Romancing the Rancher (The Pirelli Brothers)

by Stacy Connelly

  “It’s all thanks to my dad...and to Duke.”

  “Your dad and your horse?” Theresa asked hesitantly.

  “Yeah. I’d never been one to believe in fate, but without them, I don’t know where I’d be right now. Probably still riding in the rodeo despite the risk—assuming it wouldn’t have killed or crippled me by now.”

  Crippled. The word had her instantly thinking of her own injury but also of the mysterious injury that had led to Jarrett’s retirement.

  “How warm is that sweater?”

  The out-of-the-blue question had Theresa blinking. “Um, warm enough, I guess.”

  “I don’t think so.” Reaching out, he grabbed a jacket hanging on the other side of the picture. “You’re gonna need this.”

  “I am?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a long story, and I can’t tell long stories sitting still.” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a half grin, erasing some of the shadowed memories from his handsome face. “Don’t suppose I can talk you into that ride?”

  Just a few days ago, that same question had filled Theresa with a sense of heartbreak and loss. But in that moment, an answering smile tugged at her lips and she felt...tempted. But she still shook her head, not ready for the ride or—she feared—the man offering it. “Not tonight.”

  “Then I guess we’ll just have to walk,” he said as he draped the jacket over her shoulders. Theresa was immediately blanketed by the faint hint of hay and horses and the piney outdoor scent that Theresa would no longer associate with Clearville but instead with the man himself. “But don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  “Notice what?”

  He leaned in closer as he murmured, “That you didn’t say no this time.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Sure you’re warm enough?” Jarrett asked as he led the way down a moonlit path. His breath formed a cloud around the words, though he supposed Northern California nights couldn’t compete with Midwestern winters.

  Theresa shot him a sideways look. “You’re the one without a jacket.”

  Jarrett shrugged, feeling warm enough in the blue-and-white-flannel button-down he’d pulled on over his long-sleeved T-shirt earlier in the evening. Even if he were freezing, he wouldn’t have said anything. Not when the sight of Theresa wearing his jacket filled him with a sense of propriety. The feeling was more fitting for a high school jock handing off his letterman jacket than a grown man, but at the end of the night, he’d be tempted to let her hold on to the denim jacket. Wanting her to keep a part of him, even if he knew better than to expect her to give a piece of herself in return.

  And that was what this walk was about, after all, wasn’t it? Ever since she arrived, she’d been hanging tough. Telling her relatives and everyone who asked that she was just fine. She’d shown up every day at the stables, even though at times he knew it was a struggle for her. She hid it well, shifting her weight to her right leg, keeping her left hand tucked into the front pocket of the sweatshirts she wore. But he’d noticed her limping toward the end of the day when she thought he wasn’t watching. Sensed her frustration when everyday tasks eluded her, and a brush or bridle slipped from her grasp.

  But tonight was the first time he’d seen her lower her guard, the first time the vulnerability and sorrow in her blue gaze threatened to overwhelm her. He wouldn’t let that happen. He wasn’t going to let her give up, and if talking about his past would help...

  He’d meant what he said about needing to be outside. In the fresh air and open spaces where he could still breathe and keep his focus on the good times with his father—how he’d learned to ride at Ray’s side as his father worked as a foreman on ranches all over the West. He’d idolized his father as a kid and had had the perfect childhood—at least until he turned seven and his mother left his dad—and took Jarrett with her.

  He’d hated living in Atlanta and could only be glad his mother had quickly tired of single motherhood. By the time she reconnected with George Carrington—an old-money, old family friend—she’d been ready to put everything about her past with Ray behind her. Including her son.

  He knew it hadn’t been easy for Ray to put in long hours on a ranch and still take care of a child. Looking back, Jarrett realized he had probably been on his own more than most kids and given more freedom and more responsibility than he’d known at times how to handle. But Ray had done his best and had always been there for him, always looked out for him even when Jarrett hadn’t known it.

  “A few years before my injury, my dad passed away. He’d had a stroke and by the time the end came, he was ready to go.”

  Theresa spoke after a brief silence. “That’s supposed to make it easier, but I’m not sure it does.”

  “I guess you’ve seen your share of heartbreak working in the ER.”

  “Enough to know how hard it is to see a loved one suffer.” Her voice trembled slightly at the end, and he sensed she wasn’t talking about a professional case, but a personal one.

  “My dad was the one who pretty much raised me. He’d always been there for me, even though I know times were tough and money was usually tight. That’s why it was such a surprise to find out he’d had a life insurance policy.”

  Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it. When he looked around the ranch, at the stables he’d pretty much built with his own hands, at the horses he’d helped to save, Jarrett knew he owed it all to his father. The ranch was as much his father’s legacy as it was Jarrett’s present and future.

