Dylan's Last Dare

Her easy laughter filled the room. “I don’t think you’ve been trying to charm me, only drive me away. Besides, I’m not a lady. I’m your physical therapist.”

Ooh, she was definitely a lady. “Just out of curiosity, what would it take to get your…attention?” Dylan asked with a grin.

“More than sweet words…or a cocky smile. I have three brothers, and they’ve inherited a bit of the blarney along with their Irish genes.” She sobered. “Besides, I learned a long time ago to believe only half of what men say.”

“Who did you wrong? Want me to go beat him up?”

Sadness transformed her face. “You can’t beat him up…he’s dead.”

Dear Reader,

Baby birds are chirping, bees are buzzing and the tulips are beginning to bud. Spring is here, so why not revive the winter-weary romantic in you by reading four brand-new love stories from Silhouette Romance this month.

What’s an old soldier to do when a bunch of needy rug rats and a hapless beauty crash his retreat? Fall in love, of course! Follow the antics of this funny little troop in Major Daddy (#1710) by Cara Colter.

In Dylan’s Last Dare (#1711), the latest title in Patricia Thayer’s dynamite THE TEXAS BROTHERHOOD miniseries, a cranky cowboy locks horns with his feisty physical therapist and then learns she has a little secret she soon won’t be able to hide!

Jordan Bishop wants to dwell in a castle and live happily ever after, but somehow things aren’t going as she’s planned, in An Heiress on His Doorstep (#1712) by Teresa Southwick. This is the final title in Southwick’s delightful IF WISHES WERE…miniseries in which three friends have their dreams come true in unexpected ways.

When a bookworm meets her prince and discovers she’s a real-life princess, will she be able to make her own happy ending? Find out in The Secret Princess (#1713) by Elizabeth Harbison.

Celebrate the new season, feel the love and join in the fun by experiencing each of these lively new love stories from Silhouette Romance!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor

Dylan’s Last Dare

Patricia Thayer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Nora.

Thank you, niece, for your expertise in getting my hero back on his feet. And to my model, Daniel. I couldn’t have done it without you both.

Thanks to Colin Anderson for sharing your bull-riding experiences. I know your wife and mom are happy you are retired.

And always to Hence, my friend and true Texas cowboy.

PATRICIA THAYER

has been writing for sixteen years and has published nineteen books with Silhouette. Her books have been nominated for the National Readers’ Choice Award, Virginia Romance Writers of America’s Holt Medallion, Orange Rose Contest and a prestigious RITA® Award. In 1997, Nothing Short of a Miracle won the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Special Edition.

Thanks to the understanding men in her life—her husband of thirty-two years, Steve, and her three grown sons and two grandsons—Pat has been able to fulfill her dream of writing romance. Another dream is to own a cabin in Colorado, where she can spend her days writing and her evenings with her favorite hero, Steve. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 6251, Anaheim, CA 92816-0251, or check her Web site at www.patriciathayer.com for upcoming books.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

Dylan Gentry’s life would never be the same again.

He gripped the arms of his wheelchair, trying to fight off the panic that threatened to take over his already battered body.

It was all gone.

He’d never again be able to do what he loved. He’d never be able to feel the rush from a wild ride, the thrill from the cheer of the crowd as he broke out of the chute. He’d ended up a cripple for life, all because of one mean son-of-a-gun bull, Red Rock.

Dylan’s hands fisted. He hated himself more for the self-pity. But dammit, hadn’t he earned the right? He’d spent the last two months in the hospital. He’d had three surgeries, one to close up the wound in his gut from being hooked by the bull, and two more on his crushed leg.

Hell, it was January. He’d spent the entire month of December in the hospital. A month that he’d planned to spend at the national finals in Las Vegas. Now he was stuck in a two-bedroom cottage at his brother Wyatt’s ranch in San Angelo, Texas, waiting for the next physical therapist to show his face.

In the past two weeks, he’d already sent six packing within hours after their arrival. Today, he was going for number seven. At least it gave him something to look forward to. He glanced around his new home. There was a state-of-the-art television and sound system, a bookcase filled with every top-selling novel.

There sure as hell wasn’t much else for him to do.

He picked a book off the coffee table and threw it at the door, hating what he’d become and feeling sorry for the next person who walked in the door to face his wrath.

Brenna Farren stepped onto the small porch and raised her hand to knock on the door, when she heard something hit the other side. Startled, she paused, recalling what Wyatt Gentry had told her about his injured brother. No doubt the past months had been difficult for national-champion bull rider Dylan Gentry. As a physical therapist, Brenna knew she wasn’t her patients’ most popular person. She had known this was going to be a difficult job when she applied for the position, but she wasn’t about to turn down the excellent pay and the bonus, which was she could live right here in the cottage.

