Cowboy to the Rescue

by Trish Milburn

  No, this was better, the dose of cold water in the face he evidently needed to remind him that he was damaged goods and had a valid reason for keeping to himself.

  “Heard you went galivanting all over the county with Brooke today.”

  “I’d hardly call delivering a table and getting busted tires fixed galivanting.”

  “And the Rochester.”

  “I see Jo is still the biggest mouth in Texas.”

  “Actually, it was Pete, who was pretty surprised to see your truck there.”

  “I hope your deputy has better things to do than gossip about whose truck is where.”

  “Touchy tonight, aren’t you?”

  Ryan lifted his bandaged hand. “You would be too if you nearly shoved a knife through your hand. Throbs like hell.”

  Ryan regretted bringing up his injury. Concern on his mother’s face, he could deal with. His big brother’s was a bit much to swallow. He wasn’t a snotty-nosed little brother tagging along after Simon and Nathan anymore. He’d been to war, for God’s sake.

  And come out the other side not quite himself.

  “Then I’d suggest not doing that again.”

  Ryan snorted. “How do you stand yourself, being so smart?”

  “It’s tough.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Have you eaten? I can slap some PBJ together.”

  “Nah, I grabbed a burger on the way back from serving a warrant out in the hinterlands.”

  “The glory of being sheriff.”

  “Some days I think you’ve got it right, a job where people aren’t pestering you 24/7.”

  “You, a hermit? Not in this lifetime. You love all that attention.”

  “I could do with a little less of the mischief makers and a lot more female attention.”

  “Is there any available woman left in this county you haven’t dated?”

  “A few. The lovely Miss Brooke for one.”

  Ryan clenched his fists for a moment before forcing himself to relax. He hoped the limited light hid his reaction. “You asked her out yet?”

  “No.” Simon sighed. “Didn’t get the chance before she made it known she wasn’t interested.”

  “Ow, bet that smarts.”

  “I think her interests lie elsewhere.”

  Ryan did not meet his brother’s eyes, did not ask his meaning. “Or maybe she’s been in town five seconds and doesn’t know anyone yet.” And a really annoying part of himself was glad for that fact. Seeing Greg’s and Simon’s interest in Brooke made him realize he had to squash his attraction to her or do something about it.

  “No, don’t think that’s it.” Simon wore his I’m-the-older-brother-and-thus-know-more expression. It’d been annoying when Ryan was a kid and hadn’t gotten any less so with age.

  “Sure you don’t want something to eat? I’m starving.”

  “I bet you are.” No missing the meaning behind the words.

  Ryan faced Simon then. “Don’t push this.”

  “Come on, man. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to start living again sometime.”

  “I live every day. I’m not in that damned hospital anymore. I can even walk without a noticeable limp now. Haven’t had any freakouts in a while. What else do you want from me?”

  “That’s existing. I want you to live.”

  They so rarely spoke to each other without some layer of teasing involved that the pure, honest look on Simon’s face unnerved Ryan, made him twitchy. And though he’d never be able to admit it out loud, it touched him deeper than he’d ever imagined possible.

  Simon didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he tossed the truck keys to Ryan. “Go on in and eat. Your stomach rumbling is going to wake up half of Blue Falls. Don’t need them calling the station thinking we’re having an earthquake.”

  When Simon was halfway back to the ranch’s main driveway, Ryan wandered inside but didn’t make the PB or J. Despite the persistent growling of his stomach, he didn’t know if he could eat. Too many questions swirled through his head, ones he’d been blessedly free of two short days ago. Before Brooke Vincent had strolled into his mother’s kitchen and into too many of his thoughts. It was as if she’d flicked on a switch the moment she’d popped her head out of that refrigerator and he’d met her eyes for the first time.

  He leaned his palms against the edge of the kitchen counter, pressed his eyes closed and cursed. Damn it, Simon was right. Ryan hadn’t truly realized he wasn’t living until she’d sent a jolt through him, like a freaking defibrilator starting his heart again.

  His stomach growled so loudly this time that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the guests in the cabins heard it. He retrieved the ingredients and slammed together a sandwich, ate a quarter of it in one bite. When the sandwich didn’t calm his stomach or the hurricane in his head, he ripped open a bag of corn chips and started eating those.

  Could he do it? Could he be like Simon and just go out for a casual date? He tossed the bag of chips onto the counter without bothering to close it with one of the clothespins he kept on hand for that purpose. When had he ever been like Simon? He wasn’t the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.

  That wasn’t fair. He’d never heard any of Simon’s dates complain afterward. They knew what they were getting.

  But Brooke wouldn’t know what she was getting if Ryan dared to ask her out. She wouldn’t know he came with the kind of baggage it was damn near impossible to unload, no matter how hard you tried.

  The kind of baggage he didn’t deserve to unload on anyone else because it was his and his alone to bear.

