The Maverick’s Surprise Family

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Chapter One

Lucas Landry shifted his position on the seat of his Toyota Tacoma, but the last few weeks of upheaval had cranked his discomfort from four-out-of-ten everyday-life to eight-out-of-ten pain-in-the-ass.

According to the hot knife currently twisting deep inside his hip, it wasn’t likely; his adductor muscles were cinched up like a hangman’s noose. He’d had a deep-tissue massage the day before, but stress had a way of eating into even the most functional musculoskeletal systems. And while ninety percent of his body was about as functional as humanly possible, that last ten percent was a mess. Okay, eighty–twenty. Seventy-five–twenty-five, tops.

Every challenge is an opportunity for growth, announced the podcast currently playing through his smartphone.

“Audio off,” he said.

His playlist was nearing a level of healing positivity that was borderline toxic. He knew the importance of self-talk. Your thoughts create your reality and all that. His whole childhood had been about overcoming challenges, accessing your inner power to build your chosen life.

Well, he’d thought, overcome, created, chosen and built and, now, he didn’t want to change a thing. His life was just fine. Great, in fact. He had a thriving business, he got to spend most of his life outdoors, he had great horses, a fine dog to keep him company and, aside from pestering him about when he was going to settle down and give them some grandchildren—perish the thought—he got along with his parents.

Only now, Landry Adventures was not thriving and might, in fact, be finished. Lucas had removed the magnetic logo from the Tacoma’s side panels after a recent Google search of his name—bad idea—showed page after page of speculation, misinformation, and downright malice.

“Disabled cowboy out of his depth.”

“Woman paralyzed after Landry Adventures claim of healing through horseback riding.”

“Misfit maverick nearly kills innocent student.”

People say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. In the early years when he was starting up, he wanted nothing more than top-page exposure. But not like this.

“They forget,” he said to Patch, who was wriggling in the passenger seat, “that exposure kills, too.”

The dog gave him a wide-mouthed grin. He was supposed to be a mix of border collie and Australian cattle dog, but that big broad skull suggested there was pit bull terrier in there somewhere, too. His lovable, will-die-for-you nature and insistence on creeping under the covers with Lucas at night confirmed it.

“It’s not gonna destroy us, though.” He reached over for a quick pat. “We won’t let it, will we?”

He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was almost positive.

He checked his mirrors, signaled, and pulled his rig onto a bumpy forestry service road just outside Arapaho National Park.

“Hang on, girl,” he called over his shoulder.

Stella, the red roan mare who’d been with him from the beginning of his career, stomped a hoof against the metal floor of the trailer. She’d been a hot-headed two-year-old when he’d first started guiding. Now at twelve, she’d gained self-control and keen leadership skills with the other horses that more than made up for any speed she’d lost. If she was slower now than she had been, well, so was he.

Another bang from the trailer. She knew they were almost at their destination and was eager to get onto the trail. He understood the feeling. Nothing like the air in the fresh wilderness of Colorado to clear the head. Nothing like a day on horseback to put his muscles back in working order.

He quickly saddled Stella and hit the trail. Patch ran ahead of them and, with his shaggy coat, you could barely see the missing back leg. The shelter veterinarian had informed him that quadrupeds, like dogs, compensated better than poor bipedal humans for the loss of a leg. And since dogs bore more weight up front, the loss of a hind leg was a best-case scenario. When it came to amputation. After being hit by a car.

He smiled. Patch had him beat. The dog was at least eighty-twenty functional, more if you counted for attitude.

He gave Stella her head in the relatively open woods, so they could all burn off some steam.

“Whoo-hoo!” he yelled.

Patch barked and Stella grunted, her muscles bunching and flexing beneath him. At length, as the cottonwood and aspen gave way to pine, spruce, and Douglas fir, they slowed. Patch’s tongue lolled out the side of his shark mouth and Stella’s hackamore was flecked with foam. Lucas draped the reins over the saddle horn, lifted his arms, and dropped his head back to face the sky.

This. This is what he’d needed to heal, to recover, to regain his sense of who he was and why he was on the planet. Time alone with his animals, in nature. No matter what happened, he’d always have this.

Tanya Schneider, from the few conversations he’d had with her, felt the same way, had felt the same way.

Before.

He sighed. He wished he could just talk to her, find out how she was doing, tell her how sorry he was that this had happened. His lawyer, Jack Morrison, had laughed incredulously at that, in tones that implied under no circumstances and over my dead body.

He was about a mile from the trail head, on his way back to the truck, when he felt his pocket vibrate. Caller ID indicated Jack Morrison.

Lucas winced and let it go to voice mail. Just a few more minutes of peace. That’s all he wanted before he learned what his future held.

