Dylan's Last Dare. Patricia Thayer
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dropped the blanket on him. “I’ll call you whatever you like as long as you get up and attempt to cooperate.”
He looked thoughtful. “All right, I’ll get up, but only if I can use crutches.”
“But your balance…”
Another grin. “Lady, like you said, my livelihood was dependent on my balance. Besides, I’ve used crutches a few times over the years with other minor injuries. So if you want me up, just bring me the damn things.”
She left the room and by the time she returned with lightweight crutches, he’d managed to put on a pair of sweatpants. “This is against my better judgment,” she told him. “You could fall.”
“Darlin’, I’ve been falling all my life,” he said as he scooted to the edge of the bed.
“Not on my watch,” she argued, then braced herself in front of him, planted her legs and helped pull him onto his good leg. Surprisingly, he did the task easier than she had expected. She helped him with the placement of the crutches, and walked along with him to the bathroom. She started to go in with him, but he stopped her.
“Whoa, this is where I draw the line. Sometimes a man has to go it alone. This is one of those times.”
“What if you fall?”
“Then I pick myself up.” He took another step inside and closed the door in her face.
“Just call out when you’re finished, I’ll come get you,” she said through the door.
“I’m sure I can figure it out,” she heard him say.
“You just think you can, Mr. Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry.” She pivoted and marched to the kitchen, praying that she could survive this next month…and this man.
Dylan cursed as he stumbled coming out of the bathroom. Although he wasn’t very good at it, he liked to be up, at least on his one good leg, but he wasn’t going to let Ms. Farren know that.
With the crutches securely in place under his arms, he slowly made his way to the kitchen, still peeved he hadn’t scared her off with his seduction routine. He found her at the stove, humming a song. Well, she wouldn’t be singing for long, not after he tossed her out.
“As soon as you finish here, you better go pack your bags because you’re not staying.”
She turned and came to his aid. “Let’s get you to the table, Dylan. The soup is nearly ready.”
It did smell good, and he discovered he was hungry. He thought about telling her he didn’t need any help, then her hands were on him. Although her gesture was clinical, he liked her gentle and warm touch. He also liked her nice scent, fresh…feminine. At the table, she was careful of his injured leg, and helped him into the chair. Then she came back with two bowls and placed one in front of him and took the seat across from him.
Brenna placed a napkin on her lap and looked up. Dylan couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. Not in a traditional beauty-queen fashion, but with startling warm, honey-brown eyes that seemed to hold such wonder and innocence, and her mouth had him wondering how it would taste. Her skin was flawless, despite a soft sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose.
No, he couldn’t have her around. He didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially a woman. “Look…you’ve got to face it, this isn’t going to work. I don’t want you here. So why don’t you just leave?”
“I can’t.” She placed her spoon on the table. “To be honest, I need this job. But more important, Dylan, you need me. If you ever want to walk again, you need my determination, my drive to push you hard. You need someone who won’t let you bully them. Who won’t let you slack off. Oh, you need me all right—that is, if you ever want to regain the use of your leg.”
Her optimism was contagious, but he couldn’t let himself hope. “But I’ll never climb back on a bull again.”
She huffed out a breath. “Aren’t two national championships enough? Besides, aren’t you a little over the hill for a bull rider?”
Even though her comment was true, it still stung. Over thirty, everyone knew a rodeo rider was pretty much used up. He’d planned that this would be his last year. Of course, if he’d won the championship again, he probably would have gone another year on the circuit. “I was on top this year. I was headed to the national finals in Las Vegas.” He paused, realizing his frustration. “How would you feel if you couldn’t do your job?”
“It would be rough. But I’m trying to build my career, you’ve had years of success. Isn’t being on top a good time to get out? Look at Michael Jordan, he retired.”
“Then he returned to basketball.”
She thought again. “How about football players John Elway and Troy Aikman? They retired because of injuries that threatened their lives,” she added. “They found other things that were important to them. Surely you’ve made enough money to start over with something else. Besides, Dylan, you can’t even walk right now. How can you think about going back?”
“That’s what I mean,” he stressed. “So, what’s the use of me killing myself if it’s all for nothing?”
Brenna’s eyes flashed as she got up from the table. “The use is that you have other things to walk for. Your family. Your brother, his wife and their children.”
Dylan was never one to do much with family. Wyatt had been the only relative he had had, until last year when they’d learned their father’s true identity. A bronc rider named Jack Randell. After the discovery, Wyatt immediately had to come to San Angelo, Texas, even bought the old Randell family ranch, the Rocking R. Dylan had wanted no part of the Randells, but Wyatt had gotten close to his half brothers, Chance, Cade and Travis, and their other illegitimate half brother, Jared Trager.
And since the accident, Dylan had been stuck here. “That’s Wyatt’s family, not mine.”
“It’s yours, too,” she insisted. “Family can be important to your rehabilitation.”
He didn’t want to hear any more. “What is it going to cost me to get rid of you?”
Brenna crossed her arms over her breasts. Just the simple movement was erotic. Oh, God. He couldn’t have her living here.
“Why don’t I make a deal with you,” she began. “How about you cooperate with me for two weeks?” She raised her hand to stop him. “Just hear me out.”
He hesitated, then gave a nod.
“If there isn’t any progress by that time, I’ll leave.” She lowered her hand. “Now, I have terms. I want you to get out of bed every morning by seven o’clock, you’ll need to spend the allotted time on the parallel bars and work twice a day with weights. And I will work you hard, Dylan. Harder than you’ve probably had to work in your life, but I also believe that together we can get results.” She looked him in the eye. “You can walk, Dylan. I believe it. So, how much are you willing to do for that? How much are you willing to do so you can get out of the wheelchair, to walk on your own?”
Dylan didn’t want to just walk, he wanted to go back to what he had loved to do: bull riding. He wasn’t afraid of work. Hell, he grew up with hard manual labor, handling rough stock for rodeos. But this was all he’d ever wanted. And even if he was retiring, he wanted to go out on top. He was Dylan “The Devil” Gentry.
“I want to get back to rodeoing. Can you help me do that?”
He watched her hesitate and his heart sank into his gut. Then her eyes darkened with determination. “It’s going to cost you extra, but I feel if the desire is there, you can do anything.”
“I know I have the desire, but do you, Brenna? Can you put up with my nasty attitude and bad days, and make me the man I used to be?”
“I hope by the time I’m finished you’ll learn that