  BROOKE STRETCHED, LOVING the feel of having enjoyed the best night of sleep she’d had in months. She might be living in a ranch bunkhouse, but she doubted she could have slept any better at the four-star hotel where she’d worked not so long ago. She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d taken a giant step just by sleeping soundly and without nightmares.

  In fact, her dreams had been far from scary scenes of being chased and attacked, of having to submit. Her body flushed at the memory of what she’d been doing in that dream world right before she’d woken to the first birds chirping in a new day.

  Her, Ryan, a bed the size of Texas and little else.

  She flung the covers aside, the embarrassment hot on her cheeks—and other places.

  If she’d had any doubt before, it was gone now. She’d lost her mind somewhere between Virginia and Texas. If she backtracked, would she find it dusty and neglected on the side of the road?

  As she brushed her teeth and eyed herself in the bathroom mirror, she thought about how different things would be if Chris had never asked her to dance that first time, or if she’d said no. She wouldn’t be having these interior battles about her attraction to Ryan. She likely never would have met him.

  Thinking a shower might help clear her head, she turned on the hot water and hopped in. But the feel of the water on her skin only served to remind her of the sensations she’d ridden in her sleep.

  She toweled off, wiped away part of the fog on the mirror and stared at herself again. “You sure can get yourself in a mess, can’t you?”

  But this time, she would remain in control. She was here to work, to rebuild her life, not fall for another good-looking guy.

  No, Ryan wasn’t good-looking, not in the same polished, designer suit way Chris was. He was rough around the edges, a touch mysterious, private, all the things Chris wasn’t. Was that why she was attracted, her survival instinct pointing her toward the opposite end of the spectrum?

  No. The voice came out of nowhere to speak in her mind, clear and true. So clear that she looked around to make sure she was alone before realizing it was her own voice.

  Great. Not only had she lost her mind, she was also talking
to herself.

  With a good shake of her head, she headed out of the bathroom and got dressed for another day. Despite her chatty brain, she felt good and decided to focus on that. She felt so good, in fact, that she was going to fix her mom’s French toast for breakfast.

  As she walked along the roadway leading from the bunkhouse, she breathed deeply of the fresh air, drawing even more strength from it. Instead of the hum of traffic, she heard the scurrying of creatures in the trees and the lovely songs of birds she couldn’t identify. It reminded her of the simple pleasures of her childhood, before she’d decided she wanted more than her small hometown could give her. But she’d gotten more than she’d bargained for.

  A flash of color made her stop and stand perfectly still. After a few moments, the most brilliantly colored bird flew from one branch to another, giving her a clear view of its bright orange belly, green feathers and blue head.

  “Hey there, pretty,” she said.

  The bird chirped in response, making Brooke smile. Her mom must be smiling down on her this morning. First the idea to make the French toast, and now a beautiful bird. Her mom had loved watching the birds in the backyard of their West Virginia home. She’d kept a birding guide and a pair of binoculars in the window over the kitchen sink, always ready to pause in her work to appreciate her “chirpers.”

  As she approached the back door to the main house, she started to use the key until she noticed Merline and Hank sitting at the island, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

  “And here I thought I was going to be the first one in here this morning,” she said as she stepped inside.

  Merline lifted her cup. “Have to get up pretty early to beat us to the coffee.”

  “Old habits die hard,” Hank offered. “There’s fresh coffee, though you don’t look like you need it this morning.”

  “I haven’t slept that well in ages.”

  Merline picked up the coffeepot and refilled her cup. “Glad to hear you’re settling in nicely.”

  “Can I fix you all anything?”

  “We’ll just have whatever the guests are having.”

  “French toast, it is.”

  Hank made an appreciative sound.

  Merline laughed as she slid a section of the paper toward her husband. “You’ve just made a friend for life.”

  Brooke smiled and pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. “Well, if you like French toast, you’re going to love this. It was my mom’s recipe, and I’ve never tasted anything better.”

  This morning, it didn’t hurt to talk about her mother, and she couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. Maybe seeing the bird, maybe finally feeling as though she could take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Whatever the reason, she was thankful for it, and she let the memories of Saturday mornings eating breakfast in her princess gowns in front of television cartoons wash over her.

  Before the guests arrived, she slid two servings of the French toast in front of Merline and Hank. The moment Hank took a bite he closed his eyes and chewed slowly, seeming to savor every bite. When he swallowed, he opened his eyes and looked at his wife.

  “Whatever we’re paying her, it isn’t enough.”

  Brooke smiled widely as she prepared enough French toast to feed the twelve guests on the schedule for this morning. As she headed to the dining room, she replayed Hank and Merline’s compliments on their breakfast. She was happy to be sharing her mom’s recipe with people she was pretty sure her mom would have liked. It helped make her feel like her mom was still with her instead of gone these past four years.

  “I hear the world’s best French toast is being served here this morning,” Ryan said when she finally returned to the kitchen after talking with the guests about where they were from, what they did and their plans for the day.

