Sapphires And Sagebrush (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots) Read online

  Cressa hardened her jaw and glared at Owen before grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. “I’ve been trained for ER work. I can do this.”

  “School is different. You know that.”

  She shook that memory away; there was no point in revisiting the past. She and Owen were beyond life support, but some stubborn part of her couldn’t quite pull the plug. Instead of her memories of Owen fading into the background, they became more pronounced and vivid as their time apart grew from weeks to months. She was sure he would contact her one day soon.

  Turning her attention to the job of cutting vegetables, she closed her mind to Owen’s memory and began focusing her thoughts on the remodeling that needed to be done in her parents’ home, her hands working through cucumbers and carrots.

  Her thoughts traveled to those she knew in Sunrise Creek. Other than Ruby—the sweet barista at the Jumpin’ Bean—her patients, and the staff at the urgent care, Cressa really didn’t know anyone. Still, if she were to start putting out inquiries, surely someone would be able to steer her in the direction of a carpenter with good construction skills.

  She went over her patients. Most of them were mothers with small children, except for … Spencer. Didn’t he work on remodeling homes during the winter? He was a ranch hand, too.

  Perhaps that meant he could take over the responsibilities of the ranch or at least oversee Andrew.

  Yes, it would be best to bring someone in from outside the family. Spencer could do some necessary indoor remodeling for her parents’ limited mobility, and he could get the ranch in better shape and keep an eye on Andrew.

  Her thoughts moved toward Andrew once again. It would also be a good idea to start paying him. If he was going to make the effort to work for her, he shouldn’t have to do it for free. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to pay Spencer without paying Andrew. Her idea slid into a neat slot in her mind, removing some of her earlier angst.

  Cressa’s thoughts meandered back to Spencer. Some women might consider him the fulfillment of a dream with his strong and firm hands, lean body, curly black hair, and arresting dark eyes. But Cressa didn’t have any dreams. She only had uneasiness and a house full of concerns. Whoever held the answer to those things was worth more than a thousand dreams.

  Four

  Six days later, Spencer looked out his living room window over the falling snow and temperatures. A fire sizzled and popped in the woodstove, and the smell of homemade bean and ham soup filled his small two-bedroom home. He wasn’t the best cook, but he could manage a few things. When he had money, he loved watching cooking videos and would sometimes try new recipes. Now, with the bad luck of a sliced thumb and no work on the horizon, it looked as if he’d be eating legumes and beans for the foreseeable future.

  Spencer hated being unemployed. It was more than the simple need to work. He had responsibilities. His mind roamed over the next child support check that was due in a little over two weeks, along with his rent.

  He hadn’t always scraped by. A couple of years ago, he’d proudly owned Charleston Construction in Las Vegas. The gambling town in the middle of the sagebrush was always known for its booms and busts, and Spencer had come along after the last bust. He’d hired a good crew, worked with the best suppliers, and produced some of the finest custom homes in the valley. His divorce from Lyla had changed everything. When she’d moved fifteen hours away, to Sunrise Creek, Montana, Spencer had been left with nothing more than an empty studio apartment and a handful of happier memories of his life with Lyla and Kimber that sifted through the holes in his heart like desert sand through fingers.

  Spencer could still recall his shock that the court had allowed Lyla to leave the state. His lawyer had been so sure that the judge would rule against her petition that he rarely thought about it until he was sitting in the courtroom listening to Lyla’s lawyer persuasively arguing her case for a move to Montana. Slack-jawed, Spencer hung on every word of Lyla’s petition, to the point where he was almost convinced it was best for Kimber to grow up in the clean air and four seasons of her mother’s childhood mountain home.

  After the impact had worn off, Spencer hadn’t wasted time in bitterness toward Lyla. She was a good mother, and she was only doing what she thought was best for Kimber. Instead, he’d sold his business for a song and everything else he owned and followed Lyla and Kimber to Sunrise Creek. He didn’t want to miss one single day of Kimber’s childhood.

