“If I’m so good with the ladies, how come it hasn’t worked on you?”

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.

“Whoa, this is where I draw the line. Sometimes a man has to go it alone. This is one of those times.”

“What if you fall?”

“Then I pick myself up.” He took another step inside and closed the door in her face.

“Just call out when you’re finished, I’ll come get you,” she said through the door.

“I’m sure I can figure it out,” she heard him say.

“You just think you can, Mr. Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry.” She pivoted and marched to the kitchen, praying that she could survive this next month…and this man.

Dylan cursed as he stumbled coming out of the bathroom. Although he wasn’t very good at it, he liked to be up, at least on his one good leg, but he wasn’t going to let Ms. Farren know that.

With the crutches securely in place under his arms, he slowly made his way to the kitchen, still peeved he hadn’t scared her off with his seduction routine. He found her at the stove, humming a song. Well, she wouldn’t be singing for long, not after he tossed her out.

“As soon as you finish here, you better go pack your bags because you’re not staying.”

She turned and came to his aid. “Let’s get you to the table, Dylan. The soup is nearly ready.”

It did smell good, and he discovered he was hungry. He thought about telling her he didn’t need any help, then her hands were on him. Although her gesture was clinical, he liked her gentle and warm touch. He also liked her nice scent, fresh…feminine. At the table, she was careful of his injured leg, and helped him into the chair. Then she came back with two bowls and placed one in front of him and took the seat across from him.

Brenna placed a napkin on her lap and looked up. Dylan couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was. Not in a traditional beauty-queen fashion, but with startling warm, honey-brown eyes that seemed to hold such wonder and innocence, and her mouth had him wondering how it would taste. Her skin was flawless, despite a soft sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose.

No, he couldn’t have her around. He didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially a woman. “Look…you’ve got to face it, this isn’t going to work. I don’t want you here. So why don’t you just leave?”

“I can’t.” She placed her spoon on the table. “To be honest, I need this job. But more important, Dylan, you need me. If you ever want to walk again, you need my determination, my drive to push you hard. You need someone who won’t let you bully them. Who won’t let you slack off. Oh, you need me all right—that is, if you ever want to regain the use of your leg.”

Her optimism was contagious, but he couldn’t let himself hope. “But I’ll never climb back on a bull again.”

She huffed out a breath. “Aren’t two national championships enough? Besides, aren’t you a little over the hill for a bull rider?”

Even though her comment was true, it still stung. Over thirty, everyone knew a rodeo rider was pretty much used up. He’d planned that this would be his last year. Of course, if he’d won the championship again, he probably would have gone another year on the circuit. “I was on top this year. I was headed to the national finals in Las Vegas.” He paused, realizing his frustration. “How would you feel if you couldn’t do your job?”

“It would be rough. But I’m trying to build my career, you’ve had years of success. Isn’t being on top a good time to get out? Look at Michael Jordan, he retired.”

“Then he returned to basketball.”

She thought again. “How about football players John Elway and Troy Aikman? They retired because of injuries that threatened their lives,” she added. “They found other things that were important to them. Surely you’ve made enough money to start over with something else. Besides, Dylan, you can’t even walk right now. How can you think about going back?”

“That’s what I mean,” he stressed. “So, what’s the use of me killing myself if it’s all for nothing?”

Brenna’s eyes flashed as she got up from the table. “The use is that you have other things to walk for. Your family. Your brother, his wife and their children.”

Dylan was never one to do much with family. Wyatt had been the only relative he had had, until last year when they’d learned their father’s true identity. A bronc rider named Jack Randell. After the discovery, Wyatt immediately had to come to San Angelo, Texas, even bought the old Randell family ranch, the Rocking R. Dylan had wanted no part of the Randells, but Wyatt had gotten close to his half brothers, Chance, Cade and Travis, and their other illegitimate half brother, Jared Trager.

And since the accident, Dylan had been stuck here. “That’s Wyatt’s family, not mine.”

“It’s yours, too,” she insisted. “Family can be important to your rehabilitation.”

