Romancing the Rancher Page 2

  Getting lost in the city was almost as easy as getting lost in the wilderness. Both could leave a man feeling small and insignificant, a breath away from disappearing and never being found again. But in this small town—

  He couldn’t disappear if he tried. He’d hardly set foot on Main Street before half the townspeople seemed to know who he was while the other half was busy finding out. The instant curiosity and word of mouth had been a help, he had to admit, both to his rescue and to the stables. He didn’t doubt that it would give his newest venture into the hospitality business a boost, too.

  But that still didn’t ease the uncertainty he felt about welcoming people onto his property. Though he’d lived much of his professional life in front of a crowd, he’d left that world behind. He had no interest in where-are-they-now stories showcasing him as a has-been bull rider.

  The affinity he felt for the animals had given him a second lease on life when his rodeo career ended—when his fans, his friends, even the woman who claimed to love him disappeared from his life. He’d felt as lost as some of the horses and didn’t know where he might have ended up if the rescue hadn’t given him a new purpose.

  His boots echoed on the concrete floor as he walked down the center aisle, a sense of pride filling him, as Silverbelle—his latest rescue—stuck her head over the top of a stall. Her long, graceful neck was extended as she looked for a treat. He handed her the piece of carrot he’d saved for her. She’d come a long way, and he was determined to keep the rescue going for other horses just like her.

  That was where the idea for rental cabins came into play. Cabins for hunters and fishermen. Outdoorsmen like him. Not so much for women. And sure as hell not for Theresa Pirelli.

  What was she thinking, staying at the Rockin’ R in the first place? If she didn’t want to room with family, the bed-and-breakfasts in town were made for a woman like Theresa. Elegant, graceful and delicate, the beautiful buildings with their gorgeous gardens and what he assumed were lace-and-floral guest rooms would be a perfect backdrop for her.

  Jarrett didn’t doubt Theresa was very much a modern woman, but with her creamy skin, raven hair and blue eyes, she had an ethereal, timeless beauty. Seeing her at one of her cousins’ weddings, he’d thought she looked like one of those cartoon princesses his half sister had loved as a kid—all big eyes, bright smiles and long, flowing hair.

  She didn’t belong in a rustic cabin unless seven dwarves were staying there with her.

  Heaving a sigh, he headed out of the stables. As he stepped outside, he gazed out at the dense trees surrounding his property. He inhaled the scent of pine and a hint of ocean air almost as if he could breathe in the peace and quiet. He’d long ago figured out he was far better with animals than he was with people. But at the moment, people paid the bills.

  Jarrett wasn’t a fanciful man, but the life insurance policy his father had left him had been a final gift and, more than that, a kick in the butt from the great beyond. Without his father’s investment in his future, it would have taken years if not decades before he would have had the cash or the land he needed to get the equine rescue up and running. Thanks to his dad, he now had both.

  But buying the small ranch and refurbishing the stables had taken up a chunk of change already. Add to that the bills for hay and feed and veterinary services, and what he had left wouldn’t last long. That was where the rental cabins came in. If he could make a success out of those, he’d feel better about taking on more animals.

  Which meant welcoming Theresa Pirelli onto his property even if she didn’t really belong there. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket as he rounded the curve toward the small rental office cabin.

  He immediately spotted Theresa sitting in a shaft of sunlight on the front porch. As he drew closer, he saw her eyes were closed, and he felt as though he’d been handed a slight reprieve. A minute or two to try to come up with some welcome-to-the-ranch spiel he should have thought of long before now.

  On a second glance, he realized another reason to be glad Theresa’s eyes were closed. It gave him a chance to take in the sight of her without letting his shock show. Her skin was pale, devoid of any healthy glow, and her dark hair, caught back in a low ponytail, was a stark contrast. Shadows haunted her eyes and made the hollows of her cheekbones more pronounced. Yet somehow, she was still beautiful enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

  Cowboy boots weren’t made for sneaking up on people, and her eyes flew open the minute his foot hit the first step. Her blue gaze widened and then widened some more as she took him in—from the hat shielding his face, to the checked shirt beneath his denim jacket, his faded jeans and the boots that had signaled his approach.

  Realizing she didn’t recognize him—and why should she when he made a habit of not standing out in a crowd?—he said, “I’m Jarrett Deeks.”

  “You— You’re—” She frowned, her delicate eyebrows drawing together, before she shook her head. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting...” Her voice trailed off without telling him what exactly she hadn’t expected, and she said, “Theresa Pirelli. Nice to meet you.”

  He managed a quick nod, that welcome speech completely deserting him and leaving him feeling as awkward and out of his element as he probably looked. “Cabin’s not far from here. I can bring the truck around—”

  “If it’s not far,” she said with a lift to her chin, “why not walk?”

  Because you look ready to fall over in a stiff breeze.

  He knew better than to say the words out loud. He’d heard about the car accident Theresa had been in. Knew she was in town to attend yet another of her cousins’ weddings. But he could see she was here for another reason—to recover. Maybe even to figure out where her life went from here.