He untacked Stella, checked her hooves and gave her a quick once-over with a dry brush before loading her back into the trailer. Then he limped back to the truck and helped Patch into the passenger seat. The dog could get in himself, but it was painful to watch and those front claws were hell on the leather upholstery. Also, he wanted to save wear and tear on Patch’s remaining hind leg.

He stood next to the driver’s door and returned the call.

“Jack. I was out riding. Just got back into cell range.”

“You’ve been cleared of all wrongdoing,” Jack said without preamble. “The panel found no evidence of negligence on the part of Landry Adventures. Congratulations.”

For a moment, Lucas stood frozen. Then his bad leg crumpled beneath him, and he had to grab the door to keep from falling.

He’d been so afraid to hope. But he’d known it. He’d believed in his bones that they hadn’t done anything wrong. He and his crew had made the best of a very bad situation and while the outcome was still tragic, the powers that be weren’t laying blame at his doorstep. He could start rebooking tours, making up for lost time and money while he’d been awaiting the results of the investigation.

So why didn’t he feel better about it?

“Lucas? You there?”

Lucas shook his head. “Yeah. Thanks. That’s great news. I appreciate you letting me know. When will this be released to the media?”

There was a lot of ugliness out there about him and once something was on the internet, it was there forever. But hopefully this news would get enough traction to clear his name in the court of public opinion, too.

“It won’t matter, Lucas.”

In the pause, Lucas heard the shards of his future shatter to the ground.

“Listen,” Jack went on, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. The family is launching a personal injury suit. Non-economic damages. Pain and suffering, basically. Sorry, Lucas.”

Strangely, the blow came almost as a relief. It was the one-two punch that he’d been waiting for since that afternoon when they dragged Tanya Schneider out of the backwoods on a makeshift stretcher.

“But I’ve been exonerated.” As if his exoneration made any difference to Tanya.

“You have,” Jack agreed. “All they have is the statements from Tanya’s pals.”

Mia Hsu and Alana Huang were engineering classmates of Tanya’s. The three of them had gone on the trip as a graduation celebration before they started their careers.

“They lied, Jack.”

“You and I know that. The evidence doesn’t support their statements. But the family wants their pound of flesh out of Landry Adventures, and they don’t care how they get it. They’re going to play the optics, here and unfortunately for you, a woman in a wheelchair always gets the sympathy.”

All the half-truths circulating on social media platforms, all the lies about him and his crew, all the misinformation about what really happened that day, all of it would get new life now. It would never end.

“How much is that pound of flesh going to cost me?”

“To be determined. Yes, you’ve been exonerated. But, they’re still entitled to their day in court.”

And that would cost Lucas in legal fees. And negative media coverage, which is what the Schneiders were undoubtedly counting on. They wanted him to offer them money. An out-of-court settlement to shut all this down.

Such a payment would be as good as admitting that he was guilty. And not just him, but Chandra and Brodie and Steve . . . everyone who did their absolute best that day and it still wasn’t good enough.

If only . . .

No. That was a dangerous spiral to dive into. But he couldn’t help thinking, if only his medical waivers had been more detailed. If only he’d insisted on physicians notes. If only someone had questioned Tanya more closely. If only he’d been paying more attention. If only he’d been able to get to her faster, to break her fall, to keep her spine from hitting that rock—

“What now?” He pulled off his cowboy hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. Insurance had covered most of his legal fees but that would only go so far. He’d refunded deposits. Paid staff for time that hadn’t brought in revenue. Sent a week’s worth of food for twelve—including Wagyu steak, pomegranates, avocados, artisan sourdough bread, gourmet pastries—to the food bank, and yeah, he could have frozen the meat and bread, but he needed to do penance, one small good deed. As if a grocery deposit could right the imbalance in the universe.

“Vacation,” Jack suggested. “Visit friends or family. A cruise, whatever. Just get out of town and for the love of God, stay off social media.”

“A vacation? For how long?”

“A couple of months, at least. They’re preparing, we’re preparing, best thing you can do to help yourself until I know more is stay out of sight.”

A couple of months. Lucas slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, calculating how long he had before he’d have to start dipping into his investments. He’d done well for himself; few wilderness guides catered to people with special needs, so he was always booked up months in advance, despite his high fees.

He’d hoped to start making up for lost time, but if the real battle was just beginning, he was stuck. Paralyzed.

No. That was wrong. He shook his head. Words mattered, and he of all people knew better than to be careless with accessibility language.

Tanya Schneider was paralyzed. Temporarily or permanently was yet to be determined.

He was just screwed.

A light Montana breeze fluttered the curtains Bayleigh Sutherland had just finished hanging. She stood back, pressed her fists into her low back and assessed her work. This was the first cabin on her property to be ready for occupancy, and her first guest was arriving within the hour. She hadn’t planned on renting cabins originally, but it was a good way to bridge the income gap while Belle Vista got established.