He didn’t want to hear any more. “What is it going to cost me to get rid of you?”

Brenna crossed her arms over her breasts. Just the simple movement was erotic. Oh, God. He couldn’t have her living here.

“Why don’t I make a deal with you,” she began. “How about you cooperate with me for two weeks?” She raised her hand to stop him. “Just hear me out.”

He hesitated, then gave a nod.

“If there isn’t any progress by that time, I’ll leave.” She lowered her hand. “Now, I have terms. I want you to get out of bed every morning by seven o’clock, you’ll need to spend the allotted time on the parallel bars and work twice a day with weights. And I will work you hard, Dylan. Harder than you’ve probably had to work in your life, but I also believe that together we can get results.” She looked him in the eye. “You can walk, Dylan. I believe it. So, how much are you willing to do for that? How much are you willing to do so you can get out of the wheelchair, to walk on your own?”

Dylan didn’t want to just walk, he wanted to go back to what he had loved to do: bull riding. He wasn’t afraid of work. Hell, he grew up with hard manual labor, handling rough stock for rodeos. But this was all he’d ever wanted. And even if he was retiring, he wanted to go out on top. He was Dylan “The Devil” Gentry.

“I want to get back to rodeoing. Can you help me do that?”

He watched her hesitate and his heart sank into his gut. Then her eyes darkened with determination. “It’s going to cost you extra, but I feel if the desire is there, you can do anything.”

“I know I have the desire, but do you, Brenna? Can you put up with my nasty attitude and bad days, and make me the man I used to be?”

“I hope by the time I’m finished you’ll learn that being a man has nothing to do with the size of the bull you ride.”

She made him want to do a lot more than just walk. He shook away the distracting thought. “Can you do it?” he challenged. “Will you do it?”

Brenna’s gaze locked with his. There was a flicker of vulnerability before she masked it and nodded. “Why do I feel like I just sold my soul to the devil?”

His face split into a beautiful smile that set her heart aflutter.

Because she had.

Chapter Two

Early the next morning Brenna stepped outside on the porch, hoping the brisk air would help her recent queasiness. What she didn’t expect was to find Wyatt Gentry’s four-year-old daughter, Kelly, sitting on the step.

“Well, good morning.”

Smiling, the cute little blonde stood. “Hi, Miss Brenna.” Under a heavy nylon jacket, she wore a pink sweater with blue corduroy pants and a pair of boots. She came up another step. “You remember me? Kelly. I live in that house.” She pointed to the large ranch house about a hundred yards away.

“Yes, Kelly, I remember you.” Brenna hugged her own heavy sweater closer to ward off the January cold. “What are you doing out so early?”

“I’m going for a ride on my pony, Sandy. My daddy is going to take me.” She frowned. “But I don’t know where he is.” She glanced at the cottage door. “Is he inside with Unca Dylan?”

“No, but your uncle is awake. You want to come inside?”

The girl shook her head, a mixture of fear and sadness in her eyes. “No. He doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Your uncle was hurt in a bad accident. He’s just having a rough time trying to make his leg work again. I bet soon he’ll be happy again.”

“Then will he like me?”

“I think he already does,” Brenna tried to assure her. “But let’s give him a few weeks and when he’s feeling better you can come by for a visit.”

The child smiled. “I like you,” she said as she studied Brenna. “You’re pretty. Do you have any little girls who are four?” She held up the same number of fingers.

Brenna shook her head as she held a protective hand over her stomach. “No, I don’t,” she said, feeling a sudden yearning. “Not yet.” She prayed that the baby growing inside her would be born healthy. If she survived the next few months, this job paid well enough to guarantee that she could stay home with her child for those first few months, but she still couldn’t give her baby a father.

A man’s voice drew their attention and they both looked toward the barn to find Wyatt. Kelly’s face lit up and she took off running. Brenna waved and watched until the girl jumped into her father’s arms. The scene reminded her of her own father, Sean Farren. There was nothing like the secure feeling parents gave a child. Brenna was a little ashamed she hadn’t told her parents about the baby—the baby she had conceived out of wedlock—with a man they’d never met.

