A Chance For The Rancher

Or maybe she was just anticipating, because even when she wasn’t scheduled to work at the clinic, there was always the possibility that she’d get called in to deal with an emergency—or called out to one of the local ranches, as had happened yesterday. And though the calendar was blank—save for the notation to check on Ranger sometime later in the day—and her phone remained silent, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

When she and Brendan were both finished eating, she set their empty bowls aside. He snuggled closer to her side then and tipped his head back to smile at her.

Being a mom wasn’t always easy, but it was always worthwhile. Sure, it might be nice to have a partner to share her life, but she’d rather be alone than with a man who couldn’t understand and respect that her son had to be her number one priority right now.

She rarely wasted any time thinking about Brendan’s father anymore, because the boy she’d fallen in love with in her second year of vet school had stopped being relevant to her a long time ago. But every once in a while—or when someone else brought up the subject (and, yes, that was another strike against Patrick Stafford)—she found herself wondering how any man could walk away from his child. But for the most part, she focused her attention and efforts on being the best mom she could be, so that Brendan wouldn’t think about the fact that he didn’t have a dad—and wouldn’t feel as if he was missing out even if he did think about it.

Brooke knew her son had a couple of friends at school who also lived with only one parent, so his situation wasn’t really unique. Except that each of Mason’s and Felipe’s living arrangements had changed after their respective parents divorced, and each of the boys still had both parents in their lives. So she had no doubt the day would come when Brendan asked why he didn’t spend weekends with his dad like Mason and Felipe did with theirs. She just didn’t know how she’d answer when it did.

“Did you finish your math homework last night?” she asked, when a commercial flashed across the screen.

He nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Did you double-check your answers?”

He nodded again.

“Did you leave it on Grandpa’s desk?”

He threw his head back and slapped a hand against his forehead—a dramatic confirmation that, yes, he’d done that, too.

She chuckled. “We’ll make sure we get it back before Monday.”

“Maybe we can go get it after this show,” he suggested.

“Are you worried we might forget about it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I was hoping Grandpa would make pancakes.”

“You just had breakfast,” she reminded him.

“We could have pancakes for lunch.”

“I could have made you pancakes if you’d really wanted pancakes,” she said.

“Yeah, but Grandpa’s pancakes are better.”

She chuckled softly and hugged him close. “You’re nothing if not honest, aren’t you?”

“You told me I should always tell the truth.”

“I did and you should,” she agreed.

“So can we go to Gramma and Grandpa’s?” he asked hopefully.

“Actually, I thought you might want to come to the Silver Star with me today.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the new name of Mr. Sterling’s ranch.”

“Why’s it got a new name?” Brendan asked.

“Because Mr. Sterling sold the ranch to Mr. Stafford and moved to Glendale, Arizona.”

“How come?”

She didn’t think it was an appropriate time to get into a detailed discussion about economic downturns or retirement-age ranchers opting to sell off their properties because their kids had no interest in carrying on the family tradition. Instead she only said, “He wanted to move to a warmer climate.”

“Why’s it warmer in Arizona?”

“Because it’s farther south and closer to the equator.” She reached for the world atlas on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.

Brendan rolled his eyes. “You know you can get maps on the iPad, don’t you?”

“Yes, I know,” she confirmed. “But I want you to learn that you can find information in books, too.”

“Why?”

“In case the internet blows up.”

His eyes grew wide, conveying horror at the very thought. “Could that really happen?”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged, opening the book and flipping through the pages until she found the double-spread illustration of the United States. “But we do sometimes lose our Wi-Fi connection.”

“And that sucks,” he said.

“That’s the great thing about books—they don’t need Wi-Fi.” She tapped the page, drawing his attention to the map. “Do you know where we live?”

He immediately pointed to Nevada.

“That’s right. But Haven is in northern Nevada,” she said and nudged his finger closer to the state’s top boundary. “And this—” she guided his finger down to Arizona “—is where Mr. Sterling lives now.”

“That doesn’t seem so far,” Brendan decided.

“Scale can be hard to understand,” she acknowledged. “Do you remember how long it took us to get to Disneyland last year?”

He nodded. “For-ev-er.”

She smiled. “I’m sure it felt like forever, but it was actually about ten hours, split over two days. And this—” she pointed to Anaheim on the map “—is where Disneyland is.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to equate the distance on the map with the hours in the car. “So Arizona is really, really far away,” he realized.

“It is,” she confirmed.

“Is that why he left his horses? Because they wouldn’t want to be stuck in a trailer for a long trip like that.”

She was always impressed by her son’s innate understanding of and natural empathy toward animals, and she was both pleased and proud to know that he wasn’t just a great kid but a compassionate human being. “That’s probably one of the reasons,” she agreed. “So do you want to go see the horses with me?”

