The Cowboy and the Lady. Marie Ferrarella
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and approach her car. Debi turned off the engine, carefully watching the approaching cowboy’s every move. He strolled toward them like a sleek panther, with an economy of steps.
Debi got out of the vehicle. Ryan remained where he was. She wasn’t about to leave him in the car, not even if she was only inches away and had the car keys in her hand. She knew her brother, knew that he could hot-wire anything with an engine and take off at a moment’s notice. She had no doubt that he probably thought that he could propel himself into the driver’s seat and just take off without a single backward glance.
Well, not today, she told herself. Bending down, she looked in through the open window on the driver’s side. “Get out of the car, Ryan.”
“No,” he informed her flatly.
At fifteen, Ryan was taller than she was and while scrawny-looking, he was still stronger. The only time she ever managed to get him to move was when she caught him off guard.
That wasn’t going to work here, she realized, looking down into his defiant face.
Jackson White Eagle chose that exact moment to enter into her life. “Trouble, ma’am?”
“‘Ma’am’?” Ryan echoed with a sneer. “Is this guy for real?” he jeered, turning toward his sister.
“Very real,” Jackson assured him in an even voice that was devoid of any emotion. “Why don’t you get out of the car like your sister requested?” he suggested in the same tone.
“Why don’t you mind your own freakin’ business?” Ryan retorted, sticking up his chin the way he did whenever he was spoiling for a fight.
“For the next month or two or three,” Jackson informed him slowly with emphasis, “you are my business, Ryan,” he concluded in the same low, evenly controlled voice with which he had greeted the teen’s sister.
Jackson opened the door on the passenger side, firmly took hold of Ryan’s arm and with one swift, economic movement, pulled his newest “ranch hand,” as he liked to call the teens who arrived on his doorstep, out of the car and to his feet.
“Ow!” Ryan cried angrily, grabbing his shoulder as if it had been wrenched out of its socket. “You going to let this jerk manhandle me like that?” he demanded angrily, directing the question at his sister.
Before Debi had a chance to respond, Jackson told her brother matter-of-factly, “That didn’t hurt, Ryan.”
“How do you know?” Ryan cried, still holding his shoulder as if he expected his arm to drop off.
“Because,” Jackson said in a calm, steely voice, “if I had wanted to hurt you, Ryan, trust me, you would have known it. To begin with, the pain would have thrown you off balance and you would have dropped like a stone to your knees.” He released his hold on Ryan’s arm, but his eyes still held Ryan prisoner. “Now then, why don’t you get your things out of the car and come with me? I’ll show you and your sister where you’ll be staying for the next few months.”
“Few months?” Ryan repeated indignantly. “The hell I will.”
Jackson suppressed a sigh. He turned from the woman who he was about to escort to the ranch house and looked back at the teen she had brought for him to essentially “fix.” This one, he had a feeling, was going to take a bit of concentrated effort.
“By the way,” he said to Ryan, “I let the first two occasions slide because you’re new here and this is your first day—”
“And my last,” Ryan interjected.
Debi had stood by, quiet, until she couldn’t endure it any longer. “Ryan!”
The smile Jackson offered to the woman who had brought the teen to him was an understanding one.
“That’s all right. Ryan will come around.” His eyes shifted to the teen. Under all that bravado was just a scared kid, he thought. A kid he intended to reach—but it wouldn’t be easy. “There’s a fine for every time you curse. You put a dollar into the swear jar.”
“Curse?” Ryan mocked. “You call that a curse?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes, I do. While you’re here you’re going to have to clean up your language as well as your act,” Jackson informed the teen.
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Pay him the damn fine so he’ll stop whining,” Ryan told his sister.
“That’s three now,” Jackson corrected quietly. “That one isn’t free. And you’re the one who needs to pay, not your sister. Time you learned to pull your own weight. Your sister can’t be expected to always be cleaning up your messes.”
“Yeah, well, a lot you know,” Ryan retorted, an underlying frustration in his voice. “My sister’s the one with all the money.”
“That’ll change,” Jackson informed him. “You’ll be earning your own money while you’re here. Everyone at The Healing Ranch earns his own money by doing the chores that are assigned to him. You’ll get yours after you settle in.”
“Wow,” Ryan marveled. “How lame can you get?”
Ryan shifted from foot to foot, eyeing his sister and obviously waiting for her to say something to back him up—or better yet, to spring him so he could stop playing this ridiculous game and go home.
Debi’s cheeks began to redden. “I’m sorry about this,” she apologized to Jackson.
Jackson waved away the apology. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve had a lot worse here.”
“Gee, thanks,” Ryan sneered. “You know I’m right here.”
“Wouldn’t forget it for a second,” Jackson assured him.
By then, Garrett had come over to join them. Behind him, the three teens who were in the corral had stopped working with their horses and were now watching the newest arrival at the ranch try to go up against Jackson. It played out like a minidrama.
Garrett flashed a wide, easy smile at both the newest addition to the crew on the ranch and the young woman who had brought him to them.
“This is my brother, Garrett.” Jackson made the introduction to Ryan’s worried-looking sister. “We run the ranch together,” he added rather needlessly, since the information was also on the website he’d had one of Miss Joan’s friends put together for him, Miss Joan being the woman who ran the town’s only diner and who was also the town’s unofficial matriarch.
Taking the attractive young woman’s hand in his, Garrett slipped his other hand over it and shook it. “Welcome to The Healing Ranch, ma’am,” he said in all sincerity.
“Who came up with that stupid name, anyway?” Ryan asked. “You?” The last part was directed toward Jackson. “’Cause it sounds like something you’d say,” the teen concluded condescendingly.
Garrett treated the question as if it was a legitimate one. He was attempting to defuse the situation. Once upon a time, Jackson had quite a temper, but he now prided himself on keeping that temper completely under wraps.
“Actually,” Garrett told Ryan, “it was our uncle. He came up with the name. This was his ranch first,” Garrett remembered fondly.
“Oh,” Ryan mumbled, looking away. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, lifting up bony shoulders. “Still a lame name,” he muttered not quite under his breath.
Jackson pretended not to hear. “The bunkhouse is right over there,” he pointed out.
“Yeah? So what? Why would I want to know where the stupid bunkhouse is?” Ryan asked, the same uncooperative attitude radiating from every word.
“Because that’s where