Authors: Debra Kayn
Down
they both went in a tangle of arms, legs, and one heavy cast. He grabbed her,
hugged her to his chest, rolled and by an odd luck, he took the brunt of the
fall. She landed on top of him with a squeak, her eyes wide with shock. He
cursed, or maybe he moaned. Her weight on his body, with only his boxers
separating them, erased all the pain screaming along the length of his leg.
And
through the haze growing thicker by the second, she remained on top of him,
staring down into his eyes with an interest that shocked him. He lowered his
gaze to her mouth. Plush, soft lips parted and seemed to beg for a kiss. He
raised his head off the floor, intending to taste what she was offering.
"Oh,
God. I'm sorry." She planted her palms on his chest and pushed herself
into a sitting position, and then off of him. "Are you okay? What do you
want me to do? Should I call an ambulance?"
He
let his head fall back on the hard wood floor.
Thunk.
It
was the medicine. He'd been drugged. He wasn't thinking right.
Jesus…I was
about to kiss the nurse.
The
nurse Brody hired without his approval. The nurse he didn't want taking care of
him. The nurse that had him wondering what it would be like if she slipped down
beside him and let him sample her body.
"Stay
right where you are, don't move, I'm going to find the phone."
"No."
He rolled over onto his stomach, waited for the room to stop spinning, and then
managed to pull himself off the floor using the coffee table to make it back to
the couch, without making an even bigger fool of himself.
"You're
sweating." She hovered over him. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He
nodded, and even though he wanted to be strong, he couldn't ignore the need to
use the bathroom. He needed help. "Could you get me the
phone…please?"
Chapter Three
"This
is bull shit, Trace. She's a nurse. I'm sure she's helped loads of men in the
same predicament." Brody turned his back, leaving Trace standing on his
own in front of the toilet.
"I'm
not going to take a piss with her holding my hand." Trace finished and
hopped on one foot to the sink. "Besides, you're going to call up the
agency you hired her through and tell them we don't need her. I don't need
her."
"Nope.
She's staying." Brody wrapped his arm around Trace and helped him out of
the bathroom. "Once you snap out of it, you'll realize there are certain
things she can do for you that no one else can. Without her, you'll never set
atop a horse again. Think about that as you make everyone's life hell."
He
grunted. "You had to pick a woman with red hair, didn't you?"
"Excuse
me? I didn't hear that." Brody chuckled.
"You
heard me." He let go of Brody and pitched his body toward the couch.
"I need clothes. I'm tired of making her blush every time I move."
"I'll
grab you a pair of shorts. Your jeans won't fit over your cast. Besides, I
don't trust you to stay inside if you're fully dressed." Brody crossed his
arms, grinning bigger than normal. "Joan's got a bit of a temper on her,
if you haven't noticed. I thought all women with her complexion had freckles.
She doesn't have a single one."
"Screw
you." He covered his lower half with a blanket. "That's exactly why I
need clothes. I've been humiliated enough. I don't need her to see—"
"Oh!
Good. You're back." Joan swept into the room, carrying a glass of water.
"It's time for more pain pills."
"I
don't need them."
"Sorry,
Trace. It's doctor's orders and believe it or not, these little white pills
will help you heal easier." She sat down on the coffee table in front of
him and held out the cup. "You'll feel better if you don't let the pain
get the upper hand."
He
clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.
"Please…for
me." She smiled, and nodded her head like an overeager puppy looking for a
treat.
Her
green eyes, brighter than spring grass, were his undoing. He took the cup,
popped the two pills in his mouth, and chugged half the water in the glass
before he realized she'd sweet-talked him into another four hours of being sick
to his stomach and the rollercoaster ride that came with being medicated.
"All
right. It appears you're in good hands, Trace." Brody clapped his hands.
"I'm outta here. I have horses that need tended, and some newborn calves
to move in from the fields. If you need anything, you know how to get ahold of
me."
"Brody."
Joan's voice softened even more. "Would it be possible to have my luggage
brought to the house?"
"Already
done." He swung his arm toward the hallway. "Let me show you where
you'll be staying before I go out. I've set your bags in the room. You'll be
right across the hall from Trace, in case he needs you during the night."
She
looped her arm through Brody's, smiled up into his face, and left the room
laughing over something Brody whispered to her. With effort, Trace maintained
his cool. He kept his mind blank. After years of practice, he had the skill to
alienate himself from any situation.
His
stomach tightened. He was hungry, but not for food. It'd been a long time since
a woman got under his skin the way Joan did, and he wished she'd go away. The
second he could stop taking the pain medication, he'd show her that he didn't
need anyone taking care of him.
He
wasn't the easiest person to live with, and under his own control would've
already put his good foot down and demanded she leave.
Joan
was all sunshine and ponies now, but what about when he dug his heels in and
took back his life? She'd see him for the real asshole he was, instead of
another patient for her to boss. His eyelids grew heavy, and he laid back. It
was the damn pills making him wonder about things that he had no business
thinking about, that was all.
***
Joan
sat down in the chair Brody held out for her in the large dining room.
"Mm. It smells good in here. Fries?"
"Devon
stopped in town and brought back burgers." Brody scooted her closer, and
then walked around the twelve-person table. "It's calving season and with
Trace laid up, we usually take turns and pick up dinner in town. Things will
calm down next week, I hope."
She
clasped her hands together on her lap and leaned back in her chair. "Devon?"
"He's
one of us, and lives here too." Brody looked up and shrugged. "I'll
explain our living situation to you over dinner, it's complicated."
