when she entered the Silver Horn ranch house and made it up to Bart’s room without running into Rafe. Not that she’d been expecting him to be lurking around, just waiting to see her again. But even the thought of a chance meeting with the man ruffled her nerves. Especially after the fourteen-hour shift she’d put in yesterday. One traumatic injury after another had come through the E.R. doors over the course of the night, and she’d finally crawled into bed just before daylight, mentally drained and physically exhausted.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, Bart,” she said a few minutes later as she urged the man to make another repetitive move with his arm. “Use all your strength. Keep your hand against mine and try to shove me backwards.”
The white-haired man chuckled. “I’d never shove a lovely lady like you, Lilly.”
Lilly couldn’t help but smile. Everyone had warned her that Bart Calhoun was a hateful, crotchety bastard of a man, but from the moment she’d met him, he’d been a perfect gentleman. She only hoped his manners didn’t change before his therapy was finished.
“Well, just pretend that I’m someone you don’t like,” she told him. “And don’t worry, I’m strong. So put some power in that arm.”
He did as she asked and this time she could feel a bit more resistance as he strained to do the exercise.
“I’ve never been helpless in my life, Lilly. And I don’t like it. Up until I had the stroke, I still had enough punch to knock a man flat on his back. But now...” He trailed off with a wistful sigh. “Things change when a man gets older.”
Moving to his left foot, she motioned for him to push against her cupped hands. “You can’t blame your condition on your age, Bart. From what your family tells me, you like Kentucky bourbon and arguing. That’s not a good combination for a man with high blood pressure.”
“Well, I do have my faults,” he sheepishly admitted. “All of us men do, you know. I’m just thankful to God that my speech wasn’t affected. It would be hell if I couldn’t communicate.”
Lilly figured this man didn’t necessarily need words to communicate. He was very much like his grandson, who expressed most of his thoughts through his eyes.
“Or heck if you couldn’t argue,” she teased as she continued to put his leg through a series of motions. “I hope your speech wasn’t spared for that reason.”
He didn’t say anything and after a few moments she glanced up to see he was studying her with a thoughtful eye. “Are you married, Lilly?”
She cast him a coy glance. “No. Why? Do you have matrimony on your mind?”
He chuckled. “Well, you’d certainly tempt a man to stand in front of the preacher. But no. I’ve only loved one woman in my life and she died twenty years ago. I can’t imagine myself with another wife.”
His sentiment touched her more than he could ever know. Her parents had been married for nearly thirty years, yet she’d never seen much affection expressed between them. Certainly not the kind of love or devotion that Bart felt for his late wife. After all these years, Lilly wasn’t sure what had kept her parents together. Her father, Ron Lockett, had always been a quiet, hardworking man who was content to live modestly. On the other hand, her mother, Faye, was never content and was always demanding her husband to change and follow her wants and wishes, which caused a constant clash of differences between the two.
As a child, her parents’ dysfunctional marriage had affected Lilly deeply. By the time she’d entered her teen years, she’d sworn that her life was going to be different. She would love the man she married and he would love her equally. There wouldn’t be arguing, threats or tears. But now, years later, she’d learned that love wasn’t that easy to find and life had a way of producing tears.
“I’ve never been married,” she told Bart.
“How come? You don’t like men?”
She let out a silent sigh. “I like them. I just haven’t found one I like enough to share the rest of my life with. I’m particular, I suppose.”
“Particular is good. That means you’re smart.”
Smart? In many ways Lilly supposed she was smart. She had a good education and she’d been told by many of her peers that she was an excellent and intelligent nurse. But in her personal life, she’d made mistakes she was still trying to forget.
She glanced over at the large window and a view of the distant desert hills. The Silver Horn was known far and wide for its wealth, horses and cowboys. And though she wasn’t familiar with ranch life, she had to admit this place, and the family who ran it, intrigued her.
“Did you live on this ranch when you got married?” she asked Bart.
“Yes. But it wasn’t the place it is now. My father started the Horn back in 1909 from just a bare spot—where the barns are now. Over time as his herd multiplied, he bought more land. Eventually, his profit grew and he sank part of it in lucrative investments. That’s how it all got started. By the time he died in 1960 I was in my thirties, so I took over and tried to follow in his footsteps.”
“Well, your father clearly taught you well. It’s a beautiful place,” Lilly told him. “You must be very proud.”
“I’m more proud of my grandsons,” he said, then added, “When I get better I’m going to personally show you around the ranch. How would you like that, Lilly?”
Glancing around, she smiled at the elder Calhoun. “It’s a date.”
Bart chuckled and something about the smug sound reminded Lilly of Rafe. Like grandfather, like grandson? No. Bart had clearly loved his wife, whereas Rafe would never settle for one woman.
* * *
A half hour later Bart had completed his therapy for the day and Lilly was driving down the long drive that led away from the house, when a horse and rider suddenly galloped up beside the car.
Slightly panicked by the nearness of the animal to her vehicle door, she jammed on the brakes and the small car came to a jarring halt in the middle of the road.
By the time she’d collected herself enough to look around, Rafe had already leaped from the saddle and was standing next to the door, motioning for her to lower the window.
As soon as the glass was no longer a screen between them, she blasted, “Are you out of your mind? You could have killed both of us!”
Laughing at her discomfiture, he said, “Roscoe knew what he was doing. He could thread through a stand of brush without ever getting a scratch.”
His grinning face made her want to groan and laugh at the same time. “I’m glad your Roscoe knew what he was doing because you certainly didn’t!”
“Since you don’t really know me, I’m not going to take that comment to heart.”
His gray eyes were gliding over her face like slow, searching fingers, touching each contour of each feature. And suddenly she was acutely aware of her bare face and the messy bun pinned atop her head. “You can take it any way you’d like, Mr. Calhoun. But I need to be on my way. Would you like to get to your reason for this dramatic stop?”
“I