  “His death hit me hard.” He blurted out the words as if by spitting them out quickly he could skip over the dark memories from the time after his father’s stroke and the weeks and months following his father’s passing. “I’d always been a little reckless, and after he died, I started taking even more chances—and not just in the arena. I was drinking too much, getting in bar brawls, wound up in jail more than once. Only smart thing I did in those years was that I didn’t touch a penny of the life insurance money. I’d seen other guys on the circuit blow through their earnings in a few months without a single thing to show for it. I wanted the money to matter. For everything my dad had sacrificed to make the payments for all those years to really mean something.”

  “And that’s when you were injured,” Theresa filled in.

  “Yep.” He’d long grown used to minimizing the extent of his injuries. But how would that help Theresa see that she could move on from her own? “I’d damaged my spinal column.” He had to clear his throat to admit the next part, to force his way past the dark memories. “When I woke up, I was paralyzed from the waist down.”

  He sensed rather than heard her quick intake of breath. He supposed it was part of her training, minimizing her reaction to hearing or even delivering bad news. She probably thought she should be so stoic and professional when it came to facing her own prognosis—whatever it was.

  “The doctors told me I’d be lucky if I ever walked again—forget riding. Forget the rodeo.” And after seeing his father trapped in a broken, almost lifeless body, Jarrett had understood more than most people how it could be a fate worse than death.

  He felt Theresa’s hand on his arm—her skin cold despite his borrowed jacket—and he swore beneath his breath. He wanted to pull away, to retreat from the pity he knew he’d see in her eyes as she murmured, “Oh, Jarrett,” but he couldn’t. Instead, he stopped walking and took her hand within his own and rubbed some warmth back into those delicate fingers.

  And when he met her gaze—the bright blue still vivid even in the faint moonlight—his heart slammed against his chest. Because it wasn’t pity he saw shining there.

  It was pride.

  “It’s amazing that you’ve come so far, to have fully recovered from your injury... I know about the determination and hard work that goes into that kind of rehab.”
>
  Again, Jarrett didn’t think she was speaking from a professional viewpoint, and he hadn’t missed the way she kept her left hand tucked within the pocket of his jacket, even while he still held on to her right. Her soft skin was warmer now, the delicacy of the fine bones somewhat misleading. Theresa was tough. Stronger and more capable than she gave herself credit for. He didn’t doubt she’d pushed herself as hard during her rehab as he once had.

  “Recovery was tough. Harder and more painful than anything I’d experienced riding bulls. And even when I beat all the odds against me, even when I was stupid enough to go back to competing, I still had to face knowing my life would never be the same. Would never be what I’d imagined. I’d been traveling from rodeo to rodeo, living for the rush of performing in front of screaming crowds for so long, I didn’t know how I’d get on without it. But then I found Duke and had the idea for starting the rescue. It’s not the road I planned to travel, but it brought me here, and this is home now.”

  “Be open to the possibilities,” Theresa murmured.

  “What was that?”

  She shook her head as if wishing the words back. “Just something Darcy said tonight.”

  “Sounds like good advice.”

  She met his gaze in the moonlight, silent for a heartbeat or two too long. Enough time for Jarrett to sense her willingness to take that advice could end up having a lasting effect on his life... “Maybe it is,” she conceded finally. Only then seeming to notice that he still held her hand, she took a step back and drew away.

  Feeling the loss, he tucked his hands into his back pockets. Funny that he would feel cold without her touch when he’d been the one trying to warm her hand in the first place. A memory played on the edges of his mind, and he asked, “Do you know the first time I saw you?”

  Her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. “Sitting on your office porch a few days ago?”

  “Um, no,” Jarrett confessed, mentally smacking himself. Way to point out how aware he’d been of her occasional visits when she’d had no reason to make note of him at all. But hell, he’d already stuck his foot in it, so why not kick it around some?

  “It was when you came to town last summer for Sophia’s wedding. I was in town at the diner when a little girl started having an attack—”

  “I remember that. It was one of my niece’s friends. She had an asthma attack and didn’t have her inhaler with her.”

  “Everyone else was freaking out—talking about calling 911 and rushing her to the hospital.” Even from across the room, he’d seen how the panic going on around the young girl was only making matters worse. “And then you took over.”

  Theresa had stepped into the middle of the confusion, calming the frantic adults with little more than a word or two before focusing on the little girl. He could still picture the girl’s pale face, her eyes wide with fear, as she struggled to breathe, and he could hear Theresa’s soothing voice as she encouraged the girl to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth as if blowing out candles on a birthday cake.

  “What you did that day had nothing to do with physical strength. There were half a dozen guys at the diner—myself included—who were physically stronger than you, but that didn’t make a lick of difference. Your caring and compassion were what mattered then, and that’s what will matter in the future, too.”

  * * *

  Theresa recalled the day Jarrett was talking about—remembering the girl’s asthma attack and her babysitter’s frantic realization that she’d forgotten to bring along an inhaler. She’d gone to the diner with Sophia, and the two of them were laughing over some of their teenage exploits when she first became aware of the little girl having trouble breathing. Her training had taken over, and she’d rushed to the girl’s side.

  She remembered all of that, including the familiar satisfaction of helping in a crisis...

