the town name, but she supposed it was no quirkier than Gun Barrel City, Texas. Or Ding Dong, Texas.
According to Daniel, the teenage daughter of the family had been in an accident, and the Rosses were looking for someone to live on the ranch and work with the kid for about a month. A ranch...where there were horses. She shuddered.
I am not a small-town person. But she prided herself on being tough when she needed to be, and it wouldn’t be a long-term situation. With a guaranteed roof over her head, she would have time to investigate other opportunities. Three and a half weeks could make the difference between finding a position where she truly fit and simply accepting a paycheck so she could continue indulging in luxuries like food and water.
After she’d first read Daniel’s email, she’d looked up Cupid’s Bow online. It was tiny. Her parents’ country club probably had a higher population—ironic, since the club worked at actively excluding people. Sierra doubted there were any symphony performances or science museums in Cupid’s Bow. But worse than a potential dearth of culture or even the presence of horses was the possibility of nosy neighbors. Weren’t people in close-knit communities subject to scrutiny and gossip? Given her parents’ wealth and high social standing, Sierra had spent her teen years feeling conspicuously visible. People who’d never even met her had opinions about who she was and who they thought she should be. She detested feeling as if she had to answer anyone.
All right then, don’t call the Rosses. Stay here and get a job waitressing. With your gracious nature, you’re sure to make enough tips to pay off those student loans.
Lord. No wonder she couldn’t get a job—she even gave herself attitude.
Decision made, she pulled her phone from her pocket before she could change her mind. As she dialed, she reminded herself there was no guarantee the Rosses would hire her. If they did, she’d survive roughing it in Cupid’s Bow one day at a time. How many times had she lectured patients on the necessity of breaking down tasks into less intimidating chunks?
“Quit looking at it as months of PT,” she’d tell them. “Just get through each set of exercises, one day at a time. This first set’s only ten minutes. It may be uncomfortable, but you can handle ten measly minutes. Don’t wuss out on me now...”
She cajoled, encouraged and berated people into cooperating. The least she could do was take her own advice.
The phone rang, and she inhaled deeply. After a couple more rings, she began mentally rehearsing the message she would leave on the voice mail. But then a man answered.
“Hello?” The irritation in his deep voice made the word less a greeting and more a challenge.
She hesitated, but for only half a second. Tentativeness wasn’t in her nature. “May I speak with Jarrett Ross?”
“You got him. But if you’re selling something—”
“Only my professional services.” Someone should tell Mr. Ross that anyone who placed a Help Wanted ad should curb his hostility; it made people not want to help. “My name is Sierra Bailey. I’m a physical therapist, and Daniel Baron, one of my former clients, gave me this number. He mentioned your family is looking for someone with PT experience.”
“Oh! Yes. God, yes. Sorry, you just caught me at a bad time. Of course, that describes all of the time lately, but— Sorry,” he repeated. “I wasn’t expecting applicants to call me. Most of them have been phoning my mother.”
“Ah. You’re not the girl’s father?” Daniel had given her a name and a number. He hadn’t outlined the family tree.
“Definitely not. I’m Vicki’s older brother. But I might as well talk to you. After all, you and I would be the ones living together while my parents are away.”
Living together. The words gave her an odd jolt. Although Paul had spent enough nights at her place to warrant his own dresser drawer and a sliver of counter space in the bathroom, she’d never technically lived with a man. You wouldn’t be living with this one, either. Not in any personal way.
“My parents’ trip is why we’re seeking the extra help with Vicki,” he continued. “Not only could she benefit from physical therapy here at the house, we could use someone to keep her company while I’m working the ranch. If she needs something, I’m not readily accessible on the back forty. What was your name again?”
“Sierra. Sierra Bailey.”
“And Daniel Baron gave you my number? He’s a good guy. I used to compete against him and his brothers all the time.”
“Ah. So you’re a rodeo rider.” She hadn’t meant to sound judgmental. It just wasn’t a lifestyle she could wrap her head around. She worked with so many people who were injured through no fault of their own that it was hard to understand anyone deliberately pursuing such a potentially dangerous career.
“I was,” he said tightly, “but not anymore. I’m committed to the ranch. And to Vicki’s recovery.”
The patient. Here was comfortable ground. In her other interviews, she’d had to talk about herself, which made her prickly. It was easier to sound competent and professional while discussing the person she’d be treating.
She asked about the girl’s age—nineteen was older than she’d expected—and injuries. There was a pause before Jarrett began describing them. When he started talking again, the words came in an uncomfortable rush, as if he wanted to get through the list as quickly as possible. His younger sister was healing from several injuries, including a broken wrist, but the major issue was that her pelvis had been crushed in the accident.
Sierra winced. It was the kind of pity she’d never show in front of a patient because pity made a person feel weak. But the young woman had a rough time ahead of her.
“You obviously know your field well,” Jarrett said after they’d spent a few minutes discussing medical specifics. Yet he sounded more grim than impressed. Wasn’t her expertise a good thing? “To tell you the truth, Ms. Bailey, you may be overqualified. We were thinking more in terms of a semiretired therapist or a home health care assistant who might not mind some light housekeeping and making sure Vicki gets dinner if I’m working past sundown. I don’t know if Daniel mentioned salary, but—”
“He did.” Calling that sum a salary was a generous overstatement. “It’s below what I would normally consider, but honestly, I’m taking some time off to decide between several future options.” Yeah, like whether to waitress at a steak house or bartend at a West End nightclub. “This gives me time to carefully evaluate my choices.” Well done, Bailey. She’d managed to make herself sound methodical, not desperate.
“So you’re all right with our terms?”
“Well, I won’t argue if you decide after a week that I deserve a raise, but what you’re offering is at least worth my driving to Cupid’s Bow for a face-to-face meeting.”
“That’s fantastic.” It was the happiest he’d sounded during their entire conversation, and it highlighted how dour his mood had been—from his tense tone when he’d answered to his obvious discomfort discussing his sister’s accident to his doubt Sierra would deem the job worth it. Jarrett Ross clearly wasn’t the president of the Cupid’s Bow Optimists Club. “I just wish my parents hadn’t already booked their flight. They’re leaving in two days, so unless you can be here tomorrow, they won’t be available to sit in on the interview.”
“Sorry,
