Читать книгу Marrying Dr Maverick - Karen Smith Rose - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Two days later, Brooks pulled his truck to a stop in front of Strickland’s Boarding House, a four-story ramshackle Victorian. Its once-purple paint had faded to a lavender-gray. Cowboys on the rodeo circuit had bunked here over the years, but right now, many of the folks from Thunder Canyon who had come to help were staying here. Melba and Old Gene Strickland cared about their guests in an old-fashioned family way.

He switched off his ignition, thinking he must have been crazy to ask Jazzy Cates to work for him. He really knew nothing about her except what she’d told him. He’d followed his gut instinct as he often did in his work. But that didn’t mean he was right. After all, he’d been all wrong about Lynnette. He’d thought she was the type of woman who understood fidelity and loyalty and standing by her man. But he’d been so wrong.

He knew, however, he was right about opening the local practice and taking some of the workload from his father. After all, it was for the older man’s best interests. Still...asking Jazzy to become involved in that undertaking—

She was so pretty with that blond hair and those blue eyes. When he’d looked into those eyes, he’d felt a stirring that had practically startled him. It had been a very long time since a woman caused that reaction. However, if he hired her on, he’d have to forget about her natural prettiness and any attraction zinging between them. He’d be her employer and he’d have to fix his mind on the fact that she was just a Girl Friday who was going to help him, maybe only temporarily. She might hightail it back to Thunder Canyon sooner than he expected. After all, Lynnette hadn’t wanted to live in a small town like Rust Creek Falls. How many women did?

The wooden steps leading to the rambling porch creaked under his boots. He opened the front door with its glass panel and lace curtain and caught the scent of something sweet baking. Forgetting all about Melba’s well-deserved reputation as a terrific baker, he’d picked up donuts and coffee at Daisy’s Donuts, never thinking Jazzy might have had breakfast already.

Jazzy had told him the number of her room—2D, on the second floor. He climbed the steps to the second floor and strode down the hall to her room. He gave a double knock on her door and waited. Maybe she’d forgotten all about going with him today. Maybe she wasn’t an early riser. Maybe she was down at breakfast. Maybe she’d decided going along with him today was tantamount to calf-roping!

She opened the door before he could push aside the flap of his denim jacket and stuff one hand in his jeans’ pocket. She was wearing an outfit similar to what she’d had on the other night, a snap-button, long-sleeve blouse and skinny blue jeans that molded to her legs. He quickly brought his gaze up to her face.

“I was running a little late,” she said breathlessly, “but I’m ready.”

She’d tied her wavy blond hair in a ponytail. Her bangs straggled over her brow. Forgetting she was pretty might be a little hard to do. “I brought donuts and coffee from Daisy’s if you’re interested.”

“Oh, I’m interested.”

They couldn’t seem to look away from each other and her words seemed to have an underlying meaning. No. No underlying meaning. He just hadn’t dated a woman in a very long time. He was reading too much into cornflower-blue eyes that could make a man lose his focus.

Brooks never lost his focus. Not since his mother had died. Not during his years at Colorado State. Not during his engagement. His focus was the reason his engagement had gone south.

“Let’s get going, then. I have an appointment with Sam Findley at his ranch at seven-thirty to check on a couple of horses that almost drowned in the flood. One of them has PTSD and gets spooked real easy now.”

“Were they hurt physically?” Jazzy closed and locked the door to her room, slipping the key into her hobo bag that hung from her shoulder.

“Sparky had a few deep cuts that have taken their good time healing. I want to make sure he hasn’t opened them up again.”

“Is most of your work with horses?”

“Lots of it is with horses and cattle because of all the ranches around here. But I do my stint in the clinic, too. Or at least I did.”

At the end of Jazzy’s hall, Brooks motioned for her to precede him down the steps. When she passed him, he caught a whiff of something flowery. Could be shampoo. Could be lotion. He didn’t think she’d wear perfume for this little jaunt, but what did he know? Women mystified him most of the time.

Jazzy clambered down the steps in a way that told him she was high-energy. She went outside to the porch railing and stared up at the sky that was almost the same color as her eyes. She pointed up to the white clouds scuttling across the vista, hanging so low they looked as if a person could reach them.

