Healing Trace Read online

  "Is it part of your job to sit and watch me sleep?"

  The magazine slid off her lap, and she bent over to pick it up. Her cheeks grew warm, and she was thankful for her long, curly hair curtaining her face. She was supposed to care for the man's health, not be paid to ogle her patient.

  She cleared her throat and hooked the stray strands of hair behind her ear. "You're awake."

  He stretched, and the blanket slid off his cast. She hurried over and covered him, but not before peeking at the solid thigh above the cast and below his boxers.

  He squirmed his way into a sitting position. "Why don't you go do…something."

  "Like what? I'm your nurse for the remaining time you're laid up, and then I'm going to help you get back in shape." She sat back down. "Everything I should be doing involves caring for you and making sure you're comfortable."

  Trace snorted.

  "Am I expected to cook your meals too? Brody didn't say anything about that, but it'll be no problem. It'll give me something to do while you rest. I'm sure he'll fill me in on all my duties when he comes back to the house for dinner. He seemed very concerned about you getting the best care possible." She leaned forward as a thought occurred to her. "Do you have to…do you have a need I could help you with?"

  "My…needs?" He stared at her.

  "Yes. If you need help getting to the bathroom, or need help bathing, shaving…"

  "Shit. This is unreal." Trace's head fell back on the couch and he gazed up at the ceiling. "Brody!"

  Joan squeaked, and covered her chest with her hand to keep her rapidly beating heart from bursting out of her body. "He's not here."

  "He will be."

  "No. I don't think so. He dropped me off at the door earlier and said he'd be back at dinner time." She scooted to the edge of the cushion. "To be honest with you…this is my first in-home care job. I'm sure once I find out exactly what I'm expected to do, we'll get along fine."

  Trace simply gaped at her. She gathered the small pillow from behind her, and hugged it to her stomach. The way he pierced her with his gaze unsettled her. This wasn't going as well as she'd hoped.

  "Is there something I can get you?"

  "No."

  "Are you in pain?"

  "No."

  "You don't talk much, do you?" She tittered out of pure nervousness.

  She let her gaze wander around the room, while keeping him in her peripheral vision. This job was going to be more difficult than she originally thought. He wasn't an easy patient, which was okay.

  She was used to cranky men who didn't want to be coddled. Although, she had to admit it was easier to manipulate an eighty year old man to follow the doctor's orders. She didn't think this particular man would be easy to sweet talk into doing what she asked.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  She flinched. "I'm just looking around the room. You have a beautiful home."

  Trace grunted.

  "Would you like to talk? You can tell me how you broke your leg?" Determined to make their working relationship polite, she used the manners her dad taught her and forced a smile.

  "No reason to fill empty space with useless chatter." The deep baritone voice could've come from the couch because in her mind, Trace made no effort to acknowledge her.

  She rubbed her lips together. His rudeness wasn't going to make her lose her temper. "We're going to have to figure out how to get along eventually. Six weeks in each other's company is a long time…"

  He glared at her. For the second time, she noticed the dark silver of his eyes, deep and cold, almost harsh. She shivered and pulled the pillow tighter against her abdomen.

  "I'm guessing Brody set all this up." His voice matched his cool demeanor. Even with the edge in his attitude, the gravelly undertone set her heart to pattering.

  "Yes." She rose and took a step closer to the couch, to him. "It's time for another pain pill. If you'll excuse me, I'll make you a bite to eat too. Often times, the medicine will make you nauseous and food will help you handle the side effects better."

  ***

  Joan hurried out of the room. Trace ran his hands over his face and groaned. Damn you, Brody.

  His cell phone rang. He reached back to his pocket, and realized his pants were in the bottom of a trashcan at the hospital.

  The ringing continued. He spotted the phone on the coffee table, leaned over, and answered the call.

  "Yeah?"

  "Be nice," Brody ordered.

  Click.

  Trace chucked the phone across the room. If he had use of his leg, he'd march out to the stables and kick Brody's ass for hiring someone behind his back. He ran his hand over his jaw. Being laid up was his own fault. He had no one else to blame. If he would've waited one more day to get on the back of Thunderbolt, he wouldn't be in this position now.

  The load of horses scheduled to his buyers were due at the reservation soon, and next week he was scheduled to go on farm visits to record new sales for the county. Not to mention, the branding files were due at the end of the month.

  There was no time for him to lie around doing nothing for six weeks. He scanned the room. Where had Brody said he put his crutches?

  He heaved himself off the sofa, balancing on one leg. His vision narrowed and blackness dotted the edges. Not letting his weakness beat him; he reached out for the coffee table, hopped on one foot, and set his jaw to making it clear across the room before Joan came back and reprimanded him for standing up on his own. Two more jumps and he ran out of furniture to brace himself on.

  "What are you doing?" Joan rushed over and slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him against her.

  Over the wave of pain, the dizziness, he became acutely aware of her full breasts pressed against his side. His strength left him, and his good leg wobbled. Oh, shit.

  Down they both went in a tangle of arms, legs, and one heavy cast. He grabbed her, hugged her to his chest, rolled and by an odd luck, he took the brunt of the fall. She landed on top of him with a squeak, her eyes wide with shock. He cursed, or maybe he moaned. Her weight on his body, with only his boxers separating them, erased all the pain screaming along the length of his leg.