  If he’d been a man better with words—better with women than with horses—he might have tried to tell her he understood. That he knew what it was like when life threw you to the ground and stomped on you with bone-crushing hooves.

  Instead, he gave her what little he could. “Sure. Let’s walk.”

  He grabbed the two suitcases immediately. Theresa might have won the walk to the cabin, but no way was he going to let her struggle under the weight of that luggage, not even to salvage her pride.

  “I can get those,” she insisted.

  “All part of the service,” he injected, pleased with how smooth that sounded.

  She frowned, and he readied himself for an argument, but her focus and frustration quickly turned toward the challenge of climbing from the low-slung rocking chair. She braced her feet on the porch and pushed off on the chair’s upswing. She overcompensated for a weakness of her left side, and for a split second, he feared she’d fall.

  Hands filled with luggage, he swore beneath his breath as she stumbled. He envisioned her hitting the porch the same time as the suitcases he dropped while reaching for her. His hands bracketed her upper arms, and his mind registered the thinness and fragility of muscle and bone even as his body breathed in a feminine scent of wildflowers.

  Their gazes collided as she looked up at him. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp—pale pink, inviting and mere inches from his own. Close enough for him to feel a whisper of breath against his skin. Close enough to make him wonder—as he had ever since the first time he saw her—what it would be like to kiss Theresa Pirelli.

  Chapter Two

  She needed to seriously reconsider her definition of the word retired, Theresa thought, more shaken than she wanted to admit after the brief contact with the rugged cowboy.

  Jarrett Deeks didn’t speak with a Texas twang, and she could not for the life of her imagine him spinning tales for guests while sitting in one of the rocking chairs, whiling away the time as the world passed by.

  Judging by the few lines bracketing either side of his mouth—she still hadn’t gotten more than a shad
owed look at his eyes thanks to the cowboy hat he wore—she figured him to be only a few years older than her own twenty-eight. He was young, virile, and exuded a barely restrained energy like a caged animal or maybe one of his horses, living for the chance to run free.

  And she’d experienced a split second of that unleashed energy, hadn’t she, when he reached out and grabbed her. One moment he’d been by the porch steps, her bags in hand. In the next, he’d dropped her luggage, erased the distance between them and caught her in his arms.

  And when he’d touched her—

  She could still feel the heated imprint of his palms against her shoulders. Still feel that instant spark of attraction when hit with the awareness that Jarrett Deeks was not at all what she’d pictured.

  She couldn’t help glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as he led the way toward her cabin. He wasn’t much taller than she was. His rugged profile, all masculine planes and angles from the nose that had clearly been broken more than once, to the sharp cheekbones and shadowed jaw, could have been carved from granite, and his leanly muscled body looked just as hard. Thick, chestnut-colored hair peeked out between the brim of his hat and denim collar, the only hint of softness about him.

  She steeled herself against the warmth invading her body, threatening to melt even her uninjured muscles and bones. It was a weakness she couldn’t allow. An overreaction to the first man in months to touch her without treatment or therapy or rehab in mind.

  It was embarrassing, but she’d survive.

  She should have realized retired did not necessarily mean old. She admittedly knew nothing about rodeo, but she did know about sports. Or more specifically sports injuries. She’d seen high school and college players come into the ER with everything from concussions to torn MCLs and ACLs to even more serious spinal injuries. A bad-enough injury could end an athlete’s career at any age, and retired in the world of sports often meant anyone over thirty.

  She should have realized— Heck, she should have asked Sophia! If she’d known he was someone her own age, maybe she would have been more prepared. Less caught off guard. Less...intrigued.

  No, that wasn’t true. She was not intrigued. Merely surprised. Jarrett Deeks was unexpected, but that did not make him a mystery she needed to solve. She had her own problems to deal with and a reticent, old-fashioned—if not old—cowboy was not on her to-do list.

  Especially not when it was all too easy to resent how effortlessly he’d picked up her luggage, one bag slung loosely over a broad shoulder and her large suitcase dangling from his hand.

  Before the accident, she’d never been a woman who insisted on doing things her own way. Oh, sure, she’d been perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She could change a tire and check her own oil. She could manage a few home maintenance repairs in her small apartment. But she’d appreciated when a man was a gentleman. When one opened a car door for her or waited for her to enter a restaurant ahead of him.

  Michael had been good about that. Always insisting on picking up the check, buying her flowers and carrying her bags for her. After growing up with three brothers who, when they were kids, thought smaller and weaker meant easier to pick on, it was nice to be treated like a princess. As though she was someone to cherish and care for.

  But since the accident—since Michael—the need to fight for every speck of independence was like a living thing clawing its way out from inside her. She wanted to snap at Jarrett Deeks for hauling her bags around so easily. To yell at him for the way he’d purposely slowed his stride. But the bitter truth of it was, she didn’t have the energy or the breath to do any of those things.

  Even with the solicitous crawl he’d established, she was already winded. The thought of carrying her own bags was a joke. She couldn’t even carry a conversation, not that the silent man at her side had given any indication he wanted her to.

