“You weren’t my doctor, but I noticed you.”

Brady smiled; there was that dimple again. “I secretly hoped that you noticed me, too. But I get it. There are so many patients, we become a number.”

“You certainly weren’t a number.” Sheila took the wounded bull rider’s hand. She braved a look into his eyes.

Suddenly she rose, pulling away from him. “What am I doing?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Sheila shook her head. “You understand that nothing can ever happen between us? It would cost me my job. Nobody is worth that sacrifice.”

“Relax, Doc.” Brady shrugged. “It was just a harmless flirtation. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” His admission was oddly reassuring and uncomfortable at the same time. “I’m going to finish my rounds and then I’ll be back to see you.”

Brady winked. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Sheila shouldn’t have read anything into his reply, but the undercurrent was undeniable. No man had ever had the ability to ruin her, but if she wasn’t careful, this one just might.

A Bull Rider’s Pride
Amanda Renee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AMANDA RENEE was raised in the Northeast and now wriggles her toes in the warm sand of coastal South Carolina. Her career began when she was discovered through Mills & Boon’s So You Think You Can Write contest. When not creating stories about love and laughter, she enjoys the company of her schnoodle, Duffy, camping, playing guitar and piano, photography and anything involving horses. You can visit her at www.amandarenee.com.

For Dad

Thank you for always supporting me.

I love you.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

SHEILA’S SUGAR COOKIE RECIPE

SHEILA’S ROYAL ICING RECIPE

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

The roar of the crowd faded as he sailed through the air. Gravity defying seconds morphed into an eternity until he struck the dirt with a resounding thud. A frenzy of blurred images danced before him in the deafening silence. He scrambled to his knees, searching for the safety of the arena fence. Muted shouts began to seep through the murkiness. Adrenaline triumphed over the growing ache that tore through his left leg. Then darkness overshadowed him. Once more, he was plucked effortlessly from the ground like a twig in a summer twister. The bull’s head slammed into his spine—the sudden blow burning his lungs.

His arms desperately clawed for something to hold on to as the bull violently swung his head from side to side, but he found only the beast beneath him. With each twist and snort, the animal stole another breath from his body. And then nothing.

No sound.

No pain.

His world slipped away with a single thought... Gunner.

Chapter One

“I’ll never understand what motivates someone to climb on top of a one-ton animal hell-bent to drive them into the ground.” Orthopedic surgeon Dr. Sheila Lindstrom reviewed Brady Sawyer’s chart one final time before she headed down the hall to give him the news he’d been waiting two months to hear.

“Bull riders are nothing more than stubborn cowboys looking for an adrenaline fix,” Marissa Sloane said. The junior orthopedic surgical resident assigned to Sheila’s service at Grace General Hospital tossed her coffee cup in the trash behind the nurse’s station and scanned the patient whiteboard. “Look at it this way, bull riding helps keep us in business. Besides, I think you have a soft spot for the cowboy. You’ve monitored his case ever since he was admitted and he wasn’t even your patient. Well, at least not until today.”

“Only because I was on rotation that night and assisted on his initial surgery.” The trauma team had airlifted Brady from the arena and he’d coded once while en route. “I’m still amazed he made it through the first twenty-four hours, let alone is strong enough for release to a rehabilitation facility.” Sheila was glad she’d been wrong. Seeing a patient leave the hospital in remarkably better condition than when they arrived was its own reward.

“And you get to go with him.” Marissa playfully elbowed her.

“I’m hardly going with him. The hippotherapy center is part of my job.” The orthopedic surgeon residency program provided services free of charge to the Dance of Hope Hippotherapy Center located fifteen minutes away in Ramblewood, Texas. The facility, which used horses’ movements to treat a number of conditions, had been a huge incentive when Sheila interviewed for the residency program four years earlier. “Double-check the OR schedule for me and see if there’ve been any changes. I’m scheduled for an arthroscopic rotator-cuff repair this morning.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s extremely good-looking.” Marissa logged into the hospital’s electronic medical records system. “You’re still set for nine o’clock.”

Sheila checked her watch. It was six in the morning and she’d already put in two hours. “I didn’t notice his looks.” That wasn’t entirely true. She’d noticed Brady’s handsome features almost immediately. His face was one of the few body parts he hadn’t injured. The same couldn’t be said for his head. After registering only a seven out of fifteen on the Glasgow Coma Scale due to an epidural hematoma, his survival outlook had been grim. It had taken a dozen surgeries to save his life and get him to the point where he could be released to Dance of Hope.

“Lindstrom, I need an assist on an ACL reconstruction.” Dr. Mangone, their attending physician, approached. “It’s your call.”

“I’m certain Dr. Sloane here is up for it. I have a rotator cuff this morning.” Sheila noticed Marissa’s subtle happy dance out of the corner of her eye. Trying not to smile, she focused her attention on Dr. Mangone. “I’m discharging Brady Sawyer this morning.”

“Ah, our resident cowboy. I’ll be glad to see him go. In my thirty-six years of practice, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more—how should I put this—determined patient. I just hope he doesn’t overdo it at Dance of Hope. I’m not a hundred percent comfortable with his therapy taking place on the back of a horse. Especially when he’s so fixated on competing again.”

“I’ve already discussed his condition with the staff,” Sheila said. “But I’ll be sure to reiterate his limitations...and his determination, as you so graciously put it. Not that I think it will stop him.” Brady Sawyer had developed a bit of a reputation around Grace General during his stay. The nurses commonly referred to him as Superman. From the day he awoke from his two-week coma, he’d vowed to get back in the ring and unfailingly pushed himself. Marissa was right—he was one stubborn cowboy.

“You see to it that he doesn’t come back here. I’ve operated on him enough,” Dr. Mangone said. “Sloane, scrub in.”

Sheila proceeded down the hallway toward Brady’s room. It was early, but most patients were already awake since the nurses had begun their rounds. Although she was dying for a caffeine fix, she decided to hold off until after she told him the good news. She hated talking to patients with coffee still lingering on her breath. She hesitated at his door, smoothing the front of her scrubs and inwardly laughed. Despite what Marissa had implied, she did not have a soft spot for the cowboy.

While Brady Sawyer was no stranger to her, she doubted he remembered any of their previous meetings during his two-and-a-half-month hospital stay. Dr. Mangone had been his physician until yesterday when he’d handed her the reins. Sheila pushed open the door to Brady’s room and was surprised to see it empty.

She stopped a nurse in the hallway. “Where’s Mr. Sawyer?”

“Probably in the atrium. He likes to go there and watch the sunrise every morning. Would you like me to get him?”

“No, I don’t mind the walk.” Grace General’s atrium was a favorite with visitors and staff. Located in the center of the hospital, it had five-story glass walls facing east and west along with a glass panel ceiling. Lush green trees grew around the center fountain giving it a parklike appearance. The morning light created an ethereal haze over the area and there Brady sat in his wheelchair staring out the window, a slight smile on his cleanly shaven face. The sun peeked over the horizon, casting golden shadows across the parking lot. Dressed in black sweatpants and a black T-shirt, he looked as if he was ready to go for a morning jog despite being restricted to a wheelchair.

“Do you ever take a moment and just watch the sunrise?” He asked without even looking at her. “I never took the time to really notice it until I came here.”

“Normally, I’m on rounds at this time.” Sheila sat down in the chair next to him. “Enjoy the sunrise, Mr. Sawyer because it will be the last one you ever see here.”

Immediately Sheila noticed Brady’s jaw tense. “This is the one moment of enjoyment I have out of my entire day and you’re going to take that away from me?” Brady faced her. His blue-gray eyes met hers with intensity.

“In a sense, yes I am.” Sheila smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Lindstrom and I’m releasing you today.”

Brady grasped her hand between both of his. His face lit, exposing tiny creases near his temples. “You really mean it? The other day Dr. Mangone said he wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be here.”