Brenna knew they’d be disappointed with their oldest child and their only daughter. She was the first Farren to bring home a college degree. She also thought she’d be bringing a husband, but that had changed with Jason’s hang-gliding accident and death. Just days later she’d discovered she was pregnant. With no other options, she had to come home to her family’s ranch.

That was the reason she needed to have a job that paid enough to allow her to raise her child and not have to depend on Mom and Dad. Tugging her sweater around her, she knew she had to tell them. She’d seen the subtle changes in her body. At three months, she was beginning to lose her waistline. It wouldn’t be much time before her secret was out.

Brenna walked back inside the cottage. This was to be her home for a while. But what would happen with her job when Dylan Gentry discovered her condition? Would he send her packing or would she be given the chance to help him back on his feet?

She hoped the latter. At least she didn’t have to worry about the man being attracted to her. Most men ran from women with children. Too bad she couldn’t say the same. The handsome bull rider was dangerous in more ways than one. She would definitely have to keep her head, and her distance.

Brenna glanced around the small but comfortable room. The cottage had been recently remodeled by Wyatt and Jared Trager. There were new windows, kitchen cabinets and countertops. The doorways had been widened and new hardwood floors had been laid throughout, making it easy to get through with a wheelchair.

Suddenly Dylan’s bedroom door swung open and he came out with the aid of his crutches. She stayed rooted to the spot, waiting to see if he needed her assistance. By the looks of his sure, smooth movements, he was handling them very well. She figured he did everything well. There was one problem she thought, eyeing his perfectly proportioned body, his broad shoulders and bare chest. How could she get him to wear more clothes? Pregnant or not, her hormones were racing full speed, especially with a good-looking man around all the time.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“So you’re hungry?”

He made his way to the table. “If we’re going to work this morning, I’m going to need some food. I’ve done enough weight training to know that.”

A thrill rushed through Brenna. Her job had just become a whole lot easier. She walked into the kitchen and took the lid off the skillet that held the scrambled eggs and bacon she had prepared a short while ago. Taking out two plates, she scooped up the food and took them to the table. She went back for two glasses of juice. During the meal the conversation was kept at a minimum as her patient concentrated on his food.

Dylan paused from his eating and glanced across the table at his new drill sergeant, for the moment. Brenna looked a little tired and there were dark circles around those striking brown eyes. Of course, he was probably the reason. He hadn’t exactly been agreeable since her arrival. He still didn’t want her here and had planned to get rid of her, but she’d managed to find his weak spot.

She’d challenged him. And he’d never backed down from a challenge.

Besides, she was the only therapist who’d showed up at the door who seemed sure he would walk again. He still wasn’t certain that she could pull it off. Although she wasn’t very big in size, he knew she was strong. He’d felt the toned muscles across her back and arms when she’d helped him stand at the parallel bars yesterday.

Of course, she had to be strong to lift patients. What had surprised him was her embarrassment when she’d stripped off the blanket and discovered him buck naked. Hadn’t she seen patients naked before? Hadn’t she seen a man without clothes? He couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone in her life.

She definitely was attractive enough. Although he preferred blondes, he wondered how that glorious rust-colored mane would look down. She smelled good, too. He remembered the soft citrus scent whenever she’d gotten close to him.

His attention turned to her figure. Although she was wearing bulky sweats now, he recalled the sweet curve of her hips and long slender legs. He had no doubt she would fill out a pair of Wranglers to perfection. Just the way he liked…

Whoa. He didn’t need to think of Ms. Farren as anything short of Attila the Hun. He was already too vulnerable with his battered and bruised body. There were scars that would never go away. His leg was the worst, a road map of red lines from the accident and the numerous surgeries. Not a pretty sight.

There was a time when women had admired his physique. After every successful ride, he could almost guarantee there would be women who’d be willing to share his celebration, even the night, with him. Since the accident, they hadn’t been exactly lined up at his door. Yesterday morning, for a flash of an instant, Brenna had looked at him as if he were a man. And he definitely saw her as a woman.

