is, are you willing to do the work?”
When Vicki slowly nodded, something like hope shining in her dark eyes, Jarrett knew he owed Daniel Baron a debt of gratitude. Sierra Bailey was definitely the right woman for the job.
* * *
DINNER THAT NIGHT was quiet, and as he washed off the plates, Jarrett found himself anxiously awaiting Sierra’s return in two days. He’d always loved the spacious ranch house, but with just him and his sullen sister, the empty space around them magnified the silence. That wouldn’t be the case when Sierra moved in. Despite being a petite woman, she somehow filled an entire room with her energy.
Jarrett had invited her to stay for supper after her conversation with Vicki, but she’d insisted she needed to get going as soon as possible.
“The sun’s setting earlier every day,” she’d pointed out, “and I need to get at least somewhere close to civilization before it’s completely dark. If I never return, it’s because I got lost on one of your meandering, quaintly unmarked roads. Seriously, is there like a town ordinance against signs?”
In the short time she’d been at the ranch, she’d made several comments suggesting Cupid’s Bow was not her ideal location. Thank God she’d agreed to take the position anyway. He glanced to where Vicki sat at the table, trying to touch her thumb to her finger. It was one of the exercises Sierra had insisted Vicki do.
“You follow this regimen exactly until I get back,” Sierra had said, handing over a sheet of paper. “Or incur my wrath.”
Vicki had rolled her eyes. “You really scare me, shorty.”
Was it wishful thinking on Jarrett’s part or had there almost been a smile in her voice? Even though parts of his sister’s encounter with Sierra had been contentious, it was still the most animated he’d seen her in weeks—not counting the infrequent times her doofus boyfriend bothered to phone.
Jarrett had no real reason to dislike Aaron, but seeing how much those short conversations meant to his sister, he resented that the guy couldn’t make time in his busy college schedule to call more often. Or maybe Aaron’s inattention makes you feel guilty because you know damn well there are women who probably expected a call from you that never came.
He balled up the dish towel and threw it on the counter. “You ready to try that rice thing?” Sierra had left instructions for Jarrett to fill a bucket with dry rice and for Vicki to place her hand inside and try to rotate it. The rice would provide resistance.
The physical therapist had arched an eyebrow at Vicki. “Resistance is right up your alley, yeah?”
Jarrett went into the walk-in pantry for a bag of rice without waiting for his sister’s answer—these days, he couldn’t always count on her to give him one. When he joined her at the table, she was still doing the first set of exercises, wincing in visible pain. He desperately wanted to say something helpful, but what? The closest he could come to empathizing with what she was going through were the many bruises and sore muscles that came with riding rodeo. He’d voluntarily endured those because he liked to win. There was nothing voluntary about her suffering.
As she slid her left hand into the bucket, he tried to sound encouraging. “Sierra is highly recommended. Follow her advice, and I’m sure all of this will get easier.” Eventually.
Beads of sweat dotted Vicki’s forehead as she attempted to turn her wrist. “She’s pretty, too. Like, obnoxiously pretty.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Don’t you think so?”
The question felt like a trap. Saying he hadn’t noticed Sierra’s appearance would be a ridiculous lie and an insult to his sister’s intelligence. But survival instincts warned that admitting Sierra was beautiful would only increase the household tension. “I’m not sure what ‘obnoxiously pretty’ means.”
“Well, she’s way more fun for a guy to look at than old Lucy Aldridge.”
The realization of what she was suggesting bit into him like barbwire through the skin. Shame bubbled to the surface instead of blood. His sister truly believed he was so selfish that he would hire the woman in charge of her well-being based on sex appeal? Of course she does. He had a track record of putting pleasure before loved ones or responsibility.
He clenched his hands into fists, and the reflexive action only heightened his guilt. He could move all ten of his fingers with no effort at all, while Vicki had gone pale in her wheelchair from trying to stir around grains of rice.
“Vic, I would have hired a wart-covered, hunchbacked troll if I thought she could get you better faster. Maybe some guys would find Sierra Bailey ‘fun to look at,’ but I won’t be looking at her. I’ll be working the ranch and staying out of her way so she can focus on you. Your recovery is all that matters to me.”
She cast him a brief, skeptical glance before ducking her gaze without comment. The little sister who’d once idolized him no longer trusted him.
Why should she? He’d given her reason to doubt. I know I let you down, Vic, but I swear it won’t happen again.
Even though she’d packed up her car with luggage and turned off all her utilities, accepting the job with the Rosses didn’t feel real until Sierra drove past the Welcome to Cupid’s Bow sign on Saturday. Sure, the town welcomes you—then they hide all the other road signs so you can never find your way back out. Cupid’s Bow, Texas. Come for the home cooking, stay for...ever.
On the phone last night, Muriel had asked, “Are you sure about this, darling? Living in some backwater town for a month when you could be at home with your loving family?”
If Sierra hadn’t already been convinced that she should take the job, that would have done the trick.
Now, alone in the car, she reiterated what she’d said to her mother. “This is where I need to be right now.” So why the nervous butterflies in her stomach? Anxiety that Vicki Ross would be a difficult patient?
No way. I am Sierra Bailey, and I eat difficulty for breakfast. I pour it into my coffee to give it that extra kick.
And yet...tummy flutters. She refused to even consider that they might be a reaction to seeing Jarrett Ross again. Sure, the rancher was good-looking, but she’d spent many hands-on hours working with hot athletes. She was not jittery about moving in with a tall, gray-eyed cowboy. The more likely explanation for her apprehensive stomach was that breakfast hadn’t agreed with her.
There was a grocery store up ahead. She could stop for antacids and other essentials she’d want to have on hand for the next few weeks. Plus, Jarrett had mentioned that grocery shopping and meal preparation would be part of her job. Might as well investigate the supermarket’s selection and get her bearings.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d discovered that the local produce prices were fantastic and that she didn’t own enough denim to fit in around Cupid’s Bow. The two pairs of jeans she did own were in a suitcase in her car; she felt conspicuous in her circle skirt, swirled with autumn colors, and green chenille V-neck sweater. The only people she’d seen who weren’t wearing jeans either wore denim shorts or overalls.
Rounding an endcap, she pushed the cart into the pharmaceutical section, gratified to spot a blonde woman, her hair pulled back in a loose French braid, wearing a
