Читать книгу Dylan's Last Dare - Patricia Thayer - Страница 11

Early the next morning Brenna stepped outside on the porch, hoping the brisk air would help her recent queasiness. What she didn’t expect was to find Wyatt Gentry’s four-year-old daughter, Kelly, sitting on the step.

“Well, good morning.”

Smiling, the cute little blonde stood. “Hi, Miss Brenna.” Under a heavy nylon jacket, she wore a pink sweater with blue corduroy pants and a pair of boots. She came up another step. “You remember me? Kelly. I live in that house.” She pointed to the large ranch house about a hundred yards away.

“Yes, Kelly, I remember you.” Brenna hugged her own heavy sweater closer to ward off the January cold. “What are you doing out so early?”

“I’m going for a ride on my pony, Sandy. My daddy is going to take me.” She frowned. “But I don’t know where he is.” She glanced at the cottage door. “Is he inside with Unca Dylan?”

“No, but your uncle is awake. You want to come inside?”

The girl shook her head, a mixture of fear and sadness in her eyes. “No. He doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Your uncle was hurt in a bad accident. He’s just having a rough time trying to make his leg work again. I bet soon he’ll be happy again.”

“Then will he like me?”

“I think he already does,” Brenna tried to assure her. “But let’s give him a few weeks and when he’s feeling better you can come by for a visit.”

The child smiled. “I like you,” she said as she studied Brenna. “You’re pretty. Do you have any little girls who are four?” She held up the same number of fingers.

Brenna shook her head as she held a protective hand over her stomach. “No, I don’t,” she said, feeling a sudden yearning. “Not yet.” She prayed that the baby growing inside her would be born healthy. If she survived the next few months, this job paid well enough to guarantee that she could stay home with her child for those first few months, but she still couldn’t give her baby a father.

A man’s voice drew their attention and they both looked toward the barn to find Wyatt. Kelly’s face lit up and she took off running. Brenna waved and watched until the girl jumped into her father’s arms. The scene reminded her of her own father, Sean Farren. There was nothing like the secure feeling parents gave a child. Brenna was a little ashamed she hadn’t told her parents about the baby—the baby she had conceived out of wedlock—with a man they’d never met.

Brenna knew they’d be disappointed with their oldest child and their only daughter. She was the first Farren to bring home a college degree. She also thought she’d be bringing a husband, but that had changed with Jason’s hang-gliding accident and death. Just days later she’d discovered she was pregnant. With no other options, she had to come home to her family’s ranch.

That was the reason she needed to have a job that paid enough to allow her to raise her child and not have to depend on Mom and Dad. Tugging her sweater around her, she knew she had to tell them. She’d seen the subtle changes in her body. At three months, she was beginning to lose her waistline. It wouldn’t be much time before her secret was out.

Brenna walked back inside the cottage. This was to be her home for a while. But what would happen with her job when Dylan Gentry discovered her condition? Would he send her packing or would she be given the chance to help him back on his feet?

She hoped the latter. At least she didn’t have to worry about the man being attracted to her. Most men ran from women with children. Too bad she couldn’t say the same. The handsome bull rider was dangerous in more ways than one. She would definitely have to keep her head, and her distance.

Brenna glanced around the small but comfortable room. The cottage had been recently remodeled by Wyatt and Jared Trager. There were new windows, kitchen cabinets and countertops. The doorways had been widened and new hardwood floors had been laid throughout, making it easy to get through with a wheelchair.

Suddenly Dylan’s bedroom door swung open and he came out with the aid of his crutches. She stayed rooted to the spot, waiting to see if he needed her assistance. By the looks of his sure, smooth movements, he was handling them very well. She figured he did everything well. There was one problem she thought, eyeing his perfectly proportioned body, his broad shoulders and bare chest. How could she get him to wear more clothes? Pregnant or not, her hormones were racing full speed, especially with a good-looking man around all the time.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“So you’re hungry?”

He made his way to the table. “If we’re going to work this morning, I’m going to need some food. I’ve done enough weight training to know that.”

A thrill rushed through Brenna. Her job had just become a whole lot easier. She walked into the kitchen and took the lid off the skillet that held the scrambled eggs and bacon she had prepared a short while ago. Taking out two plates, she scooped up the food and took them to the table. She went back for two glasses of juice. During the meal the conversation was kept at a minimum as her patient concentrated on his food.