Brooke ignored the echo of her mother’s admonishment in her head. Because she knew that her motivation for inviting Brendan was that he enjoyed tagging along on official vet visits, just as she’d enjoyed tagging along with her father when she was a similar age.

She absolutely was not using her son as a shield—though she acknowledged, if only to herself, that she wouldn’t object if Brendan provided a bit of a buffer. Because being in close proximity to Patrick Stafford made her tingle in places she hadn’t thought were capable of tingling anymore.

“Would we go before or after Tanner’s birthday party?” Brendan asked her now.

Birthday party?

And suddenly she remembered what she’d forgotten...

When Brooke pulled up at the Silver Star after dropping Brendan at Adventure Village for the birthday party, there were two vehicles in the driveway ahead of her. One was the same black F-150 that she recognized from the previous day; the other was an unfamiliar pale blue Land Rover.

Apparently the ranch’s new owner had company, she mused, as she parked her dark green pickup behind Patrick’s truck. Before she could speculate any further, the front door of the house opened and he stepped out onto the porch.

For a brief moment, she thought maybe he’d been waiting and watching for her. Then she realized he wasn’t alone and probably wasn’t even aware of her arrival, as his arm was slung casually across the shoulders of a gorgeous blonde who tipped her head back and laughed at whatever he said to her.

Well, it certainly hadn’t taken him long to bounce back from her rejection the day before. Which proved that she’d pegged him right from the beginning and that her long-dormant hormones had come out of hibernation at the wrong time and for the absolute wrong guy.

She climbed out of her truck as the other woman gave Patrick a quick hug, then skipped down the steps. She wore a long black coat unbuttoned over a short scarlet-red dress paired with knee-high boots with chunky heels. Not just gorgeous but stylish, Brooke noted.

The blonde opened the driver’s-side door of her vehicle, but before getting in, she called out to Patrick over the roof: “By the way, I left a toothbrush in the bathroom. Don’t you dare throw it out.”

If Brooke had any doubts about the woman’s reason for being at the ranch, that parting remark answered them. Obviously she’d spent the night and expected to be back for a repeat performance.

Patrick didn’t respond to his departing guest’s comment, but he watched as the SUV zipped down the driveway and disappeared from sight before he moved off the porch.

“I didn’t expect you’d be here this early,” he said, falling into step with Brooke as she made her way toward the barn.

“I didn’t think it was particularly early, but I’m sorry if I showed up at an inopportune time,” she said.

He pulled open the barn door. “Why would you think it’s an inopportune time?”

She gestured to the driveway, though the blonde and her Land Rover were long gone.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about Jenna,” he said dismissively. “She has a habit of overstaying her welcome, but she’s mostly harmless.”

Brooke was so stunned by his callous remark, it took her a moment to come up with a reply. “If that’s a recurring problem, maybe you should consider sleeping at her place,” she suggested coolly, as she made her way to Ranger’s stall. “That way you could leave whenever you wanted.”

It was an effort to bank down on her irritation so the horse wouldn’t pick up on her mood, but she managed to do so and turned her attention to the stallion. Using her voice and her touch to remind him of her presence and her purpose, she opened the gate and stepped inside his enclosure with his halter and lead in hand.

She was pleased—and maybe a little surprised—to discover that Ranger’s stall had been freshly mucked out. Either Patrick hadn’t spent all morning lounging in bed with his companion or he’d hired someone to perform basic chores. Considering his willingness to pay the cost of a site visit for her to change Ranger’s dressing, she suspected it was probably the latter. Either way, it reassured her that—the stallion’s injury notwithstanding—the animals at the Silver Star were being cared for.

“What are you talking about?” Patrick asked now, sounding sincerely baffled.

She glanced at him as she led Ranger to the treatment area.

The rancher was standing with his arms folded, a scowl furrowing his brow.

“I was just providing a solution to your girlfriend dilemma.”

“Girlfriend?” he echoed blankly.

“I’m sorry—does that word carry too much meaning for you?” she asked, as she secured the stallion’s ties. “I wasn’t sure how else to refer to the woman who made a point of mentioning that she’d left her toothbrush in your bathroom.”

He shook his head. “Not my bathroom. The guest bathroom.”

“Oh, well, that’s completely different, then,” she remarked dryly.

Patrick no longer seemed confused. Now he looked amused. “I think you’ve misread the situation.”

“It’s really none of my business,” she acknowledged. “My only purpose here is to take care of your horse. If you want to watch and learn, I’d be happy to explain what I’m doing. If you don’t, please stop talking so I can give Ranger my complete attention.”

He stopped talking, but he didn’t leave, as she’d hoped he might do, and she felt his gaze on her the whole time. When she’d completed her task and returned the horse to its stall, she took a small apple out of her pocket and offered it to the stallion—a reward for his good behavior. Ranger gently plucked the fruit from her hand and crunched down on the treat.

