Читать онлайн книгу «Second Chance Dad» автора Roxanne Rustand
Second Chance Dad
Roxanne Rustand
The minute she steps foot in his dark, miserable house, Sophie Alexander knows Josh McClaren is not her usual patient. But the single mom and physical therapist is desperate to make a life for her and her young son.And she's definitely no quitter! It's obvious to Sophie that handsome, cantankerous Josh hides his pain behind a wall of grief. Little by little, Sophie and her son, Eli, do more than help Josh find his faith again. They make Josh wonder if there's a family in his future after all….
“We’ve got a deadline,
Dr. McLaren.”
“I don’t honestly care.”
Sophie leaned forward, her delicate brows drawing together. “Let’s give this a good shot anyway. I know I can help you. Let me prove it.”
“I don’t want this. Understand?” The others had given up and she would, too. He’d make sure of it.
She blasted him with another one of her dazzling smiles. “I think we’ll get along just great. I’ll be back Friday.”
Josh stared after her as she let herself out the door.
She was coming back?
He’d have to make himself perfectly clear—he didn’t want her intruding in his life. He didn’t want anyone promising the moon and stars, and the prospect of a full and rewarding future.
Because after what he’d done, he knew that was the stuff of fairy tales, not reality. And he only wanted to be left alone.
ROXANNE RUSTAND
lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, many of whom find their way into her books. She works part-time as a registered dietitian at a psychiatric facility, but otherwise you’ll find her writing at home in her jammies, surrounded by three dogs begging for treats, or out in the barn with the horses. Her favorite time of all is when her kids are home—though all three are now busy with college and jobs.
This is her twenty-fifth novel. RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achievement Award in 2005, and she won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.
She loves to hear from readers! Her snail-mail address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 52406-2550. You can also contact her at: www.roxannerustand.com, www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand or at her blog, where readers and writers talk about their pets: www.roxannerustand.blogspot.com.
Second Chance Dad
Roxanne Rustand
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
What does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
—Micah 6:8
DEDICATION
In memory of my mom, Arline. Without her,
I would not have believed in this dream, and
her endless love, support, encouragement and
enthusiasm always meant the world to me. Mom,
this one—as always—is for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With many thanks to Licensed Physical Therapists
Nancy Reilly and Erin Nicholas
for answering my many questions about
physical therapy. Any errors are mine alone.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Sophie stepped out of her ancient Taurus sedan but lingered at the open door, staring at the massive dog on the porch of the sprawling cabin. The dog stared back at her with laserlike intensity, head lowered and tail stiff.
It was not a welcoming pose.
But set back in the deep shadows of the pine trees crowding so close, the cabin itself—with all the windows dark—seemed even more menacing than a wolfhound mix with very sharp teeth.
“Don’t worry about the dog,” Grace Dearborn had said with a breezy smile during Sophie’s orientation at the county home health department offices. “He’s quite the bluffer. It’s the owner who is more likely to bite.”
From the spooky appearance of the dwelling, Sophie could imagine the home health care administrator’s words about this client being true in the most literal sense. Ominous clouds had rolled in earlier this afternoon, bringing heavy rains and lightning, and from the looks of the sky, the current respite would be brief.
So what kind of person would be sitting in there, in all that gloomy darkness?
She looked at the folder in her hand again.
Dr. Josh McLaren. Widower. Lives alone. No local support system. Declined home health aides. Postsurgical healing of comminuted fracture, right leg with a knee replacement. Surgical repair of fractured L-4 and L-5 lumbar vertebrae, multiple comminuted fractures, right hand.
There were no details on the accident itself. Had he been hit by a truck? She shuddered, imagining the pain he’d been through. The surgeries and therapy had to have been as bad as the injuries themselves.
The only other documentation in the folder were the doctor’s physical therapy orders dated last year, originating from Lucas General Hospital in Minneapolis, and some scant, frustrated progress notes written by her various physical therapist predecessors.
The last one had ignored professional convention by inserting his personal feelings into his notes.
The man is surly and impossible.
Ten minutes spent arguing about the need for therapy. Five minutes of deep massage of his right leg and strengthening exercises before he ordered me out of his house.
And the final note…
I give up. Doctor or not, McLaren is a highly unpleasant client and I will not be coming back here.
Sophie scanned the documents again, searching for a birth date or mention of the man’s age, which was basic information present in the other nine case charts she’d been assigned. Thus far, nothing.
Maybe this guy was an old duffer, like her grandfather. Crotchety and isolated and clinging to whatever measure of independence he could manage.
This morning, Grace had studied Sophie’s home visit schedule before handing it over, and she’d made it clear once again that Sophie had to succeed with every physical therapy client, to the limits of their potential, and that she’d be closely evaluating Sophie’s progress.
The job was temporary—just three months while covering for the regular therapist who’d gone to Chicago for some intensive advanced training. Excellence was expected on a daily basis, Grace had emphasized. But if Sophie did exceptionally well, Grace would try to push the county board to approve hiring her on a permanent basis.
The thought had lifted Sophie’s heart with joy, though now some of her giddy excitement faded. She set her jaw. If her ability to stay in Aspen Creek hinged on those stipulations, then no one—not even this difficult old man—was going to stand in her way. Far too much depended on it.
