A Marriage In Wyoming (The Marshall Brothers 3) (10 page)

Rachel took a deep breath, trying to regain her balance. “It is. And I have patients scheduled.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket and sat behind the wheel. “It was a lovely campfire.”

Garrett nodded. “We’ll do it again. With a better ending.”

“I like this ending,” she said and started the engine. He was still staring, jaw hanging loose, when she circled onto the driveway and drove off into the dark.

* * *

G
ARRETT
CALLED
A
family meeting at seven on Tuesday morning, since they all happened to be in the kitchen drinking coffee anyway.

“Thomas, Marcos and Lena are bored with the bucking barrel,” he announced. “They want to ride live animals.”

“Of course they do,” Ford said. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. I’m not sure our insurance will cover that liability.”

Caroline sat on a stool at the counter. “Are they ready for live animals?”

Dylan poured himself a second cup. “How do you know until they try?”

“We’d need a chute and a gate,” she said. “And steers the right size. Where would we find them?”

Wyatt leaned against the counter. “Dave Hicks on the Twin Oaks Ranch supplies livestock to some of the local shows. He’s got an arena set up, and he might have the animals. I can check with him.”

“The safety issues worry me.” Caroline played with the handle of her mug. “Somebody could get hurt.”

“We were planning to let them enter a rodeo at the end of the summer,” Garrett reminded her. “They ought to have experience with live animals before then. They’ll all be wearing helmets, mouth guards and safety vests. And they’ve fallen often enough.”

“But they’ve never had to dodge flying hooves,” Ford pointed out. “It’s a different skill from just falling off the barrel.”

“We all rode live animals as kids.” Dylan nodded at Garrett. “I don’t remember anything but bruises.”

“There’s always a risk,” Ford said.

“Maybe the doctor could come along as medical backup,” Wyatt suggested. “If something happens, she’d be right there to take care of it.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Garrett said. “If she has the time. Her practice is picking up.”

Caroline held up her hand. “And what about the four kids who don’t want to ride? What would be fun for them to do?”

“They get their own private rodeo,” Dylan said. “We could bring snacks, like having a concession stand.” Then he frowned. “But I guess food is now a problem, too.”

“Dave has a stagecoach and a team of horses.” Wyatt went for a refill. “Maybe he could take them on a drive, show them a different part of the country.”

“That sounds great.” Caroline smiled at him. “Something different for them to do with horses.”

“Don’t commit to anything until I make sure we’re covered.” Ford put his mug in the dishwasher. “Right now, I’m going to wake up the boys.” He gave Caroline a one-armed hug on his way out the door.

“Is this a go or not?” Garrett asked. “Assuming the insurance allows it.”

“I say go.” Dylan made a thumbs-up sign. “It’ll be an adventure.”

Wyatt nodded. “After a summer of barrel practice, I expect they can handle the steers. And the experience will be useful if they enter a rodeo later.”

“I guess I’m on board,” Caroline said. “Especially if Rachel will come along. That would make me more comfortable.” She slipped from her stool and walked over to top up her coffee. “It’s time to get the girls up. Catch you all at breakfast.”

As she left by the rear door, Dylan stretched his arms wide. “I’ve gotta wake up. I’m supposed to ride out with Grady at eight to clear that overgrown water ditch in the southeast field. A lovely morning of hacking and digging weeds lies ahead of me. What’s on your agenda, Garrett?”

“I’m scheduled for office hours at the church this morning. After the scolding I got Sunday from Ms. Simpson about the time I’ve been spending with the kids, I figured I’d better show up, even if nobody comes by to check.”

First, though, he wanted to talk to Lena. But her team was scheduled to cook breakfast, so he didn’t have an opportunity to catch her until after the meal.

“How are you this morning?” he asked, as she brought her plate to the sink to be washed.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I tested and did my injection.”

He smiled at her. “That’s important. But not what I asked.”

One thin shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m okay, I guess.”

Holding open the door to the bunkhouse, Garrett motioned her outside. “You were pretty upset last night.”

“Everybody loves s’mores. They were mad when we didn’t have them.”

“Mad at
you
?” They started up the hill toward the barn.

“That’s how it felt. And you didn’t trust me not to eat one. Like I’m stupid.”

“But you had chips just the night before. How am I supposed to be sure you’ll make the best choice?”

Another roll of the eyes. “I’m trying.”

“Yes, you are. So am I. And I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of the other kids. I want to trust you, and I want you to be able to trust me.”

At the door to the barn, Lena faced him. “Then you should clue me in on what you’re planning, so I can decide if I think it’s a good idea.” Her serious gaze met his. “It’s my life.”

