One Tall, Dusty Cowboy. Stella Bagwell

family members I’ve lost were my elderly grandfathers and they’d both been ill for a long time. So their passing was expected.”

      Rafe looked up and she could see how just talking about his mother had drained the sparkle from his gray eyes. His reaction made her wonder if he’d had an extra-close relationship with her.

      “Once she was gone, nothing was ever the same.” He looked off, his expression pensive. “I don’t normally talk about when Mom died. Not to anyone. But you’re a nurse. You understand. And I like you, Lilly.”

      As he spoke the last words, his gaze returned to hers, and Lilly felt her heart wince with a mixture of emotions. She’d not expected anything so serious to come out of Rafe’s mouth. He was a flirt and playboy. He was all about having fun. It was jarring to learn that he could hurt and feel as deeply as any poor, old Joe.

      “I’m not sure I understand any better than you why good people get injured or ill. Sometimes I go home from a long night of work and wonder what I’m doing. Sometimes I even tell myself I’m going to walk away from nursing and do something that won’t tear my heart apart.” Sighing, she reached for her glass. “But in the end I can’t. I want to help people.”

      A waitress arrived with their salads and they readied themselves to eat before Rafe picked up the conversation again.

      “I’m curious as to what made you want to be a nurse. It’s an admirable profession, but the workload and the stress would be hard for most people to handle.”

      “My grandmother, my father’s mom, has been a nurse for close to forty years. She’s sixty-seven now and still working at a hospital in Henderson.”

      “Wow. That’s dedication. Is she married?”

      Lilly nodded. “Why? Are you looking for an older woman for yourself? One that could nurse you back to health if need be?” she teased. “From my experience in E.R. you cowboys are always suffering cuts, broken bones and torn ligaments.”

      He grinned. “We do take some spills. But your grandmother sounds like the perfect wife for Dad. Not that he’s looking. But a couple of my brothers are looking for him.”

      Lilly seriously doubted that Rafe was looking for a wife, either. But that hardly mattered to her. This was just an evening out. Nothing more. Nothing less.

      “Grandma is special. From the time I was a little girl she was my heroine and still is. She’s steady as a rock, compassionate, yet firm when she has to be. One day I hope to be as good a nurse as she is.”

      “Dad told me that you don’t work in therapy anymore—you work in the E.R. That’s quite a switch, isn’t it?”

      She forked a piece of romaine lettuce. “I like the unexpected. And in the E.R. you never know what’s going to show up.”

      His gaze slipped over her face. “So you’re a girl who likes excitement.”

      She’d never thought of herself in those terms, but he must be right, otherwise she would’ve never agreed to this date.

      “I’d rather think I’m a girl who likes a challenge,” she said wryly.

      He chuckled. “Then you ought to like me, Lilly. A whole lot.”

      * * *

      More than an hour later, after coffee and a rich, decadent dessert, Rafe ushered Lilly into the club side of the restaurant where a long bar and several small tables gave way to a spacious dance floor.

      To one side of the dance area, an elevated platform in the shape of a half circle held a six-piece band. At the microphone, a woman with long black hair and a clingy red evening gown was belting out a torchy standard from the 1950s.

      Not bothering with a table, Rafe led her straight to the dance floor and pulled her into his arms. At first, she kept a rigid distance away from him, but after he applied a gentle pressure against her back, she finally surrendered. And as her curves melted against him, he decided there was something very unique about Lilly Lockett. She was making him think about her instead of himself and all that needed to be done on the ranch in the coming days.

      “Now that is my kind of music,” he said as he nuzzled his cheek against the side of her blond hair. “Bluesy and soulful.”

      “I thought you cowboys were all guitars and twang.”

      “Hmm. We’re not cookie cutter, Lilly. I have three or four wranglers who love rock music. They turn the radio up so loud in the work trucks it blasts my eardrums. A few more like standards and one even goes for classical stuff. But there are country and western fans among the bunch, too. We’re an eclectic group.”

      “There goes my vision of you sitting around the campfire singing trail songs.”

      He chuckled and then went quiet as the sheer pleasure of having her in his arms took over his senses. She smelled like some sort of flower. A gardenia, he guessed, or maybe it was a rose. The only thing he knew about flowers was that a bunch of them could usually smooth an angry woman. And he’d dealt with plenty of those in his lifetime. Especially when he grew tired of one and didn’t take pains to give her a gentle send-off. Funny, but he couldn’t imagine himself getting tired of this one. She was beautiful and quick and something about her made him feel so damned protective. And that wasn’t like him. Not like him, at all.

      “Do you come here often?”

      Her question broke into his thoughts and he peered down at the shiny crown of her head. Her hair was like spun sunlight, all soft and golden. The morning he’d first spotted her on the stairs it had been confined in a bun at the back of her head. But tonight it was loose and curled ever so slightly against her shoulders, while a jagged fringe brushed her eyebrows. All evening he’d been itching to get his fingers into it and now that he had her close, he dared to roll a strand between his thumb and forefinger.

      “I rarely come here,” he answered.

      Her head tilted back in order to study his face. “Then why did you bring me?”

      “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he admitted.

      She reasoned, “You hardly know me.”

      “I’m learning more by the minute,” he told her. “For one thing, your hair doesn’t feel a bit like Roscoe’s mane.”

      “Mine’s coarser, I’m sure.”

      He chuckled. “Since you’re a nurse, you might be interested to know that Roscoe’s tail hair makes great sutures.”

      She frowned with disbelief. “You’re kidding now.”

      He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. If I’m lying, I’m dying. I can’t count the times I’ve used it to sew up a cow or calf out on the range.”

      “I would’ve guessed that the Silver Horn had a resident vet to do those sorts of things.”

      “The Horn does have a resident vet, but he can’t be over thousands of acres at once. You find a hurt animal five, ten miles away from the ranch yard, you do your best to take care of it yourself. Of course, if the injury is really serious, the animal has to be transported back to the barns.”

      She smiled up at him and Rafe felt his heart give a ridiculous little jerk. What the hell was the matter with him? he wondered. Women smiled at him all the time and he enjoyed the attention. But his heart sure didn’t go pitter-patter. At least, it hadn’t until this very minute.

      She said, “Looks like I’m learning things tonight, too.”

      The song suddenly came to an end and rather than wait for the music to begin again, Rafe said, “Let’s go out on the balcony and look at the lake.”

      “All right,” she agreed. “But I should warn you that I’ll need to be heading home soon. I have to be up early in the morning.”

      “I’d like to argue with you about that. But for once, I’ll be a