Six Weeks to Catch a Cowboy Read online

  “If you’re referring to Spencer Channing’s return, then yes—it seems to be all anyone is talking about this week,” Kenzie noted.

  “I mean why he’s back,” her friend clarified.

  “Either he’s home for Jason and Alyssa’s wedding or he’s been suspended from the circuit.”

  Megan nibbled on a french fry. “He wasn’t suspended—he was injured.”

  Injured?

  Kenzie’s hand trembled as she lifted her glass of iced tea to her lips.

  She knew that bull riding—Spencer’s specialty—was both a physically demanding and dangerous sport, but she hadn’t let herself think about the possibility that he might get hurt. Other cowboys, sure, but not Spencer, who’d always been so strong and fearless, seemingly invincible.

  Of course he wasn’t invincible, and the knowledge that he’d been hurt tied her stomach in painful knots.

  Not that she should care. And she didn’t really. Except that Spencer was her best friend’s brother, and Brielle would be distressed to learn of any injury. Her own angst wasn’t so easy to explain—or even acknowledge.

  But maybe Megan was wrong. Maybe this was just another story generated by someone wanting to appear to be in the know about what was happening in town.

  She sipped her soda, then managed to ask, “Where’d you hear about the injury?”

  “Becky told Suzannah who told me,” Megan said.

  And since Becky worked in Margaret Channing’s office at Blake Mining, Kenzie knew this rumor was most likely the right one. “What happened?”

  “A bull named Desert Storm at a rodeo in Justice Creek,” Megan responded.

  Kenzie swallowed. “How bad is it?”

  Her friend shrugged. “I figure it has to be pretty bad to get him to come home. Unless he’s only coming home to reassure his mother that it’s not too bad.” Then she immediately shook her head. “No, the most convincing evidence of that would be to get back on the horse again—or bull, in this case.” Megan smiled at her own joke.

  Kenzie couldn’t make her lips curve.

  Instead, she picked up her buffalo chicken wrap and nibbled on a corner. She’d been starving when she sat down, but now, thinking about Spencer being tossed like salad by a vicious animal, she felt as if her appetite had been trampled to bits by angry hooves.

  Because as much as she tried not to care, she couldn’t deny that she did. Because when Spencer had left Haven seven years earlier, he’d taken a piece of her heart. No matter that he didn’t want it, she’d given it to him and lost it forever.

  “But I guess we’ll have to wait and see to know for sure,” Megan continued. “In the meantime—” she winked suggestively “—a girl can only hope he isn’t completely out of commission.”

  “I thought you were dating Brett Tanner,” Kenzie remarked.

  “I am,” her friend confirmed. “But until there’s a ring on my finger, I’m keeping my options open...unless I’d be stepping on your toes.”

  “What? No!”

  “Are you sure?” Megan asked. “I know you had a major crush on him in high school.”

  Kenzie could hardly deny it. Instead, she only said, “I got over that—and him—a lot of years ago.”

  “I had a crush on him, too,” Megan confessed.

  It was hardly a revelation. Most of the female contingent at Westmount High School had sighed when Spencer Channing walked through the halls, his hands tucked in the pockets of his Wranglers.

  “Of course, he never gave me the time of day,” her friend continued.

  “He was already a junior when we were freshmen—plus we were friends with his little sister,” Kenzie reminded her.

  “Which meant that we were never likely to get anything more than a brotherly nod of recognition,” Megan noted.

  It was true.

  Mostly.

  There had been the one time, the night before he was scheduled to leave town, that Spencer had looked at Kenzie as if he really saw her.

  As if he really wanted her.

  And maybe Kenzie had occasionally wondered if her life might have taken a different course if that night had ended differently. But she never dwelled on the what-ifs for too long. Because Spencer had been larger than life, with big dreams for his future, while she’d had much more modest plans.

  In the end, they’d both got what they wanted.

  Now he was a big-name rodeo star and she was a small-town massage therapist and, as decreed in the poem, “never the twain shall meet”—except maybe in her dreams.

  And yeah, there were still times when she dreamed about him, because she had no control over the direction of her subconscious mind. And apparently her subconscious mind believed that sex with Spencer Channing would somehow be different—and better—than sex with any other guy she’d been intimate with.

  “But I’m not just a friend of his little sister anymore,” Megan continued, oblivious to Kenzie’s meandering thoughts. “And he’s going to want a date for his brother’s wedding.”

  “The wedding’s in Irvine,” Kenzie reminded her friend.

  “And I’d love to go to SoCal in December. Going with Spencer Channing would just be delectable icing on the cake.”

  “Have you considered the possibility that he might not be all that anymore?” Kenzie wondered aloud.

  “Have you not seen the June cover of ProRider magazine?” Megan countered.

  “I saw it,” she admitted.

  Of course, she’d seen it. Because Spencer Channing was the closest thing to a celebrity to ever come out of Haven, Nevada, and as soon as the issue hit newsstands, all anyone could talk about was the local boy who’d made it big on the rodeo circuit. As if being able to stay on the back of an angry bull for eight seconds was some kind of accomplishment.

