Her Cowboy Boss. Arlene James

they’d come to a halt on the pathway beneath the trees.

      “There’d be a learning curve, you know.”

      Meredith looked up, elated. So he really was thinking about hiring her. “I understand, but I’m a fast learner, and I love animals. I really do.”

      “That might not be as much of a plus as you think.” He strolled onward. “Animals can’t tell us where or how it hurts, but they do suffer, and when they suffer, it’s obvious.”

      “I understand,” she told him softly.

      “Do you? They suffer, Meri, and sometimes they die. And too often there’s nothing we can do about it. That’s just the fact of it.”

      They had reached the house. She lifted a hand to the porch column, looking up at him. “Why do you try to discourage me?”

      “Why do you want it so badly?” he countered. “You don’t even like me. Doesn’t make sense that you want to work for me.”

      She could have lied to him, could’ve batted her lashes and even flirted a little, but that wasn’t her way.

      “I may not always like you,” she said bluntly, “but I have come to respect you. And you’re my only option.” She ducked her head, adding softly, “I’ve never felt safe there. I’ve never been happy there. I don’t want to go back.”

      He said nothing for a long while. Then, when she looked up, he abruptly glanced away.

      “I’ll think on it,” he told her, stepping away from her.

      Meredith smiled, turned, climbed up onto the porch and went into the house. He’d given her hope at least.

      Tonight had shown her that she couldn’t go back. She just couldn’t.

      She’d thought she was past it. After all the counseling and all the precautions, she’d held on there as long as anyone could possibly expect. In the back of her mind, she’d thought that this respite, this sojourn at home, would at least prepare her to return to the City and her work there, but it had done the opposite. Her time here had shown her that she could never go back. She should be free now to find peace and safety. At home.

      Please, God. She just wanted to come home to stay.

       Chapter Four

      Melting into the shadows, Stark watched Meredith enter the house. No wonder she was so desperate to find a job and stay here. He recognized all the signs of trauma now that he’d bothered to look. He ought to—he dealt with them himself pretty much on a daily basis. Oh, he didn’t scream at the unexpected touch of another’s hands, but sometimes when he passed a tractor-trailer rig on the highway... He shuddered, trying not to remember.

      All too often he woke in the night, struggling to free himself from the twisted metal, calling the names of his wife and daughter. How many times had he asked himself why he hadn’t left earlier? Or later? Just ten minutes would have made all the difference.

      Whatever you think best, sweetheart. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.

      Meredith’s trauma didn’t stem from a freak accident, however. Her terror had been personal, deep, real and instantaneous. The moment he’d put his hands on her, the panic had completely overtaken her. She’d flashed back to some terrifying, horrifying event, and he very much feared that he knew what it was.

      The thought made him ill. If he was right, and his gut told him that he very well could be, he wouldn’t have to worry about her developing an interest in him—or likely any other man—anytime soon. No wonder she didn’t like him. Not that he’d given her any reason to.

      He wondered how long ago it had happened, who the man was. Surely Rex and Wes knew, but of course he couldn’t ask. Stark hoped sincerely that whoever had done that to her was locked away. Permanently.

      Not that it was any of his concern. He had enough to deal with already.

      Like a practice that was really far too big for one person alone to handle.

      He rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he should hire her and be done with it. She was certainly capable, and he wasn’t likely to find anyone else around here to match her skills. It might be the best solution all the way around. The unattainable man hiring the unattainable woman. Perfect.

      Except...

      Why couldn’t she have been a he? Some gawky kid who wouldn’t think twice about Stark’s rough ways or where he ate his meals?

      Because God hadn’t been that good to Stark Burns in a long time, that’s why not.

      At least that’s what Stark told himself as he ambled back out to the stable.

      An owl hooted from somewhere near the old red barn. It was a lonely sound.

      Loneliness, too, Stark knew well. It never left him, hadn’t left him in nearly four long years.

      The anniversary of that awful day approached quickly. He tried to ignore it, telling himself that he hadn’t even been aware of the moment when his wife and daughter had left this earth, but that didn’t help. It only added to his guilt.

      Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he walked back to the stable. The horse switched its tail when Stark drew near. Yes, definite improvement. That didn’t mean Soldier would recover, but a good sign was a good sign. He set his alarms and turned in.

      His last thought before he slipped into sleep was that Meredith didn’t deserve to be frightened. He saw the look of terror on her face, and in his dreams, instead of standing there like a lump, he held out his arms, and she walked into them, smiling tremulously.

      Her hair smelled of coconut. He didn’t know why or how he knew that, but somehow he woke the next morning with that fragrance in his nostrils.

      Cathy had smelled of strawberries. He would never forget. The fragrance of strawberries sometimes still threatened to move him to tears, strawberries and sour apples. Bel had loved a certain tart candy that tasted of sour apples. Sometimes he bought a pack and opened it just to savor the smell, but then he had to throw it away.

      What did Meredith Billings do to bring herself comfort?

      She was trying to move home. And he could help her with that.

      She and her strawberry blond, coconut-scented hair arrived with black coffee and a breakfast tray around six in the morning. He was waiting for her, sitting atop the toolbox.

      “Morning.”

      She gave him that devastating smile along with the breakfast tray. “Good morning.”

      “Swelling’s gone down,” he told her, parking the tray on his knees. “I expect to repair the tracheotomy tomorrow.”

      “That’s good.”

      He removed the dish towel, uncovering a thick omelet topped with salsa and cheese, along with rolled tortillas and sliced melon. The Billings family did not stint in the kitchen. Mouth watering, he picked up his fork and said slowly, “I could use your help.”

      Meredith caught her breath, but he pretended not to notice.

      “Okay,” she said. “Someone has to miss service tomorrow to stay with Dad anyway.”

      He’d forgotten that tomorrow was Sunday. He hated Sundays. They were his slowest days. This particular Sunday he hated most of all. But he wouldn’t think about that. He never thought about that.

      Right.

      Keeping his gaze on his plate, he said, “Best do it early.”

      “That’s fine. After breakfast okay?”

      “Works for me.”

      “That’s settled then. Now, I have a favor to ask.”

      Stark