Sheila knew she shouldn’t revel in the feel of his touch, but the fact that he still hadn’t let go of her hand made it next to impossible. The strength and vitality he had compared to the night he was brought in bordered on miraculous. This was the first time she’d seen Brady up close outside of the operating room. The morning sun on his short dark hair brought out hints of gold she hadn’t noticed from afar. Marissa was right again. He was extremely good-looking.

“Mr. Sawyer—”

“Please, call me Brady.”

“Okay, Brady.” Sheila eased her hand from his grip. “Dr. Mangone transferred your case to me and I’ll be monitoring your progress at the Dance of Hope Hippotherapy Center. I understand you’re aware of the program and all it entails. It’s still in-house physical therapy—much like the program you’re in here—only utilizing horses. It’s my understanding a social worker has spoken with you about residing in one of their on-site cottages during rehabilitation. They have an opening and are expecting you today. Can I tell them you’ll take it?”

“Absolutely! I live alone and my father’s farmhouse is two stories. Neither place is exactly wheelchair accessible.” Brady rolled his chair backward and forward anxiously. “Not that I’ll be in this thing much longer.”

Sheila clenched her teeth and forced a smile. “Mr. Sawyer—Brady—while Dance of Hope is an amazing facility, we can’t predict what result the therapy will have. I admire your determination, and believe me when I say it goes a long way, but you need to be realistic with your goals.”

Brady’s face lost all amusement. “My goal is to compete again as soon as possible. One accident won’t stop me.”

Sheila rolled her shoulders. She’d heard the nurses talk about Brady’s desire to get back on a bull, but she’d thought the reality of his prognosis would’ve set in by now. “I respect and even understand your wanting to compete again, but another injury—”

Brady held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “Please don’t. I have already heard the ‘if the bull’s horn was an inch more to the left it would have pierced your heart’ speech a hundred times. It didn’t. I’m still here. And I’m going to make the best of each day, and that includes riding to win.”

Sheila rose and stood behind his wheelchair. “Don’t make me regret releasing you today.” She began to push him out of the atrium, ignoring when he attempted to do it himself. “We’ll contact Dance of Hope and arrange your transport. You’ll be ready to go once I’ve given you a final exam and your discharge papers are complete.” Sheila slammed into the back of his chair, almost launching herself over him.

“I can wheel myself, thank you.” Brady released the brake and began wheeling ahead of her. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to push someone in a wheelchair without their approval?”

Sheila stood in the middle of the atrium, speechless. Determination was one thing, but Brady Sawyer brought a new definition to the word and it wasn’t pretty.

* * *

BRADY DESPISED FEELING HELPLESS. Between his father, Alice—who was his best friend and his son’s mother—and his friends, somebody was always trying to do something for him. He needed to do things for himself—he wanted to. And that included maneuvering his own wheelchair. If Dr. Lindstrom hadn’t been so attractive he probably would’ve realized what she was about to do and stopped her. But her soft silver eyes had captured his attention and held it until she’d started arguing with him about competing. He’d already heard it from everybody else. It would be nice if other people believed in him the way his four-year-old son did. Gunner was his biggest supporter and the only one who still had faith in him.

Brady barreled into his hospital room and spun his chair around to face the door before Dr. Lindstrom arrived. He squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to get through the next few hours. They were finally releasing him. He’d dreamed of hearing that phrase, yet he’d been completely unprepared for it. Especially when it came from the beautiful doctor he’d watched from afar throughout his stay.

“You’re right.” Dr. Lindstrom stood in the doorway. “That was very rude of me and I apologize. If you’ll humor me, just for a second, maybe I can explain where I’m coming from. I promise it won’t be a lecture.”

Brady nodded. He propped his left elbow up on the arm of his chair, running the back of his fingers across his chin. Sure, he could listen for a few minutes in exchange for his freedom. Regardless of what she or anyone else said, failure wasn’t an option. He realized the odds were against him, but this was the only job he knew.

Dr. Lindstrom entered the room with a nurse in tow. Safety in numbers. Maybe he had been a little too harsh in the atrium.

“As your physician, I want you to recover as completely as your body will allow. In order to do that we need to set a series of attainable goals so you’re consistently seeing improvement. Of course I want you to strive for the best possible scenario, but when you set extremely high goals from the outset, it tends to hinder recovery. The human body has a remarkable way of rebuilding itself—”

“Then you understand the ability to recover and return to a normal life.”

Sheila grimaced. “I understand the body’s ability to heal, yes. And many patients do go on to live normal lives. Not all of them, though. Some must learn to adjust.”

She sighed. “I’ve sacrificed a lot to become an orthopedic surgeon—my family, friends, social life, not to mention four hundred thousand dollars in student loans I still have to repay. I was one of the surgeons who put you back together—you were on the operating table for fifteen hours. I tend to get a little frustrated when a patient wants to put himself in the same environment that brought him here in the first place.”

Well that made him feel like a first-class ass. “Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Lindstrom. I respect your point of view. All I ask is that you respect mine, as well.”

Dr. Lindstrom’s lips thinned. She opened a large envelope the nurse handed her and crossed the room to the light box on the wall. Turning it on, she held up his films. “These are from your CT scans yesterday. Your hip replacement healed beautifully. You’re lucky you’re in a facility that uses the anterior approach because your recovery would’ve been much longer if it had been performed the traditional way. Your broken clavicle, sternum and left humerus look good. The fact you can wheel yourself all over this hospital proves your shoulder surgeries were a success. I understand from your physical therapist that you’re still feeling tightness in your thighs, left knee and spinal regions.”

“It’s not so much tightness as it is weakness.” Brady attempted to sit taller in his chair. “I can stand, but I tire quickly.”

Dr. Lindstrom slid the scans back into the envelope and handed it to the nurse. “Let’s take a look.” She walked to him, checked the brakes on his wheelchair and held out both of her hands for him to hold on to. “Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look, I won’t let you fall.”

I won’t let you fall. Brady had said those same words to Gunner when he was learning to walk. Now here he was, a twenty-nine-year-old man learning to walk again.

“Brady, most of the therapists at Dance of Hope are women. If this is going to be a problem—”

“No.” Brady met her eyes and reached for her. “It’s not a problem. I just—I needed a second.” Her touch was stronger, more deliberate than when she’d introduced herself earlier. He didn’t doubt her strength or ability to support him. He doubted his resolve to not want more of it.

Her cheeks darkened to a deep crimson—perhaps she sensed his attraction to her. “Take your time,” she reassured. “I’ve got you.”

Brady stared at her hospital identification badge as he slowly stood. Her photograph made him momentarily forget the shaking in his legs. She looked different with her dark hair down around her shoulders. Every time he’d seen her, it had always been either in a ponytail or a braid of some sort. Sheila. Her name was Sheila. He’d never known a Sheila before. It suited her.

She cleared her throat. His gaze immediately flew to hers and then back to her badge, which he realized rested right against her left breast. “I wasn’t looking at your— Your badge... I was looking at your badge.”

Sheila started to laugh. “It’s all right, Brady.” She took a step closer, offering him more support. “How does that feel?”

That was a loaded question. It felt amazing standing less than a foot away from her. Feeling her hands in his. She was tall. Taller than he’d thought from the vantage point of his chair. Maybe only four or five inches shorter than his six-foot-two frame. And she didn’t smell as he’d imagined. Whenever he’d seen her, he’d thought of honeysuckle for some reason. Her scent was more of freshly laundered cotton sheets.

“Brady?”

That feeling he had forgotten a few seconds ago suddenly came back. “Not as steady as I’d like, but better than yesterday.”

“Do you feel any pain?”

Brady shook his head. “I think I stopped noticing pain a month ago.”

