Romancing the Rancher

by Stacy Connelly

  Accident... Theresa could barely swallow around the lump in her throat. Oh, God, what had happened? “Is it...Jarrett?”

  Her panicked gaze cut toward the corrals, but the horses were calmly milling about. No sign of distress, but also no sign of Jarrett. What had he told her? That another fall could leave him paralyzed?

  Her worst fears were confirmed as Chloe nodded, her blond ponytail bobbing, as she grabbed Theresa. “You have to help him.”

  Chapter Nine

  An icy chill crept around Theresa’s heart at Chloe’s words. Her focus dropped to their linked hands. Chloe’s fingers tightly grasping her palm while her own barely closed. Theresa didn’t know how long she would have stood there, frozen like the nerves in her hand, if not for the teen pulling her into action. “Come on.”

  Theresa stumbled after the girl toward the stables. Inside, she again registered the peacefulness, the normality of the horses in their stalls. A few large heads peeked out at their arrival, blinking curiously, while another greeted them with the pawing stomp of a hoof and a gusty blow of air, but there was nothing to reveal what had happened.

  “Chloe—”

  “He’s in here.” The girl led the way down a narrow hall past the tack room. A light glowed in what Theresa realized was a small bathroom. She could see Jarrett standing at the sink, his broad shoulders nearly filling the narrow doorway. She took a quick inventory of all she could see. From the flannel-clad shoulders down to his narrow waist, lean hips and long legs, nothing but 100 percent healthy male, and her fear started to fade as the ice around her heart melted beneath a growing warmth.

  He looked up as they approached, and Theresa met his gaze in the small mirror. He greeted her with a scowl and ducked his head. “Dammit, Chloe, I told you I’m fine.”

  As Theresa drew closer, she caught sight of a bloody rag on the vanity and realized why he was standing over the sink.

  “You need to look at his hand. It’s all...” Chloe swallowed, the color draining from her face.

  “Chloe!” The girl started at Theresa’s sharp voice. Once she was sure the teen wasn’t going to faint, she gently said, “Thank you for coming to get me. You did a good job, no matter what he says.” Ignoring the snort coming from the bathroom, she guided Chloe back down the hall and reassured her that everything would be fine.

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay?”

  Judging by the paleness of her face earlier, if Chloe stayed, Theresa would likely have two patients on her hands. “I’m sure. Go on home, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The girl promised to return right after school the next day and then surprised Theresa with an impromptu hug. “Thanks for taking care of him. He needs you, you know.”

  Trying not to read more into the words than the girl had intended, Theresa wished her good-night and then hurried back to the bathroom. The tiny space that consisted of a vanity sink and toilet barely had room for one person, let alone two, but she squeezed by Jarrett to stand at his side and examine his injury. Or to try, as he already had his hand wrapped in a towel.

  “Really?” she asked.

  Heaving a disgruntled sigh, he unwrapped the towel. As she got her first good look, Theresa could understand why Chloe had reacted the way she had. The length of Jarrett’s palm was sliced open. The jagged gash was deepest at the base of his thumb and, while certainly not life threatening or even bleeding as much as Theresa would have expected, it had to hurt. The wound would also leave a scar to go along with half a dozen others she could see on his hand and muscular forearm alone. Some faded to white, others still slightly pink, each one a testimony of hard work.

  Michael had always been so careful with his hands, and as a surgeon, rightfully so. Jarrett’s hands were far more masculine—rugged and rough—and yet Theresa couldn’t help remembering how gentle they’d been when he’d traced her features with his fingertips as they’d kissed.

  Forcing herself to focus on his injury, she asked, “What happened?”

  “There are still some old fences on the property, marking boundaries between neighboring farms back from who knows when. I’ve been tearing them down whenever I have some free time. I was piling the wood in the back of my pickup when the stack started to fall. I reached out to catch the boards and caught a nail instead.”

  “You need stitches.”

  “I have a first-aid kit. It’ll be fine.”

  “A bandage is not going to fix this,” she warned, even as she reached for the box sitting on the toilet lid. Jarrett’s first-aid kit was packed with far more than bandages, which made her wonder if it was left over from his days in the rodeo or if running the ranch posed more hazards than she imagined.

  “Use the superglue.”

  Sure enough, a bottle of medical adhesive rested in the top section of the kit, making her wonder how many times he’d patched himself up over the years. “This won’t hold as well, especially considering how the skin’s going to pull every time you open your hand.”

  “It’ll do.” Sheer stubbornness stared back at her, and Theresa knew she’d never talk him into a trip to the clinic in town.

  “Fine. At least tell me your tetanus shot is up-to-date.”

  “Yeah, it’s not the first time I’ve taken on rusty metal and lost.” He shrugged off the injury, but Theresa could see he’d taken on more than a dilapidated fence. Shadows darkened his eyes, and the evening scruff on his jaw only added to his worn appearance.

  Thinking of his old injury, she said, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “I’m fine.” Determination hardened his jaw, and Theresa knew he’d be making the same claim if he’d cut his hand clean off.