A whine and scuffle of nails on hardwood alerted her to the presence of her dog, who leaped up onto the freshly made bed with the glee of an animal who knows he’s getting away with something and is determined to make the most of it.

“Mr. Darcy!” she scolded. “Off. Now.”

She pointed to the floor and the pup slunk off. No one knew what breed he was. She’d gotten him from Kendall McKinley, the real estate agent who’d sold her the ranch. While out horseback riding one day, Kendall had followed the mother dog to a den, where she’d hidden a litter of puppies. The stray had been stealing food from Running River Ranch to feed her babies. Kendall brought them all back to her home in town, kept the mother and found homes for the puppies.

Bayleigh bent down and rubbed the dog’s cheeks. He responded by groaning in bliss and trying to lick her face.

“Oh, Darcy,” she said, using a bad British accent. “How I adore you.”

Pride and Prejudice was her favorite book. Who didn’t love Fitzwilliam Darcy?

“Go to your spot.” She pointed to the mat by the door. The dog scurried over and sat obediently, his pink tongue lolling sideways out of his gaping jaw.

He was a very good boy and he’d be a great ambassador for the center.

Belle Vista Recovery Ranch was focused on providing equine therapy, both physical and emotional, but now that she was here and putting her vision into reality, she saw that there was potential for so much more. Horse-assisted physical therapy. Animal therapy with alpacas and goats, eventually. Maybe even art therapy if she could find trained staff to provide it.

But all of this would take time to implement. She had to get the appropriate equipment, retrofit areas for people with various mobility problems and hire specifically trained therapists and facilitators. Eventually, the cabins could be used for therapeutic summer camps for kids, intensive short-term therapy for individuals, and training camps for therapists wanting experience with horses. For now, they were travel accommodations.

A queen bed with a thick duvet and high-thread-count sheets was the main feature, of course. Rustic night tables flanked the bed, both with lamps and charging stations for devices. On the opposite wall she’d installed a flat-screen television. The bathroom was small but included a tub-shower combo. A short countertop housed a coffee maker, a microwave and a bar fridge for snacks, as well as basic dishes and utensils.

It was cozy, welcoming, and private.

She hoped Lucas Landry would like it enough to give her a good review.

Belle Vista would be successful. It had to be. She’d liquidated much of her investments to purchase and renovate the property. What remained was a decent little nest egg, thanks to Jeremy’s life insurance, but that was for Ted if he decided to go to college. Or get married. Or whatever. Plus, she had to support herself for another forty or fifty years.

Forty or fifty years.

Alone, once Ted left.

How would she bear it?

Grief hit her again, as it did in random, unexpected moments. More than two years later, it still snuck up on her. She and Jeremy were supposed to grow old together. What fit healthy man has a heart attack—a “jammer, a widow-maker” as she’d overheard one doctor refer to it—at thirty-nine?

That jammer had certainly lived up to its reputation. The car accident that had resulted when he’d passed out behind the wheel had nearly taken Ted’s life, too.

Poor Ted, trapped in the car with his father’s lifeless body for an hour before firefighters arrived. Then another hour while they used the Jaws of Life to free them. And where had Bayleigh been while this was happening?

Shopping.

Her phone was turned off because she was annoyed with Jeremy because that morning he’d been his usual, thoughtless self and they’d had one of their usual, selfish arguments. She wished her last words to him had been kind, but they’d both been snappy and impatient.

She shook off the grim memories and took a deep breath.

“Enough BS,” she scolded herself. “Shake off the bullshit, Bayleigh Sutherland.”

Darcy barked and leaped off his mat just as a shout sounded outside the cabin.

“Mom!”

She jumped and turned to see her son’s shaggy head peering in through the open door.

“Yes, darling son. Technically, your head is inside this cabin so might I request that you use an inside voice now? Please?”

She walked toward him, pressed a hard kiss against his bony cheek and then stepped back to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Watching her fifteen-year-old son in a coma for three days, while her husband lay in the morgue, had aged her. But young brains are resilient and once he woke up, still able to walk and talk, the neurologists assured her that Ted was on the way to a full recovery. Of course, traumatic brain injuries could result in changes that might not show up immediately. Mercurial mood swings were part of growing up; how would she know what was the result of his injury and what was just Ted being a normal adolescent?

Right now, he was glowering at her.

“Some random dude is going to be staying here?” At almost eighteen, his voice still occasionally cracked when he was under stress. Apparently he was under stress now.

She frowned. “It’s a rental cabin, my love. That’s what it’s for.”

“Have you done a background check on him? What if he’s a nut job waiting to murder us in our sleep?”

“Ted.” She took a deep breath. “Where’s this coming from?”

He scowled, the look almost humorous on his normally sunny face. He bit his lip.