“Isn’t that beautiful? I never appreciated a day without rain as I do now.”

She wasn’t just pretty. She was gorgeous. Not in a highfalutin-model kind of way, but in a prettiest-gal-in-town way. He crossed the distance between them and stood at the railing with her.

“I know what you mean. I’ve never seen so much devastation. Half the town was affected. Thank God for our hills. The General Store, Daisy’s and Strickland’s were all on the higher side. The other side of Rust Creek is still recovering, and that’s where we’re headed.” Standing beside her like this, his arm brushing hers, talking about the sky and the flood, seemed a little too intimate somehow. Weird. He had to get his head on straight and do it fast.

Jazzy gave him one of her quick smiles. He’d seen a few of those the other night at the Ace in the Hole. Then she headed for the steps. She was a woman who knew how to move. A woman with purpose.

In his truck, he said, “You didn’t wear a jacket. Even though we’re having a bout of Indian summer, the morning’s a little cool. Want the heat on?”

Glancing over at him, she motioned to the coffee in the holder. “If one of those is mine, that’s all I need.”

“Donut now or later?”

“One now wouldn’t hurt.”

He chuckled and reached for the bag in the back. “Cream and sugar are in there, too.”

He watched as she poured two of the little cream containers into her coffee and then added the whole pack of sugar. She wasn’t a straight caffeine kind of girl, which he supposed was all right.

“Dig around in the bag until you find the one you want.”

She came up with a chocolate glazed, took a bite, and gave him a wink. “Perfect.”

Brooks found his body getting tight, his blood running faster, and he quickly reached for his black coffee. After a few swallows that scalded his tongue and throat, he swiped a cream-filled donut from the bag and bit into it. Halfway through, he noticed Jazzy watching him.

“Daisy’s Donuts are the best,” she said a little breathlessly.

He was feeling a little breathless himself. Enough with the donuts and coffee. Time to get to work. Focus was everything.

Ten minutes later, Jazzy wondered if she’d said something wrong because Brooks had turned off the conversation spigot. He was acting as if the road was an enemy he was going to conquer. She supposed that was just as well. Eating donuts with him had gotten a little...sticky. She’d seen something in his eyes that had, well, excited her...excited her in a way that nothing Griff had ever done or said had. Downright silly. If she was going to be working for Brooks—

She hadn’t decided yet.

Veering to the left, Brooks drove down a rutted lane that had been filled in with gravel. Yet, like on many of the Rust Creek Falls streets, there were still a lot of potholes. Paving crews had been doing their best, but there was only so much money and only so much manpower. Lodgepole pine grew on much of the property. Larch, aspen and live oak were color-laden in October with gold and rust. A couple of early snows had stripped some of the leaves and there were still a bunch fluttering across the ground as they climbed out of the truck and headed for the large, white barn.

“Does Mr. Findley run cattle?” Jazzy asked to soothe the awkwardness and start conversation between them once more.

Brooks responded without hesitation. “No. No cattle. Sam’s livelihood didn’t get affected like some. He’s a wilderness guide. Hunters and tourists stay at the farmhouse, and he has two cabins out back. He stays out there if he has women guests who would rather be alone in the house.”

“Sounds like a gentleman.”

Brooks shrugged. “It’s good business. A reputation goes a long way out here. But then you should know that. I imagine Thunder Canyon is the same.”

“It is.”

A tall, good-looking man with black hair and gray eyes came to meet them at the barn door. Brooks introduced Jazzy. “She’s one of the volunteers from Thunder Canyon, but she’s hanging with me today.”

As Sam opened the barn door for Jazzy, he said, “Brooks has some kind of magic touch that I haven’t had with Sparky ever since the flood.” Sam shook his head. “I was the one who rescued him along with a couple of others, and maybe I hurt him without knowing it.”

“Or maybe you just remind him of what happened,” Brooks said easily. “Horses remember, just like cats and dogs. It’s why a visit to the vet is so traumatic for some of them.”

“He lets me feed him, but he won’t take a carrot or sugar cube like he used to,” Sam added regretfully. “And getting into his stall is a major undertaking. Are you used to being around horses?” Sam asked Jazzy, looking worried.