  Okay, maybe it was. She’d watched some of his competitions on TV, and she’d held her breath and curled her hands into fists, as if doing so might somehow help him hold on. And maybe she’d been excited for and proud of him every time he’d beat the buzzer. But still, it wasn’t as if he was changing the world. He was just playing at being a cowboy, as he’d always wanted to do, so that he didn’t have to grow up and get a real job.

  So yes, she’d seen the magazine. She even had a copy of it—and all the other magazines that had featured him on the cover or mentioned him in a footnote—in the bottom drawer of her desk.

  “If you saw that cover, then you know the guy who was all that in high school is now all that and a whole lot more,” Megan said.

  “The whole lot more could be staging and airbrushing,” Kenzie suggested.

  Megan pushed her empty plate aside. “I’m a little surprised by your lack of interest,” she admitted. “Of all the girls in our class, you had the biggest crush on him. If he ventured within ten feet of you, you’d get completely tongue-tied.”

  “It was embarrassing,” Kenzie agreed. “It was also a long time ago.”

  “You really don’t care that he’s coming home?”

  The only thing she cared about was that she might see him, and then have to face the memories and humiliation of the last time she’d seen him. When she’d thrown herself at him and practically begged him to take her virginity.

  Not surprisingly, he’d rejected her offer.

  She’d been both heartbroken and relieved when he left for UNLV the next day—and certain she couldn’t ever face him again.

  Over the years, he’d made regular if not frequent visits home, and Kenzie had always been careful to stay away from any and all of the places he might be.

  If Megan was right about the reason for Spencer’s return, and if he planned to stay in Haven for any significant period of time while his unknown injuries healed, it was inevitable that Kenzie would cross paths with him.

  But she was confident that when that happened, he wo
uldn’t detect any hint of the pathetic, lovestruck teenager she’d been inside the confident and capable woman she was now.

  * * *

  “Your two o’clock is waiting in treatment room four,” Jillian, the clinic receptionist, told Kenzie when she got back after lunch.

  She glanced at her watch. “Mrs. Ferris is early today.”

  “Mrs. Ferris canceled,” Jillian informed her. “She wasn’t feeling well.”

  Kenzie shook her head. “She complains that her treatment isn’t working but refuses to take any responsibility for the fact that she only shows up for half her scheduled appointments.”

  “And complains when we bill her for the ones she misses last-minute,” the receptionist added.

  “So who’s my two o’clock?” Kenzie asked.

  “A new patient rehabbing a shoulder injury.” Jillian sighed dreamily. “And, oh-my-god, does he have fabulous shoulders. And a smile that could melt any woman’s panties from across the room.”

  Though Kenzie was accustomed to Jillian’s outrageous and unapologetic objectification of their attractive male clients, the remark made her cringe—and glance around to ensure there were no other clients within earshot.

  “Not my panties,” she asserted confidently. Because only one man’s smile had ever had the power to do that, and that had been a long time ago.

  “I’m telling you, if you’d been five minutes later, I might have snuck into the treatment room to massage him myself,” Jillian said, then immediately amended her claim. “No, I probably wouldn’t have lasted more than three minutes.”

  Kenzie shook her head. “Does Mr. Panty-Melter have another name?”

  “As a matter of fact, he does.” The receptionist glanced down at her computer screen, where the scheduled appointments were displayed. “It’s Spencer Channing.”

  Chapter Two

  It couldn’t be.

  There was no way Spencer Channing was here. In Haven, yes. In her treatment room, no.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t catch that.”

  Jillian touched the screen, where his name and number were noted in the two o’clock slot. “Spencer Channing,” she said again.

  Clearly. Unequivocally.

  An injury, Megan had said.

  Kenzie had immediately wondered what kind of injury and how bad it was. Somehow, she’d never considered that he might come to Back in the Game for treatment.

  She made her way to room four, then paused with her hand on the knob to draw in a deep breath and will her heart to stop racing. Confident and capable, she reminded herself, then stepped into the room.

  “So it’s true,” she said, by way of greeting.

  Spencer’s head turned toward the door, the widening of his deep blue eyes suggesting that he was as surprised to see her as she’d been to hear Jillian speak his name.

  Then his lips curved in a slow, sexy smile that confirmed the receptionist’s assessment of its power.

  That smile was lethal. But it was only one weapon in an arsenal that included mouthwatering good looks, a tautly-muscled physique, quick wit and effortless charm.

  Yeah, Spencer Channing was all that and a whole lot more.

  But it was her job to treat his injury, not lust after his body like a hormonal teenager.

  “It’s good to see you, Kenzie.”

  “I take it you didn’t know your appointment was with me,” she guessed.

  “I didn’t,” he confirmed. “When I was told there’d been a cancellation, I just said I’d take it, without asking any questions.”

  She wondered if it would have mattered if he’d known, but she didn’t voice the question.

  “What brings you in?” she asked instead.

