A Home in Hill Country (Harlequin Heartwarming) (2 page)

“Adelfa said you two were out here.” Clint glared at his sons. “You should have come to my office.”

Trevor cleared his throat. “I just—”

“I haven’t seen my brothers in a good long while, Dad.” Ryan swung out of his chair and met Clint’s steely expression head-on, knowing that any show of sympathy or support for the old man would likely spark a tirade. “When I run into Garrett, I plan to have a good, long visit with him, too.”

An uncomfortable silence lengthened until at
last Clint stalked into the room and scraped a chair against the floor before dropping into it. He gave Trevor a narrowed glance. “I understand you and Garrett sent for Ryan. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Sounds like it was,” Ryan said mildly, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “I understand y’all need some short-term help to get everything back in order. After that, you can bring in a new business manager, and I’ll be out of here.”

“Interference, that’s what it is,” Clint snapped. “You had no right.”

“Trevor didn’t hire anyone behind your back, Dad. He and Garrett asked me to come home for a while and pitch in.” Ryan gentled his voice to a lethal, dead-calm tone. “I know I have no stake in this place anymore, and I sure know how you feel. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t felt I owed it to my brothers to make sure their legacy was secure.”

O
VER THE YEARS
he’d captured infiltrators. Rescued team members from impossible situations. Tracked, caught and interrogated enemies who would have welcomed death and the chance to take him right along with them.

Convincing his arrogant and irritable father to get into his own Lincoln the next morning and driving him to town—winning a ten-dollar bet
with Trevor in the process—had been one of the greatest challenges of all.

Glancing at the sign over the door of the small clinic, Ryan stepped out onto the street and pocketed the car keys. “I’m sure this Dr. Hernandez is competent, Dad. We were lucky to get you in this morning.”

Clint climbed stiffly out of the car and straightened to his full six-foot-one height, his hand still on the open door of the car. From his thick white hair to the tips of his custom-made Lucchese boots, he exuded an imperious air of power—the Texas kind, an unshakable belief that he controlled everything in his part of the world.

The tense silence in the car on the way to town had proved that nothing in the rocky relationship between them had changed over the passing years…and it never would.

“Doc Grady died five years ago, and there hasn’t been a doctor here since. What does that tell you?” Clint leveled a glare at Ryan. “This guy probably couldn’t get a job in a real town—or got chased out of the one he was at. If he’s any good, why would he come to a town like this?”

Excellent point. Ryan looked down the deserted sidewalk, taking in the boarded-up storefronts and empty parking spaces. The only signs of life were a couple of old gents dozing on benches in front of the massive, limestone courthouse across the
street, and a handful of dusty pickups nosed up to the local diner.

The Homestead, Texas, city limits sign still claimed a population of 2,504, but he’d bet a good thousand of those people had long since fled the area, for better jobs and a brighter future.

“You’re not having heart surgery here—just a quick checkup and some lab work,” Ryan said dryly. He opened the door of the clinic, and jingled the car keys in his pocket. “I’m sure the guy can handle that much. Get this over with, and we can go home. Unless you want to drive clear into Austin, fight traffic and sit in a busy waiting room all day for the same thing.”

Clint stalked to the clinic and brushed past Ryan as he went inside, muttering under his breath. He thrust an impatient hand toward the empty receptionist’s desk. “See? No one’s here.”

“But the door was open and the lights are on. Adelfa called and talked to someone here just an hour ago.”

The decor was nearly the same as it had been back when Ryan used to come here. Curling brown linoleum. Faded Western prints on the walls. He eyed the same hard wooden chairs he’d sat on as a kid, knowing that after a few minutes in one of them, he’d have trouble walking.

An inexplicable, eerie sensation prickled at the back of Ryan’s neck as he walked farther into the
room. He spun back to look at the open front door. There was nothing there.

From behind him, he heard soft footsteps come down the hallway leading to the exam rooms. A rustle of papers.

“Hi, can I help you two?”

The quiet voice slid through him like a bayonet.

As if from miles away, he heard his father say, “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

And then he felt the earth shift beneath his feet.

H
ER VOICE WAS FIRM
, with no hint of the old, familiar flirtatiousness, but those six, simple words had the impact of a round from an M-16.

Ryan turned slowly, wishing he’d lost this morning’s bet with Trevor, and looked into the eyes of the woman who’d left him fifteen years ago.

It took him a good five seconds—nearly a lifetime—to find his voice.

“I…thought you’d moved away from here, Kristin,” he said, dropping his gaze to her white running shoes, snug jeans and white lab coat opened to reveal a Texas A&M T-shirt, before finally meeting her eyes again.

She acknowledged Clint with a nod, but her attention was on Ryan; her shock apparent when she saw the thin, ragged scar trailing from his temple to the corner of his jaw. “Years ago, I—I heard you were missing.”

He hitched his good shoulder. “Yeah, well…maybe for a while.”