“Yes, I am. A friend rescues them and I help her out. I promise I won’t go near Sparky if he doesn’t want me near him.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Sam asked Brooks.

“If you have things to do, and I’m sure you do, there’s no need. We’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded, tipped his Stetson to Jazzy and headed back toward the house.

She watched him thoughtfully. “For a small town filled with gossip, I never heard anything about his tours while I’ve been here.”

“Sam keeps a low profile, mostly advertises on the internet, attracts a lot of tourists from back East.”

“Is he from here?”

“Nope, and nobody knows where he came from. He doesn’t talk about himself much.”

“Are you friends?”

Brooks thought about it. “We’re something between acquaintances and friends.”

“So that means you talk about sports and livestock.”

Brooks chuckled. “I guess you could say that. You can add the goings-on in Rust Creek Falls, which is a topic of conversation for everyone. Come on, let’s see Sparky. Sam has it rigged up so the stall doors open to the outside corral. He can come and go as he pleases.”

“That’s smart. Freedom’s important to an animal that’s been traumatized.”

Brooks eyed her again as if trying to figure out who she was. Good luck, she thought. She was still trying to figure that out herself. Coming to Rust Creek Falls had changed her in some elemental way. Sure, in Thunder Canyon she had her family and her job. But she didn’t want to live vicariously through her sisters and brother. She didn’t want her family to be her world, and she certainly wanted her job to be more exciting than the one she had, or at least promise a better future. She couldn’t get promoted without a degree, so she was going to get that degree.

“Let’s take a look at Mirabelle first. Sparky will hear us and get used to us being around.”

Jazzy had made a quick judgment about Brooks when she’d met him at the Ace in the Hole. The more she learned about him, the more she realized she’d been right. She’d been able to tell he cared about his dad. Now she could see he felt deeply about the animals he cared for. Just why did this man never intend to marry?

Mirabelle, a bay, was cavorting in the corral beside Sparky’s. When she saw Brooks, she neighed.

Jazzy smiled. “She likes you.”

“What’s not to like?” He almost said it with a flirting tease, but then he sobered. “I’ve been treating her for a few years. One weekend, Sam had an emergency and couldn’t reach my dad, so he rang up our practice. I was on call. Since then, I’ve been taking care of his horses. Gage Christensen’s, too.”

“The sheriff,” Jazzy said, knowing Gage a little. They’d had a dinner date, but things never went any further.

“Yes.”

“While I was at the elementary school working, I heard that he and Lissa Roarke are engaged.” When she and Gage had dined at his office, his mind had definitely been elsewhere. Probably on Lissa, who’d flown in from the East to organize volunteers in Rust Creek Falls on behalf of an East Coast relief organization.

“So that’s all around town, too?” Brooks asked.

“Lissa has been doing so much to get help for Rust Creek Falls that her name pops up often, especially with the volunteers.”

“Gage went through a tough time after the flood, but he sure seems happy now.”

“We had dinner,” Jazzy said.

“Dinner? With Gage?”

“I stopped in at the sheriff’s office to ask for directions. He and I started talking and one thing led to another. But his mind was elsewhere—I think it was on Lissa. That was soon after she arrived.”

“You mean he asked you out because he didn’t want to think about her?”

“Something like that, though I don’t think he realized it at the time.”

Brooks looked pensive as Mirabelle trotted toward him. He glanced at Jazzy. “Do you feel comfortable being out here with her?”

“Sure. Is there anything special you want me to do?”

“I’m just going to check her overall fitness, and make sure nothing insidious is going on. After a flood, all kinds of things can develop.”

When Mirabelle came up to Brooks, Jazzy let the horse snuffle her fingers. That ritual completed, she petted her neck and threaded her fingers through the bay’s mane. She talked to her while Brooks examined her. He checked one hoof after another, then pulled a treat from his back pocket and let her snatch it from his palm.

“She’s the easy one,” he remarked. “Now let’s go check out Sparky.”

Jazzy could easily see Sparky eyeing them warily, his tail swishing. “How do you want to do this?” she asked.

