Her Hill Country Cowboy. Myra Johnson
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was in a bad car wreck a couple of years ago. She suffered severe head trauma, among other things. Her disability is post-traumatic stress disorder, along with the lingering effects of the brain injury. Gracie helps keep her on an even keel.”
Swiveling toward the window, Seth silently berated himself for being so insensitive. Omi was right—he’d been too quick to judge. “I’m sorry for what she’s been through,” he said through tight lips. “But she still has to respect my need to protect my kids.”
“She does. More than you know.”
Seth swung around to face his grandmother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She merely shook her head as she rose and moved behind the desk. “Tomorrow will be here before we know it. Best get back to work.”
When it was clear his grandmother would say nothing more, Seth stood and marched out of the office. He had plenty to do—tack to clean, a pasture gate to repair, a low spot to fill where the horseback-riding trail cut across a creek. Maybe a few hours of hard labor would take the edge off the bitterness that followed him around like his own personal dark cloud.
Later, returning from spreading a load of gravel at the creek crossing, he glimpsed Christina’s little blue car turning down the lane to her cabin. His next stop was the broken pasture gate, which meant he’d be working only a scant distance from Christina’s door. After parking by the gate, he grabbed his toolbox from the pickup bed and hoped the housekeeper wouldn’t decide to walk her dog anytime soon.
While he searched for a replacement bolt for the gate hinge, the cabin door opened. One hand pressed hard against her left hip, Christina trudged to her car. She popped the trunk and leaned inside, then straightened with plastic grocery bags in each hand. With a grimace and a hitch in her step, she started for the cabin.
Go help her, you idiot. The voice inside Seth’s head shouted with the volume of a megaphone.
Muttering a few choice words, he slammed down the toolbox lid and strode up the lane. Wedging a neighborly smile into his tone, he called, “Looks like you could use a hand.”
Christina halted on the porch steps, her head snapping around in surprise. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
The dog stepped between Christina and Seth, not menacingly but clearly sending a message: Don’t mess with my mistress.
Keeping a respectful distance, Seth firmed his jaw. “You look like you’re hurting. Sure you’re okay?”
“Fine. Just a little sore.” Christina nodded toward the open cabin door. “Excuse me, but these bags are getting heavy, and I’ve got groceries to put away.” When she lifted her left foot, pain slashed across her face. One of the grocery sacks slipped from her grasp.
Seth charged up the steps. With one arm bracing her around the waist, he relieved her of the other bag. “Let’s get you inside. You need to sit down.”
“I told you, I’m fine.” She made a feeble attempt to pull away. “It’s just a muscle spasm. I get them from time to time when I overdo.”
“Like biting off more than you can chew with a heavy-duty housekeeping job?” Shooting a glance skyward, Seth ushered her inside. He needed to let go of her quickly, because he hadn’t held a woman this close since Georgia, and look where that had gotten him. Gently, he eased her into one of the padded side chairs in the sitting area.
She sank down with a groan. “I need time to adjust, that’s all. I haven’t done anything quite so...” She clamped her mouth shut and reached out for the dog, now poised beside her chair.
After gathering up the grocery bags and depositing them on the kitchen table, Seth planted himself in front of Christina and crossed his arms. “My grandmother explained about your accident. And why you need your service dog.”
Christina cast him an uneasy glance. “What exactly did she tell you?”
“Just that you were hurt pretty bad and now you have PTSD.” Exhaling sharply, Seth propped a hip on the arm of the chair across from her. “Look, I know we got off to a rough start, and I should probably apologize.”
“Probably?” Christina released a shaky laugh.
“Okay, I definitely owe you an apology.” He brushed a hand across his nape while deciding how much of his own past to open up about. As little as possible, he reasoned. Doubtful she’d stick around long enough for it to matter. “My grandmother has accused me more than once of being overprotective of my kids.”
Was that a smirk on her face? No, more like a smile of acknowledgment. “Yes, I recognized the signs.”
“Maybe I am,” he said defensively, “but I’ve got my reasons.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out your little girl is deathly afraid of dogs.” Christina’s gaze held his, her tone softening. “May I ask what happened?”
This much he could reveal without too great a risk of deepening the gash in his heart. “My brother-in-law has two Rottweilers. My...wife—” Okay, this was hurting a little more than he’d planned on. He took a stuttering breath. “She, uh, took the kids to visit her brother, and the dogs got a little rough with Eva. She wasn’t even three years old then. The dogs each outweighed her by a hundred pounds.”
“Oh, no. Was she hurt?”
“A few bruises, and a split lip from being knocked down. It wasn’t like they attacked her. They were just being playful and didn’t know their own strength.”
“Still, she must have been terrified.” One hand caressing her dog’s head, Christina sat forward. “I promise you, nothing like that will ever happen with Gracie. There isn’t a gentler animal alive.”
Seth stood. “Just keep her away from my kids.”
With last-minute preparations for the reunion guests, Christina had little time to dwell on Seth Austin’s mercurial moods. Seemed he could go from caring and considerate to simmering animosity at the drop of a dusty Stetson.
Also, if she read the situation correctly, he still had unresolved feelings for his late wife. Or ex-wife. Or late ex-wife. Christina still wasn’t totally clear on which label applied. And she definitely wasn’t clear on why it should matter to her, because the last thing she needed in her life was a tall, good-looking cowboy with issues of his own.
Even if his two kids were adorably precious.
When the first of the weekend guests rolled in on Thursday afternoon, Christina thought it wise to get out of the way for a while. She snapped on Gracie’s car harness and buckled her into the passenger seat, then headed for town.
Passing the spot where she’d first encountered Seth brought a quiver to her stomach, so she kept her eyes forward until she turned onto Main Street. Downtown Juniper Bluff appeared no busier now than it had been two days ago when she’d first driven through, which was a good thing because since the accident, Christina didn’t easily abide noise and confusion—another reason she hoped moving to a small town would help her ease back into normal life.
The sun-dappled town square looked peacefully inviting. Christina parked on a side street and walked over with Gracie, and they followed the path to the foot of the horse-and-rider statue. Christina read the inscription on the plaque beneath.
Jake Austin.
Juniper Bluff’s Hometown Hero.
According to the plaque, Austin was a search-and-rescue volunteer who met his death twenty-two years ago while freeing a family trapped in their overturned car.
A tremor raced through Christina as images from her own accident surfaced. Determinedly shaking them off, she focused on the man’s features forever preserved in bronze. The resemblance to