The Rancher's Dance by Allison Leigh Page B

dinner,” she said before heading down the shallow steps toward her truck.
    â€œSee you later, Lucy,” Shelby called after her.
    She kept her smile in place as she waved again.
    But the minute she was in her truck and driving back down that beautifully landscaped drive, her smile died.
    Beckett Ventura could claim that he was protecting hisdaughter. But she knew with every fiber in her soul that he was protecting himself even more.
    She could even understand why.
    Lucy was as certain of his attraction to her as she was of her own to him. But the man was clearly still in love with his wife.
    Lucy couldn’t fight that.
    She wasn’t sure she’d even want to. No woman could compete with a ghost.
    But when it came to Shelby?
    Beck didn’t know as much as he thought he did about the needs of a motherless daughter.
    She hit a rut in the road and the steering wheel jerked under her hands.
    She automatically tightened her grip and hit the brakes and when she did so, a killing pain shot through her knee.
    She gasped and stared hard at the road ahead of her, not daring to shift her foot until the pain subsided.
    She’d been sitting on the side of the road for a full five minutes by the time that happened. A treacherous five minutes during which she had to remind herself that one more pain didn’t necessarily mean her knee was worsening instead of improving.
    But when she finally, gingerly, pressed the gas pedal, she finished the drive home much more cautiously.
    When she arrived, she parked closer to the door than usual and carried Shelby’s picture inside where she pinned it right in the center of the wide refrigerator door.
    Then she pull out a gelled ice pack and because moving to one of the kitchen chairs was just too much work, she sat down right there on the warm hardwood floor, with her back to the cupboards and pressed the pack over the ache in her knee.
    The cold easily penetrated through her jeans and she exhaled with relief, leaning her head wearily back against the cabinet. She studied Shelby’s drawing across from her.
    Beck needed to understand that no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to, as a father he couldn’t replace his daughter’s need for a woman’s attention.
    Lucy might not be able to get her knee healed no matter how hard she tried, but getting Beck to realize that particular truth about his daughter was one thing she could accomplish. And once she did, she’d be able to know that at least one good thing—a very good thing—resulted from her stupid fall down those stairs.
    Â 
    She was walking with crutches.
    Beck watched Lucy maneuver herself out of her truck she’d parked on the side of the ranch house and tuck the metal devices under her arms before swinging herself in his direction.
    He grimaced and focused on the exterior sheathing he was putting up before he shot a damn nail through his own thumb.
    He really didn’t want another encounter with an annoyed and emotional female. Not when he’d already tangled with a six-year-old one that morning.
    Day camp had been cancelled again. And when Beck had flatly refused Shelby’s begging to come with him to the Lazy-B while he worked, she’d let him know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t happy about the decision.
    His painfully shy, quiet little girl had pitched one very large, very loud fit.
    Even now, a hot, half day later since he’d left her sulking in the care of her grandfather, Beck still felt stunned. And stung.
    And judging by the intent way Lucy was heading towardhim and the way her jaw was determined and set, he figured he was in for more of the same.
    So when she finally limped to a stop and faced him, he went on the offensive. “Maybe you’ve learned the price for overdoing it now that you’re stuck on crutches.”
    Her soft lips tightened. She tucked her crutches to one side and with more grace than someone with an injured