“Okay, you can take a seat.” Sheila waited until he was in his chair before releasing his hands. “Hippotherapy will greatly strengthen your core and leg muscles. I’m going to discharge you today with the understanding that you adhere to the program at Dance of Hope. I will be closely monitoring your progress and I’ll be checking in with you when I make my rounds there. Don’t overdo it, Brady. I don’t want to admit you back into this hospital again.”

“I’ll be good, Doc.” Brady winked, then instantly regretted it when the nurse giggled. There was nothing like a disabled man flirting with a gorgeous doctor. “You won’t recognize me the next time you see me.”

Sheila’s brows rose. “I don’t know if I should be scared by that statement or not. Just remember, I’ll be watching you.” She made a V with her fingers and waved them between her eyes and his. “Take care, Brady. I’ll see you soon.”

Brady was torn between wanting to see her right away and wanting to wait until he could do more than stand on wobbly legs. He knew she doubted he’d make a full recovery, but he’d prove her wrong. And then, maybe he’d even ask her out.

Chapter Two

Sheila stripped out of her operating-room scrubs and tossed them into the hospital laundry bin. By the time she’d finished with her rotator-cuff reconstruction, Brady had been discharged and was on his way to Dance of Hope. Anyone who had one of the world’s most dangerous jobs definitely had the dedication it took to recover from his injuries. But a full recovery was doubtful. And she didn’t want Brady to become disillusioned if his body didn’t bounce back the way he hoped.

The thought of Brady being disappointed or giving up because he could not ride a bull bothered her more than it should. She’d learned during her first year internship to compartmentalize her emotions. Regardless of how hard she tried, she couldn’t save all of them and there were lots of Brady Sawyers in the world. Men determined to push their bodies further than they were meant to go.

Sheila had made a note on his file to discuss readjustment counseling in the upcoming weeks. She preferred to allow a patient to progress further along in their therapy before making the recommendation. Her colleagues didn’t always agree, but she felt mentioning it too soon shattered morale and hindered their improvement.

“Thanks for letting me take that surgery.” Marissa entered the locker room. “We had a patellar fracture during the tendon harvest.”

“You tend to see a lot of that in sports medicine,” Sheila said. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Care to join me?”

“Sure. How did it go with your cowboy?”

The question created a slight tingle in her belly. “He’s not my cowboy.” The image of him standing in front of her replayed in her brain. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid herself of the memory. “After talking with him, I understand Dr. Mangone’s trepidation about sending him to Dance of Hope. Brady’s a bit too gung ho to climb back on a bull and the fact that the hippotherapy center is located next to a rodeo school concerns me.”

“Brady?” Marissa stopped in the doorway and faced her. “It didn’t take long to progress to first names.”

Sheila pushed past her. “Don’t even joke about that. He’s a patient, Marissa. You know any romantic relationship is strictly forbidden by the medical board and this hospital. I’m not willing to risk my residency on anyone.”

“Relax, I’m only teasing.” Marissa held up her hands. “But if he wasn’t your patient you’d be tempted, right?”

Sheila spun to face her. “Listen to me. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to jeopardize my career over a rumor. If the wrong person hears what you’re saying, you could ruin everything for me. I’m trying to get into the orthopedic trauma fellowship program next year and I don’t need this.”

“Whoa. For someone with no romantic attachments to a patient you’re certainly doing your damnedest to defend yourself.”

She had every reason to. She’d almost given up medical school when her boyfriend asked her to move to Arizona. Fate had intervened and she’d caught him in bed with someone else, saving her from walking away from her dreams. Now she realized no amount of love or promise of a happily-ever-after was worth it. Relationships didn’t last forever. Being a doctor would.

Before Sheila had the chance to argue her point further, both of their pagers went off. Trauma Alert ER. “Let’s move!”

* * *

THE DANCE OF HOPE transport van pulled in front of the combined hippotherapy center and rodeo school entrance. The July sun warmed Brady’s face as he eased his legs out of the van and stepped onto the ground using the door as support. A woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair greeted him with a wheelchair.

“I’m Kay Langtry.” She helped him into the chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brady.”

“Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to be here.”

“We promise to take good care of you during your stay. Since it’s lunchtime, why don’t I start our tour in the common dining area.”

Brady hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way.”

Kay nodded, silently acknowledging that he didn’t need any assistance. He was sweating by the time they reached the center’s entrance. It was the first time he’d used a wheelchair outside. The experience left him craving a cold shower rather than lunch. Brady paused in the entryway. He could hear the whoops and shouts coming from the rodeo school through massive oak doors to the right. He knew those sounds well and he missed them more than anything. The rodeo was his life—his past and his future.

“Do you need a moment?” Kay crouched down beside him so they were at eye level with one another. A gesture he appreciated. He got tired of always looking up at everyone, especially when he was used to towering over most people.

“I’m good. I’m anxious to get started.” When Dr. Mangone had told him about the hippotherapy center, he’d hopped online to research it. He’d been relieved to discover it was less than an hour away from his father, son and Alice. “Visitors are allowed, right?”

“Yes, they are.” Kay stood. “As often as you’d like. Let’s grab a bite to eat and settle you in. Feel free to invite your family to join us for dinner tonight. We always have enough food around here.”

“Thank you, I think I will.”

The common dining area took Brady off guard. He’d seen photos of it online, but it had been empty then. He hadn’t been prepared for the number of children in wheelchairs or on crutches. There were some military personnel—both men and women. That he’d expected. But the children broke his heart. Children Gunner’s age.

“I know this can be unsettling at first.” Kay placed a hand on his shoulder. “But don’t ever tell anyone here that you feel sorry for them or show them any pity. You will find this to be a very grateful and determined group. Everyone has the same goal—to get out of here one day. Some will walk out, others won’t. But it’s a team effort and everybody is rooting for you.”

Brady felt his heart pound in his chest. He was used to people rooting for him...in a different arena. He’d root for every child, every person here. As much as he wanted to be in his own home, he knew this was the best place for him. He would walk and compete again.

* * *

SHEILA SLAMMED HER front door. She’d lost a patient on the operating table. It happened often in trauma surgeries. She should be used to it by now. But how did someone get used to having a person with a family and a future breathing beneath their fingertips one minute and then gone the next along with all their hopes, all their dreams?

Sheila ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It never got easier—you just grew more desensitized to it. Today had been particularly difficult—a ten-year-old girl with her whole future ahead of her. Dead thanks to her sister who had been texting and driving. The sister had survived, but would live with the consequences for the rest of her life.

This was why Sheila was so infuriated with Brady Sawyer. Most of her patients learned something from their experience. The overweight person with two knee replacements learned they had to move and exercise more. The kid with a fractured tibia learned not to attempt a flip-over-willy-grind skateboard trick down the school handrail. What did Brady Sawyer learn? Nothing.

And yes, there was a chance he’d fully recover. A very slim one, but with the proper therapy, the chance was real. Sheila had been a longtime proponent of hippotherapy and its benefits. Growing up in Colorado, she’d lived near a facility much like Dance of Hope. Few people had known much about hippotherapy and its benefits back then. When she turned fourteen, her parents had allowed her to volunteer there. There was an orthopedic surgeon who visited the facility every week and for four years she’d watched him restore quality of life back to people who’d felt as if their world had ended. He’d inspired her to go into medicine, particularly orthopedic trauma. Now she helped save lives like Brady’s and he was all too willing to throw it away.

His attitude shouldn’t bother her, but it did. And it would continue to bother her until he was no longer her patient, and then every time she saw a bull riding event on television she’d still wonder. Sheila laughed to herself. He wasn’t her first bull rider and probably wouldn’t be her last. She lived in the heart of Hill Country where rodeos were as common as apple pie. The suburban town she’d grown up in had been a stark contrast. She’d known many equestrians, but not bull riders.