“For a while, people even thought you were…”

“Dead? Not quite.” At her stark expression, he regretted his flippant answer. Apparently even Kristin Cantrell had feelings, somewhere in her cold, dark heart.

“S-so you’ve moved to the ranch, then?” She paused. “Everything’s okay now?”

“Fine. But I won’t be here long.” He stared into her light blue eyes, so startling in contrast against her long, dark blond hair and late-summer tan. His gaze unconsciously slid to her bare ring finger before he jerked it back to her eyes.

She was more beautiful than she’d been at nineteen. Maturity had brought sharper definition to her cheekbones and an elegance that had been just innocent girlishness before. He nearly laughed aloud at that.
Innocence.
As if.

Long ago—not that he cared—he’d heard she’d married Ted Peters, a banker’s son they’d both known in college. Not a surprise, really. For her, it had always been about money.

Old memories, best left forgotten,
he thought grimly. None of them mattered anymore.

She found her voice again before he could, though her face was pale and she seemed to have an overly strong grip on the documents she held. “A woman called to make this appointment for a physical, but with her accent I didn’t catch the name clearly. I—I didn’t realize—” she cleared her throat “—that it was for you.”

“It’s my father. He needs—”

“
Absolutely nothing
from another Cantrell.” Clint leveled a frosty glare at Kristin, then stalked to the door. “I’ll be in the car.”

An awkward silence lengthened as they both stared after him. Finally, Kristin looked at Ryan, embarrassed, and moved to the reception desk where she ran a finger down a column in the appointment book. “Apparently neither of you knew I was going to be working here. Um…we have other openings, if you think he’d be willing to come back.”

Ryan frowned, remembering her dreams of becoming a pediatrician. Her vow to never return to Homestead. “You…manage this place?”

“I’m a physician’s assistant, now. We’re formally opening this satellite clinic on Tuesday, but I’ve seen a few walk-ins early. Dr. Lou— Louisa Hernandez—will just be here on alternate Wednesdays.”

Clint probably wouldn’t want to see a female physician, either, but it might be worth a try…especially if Trevor or Garrett could be conned into the trip. “Next week, then?”

“He could see me anytime. We haven’t even started scheduling appointments yet, so the book is open.” She smiled regretfully. “If he prefers the doctor, he’ll have to wait two weeks, or he’ll
need to drive clear over to the main clinic in San Antonio.”

“While I’m home, I need to get him set up locally. It’ll be that much easier for Trevor when…” Ryan hesitated. Clint would resent his sharing personal information if he didn’t end up a patient here. “When Dad gets older. Just give him another appointment on Tuesday morning, and I’ll make sure he gets here.”

“I know this is difficult for all of us. Tell him that he doesn’t need to worry, I won’t ever refer to the past.” The hint of sadness in her voice was almost believable. “Has he been under the care of another physician?”

Ryan nodded. “Apparently someone in Austin, but from what Trevor says, Dad has never been good about keeping appointments and taking his medications. He probably needs complete lab work in addition to a checkup.”

Kristin wrote on an appointment card and held it out. “Nine o’clock.”

Ryan flinched as he reached for it, the sharp pain in his shoulder reminding him about the empty prescription bottles in the glove box of his truck. Taking a deep breath, he fought the urge to close his eyes and lean against the wall until the dizziness passed.

“Are you all right?” Kristin stepped around
the desk and hesitated, her hand hovering above his arm.

He gave the slightest shake of his head, wishing he could back away and get out of there without another word, but well aware that he probably wouldn’t make it to the door.

“Can I get you something? A glass of water?”

He didn’t try to disguise his irritation, hating his weakness, his inadequacy. Hating the attention and sympathy it always drew. “Leave…me…alone.”

She grabbed a chair, settling it behind him and gently took his other arm. “
Sit,
unless you want to leave here in an ambulance. If you go over on this hard floor, you’ll end up with a concussion.”

Pride and stubbornness kept him upright, his anger subsiding as the sensation of vertigo faded. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Right. And I’m Mary Poppins.” Kristin took a step back and folded her arms across her chest, clearly now in professional mode. “Tell me. What happened to you?”

He managed what he hoped was a semblance of a smile. “Just a little…altercation.”

“A
little
one.” Her voice was filled with disbelief. “How long ago?”

“Six months. It’s nothing.”

“Right. And I bet you sleep like a baby, no
problems at all. Are you in physical therapy? Do you take anything for pain?”

“I—” He swallowed a sharp reply, suddenly tired of being defensive. Tired of the whole deal that had jerked him out of active service and into a world of surgery and pain, and empty promises from docs who didn’t have the guts to tell him the truth. “I do need some refills. Can a Texas P.A. write prescriptions?” he asked, more roughly than he’d intended.

“Yes, after you’ve established a relationship with that clinic.”

“So I have to wait until I can see the doc?”

