Full Rigged (Lost Creek Rodeo #4) - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,2

guess I’m not ready,” Ford admitted without shame, folding his arms over his loose flannel and shrugging again. “Rodeo still fills the tank for me.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ve got a hundred bucks riding on you in Lost Creek, so don’t screw it up.”

And that was how things usually went with Darren. His number one fan, just as much as he drove him crazy. Darren wanted Ford out of his hair as much as he wanted his help. Wanted Ford to help make the ranch part of a family dynasty in the area as much as he wanted him to stay in the rodeo world and make a name for himself.

After all, Ford Hopkins from Montana just had to be related to the ones who ran the Hopkins Family Ranch, and the fans of rodeo who were potential business partners liked the connection.

Maybe sticking to the circuit as long as he could would be the best way to help his family after all.

There was an idea . . .

“Have you talked to Dad about updating the logo?” Ford asked with a sly smile. “I know you’ve had Carly working up ideas for ages, but have you seriously done anything with that?”

Darren seemed surprised by the question, probably because he and Ford had never discussed this. It was Carly who had let him in on it. Their older sister couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and she called Ford once a week to blab about whatever came up.

She was a talented graphic designer, working out of her home now, and she’d told Ford more than once that she was dying to actually rebrand the ranch. All she needed was for Darren to give her the green light.

“No,” his brother admitted, grumbling as he looked away. “He’ll just think I’m trying to take over before my time, and we’ll have a fight, which will make Mom cry . . .”

“When you’re done predicting the future and whining about it,” Ford grunted, “consider suggesting it. Show him whatever Carly’s worked up. Dad’s a sap—he’ll love that it’s work in the family.”

“Okay . . .” Darren said slowly, eying Ford curiously. “And why the sudden interest in our logo?”

Ford grinned, then gestured at himself. “Because there’s a perfectly good canvas here for some free advertising, and you’re always saying I should pull my weight for the family. How about I pull some cameras and attention instead?”

“Did you want an A1C ordered for that patient as well, Dr. Kershaw? It’s been two months since her last one, and the numbers weren’t great then.”

No, Brynn did not want an A1C. She wanted exactly what she had written down on the patient’s orders and nothing more. If she had wanted an A1C, she would have written an A1C. The patient wasn’t here for her diabetes, she was here for her thyroid. The diabetes appointments were spaced apart the way they were on purpose, and she was not about to cross over. Not when the patient had taken thirty minutes to have a three-minute conversation about why she hadn’t done anything they had discussed at her last appointment.

Why couldn’t people just do what she asked? Was that really so hard? Did she have to do all of the thinking and all of the doing here? What was the point of becoming a doctor if she had to do all of the office work, too? Maybe they would like her to walk the patients back to the room herself, draw the blood, do the therapy, submit the billing, and fit them for glasses as well. Why not just hire one person to do everything and save everyone the trouble and money of a whole staff? If only one brain needed to work, what was the point of twelve?

Brynn Kershaw exhaled silently and very slowly, pressing her teeth together until her jaw ached, professional smile perfectly in place as she pretended to consider the idea. “Not this time, Katie. She’ll be back in another few weeks, and we can take care of it then.”

Her always capable and unfailingly awesome medical assistant, who had no idea what volcano had nearly erupted, nodded and turned away from the office, back toward the patient rooms, leaving Brynn alone once more.

She closed her eyes and released the clenched fists she’d hidden beneath her desk, her nails digging into her palms until the pain of them shot into her wrists. She splayed her suddenly shaking fingers, turning her palms up to see the