“Got it.” He offered a hand. “I’ll consult you before I make any radical decisions about you and food.”

She shook with him. “And I’ll try not to yell at you in front of people.”

That was probably as close as he’d get to an apology. “Deal.”

Another parenting lesson.
Garrett blew out a deep breath as he walked down the hill toward his truck.
There ought to be a reference book to go by.

Driving toward town, he realized that the same could be said of women. Especially Rachel Vale. She’d shocked him last night with a simple admission—she’d
liked
how their evening had ended. Meaning, he had to assume, she was glad she’d confided in him. And perhaps she was willing to build a relationship. He’d found it hard to fall asleep, imagining the possibilities now opening up between them.

Of course, her objections to his calling still existed. He understood her reasons now but not how to overcome her resistance. Angry at the con man who had swindled—and effectively murdered—her mother in the guise of religion, Rachel had denied herself the comfort most people found in the community of a church. She was so determined not to be deceived or betrayed that she found it hard to trust anyone.

But she’d said she would try. Garrett only hoped he could prove to her that she’d finally come to a safe place—in this town, with his family and friends, with the people she would come to know as her patients.

And, as he found himself hoping more passionately every day, with him.

Chapter Nine

Tuesday’s first-aid session went pretty well, in Rachel’s opinion. She covered stings and bites, which gave the teenagers a chance to scare each other with descriptions of insects and snakes, as well as attacks from dogs and wildlife. They discussed the facts about rabies and other diseases carried by animals. To give them something active to do, she brought out various bandages and assigned each kid a different type of wound to be wrapped up. Caroline, Ford and Dylan joined in the laughter at their unskilled efforts.

To her surprise, though, Garrett was nowhere to be seen. Or perhaps the surprise was not that he wasn’t there but that she missed him. She’d counted on his assistance with the bandaging project, remembering how his humorous approach always encouraged the kids to have fun. And yet he somehow managed to keep them in line, distracting Marcos from arguing with Thomas, and drawing Lena and Justino’s attention away from each other. For her, the experience didn’t seem to be as enjoyable without him.

The realization disturbed her as she drove back to the clinic. She had said she’d try to trust him, and she would. But had she already come to depend on him as part of her life here in Bisons Creek? Was he already more than just an acquaintance? More than a
casual
friend?

Fortunately, her afternoon schedule contained enough appointments to keep her from ruminating about Garrett. A construction worker with a bad cut on his palm added excitement to the mix. She reached her last patient of the day about ten minutes behind schedule, and entered the exam room with an apology on her lips.

“You’re late.” The older woman in the chair glared at her. “My appointment was at four thirty.” Tall and somewhat overweight, wearing an unfashionable dress and with her brown hair scraped into a bun, she reminded Rachel of a terrifying algebra teacher she’d had in high school. “I expect you to be prompt.” Her voice was low and hoarse.

“I’m sorry, Miss Simpson. An emergency came in.” She held out a hand. “I’m Dr. Vale. How do you do?”

The patient sniffed. “It’s Ms.” Her handshake lacked energy. “Ms. Dorothy Simpson.”

“I’ll remember. What can I do for you today?”

Ms. Simpson pursed her lips. “My hair is coming out. It’s there on my comb every day. And I can see how much thinner it is.”

“Can you take your hair down, please?”

Rachel examined Ms. Simpson’s head and noted that her long hair did seem sparse, though there was no way to determine how recent the condition might be.

“How are you feeling otherwise?” she asked, unfolding her blood pressure cuff. “Let me put this around your upper arm. Just there.” She squeezed the bulb. “How is your appetite?”

“I put on a few pounds, so I’ve been watching what I eat. But the scale keeps going up. It’s very frustrating.”

By the end of her exam, Rachel had learned even more about Ms. Simpson’s current condition—how she was tired, even after a night’s sleep, and how her knees and her shoulders ached so much some days she could hardly go to work.

“I teach science at the junior high school,” she said. “I have to be able to stand during classes. This spring, I seemed to be sitting at my desk most of the day.” Her mood had been off, as well. “I don’t enjoy life as much as I used to. It’s hard to get up in the morning.”

The most revealing symptom, though, was a slight enlargement of Ms. Simpson’s thyroid gland. “Has a doctor ever told you that your thyroid was enlarged?”

“What does that mean?”

Rachel gave her a reassuring smile. “We’re going to run some blood tests to find out.”