Thinking of home reminded her it had been over a week since she’d last phoned her parents. Every night there was a message from them on her voice mail. Today she’d actually gotten off early enough to return the call.

“Hello, honey,” her mom answered on the first ring. “How’s our favorite surgeon?”

“It was a rough day. I lost a patient.” No matter how difficult her residency was, she knew she could always turn to her mother for comfort.

“Oh honey, do you want to talk about it?” Sheila heard a muffled sound and assumed her mother had covered the receiver.

“Mom, tell Daddy later, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather hear about your day.”

“Your sister had an ultrasound today—a three-dimensional one. You won’t believe how much Sophia resembles you as a baby—that’s the name they’ve chosen—did I tell you that already? Anyway, she posted the photos online. Look at them later if you get the chance. We’ll be so glad when your residency is over next summer and you move home. You’re missing your nieces and nephews growing up.”

Sheila released her ponytail and flopped onto the couch. “About that. I’ve decided to pursue the two-year orthopedic trauma fellowship at Grace General.”

“I thought you were looking into fellowships here.” Disappointment was evident in her mother’s tone.

“I know that was the plan, Mom, but this fellowship wasn’t available until recently. I like Grace General and my work here. I’m looking to make this permanent. My landlord gave me the option to apply my rent toward a down payment on this house. It’s not much but it’s more than I can afford in Colorado. Once I weed through these student loans, then maybe, but I’ve given this a lot of thought and this is what’s best for me.”

“What about settling down and starting a family? You’re not getting any younger.”

Any comfort she’d hoped for had just flown out the window. “My social life consists of my colleagues. It’s not as if I have much time or energy to go out and meet people. Besides children require much more than I’m able to give. Maybe in a few years I’ll feel differently. I don’t need a husband and kids to make me happy. I’m content with my life right now.”

At least that was the lie she told herself every night before she went to bed. Sometimes she’d roll over in the middle of the night and reach out for someone who wasn’t there. Her life severely lacked intimacy. The last hug she’d received had been from a patient after Sheila had given her good news. The last time someone other than a family member had said I love you had been her college boyfriend. And sex? She didn’t want to think about how long that had been. Okay, so it bothered her, but she’d known this career path came with sacrifices. She’d accepted it. She just didn’t exactly care for it.

“I want you to be happy, Sheila.” Her mom’s voice softened. “You need to call more often. We miss you.”

“I miss you more.”

After hearing about her father’s new car, her mother’s bridge-game gossip and more about her sister’s third pregnancy, she poured herself a glass of wine and eased into a bubble bath. She closed her eyes and Brady Sawyer immediately came to mind.

“Dammit!” She sat up so quickly she knocked her wine into the tub. “That’s lovely.” She’d touched him twice and she couldn’t erase the feeling of his hands in hers. She turned her glass upright and set it on the floor. Grabbing a pumice stone, she ran it over her palms. Why was he haunting her? That was exactly how she felt. Haunted. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And it wasn’t just today. He’d been a daily thought for two and a half months. She constantly told herself she wasn’t attracted to him. She couldn’t be. It simply wasn’t allowed and she chalked it up to curiosity about the man. But if Marissa had detected it so easily, she wondered who else had.

Brady Sawyer had left the building. With his drive and determination, he’d progress quickly at Dance of Hope and be out of her life for good. Which was for the best. So why did the thought of never seeing him again bother her?

* * *

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT the child-support payments. Focus on getting better.” Alice sat on the bed across from Brady in his Dance of Hope cottage while Gunner played with his See & Spell at the table. “You’re an amazing father and I know you want to do everything possible to make sure Gunner is provided for, and I promise you, if things get really bad I’ll let you know. We’re okay. It’s tight, but we’re managing. Your father checks in on us all the time.”

“You shouldn’t have to manage and my father shouldn’t be the one providing for you.” Brady gripped the arms of his wheelchair. He and Alice had never been a couple. They’d been best friends since childhood who happened to have spent one lonely night together that resulted in the most precious gift he could have ever received. Unfortunately, they hadn’t any romantic feelings toward each other. So far, they’d successfully raised Gunner together, yet separately. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Why do I do what? Bring your son to see you? Because he loves you and he asks about you every day.”

Brady wheeled closer to the bed so Gunner wouldn’t hear him. “And a part of you secretly wishes that by seeing me in this condition he won’t want anything to do with the rodeo.”

“There might be some truth to that.” Alice lowered her voice. “What mother doesn’t want her child to be safe? You almost died, Brady. We keep telling you that, but it hasn’t seemed to register in your brain yet. I don’t want that future for our son. You already have him mutton busting and racing around the arena on miniature horses. I’m terrified of what comes next.”

“The severity of my accident was highly unusual and you know it. I was a special circumstance.” Brady had grown tired of defending himself to Alice and his father. At first he’d been disappointed when his father told him he couldn’t make it tonight; now he was glad the two of them weren’t together to gang up on him.

“You were only special because you survived. It was never a matter of if you’d get hurt, it was when you’d get hurt. I almost lost my best friend that day, but more important, Gunner almost lost his father. I get so angry when I hear you say you need to compete again in order to support him. You’re using our son as an excuse. There are other ways to earn a living, so don’t you dare tell me it’s all for Gunner. I know better and so do you.”

“You have no idea. Before they discharged me, I had to meet with the billing department. My insurance doesn’t cover everything and if I don’t pay, believe me they will come after me for their money. Every cent I have to pay them takes away from Gunner. Working minimum wage won’t pay the bills, Alice. At least Dance of Hope didn’t cost me anything.” Brady had already promised to one day give back to the nonprofit dedicated to providing therapy to people regardless of their ability to pay.

“We both know this isn’t just about money.” Alice rested her hand on his. “You need to forgive yourself. Your mom wouldn’t want you to carry around all this guilt.”

He pulled away from her. His mother had died in her sleep while Brady and his father were away on a rodeo trip. He didn’t want to think about that day, but the memory of finding her remained fresh in his mind every time he competed. Alice was right. It was about much more than the money. He rode for his mother. He rode for his father. And now, he rode for his son.

He wheeled over to the table. “Hey, champ, it’s almost your bedtime. You and your mommy need to head home.”

“I want to stay with you,” Gunner pleaded.

Brady bit back the sob that threatened to break free. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night with his son. He missed their time together more than anything. “Daddy doesn’t live here. I’m just visiting. Once I get home, you can stay with me anytime you want.”

“Promise?” Gunner looked up at him with his big brown eyes.

He hated telling his son no. “I promise, little man. Things will be back to normal soon.”

Brady had never broken a promise to his son, and he wouldn’t start now.

* * *

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Brady awoke feeling more rested than he had in months—the ranch was dead silent at night in comparison to the constant bustle of the hospital. He’d almost been afraid to open his eyes out of fear his release had been a dream.

Over a hearty country breakfast, he reviewed the schedule Kay Langtry had given him the day before. Eager to begin his therapy, he hurriedly ate and wheeled to the main indoor hippotherapy arena.

A woman no more than an inch or two over five feet tall greeted him.

“Good morning, Brady. I’m Abby, your physical therapist.”

“Are you sure you can support my weight?” Brady asked.

“Don’t let my size fool you, and you’re going to be supporting yourself the majority of the time. I know you’re raring to get on a horse, but there are a few things we need to go over first.” Abby marched to an oversize cabinet along the wall and opened it. “Rule number one—when you’re in an arena, either indoors or out, a helmet must be worn at all times. No exceptions. No helmet, no hippotherapy.”

Brady hated helmets. It had been a heavily debated issue throughout the industry for years and he’d always been against it. That didn’t stop him from making Gunner wear one whenever he entered the ring. But considering he didn’t want to end up back in the hospital, a helmet sounded like a good idea. “Agreed.”