Man, she was going to be a killer on his sleeping schedule.

He downed his orange juice, then reached for his coffee mug and leaned back in his chair while watching her. She picked at her food. “At the rate you eat, I’ll never get to the bars.”

She set down her fork. “I guess I put too much on my plate.” She stood. “You’re right, we should get started.” She carried the dishes to the sink.

“Hey, we have time for you to finish.”

“I’ve had enough,” she told him. “Drink your coffee and we’ll get started on the weights.”

“Why don’t you join me with a cup?”

She shook her head. “Caffeine makes me jittery. But enjoy yours while I clean up the dishes.”

“Can’t we take a few minutes to talk?”

Brenna set the dishes on the counter and turned around. She knew it wasn’t unusual for a patient and PT to get personal. “What would you like to know? My credentials?”

He shrugged. “Where are you from?”

“I grew up here. My parents own a small ranch on the other side of San Angelo.”

“Does everyone around here ranch?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It is cattle country.” She knew he was new to the area. “Your own family has done very well in the business.” Everyone knew the affluence of the Randells.

“What family is that?”

“The Randells.”

“Does everyone know my business?”

Brenna wiped her hands on a towel and came to the table. “No, I only know the story because Wyatt told me. If you’re worried about what people think…”

“I don’t give a damn, but my business is my business.”

“Seems to me you gave up your privacy when you become a national bull-riding champion.” She had seen Dylan Gentry’s exploits written up in the news the past years. “You draw a crowd wherever you go…especially women.”

She saw a flash of pain in Dylan’s eyes before he masked it. “That’s over,” he said. “I just want to be left alone.”

Good. Brenna didn’t feel like fighting off a bunch of women to get him to do his therapy. “That’s fine with me.” She pointed to the equipment in the living room. “We’re going to be concentrating so hard on your rehab that you aren’t going to have a chance to think about anything else.”

He made a snorting sound. “There isn’t enough therapy in the world to do that.”

Brenna knew that dealing with a patient’s depression was part of the job. Silently she went back to doing the dishes, knowing that she had to keep Dylan Gentry distracted with hard work.

Thirty minutes later, after a series of warm-up exercises, they got busy at the weight bench. Brenna was spotting Dylan as he lay on his back lifting the barbells up and down to help improve his upper-body strength. She was impressed at how easily he did each repetition. She also saw the strain on his face and knew he was pushing himself—too hard. Maybe he was just trying to impress the new PT, but she didn’t want him to burn out. Finally she called a halt and handed him a towel to wipe off his sweaty chest. After a few minutes, she crouched in front of him and began strapping small weights around his ankles.

“We’ll take this slow…and easy.” She held on to his leg before he started. “We’re not going all out on your first time, or tomorrow you’ll be worthless. So take it easy,” she warned. “Just lift your leg a few inches, hold it, then lower it.”

A cinch, Dylan thought. But the light weight felt like a ton. By the time he finished five reps, beads of sweat had formed on his face. Even though she told him that was enough, he did five more. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how hard the exercise was on him, but his leg had other ideas. The muscles fatigued from being sedentary for so long suddenly went into spasm.

Crying out, Dylan grabbed his leg. “Damn, damn…”

“Lie back,” Brenna ordered as her sure hands went to work, kneading and soothing the knotted muscles in his thigh.

Dylan draped his arm over his eyes, hating his weakness but letting her magic fingers take over and ease his pain. Soon the pain turned to pleasure. What had soothed him was now beginning to arouse.

“That’s enough.” He sat up and tried to push her hand away. “My leg feels better.”

“Just let me finish working out the stiffness.”

He groaned and tightened his hold on her hand. “That’s never going to happen if you keep this up,” he said honestly.

She glanced down and suddenly her face flamed red. “Oh… Then we should take a break.” She handed him a bottle of water and walked out of the room.