“Teddy?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a single woman living out in the boonies. You’re a sitting duck. Do you have any idea how many sex predators are walking around out there on day parole, just waiting for a victim?”

Casually, Bayleigh leaned forward, then snatched Ted’s smartphone from his back pocket.

“Hey!” he protested.

She held it out of his reach and clicked on his podcast list.

“Murderers Among Us,” she read. “Death Online. The Secret Lives of Sociopaths. Is this what you’re filling your mind with?”

“They’re out there, Mother.”

She tossed his phone back to him and walked past him out of the cabin. “I’m aware. There’s badness and evil out there. Always has been. But most of the people you and I will encounter will be good. Seek and ye shall find, honey. If you look for evil, that’s what you’ll see. But not here, okay? Our world is full of beauty and light and joy.”

“But Mom—” He shoved his phone back into his pocket and followed her out toward the corral where her manager, Sawyer, was feeding the horses.

“Sawyer,” she called. “You a sociopath?”

“Nah,” he replied. “My wife says I’m a pessimist, though. Why? You looking for one?”

“Ted is. He thinks our new guest is going to murder us in our sleep.”

Ted groaned. “Not him, necessarily. Come on, man. Don’t you think my mom should be screening her guests before they come to stay on the property?”

“I think,” Sawyer said, hoisting a pitchfork laden with alfalfa hay, “that she should have stout locks on the doors and windows.”

“Which I do,” Bayleigh interjected. “Plus, I have Mr. Darcy now.”

Sawyer squatted down to pat the dog, who’d rolled onto his back, begging for a tummy rub. “No one will get past this vicious guard dog.”

“Maybe he’s not a murderer,” Ted continued. “But maybe he’s a player, a con man. Maybe he’s here to take advantage of a lonely middle-aged lady.”

For a moment, shock left Bayleigh breathless. Is that how her son saw her? Then outrage kicked in. She gritted her teeth. “In that case, he’ll be out of luck because there’s no one like that around here.”

“You know what I mean, Mom,” Ted said. “You’re not old, but you’re kind of . . . you know.”

“I do not. Do tell.”

“Well . . . you’re kind of old-fashioned. You don’t have fun. You just work. It’s a bit . . . pathetic.”

“Pardon me for giving up the best years of my life to raise my ungrateful son. I’ll get on Tinder immediately.”

Ted made gagging noises.

“Not to interrupt this touching family moment,” Sawyer said, “but your guest has already been vetted. Sort of.”

“Oh?” said Ted and Bayleigh together.

Sawyer grinned. “He’s Leila’s brother.”

“I thought Brade was Leila’s brother,” Ted said.

Sawyer’s wife, Leila, and his little girl, Piper, had been out to the ranch a few times. Bayleigh knew Brade Oliver because he was engaged to Kendall and Kendall was basically the only person she’d had time to get acquainted with so far.

“DNA reports found another one,” Sawyer said. “They’re triplets.”

Bayleigh’s jaw dropped. “That’s why this guy is coming? He didn’t mention it.”

“Leila said he took a little convincing.” He brushed off his jeans and went toward the tack room. “I suspect that’s pretty common with adopted people who are contacted by genetic relatives they never knew they had.”

“If he’s related to Leila,” Ted said, “then he’s got to be a good guy.”

Her son had something of a crush on Sawyer’s new wife, in an innocent way. It was adorable.

“Agreed,” Sawyer said. “But kudos to you for looking out for your mom.”

He winked at Bayleigh.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get the intake forms ready for our new guest. In the event we are murdered in our beds, at least the cops will know where to start.”

“Real funny, Mom,” Ted said.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t exactly a vacation, but Lucas was getting out of town. Heading to Montana, in fact. The incident—Lucas refused to call it an accident—was only one part of why his symptoms were flaring so badly right now. The other part was the message he’d received last week from the genetic testing company he’d sent his DNA to, thanks to a well-meant gift from his mom, who’d always encouraged him to seek out his birth family.

“You need a distraction, honey,” she’d told him. “You have a chance to fill in the blanks about your past. Aren’t you curious?”

Lucas already had as much family as he needed, he’d argued. But she and Lucas’s dad were both only children and they worried that he’d be alone in the world one day.

He was okay with being alone. They knew that about him.

But he had to admit that yes, he was a little curious. Just a little.

We’ve located first-degree biological relatives. They have requested contact. Do you agree to share your information?

Now that it was real, he wasn’t so sure. Curiosity and cats and all that.

Strangers, the message said. Plural. Who wanted to meet him.

He hit the speed dial on his hands-free device.

“Lucas?” said his mom. “Where are you, honey? Are you okay?”

“I’m almost there. Remind me why I’m doing this?”

She sighed. “Check your tone, buddy. This is a good thing. An amazing thing. You always wanted a brother or sister. Now you’re getting one of each. But with that attitude, they’re likely to disown you. Also, you needed to get out of town. How are you feeling?”