  But after a minute with the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and whisper of wind in the pines, even he seemed to realize the silence had gone on too long. It only made his attempt to break it that much more awkward, but she gave him credit for trying as he told her about the property.

  “There are six cabins total, but they’re pretty spread out, and even if they weren’t, you’re the only guest right now. I figure your family will set you up with a pair of wheels if you want to run into town, but you can always borrow the ranch truck if you’d like. I’ve made a deal with the sporting goods store in town. You’ll get a discount for any rental equipment you might need for hunting or fishing.”

  He couldn’t have been much plainer about stating she didn’t belong, but for some reason, his noncommittal statement made her smile. Hunting and fishing. Yeah, she’d get right on that.

  But Jarrett’s next offer wiped the grin right off her face.

  “You’re welcome to the stables, too—”

  “I don’t ride.”

  His steps slowed even more, bringing them almost to a halt, as he looked over at her. “The rides are based on ability—from advanced to greenhorn. I could show you—”

  “Not interested. Sorry.” Her abrupt words didn’t let on just how sorry she was. She wasn’t a greenhorn, as Jarrett had supposed, and had once taken a great deal of pleasure spending time in the saddle, even if her riding had mostly been limited to an indoor jumping arena.

  She’d fallen in love with horses as a kid when her parents sent her to a summer camp that offered riding lessons. One trip around a ring on an old gray mare that to her young, impressionable mind was as impressive as Black Beauty, the Black Stallion and Seabiscuit all rolled into one, and she was hooked. Her fascination with horses far outlived the two-week camp, and she’d pestered her parents until they found a riding stable just outside the city. Looking back, she was sure they thought her interest would fade once the summer ended and school started. Instead, the lessons had only been the beginning as Theresa progressed from learning to ride for fun as a kid to jumping in competitions during her high school years.

  Now, though, riding was like too many other previous pleasures in her life—a reminder of all she could no longer do. No way could her left leg support her own weight to mount up from the proper side. She didn’t need to try to know she didn’t have the strength for that or the muscle tone needed to grip the saddle with her knees and thighs to keep her balance in the seat. And forget trying to hold on to the reins. One sudden move, and she’d be flat-faced in the dirt.

  Oh, sure, Jarrett could probably saddle up some old, sweet-tempered mare whose gait would be as smooth as riding on a child’s merry-go-round. But it wouldn’t be the same. Wouldn’t be the challenge, the thrill, the rush she’d experienced in the past.

  And she’d rather do without than settle for so much less.

  Fortunately, Jarrett didn’t seem the least bit offended by her blunt refusal. If anything, Theresa thought the tension in his shoulders eased ever so slightly. He’d forced himself to make the offer and was relieved she hadn’t accepted. Why? Because he honestly didn’t think she could keep her seat on a horse and was worried about his first paying guest suing him? Or was it something more? Something to do with the air of reserve that fit him as well as the faded denim jacket stretched across his broad shoulders?

  Didn’t matter. He’d made the offer; she’d refused. End of story.

  She ignored the slight shift in the wind, a change from the surrounding pine and distant hint of ocean air back to the hay and horses she’d smelled earlier. Both when sitting by herself on the porch and while caught in Jarrett’s arms. His clothes held the earthy scent along with a masculine musk that had tempted her to burrow closer, to breathe deeper.

  The thought of riding by his side, showing the former rodeo cowboy what a city girl could do, tortured her. She wasn’t that girl anymore, and indulging in fantasy only made reality that much harder to accept.

  Reality
being a leg held together by pins and screws, a surgically repaired knee and nerve damage in her arm that left her full recovery—as well as her whole future—in doubt.

  “Here’s the cabin,” Jarrett said as they rounded a bend in the narrow road and came across the small cabin. The rustic and rough-hewn logs blended in perfectly with the surrounding wilderness.

  Jarrett fished a large key chain fashioned in a crooked R out of his pocket. A metal key was attached. He shouldered the door open, but then paused and waited for her to enter first. Despite her assurances to Sophia that she’d be fine, she breathed a small sigh of relief as she stepped inside.

  “It isn’t exactly a luxury suite,” Jarrett said as he lowered her luggage and waved a hand around the small space. The kitchen was little more than a single row of cabinets, a stove, microwave and refrigerator, everything in basic white. A round table marked the dining room before giving way to the living area. A green love seat and matching chair sat in front of a flat-screen television with only a fireplace on the far wall to offer a little bit of coziness to the otherwise stark space.

  “Bedroom and bath are down that hall. Again, nothing fancy.”

  “Try not to oversell the place,” Theresa said wryly.

  He shrugged. “Just being honest.”

  The three words almost sounded like an accusation...or a challenge. Almost as if he knew how hard she’d tried to dismiss that moment on the porch as nothing. But that was ridiculous because it had been nothing, and it wasn’t as if the man could read her mind anyway!

  “It’s fine,” she insisted shortly. “I’m not looking for fancy.” She sensed rather than saw the way his gaze focused on her as she looked around the cabin, almost as if he was questioning what she was looking for. “Just a spot to relax and the chance to enjoy some peace and quiet.”