Dylan fell back on the weight bench and closed his eyes. Somehow, he had to find a way to stop seeing Brenna Farren as a woman. He thought about the long-legged, auburn-haired vixen and realized that was never going to happen.

Four days later, taking a break from his workouts, Dylan sat on the sofa, remote in his hand, flipping through the channels, when his brother peered in the door. “Hey, Dylan,” Wyatt said. “Got a minute?”

“It’s your house.”

His brother frowned. “I told you when I bought the ranch months ago I want you as my partner, just like we’d always talked about.”

“Didn’t plan on me being a cripple.”

“Temporary situation,” Wyatt said assuredly.

“And I told you I want no part of the Randell place. Besides, if I had a choice…”

Wyatt raised his hand. “You wouldn’t be here,” he finished his brother’s sentence. Wyatt sat down on the sofa. “Just so you know, this ranch didn’t start with Jack Randell. Our grandfather, John Sr., started the Rocking R and was well respected in the community. At one time this spread was one of the biggest in the area until Jack ran it into the ground.”

“And you’re putting it back together.” At his brother’s nod, Dylan went on, “And you’re even running a herd.”

Wyatt nodded again. “Hank Barrett suggested I give it a try. The Rocking R’s herd is for the Mustang Valley Guest Ranch’s cattle drives and roundups.” He folded his arms. “You can’t believe the big demand for working cattle ranches.”

Dylan saw his brother’s excitement and envied him.

“Chance, Cade and Travis will be helping out,” Wyatt continued. “I’d like you to meet them.”

“Thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

Dylan had heard more than enough about his three half brothers and Hank Barrett, the man who raised them when Jack Randell was sent off to prison for cattle rustling. Dylan felt the same about Jared Trager, another illegitimate brother who’d showed up last year. Seemed their daddy enjoyed seducing women, then when he got tired of them, he moved on. And no one had seen anything of good old Jack for years.

“Maybe when you get back on your feet you’ll feel differently,” Wyatt suggested. “How is the therapy coming?”

Dylan frowned. “You should know since Ms. Farren has been reporting to you.”

“Brenna and I haven’t spoken since the day I hired her. I thought you should handle this business on your own.”

Dylan gave a sarcastic hoot. “That would be a first.” His brother had always tried to manage his life.

“Look, Dylan. A few months ago, I wasn’t sure you would even survive the accident, let alone ever walk again,” he said, emotion lacing his voice. “You’ve been given a second chance, but it’s up to you what you do with it.” Wyatt gave him a long look, then stood and walked to the door. “Call if you need anything.” He left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dylan suddenly felt like a heel. Deep down, he knew his brother was only trying to help him.

“Wyatt!” he called as he struggled to get up, one hand gripping the back of the chair as he reached for his crutches. He made it to the door, but when he pulled it open he was surprised when he was forced backward as someone slammed into him. It wasn’t Wyatt, but Brenna. He fought to regain his balance but the attempt was futile. He dropped his crutches, reached out to grab the door frame for support, and in the process managed to sandwich Brenna between himself and the wall.

She gasped and her arms immediately went around his waist. He tried to shift his weight, but the action only seemed to increase the friction between them, shooting heat throughout his body.

“Dammit. Hold still,” he demanded.

She froze. Only the sound of the TV in the background and their ragged breathing filled the room. Then her gaze raised to meet his and the startling color of her whiskey eyes mesmerized him. He couldn’t seem to manage his next breath, but he managed to inhale her arousing scent. Only inches from her tempting mouth, he could easily bend forward and take a taste of her. Suddenly realizing where his thoughts were heading, he gripped the door frame and hopped backward on his good leg.

Now free, Brenna moved swiftly to retrieve his crutches. She helped slip them under his arms but didn’t move away.

“You okay?” she asked.

He managed a nod, wishing she would stop asking him that question.

“Here, let me help you.” Her hands touched his arms.

He jerked away. “I can do it,” he insisted, and planted the base of his crutches on the floor, then turned and headed to the privacy of his bedroom. There he could deal with a different kind of pain.

