According to my file, Cash Boyd is twenty-eight years old and was in perfect health up until his accident, which left his shoulder and hip dislocated, his collarbone shattered, and the bones in his right leg broken in several places. He spent a few weeks in a hospital, undergoing three surgeries that left him in pain but with excellent prospects of making a full recovery.

The swelling retreated quickly, but with no physical therapy, he’s made no progress.

That doesn’t come as a surprise. Given his age and the hostility he showed earlier today, it looks like he’s someone who’s accustomed to always having his own way. I’ve seen it before. I’ve worked with patients like him. He’s rejecting everyone’s help because he thinks he can do it alone, on his own terms.

In this respect, he’s stubborn as a mule.

The trouble is, the more time passes, the harder it gets to regain full mobility.

“How’s the new job?” Debra asks.

“Fine.” My voice sounds a bit too high-pitched as I sit down on my bed, cradling my phone between my chin and my shoulder blade.

The truth is, Cash Boyd in real life is even worse than on paper. If I don’t change the subject soon, Debra will pick up on it. The last thing I want is to admit to my sister that she was right when she warned me not to take this job. “The house is great. And the weather’s great.”

“How’s your new patient?”

I cringe.

Of course.

She had to ask.

How to describe Cash Boyd in words that don’t include ‘jerk,’ ‘jackass,’ and ‘arrogant prick?’

And definitely leave out ‘fuck, he’s hot.’

“I think he’s a hermit. Very private.” I settle against the pillows and tuck my legs beneath me, unsure whether to smile or groan at the realization that that’s not the only thing Cash Boyd is.

Cash Boyd is more like the kind of eye candy you invite into your bed to fuck your brains out. And then you tell him to chuck his phone number into the nearest dumpster because guys like him aren’t called ‘heartbreakers’ for no reason.

Trust me, been there, done that.

Never again.

“Oh? In what way?” Debra’s voice betrays none of her emotions, which is a sure sign that she’s listening intently, ready to make up her own mind and judge the hell out of you if you reveal too much.

“Well.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as I choose my words carefully. “He’s not exactly the kind who wants the help of a therapist. The next few months will be a bit challenging. But don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. This is going to look great on my résumé. And I need the money.”

Not to mention the thousands of air miles between Chicago and Montana.

“Erin.” Heavy pause. Thick waves of tension carry down the phone line, bringing with them all the guilt, accusation, and turmoil I thought I had left behind back home.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and draw a silent breath, wondering whether my statement could be further from the truth.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Another sharp breath.

I can do this. Madison Creek is the right place for it. No one knows me here; no one will try to dig up my story.

“Okay.” Debra’s voice betrays her doubt. If I were back home, she wouldn’t let me off the hook so easily. But thousands of miles, even for her, is too big of a distance to keep being pushy. We both know it. “You’ll call if you need anything?”

“Yes,” I say, even though that’s a lie, too. Debra has her own family and set of problems. I could never add to her plate.

“Anything at all, Erin. I mean it. That’s what sisters are for.”

She says her goodbye. I breathe a sigh of relief as we disconnect. I have no answers for her questions because I have no answers for myself.

I close my eyes and rest for a while, my cell pressed against my chest. It’s late evening when I make my way downstairs, expecting the kitchen to be empty.

“I thought you were gone.” The low husk of Cash’s voice startles me.

I press a hand against my chest and look up into his impossibly green eyes, expecting to find anger, challenge, anything but—

Indifference.

His gaze is so cold it freezes me to the core.

“I—”

I shiver involuntarily as my mind goes blank from the sudden onset of guilt.

What’s there to feel guilty about?

I may be unwanted, but I’m not an intruder.

It’s a job. I’m being paid to help. He should be thankful for that, and yet he acts as though I’m the last person he wants around.

“Believe it or not, you are my responsibility, and I take my responsibilities very seriously.” I raise my chin defiantly, which seems to slowly become a pattern around him. “Your father hired me, meaning I’ll leave when he asks me to.”

“Is that so?” His mouth sets and his gaze brushes over me, moving from head to toe, though not in that lingering kind of way.

He’s assessing me as though this is a job interview.

I try to remember what he does when he’s not risking his life riding bulls, but can’t remember.

Dammit!

I should have Googled him, find out the kind of person he is before I accepted this job. But the last few months weren’t exactly kind to me.

“Maybe I don’t look like much, but I’m one of the best at what I do.”

“What is it that you do—what did you say your name was?” He leans into the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt, straining the seams. There’s a gleam of pain in his eyes, which he hides just as quickly as it appeared.

Under usual circumstances, I would show sympathy. But not today.

The guy couldn’t even be bothered to remember my name!

“I’m your new physical therapist.” I emphasize the last word just in case he thinks I’m the help or something. And if he wants to know my name he’ll have to ask again.

“So, you’re the one who’ll rub my back and tuck me into bed at night.” His cold glare breaks in favor of a leering smile. “I bet that’s not all you’re good at.”

Now we’ve entered familiar territory.

What is it with guys and the sexual innuendoes when they confuse my job description with someone who works in a massage parlor?

“I’m here to help you get back on your feet, not get you off, Mr. Boyd. There definitely won’t be any happy endings. Bedwise, that is.”

His lips twitch. “Bedwise? Is that even a word?”

“It is now.” My eyes throw daggers. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have any effect on his stupid grin. “If you’re looking for a hooker, I’ll be happy to call one for you. Should you try anything—”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Cash says, cutting me off. “I don’t ever impose on a woman. They usually impose on me.”

Looking at him, I can imagine why.

His deep laughter travels through my abdomen, leaving a tight sensation behind.

“I’m glad we’ve established that,” I say a bit too breathily. “We’ll be starting tomorrow. Eight a.m. sharp. Make sure to wear something comfortable. I’m fair but hard, and have no doubt that I’ll get you back to your old self in an appropriate amount of time.”

His brows shoot up, and his eyes twinkle with amusement. “I can’t wait to find out what your hands are capable of.”

I don’t know why his words make me blush. Maybe it’s the glint in his eyes or the leery look—whatever it is, I feel unhinged in a strange way, as though someone very sexy has just whispered into my ear all the things he’d like to do to me tonight.

“You know what, make it seven a.m.,” I mumble and get out without so much as a glance over my shoulder.

But I can hear him mumble something like, “I’m usually up at six.”

---

***

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Once I’m back in my room, I make sure to lock the door and drop onto my bed, burying my head in the lavender-scented pillows.

What have I gotten myself into?

Cash Boyd is easily the hottest guy I’ve ever met.

He’s tall with a body chiseled in pure perfection. His green eyes are devoid of emotion but shimmer with intelligence, as though everything he says and does is part of a carefully planned agenda.

His huge home and upscale furnishing scream money. I’m not naïve enough to think he’s just a stupid bull rider with no brains and no aspirations. But I’m also not foolish enough to want to know more about him or his personal life.

Instead of Googling him, I pull out his medical file to have another peek at it as I prepare my therapy plan and munch on the spare chocolate bar I always carry in my handbag.

I refuse to let his pure, raw sexiness stop me from doing my job.

I refuse to become weak.

The sooner I’ve gotten him to the point where he can walk without those crutches, the sooner I can leave and forget him.

That’s the plan, and I never deviate from my plans.