A Marriage In Wyoming (The Marshall Brothers 3)

by Lynnette Kent

  The most revealing symptom, though, was a slight enlargement of Ms. Simpson’s thyroid gland. “Has a doctor ever told you that your thyroid was enlarged?”

  “What does that mean?”

  Rachel gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re going to run some blood tests to find out.”

  After taking the sample, Rachel leaned her hips against the counter and folded her arms. “My suspicion, Ms. Simpson, is that you’ve developed hypothyroidism—your thyroid isn’t producing hormones at the right level. If the lab results confirm this, we can start you on a medication to replace those hormones and improve your overall health. We’ll find out in just a few days.”

  “Will my hair grow in again?”

  “I can’t promise, but it’s possible.”

  “Humph.” Ms. Simpson pulled her hair into a ponytail. “I understand you’ve been occupied with those teenagers the Marshall brothers are so determined to reform. Troublemakers, every last one of them. I’ve had them all in class and I know.”

  Rachel tamped down her irritation. “That’s the point, isn’t it? To redirect their energies and help them imagine a better future for themselves?”

  “It’s a wasted effort, if you ask me. They’ll revert to their old ways as soon as they’re home again.” She got to her feet. “But then, Pastor Garrett is always trying to rescue somebody. He’s a regular down at the shelter in Casper—cooking meals, driving people places, teaching Bible lessons.”

  “That sounds both helpful and compassionate.”

  “Except that his church is here, in Bisons Creek. We pay his salary and we should be able to reach him. He’s stretched thin enough this summer already, taking on extra ranch work while Wyatt recovers. There was no call to bring in a bunch of hooligans, too.”

  Annoyance won the upper hand. “Garrett believes it’s worth the effort.”

  “Humph,” Ms. Simpson said again. “I didn’t notice you in church on Sunday, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t. If that’s all—”

  “We’ll expect you next week.” With her hand on the door knob, she gazed over her shoulder at Rachel. “Going to church matters to people in this town. It means you belong.”

  When the door shut, Rachel glanced around for something to throw. She’d never had a patient who’d made her this furious. So much for Garrett’s assurance that she had come to a place where there were people to depend on. Trusting Ms. Simpson would be similar to trusting a rattlesnake coiled at your feet with his rattles going full speed.

  Remembering the encounter over supper at her apartment, she wanted to call Garrett and complain about the terrible Ms. Simpson. Talking to him would soothe her temper and help her put the incident in perspective, but she hated to be a tattletale. And if she didn’t want to talk about what had happened this afternoon, her only excuse for calling would be…wanting to hear his voice, to get his perspective on the day. Unwilling to admit such a thing, Rachel jumped up from the table and got to work cleaning the kitchen.

  With the dishwasher running and the counters clear, she tuned the radio to a country oldies station and focused her attention on the first-aid lesson for Wednesday, which would be an important one—the Heimlich maneuver for choking and resuscitation for a victim who wasn’t breathing. The teenagers wouldn’t practice on each other, of course, but she wanted to make them aware of the basics in case they ever faced an emergency.

  She finished her planning about nine, stacked her materials and then poured herself a glass of wine to relax with. The radio was playing an hour of “classic country’s best love songs.” Curled in a corner of the couch, she let the ballads wash over her, mellowing out the irritation she still hadn’t quite shaken.

  A sudden knock at the front of the house made her jump in alarm. Who would want to visit her after dark? She approached the door with caution, not sure she should open it. At least she hadn’t changed into pajamas.

  “Rachel, it’s Garrett,” he said loudly through the open window. “Are you at home?”

  Blowing out an exasperated breath, she flipped on the porch light, unhooked the chain, unlatched the dead bolt and turned the doorknob. “Where else would I be at—” she checked her watch “—nine twenty at night?”

  “A campfire?” He grinned as he tipped his hat. “Sorry it’s so late, but we just finished up at the ranch.”