She
glanced back and forth between Brody and Trace, taken by surprise with the way
Brody worded their relationship. They avoided her gaze. She gave her head a
little shake.
"So
you three are…partners?" She rubbed the polished wood grain on the top of
the table.
Brody
nodded. "Yeah. We grew up together, and decided to forge out on our own."
"Really?"
She smiled, understanding their situation better now. "That's great that
you all have each other."
"Hm…I
guess. Not that we don't have our problems, but we all have the same goal."
Brody turned at the low string of cussing coming from the other side of the
swinging door in the kitchen. "I better go see if he needs any help."
A
few times through the day, she'd wondered why there were pictures of several
different men planted around the rooms, on the fridge, above the fireplace.
Even Brody and Trace's relationship was hard to figure out. They seemed to
bicker back and forth the way brothers do, but their last names were different
and they looked nothing alike.
Brody
walked down the hall. She studied him. He was handsome, and seemed more
personable than Trace, but he didn't make her stomach flutter the way it did
when she looked at her patient. She rubbed her hands down her thighs.
Their
long friendship would explain why Trace listened to Brody when he wouldn't give
her a minute of consideration, and why Trace seemed uncomfortable around her.
She'd have to get over her fascination with Trace. Not that she had any designs
on him; she had a job to do.
She
had no idea when she'd ever have time for a relationship in the future anyway.
She had no desire or time to complicate her life with any man, no matter how
spectacular he was. She'd tried serious relationships before, and ended up
gaining heartache instead.
Then
her dad had died, and she'd given up on happily ever after. If she learned one
thing in her twenty-five years, she realized life could change with each tick
of the clock. Love didn't come with a lifetime guarantee.
Laughter
came from right outside the room, a rather happy masculine sound. "No
shit? She's got red hair? Trace is going to kill you."
Then
the kitchen door swung open and another man walked into the dining room. She
gawked.
Over
six feet tall, his tan shirt stretched across his upper body like a second
skin, stood another Native American man blessed with good looks. His longish
black hair pushed back off his forehead as if he often ran his hands through
the strands to get them out of his face. Rugged and dirty, he must have walked
straight out of the barn. She peered down, taking in the denim jeans and boots.
Forget the barn. He appeared to have walked off a calendar for Rancher of the
Year.
"Joan,
I'm Devon Blackfoot. I'm another one of Trace's partners…and live here on
Lakota ranch." He smiled, and she could have sworn his white teeth, set
off by his darker skin, twinkled off the dining room lights.
Brody
slapped Devon on the shoulder as he carried a few white sacks to the table.
"Food's here. Let's get her fed before she thinks we have no manners."
The
melt-in-your-mouth good looks must run deep in the Lakota gene. She held onto
the edge of the table, growing a bit overwhelmed with the crowd gathering in
the room. Each of the men made an impression but as a group, they were a little
intimidating.
She
whispered, "It's nice to meet you."
Devon
put the plates on the table and held out his hand. "Thanks for seeing
after Trace for us. I, for one, am happy to put his care into your very capable
hands. He's all yours for the next six weeks."
"Mine?"
she said.
Brody
grinned at her in amusement. "What he's saying is we won't get in the way.
In fact, you can do whatever you want with him, and we'll stay far away from
the ranch while you're working."
It
wasn't unheard of to run into those of Native American races off the
reservation. She even worked with a woman delivering meals that had married a
man who grew up on the Lakota sanctioned land. No, what shocked her was the
power in this room.
These
weren't run of the mill type men she ran into every day. She shivered. Couple
the sexiness of men who were secure in life, and the high level of
testosterone, she became lightheaded.
Brody
reached for her, but Trace had already stretched in her direction and laid his
hand on her back. "When's the last time you've ate?"
She
shook her head not understanding why that would matter when she'd obviously
stepped right into her version of the bunny mansion. The room spun and she
clutched at Trace's arm. This was too much to take in.
"I-I
don't know. Yesterday at lunch, maybe. Yeah, that's right. I had a handful of
peanuts on the drive to my last delivery." She groaned and let her chin
fall to her chest. "Oh God, my car…how will I drive anywhere?"
Brody
nodded at Devon. "Let's get her something to eat. She's had a big day. With
what happened on her drive here, dealing with you, she's been through hell and
back. You've probably already made her crack, and we can't take the chance
she'll quit."
Devon
disappeared and came back with a glass of orange juice. "Sip on this. I'll
dish up your plate and you can eat."
"There
are three of you." Joan stared up at Devon. "Is this part of the
reservation or a…"
Devon's
lips twitched as he pulled a hamburger out of the sack and set it on a plate in
front of her. "Sometimes it seems like we're all back home on Lakota
ground, but no, this is private property. We just happen to live together."
She
lifted the glass of juice, swallowed, and glanced from one man to the next.
"You do know it's intimidating being around all of you, right? You should
all be models."
Brody
shot up from his chair, knocking it backward. Devon raised his brows, and Trace
appeared to choke. She frowned, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.
Devon
laughed softly. "I'm not sure we're cut out to model…maybe Trace. He's got
that pouty look."
"Go
to hell," Trace muttered.
Needing
to change the subject, she turned to Devon. "So, is the ranch part of the
reservation. You're very close to Lakota land."
"No.
We grew up on our community home—Devon shrugged—or what other's call the
reservation, since we were toddlers, and the minute we were old enough to have
a say in how we wanted to live, we left our people's land, promising each other
that we'd always stay together. We love the community support of our people,
our beliefs, but our dreams were bigger than those that could be found on the
reservation."