Carolyne Aarsen - The Cowboy's Bride

Heather nodded. “I thought you were going to be working at the bank for your brother-in-law, Troy.”

Rebecca wasn’t used to having the different parts of her life intersect as they did in this small town. “It’s temporary. Troy understands my situation. I sent applications out before I came to work here. I’m waiting to hear back from a few places yet. If something comes up in my field, then I’m free to leave.”

“You’re fortunate.” Heather tilted her head and studied Rebecca from a different viewpoint. “And you’re right about one thing. I do expect a lot of work. The first week I figure on having you here every day for an hour and then we’ll set up your program. What time can you come in?”

“Troy and I decided I would be working until three. I would like to come in then.”

“One thing I want you to be very clear on,” Heather said sternly. “What we are doing here is not repair. What we are doing is trying to make your walk look as natural as possible, compensating for the loss by using other muscles.” Heather raised her eyebrows as if in question. “I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to play sports again, or even walk properly, but we can try to get your body working at its maximum capability.”

“I know,” Rebecca replied, her voice quiet. She resented for a moment the finality in Heather’s voice. She looked up, meeting Heather’s hazel eyes. “Miracles are in God’s domain, but I intend to do what I can.”

Heather smiled in return. “Good for you. But we can definitely help, if you’re willing to work.”

“That I am,” Rebecca said emphatically.

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow at three.” Heather picked up the clipboard, shook Rebecca’s hand, brushed aside the curtain dividing the examining rooms and left.

Rebecca blew out her breath and slowly got off the bed. She was surprised to see her hands trembling as she changed from her sweatpants to her regular clothes.

It was strange how things had conspired to bring her to Wakely. Heather was known and respected in her field. When Rebecca found out she was working in the same place her sister lived, she decided to make the move.

She mentioned the fact to Jenna, and Troy offered her the temporary job in the bank. She knew this was what she had to do. Working in a bank wasn’t her dream, but it was something to do until her leg was stronger.

Rebecca buttoned up her blazer and tugged it straight, making the transition from patient to accounts manager. She caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror on the wall and paused, rearranging her hair. She allowed herself a brief smile. She had a premonition that moving here had been a good decision. Heather would be able to do more for her than the therapist in Calgary, of that Rebecca was convinced.

She allowed herself a moment to dream and to feel that coming to Wakely would change the entire course of her life.

Joe fidgeted on the upholstered chair and glanced around the bank. Light poured in from an arched skylight, and plants filled corners in an attempt to create an open feeling. He still felt claustrophobic.

The logo on the circular reception desk directly in front of him was a strong reminder of letters and bank statements that his father ignored and that Joe, as a struggling high school student, had tried to figure out. He remembered all too well the clutch of panic when he saw the negative balance on the bank statement, the overdraft charges.

But he had escaped that. He had left the ranch, had worked every waking minute, had scrimped and saved and established his reputation as a horse trainer. After all those years he was finally ready.

A couple of weeks ago he had applied for a loan, and on his way back from Calgary this afternoon, Dale had raised Joe on his mobile phone. Could he come in as soon as possible? Dale was sketchy on the details, but Joe was pretty sure it had to do with his loan.

Joe leaned his elbows on the knees of his faded denim jeans and ran a hand over his chin. He wished he had had time for a shave and a change of clothes.

Not that he needed to make an impression on Dale, he thought ruefully. Dale had seen him looking worse, but he did want to project a professional image.

He tapped the toes of his boots restlessly against the ceramic tiles of the waiting area, stifling his impatience at the wait. Roy, his boss, wanted him in the city in two hours. He hadn’t seen his horses for a couple of days. He was itching to start Talia, his most expensive horse by far. His stake horse. The beginning of an illustrious line, he thought with a wry smile at his dreams.

“Are you sure you don’t want any coffee?” Sharla, the receptionist, asked, smiling at him from behind the desk. “It’s really no trouble, Joe.”

“No. Thanks.” He glanced impatiently at his watch. If Dale didn’t come in the next few minutes, he would have to get the information over the phone.

He got up and began walking around, trying to stifle his nervousness. His future hung in the balance, and he didn’t want to admit it, but he was frightened. Please, Lord, let them approve the loan, he prayed as he paced.

“Mr. Brewer?”

Joe turned at the sound of the quiet female voice, then tried to keep his mouth from falling open. In front of him stood the vision he had seen in church on Sunday, the woman with the angelic face.

“Expensive” was the first word that came to mind as Joe looked her over. Hair, makeup, clothes all had that smooth, clean look. She exuded an elegance that made him feel suddenly gauche and awkward.

“I’m Rebecca Stevenson. Dale is on the phone right now and will join us shortly. I’m going to be sitting in on the interview.” She stayed where she was, holding a file folder in front of her, while Joe pulled himself together, suddenly very conscious of his faded denim jacket with the frayed edges and the stain on the knee of his blue jeans.

“Sure,” he said, forcing a smile, trying to absorb the information.

“We’ll be in here,” she said, indicating an empty meeting room with a wave of a well-manicured hand. She turned and walked slowly across the reception area, a hitch to her walk, as if she had hurt her leg.

Joe hurried to open the door to the meeting room, but Miss Stevenson already had her hand on the door-knob. She pulled away at his touch and took a quick step backward. Only she didn’t quite make it. For some reason, she lost her balance, one arm flailing, the other still holding the manila folder.

Joe instinctively caught her around the waist, his other hand catching hers. “Sorry about that. You okay?”

“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Joe obeyed then stood back as she ran a hand over her hair and smoothed down her blazer, then steadied herself, her lips pressed tightly together.

They stood in front of the door for an awkward moment. Then Joe took another chance and reached past her to open it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. She walked past him, her movements slow, her limp more obvious.

Joe held onto the door a moment, puzzled at her reaction, then followed her into the room.

Miss Stevenson lowered herself into a chair on one side of a long table across from him. She brushed a hand over her hair, tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, avoiding his gaze.

Joe felt like a heel. “I’m sorry about that,” he said quickly, sensing this wasn’t the most auspicious introduction. He shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. To cover up, he flashed her a grin. “I thought you were going to fall.”

Her hand paused in midair, and her fingers curled against her palm. “I wouldn’t have,” she answered, her voice chilly.

“Sorry.” Joe carefully pulled a chair away from the table. He had obviously stepped over some unknown line. Just needs room, he thought. Some of the more skittish colts he worked with were like that. Didn’t like being rushed.