After taking the sample, Rachel leaned her hips against the counter and folded her arms. “My suspicion, Ms. Simpson, is that you’ve developed hypothyroidism—your thyroid isn’t producing hormones at the right level. If the lab results confirm this, we can start you on a medication to replace those hormones and improve your overall health. We’ll find out in just a few days.”

“Will my hair grow in again?”

“I can’t promise, but it’s possible.”

“Humph.” Ms. Simpson pulled her hair into a ponytail. “I understand you’ve been occupied with those teenagers the Marshall brothers are so determined to reform. Troublemakers, every last one of them. I’ve had them all in class and I know.”

Rachel tamped down her irritation. “That’s the point, isn’t it? To redirect their energies and help them imagine a better future for themselves?”

“It’s a wasted effort, if you ask me. They’ll revert to their old ways as soon as they’re home again.” She got to her feet. “But then, Pastor Garrett is always trying to rescue somebody. He’s a regular down at the shelter in Casper—cooking meals, driving people places, teaching Bible lessons.”

“That sounds both helpful and compassionate.”

“Except that his church is here, in Bisons Creek. We pay his salary and we should be able to reach him. He’s stretched thin enough this summer already, taking on extra ranch work while Wyatt recovers. There was no call to bring in a bunch of hooligans, too.”

Annoyance won the upper hand. “Garrett believes it’s worth the effort.”

“Humph,” Ms. Simpson said again. “I didn’t notice you in church on Sunday, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. If that’s all—”

“We’ll expect you next week.” With her hand on the door knob, she gazed over her shoulder at Rachel. “Going to church matters to people in this town. It means you belong.”

When the door shut, Rachel glanced around for something to throw. She’d never had a patient who’d made her this furious. So much for Garrett’s assurance that she had come to a place where there were people to depend on. Trusting Ms. Simpson would be similar to trusting a rattlesnake coiled at your feet with his rattles going full speed.

Remembering the encounter over supper at her apartment, she wanted to call Garrett and complain about the terrible Ms. Simpson. Talking to him would soothe her temper and help her put the incident in perspective, but she hated to be a tattletale. And if she didn’t want to talk about what had happened this afternoon, her only excuse for calling would be...wanting to hear his voice, to get his perspective on the day. Unwilling to admit such a thing, Rachel jumped up from the table and got to work cleaning the kitchen.

With the dishwasher running and the counters clear, she tuned the radio to a country oldies station and focused her attention on the first-aid lesson for Wednesday, which would be an important one—the Heimlich maneuver for choking and resuscitation for a victim who wasn’t breathing. The teenagers wouldn’t practice on each other, of course, but she wanted to make them aware of the basics in case they ever faced an emergency.

She finished her planning about nine, stacked her materials and then poured herself a glass of wine to relax with. The radio was playing an hour of “classic country’s best love songs.” Curled in a corner of the couch, she let the ballads wash over her, mellowing out the irritation she still hadn’t quite shaken.

A sudden knock at the front of the house made her jump in alarm. Who would want to visit her after dark? She approached the door with caution, not sure she should open it. At least she hadn’t changed into pajamas.

“Rachel, it’s Garrett,” he said loudly through the open window. “Are you at home?”

Blowing out an exasperated breath, she flipped on the porch light, unhooked the chain, unlatched the dead bolt and turned the doorknob. “Where else would I be at—” she checked her watch “—nine twenty at night?”

“A campfire?” He grinned as he tipped his hat. “Sorry it’s so late, but we just finished up at the ranch.”

She swung the door open. “Come in.”

“Actually, it’s really nice tonight. Would you consider coming out?”

An odd request but... “Okay.” Stepping onto the porch in her bare feet, she drew a breath of fresh, cool air. “It is a lovely evening. I hadn’t been outside since I got home.” Crickets rasped loudly in the darkness, a counterpoint to the music coming through the window.

Garrett leaned his hips against the porch rail and folded his arms over his chest. In the golden glow of the porch lamp, he appeared every inch a cowboy—broad shouldered, slim hipped and totally masculine.

Rachel swallowed hard. “What’s the occasion? Is Lena all right?”

“She’s fine. I needed to talk to you.”

“You, um, could have called.” Which would have been less...stimulating.

He shrugged one shoulder. “But I missed visiting with you at lunch. I heard the bandaging session was pretty funny.”

She went to stand beside him so she wouldn’t stare at him. “Most of the kids ended up mummified. But they at least learned how to tie a sling. And maybe wrap an ankle.” The problem with being beside him was the whiff of his scent she caught and the sense of his body so near to hers.

“Lucky for them they live in a town with a great doctor to do the wrapping for them if they get hurt. Speaking of which...” He drew an audible breath. “What’s your opinion on rodeos?”