“Number two, it’s my understanding your wheelchair usage has been limited to the smooth flat surfaces inside the hospital. Dance of Hope is situated on the Bridle Dance Ranch, which is a 250,000 acre paint and cutting horse ranch. You have access to many of the trails and I assure you, they’re not smooth or flat.”

“We’re free to roam around?” Brady itched to do some exploring, especially with Gunner. They had always spent their father and son time together at rodeo events, fishing or trail riding. He’d missed that during his hospital stay.

Abby nodded. “Our goal is to get you as active as possible. The trails closest to the hippotherapy center are marked. We have all-terrain wheelchairs available, but they’re not motorized. If you push yourself out on a trail, be sure you can get yourself back. Each chair is equipped with a GPS locator in case of an emergency. And don’t worry, if you do get tired out there, we won’t leave you stranded.”

For a tiny thing, Abby had a strong presence. The complete opposite of the nurses in the hospital. They had tried to blend into their surroundings while Abby let you know who was in charge. “Can I trail ride?”

“Not alone. I promise you’ll get plenty of saddle time to the point where you’ll look forward to taking a break.”

“I’ve spent my life on horseback. I don’t think I could ever tire of it.” Brady feared the facility severely underestimated his riding abilities.

“With all due respect, your body hasn’t been through this level of trauma before, so don’t be surprised if things don’t feel the way they used to. Your injuries will limit what you can do at first. It’s also my understanding you had a punctured lung and underwent six weeks of respiratory therapy.”

Why did it always sound worse when somebody else said it? Not that he downplayed any of what had happened. It was the most painful experience of his life, but it was behind him. And that’s where he wanted to leave it. She was beginning to remind him of Dr. Lindstrom.

“It’s something your physician asked us to watch for,” Abby added.

Of course she did. “What happens if I do need further respiratory therapy? Will you send me back to the hospital?”

“Not if we don’t have to. We have other patients here that require it and we’re capable of providing you with whatever you need.” Brady wondered how long it would take to fully process that his hospital days were over. “In order to get on and off these horses, you’ll need to learn how to maneuver up and down ramps,” Abby continued. “I don’t want to push your chair any more than I have to, just as I’m sure you don’t want me pushing you. We’ll focus some of our time today on teaching you how to get around, which you’ll need regardless of how long you will or won’t be in that chair.”

Brady had woken up energized and now he felt exhausted before he’d even started. He exhaled slowly. “Where do we begin?”

Abby snickered. “If you’re worried, then I’ve done my job. I want you to be hopeful, but not overzealous. I’ve heard stories about you, Superman.” She handed him a helmet. “Try this on for size. Your therapy will be in multiple stages and we won’t force you beyond what you’re capable of handling. Where would you like your first lesson? Indoors or out?”

Brady turned his chair toward the door. “Out. I’ve been cooped up in a sterile hospital for over two months. I’m ready to get a little dusty and sweaty.”

“Come on, cowboy.”

After an hour of wheelchair exercises, Brady’s arms felt like rubber and his head was on fire thanks to his helmet. But it felt good. It was hot, it was humid and it was pure heaven.

“Are you ready to try a horse?” Abby asked. “Or do you need a break?”

Brady shook his head. “I’ve never been more ready.”

This was it. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. A team of six people approached him and a man named Thomas helped him up the ramp. Okay, so the ramp was more of a challenge than he had anticipated, but it didn’t matter. He was about to mount a horse. He stood slowly, using the animal for support. The platform allowed him to easily slide onto the thin fabric saddle. His body began to shake and he wasn’t sure if it was nerves, excitement, or if something was wrong. He gripped the horse’s mane, relishing the feel of the coarse hair between his fingers. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. Each horse had its own unique scent and this one smelled like iced tea. He rocked forward in the saddle and felt a sharp twinge up his spine.

His eyes flew open. “What the hell?”

“Brady, tell me what you’re feeling,” Abby said.

“A—a sharp pain in my back.” Brady sat frozen in the saddle, afraid to move.

His little team moved closer to him. “Can you lean back a bit and sit upright?” Abby asked. “We have you surrounded and I won’t let you fall.”

There was that phrase again, only he wished it was Dr. Lindstrom saying it instead of Abby. Yesterday her support had given him more strength than he realized he needed. He slowly rotated his hips backward and straightened his spine. No pain. “I’m good. It went away.”

“Remember what I told you earlier,” Abby said. “Your body’s been through a lot and you need to give it a chance to reacclimate itself. That’s why we’re here. Ready for a walk around the arena?”

Brady gripped the handles on either side of the saddle. He instinctively searched for stirrups but there were none. He attempted to squeeze his thighs tighter around the horse’s body as if he were riding bareback, only to realize he didn’t have the strength. A hippotherapy team member closely flanked either side of him, while two people followed and two led the horse. He’d never felt more secure and more terrified at the same time.

The horse walked slowly around the outdoor arena. He’d never noticed the similarity between a horse’s gait and a human’s before. He’d read about it, but he hadn’t fully understood it until now. As the horse’s hips rose on one side, so did his own, forcing him to contract his core muscles.

Brady knew he had a goofy smile plastered across his face, but he didn’t care. Today was the beginning of the rest of his life.

Chapter Three

It was the Fourth of July and Sheila had to work, just as she had every year of her residency. The only difference—she’d spend her afternoon at Dance of Hope and she’d see Brady Sawyer. The man hadn’t been far from her mind since she’d discharged him four days earlier. She had tried to convince herself it was strictly out of concern for her patient, but even she didn’t believe that story. He’d gotten under her skin in the most impossible way. She couldn’t act on her attraction to him and she couldn’t shake it either.

Sometimes an attraction to a patient was inevitable. But the feeling always disappeared as quickly as it came. Brady Sawyer had been out of sight for days, yet she found herself more excited than she should be to see him today. Marissa hadn’t uttered another word about him. Then again, Sheila hadn’t given her much of a chance. The busier she stayed, the sooner she’d forget about Brady.

By the time she pulled into Dance of Hope’s parking lot, it was early afternoon. A small crowd had gathered near the Ride ’em High! Rodeo School outdoor arena. The summer students were competing in an informal exhibition and there was Brady Sawyer, standing at the fence watching the action.

Sheila had never understood why they’d built the rodeo school adjacent to the hippotherapy center. It just seemed to scream “look at me” to the hippotherapy patients. And then she looked at Brady hugging the fence rail—the poster child for “this could happen to you.”

She redirected her attention to the patient files on the passenger seat. Flipping through them, she scanned the notes from last week’s visit, then gathered her things and exited the car. Her focus immediately landed on Brady. Today he exuded pure masculinity, clad in faded denim jeans that managed to hug him in all the right places and a formfitting white T-shirt. Good heavens. She shouldn’t care what the man wore. The fact that he’d been standing since she’d parked five minutes earlier should be her primary focus. His strength and stamina had clearly increased in a matter of days.

Sheila approached him. “You’re not getting any ideas, are you?” Sheila asked. He turned toward her, almost toppling over. She knew better than to sneak up on him, but she had warned him she’d be watching.

“Dr. Lindstrom. This is a surprise.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you the rules?” Sheila detected the scent of Proraso aftershave. She knew the eucalyptus and menthol fragrance well. One of her fellow residents wore the same brand. She’d never cared much for it, but Brady’s unique body chemistry transformed the fragrance from mildly annoying to downright tempting. “Everybody’s on a first-name basis here. Please call me Sheila.”

She noticed Brady’s legs beginning to shake, but held her tongue. His chair was directly behind him and he’d use it when he was ready.

“You look nice.” His admission caught her off guard, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He eased into his chair and looked up at her, exposing more of his chiseled features to the sun. “I like you out of uniform with your hair down.”

