Page 7 of White Collar Rancher

Setting an alarm, she renewed her determination to stick it out for the long haul.

Why?

Why was she here, doing this for Justin?

They were friends, yes, but it wasn’t like they called each other when they were back in town. They didn’t email, send memes back and forth, or hang out. Justin wasn’t a social media guy. Maisy had been the glue that stuck them together.

How had she forgiven Maisy in the first place? The girl had known Priya crushed so hard on Justin when they were in middle school. Next thing Priya knew, Maisy was biting her lip and whispering, spilling details about making out with him in tenth grade after the last football game of the year. Priya should’ve made her move by then, but she hadn’t been willing to sacrifice her GPA for a boy.

She blew out a puff of air and shifted Isaiah to her other arm. The real reason she’d never made a move? Justin had never looked at her any differently than any other girl in school. He was congenial and friendly with everyone. She wasn’t special.

And wasn’t that the rub.

The child of a busy doctor and nurse wanted to feel special for more than her academic skills. Surprise. Her sister had gotten all that attention.

The day when Maisy gushed about Justin’s skills with French kissing, Priya wrote him off. She deserved better. But she hadn’t gotten “better” when it came to relationships. Just more selfish men.

Didn’t mean she didn’t sneak a glimpse of Justin’s jean-clad ass when she could. Or notice how wide his shoulders were. And she knew that he was eight inches taller than her.

Glutton for punishment, party of one?

She let her eyes drift shut and rocked a still-crying Isaiah. Yeah. She noticed too much about the rancher, and this wasn’t the time.

Chapter 4

Justin flipped his eyes open. The house was quiet; Isaiah must be sleeping.

The only sound was the wind blowing outside and the branches scraping against the side of the house. How long had he slept?

It was almost morning. Was Priya still here?

Rolling up to a sitting position, he ran his hands through his hair. Damn, he needed a trim. For three weeks, they’d been doing this. When she wasn’t on call—hell, even when she was on call—she would come over and help him with Isaiah. There was no way Justin could pay her back. She had saved his sanity in so many ways, and she never asked for anything.

They didn’t have much time to talk. She relieved him so he could rest while she retreated to the nursery. She took half the night shift, and some mornings; by the time he woke, she’d switched the monitor on and was gone.

Shoving to his feet, he padded out of his room and up the stairs. Instead of going into the nursery, he walked to the window at the end of the hall. Autumn in Minnesota could be unpredictable. One day could be sunny and forty-five degrees, and the next could be a full-on blizzard. A lifetime of farming and ranching meant he kept his ear peeled for news about what was going on in the weather world. On the news last night—with the captions on because he couldn’t hear a word over Isaiah’s screaming—they’d predicted freezing rain.

Priya also lived out of town in that fancy little residential area off the lakeshore, but she wasn’t used to driving on gravel. Ice could make that slippery, too.

His yard didn’t look bad but above the trees it was hazy. Drizzly. The temperature at night had dipped below freezing. He went to the nursery and pushed open the door. Peeking inside, his gaze went directly to the swaddled little bundle in the middle of the crib. Isaiah was slumbering peacefully, his breaths even and soft.

Next, he sought out Priya. Her midnight-black hair hung over one shoulder and her head rested on her curled fist. She had her legs stretched out on the footrest and was fast asleep.

She never went to the neighboring room to stretch out on the bed, instead curling up in the rocking chair like she’d rather be close if Isaiah needed anything. And it usually meant more sleep for him. He didn’t understand it. She had a challenging job, a demanding one. But she was here in the middle of the night, looking out for him.

He hated to wake her up but the last few mornings she’d almost slept in and missed work. Her alarm was set too low to wake her up after being busy half the night with a colicky baby.

Justin took one more second to look her over. She was dressed like she could open her eyes and go right to work. She was never anything less than put together and professional. Of course the night Isaiah was born, at the hospital, she’d been in scrubs, but he hadn’t noticed much more than the expression on her face. In the clinic, she wore business clothing under her lab coat. And it was business formal clothing, not business casual. She’d even been like that while they were in school.

He used to be, too, once. A span of his life he didn’t remember fondly. It was almost laughable to think that his coworkers in Denver would never recognize him if they passed him on the street now. Thanks to Gabrielle, his transition had started in college, and thanks to Gabrielle, his regression had started as soon as he’d moved home. And he didn’t miss it one bit.

He tiptoed over to Priya and crouched down. His gaze caught on the changing table. The diapers were piled in a neat stack. He bet if he opened the dresser drawer, he’d find yesterday’s laundry refolded and organized.

A smile ghosted over his lips and he looked back at Priya. The urge to steal a peaceful minute to watch her sleep was strong, but also…wrong. His mind flashed to the night in the hospital and the dark circles under her eyes, the weight of his world on her shoulders while she stood strong and performed her job, despite her own hurting.

No, he shouldn’t be looking at her like this.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he missed their brilliant brown in the dim room. She had amazing eyes, like those polished tiger-eye stones he used to see in souvenir shops as a kid.

---