Dylan paused from his eating and glanced across the table at his new drill sergeant, for the moment. Brenna looked a little tired and there were dark circles around those striking brown eyes. Of course, he was probably the reason. He hadn’t exactly been agreeable since her arrival. He still didn’t want her here and had planned to get rid of her, but she’d managed to find his weak spot.

She’d challenged him. And he’d never backed down from a challenge.

Besides, she was the only therapist who’d showed up at the door who seemed sure he would walk again. He still wasn’t certain that she could pull it off. Although she wasn’t very big in size, he knew she was strong. He’d felt the toned muscles across her back and arms when she’d helped him stand at the parallel bars yesterday.

Of course, she had to be strong to lift patients. What had surprised him was her embarrassment when she’d stripped off the blanket and discovered him buck naked. Hadn’t she seen patients naked before? Hadn’t she seen a man without clothes? He couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone in her life.

She definitely was attractive enough. Although he preferred blondes, he wondered how that glorious rust-colored mane would look down. She smelled good, too. He remembered the soft citrus scent whenever she’d gotten close to him.

His attention turned to her figure. Although she was wearing bulky sweats now, he recalled the sweet curve of her hips and long slender legs. He had no doubt she would fill out a pair of Wranglers to perfection. Just the way he liked…

Whoa. He didn’t need to think of Ms. Farren as anything short of Attila the Hun. He was already too vulnerable with his battered and bruised body. There were scars that would never go away. His leg was the worst, a road map of red lines from the accident and the numerous surgeries. Not a pretty sight.

There was a time when women had admired his physique. After every successful ride, he could almost guarantee there would be women who’d be willing to share his celebration, even the night, with him. Since the accident, they hadn’t been exactly lined up at his door. Yesterday morning, for a flash of an instant, Brenna had looked at him as if he were a man. And he definitely saw her as a woman.

Man, she was going to be a killer on his sleeping schedule.

He downed his orange juice, then reached for his coffee mug and leaned back in his chair while watching her. She picked at her food. “At the rate you eat, I’ll never get to the bars.”

She set down her fork. “I guess I put too much on my plate.” She stood. “You’re right, we should get started.” She carried the dishes to the sink.

“Hey, we have time for you to finish.”

“I’ve had enough,” she told him. “Drink your coffee and we’ll get started on the weights.”

“Why don’t you join me with a cup?”

She shook her head. “Caffeine makes me jittery. But enjoy yours while I clean up the dishes.”

“Can’t we take a few minutes to talk?”

Brenna set the dishes on the counter and turned around. She knew it wasn’t unusual for a patient and PT to get personal. “What would you like to know? My credentials?”

He shrugged. “Where are you from?”

“I grew up here. My parents own a small ranch on the other side of San Angelo.”

“Does everyone around here ranch?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It is cattle country.” She knew he was new to the area. “Your own family has done very well in the business.” Everyone knew the affluence of the Randells.

“What family is that?”

“The Randells.”

“Does everyone know my business?”

Brenna wiped her hands on a towel and came to the table. “No, I only know the story because Wyatt told me. If you’re worried about what people think…”

“I don’t give a damn, but my business is my business.”

“Seems to me you gave up your privacy when you become a national bull-riding champion.” She had seen Dylan Gentry’s exploits written up in the news the past years. “You draw a crowd wherever you go…especially women.”

She saw a flash of pain in Dylan’s eyes before he masked it. “That’s over,” he said. “I just want to be left alone.”

Good. Brenna didn’t feel like fighting off a bunch of women to get him to do his therapy. “That’s fine with me.” She pointed to the equipment in the living room. “We’re going to be concentrating so hard on your rehab that you aren’t going to have a chance to think about anything else.”

He made a snorting sound. “There isn’t enough therapy in the world to do that.”

Brenna knew that dealing with a patient’s depression was part of the job. Silently she went back to doing the dishes, knowing that she had to keep Dylan Gentry distracted with hard work.

Thirty minutes later, after a series of warm-up exercises, they got busy at the weight bench. Brenna was spotting Dylan as he lay on his back lifting the barbells up and down to help improve his upper-body strength. She was impressed at how easily he did each repetition. She also saw the strain on his face and knew he was pushing himself—too hard. Maybe he was just trying to impress the new PT, but she didn’t want him to burn out. Finally she called a halt and handed him a towel to wipe off his sweaty chest. After a few minutes, she crouched in front of him and began strapping small weights around his ankles.

