One Tall, Dusty Cowboy. Stella Bagwell

the morning he’d run her down on the road, like some scene out of a Western movie, she’d fought against the urge to ask around about the man. Most people in her circle of friends and coworkers didn’t rub elbows with the rich Calhoun family, so whatever they told her about Rafe would be little more than hearsay.

      Ironically, she was the only one who’d had any actual association to the family. Seven years ago, Rafe’s mother, Claudia, had befriended her when she’d desperately needed someone to lean on. Lilly had never told anyone about the chance meeting between her and the matriarch of the Silver Horn ranch, or the friendship that had resulted from it. That time in her life was too painful to share with anyone. And Claudia had since died. But Lilly’s friendship with the woman still lived in her heart and that had been the main reason she’d agreed to take on the job of Bart Calhoun’s therapy.

      Normally, the hands of the clock spun too quickly for Lilly. Work kept her rushing to find enough time in the day to get necessary chores around the house done and errands about town completed. But as Monday evening arrived, it felt to Lilly as though time began to crawl.

      By the time Rafe finally arrived a few minutes before seven, she’d worked herself up into a nervous frenzy. But in spite of her nerves, she did her best to appear cool and collected when she answered the door.

      “Good evening, Lilly.”

      “Hello, Rafe. Would you like to come in?”

      “I’d love to.”

      She opened the door wider and as he stepped over the threshold Lilly was a bit overwhelmed by the change in his appearance. Instead of worn chaps and a battered hat, he was dressed in dark, Western-cut slacks. A crisp white shirt was buttoned at his throat and topped with a bolo tie fashioned from a turquoise rock, while a black felt hat dangled from his hand. If James Bond were a cowboy, he’d have to look like Rafe, Lilly decided.

      He handed her a long, slim box full of expensive chocolates. “I hope you like sweets.”

      “Unfortunately, I love them. Thank you.” She put the box down on a nearby coffee table then gestured for him to take a seat. “Do we have time for a drink? I have tea or coffee. But nothing to make a cocktail.”

      “If I’d known you were going to be this hospitable I would have made a point of coming earlier,” he joked, then pushed back the cuff of his shirt to peer at a gold watch on his wrist. “But I don’t want us to lose our reservations. I’ll take a rain check on the drink, if you don’t mind.”

      “Surely. Just let me get my bag and wrap.”

      She left for the bedroom and when she returned with her things, Rafe was standing in front of a wall table where several photos of family and friends were arranged on a white lace doily.

      “Is this your parents?” he asked, pointing to one particular photo.

      “Yes. About twenty years ago.”

      “And that’s you in the middle?”

      A wan smile touched her lips. “That’s me. I was eight years old there—a chubby little tomboy. Back then I had the burning desire to be the first girl to play major league baseball.”

      Instead of raising a chuckle out of him, he turned a curious look on her. “You’ve surprised me. I would’ve never figured you for a rough-and-tumble girl like that.”

      She shrugged. “Well, I grew up and decided to aim for less lofty goals. I still love baseball, though. Do you like sports?”

      “Never have time for them,” he admitted. “But Sassy, my younger half sister, has talked about playing in a softball league back when she lived in New Mexico. I need to introduce you to her. You two might have a lot in common.”

      Surprised, she said, “I wasn’t aware that you had a sister.”

      A faint smile touched his lips. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it some time. Right now we’d better be going.”

      He made it sound as though they’d be spending more time together in the future and though the idea was tantalizing, Lilly wasn’t sure she could allow that to happen. One night with this man was going to be hard enough to get through and still keep her resistance intact.

      Outside, the evening air had already begun to cool and before they stepped off the small porch, Lilly took a moment to wrap a white shawl around her bare shoulders.

      “Have you lived here long?” Rafe asked as he took her by the elbow and started to his waiting truck.

      “Yes. I bought the place a few years ago. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s not far from work and my neighbors are very nice.” The modest, two-bedroom house sat on two lots surrounded by chain-link fence. Except for a large cottonwood and a tall patch of prickly pear near the porch, the yard was mostly bare of landscape. “I’ve been planning to do more with the yard, but being a nurse always seems to get in the way of planting shrubs and flowers.”

      “I like it this way,” he said. “Nice and neat.”

      Compared to the Silver Horn ranch house, this place must look like a miniature dollhouse to him, but then compared to his home, most every house in Carson City was lacking.

      His vehicle, a sleek, black, four-door pickup truck was parked along the street and as he helped her into the passenger seat, he said, “I hope you don’t mind riding in a truck. We’ve not had a car on the ranch since—not in a long time.”

      Lilly wondered if he was going to say since his mother had passed away. But she wasn’t going to ask. Not when he’d clearly skirted the issue.

      “I don’t mind,” she assured him.

      And why would she? The interior of Rafe’s truck was far more luxurious than her little economy car or, for that matter, anything she’d ever ridden in. The seats were buttery-soft leather and the dashboard was equipped with all sorts of gadgets that she would need a manual to operate.

      Rafe and his four brothers had been born into wealth and she wondered if he took all the luxury for granted, or if that aspect of his life was even important to him.

      The questions made her realize how very little she knew about this man. But then she didn’t want to get to know him that well. She wanted to keep this evening light and simple. And once it was over she could put it and him behind her.

      “So how was your day?” he asked as they traveled down a residential street that would connect them to a main thoroughfare.

      “Restful. After working eighty hours this past week in E.R. a day off is special. The only nursing I did today was with your grandfather.”

      “You drove out to the Horn on your day off just to give Gramps his therapy? You must be damned dedicated.”

      “Bart is making such good progress that I don’t want to miss a day. At least, not until he reaches another level.”

      “He showed me how he can work his fingers now. I was impressed. You’ve only been treating him for a week.”

      “Two weeks,” she corrected. “I had already been working with Bart a week before that day you and I met on the stairs.”

      With a rueful shake of his head, he said, “What a shame. All that wasted time that we could have had together.”

      Ignoring his outrageous comment, she said, “Apparently, you don’t spend much time around the house.”

      “I sleep and eat there, but not much more. I have too many responsibilities outside,” he explained. “There’s always something to be done on the range—with the cattle and horses.”

      She glanced over at him and was instantly struck by his long, lean body and the dark, proud profile of his face. The only cowboys she’d ever been around were the ones who passed through the E.R. and the common denominator she’d noticed in them was their gritty toughness. She expected Rafe Calhoun was the epitome of that.

      “And