Another object hit the door with a thud. Sounded as if her new patient was having a bad day. Even with her limited experience she knew that was to be expected.

Brenna gripped the knob. “Let’s see if we can change that, Mr. Gentry,” she said, then released a breath as she swung open the door. She walked inside and caught a surprised look from the good-looking man sitting in the wheelchair.

Midnight-black hair hung over his ears and forehead. His square jaw showed more than a few days of scraggly beard, but that didn’t take anything away from his handsome face. Yet it was his eyes that caused her to pause. They were a pale blue, mixed with silver. His gaze was cold as stone, yet triggered a sudden warmth within her.

She jerked away from his hold and smiled brightly at his irritated look. “Good morning, Mr. Gentry.”

“Who the hell are you?” he growled.

“Brenna Farren.”

“Well, if you’re here to clean I don’t need the sheets changed or any fresh towels.”

She figured the towels didn’t need to be changed, because he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in days. She glanced around the mess in the cozy room. “The place could stand to be tidied up, but not right now. I’m here to help you get back on your feet. I’m your physical therapist.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise. “The hell you are.”

“That’s correct, I’ve been recommended by Dr. Morris, the orthopedic surgeon who took over your case when you moved here. Your brother hired me.”

“Well, you can just tell Wyatt to unhire you because I don’t need you.”

“You need me more than you think, Mr. Gentry.” Her gaze moved over him. Dressed as he was in a T-shirt, she could see his upper-body muscle tone was incredible. Her attention went to his cutoff sweatpants that allowed her to see the long scar running down his left calf. She tried to remain expressionless, but she knew that this man had had his share of pain, since his cast had been removed only three weeks ago. She also noticed that his inactivity from being in a wheelchair showed in his flaccid lower limbs.

“Not a pretty sight, is it?” he hissed.

He was a beautiful sight, just his leg was scarred. “I’ve seen worse,” she admitted. “Besides, the scars will fade more as time passes.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“Well, I’m here to help change your mind about that.”

“I don’t need anyone,” he snapped at her. “I’m doing just fine.” He tried to move away, but the wheel caught on the end of the coffee table. Brenna watched as a frustrated Dylan fought to turn. Finally he broke free and rolled his chair across the room.

“First thing tomorrow I’ll have some of this furniture removed to make it easier for you to move around,” she called to him.

Dylan Gentry stopped at the wide bedroom door. “Don’t waste your time, Ms. Farren. You won’t be here tomorrow.” His large hands worked with the wheels and he rolled himself inside the room and slammed the door.

Brenna released a long breath. “That went well.”

She walked though the living area. There was another door that led to the second bedroom. That was to be hers. She peeked inside. Although small, there was plenty of room for the double bed with a multicolored quilt and a tall pine dresser. The bathroom was roomy, and the doorway had been widened to accommodate a wheelchair. On the side of the tub was an attached whirlpool. Great.

She returned to the living room, then to the small dining area. At the table there was an empty spot for a wheelchair. Everything had been newly renovated to accommodate a handicapped person. Past the breakfast bar, she went to the refrigerator and opened the door, finding it fully stocked with food. More than likely Maura Gentry had brought meals in for her brother-in-law, but by the looks of it, he hadn’t been eating much. She would have to change that since Dylan couldn’t keep up any kind of strenuous exercise without some nutrition.

If he would cooperate with her. That meant somehow she had to get him to agree to do therapy. Her job depended on it. Even though her family was close by, she needed this job…and a place to live. As a recent graduate and with her present…circumstances, she didn’t have the time to wait around for other offers.

Her mentor, Dr. Morris, had sent her to the Rocking R Ranch to talk with Wyatt Gentry about his twin brother who’d been seriously hurt during a bull-riding accident. Even after hearing that Dylan Gentry had driven off a half-dozen therapists in the past weeks, she hadn’t been scared off. She couldn’t afford to be.

Still, she knew this had to be rough on the two-time world-champion bull rider. She should add the best-looking man she’d ever seen. Those grainy black-and-white pictures in the paper hadn’t done him justice. No doubt his reputation with the ladies wasn’t an exaggeration. Now he was confined to a wheelchair.

It was Brenna’s job to help change that.

Even when Wyatt had been reluctant to hire a woman, she had convinced him that she could handle the man and his therapy, promising she could get his brother back on his feet.

And Wyatt was giving her two weeks to get Dylan started on his exercise program.

Brenna was a West Texas native, had grown up on a ranch with brothers who’d ridden in a few rodeos. She could never figure out what drove some men to danger. The thrill of an eight-second ride, a ride that could be the last. Memories of Jason came rushing back as she recalled his fatal hang-gliding accident, and their argument that had been the last words spoken between them. Tears flooded her eyes, knowing he’d chosen the thrill of danger over her…and their unborn child. Now she was alone, pregnant and trying to survive the best she could.