“We’ll take this slow…and easy.” She held on to his leg before he started. “We’re not going all out on your first time, or tomorrow you’ll be worthless. So take it easy,” she warned. “Just lift your leg a few inches, hold it, then lower it.”

A cinch, Dylan thought. But the light weight felt like a ton. By the time he finished five reps, beads of sweat had formed on his face. Even though she told him that was enough, he did five more. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how hard the exercise was on him, but his leg had other ideas. The muscles fatigued from being sedentary for so long suddenly went into spasm.

Crying out, Dylan grabbed his leg. “Damn, damn…”

“Lie back,” Brenna ordered as her sure hands went to work, kneading and soothing the knotted muscles in his thigh.

Dylan draped his arm over his eyes, hating his weakness but letting her magic fingers take over and ease his pain. Soon the pain turned to pleasure. What had soothed him was now beginning to arouse.

“That’s enough.” He sat up and tried to push her hand away. “My leg feels better.”

“Just let me finish working out the stiffness.”

He groaned and tightened his hold on her hand. “That’s never going to happen if you keep this up,” he said honestly.

She glanced down and suddenly her face flamed red. “Oh… Then we should take a break.” She handed him a bottle of water and walked out of the room.

Dylan fell back on the weight bench and closed his eyes. Somehow, he had to find a way to stop seeing Brenna Farren as a woman. He thought about the long-legged, auburn-haired vixen and realized that was never going to happen.

Four days later, taking a break from his workouts, Dylan sat on the sofa, remote in his hand, flipping through the channels, when his brother peered in the door. “Hey, Dylan,” Wyatt said. “Got a minute?”

“It’s your house.”

His brother frowned. “I told you when I bought the ranch months ago I want you as my partner, just like we’d always talked about.”

“Didn’t plan on me being a cripple.”

“Temporary situation,” Wyatt said assuredly.

“And I told you I want no part of the Randell place. Besides, if I had a choice…”

Wyatt raised his hand. “You wouldn’t be here,” he finished his brother’s sentence. Wyatt sat down on the sofa. “Just so you know, this ranch didn’t start with Jack Randell. Our grandfather, John Sr., started the Rocking R and was well respected in the community. At one time this spread was one of the biggest in the area until Jack ran it into the ground.”

“And you’re putting it back together.” At his brother’s nod, Dylan went on, “And you’re even running a herd.”

Wyatt nodded again. “Hank Barrett suggested I give it a try. The Rocking R’s herd is for the Mustang Valley Guest Ranch’s cattle drives and roundups.” He folded his arms. “You can’t believe the big demand for working cattle ranches.”

Dylan saw his brother’s excitement and envied him.

“Chance, Cade and Travis will be helping out,” Wyatt continued. “I’d like you to meet them.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

Dylan had heard more than enough about his three half brothers and Hank Barrett, the man who raised them when Jack Randell was sent off to prison for cattle rustling. Dylan felt the same about Jared Trager, another illegitimate brother who’d showed up last year. Seemed their daddy enjoyed seducing women, then when he got tired of them, he moved on. And no one had seen anything of good old Jack for years.

“Maybe when you get back on your feet you’ll feel differently,” Wyatt suggested. “How is the therapy coming?”

Dylan frowned. “You should know since Ms. Farren has been reporting to you.”

“Brenna and I haven’t spoken since the day I hired her. I thought you should handle this business on your own.”

Dylan gave a sarcastic hoot. “That would be a first.” His brother had always tried to manage his life.

“Look, Dylan. A few months ago, I wasn’t sure you would even survive the accident, let alone ever walk again,” he said, emotion lacing his voice. “You’ve been given a second chance, but it’s up to you what you do with it.” Wyatt gave him a long look, then stood and walked to the door. “Call if you need anything.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dylan suddenly felt like a heel. Deep down, he knew his brother was only trying to help him.

“Wyatt!” he called as he struggled to get up, one hand gripping the back of the chair as he reached for his crutches. He made it to the door, but when he pulled it open he was surprised when he was forced backward as someone slammed into him. It wasn’t Wyatt, but Brenna. He fought to regain his balance but the attempt was futile. He dropped his crutches, reached out to grab the door frame for support, and in the process managed to sandwich Brenna between himself and the wall.

She gasped and her arms immediately went around his waist. He tried to shift his weight, but the action only seemed to increase the friction between them, shooting heat throughout his body.

“Dammit. Hold still,” he demanded.

