Dylan's Last Dare. Patricia Thayer

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