  She swung the door open. “Come in.”

  “Actually, it’s really nice tonight. Would you consider coming out?”

  An odd request but… “Okay.” Stepping onto the porch in her bare feet, she drew a breath of fresh, cool air. “It is a lovely evening. I hadn’t been outside since I got home.” Crickets rasped loudly in the darkness, a counterpoint to the music coming through the window.

  Garrett leaned his hips against the porch rail and folded his arms over his chest. In the golden glow of the porch lamp, he appeared every inch a cowboy—broad shouldered, slim hipped and totally masculine.

  Rachel swallowed hard. “What’s the occasion? Is Lena all right?”

  “She’s fine. I needed to talk to you.”

  “You, um, could have called.” Which would have been less…stimulating.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “But I missed visiting with you at lunch. I heard the bandaging session was pretty funny.”

  She went to stand beside him so she wouldn’t stare at him. “Most of the kids ended up mummified. But they at least learned how to tie a sling. And maybe wrap an ankle.” The problem with being beside him was the whiff of his scent she caught and the sense of his body so near to hers.

  “Lucky for them they live in a town with a great doctor to do the wrapping for them if they get hurt. Speaking of which…” He drew an audible breath. “What’s your opinion on rodeos?”

  She blinked in surprise at the quick change of subject. “In general? They’re fun to watch. I enjoy the barrel racing and calf roping best. Oh, and the clowns. Those guys who ride bulls are insane.”

  “Ford would disagree.”

  “He was a bull rider?”

  “He was. Dylan went for saddle broncs and I competed bareback. Wyatt was the roper. I guess we were all young and a little crazy.”

  “Or a lot crazy. Those guys get hurt constantly.”

  “We four managed to come through without too much damage.”

  “Lucky you.” With no trouble, Rachel could imagine him ten years younger, climbing onto a bronco and getting bucked around. He’d probably grinned during the entire event.

  “Yeah. The thing is, the kids have been practicing on the bucking barrel, simulating a rough-stock ride. Now they—Marcos, Thomas and Lena—want to get on a live animal.”

  “You’re considering it?”

  “We had talked about letting them enter a junior rodeo at the end of the summer, and they could use some experience before then. Just steers, though. Not bulls. They’ll be wearing protective gear.”

  So he hadn’t come because he’d missed her at lunch. He’d come to ask a favor. She ignored her disappointment. “And how am I involved?”

  Garrett shifted to face her. “We’re hoping you’ll come along as our medical support. Just in case.”

  Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Just in case. What you ought to have is an ambulance and a couple of EMTs. This camp of yours is getting to be a high-risk enterprise.”

  “Kids mature through meeting challenges, mental and physical,” he said. “When they succeed, their self-image improves. I would say those three kids, in particular, ought to have that kind of reinforcement.”

  “At the risk of their well-being?”

  “Steer riding is pretty tame in comparison to some of the risks they could take in the next few years. Driving under the influence, for example. Carrying a knife, or a gun. Joining a gang.”

  “Point taken.” Shaking her head, she gazed into the night. “I’m not in Seattle anymore. I guess for people around here, riding steers is a rite of passage.”

  “For some of them, at least. Lots
of kids growing up on ranches start when they’re young, riding sheep or calves. It’s a Western tradition, after all.” Garrett put a hand on her upper arm. “I’m aware this will take you away from your patients. We’ll be glad to reimburse you.”

  “That’s not the point,” Rachel said sharply, moving out from under his touch. “I can volunteer if I choose. When are you planning to do this?”

  “Next week. I can get you the exact date tomorrow.”

  “That will work.” And now that he’d gotten what he came for, he could be on his way and she could resume her evening. Alone. “If that’s all…” With her hand on the doorknob, she looked over her shoulder. “I’ll let you go.”

  Garrett shook his head. “No, that was just the hard part. Now we can enjoy ourselves. Will you dance with me?”