She froze. Only the sound of the TV in the background and their ragged breathing filled the room. Then her gaze raised to meet his and the startling color of her whiskey eyes mesmerized him. He couldn’t seem to manage his next breath, but he managed to inhale her arousing scent. Only inches from her tempting mouth, he could easily bend forward and take a taste of her. Suddenly realizing where his thoughts were heading, he gripped the door frame and hopped backward on his good leg.

Now free, Brenna moved swiftly to retrieve his crutches. She helped slip them under his arms but didn’t move away.

“You okay?” she asked.

He managed a nod, wishing she would stop asking him that question.

“Here, let me help you.” Her hands touched his arms.

He jerked away. “I can do it,” he insisted, and planted the base of his crutches on the floor, then turned and headed to the privacy of his bedroom. There he could deal with a different kind of pain.

Dylan didn’t come out of the bedroom for the next hour. He didn’t want to, at least not until he could find a way to fight his reaction to this woman. She was his therapist, she was going to have her hands on him…a lot. He groaned, thinking how much he wanted her touch…how he ached for it.

What the hell was wrong with him? No doubt Brenna was pretty, but she had commitment written all over her. And he definitely wasn’t a forever kind of guy. Maybe in that respect he was like his old man. He had no desire to settle down with a wife and kids. He’d never known anyone who’d set a good example for him to follow.

All his life he and Wyatt had been known as Sally Gentry’s bastard kids. Still, that hadn’t been as bad as when they were ten years old and Earl Keys came into their mother’s life. He’d convinced her that he’d make a good home for her and her boys. The truth was, Keys only wanted free laborers for his rough-stock business. Every summer both he and Wyatt had worked the rodeo circuit. During the school year, they’d lived on the man’s Arizona ranch, but the work hadn’t been any easier. Just as soon as the two had turned eighteen, they were gone.

No, neither Randell nor Keys were the best examples of what a father should be. Dylan had no doubt he’d inherited a few bad genes. He’d traveled the circuit and he was damn good at whatever he tried, starting out calf roping with Wyatt. Later, he’d discovered the excitement of bull riding. And the money for his talent and all the endorsements hadn’t been bad, either. He was somebody. Then.

He rubbed his leg. Now he was a cripple.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door, then it opened. Brenna stepped just inside. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and blouse that had his juices flowing once again.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Or you going to stay in here all night and pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he insisted. “I’m just tired.”

She came farther into the room. “You’re in good shape. And your stamina has increased, so we can go longer, starting tomorrow.”

“What if I don’t want to go longer?”

She crossed her arms. “Look, Dylan, we agreed to a work schedule. If I let you slide now, you’ll never get back on your feet. If you’re worried about what happened with the cramps, we can work on that.”

This woman was unbelievable. “I can handle the cramps.” It’s you I can’t seem to handle, he thought silently.

“Good, because more than likely they’ll return. But I can help. There’s the whirlpool bath and I can give you a massage.”

He tensed. Oh yeah, that was going to help a lot.

Brenna just stood there for a few more moments.

“Is there something else you want?” he asked.

“Staying closed up in here isn’t good for you, Dylan. Not when you’re used to having people around.”

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

“As your therapist, I do. Your sister-in-law called and asked if you want to come up to the house for dinner.”

Oh boy, the whole family all at once. He thought about Wyatt and the way he’d handled things earlier.

“If you are worried about the children, I know little Kelly would love to get to know you better.”

“I’m not good with kids.”

“Kelly is female. No matter what her age, I bet you can have her charmed in minutes.” Brenna wrinkled her nose and Dylan knew she was trying to hide a smile.

“If I’m so good with the ladies, how come it hasn’t worked on you?”

Her easy laughter filled the room. “I don’t think you’ve been trying to charm me, only drive me away. Besides, I’m not a lady. I’m your therapist.”

Ooh, she was definitely a lady. “Just out of curiosity, what would it take to get your…attention?”

“More than sweet words…or a cocky smile. I have three brothers, and they’ve inherited a bit of the blarney along with their Irish genes.” She sobered. “Besides, I learned a long time ago to believe only half of what men say, and the other half is probably exaggerated.”

“Whoa, someone must have done you wrong, lady.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and placed his legs on the floor. “Who was he? Want me to go beat him up?”

A sadness transformed her face. “His name was Jason. And you can’t beat him up…he’s dead.” She started to leave, when Dylan reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled away as tears formed in her eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The urge to take her into his arms and hold her was overwhelming.

“It’s okay.” She moved toward the door. “I guess if you aren’t going to your brother’s for dinner then I better fix you something.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t cook, Brenna. We’re going to supper at Wyatt’s.”

