Falling For The Rancher

“I think … I think I need some fresh air.”

They abandoned the floor midsong, and Sierra made a beeline toward the exit. Outside, the night air was cool against her skin, but the second she looked into Jarrett’s eyes, she was feverish again.

He spoke first. “I hope I didn’t upset you with what I said.”

“No. I’m glad you showed up here. Glad I got to dance with you.”

“We don’t have to stop,” he said, pulling her closer.

“But maybe we should.” Despite her sensible words, she leaned into him, indulging herself in the feel of their bodies tangled together. Her hands glided up his back. This was such a bad idea. “I work for you. My professionalism is very important to me.” She was beginning to realize her job was all she had. “I would never compromise myself with a patient.”

He brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth, and she shivered. “Then I guess,” he said as he lowered his head, “it’s a good thing I’m not your patient.”

Falling for the Rancher

Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TANYA MICHAELS, a New York Times bestselling author and five-time RITA® Award nominee, has been writing love stories since middle school algebra class (which probably explains her maths grades). Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have received awards from readers and reviewers alike. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker. She lives outside Atlanta with her very supportive husband, two highly imaginative kids and a bichon frise who thinks she’s the center of the universe.

While I was writing this book that features someone in health care, my daughter actually had quite a few medical appointments. Thank you to her nurses—and nurses in general—for their time and effort in a demanding profession.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was surreal, staring at a photo of himself and feeling as if he were looking at a stranger. No, that wasn’t exactly right, Jarrett Ross amended, studying the framed rodeo picture on the wall of his father’s home office. The word stranger implied he didn’t know the dark-haired cowboy, that he had no feelings about him one way or the other.

A wave of contempt hit him as he studied the cocky smile and silvery, carefree gaze. Selfish SOB. Six months ago, his only concerns had been which events to ride and which appreciative buckle-bunny to celebrate with after he won. A lot had changed since then.

Six months ago, Vicki wasn’t in a wheelchair.

“Jarrett?”

He turned as Anne Ross entered the room. He’d been so mired in regret he’d almost forgotten he was waiting for his mother. Dread welled as she closed the door behind her. Did they need the privacy because there was more bad news to discuss? He wanted to sink into the leather chair behind the desk and bury his face in his hands. But he remained standing, braced for whatever life threw at them next.

“How did Dad’s appointment go?” Jarrett hadn’t been able to accompany his parents to the hospital this afternoon. There was too much to do at the Twisted R now that he was the only one working the ranch. But even without the countless tasks necessary to keep the place running, he would have stayed behind in case Vicki needed him—not that his sister voluntarily sought out his company these days.

“You know your father. He’s a terrible patient.” Anne rolled her eyes, but her attempt to lighten the situation didn’t mask her concern. “Overall, the doctor says we’re lucky. He’s recovering as well as can be expected from the heart attack and the surgery. The thing is...”

Jarrett gripped the back of the chair, waiting for the other boot to drop.

His mother came forward and sat down in the chair across from him, the stress of the past few months plain on her face. Even more telling was the slump of her shoulders. She’d always had a ramrod-straight posture, whether sitting in a saddle or waltzing across a dance floor with her husband.

“I have to get your father off this ranch,” she said bluntly. “I’ve been after him for years to slow down, to get away for a few days. I even tried to talk him into selling the place.”

That revelation stunned Jarrett. He’d never realized his mom’s complaints about the demands of ranch life were serious. He’d thought her occasional grumbling was generic and innocuous, like jokes about hating Mondays. People griped about it all the time, but no one actually suggested removing Monday from the calendar. It was impossible to imagine Gavin Ross anywhere but at the Twisted R. Not sure how to respond, he paced restlessly around the office. Despite the many hours he’d spent here over the past month, it still felt like trespassing. As if his father should be the one sitting behind the desk making the decisions that would affect the family.