“Thank you.” Sheila had almost forgotten that she’d changed before heading to the ranch. Scrubs were never worn outside the hospital. She’d chosen her best fitting jeans, lacy white top and red cowboy boots this morning after convincing herself it was patriotic and conveyed a professional yet casual appearance for her rounds at Dance of Hope. In reality, she chose the outfit because she knew she looked damn good in it and she wanted Brady to notice her. She had succeeded...now what?

“Are you checking up on me?” A slow smile spread across his face, forming a dimple in his right cheek.

“I’m checking up on all my patients. This is part of my residency program.”

“Residency? You’re not a doctor?”

Sheila winced at the question. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked it, but it stung just the same. “I became a doctor the day I graduated from medical school. An orthopedic surgeon’s residency is five years. This is my final year after which I’ll become board certified. Then I’ll begin my two-year fellowship in orthopedic trauma, providing Grace General accepts me in their program.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.” Brady shifted in his chair. “I had no idea how the whole medical school and residency thing worked.”

“No offense taken.” Sheila wanted to ask about his education and what he’d do if competing was no longer an option, but feared she’d already crossed the forbidden doctor-patient line. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve never felt sorer and more invigorated in my entire life.” He leaned toward her. “I feel better already. Don’t worry, Doc. I know I still have a long way to go.”

“I noticed a difference when I pulled in. Studies have shown recovery occurs faster outside the hospital.”

“Is that so?” There was that dimple again. He released the brake on his chair and motioned for her to follow him. “Do you have a few minutes to walk with me?”

Sheila checked her watch. “A few. What’s on your mind?”

Brady turned onto the paved path alongside the hippotherapy center leading them away from the crowd. “I know you think my recovery is all about me, but I need you to know that I’m not doing this for selfish reasons.”

Sheila stopped at a bench and sat down. “What I do or don’t think shouldn’t affect your recovery one way or the other.”

“Alice told me the other day that I was selfish and using our son as an excuse to compete again and—”

“I’m sorry, who?” Sheila’s heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. It shouldn’t matter. But it did. “You have a son? And a wife?” The last question left an awful taste in her mouth.

Brady shook his head. “I have a four-year-old son named Gunner, and Alice is his mother but we’re not married. Never have been, never will be. I’m surprised you didn’t know. They visited me at the hospital.”

She probably would have noticed if she hadn’t gone out of her way to avoid him during his stay. “I wasn’t your physician then. I don’t understand why you’re telling me all of this.”

“You may not have been my doctor, but I noticed you. It was impossible not to. A part of me secretly hoped you had noticed me too. I get it. There are many more patients than there are doctors and we become a number.”

“You certainly weren’t a number.” Sheila took his hand and immediately regretted it when his other hand covered hers. Unwilling to let go, she braved a look into his eyes. “I’m probably one of the few people in your life who can honestly say they’ve seen inside of you.” Sheila attempted a small bit of humor to derail the somersault of emotion cycling through her. “No patient is ever a number, at least not to me. I’m not trying to diminish who you are or your case in any way.” She rose, pulling away from him. “What am I doing?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Sheila turned to face him, squaring her shoulders. “You do understand that nothing can ever happen between the two of us. It would cost me my job and I’ve already fielded questions about you. I don’t mean to sound cold, but nobody is worth that sacrifice.”

“Relax, Doc.” Brady shrugged. “It was just a harmless flirtation. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m trying to get my bearings back. I didn’t mean anything by it. It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” His admission was oddly reassuring and uncomfortable at the same time. “Thank you, for saying I’m beautiful.” Sheila knew she shouldn’t have said anything but it had been so long since she’d heard a compliment she felt it deserved an acknowledgment. “I’m going to finish my rounds and then I will be back to see you because you’re on my list too. So don’t run off anywhere.”

Brady pointed to his chair. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” They both laughed, easing the tension. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Sheila shouldn’t have read anything into his reply, but the undercurrent had been undeniable. No man had ever had the ability to ruin her, but if she wasn’t careful this one just might.

* * *

BRADY BARELY HAD time to recover from Sheila’s rejection before he spotted Gunner dragging his grandfather up the walkway by the hand.

“Daddy!” Gunner jumped in his lap. “Easy, kiddo. Daddy’s sore from all his physical therapy.” His father reached over Gunner and gave Brady a hug. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”

“You look great,” John Sawyer said. “You finally got some color back into you.” The older man looked around. “This place is huge. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here until today. Work has been crazy and this little guy has kept me busy.”

“Once I’m on my feet, I’ll pay you back with interest. I appreciate all you’ve done.” He admired his father, but he hated the extra stress his accident had placed on the older man. He’d already had a heart attack two years ago and Brady didn’t want him to risk another. His dad worked long hours on a residential construction crew in the hot Texas sun to help pay Brady’s bills. It didn’t matter how many times he or Alice told him not to, he picked up Brady’s mail every day and paid whatever came in. Brady wasn’t broke—yet. He had money in the bank, but every time he attempted to pay his father back, the man refused, telling him they’d settle up later. When Alice had the mail forwarded to her house, John called each utility and credit card company and sent them a check for the amount due. If anything happened to his father, he’d never forgive himself. That was one more reason he needed to regain his life.

John squeezed Brady’s shoulder. “Eh, let’s save all that nonsense for another time. Are you going to show me around this place or what?”

“I can show you, Pawpaw.” Gunner climbed down from Brady’s lap.

“You can!” John took hold of his grandson’s hand. “You lead the way, then.” He looked over his shoulder at Brady. “You coming, son?”

“I’ll catch up with you. I left my phone back in the cottage. I want to get it in case Alice calls for him. I think Gunner wants to show you the rodeo school.”

Brady watched them walk toward the corrals. His father and Sheila had missed each other by mere minutes. He’d barely composed himself after acting like a complete jackass before they’d arrived. He didn’t have a clue what had compelled him to blurt out everything he’d said to Sheila. This was definitely one of those “in need of a do over” situations.

He wheeled down the path to his cottage. Despite all the things he’d said wrong, something Sheila had mentioned kept replaying in his head...she’d already fielded questions about him. When? And from who? He wanted to ask her, but he wasn’t about to track her down and appear even more desperate.

After giving his father the grand tour, Brady was hot, sweaty and hungry. The hippotherapy center and rodeo school had a combined cookout to celebrate the holiday. Two hours had passed since he had last seen Sheila and he wondered if she’d left for the day without seeing him. He couldn’t blame her if she had. Once they’d piled their plates with food and made their way to the picnic tables, Brady spotted her talking with Kay and a group of people he hadn’t seen before. Then again, from his vantage point he seemed to miss quite a few things. He’d definitely developed a better appreciation for what it was like to be his son’s height.

“I didn’t want you to think I forgot about you.” Sheila’s voice almost caused him to choke on his hot dog. She patted him on the back a few times. “You okay? I didn’t lose you in the hospital, I’m not going to lose you out here.”

Brady cleared his throat. “I’m good. Dad, this is Dr. Sheila Lindstrom, one of my surgeons. Sheila this is my father, John, and my son, Gunner.”

Sheila shook hands with John and readily welcomed a hug from Gunner. “Thank you for fixing my daddy.”

Sheila cupped Gunner’s chin and smiled. “You’re welcome, honey, but I had lots of help.” She turned to the table. “I hadn’t realized how late it was. I didn’t mean to interrupt your meal. Brady, do you have any questions or concerns for me?”

He had many questions and a few concerns, none of them relating to his health. “No, everything I’m feeling is muscle related. It’s been a while since they’ve had this much of a workout.”

“Dr. Lindstrom, why don’t you join us?” his father asked. He attempted to shoot the man a look, but John refused to make eye contact, confirming to Brady he was up to no good. “Unless we’re taking you away from your own family.” Subtle, Dad. Real subtle.

“My family lives in Colorado. I’m not here with anyone.”

“Then I insist.” His father rose. “Have a seat next to me, I’ll fix you a plate.” Before Sheila could protest, John was halfway to the buffet table.