  As Jarrett picked up the rag and tossed it aside, she could see that the blood was dried and realized why the cut wasn’t still bleeding. “I saw your truck earlier.”

  “What?”

  “When I left to go to dinner, you were already back,” she accused as she reached for a small bottle of peroxide.

  “So?”

  “So, why didn’t you come to me right away?”

  “Because it’s not your job.”

  Theresa paused for a split second, hurt more than she wanted to admit that he hadn’t asked for her help. “Technically, it still is.”

  Jarrett swore beneath his breath. “I meant that you’re not here as a nurse. You’re here as a guest. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

  The gruffness in his voice rubbed away her annoyance. How long had it been, she wondered, since he’d let anyone take care of him? Since he’d allowed anyone close enough to care for him? The walls he put up were good, solid reasons for her to stay back, but the faint cracks—the weaknesses in those walls—kept drawing her closer, tempting her to reach inside.

  As she reached for his hand, the other reason why she had a hard time staying away became almost impossible to ignore. Instant awareness streaked through her at the simple touch of taking his hand within her own. The brush of his knuckles against her palm had goose bumps rising to attention all along her arm and chest. Standing so close, she couldn’t help but breathe in his scent—a hint of soap and leather combined with honest, hardworking man—and a tiny shiver quaked through her entire body.

  It was ridiculous! How many men—patients—had she treated over the years? And none of them affected her the way Jarrett did. Of course, she’d never kissed any of her patients or considered a vacation fling with any of them, either.

  Could she really do it? Make love without being in love? Theresa didn’t know if she’d be able to. Didn’t know if she wanted to be the type of woman who could... And if she did allow herself to be that open, that vulnerable, how hard would it be to walk away in the end?

  “This is going to hurt,” she said, wondering if she’d intended the words as a warning for Jarrett or for herself.r />
  He hissed out a breath as she poured the peroxide over his hand. “That stuff I said about how caring and compassionate you are? I take it all back.”

  “Not all my patients are sweet little girls having asthma attacks. Some are hardheaded ranchers too stubborn and proud for their own good.”

  The sharp smell of disinfectant filled the small space, wiping away her earlier feminine reactions as her training took over. She stumbled slightly as she tried to rip open the packages of sterile gauze, the fingers of her left hand refusing to close tightly enough for her to get a grip with her right. Undaunted, she caught the end of the package between her teeth and ripped the top away. She sensed Jarrett’s body tightening, but couldn’t figure out why when she had yet to use the gauze to dry the cut. The butterfly bandages were another challenge, but she managed to adhere the tiny strips on either side of the ragged skin, hoping they’d help hold the cut closed as it healed.

  Only after she’d cleaned up the wrappings from the gauze and bandages, dropping them in the small wastebasket tucked behind the toilet, did Theresa dare meet Jarrett’s gaze. She’d been aware—too aware—of his gaze focused on her face the whole time she worked. If she’d looked up any earlier, she feared she would have lost all sense of professionalism and gone right ahead and tried to kiss it and make it better, and she didn’t think she would have just stopped at his hand.

  “Damn,” he murmured quietly. “I knew you were something that day in the diner, but that was nothing.”

  Theresa felt her face heat at the look in his eyes—a mix of admiration and desire—but shook her head. “This was nothing,” she insisted as she led the way back down the narrow hallway and to his office in the stables.

  If the cut had been the slightest bit deeper, her efforts would have been useless. He would have needed stitches, and she didn’t fool herself into thinking she could manage sutures one-handed.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but one bandage doesn’t prove that I can still do my job.” Despite her warning, Jarrett’s smile was still far too smug. “And please do not tell me you practically impaled your hand on a rusty old nail just to make a point—no pun intended.”

  He gave a quick bark of laughter. “Well, as much as I’d like you to think I was being that noble, truth is I was just that clumsy and careless.”

  “I don’t think you’re clumsy...or careless.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not so noble, either.” Catching her wrist with his uninjured hand, he pulled her closer. “If I was, I probably wouldn’t be telling you how much I want you right now.”

  “You don’t.”

  A dark eyebrow winged upward in challenge. “Pretty sure I do.”

  Theresa ducked her head to try to escape the heat in his gaze. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what? Like I think that you’re amazing? Like how all I could think about for the past fifteen minutes was how I wished you were touching more than my hand?”

  “I dumped peroxide on your hand.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want to repeat that part but the rest...”

  “You’re crazy, you know that, right? And you’re wrong about me. I’m not amazing. I’m not this remarkable person you think I am! I’m—I’m a mess. After the accident, after Michael...”

  Theresa took a step back and freed herself from his grasp to wrap her left arm around her waist as she blurted out, “We were engaged. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  They had planned a June wedding, so traditional, so perfect... “I loved him, and I really thought he loved me. But after the accident— I wanted to fix things so badly, to help, but I was stuck in that hospital bed, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do—”

  Theresa didn’t remember much from the actual car crash, but she did have one brief, vivid memory of the seat belt snapping tight against her chest at the moment of impact. So tight it had robbed her of breath as it had seemed to strike a solid blow against her heart. When Michael had stood over her in the hospital, when he’d hurled his accusations at her, she’d felt that same blow, same breathlessness, same heartbreak again.