Marlene Landry liked to throw him off-balance until she got the answer she was looking for but he couldn’t complain about her tenacity. She was the reason he was as functional as he was, getting him the best doctors and therapists throughout his childhood. Now, she was on the board of directors for the Colorado cerebral palsy organization. He wouldn’t have the independence he relied on now, without her.

“Fine. What do you think they want from me?”

“Fine, as in, I don’t want to talk about it?” she clarified. “Or fine as in my musculoskeletal system is a well-oiled machine and I’m being rude to my mom because I’m hangry.”

He laughed. “It has been a while since my last meal. Sorry, Mom.”

“Oh, honey.” Her tone softened the ball of nerves in his gut. “They’re going to love you as much as we do. How could they not? I just wish I could meet them, too. These people are your family.”

Her voice hitched and guilt washed over him. Again.

“You and Dad are all the family I need, Mom. I might be related to these strangers by blood but we have nothing in common.”

“Promise me you’ll give them a chance, Lucas? Please?”

How could she be so blasé about this? Would she be so accepting if these were birth parents, and not just siblings?

He sighed. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She was quiet. She knew that if not for the incident, he’d be out in the wilderness somewhere, blissfully ignoring this unexpected, unwanted development in his life.

But since he had nothing better to do—and sure, he was curious—here he was, butt-sore, stomach in knots, getting ready to meet his womb-mates of three decades ago.

Because the strangers in question insisted that they were triplets, separated at birth.

His life was one big soap opera plot twist.

“You know what happened to Tanya wasn’t your fault, right? I mean, you know it, know it, right?”

And there she went, hitting right on the jagged nerve he was trying to avoid.

“Yes, Mom, I know it, know it.”

“You did everything right. Everyone says so.”

“Everyone except her friends.” The three women, fresh out of engineering school, had signed up for a Landry Adventures trip as a graduation celebration. Now one was in a wheelchair and the other two claimed it was his fault. Evidence didn’t back them up, but facts didn’t matter much on social media and, as Jack Morrison said, a woman in a wheelchair trumped a man with a cane.

No one else from the tour backed them up. But they hadn’t jumped in to vindicate him, either. When you take a group of people out into the wilderness and one is critically injured, it doesn’t matter that it was because she had a seizure. It didn’t matter that she didn’t disclose her condition. It didn’t matter that you mitigated the damage, that you kept the rest of your group calm and safe, that you got her to medical services as soon as humanly positive.

What matters is that she may never walk again. And now, he was the disabled tour operator that outdoor enthusiasts couldn’t stop talking about. Some thought he was a trailblazer, a maverick, an ambassador for those with disabilities; others thought he was a reckless blowhard, a misfit who put people at risk to prove he was capable of doing a job he shouldn’t be doing in the first place.

His business name would forever be linked to this awful event. Tanya’s parents were launching a civil suit. Despite being cleared of negligence, and having his operating license renewed, his reputation was tarnished, his confidence was shaken and he stood to lose the business he loved more than anything.

He wouldn’t exactly be meeting these blood relatives at his best.

“The truth will prevail, Lucas,” his mother assured him, as she always did. “Don’t let this ruin what could be a wonderful thing. Okay?”

“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

She sent a kiss through the phone and signed off, just as the Welcome to Grand sign appeared on the highway.

Grand, Montana.

Who knows, maybe his luck was about to turn.

By the time he pulled into the driveway at Belle Vista, his ass was on fire, not to mention all the muscles that compensated for the ones that didn’t work properly. He wished he could have brought Stella. He needed a ride, to loosen up. To placate his mother, he’d stopped for a burger a few hours ago and now he just wanted to flop into bed. He hoped for a chance to get out and stretch before anyone came to greet him, but no luck there. The front door of the house opened and out came a lithe blonde in well-fitting jeans and a cowboy hat.

A nice view but hardly the audience he wanted for a possible face-plant.

He opened the truck door and slid out, carefully lining his legs up so that the strong one would take most of his weight. He grabbed his folding cane and snapped it open, then held on to the door while he eased himself down and hopped a step away.

A dog squeezed out from behind the woman and raced toward him, barking, and wagging his tail. He had a smooth chocolate-and-cream-colored coat with a feathery tail. His ears seemed undecided as to whether they wanted to stand up or flop forward.

He had a sudden yearning for Patch, who was being spoiled by his parents while Lucas was away.

“Hello!” called the blonde. “Welcome to Belle Vista. I’m Bayleigh Sutherland.”

Holy smokes, she was hot. Fit, tanned, friendly, and that mouth. Somehow, by email, he’d expected his host to be . . . an old lady. He guessed her to be a few years older than him, but whatever age she was at was definitely prime time.