  The move was hard. Work was scarce, but he was able to see his daughter with regular visits at least every other weekend. More often, if he wanted. Lyla was generous with visitation rights that went beyond the courts mandated requirement. Kimber thrived because of it, even though Spencer was still faced with trying to settle into a new life and work.

  At first, he’d hoped to start a new construction business. His plan was foiled when he learned of the moratorium on custom homes along the lakefront. There were some new ranch homes that were going up, but not enough for Spencer to depend on them for steady work. Spencer supplemented his income with a new line of employment as a ranch hand. He was a quick study, and by the end of his first summer, he rode and roped with the best cowboys around. He attributed some of his skills to Jonah Stiles and his fiancée, Ruby, who were patient with him and took time to teach him the finesse of the trade. Spencer later learned that Jonah was also new to ranching, and even though they were motivated by different things, Jonah and Ruby were both eager to help.

  Spencer looked down at his thumb. He may have found eager support at the Stiles Ranch, but neither Jonah nor his fiancée could help him pay his bills.

  The thumb was no longer painful, but the sutures itched and pulled. He refused to take any more pain medication. He desperately wanted the stitches out and considered cutting them himself. The thought made his stomach toss around like a washing machine. He didn’t mind birthing calves or dealing with sick and injured animals, but the idea of snipping his own stitches unsettled him. Just four more days before he’d be able to get back to the doctor and have the sutures out. Already, he dreaded seeing Lindsey.

  Spencer didn’t like his business being made known to any of Lyla’s family, including her sister. He hoped Lindsey would abide by the confidentiality law he had read and keep this incident to herself.

  He wouldn’t mind seeing Dr. Marshall again. Her swift action and careful stitch work touched him. Plus, she smelled like jasmine on a sweet summer breeze. The light, clean scent of it had soothed him as it overcame the metallic smell of blood and sharp scent of antiseptic.

  His recollection of her fresh perfume took him back to that morning and her careful stitch work. Her brow had furrowed in concentration as her lips pursed in a focused frown. Even with her intensity, she was pretty. Her dark chestnut-brown hair was pulled back into a bun, showing off her radiant rose-petal skin, jade-green eyes, and cupid-bow lips. She didn’t wear a stitch of makeup, except for a hint of lipstick, but it was her hands that kept his attention. Her fingers were small and graceful, nails cut short and unadorned. When she’d finished with the stitches, he’d admired her perfect work.

  The phone rang, shaking him from his thoughts. The number of the urgent care clinic showed on his screen. His heart dropped. He hoped this wasn’t Lindsey wanting to know about a payment.

  With a sense of dread, he answered. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Stewart?”

  This wasn’t Lindsey. In fact, it sounded very much like Dr. Marshall. Spencer’s heart ticked up. Was everything okay? Maybe he could get the stitches out early. “This is Spencer.”

  “This is Dr. Marshall from the clinic. I’m the one who stitched you up.”

  Spencer colored at the realization that he had just been thinking of her. Had she somehow read his mind from miles away? “Of course. I remember. Is everything okay?” The itching of his wound calmed just at the sound of the doctor’s voice.

  “Oh, yes. Everything is fine. How is your thumb?”

  “Most of the time, it’s itching like c
razy,” Spencer replied, refusing to let his mind wander back to the scent of jasmine.

  “That’s a good sign,” Dr. Marshall replied. “It sounds as if it’s improving.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to get the stitches out. Is that why you’re calling? Maybe I can come in early.”

  “Ten days is a good window for healing. So I’m afraid the stitches can’t come out for a few more days. I’m actually calling about something else.” She paused. “I was just wondering …”

  “Yes?” An uncertain hope filled Spencer.

  “I remember you saying that you were a ranch hand in the summer and you did indoor remodeling in the winter. I have some remodeling and ranch work that needs to be done around my parents’ home. I’d really appreciate the opportunity to talk with you about it.”

  His hope found its mark and mingled with disbelief. Could he really end up working for Dr. Marshall? “I’m not backed up at all. In fact, I lost my next project due to the accident.”

