Healing Trace Read online

  Healing Trace

  by

  Debra Kayn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Healing Trace – Lakota Ranch

  1st Digital Release: Copyright© 2013 Debra Kayn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  www.debrakayn.com

  Dedication

  To those who have lived and survived. May you always believe you're worthy of love. Hold the hand that's offered tightly, and know you were never forgotten

  Chapter One

  Joan had passed the sign announcing she'd entered Lakota ranch property two miles back, and she'd yet to see a single house or pass any oncoming traffic since turning off the highway. She gave a passing glance in the rear view mirror and cursed under her breath. A plume of smoke bellowed from the rear of her car, blocking visibility of the road. No, no, no. Not now.

  The phone call this morning from a Mr. Whitefeather wanting to hire her for in-home care for the next six weeks had come at the perfect time. Her only form of transportation was on its last leg, and after finally making her final student loan payment a week ago, she needed the extra money to purchase a new vehicle before she could go out and search for a full-time nursing job.

  Her goal of bringing her sister home permanently depended on her earning in a bigger paycheck. Her part-time job of delivering meals to the elderly only paid her bills and barely supported one person, never mind two. Her one crutch in the equation was obtaining reliable transportation to apply for one of the nursing jobs at the county hospital, thirty miles away.

  With the accelerator pushed down to the floor, she still only achieved in getting the speed up to twenty miles per hour. She bit her lip. This was worse than last time when the junker overheated on the interstate and she had to walk three miles to town.

  An explosion rocked the car. She screamed. A thick, white cloud blew up onto the front windshield blocking her view. She slammed on the brakes.

  "You piece of shit!" She pushed the driver's side door open.

  Coughing from the smoke, she waved a hand in front of her face and pulled her keys out of the ignition with her free hand. All the clothes she'd packed for her time at the Lakota ranch were inside her trunk, and she needed every one of them if she was going to do her job. Without her things, she wouldn't know what to do. She was living on her last fifty dollars until she completed her new job.

  Acrid smoke surrounded the car, filling her lungs and stinging her eyes. She held her breath, stretched her arms straight out in front of her and walked blindly into the noxious cloud. If she could manage to get the trunk open, she'd throw her bags to safety and not be completely without a way of supporting herself.

  "Whoa, lady. You need to step back out of the way." A man grabbed her around the waist and carried her across the street.

  "Please, I need my suitcases out of the trunk." She pushed him away.

  He glanced between the car and her. "Stay put. Don't move."

  Two minutes later, she sagged in relief as the man retrieved her last bag. She plopped down on the biggest piece of luggage and shook her head, staring past him in horror.

  "Are you hurt?" The man squatted beside her.

  She shook her head. "My car blew up."

  "You're not going to start crying, are you?" he said.

  "Of course not." She wrinkled her nose.

  "Good. I never know what to do when a woman starts producing tears." He scratched his head.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees. "God, my life sucks."

  The more she thought about all her problems, the more apparent it became that her car was the only thing she had going for her. Without transportation, she stood the chance of losing the one person she loved more than anything else in her life.

  "Well, there's nothing you can do about your car. It's toast. You should be happy that you're out here with your luggage and unharmed. It could have been a lot worse, in my opinion." He pulled her up. "Now stop worrying, it could've been worse. You're safe. I'll take you to the ranch. Then I'll get a couple of the guys to come back and tow your rig off the road. Someone can drive you back to town. I doubt if there's anything salvageable, but your insurance company will want to take a look at it and make sure. In a few days, you'll be able to replace the car."

  "You live at the ranch?" Joan suddenly smiled. "The Lakota ranch?"

  "Yes," he said.

  There was hope. If she could make it to her new job, she'd earn the money for another beat-up old piece of junk, and be back on the road to bringing her sister home.

  Joan clutched his arm. "Please, take me to the ranch."

  "Sure. I'm Brody Whitefeather." He offered his hand.

  Brody was a walking rock, not overweight, but his muscles had muscles, and he definitely worked out for long hours each day. She shook his hand. Dark and handsome, he stood only a few inches taller than her five-foot-eight inches, but he held himself tall and proud.

  He ran his hand through his short black hair, studying her with dark eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  "My luck is changing. I'm Joan O'Hanlon, the nurse who was hired to take care of…Trace LaBatte. Do you know him?"

  "Yep. I was the one who made the call to hire you." He grinned. "I'm glad you showed up. You'll be perfect for Trace as he recovers from his accident. He needs someone who's dedicated to his recovery and makes sure he does everything the doctor ordered."

  "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that." She stuck out her lower lip and blew the stray strands of hair out of her face. "The last thing I need is to screw up and lose the job."

  "Don't worry about that." Brody put his fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle.

  She lifted her shoulders against the noise and wondered what he was doing. A chest thumping noise grew closer and she scrambled to hide behind Brody as the biggest horse she'd ever seen came running out of nowhere straight toward them.

  "This is Red Moon, my horse. He won't hurt you." He grabbed a handful of black mane, swung up on the back of the horse, and stuck out his leg. "Put your foot on my boot, and I'll give you a hand up."

