to work. Get your career started. In fact, I distinctly remember you saying the words ‘No dating for me. No sir. Not necessary.’” He settled against the counter opposite her and smirked.
“It’s not necessary,” Holland said, an air of forced nonchalance in her tone. Dating in general wasn’t necessary, but dating Elliott Hawthorne…. Well, she’d do everything she could to get assigned to his father, as Elliott would be coming down from the ranch where he worked every evening and she really wanted to know what color of hair hid beneath that delicious cowboy hat.
With a chicken and mushroom calzone in her lunchbox, Holland headed into work the next morning earlier than usual. Only ten minutes, but enough to get to the center, stash her lunch, and be in the conference room before anyone else. She was usually one of the last, bustling in with her coffee and an apologetic smile to the director.
But not today. Oh, no. She wanted to be seen first when Kevin walked through the door, maybe even ask about Sean Hawthorne.
With four new cases being assigned today and only two physical therapists, Holland had a good chance of landing the Hawthorne case.
“Morning, Holland,” Kevin said as he entered the room. He carried several folders, and Holland put on her brightest smile and didn’t look at what he had in his arms.
“Morning.”
“How did things go with the family consult last night?” He sat at the head of the table and pulled a pen out of his breast pocket.
“Great,” she said, maybe a little too brightly. “The younger son didn’t want to sign the power of attorney.”
“That’s fine.” Kevin didn’t even glance up from the paperwork.
“I liked the father,” Holland said, though Char had done most of the work with him last night. She was a CNA and had taken the vitals and marked the chart.
“Great.” Kevin fanned the folders and tapped one. “Do you want him?”
Holland lifted one shoulder though Kevin hadn’t even looked up. “Sure, I’ll take him.”
He pushed the folder toward her and marked something on his clipboard. “Sounds good. He needs to be seen today.”
Holland didn’t reach for the folder, though she wanted to grab it and press it to her chest. “I’ll schedule a time to get over there.”
Two nurses entered the room and Holland fell silent. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, and a giggle threatened to escape her lips. She kept it contained during the meeting, but as soon as she got to her closet of an office, she couldn’t help letting it out.
“Yes, definitely let your son know what time I’m coming,” Holland said later that morning, after calling Sean Hawthorne to set up his physical therapy appointment. “Since I’ve only been approved to come three times a week, you’ll need to do the therapy on your own, and I’d like to train your wife and son so they can help you.”
“All right,” Sean said. “He works a lot. If he needs to be here, evenings are best.”
“I can accommodate your schedule, Mister Hawthorne.” Holland wore a smile on her face that translated into her voice.
“Maybe you should call him,” Sean said. “I don’t know when he’ll be done tonight.”
Holland’s heart started beating to a quick rhythm. “What time is good for you?” she asked. After all, she was getting paid to rehabilitate Sean Hawthorne, not arrange a time to meet his son.
“Anytime that works for Elliott works for us,” he said. “Here’s his number.” He recited the number, and Holland hastened to scratch it on a nearby scrap of paper.
“I’ll give him a call,” she promised before hanging up.
But she didn’t call right away. She wanted to, but she didn’t want her excitement to show in her voice. She needed to be professional, aloof, the way she’d been last night.
Business during business hours, she reminded herself.
Still, she waited until she’d consumed her calzone before even attempting to call Elliott. She hadn’t called a cute cowboy before, and though she had sworn off dating when she’d left Idaho, her stomach was still a jittery mess.
Properly fed, with carbs in her system, she punched in the necessary numbers. His phone rang and rang, finally going to voicemail. She’d only heard him speak a few words, but when he said, “This is Elliott Hawthorne. I’m probably out of range right now, so leave a message, and I’ll call you back,” her pulse picked up.
He had a deep, sexy voice that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He’d been tall, trim, and tough in the way he’d denied his older brother over the power of attorney.
She cleared her throat just as the beep sounded on his voicemail. “Hello, Elliott,” she said in her calmest voice possible. “This is Holland Marsh….”
Chapter 3
“Hello, Elliott,” Holland’s voice on his phone said. “This is Holland Marsh. I’m trying to set up my first appointment with your father, and I believe it’s important you be there. I’ll only be able to come three times a week for him, and I want to train you and your mother in the physical therapy he needs. Would this evening work for you? If so, please call and let me know what time. Thanks.”
She started listing the digits of her phone number, and Elliott just stood there. Just stood there in his near-empty cowboy cabin, pure shock flowing through him.
The message ended, and a smile lifted his lips.
Would this evening work for you?
Heck, yeah, this evening worked for him. He pressed one to replay the message, not only to get her number but to hear the sweet sound of her voice again.
He wasn’t sure who he was. He didn’t get all worked up over a woman the moment he met her. He never had. But he certainly was worked up over Holland Marsh, and he wasn’t even sure why.
“Hey, Miss Marsh,” he said when she answered. “It’s Elliott Hawthorne.”