“Just for the record, I didn’t put him up to that.”

“I believe you.” Sheila laughed. “He reminds me of my own father. Forgive me for asking, but your mom...?”

“She died shortly after Gunner was born.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been really difficult, losing her at such an important time in your life.”

“Thank you.”

“Here you go.” John set a plate twice the size of any of theirs in front of Sheila.

“My God, Dad. If she ate all of that she’d burst.” His father was determined to embarrass him today.

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I could put away.” Sheila thanked his father.

It was early evening by the time they finished eating. Gunner had dragged his grandfather off to the dessert table for seconds. “Thank you for humoring my dad. I don’t want to keep you from your Fourth of July plans tonight.”

“I rather enjoyed it. My only plans involve heading into town to watch the fireworks a little later. This is the first year I’ve been able to see them since I’ve moved here. I’ve always been on call. It’s a rare night of freedom for me.”

“Fireworks?” Gunner asked as he returned with an ice cream sundae in hand and a mouth full of whipped cream. “Can we come too?”

Brady didn’t know if he should hug his son or reprimand him. He chose the middle-of-the-road approach. Wrapping his arm around Gunner’s waist, he tugged him onto his lap. “If you want to see fireworks, ask Pawpaw if he’ll drive us, but don’t invite yourself to someone else’s party.”

“It’s hardly a party. And you’re more than welcome to join us. We’re taking everyone from Dance of Hope and the rodeo school into town. You’re a part of Dance of Hope, so you’re automatically invited. That’s what I was discussing earlier with Kay.”

It wasn’t the most private setting imaginable, but it was better than the alternative.

“We’d love to join you.”

* * *

SHEILA HAD NO idea what had possessed her to offer Brady and his family a ride into town. After she had helped Kay pile all the kids into multiple ranch vehicles, she’d realized Brady was the odd man out. He hadn’t been there long enough to form many friendships and she figured they’d look platonic enough with John as their chaperone.

With John and Gunner in the backseat of her car, she had to fend for herself up front with Brady. She’d never considered her Ford Fusion a small car, but Brady’s hulking frame transformed it into a much more intimate space. Normally it wouldn’t have fazed her, but after their little moment earlier followed by John’s not-so-subtle matchmaking, her belly was flip-flopping like that of a teenager with a crush. Brady had crossed the invisible line between the seats more than once during their short drive into town. Accidentally, of course. That didn’t stop her from enjoying the occasional arm brush.

All of Ramblewood had come out to see the pyrotechnics. But the mayor had set aside a separate parking area for the Dance of Hope patients so they’d have an unobstructed view and not have to leave the vehicles if they didn’t want to or weren’t able to. The second Sheila cut the engine, John hopped out with Gunner in tow. So much for their chaperone.

Neither one of them made a move to exit the car. After sitting in silence for a good three minutes, Sheila opened the moonroof, and reclined her seat slightly. She had a comfortable front-row seat and didn’t see the need to get out. Truth be told...she was quite content sitting in the dark with Brady by her side.

As the sky lit up in shades of red, white and blue, Brady reached for her. She didn’t resist, enjoying the feel of his palm against the top of her hand. Their fingers entwined and for a few moments, they had what could never exist outside in the real world.

It felt good. So good, she knew she’d miss it tomorrow.

Chapter Four

Three days had passed since Brady had seen Sheila. In a way, it felt like only a few hours since he’d held her hand in the dark. But at times it felt as if it had happened years ago. Either way, he missed it more than he should. He hadn’t even kissed the woman—not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a few hundred times—and he was already craving her touch again. He’d held hands, kissed and done much more with his fair share of women and none of them had had anywhere near the same effect. Once he was capable of taking her on a proper date, he would plan a night she wouldn’t forget. That is if he could convince her to say yes. He didn’t want to endanger her job, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe they could find a way...

He wheeled his chair to the abdominal crunch machine in the fitness room and adjusted the weight plates to slightly more than he’d lifted yesterday. He’d been a little overconfident the first day, thinking he could crunch close to what he did preaccident only to discover just how much his ab muscles had atrophied in two and a half months. When he looked in the mirror, he still saw the same man he was before GhostMaker took him out...with the exception of numerous surgery scars. He could live with those. Rodeo cowboys and ranchers had plenty of them. And while they were still raw, they didn’t bother him nearly as much as his lack of strength. Walking two feet without any assistance had become a daily goal he still couldn’t master. Weakness wasn’t part of his vocabulary.

He missed working on his house. He’d bought the small ranch thirty miles outside Ramblewood in January. Here it was July and he was already dipping into the money he’d set aside for renovations so he could pay the mortgage. He refused to allow his father to pay for his house. His dad didn’t have the money either, but knowing him, he’d sure as heck try to earn it.

He longed to get back to the ranch and his career, but he missed playing with his son more than anything. Gunner’s laughter was his favorite sound in the world. Now when his son looked at him, he saw worry in the boy’s small face. No father wants to hear his child ask when he’ll be able to play with them again. It broke his heart. Now that he was out of the hospital, they had the opportunity to spend more time together and have some long overdue fun.

Standing steadier every day since his arrival at Dance of Hope a week ago, Brady maneuvered into the machine’s seat and slid his feet under the pads. He reached above his shoulders and firmly grabbed hold of the handles. He concentrated on contracting his abdominal muscles and slowly bent forward, lifting his thighs and knees toward his upper body, and then eased the machine back into position. By not allowing the weight plates to touch, he could keep constant tension on his muscles. With each set, his range of motion increased slightly. He’d probably be able to squeeze in only ten or fifteen reps before his physical therapist came in and scolded him for pushing himself too hard. They didn’t understand. He’d continue to feel like half a man until he no longer needed anyone else’s help to provide for his son.

Brady heard the door to the fitness room open. Choosing to ignore it, he closed his eyes and continued his workout. One or two more crunches meant one or two more steps away from his wheelchair.

“Ahem.” A very feminine sounding throat cleared.

Determined to complete two sets, he refused to stop. Abby would physically have to block him this time. After another three crunches, Brady was surprised she still hadn’t said a word. Grunting, he opened his eyes and saw two tiny red-and-black sneakers. His heart lifted. Slowly, he eased the weight plates down as his son eagerly danced in front of him.

“Surprise, Daddy!”

Brady unfastened his fingerless gloves and tugged them off. “Come here, little man.” He slowly slid his feet out from under the pads and lifted his son into his arms. It was the first time since the accident that he’d held his son from somewhere other than a hospital bed or a wheelchair. It was a simple pleasure he wanted to enjoy for as long as he could. “I thought you were working today,” Brady said to Alice.

“Rebecca wanted tonight off so we traded shifts. Mom said she would watch Gunner. Since I had the day off, I thought we’d bring you your mail and see how you were doing.”

“Be careful when you head home tonight.” Brady hated when Alice worked the late shift at the emergency call center. Granted the police department was in the same building, but it wasn’t located in the safest part of town. “How did you know where to find me?”

“The tiny blonde physical therapist said you sneak in here every morning when you think no one’s looking.”

So much for getting away with an unsupervised workout this morning. It was a nice move on Abby’s part. She didn’t have to put an end to his routine today. She’d had his son do it instead. That was okay... Gunner was a welcome interruption. “Mmm. What’s that smell?” Brady sniffed the air.

“We brought you bre-fast, Daddy,” Gunner said. “All your fav-rits. Show him, Mommy.”

Alice held up a bag she had hidden behind her. “We stopped in town on the way here. Care to join us?”

Brady’s stomach began to growl. “Most definitely.” He eased Gunner onto his feet and gave him a playful poke so he would move out of the way. Alice reached for the boy’s hand, leading him away from the equipment. While his son’s back was still turned, Brady took the opportunity to stand and maneuver into his chair, consciously aware Alice was watching his every move.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re doing so much better than the last time I saw you.”