Dylan didn’t come out of the bedroom for the next hour. He didn’t want to, at least not until he could find a way to fight his reaction to this woman. She was his therapist, she was going to have her hands on him…a lot. He groaned, thinking how much he wanted her touch…how he ached for it.

What the hell was wrong with him? No doubt Brenna was pretty, but she had commitment written all over her. And he definitely wasn’t a forever kind of guy. Maybe in that respect he was like his old man. He had no desire to settle down with a wife and kids. He’d never known anyone who’d set a good example for him to follow.

All his life he and Wyatt had been known as Sally Gentry’s bastard kids. Still, that hadn’t been as bad as when they were ten years old and Earl Keys came into their mother’s life. He’d convinced her that he’d make a good home for her and her boys. The truth was, Keys only wanted free laborers for his rough-stock business. Every summer both he and Wyatt had worked the rodeo circuit. During the school year, they’d lived on the man’s Arizona ranch, but the work hadn’t been any easier. Just as soon as the two had turned eighteen, they were gone.

No, neither Randell nor Keys were the best examples of what a father should be. Dylan had no doubt he’d inherited a few bad genes. He’d traveled the circuit and he was damn good at whatever he tried, starting out calf roping with Wyatt. Later, he’d discovered the excitement of bull riding. And the money for his talent and all the endorsements hadn’t been bad, either. He was somebody. Then.

He rubbed his leg. Now he was a cripple.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door, then it opened. Brenna stepped just inside. She’d changed into a pair of jeans and blouse that had his juices flowing once again.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “Or you going to stay in here all night and pout?”

“I’m not pouting,” he insisted. “I’m just tired.”

She came farther into the room. “You’re in good shape. And your stamina has increased, so we can go longer, starting tomorrow.”

“What if I don’t want to go longer?”

She crossed her arms. “Look, Dylan, we agreed to a work schedule. If I let you slide now, you’ll never get back on your feet. If you’re worried about what happened with the cramps, we can work on that.”

This woman was unbelievable. “I can handle the cramps.” It’s you I can’t seem to handle, he thought silently.

“Good, because more than likely they’ll return. But I can help. There’s the whirlpool bath and I can give you a massage.”

He tensed. Oh yeah, that was going to help a lot.

Brenna just stood there for a few more moments.

“Is there something else you want?” he asked.

“Staying closed up in here isn’t good for you, Dylan. Not when you’re used to having people around.”

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

“As your therapist, I do. Your sister-in-law called and asked if you want to come up to the house for dinner.”

Oh boy, the whole family all at once. He thought about Wyatt and the way he’d handled things earlier.

“If you are worried about the children, I know little Kelly would love to get to know you better.”

“I’m not good with kids.”

“Kelly is female. No matter what her age, I bet you can have her charmed in minutes.” Brenna wrinkled her nose and Dylan knew she was trying to hide a smile.

“If I’m so good with the ladies, how come it hasn’t worked on you?”

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 therapist.”

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

“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, and the other half is probably exaggerated.”

“Whoa, someone must have done you wrong, lady.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and placed his legs on the floor. “Who was he? Want me to go beat him up?”

A sadness transformed her face. “His name was Jason. And you can’t beat him up…he’s dead.” She started to leave, when Dylan reached out and grabbed her arm. She pulled away as tears formed in her eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The urge to take her into his arms and hold her was overwhelming.

“It’s okay.” She moved toward the door. “I guess if you aren’t going to your brother’s for dinner then I better fix you something.”

He shook his head. “No, don’t cook, Brenna. We’re going to supper at Wyatt’s.”

“I’ll help you get there,” she said, “but it would be better if you go to dinner on your own.”

“Look, for the past week we’ve been living in pretty close quarters. And it’s been hard to stay out of each other’s business, much less their space. I’ve let you handle me at will, strap me in contraptions, and cause me considerable pain. Now, I’d say you owe me. Please, go with me.”

She hesitated. “Okay, but don’t think you’re going to get your way all the time.”

