was all very bucolic. But she still couldn’t imagine living in a place where the closest store was half an hour away. The land that delivery food forgot.
She turned left onto a winding road barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other and saw the sprawling white house atop the hill ahead. She liked the Rosses’ place—it wasn’t as linear and pristine as her parents’ three-story mansion with its pretentious columns in the front and a detached garage in the back. Jarrett’s home was endearingly lopsided, with one corner that seemed out of proportion to the rest of the house—probably a room that had been added on long after the place was originally built. The roof was all crazy angles, hinting at slanted ceilings and interesting attic space. A carport was linked to one side of the house, a screened deck jutted out in the back and there was a generous porch that began within a foot of the front door and wrapped around the opposite corner of the house.
A moment later, she passed beneath the Twisted R sign, her car jostling over the metal grid that kept cattle from wandering out through the entryway between fences. By the time she parked, two dogs had come to greet her. A golden retriever gave an amiable woof as Sierra opened her door; a slightly smaller dog hung back a few feet. It was mostly black with gold paws and a white throat.
“They’re friendly,” Jarrett called from the porch steps. “But they probably have muddy paws, so if Sunshine looks like she’s about to jump on you, tell her no. She’ll listen—she just likes to test boundaries.”
Sierra grinned down at the retriever, scratching behind her ears. “Fellow boundary-pusher? You and I should get along just fine.” She looked up to see Jarrett closing the distance between them with rangy strides. The lighter streaks in his dark hair gleamed in the sun, and the way his jeans fit made her take back any snarky thoughts she’d had about denim.
She spun on her heel toward the back of her car, seizing the distraction of luggage to keep herself from staring at her new boss.
“Can I give you a hand?” he asked from right beside her. Since he was already reaching into the car trunk, the question seemed rhetorical.
She blinked up at him. “You move deceptively fast.”
“Long legs.” He hefted a suitcase. “We’d just finished lunch when I heard the dogs barking. Have you eaten?”
“I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t share that her stomach was twisted in knots. Despite the bravado-filled pep talks she’d given herself during the drive, now that she was here, she acknowledged that moving in—even temporarily—was unnerving. She was used to having sole dominion over things like the television remote and the thermostat. Sharing a living space would be an adjustment, no matter who her roommates were. How much would Jarrett’s appeal complicate the situation? And then there was Vicki’s hostility.
Before Sierra had left the other day, the two women had reached an understanding, but physical therapy was tough. When Vicki was in pain, Sierra would be an easy target for anger. It came with the territory. Sierra was accustomed to dealing with a range of emotions from her patients. But usually she was able to retreat home at the end of a long day and leave the stress of a contrary client behind. Now the contrary client would be sitting across from her at the dinner table.
Good thing I like a challenge.
She passed a large duffel bag to Jarrett, appreciating the ripple of muscles in his forearm as he resituated everything he was carrying. Once they were both loaded down like a couple of pack mules, she followed him up the porch stairs and into the blessedly air-conditioned house. September wasn’t as brutal as July or August had been, but the Texas heat was still enough to make her regret the short-sleeved sweater she wore.
They went through the entry hall and past the study, kitchen and Vicki’s room. At the end of the hall was a living room decorated in Southwest tones and worn but comfy-looking furniture. A spiral staircase in the far corner led to the second story.
Jarrett flashed a sheepish look over his shoulder. “It’s a bit of a climb.”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug to show she didn’t mind. “It’ll help keep me fit.”
His gaze swept over her body, and for a second, she thought he might say something. But he turned around without further comment.
The steps were narrow, and she had to concentrate on not letting her luggage scuff up the walls. At the top, Jarrett gave her the lay of the land. “That’s the master bedroom, and that one is—was—Vicki’s.” He ducked his gaze, his tone flat. They both knew it would be a long time before Vicki Ross climbed those stairs again. “I’m at the other end of the hall, along with the guest room where you’ll be.”
He gestured for her to go ahead, and Sierra chuckled as she got her first good look at her room—the Island of Misfit Furniture. If she had to guess, she’d say that anytime a room in the house had been remodeled and there was a perfectly good piece of furniture they hadn’t wanted to get rid of, it had been shoved in here. The king-size bed was too big for the space. The pink vanity in the corner had probably been Vicki’s when she was twelve. The brass headboard was unlike any she’d seen before, a series of whimsical curlicues that curved around the edges of the bed, hugging the mattress.
A few steps into the room, Jarrett had to duck. Because of how the roof slanted down at the edge of the house, there were places where she could probably touch the ceiling if she stood on her toes.
Jarrett frowned. “I haven’t been in here since I helped Mom move that old wardrobe. I forgot how claustrophobic it is.”
“Not so claustrophobic when you’re five foot one.”
He set down a suitcase. “Would you rather stay in my parents’ room? With as little as we’re paying you, the least we could do is offer you comfortable accommodations.”
She wasn’t her mother, who insisted she couldn’t sleep in sheets with less than an eight hundred thread count. “I like the funky vibe. And the wardrobe reminds me of one of my favorite books when I was a kid.” Stifling the urge to climb inside and look for magical portals, she turned and ran her hand over the lacy vintage comforter. As long as the mattress was comfortable, even Muriel would have to call this bed luxurious. It was freaking huge. Sierra sat on the edge, bouncing slightly to test it. “This bed’s almost too big for one person.”
There was a sudden heat in his gaze that made her skin prickle. He looked away, but not before she realized his mind was in a different place than hers. Great start to the first day—telling your boss you don’t want to sleep alone. Now he was staring fixedly at the wall, as if embarrassed by his wayward thoughts.
She stood, brazening through the moment by making a joke of it. “You don’t mind if I host wild orgies on my nights off, do you?”
For a split second, he didn’t react. But then his lips quirked in a slow smile. “Orgies, huh? Call me old-fashioned, but I think if one guy can’t make you happy, he’s not doing it right.”
Her heart clutched—not at the outrageous teasing, which she’d started, but at how that grin transformed his face. In town, Kate Sullivan had called Jarrett a charmer. The word didn’t fully capture the wicked glint in his eyes or the thrill Sierra got from having coaxed a playful moment. She’d already been drawn to Jarrett more than was appropriate, given their circumstances, but now that she knew about that dangerously tempting smile and his sense of humor?
For the first time since they’d met, she was the one who lowered her gaze. “I should get settled in,” she