With a last pat on his cheek, Brooke turned around and found herself face-to-face with Patrick again.

“You misread the situation,” he said, picking up the conversation where they’d left off.

“It’s none of my business,” she said again.

“True,” he acknowledged. “But Jenna isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my sister.”

“Your...sister?” she echoed, suddenly feeling foolish.

Because replaying his comment in her mind now, she realized the words that sounded like a callous dismissal of a lover could also be—and apparently were—the lighthearted teasing of a sibling.

“I have two of them,” he told her. “Jenna’s the youngest. She was at dinner with her boyfriend last night when he got called into work.”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“Nate works at a tech company that does a lot of government work, and a break-in at the office meant that everyone had to go in. Anyway, that’s how Jenna ended up at Diggers’ after she finished the romantic dinner for two by herself and, because she didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, she decided to come back here.”

“Oh.”

“You could apologize now,” he suggested.

“I apologize for jumping to conclusions,” she said, not just sincerely regretful but embarrassed by her uncharacteristically emotional reaction to the situation.

“And for impugning my character?”

“Actually, you should be flattered I imagined you could ever get a woman as gorgeous as your sister.”

He chuckled at that, but his expression quickly turned serious again. “You don’t have a very favorable opinion of me, do you?”

“I don’t know you.”

“And yet you were quick to assume that, only hours after you’d turned down my invitation for drinks and/or dinner yesterday, I’d go out and pick up another woman.”

She shrugged. “There was no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “And the truth is, I did go out last night...but you’re the reason I came home alone. Because the whole time I was at the bar, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“I have a child,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he said.

But this time, instead of moving away, he moved closer.

“And I have no interest in being the next notch on your bedpost,” she said, determined to firmly establish the boundaries between them.

“I bought a new bed when I moved in here—there are no notches. In fact, there aren’t even posts.”

“I think you missed my point.”

“It might not be what either of us expected, but there’s definite chemistry between us,” he said and lifted a hand to lightly stroke her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

It was a gentle touch, but there was something so sensual about the caress that she found herself wondering how his hands might feel on other parts of her body.

On every part of her body.

And the wondering made her blood heat and her heart pound.

She swallowed. “I don’t believe in chemistry.”

“No?” His lips curved in a knowing smile. “Then explain to me why I can see the pulse point at the base of your jaw racing.”

“Because you’re crowding me, and I don’t like to be crowded.”

He immediately took a step back, giving her the space she’d claimed she wanted.

But then he asked, “How about being kissed?” And the low timbre of his voice was every bit as seductive as his touch. “Do you like being kissed?”

How could she answer that question when she could hardly remember how it felt to be kissed?

Oh, she got lots of kisses from her little boy, and she loved every one of them—even the wet and sticky ones. She also regularly exchanged pecks on the cheek with her parents. But she honestly couldn’t recall when she’d last been kissed by a man.

And with Patrick’s lips so temptingly close, she realized that she desperately wanted to answer his question.

Whether yes or no, she wanted to know how it felt to be kissed by this man. She wanted to know the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands. And even though she knew it might turn out to be a very big mistake, the wanting was suddenly stronger than her determination to resist.

“I’ll let you know,” she said and breached the short distance between them to press her mouth against his.

Chapter Four

Brooke’s impulsive action had been fueled by curiosity. Would his kiss curl her toes inside her boots? Would it make her blood race through her veins? Would she feel the flutter of wings in her belly as butterflies soared?

Or would the experience be a disappointment, her excited anticipation unfulfilled?

It had been a long time since she’d experienced feelings of physical attraction—and even longer since she’d felt anything as immediate and intense as what she’d felt the first time she came face-to-face with Patrick Stafford less than twenty-four hours earlier.

And now she was kissing this man she’d only just met, and she was not disappointed.

Not just kissing him but pressing herself against him, desperate to get closer. Apparently that was what eight years of abstinence did to a woman.

Or maybe it really was the inexplicable chemistry he’d mentioned that was responsible for her actions. She’d tried to ignore the tension between them, refusing to acknowledge that there even was an attraction. And while she couldn’t deny that her pulse accelerated whenever he was near and she had to lock her knees so they didn’t tremble, she’d mostly managed to ignore her body’s instinctive response to his nearness.

Until he’d been too close for her to ignore.

Too close to resist.

But in the first moment that their mouths met, Brooke realized that she’d made a tactical mistake. Because in that first moment, a blast of unexpected heat flooded her system, melting her bones, making her weak.

Making her want.

She curled her fingers into his jacket, holding on to him as the intensity of the need shook her to the core. And that was before his tongue slid between her lips, stroking the inside of her mouth, stoking the fire that burned in her belly and spread through her veins. Before his hands slid up her back, drawing her still closer to the solid strength of his body.

