Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) (5 page)

As she swung around to stand, he caught her arm. Rachel froze, completely unprepared for the contact. His hand easily encompassed her wrist, his calloused fingers warm against her chilled skin. Her mouth went dry as the heat of his hand shot up her arm.

“Wait, what happened?” His one brow lifted in surprise. “I thought we needed air.”

“I think we’ve had enough. We better get on down the road.”

“No way. This was your idea, sweetheart.” His grip loosened around her wrist, but he didn’t let her go. “You dragged me out here when I was perfectly comfortable in the truck. You insisted I needed to clear my head. Well, I’m not clear yet.”

Rachel rolled her eyes as she fingered her headset. Obviously this mighty big cowboy proved capable of throwing mighty big tantrums. Keep him calm, the nurse had said. Great. Too bad the prescriptions Rachel carried didn’t include a huge dose of patience for herself.

“Now.” He lowered her hand to the sleeve of his jacket and covered it with his palm. “What in the world got you riled up?”

The comfort of his touch and the low rumble of his voice wrapped around her, and for a second, all the security she’d ever longed for filled the space around them. The illusion lasted all of a heartbeat before a gust of wind chilled her back into reality. No way could a bull rider make her dreams come true, no way would she ever give one the chance to try. She groped around for her anger and held it secure to her chest.

“Nothing.”

The denim fabric beneath her palm warmed as he rubbed his hand over the top of her knuckles. “We’re not leaving until you tell me.”

Rachel clenched her teeth, unsure of what to say, how much to tell. Bull riders didn’t listen to the hopes and fears of others; their attention always focused on themselves, on the next ride. Her mom had cried herself empty praying Dad would listen to her. He never did. Rachel knew Nick walked along the same path. Her other hand slid from her headset to her lap. Nick started to laugh as if he’d just gotten some joke.

“Wait. Was it the crack about the music?” He seemed to gather steam at her stony silence. He gripped her hand tighter and slid his thumb beneath her palm. “Well, yeah, I’ve gotta wonder what you need a spiritual program for. Need help? Work too tough? Working for Mitch hauling bulls around to rodeos isn’t rocket scientist material. Mitch is a great guy and takes his spiritual stuff pretty seriously. If you told him the work was too tough, he’d find something else for you to do--” Nick stopped and understanding dawned in his one good eye. “Of course. That’s why he sent you to drive me.” He entwined his fingers with hers and lifted their hands in the air, then brought his other palm up as if weighing his thoughts, “but, you don’t seem to like this either, so.... Are you sure you’re in the right job?”

Rachel had a hard time concentrating. Her skin tingled where Nick’s fingers entwined with hers. The urge to squeeze back almost overwhelming. “You think I work for Uncle Mitch?”

“Don’t you? Why else are you driving me to Casper?”

“I’ve just been traveling with Uncle Mitch for a few weeks.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat she’d thought she’d overcome. “I’m a stockbroker.”

“A stock broker,” he repeated. Something akin to respect flared in his eye. He nodded as some sort of revelation dawned. “Helping Mitch with his bloodlines, eh? That man trailers some mighty fine stock. I go to the auctions with him whenever I can, funny I haven’t seen you before. Stick with him though. He knows a lot about bulls. I’ll bet he can teach you a thing or two.”

“I don’t broker bulls.” She wanted to pull out of his grip, anything to stop the infuriating sensations of warmth stealing up her arm. “I trade stocks and bonds. You know, Wall Street, Dow Jones, that kind of stock. I’m a financial adviser who happens to know her way around a cow or two.”

A gust rustled the sagebrush around them as his hand went still. “So, you’re not with Cauldwell Stock Company?” The lines around his mouth became pronounced as his words staggered together.