Brady released the brake and grumbled a thanks before wheeling to the door. He was grateful for Alice and her support even though he knew how much she wanted him to retire from bull riding. As much as he respected her concerns, he wished his recovery hadn’t come as such a surprise. He’d made it clear to her and anyone else who’d listen that he’d beat this. Alice hadn’t quite grasped that concept yet.

They feasted on pancakes, sausage and eggs at one of the picnic tables facing the rolling hills of the Bridle Dance Ranch. The view from his ten-acre ranch paled in comparison but it was home and he missed it. Brady’s father had taken his horses while he recuperated. That had been his father’s choice of words. It made it sound so simple, as if he had the flu. But they both knew it would probably be months until he was able to care for them on his own again. Months was tolerable, forever wasn’t. Despite his improvement, the more he spoke about getting back to his old life, the more people downplayed his career and told him either to take it easy or not to get his hopes up. Everyone except Gunner. Through Gunner’s eyes, anything and everything was possible.

“You’re thinking about home, aren’t you?” Alice asked as she gathered their take-out containers and stuffed them into a paper sack. “You’ll be there before you know it and then you can decide what you want to do next.”

Brady wiped his mouth on a napkin before crumpling it. “I already know what I’m going to do next. So do you.”

They watched Gunner waving to the horses near the corral fence. “I refuse to even entertain that idea. You’re out of the hospital and it’s time for you to get your priorities straight.”

“They are straight.” Brady kept his voice down so Gunner wouldn’t overhear them. “This is who I am, who I’ve always been. You’ve known me forever, know how much I love rodeo. I won’t stop competing till I’ve won the World All-Around Champion Cowboy title at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. I can’t possibly win this year, but just you watch—I will win. Until then, the money will pay the bills and keep me from losing my ranch.”

“What about the fund-raiser your dad set up?” Alice asked.

Brady cringed. He’d been humiliated when he discovered his father had pleaded for donations on social media. His sponsors, family and friends had all chipped in, but it still wasn’t close to the amount he needed. “I know Dad meant well, but I wish he hadn’t done that.”

“Are you mad that I contacted some of the relief funds designated to help injured rodeo competitors? Because if you are, you need to stop being modest and accept the help people are offering you.”

“Those funds are meant for people with serious injuries.”

“Brady, get it through your head.” Alice grabbed his hands and squeezed. “I know you’re feeling better and think you can take on the world, but this was a serious injury. You need to watch the video of your accident and see what happened to you.”

Brady shook his head. He had refused to watch the footage the first ten times Alice had brought it up because he feared it would deter him from ever riding again. That was a fear he wasn’t willing to face.

“Even with Dad’s fund-raising, my health insurance and everything else, it still only amounts to a fraction of what I owe. It’s not like I can get a second mortgage on my house. I don’t have any equity in it yet. All I have is my job—my career. I need to be able to live—I need to be able to support Gunner. And even if money wasn’t a factor, I’d still want to compete again.”

Alice released his hands and waved him off dismissively. “Bull riding isn’t an option and most likely it won’t be ever again. Switch to one of the timed events, like roping or steer wrestling. At least it’s safer. It terrifies me that this place is connected to a rodeo school. Haven’t you heard one word the doctors have told you?”

“They don’t know my body the way I do. I’m a bull rider. It’s who I am. I need to compete in two events to qualify in the All-Around Cowboy category. That’s where the money is. I’ve always competed in roughstock and I’m not changing now. Even if I wanted to, it’s not like changing your shoes. We spend a lifetime training for our events.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wishing he had his Stetson. He made a mental note to remind his father to bring it during his next visit. He felt vulnerable enough in his wheelchair—he hated feeling naked without his hat.

“I’d say they know your body better than you after all those surgeries,” Alice hissed. “How many was it?”

“That’s beside the point.” Brady backed away from the table. “Thank you for breakfast, but I have to get to therapy.”

For a moment, she appeared as if she might continue their argument. “I thought maybe Gunner and I could hang around here today. He really misses you, Brady. You’re not in therapy all day, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I get numerous breaks throughout the day. I miss him too, but please do me a favor—keep him away from my physical therapy. I don’t want him to see me like that.”

“I don’t understand what the big d—”

“I asked you nicely.” Alice’s relentless persistence was one of the many reasons why they weren’t romantically involved. Everything was always an argument. “I want to spend time with Gunner and I’m fine with you staying the day, but please respect me enough to do this.”

“Brady?” Sheila called out to him from the sidewalk leading to the picnic tables. “Is that your son climbing through the fence?”

Brady looked toward the corral and saw Gunner already had a leg and shoulder over the bottom rail. He stood to chase after him before his body had a chance to remind him otherwise. Dammit! He grabbed hold of the picnic table to prevent himself from falling completely forward. Sheila rushed to his side as Alice ran across the grass and pulled their son back through the fence. Gunner hadn’t been in any imminent danger, but Brady’s first instinct was to save him—and he couldn’t. If Gunner got into trouble, he wouldn’t be able to help him. That was unacceptable, and another reason to push himself.

“Are you all right?” Sheila asked, guiding him into his chair.

Brady attempted to shrug her off to no avail. Great, now I have two persistent women in my life. “I’m fine. Please let me do this on my own.”

Sheila stepped to the side when Alice returned with Gunner. “He still doesn’t understand that he can’t pet every horse he sees.” Gunner squirmed in her arms. “I’m Alice,” she said to Sheila.

“I’m Dr. Lindstrom, but you can call me Sheila.”

“I’d shake your hand but—” Alice struggled to keep a grip on Gunner. “He needs a nap.”

“You can take him to my cottage,” Brady ground out. “I’ll come find you after hippotherapy.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Alice said to Sheila before carrying Gunner away.

He inhaled deeply. Sheila’s scent hung like freshly laundered linens in the thick summer heat. He’d waited three days to gaze into her silver eyes, but now he couldn’t look at her. Not after almost face-planting into the picnic table because he was too weak to chase after his son.

“I’m late for therapy,” Brady said to Sheila, wheeling his chair onto the sidewalk.

“Do you feel pain anywhere?” Sheila walked alongside him. He appreciated her concern, but his embarrassment made him want to hide in his cottage with Gunner.

“Just my ego.” Brady stopped at the entrance to the hippotherapy center. “The kindest thing you can do is walk away and give me a chance to regroup.”

Brady didn’t even have to look. He sensed when she stepped away. Confident she wouldn’t follow him into the building, he pressed the automatic door button and wheeled into the cool corridor. As much as he preferred his hippotherapy outdoors, he wouldn’t have to worry about Alice and Gunner watching him in the indoor arena. His therapy consisted of more than just riding horses. Walking and stair-climbing was a huge part of his morning routine and it could be excruciating. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate with them there. It would serve only to reaffirm Alice’s opinions on bull riding, and it might scare Gunner to see him in that kind of pain. No thank you. There were some things a man needed to do alone. This was one of them.

* * *

WELL, THAT WAS AWKWARD. Sheila hadn’t expected to meet Gunner’s mother this morning. She hadn’t really given the woman much thought until she’d been face-to-face with her. She was attractive. She had huge blue eyes and glossy straight shoulder-length dark brown hair with bangs. Petite, but not short, she was one of those narrow women. Narrow hips, narrow shoulders. The type that made surgery more difficult because it didn’t give her a lot of room to work with. She didn’t hope to operate on Alice—it was just the way her brain worked 99 percent of the time. She was perpetually in work mode...unless she was in the dark with Brady.

The chances of that ever happening again were zero, zilch, zip, wasn’t going to happen—couldn’t happen—and she needed to eliminate all thoughts of it. Therein lay the problem. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Even when she thought she had, he invaded her dreams.

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