  “What?” She pivoted to face him.

  “The music,” he said, with a nod toward the inside of the house where the radio still played. “You’ve got a nice wide porch here. We could dance.”

  Rachel gasped a laugh. “You really are crazy.” And this was getting out of hand. She should ask him to leave before something happened that she’d regret.

  His grin was white in the darkness. “When you live in a small town, you take your opportunities where you find them.” He walked over and held out his right hand. “May I?”

  At that moment, the opening notes for “Crazy” by Patsy Cline wafted through the window.

  Her good sense deserted her. “My all-time favorite.” Rachel sighed and put her hand in his. “I can’t resist.”

  His left arm came around her waist. “Lucky me,” he murmured, and moved her into the rhythm of the song.

  She’d never danced to this number before. For a few moments the blend of words and melody and motion held her in a kind of trance. But then she became aware that it was Garrett’s chest against her cheek, his thighs brushing against hers, his breath warm over her ear. In response to his closeness, a shiver ran through her from head to toe.

  “Cold?” He drew her closer still, so their bodies touched from her shoulders to her knees.

  Gazing up at him, she shook her head. “You’re very adept at this.”

  “Dancing?”

  “That, too.”

  His grin conveyed that he understood her meaning. He was an expert at getting under her guard.

  The radio switched to another song and they continued to dance, not just swaying in one place but moving all around the porch as Garrett guided her with smooth steps and sure hands. Rachel relaxed for once, letting go of her defenses and her resistance, allowing herself simply to enjoy the moment. With his arm circling her tightly and his fingers wrapped around hers, she felt safe. Loneliness and uncertainty retreated, and she seemed to be protected in a way she’d never experienced in her life.

  And if she was safe, then she might be free to follow her instincts, to listen to her own needs and desires. She could hold on to Garrett’s broad shoulders with both hands, sensing the power and strength he kept so completely under control. Both his arms were around her now, his hands spread wide at her waist, and she could yield to his gesture, pressing against him as their steps slowed to a standstill.

  She could lift her head to meet his gaze as he stared down at her and then rise up on her toes to press her lips against his.

  His mouth was warm and very ready, responding with just the right firmness to assure her she was welcome. He tilted his head, perfecting their fit, and she sighed because she’d been trying so hard not to imagine this and it was more wonderful than it had been in her dreams.

  Short and soft. Deep and lingering. The tangle of tongues, the nip of teeth on a lower lip. A slight taste of coffee and the scent of lime on his skin. Absorbed and beguiled, Rachel indulged in the pleasure of kissing Garrett Marshall.

  Then her control started to slip. Her breathing came faster. So did his. She wanted—craved—more from him, more of him. His arms banded around her and she linked hers behind his neck, while the kisses got wilder, fiercer, and her body started to ache.

  “Come inside,” she said as he dragged his lips along her throat. “We can be comfortable.”

  He went still, though his heart still pounded against hers.

  After a motionless moment, she drew back, trying to read his face. “Garrett?”

  A shuddering breath lifted his shoulders. “You tempt me,” he said, his voice rough. His arms loosened, then let her go altogether. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  “That means no?” She brought her hands to the center of his chest but didn’t step away.

  “It’s a small, rural town. My congregation has certain…expectations…of me. My lifestyle. Spending the night with you—as I’m dying to do—would violate those expectations.”

  “No one has to know.”

  “Secrecy doesn’t exist in a place like Bisons Creek.” Turning aside, he gripped the top of the porch rail with both hands. “Everybody would find out.”

  “What happens then? They fire you?”

  “It’s possible. But much worse would be the disillusionment and loss of faith the members would suffer. As old-fashioned as it might seem, they want their minister to be an honorable man, and their definition of honorable includes no sex without a wedding.” He gave a ghost of a laugh. “We could get married.”

  “Not tonight.” Rachel rubbed her temples with her fingers. “That’s a very difficult standard to live with.”