She blinked in surprise at the quick change of subject. “In general? They’re fun to watch. I enjoy the barrel racing and calf roping best. Oh, and the clowns. Those guys who ride bulls are insane.”

“Ford would disagree.”

“He was a bull rider?”

“He was. Dylan went for saddle broncs and I competed bareback. Wyatt was the roper. I guess we were all young and a little crazy.”

“Or a lot crazy. Those guys get hurt constantly.”

“We four managed to come through without too much damage.”

“Lucky you.” With no trouble, Rachel could imagine him ten years younger, climbing onto a bronco and getting bucked around. He’d probably grinned during the entire event.

“Yeah. The thing is, the kids have been practicing on the bucking barrel, simulating a rough-stock ride. Now they—Marcos, Thomas and Lena—want to get on a live animal.”

“You’re considering it?”

“We had talked about letting them enter a junior rodeo at the end of the summer, and they could use some experience before then. Just steers, though. Not bulls. They’ll be wearing protective gear.”

So he hadn’t come because he’d missed her at lunch. He’d come to ask a favor. She ignored her disappointment. “And how am I involved?”

Garrett shifted to face her. “We’re hoping you’ll come along as our medical support. Just in case.”

Rachel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Just in case. What you ought to have is an ambulance and a couple of EMTs. This camp of yours is getting to be a high-risk enterprise.”

“Kids mature through meeting challenges, mental and physical,” he said. “When they succeed, their self-image improves. I would say those three kids, in particular, ought to have that kind of reinforcement.”

“At the risk of their well-being?”

“Steer riding is pretty tame in comparison to some of the risks they could take in the next few years. Driving under the influence, for example. Carrying a knife, or a gun. Joining a gang.”

“Point taken.” Shaking her head, she gazed into the night. “I’m not in Seattle anymore. I guess for people around here, riding steers is a rite of passage.”

“For some of them, at least. Lots of kids growing up on ranches start when they’re young, riding sheep or calves. It’s a Western tradition, after all.” Garrett put a hand on her upper arm. “I’m aware this will take you away from your patients. We’ll be glad to reimburse you.”

“That’s not the point,” Rachel said sharply, moving out from under his touch. “I can volunteer if I choose. When are you planning to do this?”

“Next week. I can get you the exact date tomorrow.”

“That will work.” And now that he’d gotten what he came for, he could be on his way and she could resume her evening. Alone. “If that’s all...” With her hand on the doorknob, she looked over her shoulder. “I’ll let you go.”

Garrett shook his head. “No, that was just the hard part. Now we can enjoy ourselves. Will you dance with me?”

“What?” She pivoted to face him.

“The music,” he said, with a nod toward the inside of the house where the radio still played. “You’ve got a nice wide porch here. We could dance.”

Rachel gasped a laugh. “You really are crazy.” And this was getting out of hand. She should ask him to leave before something happened that she’d regret.

His grin was white in the darkness. “When you live in a small town, you take your opportunities where you find them.” He walked over and held out his right hand. “May I?”

At that moment, the opening notes for “Crazy” by Patsy Cline wafted through the window.

Her good sense deserted her. “My all-time favorite.” Rachel sighed and put her hand in his. “I can’t resist.”

His left arm came around her waist. “Lucky me,” he murmured, and moved her into the rhythm of the song.

She’d never danced to this number before. For a few moments the blend of words and melody and motion held her in a kind of trance. But then she became aware that it was Garrett’s chest against her cheek, his thighs brushing against hers, his breath warm over her ear. In response to his closeness, a shiver ran through her from head to toe.

“Cold?” He drew her closer still, so their bodies touched from her shoulders to her knees.

Gazing up at him, she shook her head. “You’re very adept at this.”

“Dancing?”

“That, too.”

His grin conveyed that he understood her meaning. He was an expert at getting under her guard.

The radio switched to another song and they continued to dance, not just swaying in one place but moving all around the porch as Garrett guided her with smooth steps and sure hands. Rachel relaxed for once, letting go of her defenses and her resistance, allowing herself simply to enjoy the moment. With his arm circling her tightly and his fingers wrapped around hers, she felt
safe
. Loneliness and uncertainty retreated, and she seemed to be protected in a way she’d never experienced in her life.

And if she was safe, then she might be free to follow her instincts, to listen to her own needs and desires. She could hold on to Garrett’s broad shoulders with both hands, sensing the power and strength he kept so completely under control. Both his arms were around her now, his hands spread wide at her waist, and she could yield to his gesture, pressing against him as their steps slowed to a standstill.