  “The SOB broke up with you when you were in the hospital?” Jarrett broke in. He swore beneath his breath. “He doesn’t deserve you, Theresa. Not another second of your time.”

  Certainty hardened the stubborn line of his jaw, but a flash in his eyes hinted at something more. A reflection of the pain she’d felt at Michael’s desertion—almost as if he knew what she’d gone through.

  But there was something he couldn’t know. “I wasn’t the only one in the car, Jarrett. Michael’s daughter, Natalie, was with me. He—he blamed me for the accident.” Just speaking the words, making that admission, Theresa heard the guilt in her voice. If only Natalie hadn’t gone with her that day...

  Stepping closer, Jarrett pulled her into his arms, and this time, Theresa couldn’t find the will to pull away. The comfort and security promised to block out the rest of the world until nothing remained but the warmth of his embrace and the beat of his heart.

  “Is she all right?”

  “She was in a coma for the first few weeks.”

  As devastating as the accident had been for Theresa, Natalie was lucky to have survived. When she awoke, the doctors had cautioned them of the long road to recovery as the little girl relearned some of the most basic motor skills.

  My daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and it’s all your fault!

  The accident hadn’t been her fault. Logically, she knew that and thought perhaps even Michael did, too, though feelings of pain and fear and, yes, guilt made it too hard to see clearly. Alex had made a point of talking with the police officers who’d arrived on the scene and told Theresa again and again there was nothing she could have done to prevent the accident.

  But Theresa still couldn’t shake the overwhelming sense of responsibility. Because while the accident might not have been her fault, she was certainly the reason Natalie had been in the car with her. She’d wanted—had fought for—the opportunity to get to know the girl who would soon be her stepdaughter.

  “Michael was so protective of Natalie, so dedicated to his role as a single father. At first, it was one of the reasons I was attracted to him. Family has always been such a big part of my life, too. But after a while, as much as I admired his almost single-minded devotion to his daughter, it started to be a stumbling block. How could we be a family if I was a third wheel when it came to his daughter? So I pushed...”

  As she’d done in far too many aspects of their relationship, she feared. She’d convinced Michael that shopping for a flower girl dress was a “girls only” outing. Her heart had nearly burst from her chest when Natalie seriously stated, “No boys allowed, Daddy!”

  And Michael had reluctantly agreed to let his baby girl go with Theresa.

  If she hadn’t pushed so hard— If she hadn’t practically backed Michael into a corner— If she’d just bought a few stupid dresses and had Natalie try them on at the house—

  If...if...if... The endless wishing didn’t change reality one iota, and yet they cemented the weight of guilt so solidly in her heart, Theresa sometimes woke in the middle of the night, panicked and sweating, unable to breathe.

  “We were on our way back from the bridal shop. Natalie was so excited about the flower girl dress we found for her. She called it a princess dress and asked if she could wear a tiara. I told her we could see about having the florist weave some teacup roses and baby’s breath into her hair instead. She’d laughed and said baby’s breath was a funny name, and then the light turned green...”

  Theresa shook her head, as if trying to shake the memory away. “The other driver was in an SUV. A mother with three kids in the backseat. She’d turned around, taking her eyes off the road, and didn’t realize the light had changed.”

  “It
was an accident,” Jarrett concluded, his hand strong and firm on her shoulder blade. “You said Natalie was in a coma,” he prompted, and a tiniest bit of that pressure eased as she thought of Natalie’s improvement.

  “She’s made some great progress. Better than anyone expected. I just— I wish I could have been there for her. Wish I could have helped take care of her.” She gave a short laugh. “Selfish of me, isn’t it? After all, if Natalie gets better then maybe I won’t feel so responsible, right?”

  “There’s nothing selfish about it or about you. If Michael had been driving the car that day, would you feel any differently? Would you be any less concerned about Natalie’s recovery?”

  “No...”

  “No. Of course not. You’ve dedicated your life to helping people. I don’t have a single doubt that you would have done anything to protect Natalie. Your jerk of an ex sure as hell should have known that much about you, too.”

  Instead, he’d turned his back on her when she’d needed him most, a pain Jarrett was all too familiar with, and shaken her confidence—not just personally but professionally as well, by making her doubt her own abilities.

  It was enough to make him want to track the surgeon down and break a few of his fingers. He could feel for the guy after what he’d been through with his daughter, but for him to blame Theresa...

  “He was wrong to blame you. He should have known better and that he didn’t—well, just goes to show he doesn’t deserve you.”

  Her blue eyes shimmered with tears as she met his gaze. “I never thought of it like that before. Never asked myself how I would feel if Michael had been the one driving. I still would have wanted to do everything in my power to help Natalie—to help both of them heal.”

  And her ex had robbed her of that chance. How much of Theresa’s fear about returning to the ER was tied to that loss? Yes, her physical limitations were holding her back, but the emotional obstacles were surely just as much of a hurdle to overcome.

  After all, if she couldn’t help Natalie, if she couldn’t “fix things” with Michael—two people she’d loved—how could she help patients who were total strangers?