Rancher Under Fire. Vickie McDonough

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СКАЧАТЬ smiled, certain he must have finally realized he’d left his chatty daughter alone with her.

      “Okay!” Hailey took one last bounce and hopped off the bed.

      “Who’s Deuce?” Mariah asked as she hung a teal velour top on a hanger.

      “Daddy’s old friend. He lives here—in the room off the kitchen.”

      That was one room Mariah had obviously missed.

      “He’s really old. Daddy says he looks like he needs to be ironed, ’cause he gots so many wrinkles.” Hailey giggled as she headed out the door. “Deuce is our cook.”

      Mariah wondered how old Hailey’s version of “really old” was. The youth back at the Tank Up had called her “ma’am,” even though she was only twenty-four.

      She contemplated the black truck that had chased her as she arranged her folded clothing and undergarments in the empty dresser. Had the attack been random? Or maybe one of the cowboys from the bar just wanting to scare a city girl? What else could it have been? Not a soul in the state of Oklahoma knew her. She blew out a tense breath and set her suitcase in the bottom of the closet, next to her white tennis shoes. She sat on the chair that matched the small desk and looked at her pants. At least she hadn’t torn her new business suit in the wreck, but she’d have to soak the pants in cold water to get the bloodstain out.

      She rolled up her left pant leg, sucking in a deep breath as pain burned down her shin when she gently pulled the fabric away from an inch-long gash on her knee. A thin trail of blood ran halfway down her shin. Quickly, she shifted her gaze away.

      Ignoring the nausea churning in her stomach, Mariah glanced around for a tissue. When she didn’t find one, she dared to look more closely at her leg. The sight of blood had always made her feel like vomiting, if not fainting. She grabbed hold of the desk, desperately hoping the room would stop swirling. This was not the way to impress J. D. Durant and change his mind about the interview.

      “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

      Mariah jumped at the closeness of J.D.’s masculine voice. No! Not now. Why did he have to appear just when she was at her weakest? She waved a dismissive hand in the air as she struggled to regain her composure.

      Ignoring her, he disappeared into the bathroom and rummaged around for a minute, then returned with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, ointment and bandages, which he set on the desk beside her. He returned to the bathroom, ran the faucet for a moment and came back with a damp cloth.

      When he knelt beside her, Mariah sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the task at hand. She reached for the aqua washcloth, but he pulled it away. “I can do it,” she whispered, still not sure her stomach wasn’t going to revolt and totally embarrass her.

      He stoically ignored her again and gently cupped her calf, his warm touch sending odd tingles spiraling down her leg. She placed her hand on his shoulder, intending to push him away, but her gaze landed on the bloodstained cloth. Instantly she realized her mistake, but it was too late. Darkness swirled with light as she felt her body wilt.

      * * *

      Jackson dropped the wet washcloth and grabbed the reporter as she sagged toward him. Pushing to his feet, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her limp body against his chest. He couldn’t believe this was the same spitfire who’d argued with him outside only minutes ago.

      He laid her on the bed then pulled off her shoes. Snatching the clean washcloth off the floor, Jackson folded it in a long line and laid the clean side across her head. Now what? He’d never had a female faint on him before.

      Was she injured worse than he first thought? There was the cut on her knee, but maybe she’d also banged her head in the accident and now had a concussion. Guilt plagued him for being so hard on her earlier. He may be a Christian, but he sure hadn’t acted like one. He paced the room, trying to decide what he should do.

      Why did women always cause him problems? This was the very reason he’d moved to the country, to get away from pesky, gawking fans and hovering women who wanted to be with him simply because he was a rich, famous athlete. He’d yielded to a woman’s charms once, but that was a long time ago, and it wouldn’t happen again.

      “C’mon, Lord. Help me out here.”

      He could handle wounded horses and cows, could face a line of three-hundred-pound tacklers all bent on sacking him, but give him a sick or crying woman, and he lost all sensibility.

      Get a grip, Durant.

      A soft moan erupted from behind him, and he spun around. Ms. Reyes’s arm rested across her forehead. He hurried to her side and eased onto the edge of the bed. “What can I do to help?”

      She lifted the washcloth from her head, staring unseeing for a few moments. “Please...”

      “What?” Jackson leaned forward, noticing her long, dark lashes.

      “Please tell me I didn’t pass out.” She pressed her hand against her trim stomach.

      “Wish I could, but—”

      “Oh, I did, didn’t I? I’m so embarrassed.” A faint flush of scarlet darkened her olive skin, and then panic dashed across her pretty face as she scanned the room. “I didn’t upset Hailey, did I?”

      She started to sit up, but he gently grasped her shoulders, pressing her back down. Her concern for his daughter warmed him. Maybe he’d been too harsh and misjudged her at first glance. “You need to rest for a bit while I doctor your leg. And no, Hailey wasn’t here when you passed out.”

      “Thank goodness. I wouldn’t want to frighten her. She’s such a sweet little thing.”

      “Yes, she is.” Jackson smiled. Hailey could talk the ears off a mynah bird, but she certainly was a sweetie pie—and tough. She hadn’t even fussed when Sabrina yanked her to the ground or when he’d doctored the rope burns on her hands a few minutes ago. He was proud of his daughter’s fortitude, unlike this city gal, who fainted at the sight of a little gash. A ranch was no place for someone like her.

      The sooner he patched up her leg, the sooner he could get away from her. He refocused his attention on the woman’s injury and forced a politeness in his voice that he didn’t feel. “If you’re done with the washcloth, I’ll finish cleaning your leg with it, Ms. Reyes.”

      Her cheeks darkened in a deep blush again. “Call me Mariah, and I can clean my own leg.”

      Jackson couldn’t refrain from smirking. “I saw what happened when you merely looked at your bloody knee. How do you expect to stare at it long enough to doctor and bandage it? Am I wrong in guessing that you pass out at the sight of blood?”

      Mariah’s faced paled, and she glanced away. “No, you’re not wrong,” she said on a whisper. “This is so embarrassing. Go on and get it over with.” She grabbed the damp cloth and tossed it in his direction.

      He snagged it in midair, cleaned her wound, then washed off the blood that had trailed down her slim leg. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

      “No, not really, but I imagine I’ll be sore tomorrow.”

      Relief СКАЧАТЬ