  “You heard right.” She crossed the tiled floor to the stove, noticing the elder Teagues had vacated the room. “But you’re cutting it mighty close.” She scooped a generous helping of toast onto a plate and handed it to him along with a small pitcher of warm syrup. She tried not to hold her breath, waiting to see if he liked it. Instead, she turned and started putting glasses and utensils in the dishwasher.

  “You gotten any more marriage proposals since you been here?”

  Her attention jerked back to him. “What?”

  He held up a forkful of toast, dripping with syrup. “Because this is awesome.”

  His praise warmed her more than any other. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “So, that offer to help me still stand?”

  “Sure,” she said, trying not to appear too eager. “Another delivery?”

  “No. Just got some work that requires one more hand than I currently have at the ready.”

  An image of what his two hands had done to her in that early morning dream threatened to burn her clothes right off her. “Okay.” She turned away, taking a deep, silent breath.

  “I’ve got to run into town first, but I’ll be back in half an hour or so,” he said.

  She nodded without looking at him. “I’ll be done here by then.”

  By the time he’d finished his breakfast, she was a nervous wreck wondering if he was watching her. She’d have to use the time he was gone into Blue Falls to pull herself together and recapture the calm she’d felt on her walk to work, remind herself that having the crazy hots for her boss’s son wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had.

  She nearly jumped when he placed his plate in the sink.

  “Thanks again for breakfast.” He was so close, she’d swear his breath caressed her cheek. Her inhale brought in his manly scent of the outdoors and honest work. Chris had never smelled like that, even after a workout, but she found herself thinking Ryan smelled like honesty. And that was headier than any cologne.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Brooke fought the crazy urge to turn slightly, to see just how close he was, what he might do. Before she had time to act on that thought, he was out the back door.

  She closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the sink and exhaled. Then, unable to resist, she walked into the family dining room and watched as he headed back toward his slice of the ranch, doing more for a worn pair of jeans than any high-dollar model could ever dream of doing.

  She was in trouble, and she wasn’t sure she minded it.

  Chapter Six

  The little girl made Ryan nervous. He kept envisioning her cutting herself like he had, and her father, a prospective customer, not being terribly happy about it.

  “Sweetie, don’t touch that,” the man, an attorney from Dallas, said to his little girl as she reached for the wooden leg destined for a dining room chair. “As I was saying, I’d like to have a desk and chair made for Haylee, something her size.”

  Ryan didn’t know why the man would spend that kind of money on custom furniture the little girl was going to outgrow in short order, but maybe he had plenty of cash to toss in various directions.

  “I can do that. Any particular style?” Movement out of the corner of Ryan’s eye drew his attention. Haylee was reaching for a handsaw. But before he could intervene, Brooke stepped into the shop, between Haylee and those dangerous, jagged edges. He sent her a silent, thankful expression and returned to his conversation with Mr. Briggs. He counted it as a miracle that he was able to concentrate on what the man said when his attention kept straying to Brooke. She was keeping Haylee occupied by using a thin piece of cast-off wood to draw pictures in the coating of sawdust on the floor.

  Several details and a down payment later, he breathed a sigh of relief when Haylee left the shop unscatched with her father, totally oblivious that her daddy had just forked over a substantial sum on her behalf.

  He glanced at Brooke, who was examining his work in progress. “You have great timing.�
��

  “She was a curious little thing, wasn’t she?”

  “I was having horrible visions of emergency rooms every time she reached for something.”

  “Speaking of injuries, how is your hand today?” she asked as she gestured toward his bandaged hand.

  It felt like it was going to fall off, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Fine.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. Something about her was more…alive, more real today. She didn’t seem as guarded, and he wondered why.

  “Now why don’t I believe that?” With a shake of her head, she walked toward him and grasped his hand. “Good grief, this bandage looks like you’ve clawed your way over a rocky mountain. Don’t you wear gloves when you’re working?”

  It took him a moment to adjust to the feel of her holding his hand, to remember he was supposed to answer her. “I don’t like to. They just get in the way.”

  With another shake of her pretty head, she tugged him toward the house. “Let’s at least clean it up and put on a new bandage then.”

  If it had been his mother trying to take care of him, he would have shaken her off. Wouldn’t want her coddling. But he liked the feel of having Brooke near him, showing concern for him, touching his hand. Wise or not, he was going to indulge, at least for a few minutes. Didn’t he deserve at least that much?

  Instead of depositing him in the main living area, she guided him all the way to the bathroom then started pulling supplies from the cabinet over the sink. With quick efficiency, she cut off his ratty bandage and pointed toward the sink.

  “Wash it really well with hot water and soap.”

  He had to smile at her commanding tone, so at odds with how she’d acted that first night when she’d been trying to land her job. She looked up and caught him smiling.

  “What?”

  “You’re pretty when you’re bossing someone around.” Had he just said that out loud? Was he flirting? Damn, he was glad Simon wasn’t here. His big brother would have a field day with this.