“We’re going to sit on the fence and let him come to us.”

“Do you think I should be sitting there with you, or should I go inside?”

“Let’s give it a try. You can’t force a horse to communicate with you. If I’m patient with Sparky, he usually comes around.”

“He hasn’t for Sam?”

“Sam was on a guiding tour when the rain started, but he got back in the nick of time. Sparky’s tolerating Sam. But I think that has to do with the flood and the rescue, maybe a sense of abandonment. Animals have it, too.”

Had Brooks felt abandoned when his mother died? Had his father been there for him? Maybe that was at the root of their discord.

Brooks opened the gate at the rear of Mirabelle’s corral, and they walked out.

“Sparky was watching us while we were tending to Mirabelle, so he knows we’re here.” Brooks went along the fence a little ways then climbed the first rung and held his hand out to Jazzy. She thought a man’s hands told a lot about his character. Brooks’s hand was large, his fingers long. Staring at it, she felt a little quiver in her stomach.

“Jazzy?” he asked, and she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

Zing.

Something happened when she looked into those deep, brown eyes. She took his hand and felt an even stronger buzz vibrate through her body. She could feel the calluses on his fingers that had come from hard work. She was curious about him and his life and she was afraid it showed.

They were both sitting on the top rung when Sparky froze midtrot and eyed them warily. He was a paint pony with dark brown swaths on his cream-colored coat.

“Now what?” she asked.

“We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“You’ll see.”

The horse did nothing for at least five minutes. He just stared at them. When Jazzy glanced at Brooks, she saw he wasn’t the least bit impatient. Wasn’t that a novelty. She shivered suddenly. The morning air was cool and she rubbed her arms.

“Are you cold?”

“The sun’s warm.”

“Not what I asked you.” Brooks was wearing a denim jacket that fit his broad shoulders way too well. It was loose at his waist. She concentrated on the brass buttons on his jacket instead of contemplating other things about him.

He started to shrug out of the jacket and she clasped his arm, saying in a low voice, “No, really. I’m fine.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to whisper around Sparky. He’s not afraid of our voices, just of us getting too close when he doesn’t want us to.”

She felt herself blush, but she still held his arm because her hand seemed fascinated by the muscles underneath. Ignoring the fact that she said she was fine, he removed his jacket and hung it around her shoulders.

“You can give it back once the day warms up.”

So he was protective, and...thought he knew best. What man didn’t?

Although she protested, his jacket held his warmth and his scent. It felt good around her. She snuggled into it and watched Sparky eyeing them.

It happened slowly, Sparky’s acceptance of them into his world. The horse tossed his head and blew out breaths. He lifted his tail and ran in the other direction, made a circle and then another that was a little closer to them. After about ten circles, he was only about five feet from them.

Brooks took a treat from his back pocket and held it out to the horse, palm up.

“Sam said he wouldn’t take treats from him anymore.”

“That’s Sam. Sparky and I have an understanding. I don’t try to do anything he doesn’t want me to do when he takes the treat.”

“Rescue horses are often skittish like this,” she said. “I mean, horses rescued from abuse, not floods.”

“Trauma in whatever form has to be treated with kindness most of all, as well as a gentle hand and a firm determination to overcome whatever happened.”

She’d seen that, working with the horses at Darlene’s place.

It took Sparky a while but he finally came within a foot of Brooks’s hand.

Jazzy didn’t move or even take a breath.

Sparky snatched the piece of biscuit and danced away then looked back at Brooks to see if he had more.

With a smile, Brooks took another piece from his back pocket. “These get crushed by the end of the day, so you might as well eat them,” he said in a conversational tone to the horse.

Sparky must have understood because he made another circle, but didn’t dawdle this time. He snatched the biscuit and didn’t dance away.

“How many times have you done this before?” Jazzy asked, completely aware of Brooks’s tall, fit body beside her.

“Too many to count,” he said, shifting on the fence but not moving away. “He and I go through this routine every time I come over. I’m hoping someday he’ll see me and just trot right on up. I thought about buying him from Sam, but I don’t think it’s advisable to move him to another place right now.

“Can I look at you a little bit?” Brooks asked the horse.