  She eyed the snorting horse, the sexy rider, her abused luggage, and crossed her arms. No way could she leave her belongings scattered all over the road, not to mention climb onto the back of a horse the size of a mountain. A very steep mountain.

  "Come on. We should hurry. By now, Trace probably got it in his mind to walk to the stables and check up on that damn horse that threw him. He's not the best about minding the doctor's orders." He motioned toward her pile of things. "I'll come back for your bags the minute I drop you off at the house, don't worry."

  "I think I'll walk. You can point me in the right direction, and I promise to go fast. I'm anxious to meet Mr. LaBatte and start working." She jumped back when the horse stuck its nose close to her face.

  "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. Your patient needs your…skill and guidance before he does something stupid." He held out his hand. "I can get you there quicker if you accept my help and get up on the horse."

  Brody sat atop the massive animal without a saddle. She hesitated, doubting that the horse would let her claw her way up its back without throwing a fit. "I'm not a big fan of pain…or heights or even horses."

  "You'll be fine. Unlike your car, Red Moon won't blow up and leave us stranded on the side of the road." He grinned, amusement lighting up his face. "Come on now, any woman
who was ready to jump into a burning car can handle riding a sweet horse like Red Moon with her eyes closed."

  Ten minutes later, Joan's teeth were on the verge of shattering for all the times she'd bounced atop the back of the horse. She plastered herself against Brody's broad back, and prayed she wouldn't totter off the horse and break her neck. There was a very real reason why she'd never taken up the sport of horse riding. Heights scared her to death.

  "You can open your eyes. We've arrived." He chuckled.

  The horse came to a stop. She peeked over Brody's shoulder, but didn't let go of him. The animal shifted sideways, and she squeaked.

  "You'll have to let go of me, if you want to get to the house." He picked her hand off his shirt.

  "I-I'm not sure I want to get down." She lowered her gaze to the ground and moaned, clutching Brody tighter. "Can't you make the horse kneel down?"

  He laughed. "You're funny. That'll go a long way with keeping your sanity on the job."

  Somehow, without giving her the slightest bit of warning, Brody deposited her on the ground. When the shock wore off, she smiled up at him, thinking he must be magical.

  "Thank you." She straightened her shirt. "I'm sorry I was such a baby about riding. I'm sure it's a fun experience for some people."

  He flashed a smile. "Oh, I can think of things that would entertain me more than riding a horse, so we have something in common."

  "Mm…I don't think I want to touch that, do I?" She laughed softly.

  He shook his head, hiding a grin. "Probably not today, since we just met."

  She liked Brody. He had a teasing attitude, and considering how rude she was asking him to risk his life to safe her belongings, he treated her with respect.

  "Go ahead, and let yourself inside the house. Trace should still be on the couch in the living room where I left him, unless he's crawled around the house in an attempt to find his crutches."

  She frowned. "He wouldn't do that, would he?"

  "Hell yeah. But, hopefully he's sleeping. The doctor gave him a heavy dose of pain killers before I brought him home." He clicked his tongue, and Red Moon stepped away from her. "There're instructions from the doctor on the kitchen counter. I'll check in with you at dinner time."

  Then he was gone, riding off into the sunset— or in this case the sunlight. Everything happened faster than she could process this morning, and the day wasn't over yet. She still had to meet Mr. LaBatte, and figure out a plan of action regarding his care.

  She turned around; ready to take her first look at the place she'd call home for the next six weeks. It took three seconds for the bottom of her world to turn upside down. "Oh, frick, this isn't an old ranch house."

  Staring up at the spacious front porch, she puffed her cheeks out and blew out a slow exhale. She expected to find a weathered old farmhouse like the ones scattered around the area with the typical two-stories, white shutters, and daisies in the yard. Instead, a sprawling one-story mansion at least half a football field wide blended into the neutral colors of the landscape.

  A huge stable and livestock barn outlined with white fencing graced the area to the left of the house. She scanned the grounds and her heart raced as she began to understand the amount of money involved in building a ranch of this size.

  She walked up the cobblestone pathway lined with a myriad of flowering plants. After climbing up the wooden steps on the porch, she stopped at the double doors and glanced behind her. No one was around to ask permission to enter, so she followed Brody's directions. Quietly, so not to wake Mr. LaBatte in case he still napped, she squeezed the elaborate handle and stepped into the foyer. Her low heels clicked against the wood floor. Oh, my God.

  Fifty people could have comfortably stood around in the entry area alone and never bump elbows. She moved forward, blinking fast, trying to absorb the sheer manliness of the house. Leather chairs and bronze statues of horses scattered the perimeter of the room in shades of brown and black.

  She ran her fingers along the river rock wall, the surface cool and smooth against her hand. Eye-catching stones, earthy yet luxurious on the prairie, she wondered if they were imported.

  An overwhelming desire to study the room further in the hopes of learning more about the owner of such a fancy place came over her, but she couldn't waste any more time. She was already late, and she still needed to find Mr. LaBatte.