  “Oh. Gosh. That would be tough. Perhaps we can help each other. If we can agree on a price and the job that needs to be done, and if it would be a good fit for everybody, maybe you can work with us for a while.”

  Relief breezed through Spencer, and he caught a hint of jasmine as if it traveled through the phone. “Yes! I’d be happy to discuss that.”

  “Can you meet me tomorrow morning at my parents’ home? I can show you what needs to be done.”

  Spencer couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. “I’d love it. Do you want to meet, say, around ten?”

  “That’d be perfect,” Dr. Marshall replied.

  Spencer wrote down the address Dr. Marshall gave him.

  “I’ll see you then,” she said. “And I’ll take a look at your hand, too.”

  “Thanks!” Spencer replied before saying goodbye.

  Clicking off the phone, he fell back onto his couch, taking his first deep breath in days. The heat from the woodstove penetrated his skin, seeping into his bones as his muscles finally relaxed. Maybe everything would be all right. If he could get this job to tie him over until spring, he might be able to begin making a name for himself in this community, creating steady work. It was the only thing he needed to stay close to Kimber.

  He settled into the couch, watching the snow fall thick and fast outside his living room window. With the constant worry of his finances now retreating to the back of mind, he focused on his new boss. What was Dr. Marshall really like? He thought back to their first interaction. Even though his thumb had been practically falling off, he couldn’t help but be drawn to her loveliness. It tugged at him from an unseen corner, and there was that effervescent aroma of jasmine that was embedded into every thought of her.

  His curiosity grew. She certainly was pretty, but what lived behind those cool, professional jade-green eyes? Was she single? She was living with her parents in their home and hadn’t mentioned a spouse.

  Spencer rose from the couch and put another log on the fire. He considered getting to know Cressa Marshall. New warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the flame in his hearth. His curiosity rose again. Yes, he was determined to learn about this competent young doctor. Maybe this job would turn out to offer more than a paycheck.

  Five

  Cressa finished the breakfast dishes and made sure her parents were comfortable. Her father and Agnes had walked the house several times, and she had helped her mother shower and dress.

  “Now, don’t forget we’re having a visitor this morning,” Cressa told her mother as she helped her with her hair.

  “Oh, right. A visitor. Is he coming to see you?” her mother asked.

  Cressa’s heart gave a little cry of anguish. Her mother’s short-term memory was deteriorating. She’d told her mother of Spencer’s appointment just five minutes earlier. “No. He’s coming to look at the house.”

  Her mother became agitated, and she pulled away from Cressa. “I’m not selling this house,” she warned.

  Cressa’s heartache deepened. “No, Mom. This isn’t about selling the house. He’s here to help make the house more manageable for you and Dad. Remember? It’s to help you stay in the house.”

  “Oh, right. When is your sister coming for a visit?”

  That was a good question. Janna’s life was full and busy with three kids and a husband in Boston. But Boston felt light-years away from everything going on with their parents. Cressa often wondered if Janna really understood the situation. “I’m not sure, Mom. We’ll call her soon, okay?”

  “Oh, yes! Let’s talk with Janna.”

  It was hard not to feel some twinge of irritation from her mother’s fixation on Janna. She had never played favorites before, and Cressa had to remind herself that Janna wasn’t the preferred daughter. She was just the one missing. If Janna were here, their mother would be bugging her about Cressa. She patted her mother’s shoulder. “We’ll do that, but for now, let’s get you ready to meet company.”

  Walking across the living room, her mother smiled once again at the Persian rug. “Can you imagine how long it took someone to work on this rug back in the nineteenth century? All of this is hand-knotted, you know.”

  Once again, Cressa was amazed at her mother’s coherent draw to the past. She wanted to gather these sweet moments they shared and hold on to them like a bouquet of flowers. “I didn’t know antique rugs were hand-knotted.”

  “Oh, yes. Such beautiful work,” her mother murmured.

  Cressa looked into her mother’s warm ocean-green eyes, pulling in whatever this luminous memory would offer.