  And through the haze growing thicker by the second, she remained on top of him, staring down into his eyes with an interest that shocked him. He lowered his gaze to her mouth. Plush, soft lips parted and seemed to beg for a kiss. He raised his head off the floor, intending to taste what she was offering.

  "Oh, God. I'm sorry." She planted her palms on his chest and pushed herself into a sitting position, and then off of him. "Are you okay? What do you want me to do? Should I call an ambulance?"

  He let his head fall back on the hard wood floor. Thunk.

  It was the medicine. He'd been drugged. He wasn't thinking right. Jesus…I was about to kiss the nurse.

  The nurse Brody hired without his approval. The nurse he didn't want taking care of him. The nurse that had him wondering what it would be like if she slipped down beside him and let him sample her body.

  "Stay right where you are, don't move, I'm going to find the phone."

  "No." He rolled over onto his stomach, waited for the room to stop spinning, and then managed to pull himself off the floor using the coffee table to make it back to the couch, without making an even bigger fool of himself.

  "You're sweating." She hovered over him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  He nodded, and even though he wanted to be strong, he couldn't ignore the need to use the bathroom. He needed help. "Could you get me the phone…please?"

  Chapter Three

  "This is bull shit, Trace. She's a nurse. I'm sure she's helped loads of men in the same predicament." Brody turned his back, leaving Trace standing on his own in front of the toilet.

  "I'm not going to take a piss with her holding my hand." Trace finished and hopped on one foot to the sink. "Besides, you're going to call up the agency you hired her through and tell them we don't need her. I don't need her."

 
"Nope. She's staying." Brody wrapped his arm around Trace and helped him out of the bathroom. "Once you snap out of it, you'll realize there are certain things she can do for you that no one else can. Without her, you'll never set atop a horse again. Think about that as you make everyone's life hell."

  He grunted. "You had to pick a woman with red hair, didn't you?"

  "Excuse me? I didn't hear that." Brody chuckled.

  "You heard me." He let go of Brody and pitched his body toward the couch. "I need clothes. I'm tired of making her blush every time I move."

  "I'll grab you a pair of shorts. Your jeans won't fit over your cast. Besides, I don't trust you to stay inside if you're fully dressed." Brody crossed his arms, grinning bigger than normal. "Joan's got a bit of a temper on her, if you haven't noticed. I thought all women with her complexion had freckles. She doesn't have a single one."

  "Screw you." He covered his lower half with a blanket. "That's exactly why I need clothes. I've been humiliated enough. I don't need her to see—"

  "Oh! Good. You're back." Joan swept into the room, carrying a glass of water. "It's time for more pain pills."

  "I don't need them."

  "Sorry, Trace. It's doctor's orders and believe it or not, these little white pills will help you heal easier." She sat down on the coffee table in front of him and held out the cup. "You'll feel better if you don't let the pain get the upper hand."

  He clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.

  "Please…for me." She smiled, and nodded her head like an overeager puppy looking for a treat.

  Her green eyes, brighter than spring grass, were his undoing. He took the cup, popped the two pills in his mouth, and chugged half the water in the glass before he realized she'd sweet-talked him into another four hours of being sick to his stomach and the rollercoaster ride that came with being medicated.

  "All right. It appears you're in good hands, Trace." Brody clapped his hands. "I'm outta here. I have horses that need tended, and some newborn calves to move in from the fields. If you need anything, you know how to get ahold of me."

  "Brody." Joan's voice softened even more. "Would it be possible to have my luggage brought to the house?"

  "Already done." He swung his arm toward the hallway. "Let me show you where you'll be staying before I go out. I've set your bags in the room. You'll be right across the hall from Trace, in case he needs you during the night."

  She looped her arm through Brody's, smiled up into his face, and left the room laughing over something Brody whispered to her. With effort, Trace maintained his cool. He kept his mind blank. After years of practice, he had the skill to alienate himself from any situation.

  His stomach tightened. He was hungry, but not for food. It'd been a long time since a woman got under his skin the way Joan did, and he wished she'd go away. The second he could stop taking the pain medication, he'd show her that he didn't need anyone taking care of him.

  He wasn't the easiest person to live with, and under his own control would've already put his good foot down and demanded she leave.

  Joan was all sunshine and ponies now, but what about when he dug his heels in and took back his life? She'd see him for the real asshole he was, instead of another patient for her to boss. His eyelids grew heavy, and he laid back. It was the damn pills making him wonder about things that he had no business thinking about, that was all.

  ***

  Joan sat down in the chair Brody held out for her in the large dining room. "Mm. It smells good in here. Fries?"

  "Devon stopped in town and brought back burgers." Brody scooted her closer, and then walked around the twelve-person table. "It's calving season and with Trace laid up, we usually take turns and pick up dinner in town. Things will calm down next week, I hope."

  She clasped her hands together on her lap and leaned back in her chair. "Devon?"

  "He's one of us, and lives here too." Brody looked up and shrugged. "I'll explain our living situation to you over dinner, it's complicated."