She cleared her throat. “Oh, hello, Elliott.”
He liked the way she said his name, clean and crisp, without an accent. “What time this evening?” He thought through the rest of the chores he needed to finish. It was close to three o’clock, and he probably had three more hours to go.
“Anytime that works for you.”
“How about seven?” he asked. That would give him thirty minutes to shower. Thirty minutes to drive down the canyon. Maybe he should’ve gone for seven-thirty so he could have thirty minutes to eat.
“Seven is fine,” she said, her voice a bit cool.
“You know what? Let’s do seven-thirty. I need to grab something to eat on the way down.”
“Oh, I—” She cut off, but Elliott really wanted to know what she would’ve said.
She remained silent, so he said, “See you tonight.”
She agreed, and he ended the call, sinking onto his couch with the silent device in his hand. No, he hadn’t asked her out on a date, but his heart raced like he had. His muscles had tightened and then collapsed like he had.
He had no idea why this woman affected him so strongly—but he had seven thirty-minute increments to figure it out and then hide it so his mother wouldn’t see him acting like a fool tonight. Then he’d have double the questions to answer than he normally did.
Seven-thirty came quickly. With such an exciting thing happening that night, the time increments seemed to pass in a sing
le breath.
He arrived at his parents’ house and parked his truck next to a black sedan he’d seen last night. Elliott unwrapped a peppermint, stuck it in his mouth to eradicate any scent of his western barbeque burger dinner, and reminded himself to walk up to the front door.
With his nerves firing, he almost knocked on the door. At the last moment, he pulled his fist back and twisted the knob the way he’d been doing since he moved out. Voices from the back of the house echoed toward him, and he slicked his palms down the front of his jeans before rounding the corner to find his dad standing next to his mom in the kitchen.
They faced Holland, who stood with her back to Elliott. Her laugh rang through the space in the next moment, and her super-straight hair fell back as her head tipped, revealing that part of her head had been shaved along the sides.
Elliott found everything about her shocking, alluring, and unique. His fingers itched to touch her scalp, preferably while he kissed her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice on the squeaky end of things. He noticed his father leaning into the counter instead of really supporting himself, and concern replaced his fantasies about Holland. Simply being in the same room as her satisfied him—for now.
She turned toward him, her hand flying to her hair to smooth it down, though it was lying perfectly flat already.
“Elliott.” His mother moved around the kitchen island to embrace him. He grinned as he hugged her. “You should’ve come for dinner.”
“I had to work,” he said, the same excuse he’d used dozens of times. “I grabbed a hamburger.” He caught Holland watching him, and his throat turned dry. He wished he’d grabbed his soda before coming in.
“So let’s get started.” Holland ducked her head, that silver hair falling over the side of her face. Elliott wanted to brush it back, look into those dreamy brown eyes, and—he broke off his thoughts as she drew his father around the counter too.
He moved in herky jerky motions, and Elliott’s heart pinched. He wanted to help his father. Remember why you’re here, he reprimanded himself.
“So you, Sean,” Holland said. “Will need to do these exercises several times a day. And Doctor Rutledge wants you in outpatient therapy on the days I don’t come.” She gave his father a warm smile, and heat shot through Elliott.
She demonstrated the toe touches, with the help of his dad’s walker. “Or another stable surface,” she said. “And you’ll need to walk. Flat surfaces are best, so you’ll just have to navigate the steps in the garage or the front porch.” She looked at Elliott and then his mom. “He should never go down stairs by himself. Position yourself in front of him, because that’s the direction he’ll fall if he becomes unsteady.”
She locked eyes with Elliott again, and a charge bounced between them. The silence stretched long enough for his mother to look from him to Holland and back. A small part of Elliott died, and he ground the attraction flowing between them from his throat.
“So let’s go,” Holland said, a beautiful blush creeping into her cheeks and making her hair seem even whiter. “Garage or front door, Sean?”
“Garage.” His dad seemed to be perspiring already, and he leaned heavily on his walker as he followed Holland with painful steps toward the door leading into the garage. She waited until he’d crowded her on the landing, and then she eased down three steps.
“All right,” she said. “Gently now.” She took the walker and put it solidly on the next step down. “Very little weight on the injured side. Step with it first. Rest all your weight on the walker.” She steadied the walker too, and down they went, step by step, until his father reached the solid garage floor.
“Excellent, Sean.” She beamed at him like he’d just won a marathon. “Now, I believe your wife mentioned a duck pond.”
“To the right,” his father panted as he headed toward the end of the driveway.
Holland let him go on ahead, and Elliott paused next to her, barely standing outside of the garage. “Always give him a choice,” she said quietly to him and his mother. “He’ll feel powerless enough as it is. Ask him if he wants to go out the front door or the garage. If he wants to walk to the duck pond or the park over on Keller Avenue.” She folded her arms and smiled in his father’s direction.