“Your dad refuses to accept that he’s not in his twenties anymore,” his mom continued. “At the rate he’s going, he’ll work himself to death! And after the added stress of Vicki’s accident...”

Guilt sliced through him. Was his dad’s heart attack one more thing to trace back to that night in July? His mind echoed with the metallic jangling of the keys he’d tossed to his younger sister. He hadn’t gone with her because a blonde named Tammy—or Taylor?—had been whispering in his ear, saying that as impressive as he’d been in eight seconds, she couldn’t wait to see what magic he could work in an hour’s time.

Jarrett pushed away the shameful memory. “So you and Dad want to take a few days of vacation?” he asked, leaning against the corner of the desk closest to her.

“A few weeks, actually. I haven’t discussed it with him yet, but Dr. Wayne agrees that it’s a good idea. My cousin has a very nice cabin near Lake Tahoe that she’s been offering to let us use for years, and Dr. Wayne said he could give us the name of a good cardiologist in the area. Just in case.”

When you were recovering from open-heart surgery, “just in case” wasn’t nearly as casual as it sounded.

“Your father is mule-headed. Now that he’s starting to feel a little better, he’ll try to return to his usual workload. I can’t let him do that. He may seem larger than life, but he’s not invincible.” Her gaze shifted downward. “And...without us as a buffer, Vicki would naturally turn to you for company and assistance.”

The soft words were like a pitchfork to the gut. His sister, younger than him by almost seven years, had grown up idolizing Jarrett. Now his parents had to evacuate Texas just to force her to speak to him again.

“She’s going to forgive you.” Anne reached over to clasp his hand. “The drunk driver who plowed into the truck is to blame, not you.”

He wanted to believe her, but it was his fault Vicki had been on the road. They’d had plans to grab a late dinner. Between his travel on the rodeo circuit and her being away for her freshman year of college, they’d barely seen each other since Christmas. But instead of catching up with his kid sister as promised, he’d ditched her in favor of getting laid. Vicki had been trapped amid twisted metal and broken glass when she should have been sitting in some restaurant booth, debating between chicken-fried steak and a rack of ribs. She’d always had a Texas-sized appetite, but her athletic hobbies kept her trim and fit.

Past tense. She no longer had much of an appetite. And although the doctors assured her that, with physical therapy, she would walk again, it would be a long damn time before she played softball or went to a dance club with her sorority sisters. She hadn’t even been able to return to campus for the start of the new semester in August, another consequence that ate at him. Unlike Jarrett, who’d earned a degree with a combination of community-college courses and online classes, Vicki had been accepted into one of the best universities in the state. How much academic momentum was she losing?

Anne blamed Gavin’s heart attack on years of working too hard and his stubborn insistence that “deep-fried” was a valid food group. But it was no coincidence that the man had collapsed during one of Vicki’s multiple surgeries. The stress of his daughter’s ordeal had nearly killed him.

“Jarrett.” Anne’s scolding tone was one he knew well from childhood. “I see you beating yourself up. You have to stop. If not for yourself, then for me.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. She was shouldering enough burden already without fretting over his well-being, too. “I was just processing the logistics of running the Twisted R while taking care of Vicki. I’ll figure it out. You and Dad should definitely go.”

“Thank you. Be sure to voice your support when he objects to the idea.” She pursed her lips, considering. “We probably have a better shot at convincing him if you’re not handling Vicki and the ranch by yourself. What if we found a part-time housekeeper who could act as her companion? Or, ideally, even someone with medical experience. My friend Pam’s a retired nurse. I can ask her about home health care.”

“Are we sure that’s in the budget?” The mountain of medical bills was already high enough that Gavin had recently let go of their sole ranch hand after helping him find a job on another spread. Gavin insisted the Twisted R could function as a father-and-son operation if Jarrett was available to help full-time. No more rodeos for the foreseeable future.

