Falling For The Rancher. Tanya Michaels

      Kate gave a small shake of her head, as if brushing away her moment of melancholy. “I live near the Twisted R—at least, I do until my wedding. My fiancé, Cole, and I are having a house built that won’t be ready for months. Meanwhile, Luke and I are staying on my grandmother’s farm, which is out the same direction as the Ross place. If you ever need anything, we’re much closer than town. I’ll give you my number. Maybe we can get together if you have an afternoon off.”

      “Thank you.” Given Vicki Ross’s surly attitude, Sierra might need to occasionally escape the ranch to keep her sanity intact. “I’d love to visit that boutique you were telling me about.”

      They had just finished exchanging cell-phone numbers when the two kids returned.

      “Sorry we took so long,” Luke said, jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I—”

      “He was talking to a girrrlll,” Aly reported, making the last word three syllables.

      He shot her a sidelong glare. “I ran into a classmate—”

      “A girl classmate!”

      “—who had questions about Friday’s math assignment.”

      “No problem,” Kate said. “Sierra and I were busy chatting, too. But I guess we should dash if I’m going to get these groceries to Cole’s house for lunch. He and Mandy are probably starving. Call me soon, Sierra!”

      “Will do.”

      As she finished her own grocery shopping, Sierra felt a little smug. She’d been told more than once that she didn’t play well with others and that some people mistook her independent nature for aloofness. Yet she hadn’t been in town an hour, and already she’d made her first friend.

      Maybe Cupid’s Bow wouldn’t be so bad after all.

      * * *

      JUST WHEN SIERRA was starting to think she’d driven too far, she spotted the intersection where she needed to turn for the Twisted R. On her first trip out to the ranch, she’d been irritable because she was late for her interview. This time around, she could appreciate the scenery more.

      The wide-open space was both tranquil and somehow humbling. Picturesque pastures dotted with clusters of Queen Anne’s lace and mesquite trees framed the road, and she’d never seen a clearer blue sky than the one overhead. A deer lifted its head from the plants it was lazily munching to watch her pass, and she half expected that if she glanced in her rearview mirror she’d find animated woodland creatures singing some kind of welcome song behind her car.

      It was all very bucolic. But she still couldn’t imagine living in a place where the closest store was half an hour away. The land that delivery food forgot.

      She turned left onto a winding road barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other and saw the sprawling white house atop the hill ahead. She liked the Rosses’ place—it wasn’t as linear and pristine as her parents’ three-story mansion with its pretentious columns in the front and a detached garage in the back. Jarrett’s home was endearingly lopsided, with one corner that seemed out of proportion to the rest of the house—probably a room that had been added on long after the place was originally built. The roof was all crazy angles, hinting at slanted ceilings and interesting attic space. A carport was linked to one side of the house, a screened deck jutted out in the back and there was a generous porch that began within a foot of the front door and wrapped around the opposite corner of the house.

      A moment later, she passed beneath the Twisted R sign, her car jostling over the metal grid that kept cattle from wandering out through the entryway between fences. By the time she parked, two dogs had come to greet her. A golden retriever gave an amiable woof as Sierra opened her door; a slightly smaller dog hung back a few feet. It was mostly black with gold paws and a white throat.

      “They’re friendly,” Jarrett called from the porch steps. “But they probably have muddy paws, so if Sunshine looks like she’s about to jump on you, tell her no. She’ll listen—she just likes to test boundaries.”

      Sierra grinned down at the retriever, scratching behind her ears. “Fellow boundary-pusher? You and I should get along just fine.” She looked up to see Jarrett closing the distance between them with rangy strides. The lighter streaks in his dark hair gleamed in the sun, and the way his jeans fit made her take back any snarky thoughts she’d had about denim.

      She spun on her heel toward the back of her car, seizing the distraction of luggage to keep herself from staring at her new boss.

      “Can I give you a hand?” he asked from right beside her. Since he was already reaching into the car trunk, the question seemed rhetorical.

      She blinked up at him. “You move deceptively fast.”

      “Long legs.” He hefted a suitcase. “We’d just finished lunch when I heard the dogs barking. Have you eaten?”

      “I’m good, thanks.” She didn’t share that her stomach was twisted in knots. Despite the bravado-filled pep talks she’d given herself during the drive, now that she was here, she acknowledged that moving in—even temporarily—was unnerving. She was used to having sole dominion over things like the television remote and the thermostat. Sharing a living space would be an adjustment, no matter who her roommates were. How much would Jarrett’s appeal complicate the situation? And then there was Vicki’s hostility.

      Before Sierra had left the other day, the two women had reached an understanding, but physical therapy was tough. When Vicki was in pain, Sierra would be an easy target for anger. It came with the territory. Sierra was accustomed to dealing with a range of emotions from her patients. But usually she was able to retreat home at the end of a long day and leave the stress of a contrary client behind. Now the contrary client would be sitting across from her at the dinner table.

      Good thing I like a challenge.

      She passed a large duffel bag to Jarrett, appreciating the ripple of muscles in his forearm as he resituated everything he was carrying. Once they were both loaded down like a couple of pack mules, she followed him up the porch stairs and into the blessedly air-conditioned house. September wasn’t as brutal as July or August had been, but the Texas heat was still enough to make her regret the short-sleeved sweater she wore.

      They went through the entry hall and past the study, kitchen and Vicki’s room. At the end of the hall was a living room decorated in Southwest tones and worn but comfy-looking furniture. A spiral staircase in the far corner led to the second story.

      Jarrett flashed a sheepish look over his shoulder. “It’s a bit of a climb.”

      She gave a one-shouldered shrug to show she didn’t mind. “It’ll help keep me fit.”

      His gaze swept over her body, and for a second, she thought he might say something. But he turned around without further comment.

      The steps were narrow, and she had to concentrate on not letting her luggage scuff up the walls. At the top, Jarrett gave her the lay of the land. “That’s the master bedroom, and that one is—was—Vicki’s.” He ducked his gaze, his tone flat. They both knew it would be a long time before Vicki Ross climbed those stairs again. “I’m at the other end of the hall, along with the guest room where you’ll be.”

      He gestured for her to go ahead, and Sierra chuckled as she got her first good look at her room—the Island of Misfit Furniture. If she had to guess, she’d say that anytime a room in the house had been remodeled and there was a perfectly good piece of furniture they hadn’t wanted to get rid of, it had been shoved in here. The king-size bed was too big for the space. The pink vanity in the corner had probably been Vicki’s when she was twelve. The brass headboard was unlike any she’d seen before, a series of whimsical curlicues that curved around the edges of the bed, hugging the mattress.

      A few steps into the room, Jarrett had to duck. Because of how the roof slanted down at the edge of the house, there were places where she could probably touch the ceiling if she stood on her toes.

      Jarrett