He wanted his way, all right. With her. “I’ll take what I can get.” He got to his feet. “Give me ten minutes to shower.” Using his crutches, he grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans from the bureau drawer.

“You be sure to use the bench in the tub,” she warned.

“Or what? You’re coming in and joining me?” He grinned. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

He watched her blush, but she didn’t back down. “Be careful, remember I can hurt you.”

He wasn’t thinking pain, only pleasure as he headed off to the shower, a cool one. And for the first time in a long while, it was good to feel alive.

Fifteen minutes later they were both seated in one of the golf carts that belonged to the Mustang Valley Guest Ranch. With Brenna behind the wheel, they headed up to the main house. That was the easy part. The three steps to the porch were much more of a challenge to Dylan.

“You’re getting to be pretty good with those crutches,” Brenna said.

“Now, who’s trying to charm who?” he asked, trying to relax his labored breathing.

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll do my part.”

He smiled, enjoying the easiness between them. “Just how far will you go, Ms. Brenna?”

Even under the porch light, he could see she was flustered, but before she could give a retort the door opened and Kelly appeared. The child looked a little apprehensive, then relaxed seeing Brenna. “Hi, Unca Dylan,” she said. “Hi, Brenna.”

“Hello, Kelly,” Brenna said, and she pulled open the screen door allowing Dylan to go in first. Then she followed.

Dylan’s gaze swept around the huge sunny-yellow kitchen. There were pine cabinets and white-tiled countertops. At the stainless-steel stove, his sister-in-law stood cooking. His brother had always talked about having a home. It looked as if he’d gotten his wish.

Maura turned and smiled. “Dylan and Brenna, I’m so glad you both came.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Brenna said.

Maura walked over to greet them, surprising Dylan with a hug. Then she stood back and gave him the once-over. “Well, look at you, Dylan, getting around so well.” She turned to Brenna. “Thank you for helping him.”

“Oh, Dylan is the one who did the work,” she insisted. “I only gave him a little push now and then.”

“Using a bulldozer,” Dylan said, and they all laughed.

The sound of voices drew their attention to the doorway where Wyatt and seven-year-old Jeff walked into the room. He and Wyatt weren’t identical twins, Dylan thought, struck once again by their differences, but they were pretty close, with the same height and build. Their hair color was the same, but their eyes were different—his brother’s were blue while his were more gray. Wyatt was the more sensible one. Dylan had always been attracted to trouble.

The young boy’s face lit up. “Wow, Dad, Uncle Dylan came.”

Wyatt smiled. “Yes, son, I’d say he did.” He walked up to Dylan. “Glad you could make it, bro.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” Dylan lied as he leaned on his crutches. “This was the only way to get a taste of Maura’s meat loaf. You’ve certainly bragged about it enough.”

“Well, come and sit down,” Wyatt coaxed. “Dinner shouldn’t be too long. Would you like something to drink? Soda? Iced tea? Milk?”

“Iced tea sounds good.”

“I’ll get it.” Jeff ran to the refrigerator, then came back with a full glass. “Uncle Dylan, Dad said you’re the best bull rider in the world.”

A sadness moved through him, but he pushed it aside and smiled at his nephew. “Well, I had won the national championship, but someone else won the title this year.”

“I told Benny Roberts you did, but he said that I’m lyin’ ‘cause you aren’t really my uncle.”

A strange protectiveness came over Dylan. “I guess you just have to prove him wrong. As soon as I locate my things, I’ll dig up one of my championship buckles and you can show him.”

“Oh, wow!” His eyes rounded. “Can I, really?”

Dylan ruffled the boy’s hair. “Yes, you really can.”

A smiling Jeff went to his seat across the table, next to Kelly. The little girl looked like her mother, pretty as a picture. When he winked at her, her face lit up with a smile, and a funny feeling circled Dylan’s heart.

Brenna leaned toward him. “I think you got yourself a couple of new fans here.” She looked him in the eye and whispered, “You’ve still got it, Dylan ‘The Devil’ Gentry.”

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