Or ever. He hadn’t competed since the night of Vicki’s accident, and it was hard to imagine enjoying it again. Everything he’d loved—the adrenaline, the admiration of the spectators—seemed shallow in light of what his sister and dad had suffered.

“I’m not suggesting we hire a long-term employee,” she said. “Just some help for a month or less. We have plenty of space. Maybe with Pam’s help we can find someone temporarily willing to accept low pay in exchange for room and board. There could be someone young who needs the experience and a recommendation.”

His mother made it sound almost reasonable, as if there were lots of people who would work practically for free and wanted to move in with a surly nineteen-year-old and a rodeo cowboy who’d taken early retirement. What are the odds?

Then again, they had to be due for some good luck.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Call Pam and see what she says.”

Meanwhile, he’d cross his fingers that his mom’s friend knew someone who was truly desperate for a job.

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL do you mean I’m out of a job?” In her head, Sierra Bailey heard the familiar refrain of her mother’s voice chiding her. Unladylike language was one of Muriel Bailey’s pet peeves. I just got fired. Screw “ladylike.”

Eileen Pearce, seated at the head of the conference table, sucked in a breath at Sierra’s outburst. It was too bad Eileen and Muriel didn’t live in the same city—the two women could get together for weekly coffee and commiserate about Sierra’s behavior. “The board takes inappropriate relationships with patients very seriously, Ms. Bailey.”

“There was no relationship!” Except, apparently, in Lloyd Carson’s mind. Bodily contact between patient and physical therapist was a necessity, not an attempt at seduction. Sierra had never once thought of Lloyd in a sexual manner, but he’d apparently missed that memo. The man had unexpectedly kissed her during their last session. Which, in turn, led to his wife angrily demanding Sierra’s head on a platter.

Taking a deep breath, Sierra battled her temper. “Patients become infatuated with medical professionals all the time. It’s a form of misplaced gratitude and—”

“Yes, but in the year you’ve been with us, we’ve had multiple complaints about you. Granted, not of this nature, but your track record is flawed. Perhaps if you’d listened on previous occasions when I tried to impress upon you the importance of professional decorum...” Eileen paused with an expression of mock sympathy.

Comprehension dawned. This wasn’t about Lloyd Carson and his romantic delusions. The board of directors had been looking for an excuse to get rid of Sierra. She felt foolish, not having seen the dismissal coming, but she truly believed she was good at her job.

Was she mouthy and abrasive? Occasionally.

All right, regularly. One might even argue, frequently. But sometimes PT patients needed a well-intentioned kick to the rear more than they needed to be coddled. Lord knows I did.

At twelve years old, Sierra had been a pampered rich girl whose parents treated her with a much different standard than her three rough-and-tumble brothers, as if she were fragile. Dr. Frederick Bailey and his wife, Muriel, had raised their sons with aspirations of global domination; they’d raised their daughter with the promise that she’d be a beautiful Houston debutante someday. No one had challenged her until the gruff physiotherapist who’d helped her after she’d been thrown from a horse.

He’d taught her to challenge herself, a lesson she still appreciated fifteen years later. The side effect was that she also tended to challenge authority, a habit the hospital’s board of directors resented.

Given the barely concealed hostility in Eileen’s icy blue gaze, it was a miracle Sierra had lasted this long. You’re partially to blame here, Bailey. While she’d deny with every breath in her body that her conduct with Lloyd Carson had ever been flirtatious or unprofessional, Sierra could have been more of a team player. She could have made an effort to care about occupational politics.

As Eileen went over the legal details of the termination, Sierra’s mind wandered to the future. Her savings account was skimpier than she’d like, but she was a trained specialist. She’d land on her feet. It was a point of pride that she’d been making her way for years, without asking her parents for money.

You’ll find a new position. And when you do? Stay under the radar instead of racking up a file of grievances. In the interests of her career, Sierra could be detached and diplomatic.

Probably.