  She glanced back and forth between Brody and Trace, taken by surprise with the way Brody worded their relationship. They avoided her gaze. She gave her head a little shake.

  "So you three are…partners?" She rubbed the polished wood grain on the top of the table.

  Brody nodded. "Yeah. We grew up together, and decided to forge out on our own."

  "Really?" She smiled, understanding their situation better now. "That's great that you all have each other."

  "Hm…I guess. Not that we don't have our problems, but we all have the same goal." Brody turned at the low string of cussing coming from the other side of the swinging door in the kitchen. "I better go see if he needs any help."

  A few times through the day, she'd wondered why there were pictures of several different men planted around the rooms, on the fridge, above the fireplace. Even Brody and Trace's relationship was hard to figure out. They seemed to bicker back and forth the way brothers do, but their last names were different and they looked nothing alike.

  Brody walked down the hall. She studied him. He was handsome, and seemed more personable than Trace, but he didn't make her stomach flutter the way it did when she looked at her patient. She rubbed her hands down her thighs.

  Their long friendship would explain why Trace listened to Brody when he wouldn't give her a minute of consideration, and why Trace seemed uncomfortable around her. She'd have to get over her fascination with Trace. Not that she had any designs on him; she had a job to do.

  She had no idea when she'd ever have time for a relationship in the future anyway. She had no desire or time to complicate her life with any man, no matter how spectacular he was. She'd tried serious relationships before, and ended up gaining heartache instead.

  Then her dad had died, and she'd given up on happily ever after. If she learned one thing in her twenty-five years, she realized life could change with each tick of the clock. Love didn't come with a lifetime guarantee.

  Laughter came from right outside the room, a rather happy masculine sound. "No shit? She's got red hair? Trace is going to kill you."

  Then the kitchen door swung open and another man walked into the dining room. She gawked.

  Over six feet tall, his tan shirt stretched across his upper body like a second skin, stood another Native American man blessed with good looks. His longish black hair pushed back off his forehead as if he often ran his hands through the strands to get them out of his face. Rugged and dirty, he must have walked straight out of the barn. She peered down, taking in the denim jeans and boots. Forget the barn. He appeared to have walked off a calendar for Rancher of the Year.

  "Joan, I'm Devon Blackfoot. I'm another one of Trace's partners…and live here on Lakota ranch." He smiled, and she could have sworn his white teeth, set off by his darker skin, twinkled off the dining room lights.

  Brody slapped Devon on the shoulder as he carried a few white sacks to the table. "Food's here. Let's get her fed before she thinks we have no manners."

  The melt-in-your-mouth good looks must run deep in the Lakota gene. She held onto the edge of the table, growing a bit overwhelmed with the crowd gathering in the room. Each of the men made an impression but as a group, they were a little intimidating.

  She whispered, "It's nice to meet you."

  Devon put the plates on the table and held out his hand. "Thanks for seeing after Trace for us. I, for one, am happy to put his care into your very capable hands. He's all yours for the next six weeks."

  "Mine?" she said.

  Brody grinned at her in amusement. "What he's saying is we won't get in the way. In fact, you can do whatever you want with him, and we'll stay far away from the ranch while you're working."

  It wasn't unheard of to run into those of Native American races off the reservation. She even worked with a woman delivering meals that had married a man who grew up on the Lakota sanctioned land. No, what shocked her was the power in this room.

  These weren't run of the mill type men she ran into every da
y. She shivered. Couple the sexiness of men who were secure in life, and the high level of testosterone, she became lightheaded.

  Brody reached for her, but Trace had already stretched in her direction and laid his hand on her back. "When's the last time you've ate?"

  She shook her head not understanding why that would matter when she'd obviously stepped right into her version of the bunny mansion. The room spun and she clutched at Trace's arm. This was too much to take in.

  "I-I don't know. Yesterday at lunch, maybe. Yeah, that's right. I had a handful of peanuts on the drive to my last delivery." She groaned and let her chin fall to her chest. "Oh God, my car…how will I drive anywhere?"

  Brody nodded at Devon. "Let's get her something to eat. She's had a big day. With what happened on her drive here, dealing with you, she's been through hell and back. You've probably already made her crack, and we can't take the chance she'll quit."

  Devon disappeared and came back with a glass of orange juice. "Sip on this. I'll dish up your plate and you can eat."

  "There are three of you." Joan stared up at Devon. "Is this part of the reservation or a…"

  Devon's lips twitched as he pulled a hamburger out of the sack and set it on a plate in front of her. "Sometimes it seems like we're all back home on Lakota ground, but no, this is private property. We just happen to live together."

  She lifted the glass of juice, swallowed, and glanced from one man to the next. "You do know it's intimidating being around all of you, right? You should all be models."

  Brody shot up from his chair, knocking it backward. Devon raised his brows, and Trace appeared to choke. She frowned, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.

  Devon laughed softly. "I'm not sure we're cut out to model…maybe Trace. He's got that pouty look."

  "Go to hell," Trace muttered.

  Needing to change the subject, she turned to Devon. "So, is the ranch part of the reservation. You're very close to Lakota land."