Several loud thuds from somewhere in the cottage had Dylan burying his head under the pillow. He hadn’t slept much last night, not when a picture of Brenna Farren appeared every time he closed his eyes. Hell, what did he expect? He hadn’t been with a woman in months. So the first good-looking one to come along was bound to arouse him. The noise grew louder. He raised his head and glanced at the clock: 7:00 a.m. What was going on?

He grabbed a pair of sweats off the floor and dragged them on. Scooting to the edge of the bed, and with one arm on his wheelchair and bracing his weight on his good leg, he made it into the seat. He lifted his damaged leg onto the footrest, released the chair’s brake, then headed to find the ruckus. He opened the door to discover that the red-haired vixen had returned.

Kneeling in the corner, Brenna Farren was attempting to pull out some shelves. The business suit she had on yesterday had been replaced with a pair of faded jeans that hugged her shapely bottom and two long…lovely legs. A pale pink blouse didn’t hide her other generous curves, either. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, showing off a slender neck and creamy skin. He shook off a sharp tingling that suddenly added a different kind of pain to his lower body. Dammit, she wasn’t supposed to be back.

“I told you yesterday I didn’t need your services, Ms. Farren.”

She swung around, the look of surprise widening her huge whiskey-brown eyes. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Gentry.”

“There’s nothing good at this hour.”

“Oh, really.” She sat down on the floor. “I love the early morning. It’s so quiet…peaceful.” Her voice was soft and throaty, reminding him of dim morning light and whispered demands of lovers… He shook off the thought.

“That’s because everyone is asleep,” he argued. “That’s what I want to be.”

“You can sleep in later after we get you on a routine.”

“When hell freezes over,” he said and nodded toward the door. “Now, would you mind leaving?”

She stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “As a matter of fact, I would mind. I promised your brother that I’d give this job a chance—that I wouldn’t let your rude attitude run me off. So you’ll have to do better than shout at me. I grew up with three brothers. I’ve been yelled at by the best.”

Dylan’s fists clenched. He loved Wyatt but he was getting pretty tired of his interference. “Then I’ll pay you for the month and fire you.”

She shook her head. “You can’t do that. I took this job and I made a promise. Now, you’ve already spent too much time in that chair without working your muscles. It’s going to be even harder to get you up and walking—but not impossible.”

“You don’t seem to understand, Ms. Farren.”

“Brenna,” she corrected.

He sighed. “Brenna. I can’t get back on my feet. I’m going to be in this chair for the rest of my life.”

Brenna could see the fear in his eyes and heard it in his voice. She had a strange impulse to reach out and touch him, to give him comfort. She pulled back. “How do you know that, Dylan? I’ve conferred with your physician, and he said you haven’t given therapy enough of a chance.”

“You discussed my case?”

“With Dr. Morris,” she said bravely. “We’ve gone over your X rays and I talked with Dr. Ratner, the surgeon in California who did the reconstruction. He did a remarkable job.”

“Then why the hell aren’t I walking?”

“Because the damage was severe. Besides a rod put in to repair your tibia, pins were added to the talus bone.”

“Speak English.”

“All right. Your left calf and ankle were crushed by a two-thousand-pound bull. Not only the bones, but there was some muscle and nerve damage. It’s important you do therapy to help with circulation and to strengthen the muscles. I also know the bull’s horn punctured your abdomen and you sustained rib damage, but you healed nicely. So that pain shouldn’t stop you.”

“Well, I’m stopping you,” he argued. “I’ve heard it all before by several specialists. Bottom line is they couldn’t guarantee that I could go back to riding, or even that I’ll walk again. Okay, okay, I should consider myself lucky to be alive. But lady, I don’t call this living. And I’m not going to bust my butt for nothing—not if I can’t be like before.” He turned his chair around and returned to his bedroom.

Brenna wanted to call him back, but Dylan clearly wasn’t ready to hear anything she had to say. Not now. It was her job to get him to want to give therapy a chance. How was she going to challenge this man? Somehow she had to make him want to fight to walk again.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Wyatt Gentry peeked his head in. He smiled and, although the two men weren’t identical twins, she could see the close resemblance.

Wyatt walked in. “Should I ask how things are going?”

“Not bad,” she lied. “Your brother hasn’t thrown anything at me.”

“Give him time.” Wyatt grew serious. “Brenna, if you’ve changed your mind and think this job is too much, I’ll understand.”

Oh no, she couldn’t lose it before she got a chance. She shook her head. “Trust me, I can handle anything that Dylan dishes out. I just have to figure out a way to make him want to try therapy.”

