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.
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 shadowed 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
