The Cowboy and the Lady

“No need to take up anyone’s time,” she told Jackson. “I can get to the town on my own. But after we get all this paperwork squared away, I would like to see the bunkhouse, please.”

“So you can see for yourself that it’s not some primitive dungeon?” Jackson guessed, deliberately exaggerating what she probably assumed about the conditions in the bunkhouse.

Debi opened her mouth, then decided there was no point in trying to deny what he seemed to have already figured out. “Yes.”

Her admission surprised him a little. But it also pleased him. She was brave enough not to try to divert or dress up the truth.

“Sounds to me like Ryan has a good role model to look up to once we get him straightened out and back to tapping into his full potential,” Jackson observed.

“I don’t know about that,” she said as she continued filling in the forms. “If I’m such a good role model, why did he get to the point that I had to bring him somewhere like this or risk losing him altogether?”

Jackson had been doing this for a while now and it never ceased to amaze him how many different reasons there were for teens to act out. “It’s not always clear to us,” he told her. “Sometimes it takes a while to understand.”

“So,” Debi observed wryly, “you’re a philosopher as well as a cowboy.”

“A man wears a lot of hats in his lifetime,” was Jackson’s only reply.

Working as quickly as she was able, Debi filled out all the forms and signed her name on the bottom of the last one. After she was finished, she gathered all the pages together, placing them in a small, neat pile. She felt exhausted and was running pretty close to empty, but the espresso coffee she had saved for last on her trip here was giving her a final shot in the arm.

Pushing the pile of forms to one side, Debi took out her checkbook. Funds were growing dangerously low, thanks to John and the divorce he seemed to have processed at lightning speed. Bringing Ryan here was probably going to eat up every spare dime she had. That was one of the reasons she’d driven here instead of flying.

“I assume you prefer being paid up front.” Turning to the next blank check, Debi asked, “What should I make it out for?”

If the woman was taking a leave of absence to be near her brother while he was here and if she was looking for employment, that meant she was probably living close to hand to mouth.

Jackson placed his hand over her checkbook, stopping her from beginning to date the check. “Why don’t you hold off on that until he’s been here a week?”

“Why? Because you might decide he’s incorrigible and you’ll hand him back to me? Won’t you still want to get paid for ‘time served’ if that’s the case?”

“Actually, I was thinking about you,” Jackson said simply. “I figured that you might decide you’re not happy with the program we have here and want to take your brother home.”

She flushed, embarrassed for the conclusion she’d leaped to. Lately, she’d been too edgy, too quick to take offense where none was intended.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t used to be this way,” she apologized. “The last six months have taken a toll on...on all of us,” she said, changing direction at the last minute. She’d meant to say that the past six months had taken a toll on her, but that sounded terribly selfish and self-centered to her own ear—even though arguing with John over Ryan had completely worn her down to a nub.

“All?” Jackson questioned, his tone coaxing more information out of her.

Debi obliged without even realizing it at first. “On Ryan, and me—and John.” She saw the unspoken question in Jackson’s eyes. “John is my ex.”

“Oh.” The single word seemed to speak volumes—and yet, how could it? she thought. Maybe she was just getting punchy.

She avoided Jackson’s eyes and got back to her initial apology. “I apologize if I sound abrupt.”

“No apologies necessary,” Jackson told her, carelessly waving her words away like so much swirling dust. “I’ve heard and seen a lot worse than anything you might think you’re guilty of.”

Every time he dealt with the parents or guardians of one of the teens brought or sent to his ranch, it reminded him just what he had to have put his stepmother through. The woman had been nothing but fair and good to him when she didn’t have to be, taking him in after his father had taken off. Heaven knew his own father never felt anything for him, neither affection nor a sense of responsibility.

Yet somehow Sylvia had, and in return he had treated her shamefully, putting her through hell before he finally was forced to get his act together, which he did, thanks to Sam.

She was gone now, but remembering her made him more considerate of the people who brought their troubled teens to him to be, in effect, “fixed.”

“Okay, everything looks in order,” he told Ryan’s sister, glancing through the forms quickly. “Let me take you on that tour of the bunkhouse to set your mind at ease,” he offered.

“I’d like that,” she told him. She wanted to see the bunkhouse and felt that since he was the one in charge of the ranch and its program, he would be the best one to conduct the tour.

And if something turned out to be wrong in her eyes, he was the one to be held accountable.

Debi got up and immediately paled. She’d risen a little too quickly from her seat. As a result, she immediately felt a little light-headed and dizzy. Trying to anchor herself down, she swayed ever so slightly. Panicked, she made a grab for the first thing her hand came in contact with to steady herself.

It turned out to be the cowboy standing next to her.

Jackson seemed to react automatically. His free arm went around her, holding her in place. Thanks to capricious logistics, that place turned out to be against his chest.

The light-headedness left as quickly as it had appeared.

The air in her lungs went along with it as it whooshed out the second she found herself all but flush against the cowboy’s chest and torso.

Their eyes met and held for an eternal second—and then Jackson loosened his hold on her as he asked, “Are you all right?”

Yes!

No!

I don’t know.

All three responses took a turn flashing through her brain as the rest of her tried to figure out just what had happened here.

Bit by bit, what transpired—and why—came back to her in tiny flashes. “Sorry, I got a little dizzy,” she apologized. Dropping her line of vision back to the floor, she murmured, “I think I got up too fast.” Looking at the arm she had grabbed, she realized that she must have dug her nails into his forearm. There were four deep crescents in his skin. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She didn’t need confirmation that she had done that. She knew.

“No harm done,” he told her good-naturedly. Jackson took a step back from her slowly, watching her for any signs that she was going to faint. “We can stay here a little longer if you like.”

“No, that’s all right. I’d like to see the bunkhouse before your...ranch hands come back to use it.”

The bunkhouse, for the most part, was used for sleeping and winding down in the evening after a particularly long, hard day filled with chores.

“The day’s still young,” he replied. “We have plenty of time.” As he spoke, he studied her more closely. She looked exhausted, as well as a little disconnected. “Did you drive here?” he asked.

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