“Mr. Darcy,” she called, patting her thigh. She looked up apologetically. “He’s friendly, but a bit overly enthusiastic. He’s still a youngster.”

“Lucas Landry,” he said. The pup was adorable but having him dance around his feet was the last thing he needed. His leg was tight as concrete and could go out on him if he moved the wrong way. He needed some deep stretching and a hot bath.

A cowboy came out of the barn across the yard, his stride long and even. Behind him was a teenage boy, skinny and slouching. Just what he needed: a welcoming committee.

The woman held out her hand, as Lucas feared she would, and though he was able to return the greeting by keeping a firm grip on the door with his left hand, he saw her expression change.

“Long drive?”

“Yeah,” he said, hoping she’d leave. “Bit of a spasm.”

“Muscle or nerve?” she asked.

He looked up. “Bit of both.”

“Where’s the injury?” She looked at his pelvic region, then she looked up at him, her expression stricken. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be intrusive. It’s none of my business. I apologize.”

Her sudden discomfort unexpectedly put him at ease.

“It’s okay.” He rarely spoke of his condition, but he needed to calm her down. He also wanted to get this out of the way before the men reached them. “Spasticity caused by cerebral palsy.”

Her expression cleared. “Ah, that makes sense.”

“You know the condition?”

She shrugged. “A little. My field is mental health, but the center will be offering primarily animal-assisted physical therapy, so I’ve been educating myself on what my clients might need and why.”

He nodded. What he needed now was for her not to see him fall on his ass.

The cowboy reached them, also holding out his hand. The younger one stood back, his gangly arms crossed over his chest.

“My manager, Sawyer Lafferty,” Bayleigh said. “And the sweet-faced one is my son, Ted.”

“Lucas Landry of Landry Adventures, right?” the cowboy said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Lucas felt his smile stiffen.

“Yeah, that’s me.” He hadn’t realized people outside of his county would have heard about him. Did that mean they’d also heard about the incident?

“I was introduced to equine therapy in Bozeman,” Sawyer said, “before I moved to Grand. Some of our clients talked about you. You’re a legend, man. A maverick with a mission.”

That bit of branding, once so clever, was being wielded against him now like a machete.

“I had no idea we were hosting a hero,” Bayleigh said.

“Nah.” Lucas tipped his head to his walking aid. “I’m just a cowboy with a cane.”

Sawyer frowned. “Wait. Weren’t you in the news recently?”

Lucas took a deep breath. “We’re currently on hiatus due to an accident that occurred on one of our tours.”

Sawyer nodded. “Right, right. Hope that all works out.”

“Thanks. I’m sure it will.”

“What kind of accident?” Ted asked.

“Teddy,” Bayleigh said quickly. “Could you grab Mr. Landry’s bags, please?”

“Accidents happen.” Sawyer looked at Bayleigh. “We should have someone like you out here, running tours from Belle Vista. What do you think, boss?”

Oh, God.

“How about we let our guest get settled into his cabin. He’s had a long drive.” Bayleigh smiled at him. “If you’re interested in our recovery center, I’d be happy to show you around later, but only if you have time. Ted? The bags?”

She turned and Lucas’s discomfort with the conversation was immediately replaced by awe at the sight of her walking away. That ass could stop traffic.

He followed, clenching his teeth as the movement brought fresh blood to the nerves. In a second or two, the muscles would ease. He hoped.

By the time they’d reached the cabin, he was able to straighten up and tuck the cane behind his leg. He usually used a forearm crutch but the cane was less visible.

“This looks great,” he said. “Thanks.”

If she’d just go now, he could fall into bed with dignity.

“Here’s your paperwork,” she said, gesturing to a couple of printed pages sitting on the table by the window. “If you could sign them please, for our records.”

He limped past her toward the table and caught a faint whiff of something sweet and natural. Fresh rain on dry soil. Was that perfume? Or just the air around here?

“We don’t provide housekeeping service,” she continued as he scrawled his name, “but because you’re staying for a week, you’ll get a delivery of fresh bedding and towels on the third day.”

Ted set his bag and a spare jacket in the doorway, sent Lucas another dark look, and left.

Bayleigh sighed, then nodded toward a small countertop and continued. “We provide coffee, tea, sugar, and a few snacks, as you see. I’ll send Ted around with some fresh cream, so you’re set for the morning.”

“It’s great,” he repeated.

Still, she didn’t leave. She looked as if she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to begin.

“Was there something else?” he asked.

“I’m acquainted with Sawyer’s wife, Leila.”

“Ah.” Lucas blew out a breath. “You know the reason I’m here, then.”

Small towns: he should have expected it. It was better than, hey aren’t you the disabled guy who nearly killed that student?

She nodded. “For what it’s worth, Leila is a wonderful person. I’m happy that you’ve found each other.”