Chapter Two

“Darling, you’re being needlessly stubborn,” Muriel Bailey chastised through the phone. “Coming home for an extended visit would be a win for everyone. Since you aren’t busy with work—”

“I’m busy looking for a job.” Word had spread through the medical grapevine from Dallas to Houston that Sierra had been fired. Ever since Muriel had learned about it last week, she’d been relentlessly campaigning for Sierra to move back to Houston. There’s a better chance of my being elected president and moving to the White House.

Her mother sighed. “But it’s always difficult to get vacation time approved after starting a new position. What if they won’t give you the days off for your brother’s wedding?” According to Muriel, Kyle’s December nuptials would be The Social Event of the Decade. “I need you here so you can help me with the millions of details! Then you’ll start job-hunting again after the holidays. New year, new career.”

Trapped under her parents’ roof from September until January? Little spots appeared in front of Sierra’s eyes, and she gripped the edge of the granite-topped kitchen island for support. “I’ll be sure to mention that my brother is getting married during interviews and give prospective employers a heads-up.” Assuming she got any more interviews.

By affronting the hospital’s board of directors, she seemed to have damaged her options here in Dallas. Only two people had been willing to meet with her so far—a sleaze who’d ogled her breasts throughout the entire conversation and a sycophant who’d gushed about what an honor it was to meet the daughter of esteemed Chief of Neurosurgery Frederick Bailey. She didn’t want to take a job that was offered because of who her father was, but if nothing better materialized...

“Sierra, are you even listening to me?”

“Um.” Not for the past five minutes or so. “I may have missed that last part.”

“Douglas Royce has been asking about you. He can’t wait to see you at the wedding.”

Oh, for pity’s sake. Her mother couldn’t possibly think there was still a chance Sierra might one day become Mrs. Douglas Royce? Opening the fridge, she searched for a bottle of wine. Damn. The downside of no paycheck was a serious lack of groceries. “We broke up years ago.”

“Yet you haven’t had a serious relationship since! Perhaps because, deep down, you—”

“Paul and I were plenty serious.” Just not transcontinental serious. When Dr. Paul Meadows had left a couple of months ago to do medical work in Africa, they’d shared an affectionate goodbye. It was true she hadn’t dated much between Douglas and Paul, but three years of grad school and twelve months of residency hadn’t left much free time. “You’re conveniently forgetting, I never loved Douglas half as much as you and Dad did. So you’re not going to use him to lure me home.”

“Parents shouldn’t have to ‘lure’ their own flesh and blood. Where’s your sense of familial duty?” Muriel huffed. “Who’s going to help me with this mountain of wedding tasks?”

Sierra supposed it would be sheer lunacy to suggest the bride. Was poor Annabel getting any say in her big day? I warned Kyle they should elope. “Don’t be afraid to delegate to the zillion-dollar-an-hour wedding coordinator, Mom. That’s what Annabel’s family is paying her for. I hate to cut this short, but I have a phone interview this evening.” Could her lie have sounded less convincing?

“Really? With whom?”

“Um...” Sierra rubbed her temple. “Oh, I think that’s my other line. Gotta go, love to Dad, ’bye!” She disconnected before her mother could respond, poured a glass of water and went to the living room, where her laptop sat on the couch. For a moment, she considered checking flights to Africa. Maybe she should follow Paul’s example—go help people in another part of the world and put an ocean between her and her parents.

Instead, she checked email to see if her job search had netted any new responses, then fired off a quick note to Kyle.

Subject: Our Mother Is Off The Rails

Annabel must REALLY love you to put up with Mom. Hope you know what a lucky guy you are. See you in December—and not a single day sooner! S.

Her brother never replied to any of her messages. No doubt he was too busy plotting corporate takeovers.

She started to close her email, but her gaze lingered on a name in her inbox. Daniel Baron. He’d written to her two days ago, but she still hadn’t decided whether to act on the information he’d passed along.