  The click of her shoes against the floor grew silent, and she paused. A large rug covered the hardwood floor. She slipped her shoe off and ran her barefoot over the plushness, and sighed. She wondered if someone shot the bear, or maybe it came from another kind of animal, she couldn't be sure.

  She stepped back into her heel and strolled over to the hat table, bent down, and studied a picture. She smiled. It wasn't hard to recognize Brody on one of his birthdays, holding a cake and grinning. She tried to recall what Brody said his last name was, but concluded that Mr. LaBatte must be Brody's father.

  She followed the hallway, wondering exactly where the couch would be in a house this size. "Hello? I'm Joan O'Hanlon. I've been hired to be your nurse and physical therapist for the next six weeks."

  Most of the shut-ins she delivered meals to were hard of hearing, and required her to raise her voice when she talked. She decided to speak louder, in case the same was true for her new employer.

  "Mr. LaBatte?"

  A moan came from further inside the house. "Yeah?"

  She hurried forward, plumping her hair and smoothing her slacks on the way. She plastered a smile on her face, and went in search of her patient.

  Through the archway, she entered another spacious room and found a man sprawled out on the couch, covered in a blanket with his arm placed across his forehead. She sniffed, wishing she could do something about the smoke from the explosion clinging to her clothes.

  "I'm sorry for arriving late on my first day of work. I had some trouble with my car on the way over here." She stepped around the coffee table and came to a complete stop.

  This man was not elderly, and he definitely wasn't Brody's father. Probably in his mid-thirty's, he had long, straight black hair that hung down past his shoulders and a piercing gaze the color of onyx. Like Brody, he too appeared Native American, but besides the darker complexion, the similarities ended there.

  His dark eyes moved over her hair, which was probably sticking out in all directions after battling the catastrophe with her car. Not to mention the terrifying ride on the world's biggest horse, she shuddered. If she hadn't have been in such a hurry this morning to get to the ranch, she would have tamed it into her customary clip at the back of her neck.

  "You're Mr. LaBatte?" She finger combed her hair.

  He lifted his head. "Who are you and what do you want?"

  His high angled cheekbones, strong jawline, and full lips showed his displeasure. She tilted her head, trying to figure out what could be causing him such discomfort and became distracted. He was simply striking. In a hard, rugged way, all women went weak in the knees over.

  She inhaled slowly, trying to stop her heart from racing. "I'm Joan O'Hanlon. Your nurse."

  "I don't want a nurse."

  She became aware that she was still staring, and stuck her hand down in front of her. "Mr. LaBatte--."

  "My name's Trace, use it." His gaze slid down her body briefly before coming back to her face. "Or better yet, don't, and get the hell out of my house."

  "Your…I'm not sure who Brody is to you, but he hired me this morning to take care of you while you recuperate." She gave him a small, humble smile.

  Trace scowled and ignored her hand. O—kay.

  Joan retracted her arm and gazed around the room. "Let's see…Brody said there were doctor's orders in the—Shoot! It's been such an exciting day with my car blowing up, almost breaking my neck, not to mention how many teeth I probably chipped on the horse ride, I forgot where he said I might find the papers."

  Trace sniffed, pushed himself up into a sitting position, and grimaced. "Hang on a da
mn minute. Where's that smell coming from? Is something burning?"

  "That'd be me. I'm wearing a mix of smoke au toilet and —she wrinkled her nose— horse." She sighed, and shifted gears. "I remember. Brody said the orders where on the kitchen counter. I'll be right back."

  She took three steps, stopped, and turned back to Trace. "Um, could you tell me which direction I would go to find the kitchen?"

  However reluctantly, Trace pointed behind her before collapsing on the couch and moaning. She softened. Poor guy.

  Give her five minutes, and he'd change his disposition and be glad she'd come to take care of him. She'd have him comfortable and on his crutches in no time.

  Chapter Two

  Joan sat on the leather loveseat across from her drug-induced patient. Trace's lips parted and puckered with every breath he exhaled. She bid her time while he slept, watching those lips. Relaxed in sleep they were plump, moist, and all too alluring.

  Appearance wise, he was much different from the type of men who usually grabbed her attention, and he fascinated her more than she wanted to admit. She crossed her legs. She'd had friends talk about the magnetism of the bad boy over the typical nine-to-five man and until now, she'd never understood the pull.

  Physically, Trace was gorgeous. His attitude challenged her to draw him toward her, hoping she could break the wall he put up.

  Not that she was desperate for a man, or wanted the stress of adding a relationship into her life. She glanced away from her patient. Trace was all too infuriating and bad tempered when awake, so in his sleeping state it made sense that she'd find him more attractive.

  She forced herself to concentrate on the magazine that lay opened on her lap. The chance at working with someone closer to her own age, rather than a geriatric patient must be throwing her for a loop. It hadn't been that long since she'd had a boyfriend, a date, sex.

  Taking care of Trace was a personal test. Nothing more.

  She glanced at him again. His arms were thick, strong, and she suspected the lower half of him would be in the same kind of shape. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He was possibly the best-looking man she'd ever seen. If she wasn't here as a professional, in a business type of situation, she'd be tongue-tied and clueless about what to say to him.