“Three short walks each day. Fifteen or twenty minutes.” She took a step and everyone moved with her. “And let him get up and get things for himself.” She reached over and touched his mom’s arm. “I know that’s hard for you, but it will help him heal faster.”
“I’ll try.”
“Ma,” Elliott said, wanting to be helpful and not really knowing how.
“I’ll try, Elliott.” She quickened her step and reached his father after only a few seconds. Elliott expected Holland to do the same, give more instructions, but she didn’t. She matched her pace to his, which was as slow as his injured father’s. He had no desire to catch up to his parents, and as the sun continued to set, a sense of contentment poured over Elliott.
“So you didn’t grow up here,” he said, keeping his gaze forward.
“No,” she said. “But my aunt and uncle have lived here for thirty years, and when I was looking to…relocate, this seemed like a good fit.” She lifted her shoulders in a long, deep breath in and then exhaled. “I’ve always loved Gold Valley.” She trained her eyes on his, and he couldn’t help smiling.
“I have too.”
“You did grow up here.”
“Right there in that house.” He chuckled and stuffed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for her. “I live and work up at Horseshoe Home Ranch now.”
“Horseshoe Home.”
“There are four ranches up the canyon. We’re the first one.” Elliott wasn’t sure why he was telling her that. She wouldn’t make the drive up to the ranch to see him. Why would she?
“I live right there.” She nodded to the last house on the opposite side of the street, the one with green shutters and a fresh coat of gray paint.
“That’s Cecil Richards’s place,” he said, not following.
“He’s my cousin,” Holland said, peering at the house.
“And you live with him.”
“Yeah.” She sighed and pulled her gaze from the house. “He got divorced about a year ago, and I got into town six months ago. It’s nice not to have to go home alone.” Vulnerability raced through her expression, and she covered it with a razor-thin smile.
“I get it,” Elliott said. “My cabin mate just got married and moved out last weekend.” The pressure in his chest increased. “I don’t have a new one yet.”
“Cabin mate?”
“Yeah. We cowboys have to share up at the ranch.”
“You love working at the ranch.”
He caught her eye, and they both paused. “Sure do. Listen, do you wanna, I mean, maybe we could grab something to eat together sometime.” Elliott’s thoughts rebounded around inside his skull. Had he just asked her out? Just like that?
“I’d like that.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and started strolling again. She’d accepted, just like that. So he hadn’t imagined the connection between them.
“Why did you want to relocate?” he asked.
“Needed a fresh start,” she said. “After a bad break-up.” She nudged him with her shoulder. “Nothing serious.”
“You left your hometown over a guy and it wasn’t serious?” Elliott didn’t believe that. Someone like Holland didn’t do not-serious, he could just tell. He enjoyed the way they spoke, like they weren’t asking questions but stating obvious facts about the other.
“It was serious,” she said. “Look, maybe we can talk about it at dinner tomorrow night.” She smiled and giggled, but the sound held a lot of anxiety. “Give me some time to figure out how much to tell you.”
“I want to know all of it.” He took a big step in front of her and stopped, forcing her to pause too. “Holland, I—” He couldn’t get himself to articulate how he felt. He didn’t know how he felt. He’d neve
r felt like this before, never had this love-at-first-sight experience ricocheting inside his chest.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see where his parents were. Not even to the corner yet. Not concerned about where Holland and Elliott were.
Nothing else seemed to be stirring in the neighborhood. Elliott wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew what he wanted to do.
He leaned closer, bent his head toward hers, and said, “Tomorrow night,” before brushing his lips against hers for the briefest of kisses. Everything inside him wanted to claim her mouth as his, but he forced himself backward, away from her, utterly stunned at what he’d done.
Her hand moved as if in slow motion to lightly touch her lips. She seemed as frozen as he felt, and Elliott cursed himself for his forward, assuming behavior.
He ducked his head, using his cowboy hat to conceal his face, and turned to catch his parents. His lips tingled and ached for more contact with hers, but all he could give them was a smile. A hopeful smile that tomorrow he could provide them with what they wanted: a proper kiss with Holland Marsh.
Chapter 4
Somehow, Holland made it through the next hour with the Hawthorne’s, the ghost of Elliott’s lips still skating across hers. He’d barely touched her, and yet it was the most exciting kiss she’d ever experienced.
Why is that? she asked herself as she watched him drive away in his truck with a double-H logo on the driver’s side door. She wasn’t sure, but she hoped she’d find out at dinner the next evening.
She walked to her car, a slight bounce in her step and an inexplicable excitement way down deep in her core. She could barely contain herself when she burst into Cecil’s house. He sat on the couch in the living room, a binder open in front of him. His scheduling binder.
“Elliott Hawthorne kissed me,” she said, pressing her back into the closed front door.
Cecil abandoned his binder and leapt to his feet. “He did what?” he asked, like kissing was a scandalous thing to do. Well, maybe it was when she barely knew the guy. Had only met him twenty-four hours ago. Still, she felt something between them, something for him she’d never felt with anyone before.