“We haven’t yet.”

Her brows lifted. He hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt.

“I mean,” he said, softening his tone, “I haven’t met her yet. Or Dr. Oliver. I’m sure they’re fine people but this is all something of a surprise. I’m sure you understand.”

Bayleigh had the kind of skin that people referred to as creamy, Lucas thought, and wow, did the reference fit. Hers looked like silky frosting or ice cream. Something you could lick. And right now, that creamy expression was marred with a frown.

“Leila is very excited to meet you,” she said.

“I got that from the emails.” The many, many emails. His sister—if indeed she was his sister—had the enthusiasm of the pup quivering by the door. And similar self-control.

“It’s not every day you discover a new brother.”

“If that’s what I am.” Their theory was intriguing, which is why he was here, but a lot of people had come out of the woodwork lately and most of them had an opinion on how Landry Adventures had ruined Tanya Schneider’s life.

“You don’t believe them?” Bayleigh crossed her arms. The movement brought a hint of cleavage into view in the scooped neckline of her white T-shirt.

He shrugged. “The DNA reports seem clear.”

“You’re not convinced? Or you’re not interested?”

Twin spots of color rose to her cheeks and her dark eyes flashed. She was connected to these people, protective of them.

“Leila and Brade,” she continued, “have spent a lot of time and energy looking for their mother, you know. When they found you, they were so excited, you have no idea. It’s not really my business, but if you don’t want to get to know them, what’s the point of being here?”

After noticing his crutch, most strangers studiously ignored it and became desperately friendly, overly kind and polite, as if any wrong word might overwhelm him.

Bayleigh’s directness was refreshing. Annoying, but refreshing.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Oh.” She blinked. “Okay.”

“No disrespect,” he said, moving to the door, “but you’re right: it’s none of your business. Good night.”

He saw her quick intake of breath. He reached for the knob to pull it open so she could finally leave him to his misery, but as he moved, his bum leg took that most inopportune of times to twist out from under him. He stumbled toward the door and caught himself against the side of it, but the movement sent a slice of pain running up through his groin and around into his lower back.

“Shit.” His cheeks lit up with heat. Now he’d have to endure a beautiful woman running over with sympathy and offers of help.

“Whoa,” she said, not moving from her position near the kitchenette. “Are you okay?”

So much for sympathy. He didn’t want her help anyway.

“Oh yeah, fantastic. The perfect end to my day.”

He stood there, letting the waves wash over him, riding it out. He needed to lie on the floor, to get the leg up against the wall, to dig out his thumper device and pound the shit out of the misfiring muscle tissue. Why would she just not leave?

“Are you always such a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch?”

He looked up to see her leaning a hip against the counter, a smile on her face.

Against his will, he felt himself smiling back, despite the pain, despite the irritation.

“As far as I know,” he said, “I’m delightful. You don’t see it?”

She shook her head, as if he was the biggest loser she’d met today. Then she sighed, opened the door, heedless of him using it as a prop, and left.

Over her shoulder she called, “The main number is on the counter. If you need anything, just call. Have a good night.”

He watched her walk down the path toward the main house as long as he could. His leg was still spasmed, but he wasn’t thinking about the pain.

Bayleigh sent Ted out with the coffee cream, then went inside to her office with Mr. Darcy. She had an evening videoconference with a counseling client shortly and wanted to check her notes and prepare herself. One thing about the pandemic, it had given therapists like her the opportunity to go virtual, to offer hours outside the traditional nine-to-five, and to reach clients even from a distance.

“Was I rude?” she asked the dog, bending down and burying her face in his silky fur. “Did I overstep?”

A warm, wet muzzle pushed into her ear.

“Oh, what do you know?” She laughed.

If Lucas had been short with her, she’d deserved it. She shouldn’t have mentioned Leila. Of course this was an adjustment for him. This was a life-changing event he was walking into. Leila and Brade had had time to deal with it; Lucas had not.

But she was still reeling from Ted’s comment about her being a lonely middle-aged woman. A pathetic, lonely middle-aged woman, she amended.

The thing was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. The nights when Ted was out with his pals, she was either on her computer with a client or curled up on the couch with a book. Sometimes she worked on her knitting while watching TV, waiting for him to come home safe. But that wasn’t pathetic. That was being a good mom. And knitting was cool these days. Even football players did it. It wasn’t old-fashioned. She’d made a few friends, too, even if she was too busy during the day and too tired in the evenings to hang out much. She’d met people at the grocery store, for example, and when renewing her license at the DMV. She’d chatted with Lou, the pub owner, too.