“I’ll help you get there,” she said, “but it would be better if you go to dinner on your own.”

“Look, for the past week we’ve been living in pretty close quarters. And it’s been hard to stay out of each other’s business, much less their space. I’ve let you handle me at will, strap me in contraptions, and cause me considerable pain. Now, I’d say you owe me. Please, go with me.”

She hesitated. “Okay, but don’t think you’re going to get your way all the time.”

He wanted his way, all right. With her. “I’ll take what I can get.” He got to his feet. “Give me ten minutes to shower.” Using his crutches, he grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans from the bureau drawer.

“You be sure to use the bench in the tub,” she warned.

“Or what? You’re coming in and joining me?” He grinned. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

He watched her blush, but she didn’t back down. “Be careful, remember I can hurt you.”

He wasn’t thinking pain, only pleasure as he headed off to the shower, a cool one. And for the first time in a long while, it was good to feel alive.

Fifteen minutes later they were both seated in one of the golf carts that belonged to the Mustang Valley Guest Ranch. With Brenna behind the wheel, they headed up to the main house. That was the easy part. The three steps to the porch were much more of a challenge to Dylan.

“You’re getting to be pretty good with those crutches,” Brenna said.

“Now, who’s trying to charm who?” he asked, trying to relax his labored breathing.

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll do my part.”

He smiled, enjoying the easiness between them. “Just how far will you go, Ms. Brenna?”

Even under the porch light, he could see she was flustered, but before she could give a retort the door opened and Kelly appeared. The child looked a little apprehensive, then relaxed seeing Brenna. “Hi, Unca Dylan,” she said. “Hi, Brenna.”

“Hello, Kelly,” Brenna said, and she pulled open the screen door allowing Dylan to go in first. Then she followed.

Dylan’s gaze swept around the huge sunny-yellow kitchen. There were pine cabinets and white-tiled countertops. At the stainless-steel stove, his sister-in-law stood cooking. His brother had always talked about having a home. It looked as if he’d gotten his wish.

Maura turned and smiled. “Dylan and Brenna, I’m so glad you both came.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Brenna said.

Maura walked over to greet them, surprising Dylan with a hug. Then she stood back and gave him the once-over. “Well, look at you, Dylan, getting around so well.” She turned to Brenna. “Thank you for helping him.”

“Oh, Dylan is the one who did the work,” she insisted. “I only gave him a little push now and then.”

“Using a bulldozer,” Dylan said, and they all laughed.

The sound of voices drew their attention to the doorway where Wyatt and seven-year-old Jeff walked into the room. He and Wyatt weren’t identical twins, Dylan thought, struck once again by their differences, but they were pretty close, with the same height and build. Their hair color was the same, but their eyes were different—his brother’s were blue while his were more gray. Wyatt was the more sensible one. Dylan had always been attracted to trouble.

The young boy’s face lit up. “Wow, Dad, Uncle Dylan came.”

Wyatt smiled. “Yes, son, I’d say he did.” He walked up to Dylan. “Glad you could make it, bro.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” Dylan lied as he leaned on his crutches. “This was the only way to get a taste of Maura’s meat loaf. You’ve certainly bragged about it enough.”

“Well, come and sit down,” Wyatt coaxed. “Dinner shouldn’t be too long. Would you like something to drink? Soda? Iced tea? Milk?”

“Iced tea sounds good.”

“I’ll get it.” Jeff ran to the refrigerator, then came back with a full glass. “Uncle Dylan, Dad said you’re the best bull rider in the world.”

A sadness moved through him, but he pushed it aside and smiled at his nephew. “Well, I had won the national championship, but someone else won the title this year.”

“I told Benny Roberts you did, but he said that I’m lyin’ ‘cause you aren’t really my uncle.”

A strange protectiveness came over Dylan. “I guess you just have to prove him wrong. As soon as I locate my things, I’ll dig up one of my championship buckles and you can show him.”

“Oh, wow!” His eyes rounded. “Can I, really?”

Dylan ruffled the boy’s hair. “Yes, you really can.”

A smiling Jeff went to his seat across the table, next to Kelly. The little girl looked like her mother, pretty as a picture. When he winked at her, her face lit up with a smile, and a funny feeling circled Dylan’s heart.

Brenna leaned toward him. “I think you got yourself a couple of new fans here.” She looked him in the eye and whispered, “You’ve still got it, Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry.”