She shook her head. “Uncle Mitch let me tag along for a few weeks. Actually, I should be headed back to Denver now, my leave-of-absence ended Friday. But you needed a ride and since Uncle Mitch couldn’t take you, he asked me to help.” She stopped and thought a second over this foolish errand she’d accepted. Life in the trenches of Bales, Everitt and Joyner at times resembled a Coliseum loaded with Christians and lions. Her few weeks off to collect her wits only meant that much more hustle when she returned. Still, Uncle Mitch had a knack for making her see things his way. “Anything for Uncle Mitch.”

“Mitch’s niece,” he mumbled under his breath. Again, he gave her the curious once over. “A stockbroker. High ticket lunches, cocktail parties and all that, huh?”

Odd correlation for a cowboy to make.
Rachel nodded. “I suppose you could say that.”

“So, we’re only playing cowgirl. Enjoying yourself at the rodeo?” he asked, his voice a deceptively soft compared to the hardened glint in his eye.

“I’m not playing anything.” Apprehension skittered down her spine at the sudden change of topic. Was the medication causing some unpredictable chemical reaction in his system? Immobile in his firm grip, her senses churned as she forced her palm still. “Sure, I love rodeos. They’re wonderful entertainment.”

“And cowboys?”

“Hazards of the profession.” The muscles in her hand bunched involuntarily as Nick squeezed her fingers.

“Lady.” A storm gathered between his brows more menacing than the clouds gathering around them. “You don’t know the first thing about hazards.”

She jerked her hand away from him and folded her arms across her belly. They were out in the middle of nowhere. If Nick Davidson snapped, no one would find her body for days. “I know enough to leave trouble alone.”

The distance she’d put between them gave Rachel room to breathe until Nick leaned closer, his one-eyed gaze reminding her of a wounded wolf cornering his prey. “Then listen to ol’ Trouble, here. Why don’t you just go back to the city, pen yourself up in a nice, safe office and leave the rough stock to those who know how to handle it.”

Ohhhh
. Rachel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from releasing her extensive rodeo vocabulary. Just because she didn’t chew tobacco, he considered her useless. Steady, steady…don’t say something you’ll have to apologize for. “How cowboy of you.”

“Anytime, ma’am,” he complimented without missing a beat. He sat back and gazed across the open prairie in front of them, apparently satisfied with his assessment of their situation.

Familiar tension pains constricted her back muscles without warning. She closed her eyes and summoned every word of encouragement she’d listened to over the past weeks. The mighty power of the ocean; the tide sweeping away the tension with each breaking wave. Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress; He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea be hushed.

With effort, her shoulders relaxed and her breathing became easier. Psalms supplied the stronghold of her study. She enjoyed the parables and the law, too, but nothing summed up life in a nutshell like the Psalms. Rachel tucked her chin into her collar and released her breath, repeating the verses on a whisper. She peeked over at Nick. He continued to stare straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw bunching in rhythm to her heartbeat. She exhaled the last of her tension into the endless expanse of prairie.

Dangers, toils, and snares, they’d always be with her. By now, she should have learned to recognize and deal with them. How could she go back and a reclaim the trust of her clients if an ornery cowboy got under her skin so easily? Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered her humble apology to the Lord. A gust of wind kissed her face.

Why couldn’t all cowboys be like Uncle Mitch? Easy going, funny, considerate. Not an overpowering bone in his body, yet when Mitch spoke, folks listened. Nick epitomized every other cowboy Rachel had ever known, exceeding the arrogance of most and earning a ranking close to the domineering ego of her father.

Her muscles strained once more. She arched her back to keep the pain at bay and laughed under her breath. She’d only known Nick Davidson a couple of hours and already he could tense her up as quickly as thoughts of her father.

A large palm cupped her shoulder and began to rub, the strong fingers digging through the denim and fleece. Her muscles relaxed as she leaned into the pressure. Her eyelids drooped in blissful relief as a soft moan escaped her lips. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to undo the trouble I just caused.” His low voice almost inaudible in the wind. “Don’t read anything into it.”

Her eyes popped open as Rachel realized how far she’d leaned into him. Springing up, she gathered the bottles and put them back into the cooler. “C’mon, the day’s getting short and we’ve got miles to eat.”