Okay, so her main claim to friends were her employee’s wife and her real estate agent. Friendships took time, something she didn’t have a lot of these days. Maybe she was slightly stuck in a rut. A short, shallow one. She’d be out of it soon. She wasn’t pathetic. She was comfortable in her own skin, and with her own company. Alone was different from lonely. She absolutely was not going to go the online dating route, even though she knew people who’d found love that way. It just wasn’t her. If she met someone organically, fine. If not, well, perhaps she’d stay lonely.

Except, she wasn’t lonely.

Was she?

She sent Mr. Darcy out, closed the door and leaned back against it. Now that the word had been forced into her consciousness so brazenly by her no-filter son, she had to face it.

She hated facing stuff.

What she really didn’t want to face was that her new guest was a gorgeous man who stirred unfamiliar feelings in her. She told herself it was that she was born to care for others. It’s why she went into a helping profession. Lucas Landry was clearly in pain, tired and likely anxious about the upcoming meeting and he triggered the desire to look after him. But she’d witnessed him when he wasn’t at his best, and he wouldn’t likely forgive her for that anytime soon.

But if he thought she pitied him, he was wrong. So, he had cerebral palsy. She was used to dealing with clients with disabilities of one sort or another. In her counseling practice, she’d helped many people through the emotional and psychological issues that went along with fibromyalgia, traumatic brain injury, chronic fatigue, spinal cord damage. She’d had one client who’d had a foot amputated as a result of diabetes. Grief didn’t just come from losing a loved one; losing a body part, a job, a skill, a sense, could be just as hard and often benefited from professional guidance to work through it.

Cerebral palsy, however, was a little different. It usually resulted from an injury at or near birth, so Lucas would have never known life without it. And from what she could see, his was a mild case. It wasn’t a stark, sudden loss the way becoming disabled after a car accident was.

The awareness of loss would arrive slowly. With every life stage the picture would become clearer of how much his life differed from people who did not have CP. Accessibility, even if his mobility was only mildly compromised, was always something he had to think about. As a child, it would have been his parents’ responsibility to get him what he needed. But as a teen, he may have become very angry at the cards life had dealt him. Ideally, maturity would bring a sense of acceptance, but that depended on so many things, and the timeline was jagged and unpredictable.

Sometimes she wished she didn’t know as much as she did about what made human beings tick. Other times the only thing she knew for sure was that she didn’t know enough.

Mostly, she wished she could put her education and experience to work on herself and Ted, but it seemed that the adage about cobblers’ children going barefoot applied to psychotherapists, too.

She opened her laptop and settled herself into her chair. Tonight, right now, this hour was for her client, a young mother of three trying to leave an abusive marriage, and she deserved all of Bayleigh’s attention.

The woman’s husband refused to use birth control and she’d just learned she was pregnant again. It was a variation on a theme Bayleigh had heard far too many times. She’d heard the story too many times. The marriage was doomed, but if she could help the woman utilize the resources available to her, there was a chance to turn around her future, and that of her children. Make the best of a bad situation. She schooled herself to remain objective, professional, but it was exhausting, taking on the weight of someone else’s struggles. After the session, she went into her closet and pulled off her jeans and boots. She wished the hot tub and sauna were set up. She’d love a good soak. She’d get to work on that tomorrow.

Suddenly, she pictured herself and Lucas together in the bubbling water. The heat and jetted water would soothe his spastic muscles.

Those strong sleek muscles, naked, wet.

Her breath caught in her throat at the image.

What the actual hell? Had Ted’s thoughtless comment made her aware of latent sexual frustration she’d been ignoring all these years? If so, she’d pushed it down so successfully that it had built up to dangerous levels.

This, she realized, was the real reason she was feeling discombobulated: she, a widow, a single mother, a pathetic middle-aged woman who hadn’t dated anyone since her husband’s death—hadn’t dated anyone but her husband, period—was fantasizing about a man she’d just met. A slightly surly man who was going through some stuff. A man who didn’t live here, who she’d probably only know for the week he was staying here and who might not even be interested in her.

What would happen if she acted on this sudden desire?

She tossed her clothes into the hamper and stepped into the shower. She let the water pound on her back, feeling the heat against her skin, setting the nerves along her torso and thighs tingling, her stomach awash with anticipation and disbelief. A handful of suds slid slowly over her breasts and belly, and she tried to remember the last time she’d been touched outside of health care or hairdressing.

Not since Jeremy.

Okay, maybe Ted had a point. That was a little pathetic.

“Enough BS,” she said, hearing the echo in the shower. “Maybe I do need to get out more.”

She got out, dried herself off and assessed herself in the mirror. Ted was wrong. She wasn’t pathetic. She wasn’t even middle-aged, not quite, at least.

She was alive and her body was working just fine and if some random newcomer like Lucas Landry could get her motor running again, maybe it was time to consider having a fling. Maybe it was time that proper Bayleigh Sutherland accessed her inner bad girl.

What’s the worst that could happen?

End of Excerpt