Expecting The Rancher's Baby?. KRISTI GOLD
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raised her hand like she was taking an oath. “I swear I have never been involved with a cowboy. I have been a silent observer during my tenure as an athletic trainer and I’ve seen it all. Broken hearts. Heated arguments. I’ve even treated the casualties resulting from cat fights.”
He chuckled. “Gotta love those cowgirls.”
“Let me add that I’ve also examined more than a few jaws resulting from cowboy fights, even if that’s not in my job description.”
“But not with me.”
She grinned again. “No, not you. You’re more inclined to fall on your head when you fall off a bull and then argue with me when you don’t want to hear my advice.”
He studied her a moment and had a surprising revelation. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Jill. When I first met you, I didn’t like you much.”
She laid a hand above her breasts. “I’m stunned.”
“That’s sarcasm, right?”
“Yes. You didn’t like it when I ran you through concussion protocol.”
“True. And I didn’t particularly like that you seemed to treat other cowboys nicer.” Now he sounded like some jealous jerk.
“You don’t like anyone telling you what to do,” she began, “and most of my patients tend to be much more cooperative.”
Damn if she wasn’t right about that. “Fair enough. But you tend to make a big deal over a bump on the head, at least when it comes to me.”
She unbuckled her seat belt and scooted forward, her hands clasped together in her lap. “Look, Houston, I’m only tough because I care.”
“You do? Well, ma’am, I’m mighty honored to know that.”
“I care about every athlete I treat,” she added quickly.
“Even the annoying ones?”
Her smile traveled all the way to those great green eyes. “Yes, even the annoying ones.”
When Jill yawned, Houston realized he was being selfish by keeping her from sleeping. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to bed?”
“We don’t know each other that well.”
Finally, another glimpse of her sense of humor, although he didn’t find the stirring below his belt funny at all. His “bed” question might’ve been totally innocent, but the images hanging out in his head were pretty damn wicked. “You know what I mean. You’re about to fall asleep where you sit, which you can. Just press the button on the right side and the chair leans all the way back.”
She blinked twice. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.” He stood, stepped to one side of her seat and depressed the control, reclining the back of the chair and raising the foot rest at the same time since she refused to do it herself. “There you go.”
He expected her to protest, but instead she muttered, “Thank you.”
For some reason, Houston’s feet remained glued to the floor as he continued to hover above Jill, leaving them in close proximity. She wet her lips and looked like she might want to say something, or do something, but she just sat very still, her gaze locked on his. He seriously wanted to kiss her, long and hard, but his mom’s words about honor kept him from acting on impulse. Jill had been right. They didn’t know each other that well, but if he had his way, that would change, if only to find out if his attraction to her was legitimate. He probably wouldn’t get his way, so he should just stop thinking about that now.
“Have a nice nap,” he said as he moved back to his seat.
“I will,” she answered before closing her eyes completely.
Houston downed the rest of his now-warm beer and continued to watch Jill. He knew by the rise and fall of her chest, her slack features, she was out. She was also a pretty sleeper. Angelic. Sexy. So much for not thinking of her in that way.
He rested his head back against the seat and allowed his imagination free rein, at his own detriment. Every detailed fantasy made him more uncomfortable. Every questionable thought about what he wanted to do with her made him shift on the seat. And every time he tried to stop thinking about it, he met mental resistance head-on.
If he didn’t get hold of his control, by the time they made it to the ranch, he’d have to ride in the pickup bed.
Bed.
Damn. Asking Jill Amherst on this trip was definitely asking for trouble.
“Buckle up, folks. We’re about to land.”
At the sound of the booming voice, Jill came awake with a start. She looked around to try to regain her bearings, and came in visual contact with a pair of golden-brown eyes. Now she remembered. Private jet. Persistent cowboy. Possible new employment.
She stretched her arms above her head and made sure her seat belt was secure as they started to descend. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Less than an hour,” Houston said. “It’s a fairly short flight.”
As she braced for landing, Jill glanced out the window to see the roofs of several houses with pools and huge barns, and on the horizon, a huge multistory building surrounded by a massive amount of acreage. “Where are we landing?”
“The ranch. We have our own airstrip.”
Of course. “It looks like suburbia in the middle of nowhere.”
“We’ve all built our own houses, so I guess it would look that way. People in these parts like to refer to the D Bar C as the Cowboy Commune.”
She brought her attention back to Houston. “Clever. I look forward to seeing the commune up close and personal.”
The tires bumped and the plane screeched to a halt, followed by a resounding “Yee haw” coming from the vicinity of the cockpit.
“Who in the world was that?” she asked.
“That’s Frank, the wannabe cowboy pilot,” Houston said. “I forgot to warn you about him.”
She wondered what other surprises awaited her. “I appreciate his enthusiasm.” And she was happy that she hadn’t been bucked out of the airplane.
After releasing her seat belt, Jill grabbed her bag and stood. Houston followed suit, but before she could take a step toward the exit, he said, “Just so you know, my family’s kind of unconventional.”
She would save that conversation for later. “Not a problem. You should meet mine.”
Without waiting for a response, Jill headed out the now open door and sprinted down the stairs into the very warm Texas evening, Houston following behind her. She spotted a huge, black double-cab truck parked across the airstrip, a red Texas Extreme logo emblazoned across the side. And leaning against that truck, a guy with ham-hock biceps and sun-streaked hair. He wore a lemon yellow T and jeans and aside from the worn cowboy boots, he looked a bit out of place against the rustic backdrop.
The minute they made eye contact, he looked somewhat surprised to see her. Not as surprised as she was to see the likes of him on a ranch—a surfer dude. Definitely not the typical rodeo guy, which led her to believe he must be either a friend or employee of the Calloway boys.
“Hey, brother,” the stranger said as he pushed off the truck.
Brother? Seriously? A brother with a serious air of confidence, Jill decided when he strode toward them, all the while keeping his gaze trained on her.
“Hey,” Houston replied as he took the bags from the rowdy