“What the —?”

The wind had tumbled a plastic bottle across the prairie dirt. She scrambled after it, clearing her head in the breeze. Attraction to a cowboy was the last thing she needed, no matter how handsome and vulnerable. Breath hissed through her teeth. Remember injured and insufferable - they all ended up in that condition from too many rides on too many bucking animals. Wiping her palms down her jeans, she regained perspective.

She needed to return to Denver, her condo, and her career. She needed to run the race the Lord had prepared for her, rather than becoming carrion on the road of some cowboy’s life. They needed to get on their way. Their separate ways.

She snapped the lid in place and stood. The wind whipped her hair across her face, a cold edge in the air tingling her cheeks. Weather reports predicted a storm blowing in from Canada. Though it wasn’t due for another couple of days, by the chill in the air, she would’ve said tomorrow. Well, she’d have Nick delivered to Uncle Mitch by then. God willing, the trials of traveling with Nick Davidson, National Finals Rodeo Contender, would end. She’d be able to concentrate on rebuilding her day-to-day life, as well as her spiritual life, rather than having each block she set up knocked over by undisciplined anger and temper. Sadly, the past few hours showed her how far she’d slipped from Christ’s love over the years and how difficult that trust was to rebuild.

Lord, forgive me for my weakness. Grant me strength and courage to overcome the obstacles in my path.

She turned toward Nick. He hadn’t moved. She angled in front of him to block his view. Gradually, his tan hat tipped back until his puffy gaze met hers. His eye, no, make that the whole side of his face, still looked horrible, and for an instant, Rachel wanted to cuddle him close and offer comfort for the pain he bore. His pain and her pain. No. She hardened her stare. He’d chosen to ride the bull, no one had forced him.

“We’ve got to go.” She gestured toward the truck with her elbow. “Night’ll be here before we know it.”

His mouth tightened into a grim line. “Why don’t you go back where you belong?”

Rachel sighed. If he wanted to bait her the rest of the way to Casper, so be it. She only prayed she had enough Psalms of serenity to get her there with her sanity.

“I’d love to get on home. Why don’t you help me?” Reluctantly, she held out her hand.

He ignored her gesture and with labored movements, stood up. She resisted the urge to drop the cooler and wrap her arms around him for support. Instead, she stepped forward and offered him her shoulder.

“Here, hold on until we get to the road.”

Slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, he leaned on her as they made their way along the pavement. She stopped their progress about twenty feet from the truck with the sudden memory of the hospital instructions. Rachel shrugged his arm from around her shoulder and pointed. “Go ahead and walk for me, cowboy.”

“What?”

“Walk to the truck for me,” she repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she shifted the weight of the cooler to her hip. “I need to see how well balanced you are.”

He lifted a brow in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

She laughed at the skeptic look. “Honest. Nurse’s orders.”

Nick mumbled under his breath as he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step.

“Uh-uh. Arms down at your sides. Balance, remember?”

His growl carried another comment or two. He jerked his arms to his sides and stomped a couple of paces before slowing his gait. Each step he took carried a swagger so masculine, she could’ve watched him walk all day. His long legs bowed slightly giving him the gait of a man who meant business. A man on a mission.

“Like what you see?” His soft query carried undeniable irritation.

“Yeah. Okay.” Rachel blinked as she fumbled for composure. Somewhere between his first and last step, he’d turned around and caught her staring. “Nice. . .Good walk. I’ll have to keep watching, you know. . . for signs.”

A corner of his mouth lifted and a faint crease formed beneath his beard stubbled cheek. “Signs? Right.”

* * *

Rachel crouched out of the wind at the back of the truck as she pulled out her cell phone. She didn’t know how much more she’d be able to take of Nick Davidson and his cowboy charisma. Having to watch him walk, really watch him walk, wasn’t helping either. She pressed in the number and held the receiver to her ear.

“Good afternoon, Bales, Everitt and Joyner, Rachel Hill’s office. May I help you?”