  Theresa didn’t know how many words of encouragement she’d heard in the months since the accident from family and friends and coworkers. She’d done her best to listen, to take heart in what they were saying. To try to believe she hadn’t lost everything and that her life would get better. She’d even reached a point where she could offer the appropriate responses and reassure those around her that she, too, knew she would be okay.

  But she’d never truly believed what she was saying because she’d never been completely honest. Not with her concerned friends and family and not with herself. She’d buried the deepest of her fears where she wouldn’t have to face them. The last thing she expected was for them all to start spilling out on a moonlight walk with Jarrett Deeks.

  “The doctors can’t say for sure if the nerve damage in my hand will completely heal. At least not to the point where I could go back to working in the ER. And even if I could, I’m not sure I want to go back. I used to love going to the hospital, but now... It’s a demanding job—physically and emotionally—and sometimes the thought of caring for patients...”

  You can’t even take care of yourself. How do you expect to help anyone else?

  Michael’s angry voice echoed against the walls of her memory. Upon waking in the hospital, Theresa’s only focus had been on his daughter, Natalie. She’d refused to rest until she could see the little girl for herself. Her fellow nurses had bent the rules by wheeling her up to the ICU. All she wanted to do was help, to care for the little girl she’d already started to love as her own.

  But she never made it to Natalie’s side. Michael had stopped her short, throwing her helplessness into her face and freezing her with his icy fury. And as much as she’d tried to deflect the bitter slice of those words, every time she took a stumbling step, every time her fingers couldn’t complete the simplest task, his accusation cut into her again and again.

  “I just don’t know if I have it in me anymore to be the nurse I once was.”

  The admission was gut-wrenching. As if she were taking a dull knife and slicing away at her insides. But instead of removing a cancer, she felt as though she were cutting out the best, most meaningful part of herself and throwing it away.

  “You do.”

  He spoke the words with such certainty, as if it were just that easy. Anger washed away the shame, and she opened her mouth to fire off a retort. What did he know about starting over? Easy for him to say things would get better!

  Only he did know better than anyone what she was going through, and it hadn’t been easy. “I wish— I wish I could believe that.”

  “Believe it. The day at the diner... You were amazing.”

  Her small smile trembled around the edges as she pointed out, “Were being the key word.”

  “Caring about people isn’t something you do, it’s who you are. Tell me the truth, you were about to kick my butt the other day when you thought I wasn’t sympathizing enough with Chloe having to give up her horse.”

  Why did it even surprise her that he’d noticed her reaction when at the time he hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to her at all? It seemed to be a talent of his—an extra awareness of where she was and what she was doing—and Theresa didn’t know if the idea left her feeling more flustered or flattered...

  “I doubt I would have resorted to physical violence, but I was planning to give you a piece of my mind,” she admitted with a smile.

  “All because you cared that much about a girl you’d just met. No car accident is going to change that. That part of you is just as strong as it was the day in the diner.”

  “I still can’t believe you were there.”

  Jarrett shrugged, but the look in his gaze was far from casual. “It’s a small town.”

  “I know but...”

  How could it be that they’d both been at the small diner and yet she hadn’t noticed him? Walking beside him now, so very aware of everything about him—from the sound of his breathing, the cadence of his step, the oc
casional brush of his shoulder against hers—she didn’t know how that was possible. With the quiet stillness of the night, her every sense seemed tuned in solely to Jarrett. His voice was the only sound she heard, his scent was the air she breathed, and when his gaze captured hers, she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

  She’d been wrong before. Jarrett wasn’t going to feel sorry for her. He didn’t see her as broken, and if there was any comparison between the way he treated her and the way he treated his rescue horses, it was only in the patience he showed, in his willingness to let her take the lead and make the first move.

  As first moves went, hers started out as a tentative one. Reaching up to touch his face. But the moment she felt the slight scrape of his whiskered jawline against her fingertips, her hesitation evaporated, burned away by the sudden rush of need and desire. She whispered his name, the shaky sound lingering in the cool night air along with the white cloud of her breath, but then the sound, the air, the breath, was lost in his kiss.

  His fingers—calloused and workman tough—traced over her cheeks, her ears, her neck, before sinking into her hair. He held her lightly as if letting her know it was still her call, but control was an illusion. She was captured by his kiss, caught up in the desire she’d felt from the first moment they met, and she didn’t know how she would break free. Not that freedom mattered at the moment, either. Not when there was nowhere else she wanted to be than in his arms.

  Heat spread through her veins, building hotter, faster, until she was gasping for air. Her head fell back, and his teeth lightly scored the side of her neck. Shudders racked her body, and her fingers tightened in the soft flannel of his shirt, but she was desperate for the smooth skin and masculine muscle beneath. Skin-to-skin contact with nothing in between...

  The intensity of that need startled her. Scared her. This wasn’t like her. She didn’t rush into relationships. And certainly didn’t make out with men she’d just met! “Jarrett.” This whispered rush of air sounded more like encouragement than protest, but he pulled away. He could already read her so well.