He stifled a sigh. He could get along without most of his medications just fine, but the pills helped him keep moving during a bad day. And now and then, the Percocet was his only relief when the burning, throbbing pain in his shoulder or knee kept him awake until three in the morning.

When he finally fell into troubled sleep on those nights, the nightmares would return, and then he’d lie there wishing that he’d died in that hellish place instead of Tony and Dave and all the others. He rarely gave in and took the meds. But when he truly needed them…

She must’ve read his thoughts, because she touched his arm and smiled. “I can take care of this, easily.”

She handed him a clipboard from the counter. “Fill out this health history. If you don’t have your medical records, you’ll need to sign a release so we can request them.”

He wished he’d just walked out the door. Confidentiality of medical records was mandated by federal law. But sharing personal information—having
anyone
read about the injuries that made him weak and useless now—still rankled.

And though there was nothing between them any longer, revealing those details of his life to Kristin Cantrell was a thousand times worse.

“I…have a folder of photocopies out in my truck.”

“Good, then. I’ll start a chart while you get it. After you fill out this form, I’ll take your vitals and you’ll be set.” She lifted a brow. “Are you game?”

There was a distinct challenge in her voice and her businesslike manner. She’d been such a sweet, shy little thing in college, wide-eyed at the world around her. Now she wore a much tougher veneer, and he could almost imagine her taking over a platoon.

In a few minutes he was back inside. He handed her the paperwork, then followed her down the empty hallway to an exam room. “Are you the only person here?”

“Our clinic nurse starts Tuesday.” She mo
tioned him to the exam table, then flipped open the folder. “Wow. You were at Walter Reed?” He nodded.

“So this was no little bar fight, then.” She took a deep breath, clearly stunned. “You should go down to the Kerrville VA Medical Center. It would cost you a lot less, and—”

“No.”

“But—”

“I saw the doctor at Reed just last week. I don’t need to see anyone else.” His feisty doc back at the hospital had been sure Ryan would refuse to seek ongoing medical care, so the man had provided just enough capsules for the trip west, along with printed orders on what had to be represcribed by a local doctor. “Look, my dad’s outside talking to Arlen Enfield, but he won’t want to wait long.”

“Enfield…the former mayor?” She glanced up at Ryan, then started jotting something on the margins of the medical report. “Nice guy. I met him last winter, when I visited here.”

Enfield was tall, sophisticated. Urbane, with a propensity for saying just the right thing, but
nice
wasn’t the word Ryan would’ve used.

Who could forget the subtle animosity between the two men? Both wealthy ranchers, they’d been political rivals over the years. Intelligent, driven and competitive, they reminded him of two old
dogs circling each other with hackles raised. “Can we make this quick?”

“Fine.” She took his blood pressure, weight and listened to his lungs, asking questions and jotting notes in a chart as she went.

She was pure, cool professionalism. But with every touch of her delicate hands, he had to force himself to be still, to betray no reaction. He hoped she didn’t sense his tension.

Only after he’d walked out the door of the clinic was he finally able to haul his thoughts back to the present.

Trevor would definitely need to bring Dad into the clinic on Tuesday, because seeing Kristin again was the last thing Ryan wanted.

No Ranger with a 60mm mortar could have done a better job of destroying his heart.

K
RISTIN WAITED
until she heard the door of the clinic close behind Ryan, then leaned her forehead against the cool, smooth wall of the waiting room. His new patient chart still in her arms, she willed away the tears burning behind her eyelids.

She’d expected challenges when she decided to move back to Homestead, with a new career. A new home. A nine-year-old son who considered Central Texas the last place on earth he wanted to live. And a town that held bad memories from her early childhood.

But she certainly hadn’t expected to run into Ryan Gallagher on her second day here.

For years, she’d known he was a Ranger, involved in highly dangerous operations in the Middle East. Last year, when she’d been back in town for her dad’s funeral, she’d overheard someone mention that he was still there, and that he rarely ever showed up in Texas.

There was nothing between them, not anymore. But discovering that he’d been airlifted out of Afghanistan as a “Critical 4”—on the verge of death—just months ago, had filled her with sadness.

Scanning the grim surgical reports in his medical folder had made her feel worse. His well-muscled, six-foot-two body had suffered multiple, serious injuries that time would never totally heal.

His lean, darkly handsome face was the same. The nearly black hair she’d once loved to touch. The piercing blue eyes and strong masculine jaw.

But the twinkle in his eyes had died, along with his quick wit and his born-and-bred Texas cowboy manners, leaving behind a stranger. A hardened and dangerous soldier, one who’d survived all those years.

With luck, Ryan hadn’t seen the sorrow and sympathy in her eyes over all he’d sacrificed in the line of duty, or noticed how his arrival had thrown her off balance.

But no matter what he thought, no matter what she’d once prayed for, there was no going back. She had too much at stake during the next six months to even think about old loves or new beginnings. Cody’s future depended on it.