Dylan's Last Dare. Patricia Thayer

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