  “Back before you were born, your father and I hardly had any furniture, but we had this rug. It was an heirloom from his grandmother. We’d throw our beanbag chairs on it close to the fireplace and eat our dinner.” She smiled at the memory. “We’ve had such a good life.”

  Cressa looked down at the rug and studied its intricate pattern in hues of cinnamon, vermillion red, umber, black, and saffron as her own memories ebbed into her mind. She loved the colors of this rug. It was one of the few fragile knots keeping her mother tethered to earth and her family. “Remember when I was little? We’d host tea parties on this rug with Janna and our dolls.”

  Cressa’s mother’s eyes grew happily misty. “Oh my, yes. We’d bring out the good china and the little table and chairs from the bedroom. After all, our tea parties were the event of the moment.” She laughed. “I’d let you wear my wedding ring. Do you remember?”

  Cressa laughed. As a child, she’d loved her mother’s sapphire-and-diamond ring and would often ask to wear it. Her mother would grant permission for Cressa to put it on for a few minutes, if she was going to be under her watchful eye. Cressa would flash her hand in the sun and laugh at the way the stones sparkled.

  Her mother’s hand grew stronger in its grasp. “You girls were delightful,” she sighed.

  Cressa’s memory wandered back in time to when the world was young, green, and good. Her parents were happy, strong, and competent, and she and Janna were sheltered by their love and care. A sigh escaped her.

  Her mother’s grip tightened around her fingers. “I know, baby,” she said quietly.

  What did her mother really know? In this moment of clarity, did she understand her own compromised state? “Mom—”

  The vacant look came into her mother’s eyes again. “Where is Janna?” she asked. “That girl’s best talent is her disappearing act.”

  Sadness rushed through Cressa like a cold wind funneling through a canyon. One moment her mother was there, and the next she was gone. She still wasn’t used to her mother’s own disappearing act. “She’s in Boston, Mom. Remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.”

  The doorbell rang, and Cressa shook off her sadness. “It looks like our visitor is here.” She helped her mother to the couch as she brushed her sweater with her free hand, as if shaking off crumbs from her earlier sorrow, grateful for the distraction of her meeting with Spencer.

  Pulling
in a deep breath, she opened the door and was immediately struck by the look of Spencer standing before her in a cowboy hat, worn boots and jeans that fit as if they were made specifically for his lean body, and a gray corduroy coat.

  She swallowed hard. In the clinic, she had noticed him, but out of professional courtesy, she focused on his hand. Looking at the rest of him, she remembered that he was seriously attractive.

  She smiled. “Come in from the snow. Let me take your coat.” She made room for him in the foyer.

  Spencer smiled as he removed his jacket and handed it to Cressa, still warm from his body. A gray-and-blue-checkered flannel shirt with a Henley T underneath rounded out his look. He removed his boots to reveal woolen socks.

  “Before we get started, let me take a look at that hand,” Cressa said, grabbing Spencer’s fingers. A shock went through her system. His skin was callused and warm. She stopped. She wasn’t in the urgent care clinic. Without the context of her job, her gesture appeared overbearing. “Sorry.” Her face colored to a deep red. “I guess I’m always the doctor first.” She glanced quickly into Spencer’s face to find him smiling down at her. The depth of his brown eyes almost took her breath away, but she stifled the feeling as she released his hand. “I can take a look later. Come in and meet my parents.”

  She led Spencer into the living room where her mother was sitting. “This is my Mom, Janean.”

  Her mother smiled up at Spencer. “Cressa tells me you’ll be working here.”

  “I hope so,” Spencer said.

  Cressa let out a breath. Mom was okay. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my father.” She moved Spencer to the family room, as a new awareness of his masculinity rushed through her at his closeness. “Dad, this is Spencer. He may be working with us here at the house and overseeing the ranch for a while.”

  “Well, glory be,” Cressa’s father said. “We could use some help around here.”

  Cressa wasn’t sure if she should be alarmed, embarrassed, or irritated. She tried hard to look after everything, but so much was falling through the cracks. She chose to ignore her father’s remarks. “Spencer, this is my father, Christopher Marshall.”