Daniel was a former bull rider and past patient. She’d reached out to him last week when it became clear she needed more references. Not only had Daniel been happy to hear from her and more than willing to endorse her, he’d learned of an unusual job posting through a friend of a friend. He’d told her about a family in Cupid’s Bow, Texas. She’d almost rolled her eyes at the town name, but she supposed it was no quirkier than Gun Barrel City, Texas. Or Ding Dong, Texas.

According to Daniel, the teenage daughter of the family had been in an accident, and the Rosses were looking for someone to live on the ranch and work with the kid for about a month. A ranch...where there were horses. She shuddered.

I am not a small-town person. But she prided herself on being tough when she needed to be, and it wouldn’t be a long-term situation. With a guaranteed roof over her head, she would have time to investigate other opportunities. Three and a half weeks could make the difference between finding a position where she truly fit and simply accepting a paycheck so she could continue indulging in luxuries like food and water.

After she’d first read Daniel’s email, she’d looked up Cupid’s Bow online. It was tiny. Her parents’ country club probably had a higher population—ironic, since the club worked at actively excluding people. Sierra doubted there were any symphony performances or science museums in Cupid’s Bow. But worse than a potential dearth of culture or even the presence of horses was the possibility of nosy neighbors. Weren’t people in close-knit communities subject to scrutiny and gossip? Given her parents’ wealth and high social standing, Sierra had spent her teen years feeling conspicuously visible. People who’d never even met her had opinions about who she was and who they thought she should be. She detested feeling as if she had to answer anyone.

All right then, don’t call the Rosses. Stay here and get a job waitressing. With your gracious nature, you’re sure to make enough tips to pay off those student loans.

Lord. No wonder she couldn’t get a job—she even gave herself attitude.

Decision made, she pulled her phone from her pocket before she could change her mind. As she dialed, she reminded herself there was no guarantee the Rosses would hire her. If they did, she’d survive roughing it in Cupid’s Bow one day at a time. How many times had she lectured patients on the necessity of breaking down tasks into less intimidating chunks?

“Quit looking at it as months of PT,” she’d tell them. “Just get through each set of exercises, one day at a time. This first set’s only ten minutes. It may be uncomfortable, but you can handle ten measly minutes. Don’t wuss out on me now...”

She cajoled, encouraged and berated people into cooperating. The least she could do was take her own advice.

The phone rang, and she inhaled deeply. After a couple more rings, she began mentally rehearsing the message she would leave on the voice mail. But then a man answered.

“Hello?” The irritation in his deep voice made the word less a greeting and more a challenge.

She hesitated, but for only half a second. Tentativeness wasn’t in her nature. “May I speak with Jarrett Ross?”

“You got him. But if you’re selling something—”

“Only my professional services.” Someone should tell Mr. Ross that anyone who placed a Help Wanted ad should curb his hostility; it made people not want to help. “My name is Sierra Bailey. I’m a physical therapist, and Daniel Baron, one of my former clients, gave me this number. He mentioned your family is looking for someone with PT experience.”

“Oh! Yes. God, yes. Sorry, you just caught me at a bad time. Of course, that describes all of the time lately, but— Sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t expecting applicants to call me. Most of them have been phoning my mother.”

“Ah. You’re not the girl’s father?” Daniel had given her a name and a number. He hadn’t outlined the family tree.

“Definitely not. I’m Vicki’s older brother. But I might as well talk to you. After all, you and I would be the ones living together while my parents are away.”

Living together. The words gave her an odd jolt. Although Paul had spent enough nights at her place to warrant his own dresser drawer and a sliver of counter space in the bathroom, she’d never technically lived with a man. You wouldn’t be living with this one, either. Not in any personal way.

“My parents’ trip is why we’re seeking the extra help with Vicki,” he continued. “Not only could she benefit from physical therapy here at the house, we could use someone to keep her company while I’m working the ranch. If she needs something, I’m not readily accessible on the back forty. What was your name again?”