  “Not until right now.” He straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I apologize for letting…things…go too far.” His smile flashed and was gone. “You’re a hard woman to resist.”

  His boot heels sounded on the floorboards as he crossed the porch. From the bottom of the steps, he looked up at her. “Go on inside. I’ll leave when I hear the lock click.”

  She started to argue that she could take care of herself. But this wasn’t a moment for manufactured conflict. There were enough obstacles between them. “Thanks.”

  Through the window, she watched him walk across the yard to his truck. The lights flashed and then he drove into the night.

  Leaning her shoulders against the door panel, Rachel closed her eyes and relived those moments in his arms. Her body still thrummed with unsatisfied desire. And her emotions…

  Her emotions were in turmoil. She had let her guard down completely tonight, had been willing to give Garrett anything and everything he asked for. Despite the differences between them, she’d offered herself without reservation.

  Only now, in hindsight, did she understand why. It wasn’t the music, or the dancing, or even the wine, which sat almost untouched on the table beside the couch. Kissing Garrett had been her choice, made for only one reason.

  Despite all her reservations, she was falling in love with him.

  *

  GARRETT DIDN’T GO HOME. He couldn’t face his brothers, and certainly not Caroline, after what he’d done. Not till he had some kind of control over his guilt.

  Instead, he drove to the church and went into his office. Sitting in the desk chair, he propped his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. He wanted to hide.

  He’d told Rachel his congregation expected their minister to be honorable. Well, he definitely didn’t fit that description. An honorable man wouldn’t treat a woman the way he’d treated her tonight, wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. The fact that she’d kissed him first didn’t matter. He should have kept a tight grip on his own response, the hot desire she stirred in him, and gentled the situation. She deserved that kind of respect.

  How would he face her when she came to the ranch tomorrow? For that matter, what hope did he have that Rachel would still be willing to pursue a relationship with him? He’d asked her to trust him, but at the first opportunity, he’d broken that trust. Why should she give him another chance?

  Somewhere around 2:00 a.m., he managed to ask for forgiveness and accept it. He was human, after all, and mistakes were inevitable. He still wasn’t
sure how he could make amends or what he could say to restore the balance between Rachel and himself. If she wanted nothing more to do with him, then he would be her casual friend and live with it. Somehow.

  Sleep, when he finally did go home, was a long while coming.

  Rachel avoided him when she arrived the next day at noon. Not obviously, but he couldn’t catch her eye. As the kids ate, she stood with Caroline, talking about weddings, and he hesitated to interrupt. Then she started her lesson on the Heimlich maneuver and CPR, too important a subject to joke about. Even the kids seemed to appreciate the seriousness of the content.

  While she packed up her materials, he took his chance. “They paid attention,” he said, standing on the opposite side of the table. “You made a real impression.”

  She was still avoiding his gaze. “I appreciated their cooperation.”

  “They have their angelic moments.”

  A smile tilted her lips. “Though sometimes that’s hard to remember.”

  “True.” He opened the door for her. “We’ve set up the steer-riding event, by the way. We’ll go next Monday, if that works for you.”

  “I’ll clear my schedule,” she said, “so I can be free all day.” She took an audible breath. “Now, though, I’m due at the office. I have patients this afternoon.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “No, you don’t have to.” She put out a hand. “You have other things to do.” Finally, her eyes met his, with an expression of near panic.

  Garrett stepped away. “Sure.” He swallowed hard. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

  “You, too.” Rachel hurried down the hill on her own.

  That was when he was sure he’d ruined his prospects for a life with Rachel Vale.

  There was, however, no chance to give in to despair. He found himself even busier than usual that afternoon as he made arrangements for the welcome party on Friday night. Food would be provided by the excellent cooks who resided in Bisons Creek, but there were numerous details for which he was responsible. Tables and chairs, ice, drinks, lights, music… He spent hours on the phone, recruiting volunteers to help provide the essentials.