Even through the layers of clothing and outerwear between them, she felt her breasts rub against the hard wall of his chest, her nipples tightening into hard buds that ached to be acknowledged.

Touched.

Tasted.

She could all too easily envision his dark head bent over her breast, his mouth closing around the turgid peak, and the explicit and arousing image nearly made her gasp.

It did make her pull away, in a determined effort to regain control of her runaway hormones.

Patrick seemed to need a minute, too, before he asked, “Is that a ‘yes’?”

It took Brooke a moment longer to realize he was still waiting for a response to his earlier question. A question she could barely remember.

“Do you like kissing?” he prompted.

She pressed her tingling lips together. “It seems that I do,” she finally responded, keeping her tone light so he wouldn’t guess his kiss had set off a maelstrom inside her.

His smile was more than a little smug as he reached for her again, but she took a quick step back this time and held up a hand.

“You just admitted that you like kissing,” he pointed out. “And I really want to kiss you again.”

Brooke was flattered by his interest, but she was also wary. One kiss had been enough to nearly wipe her mind clean of all rational thought, unleashing such a surge of desire through her system that she could focus on nothing else. And she needed to focus.

She was a woman with obligations and responsibilities of a kind he didn’t want to know. So she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in the heat of the moment, because she knew she’d end up getting burned.

“I also like Sweet Caroline’s Twelve-Layer Chocolate Bliss,” she said lightly. “But I know I can’t have it every day.”

“I’m flattered that you equated kissing me with the best chocolate cake in the county, but I have to disagree with your premise on two grounds,” he said. “First, a small piece of Chocolate Bliss every day wouldn’t do any harm. In fact, it’s widely believed that an occasional indulgence curtails the impulse to binge. Second, kissing—even not in moderation—isn’t harmful to your health, and studies have shown that people who share kisses every day live longer and happier lives.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You just made that up.”

“Even if I did, I bet I could find such a study.”

“And probably also a study that proves the opposite,” she argued.

“You’re a cynic, I see,” he said, sounding amused.

“A realist,” she countered.

“Science has proved that the endorphins released during sexual activity are natural mood boosters and stress relievers,” he said.

“Well, aren’t you just a font of self-serving information? But as much as I appreciate the chemistry lesson, I’m a single mom,” she reminded him. “I have neither the time for nor any interest in having an affair.”

“I think you’re interested, but there’s something holding you back. Tell me what it is, what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of anything except my own bad judgment when it comes to the male species,” she said. “So while I did enjoy our kiss, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s too bad.” He sounded sincerely regretful. “Because I think we’d be really good together.”

He might be right, but she knew from experience that the temporary pleasure wouldn’t be worth the heartache that followed. “I have no doubt you could sell that line to any number of women, but I’m not buying.”

“Could I at least buy you a cup of coffee?” he suggested as an alternative. “A fresh pot just finished brewing when you pulled up.”

As much as she wanted to make her escape, she needed to reestablish the professional boundaries of their relationship and decided that a discussion of neutral topics over a cup of coffee might help do that.

“Coffee sounds good,” she decided and followed him out of the heated barn and into the frigid outdoors.

She detoured to her truck, to set her backpack inside, then fell into step with him again as he headed toward the main house.

Inside, he shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on a hook, then held out a hand for hers, hanging it beside his own.

“Don’t worry about your boots,” he said, when she started to reach down.

Since he obviously wasn’t worried about his, she followed him into the kitchen.

She briefly wondered if she was crossing a line by entering his home, but immediately dismissed the concern. In rural practice, it was common for clients to become friends. She’d certainly never questioned the lines when she had a cup of tea with Stasia Krecji or accepted a bag of homemade lemon cranberry muffins from Betty Andersen. But she’d also never kissed Stasia or Betty, so maybe it was the lingering effects of the lip-lock she’d shared with Patrick Stafford that was causing her to question the placement of the lines now.

Maybe? her conscience mocked.

Brooke ignored the nagging voice to focus on her surroundings.

When she’d learned that the new owner of Gus Sterling’s property intended to turn it into a dude ranch, she’d wondered about the changes that might be made to the homestead. Some of those changes—such as the new logo on the barn and the upgraded fencing around the paddocks—had been immediately evident when she’d pulled into the driveway the day before. But the two-story log home appeared unaltered from the outside.

Looking around the kitchen now, she was pleased to see that Gus’s natural-stained maple cabinets remained, though the scarred and chipped laminate countertops had been replaced by dark granite. An island had been installed where the former owner’s pedestal table and chairs had previously sat, and the high-end appliances were obviously new.

Patrick opened a cupboard beside the coffee maker and retrieved two mugs, then filled both with coffee and handed one to Brooke.

“Have a seat,” he invited, gesturing to the four stools lined up at the island.

She accepted the mug and sat.

Patrick remained standing on the other side of the island, facing her.