“Well, I hope you make it. Oh, by the way, the parallel bars are being delivered within the hour. Just tell me what you want removed from the room.”

“We can do without the bookshelves, the recliner chair and coffee table. If it’s not too much trouble. That will give us room for the weight bench and bars.”

“This is the easy part,” he assured her. “Dealing with Dylan’s temper is the difficult task. Maybe I should be here when he sees what’s going on.”

“No. That’s why you hired me. I have to be the one he communicates with. Your brother is used to getting what he wants. He has to learn that if he wants to walk again, he has to work at it.”

Wyatt grinned. “I’m beginning to believe you can do it. It’s been a long time since Dylan hasn’t been able to sweet-talk a woman into getting his way.”

Brenna tensed. The man was hard to resist, but not for her. Right. She knew if Dylan Gentry wanted to, he could make her forget her own name. She just had to keep that fact from him. “You don’t have to worry about me being charmed by your brother. I’m his therapist…that’s all.” It would be a long time before she would allow herself to be interested in any man, much less a danger-loving man like Dylan Gentry.

By 11:00 a.m. the furniture had been removed and the parallel bars and weight bench had been set up in the living area, leaving just enough space for the TV and sofa. Brenna decided that her patient wasn’t going to have enough energy left after therapy to do anything else but watch TV.

Speaking of her patient, she hadn’t seen Dylan since earlier in the morning. Well, it was time he came out of hiding. She went to his bedroom door and knocked.

There was only silence and she knocked again. “Dylan,” she called.

No answer.

“Dylan? I’m fixing some lunch. Is there anything special you want?” Her job description also included making meals and some light housework. She didn’t mind, since she was living here, too.

No answer.

“Dylan?” She knew he had to be hungry, because he hadn’t had breakfast. “Are you all right?” She turned the knob and pushed open the door to find a large bed with Dylan Gentry sprawled across the center. A colorful quilt covered part of his body, but his glorious chest was bare. No red-blooded woman would deny that the man was beautifully built.

Surprised at the sudden rush of feelings, she refocused her thoughts and moved to the bed. He was her patient. That was all. She called his name again. When that didn’t wake him, she touched his foot. “Dylan, you need to get up.”

The man opened his eyes, revealing mesmerizing silver-blue pools that immediately locked on her. A hint of a smile creased his sensual mouth.

“Well, hello, darlin’.” He stretched his arms over his head, lazily. “I was just having this great dream, but you’re so much better.”

The husky tone of his voice sent a warm shiver though Brenna as she saw the true side of the charming bull rider that all the ladies drooled over. Well, she didn’t have the time or the desire.

Brenna pushed away from the doorjamb and moved to the bed. “Well, you’re not dreaming now,” she said. “It’s reality time.”

His smile only grew as he rolled to his side and reached out to touch her arm. “The real thing is so much better.” His voice turned husky. “Why don’t you climb into bed and let me show you.”

If his sexual advances were supposed to scare her off, he was wrong. She had heard similar words so many times before. Jason used to sweet-talk her every time he wanted his way. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you get up and eat something, then do a short therapy session.”

“The only place I’m headed is the bathroom, then back to bed.” He sat up and the covers dropped to his waist as he reached for the wheelchair. Brenna was quicker and pulled it back, away from his reach.

“What the—?” His dark eyebrows drew together as he frowned at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’ve been spending far too much time in this chair. You need to get ambulatory. You’re weakening your good leg by not using it.”

“So what if I am?” he said. “That’s my business.”

“And you’re my business.”

“You’re fired. Now get out.”

She folded her arms. “Make me,” she challenged.

Pain flashed across Dylan’s face and Brenna wondered if she’d gone too far. She went into the living room, grabbed the walker and returned to the bedroom. “Here. From now on you’ll use this to get around.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, disgust in his tone.

“If you can balance on the back of a bull, Mr. Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry, surely you can manage a walker.”

He dropped backward on the bed. “I’m not using any damn walker…I’ll crawl first, so you might as well give me back the chair.”

“Physical therapists are a stubborn bunch. And since you’re the one who has to use the bathroom, I think I can wait you out.”

He pulled the quilt over his head and let out a string of colorful curses.

Brenna knew if she was going to work with Dylan, she couldn’t let him get away with sleeping all day. She also knew that if he complained enough, Wyatt would fire her.

“You’re behaving childishly, Mr. Gentry,” she said as she took hold of the edge of the covers and yanked them away. She bit back a gasp, discovering the man was naked underneath. Quickly she diverted her eyes to his face, only to catch a satisfied grin from Dylan.

The man had absolutely no problem with his nudity. “Since we’re getting so familiar with each other, don’t you think you could call me Dylan? Bren.”

She 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.