  He tipped his head toward his right shoulder. “Glenohumeral dislocation.”

  She winced sympathetically, imagining the pain he must have endured. Of course, he showed no outward evidence of any discomfort now. Then again, Spencer had never let anyone see what was going on inside.

  He handed her a large manila envelope. “Copies of the doctor’s report and test results.”

  She opened the flap, slid out the sheaf of papers. “Have you had any therapy?”

  He shook his head. “The doc said not before six weeks.”

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “Six weeks and three days,” he admitted.

  “Not that you’re impatient,” she noted dryly.

  He smiled again. “I don’t believe in sitting around.”

  And because she refused to admit that his smile did strange things to her, she took a jab at him instead. “But that’s your job, isn’t it? To sit on the back of a bull for eight seconds.”

  His smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, and the twinkle in his eye suggested that he knew exactly what was going through her mind. “Most people wouldn’t consider it sitting,” he told her.

  She shifted her attention back to the papers in her hand and began to scan the report.

  “You look...different,” he noted, when she flipped the page.

  “I’m not sixteen anymore,” she told him.

  His gaze skimmed over her again, slowly, considering. “I can see that.”

  She returned her attention to the notes in her hands.

  “You’re not wearing a ring,” he remarked.

  “Rings get in the way when I’m working.”

  “Which suggests that you have a ring to wear.”

  She glanced up. “What do you really want to know, Spencer?”

  “Are you married? Engaged?”

  He had no right to ask those questions. Her personal life was none of his business. And yet, something stirred inside her in response to his inquiries, as if pleased that he was asking. As if the questions suggested that he cared about her status.

  Or maybe he was just making conversation.

  “Not anymore,” she finally responded.

  “Not married anymore? Or not engaged anymore?” he asked.

  “Never married,” she clarified. “Briefly engaged.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Dale Shillington.”

  He made a face. “How briefly? Like you were really drunk one night and said yes, then sobered up and threw the ring back at him?”

  “Not quite that briefly,” she admitted.

  “You can do a lot better than Shillington,” he told her.

  “Dale has a lot of good qualities,” she said, wanting to defend not just the man but her acceptance of his proposal.

  Yes, in hindsight she could acknowledge that it had been a mistake, but at the time, she’d thought he was a man who could give her everything she wanted. To belong with someone. To be loved. To have a family.

  But no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t make herself love him—and she knew that a marriage without love wouldn’t last. And she didn’t want to end up like her own mother, abandoned by her husband and raising a child alone.

  “If there aren’t better options in this town, maybe you should leave Haven,” Spencer suggested.

  She shook her head. “That’s not the answer for everyone.”

  “And apparently not for me, either,” he said.

  Before she could ask what he meant by that cryptic remark, he posed another question.

  “Are you dating anyone now?”

  “You’ve got an awful lot of questions for a guy who suddenly reappeared in town after seven years.”

  “It’s not so sudden,” he denied. “And it’s hardly my first trip home.”

  She knew that, of course. He’d been home every year for Christmas, frequently for Mother’s Day and on various other occasions, but never for his birthday, because there was always a major rodeo event somewhere on the Fourth of July.

  “W
hy did you come back?” she wondered.

  “Obviously I’m not in any condition to compete right now, and Haven seemed as good a place as any to rehab my injury,” he said.

  A reasonable explanation, but she sensed that it wasn’t the whole reason. It was, however, the only reason that mattered right now because it was why he was sitting on her table.

  “You’re going to have to take your shirt off,” she said, reaching into the cupboard for a sheet.

  When she turned back again, the shirt was already gone, revealing his chest—wide and strong—and lots of bronzed skin stretched over rock-hard muscles.

  She spent a lot of time focused on naked body parts in her job. She was familiar with soft bodies and toned bodies. She’d worked with varsity stars and armchair athletes.

  She’d never reacted to seeing anyone else’s body the way she reacted to seeing Spencer’s naked chest.

  Her heart pounded faster.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Her knees felt weak.

  Because this wasn’t any patient, this was Spencer.

  Her first crush.

  Her first kiss.

  Her first heartbreak.

  But that was a lot of years ago, and she was no longer a teenage girl infatuated with her best friend’s brother. She was twenty-three years old now—a grown woman and a professional massage therapist. She’d had more than a few boyfriends since he’d left town. Even a few lovers. But her body still reacted to his nearness as if she was sixteen again and she would just die if he didn’t love her, too.

  She shoved all that old baggage aside and drew her professional demeanor around her like a cloak. “I guess you don’t want a sheet,” she said lightly.

  “Do I need one?”

  “No.” She returned the folded flannel to the cupboard. “Some people prefer to be covered. The room can feel cold at times.”

  “It’s warm enough in here,” Spencer said.

  Warm? Definitely.

  Maybe even hot.

  Certainly her body temperature seemed to have spiked.

  She gave a passing thought to checking if Darren was back from lunch yet and asking Spencer if he’d be more comfortable having the other therapist work with him on his rehab.