The Texan's Little Secret

She shrugged—using her good shoulder. “About a month.”

He bit back a curse. “What happened?”

“Nothing exciting. I was practicing the barrels, coming in close, and dropped my hand too soon. The mare wanted to shoulder, and I wasn’t ready. I just wasn’t with it at all that day. And I paid for it. I went flying and landed on my arm.”

“Hard, I’d wager.”

“Yes, but I’m fine. It only gives me trouble once in a while.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Luke. Really. It’s not even my arm, only my shoulder.”

“Have you had any therapy for it?”

She shook her head. “Give it up, will you, please? I told you, I’m fine. I won’t feel a thing in the morning.”

If only he could say the same. Chances were, his meeting with her tonight would have him hungover from a long night of little sleep.

No point in continuing this argument about her injury. Just like when he worked with a skittish mare, the more he would talk, the more she would balk. With the mare, he’d put in the time and summon the patience to calm her down, to get her comfortable with him. To get the job done.

With Carly, he’d be a fool to push the issue when he ought to be stepping away as fast as he could. “Come on, then. Let’s get home.”

* * *

TO CARLY’S RELIEF, Luke did give his questioning a rest—at least, until they’d reached Roughneck Ranch.

When he had said he would take her home, she hadn’t known he’d meant his home. To her dismay, he pulled up behind the small single-story ranch house and turned off the truck’s engine.

Then he started in on her again.

“Do your folks know about your fall?”

“No,” she snapped. “There was no need to tell them. There still isn’t.” Before he could say another word, she exited the truck and slammed the door behind her. The fixture over the back porch illuminated a good part of the yard. It certainly gave off enough light for her to see his disgruntled expression through the windshield.

A second later, he slammed his door closed, too. “You know, Carly, there’s a difference between being independent and being too danged stubborn to listen to reason.”

“That’s not your worry.”

He exhaled in disgust. “And you always were the most bullheaded critter I knew.”

“Takes one to know one, I say.”

“Luke?”

She jumped. The voice had come from the direction of the porch. A woman stood framed in the kitchen doorway, looking out at them through the screen door.

“I thought I heard the truck. And voices.” The woman smiled at them. “Everything all right out here?”

“Just fine, Mom.”

Luke’s mother. Of course. She had never met the woman but could easily have guessed her relationship to Luke. He had lighter brown eyes than his mother’s, but they shared the same sandy-blond shade of hair.