Sparky blew out a few breaths but didn’t move.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Brooks slowly slid down off the fence, taking care not to jump too heavily onto the ground. The sleeves of his snap-button shirt blew in the wind, the chambray looking soft.

Jazzy was fascinated by man and horse.

Brooks found another crumb of the treat in his pocket and offered it to Sparky. The horse snuffled it up and Brooks patted his neck, running his hand under the horse’s mane. He slowly separated the hair there and Jazzy could see a series of scratches and a five-inch long swatch that looked as if it had been stitched.

Although he pawed the ground, Sparky stayed in Brooks’s vicinity.

“Come on down,” Brooks said to Jazzy. “Slowly.”

She eased herself off the fence.

“Stay there,” Brooks warned her. “Let him catch more of your scent. Let him get used to you.”

Rescued horses mostly needed to be cared for gently, then regularly watered and brushed when they’d let you do it. She’d never become involved with one quite this way before.

Brooks kept talking to Sparky and then gave her the okay to come closer. She did, feeling she was getting closer to Brooks, too.

Brooks gave her the last little bit of treat and she held it in her fingers. When she extended her palm, Sparky took it from her.

By then, Brooks was studying the horse’s flanks. “He’s looking good. Soon we can put him in the corral with Mirabelle and see how it goes.”

“I think he’d like some company. Wouldn’t you?” she crooned softly to the horse.

When she glanced at Brooks, he was watching her, listening to her, and her pulse raced.

At the end of the day, would he still believe he should hire her?

* * *

As Brooks drove to other ranches, Jazzy could see they were all recovering from the flood. In some fields, alfalfa had survived. Many ranchers had been soil-testing to find out what nutrients the flood had depleted. Some reseeded with fast-growing grasses, while others planted soybeans. All were trying their best to recover. Most were making headway.

She watched Brooks work with calves, with goats, with cattle. She helped however she could and realized she liked assisting him. They grabbed a quick lunch at the diner, talked about Rust Creek Falls and Thunder Canyon. Whenever their fingers brushed or their eyes met, Jazzy felt energized in a way she never had before.

At the end of the day when they were driving back to Strickland’s, Brooks said, “I know I’m doing the right thing opening this practice. Dad’s going to be angry about it, but in the end I think he’ll thank me.”

“You’re doing something for his best interests, even if he doesn’t see it that way. I guess roles reverse as parents age.”

“And as children grow wiser.”

She thought about that and all the advice her parents had given her. But she particularly remembered one thing her brother Brody had told her. He’d said, “You have to find the life you want to live, rather than settling for the life you’ve fallen into.”

What life did she want to live?

Brooks drew up in front of the boarding house, braked and switched off the ignition. Leaning toward her, he explained, “If you’re my assistant, you wouldn’t spend all your time in the field with me. Mostly what I need in the beginning is somebody to set up the office, make appointments, get the word out about the practice.”

He paused for a moment, then honestly admitted, “At first I thought I’d been impulsive about asking you to work for me, but today I realized it really was good instinct that made me ask. You’re great with the animals, Jazzy, and with the clients. You seem to be able to talk to almost anybody. That’s a gift, and a great one in a receptionist. So if you take this job, you’ll be a little bit of a lot of things—a receptionist, an assistant, a tech. What do you think? Do you want to work with me?”

Brooks was leaning toward her and she was leaning toward him. She felt a pull toward him and thought she saw an answering pull toward her in the darkening of his eyes. But if she accepted, they’d be boss and employee.

“Sure. I’d like that a lot.”

Brooks extended his hand to seal the deal. When his hand gripped hers, she found herself leaning even closer to him. Whether he was aware of it or not, his thumb gently stroked the top of her hand, just for a moment.

Then he pulled away. “I’ll wait until you get inside,” he said gruffly. “Tomorrow I’d like to take you to the practice in Kalispell and let you talk to the office manager. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine with me.”

Looking into Brooks Smith’s eyes, Jazzy realized their association was going to be more than fine. The thing was—he was a confirmed bachelor. So she’d better keep her head.

They’d both keep their heads because that’s what bosses and employees should do.