“Buddy, I’m going to overwhelm you with kind ness, and your mean ole dog, too,” she muttered under her breath as she pawed through a grocery sack on the front seat of her car. “See how you like that.”
Withdrawing a small can, she peeled off the outer plastic lid, pulled the tab to open the can and held it high. “Salmon,” she crooned. “Come and get it.”
It took a minute for the scent to drift over to the cabin. The dog’s head jerked up. He sniffed the breeze, then he cautiously started across the stretch of grass between the cabin and driveway.
She stayed in the lee of her open car door, ready to leap back inside at the least sign of aggression. But by the time the dog reached her front bumper his tongue was lolling and his tail wagging.
She grabbed a plastic spoon on her dashboard—a remnant of her last trip to a Dairy Queen—and scooped up a chunk of the pungent, pink fish. She dropped it on the grass and the dog wolfed it down, his tail wagging even faster. “Friends?”
She held out a cautious hand and he licked it, his eyes riveted on the can in her other hand. “Just one bite. When I come out, I’ll give you one more. Deal?”
His entire body wagged as he followed her to the cabin door.
No lights shone through the windows. She knocked. Then knocked again as loud as she could and listened for any signs of movement.
What if…what if the old guy had passed on?
Her heart in her throat, she framed her face with her hands and pressed her nose to a pane of glass, trying to peer into the gloom. Knocked again. And then she quietly tried the doorknob.
It turned easily in her hand. She pulled the door open, just an inch. “Hello? Anyone here?” She raised her voice. “I’m from the home health agency.”
No answer.
Thunder rumbled outside, heavy and ominous. A nearby crack of lightning shook the porch beneath her feet. She opened the door wider, then bracketed her hands against the inner screen door and tried to look inside. “Hello?”
The dog at her side whimpered. Then he shoved past her, sending the door swinging back to crash against the interior wall.
So much for subtlety.
“Hello,” she yelled. “Are you here? Are you okay?”
Something moved in the darkness—probably just the dog. Still, she took a cautious step back.
If the old fellow had died, she had no business disturbing the scene. The sheriff should be called, and the coroner. And if he was in there with a shotgun, she sure didn’t want to surprise him.
But on the other hand, if he needed help, she could hardly walk away. Steeling herself, she reached around the corner and fumbled along the inside wall until she found a light switch and flipped it on.
Only a single, weak bulb came to life in the center of the room, leaving most of it dark. She started to step over the threshold…then drew in a sharp breath.
The room was nearly bare. She could make out the shapes of a sofa, chair and what might be a desk in one corner. But it was the figure suddenly looming over her that made her heart lurch into overdrive with fear. Tall. Broad shoulders. Silhouetted by the faint light behind him, she couldn’t make out his expression, but his stance telegraphed irritation.
This wasn’t some old guy.
Maybe…maybe he was an intruder. Maybe he’d hurt poor old crotchety Dr. McLaren and was hauling away all the loot in this cabin…
Raising her hands defensively, she backed up a step, and then another, preparing to run.
But then she saw the dog amble over and sit at the man’s side, leaning its shaggy body against his hip. He rested a gentle hand on the animal’s head.
“I—I’m sorry,” she faltered, searching his face. He didn’t look disabled…but then she saw the tell-tale signs of tension in his stance, as if it had been painful to make it to the door. And the angle of his body, as if he were guarding himself against injuries that probably still kept him up at night.
He said nothing.
“You must be Dr. McLaren. I thought…I thought you were old,” she stammered as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. He wasn’t only a much younger man—probably in his mid-thirties at the most—but he was striking in that tall, dark, and dangerous sort of way that always made her self-conscious about her very ordinary self. “When you didn’t answer, I…um…I was afraid that you might be dead.”
“Unfortunately, no,” he growled. He glanced at her upraised hands, then met her eyes with a piercing stare. “So who are you, and why are you threatening me with a can of salmon?” His gaze slid over to the folder in her other hand. “Second thought—just forget it and go away.”
He started to close the door. She stopped it with her foot. “I can’t leave. I’m Sophie Alexander, your new physical therapist, from the county home health agency.”
“Well, Sophie, maybe you’re the new therapist, but you’re wrong. You certainly can leave.”
“No, I can’t.”
“The others did, which was fine with me.”
“Look. I’ve been given my schedule, and Grace Dearborn—”
“Grace.” He sighed heavily.
“Right. Ms. Dearborn made it very clear that I had to follow through without fail on every person in my caseload. And honestly? Today hasn’t been good. I’ve been scratched and bitten by an eighty-seven-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s who should be in a care center, not living with her son. And I have been screamed at by an old man who was sure I was his ex-wife come back to life, and who called 911, while I was there. You can call 911 too, or you can just let me in and we’ll talk about where you’re at with your therapy. Okay? Because either way, I’m not leaving. I cannot let Grace down.”
He scowled back at her, obviously impressed…or maybe, just stunned into silence.
“Please.” She softened her tone. “It was a long drive up here. I’d like to get this visit over before that storm hits, so I can get back to town before the roads wash out. Okay?”
“Why does pleasing Grace mean so much to you? It’s just a job.”
“It means a lot more to me than you could ever imagine. So now, can we get down to business?”
For someone who couldn’t be more than five foot three and a hundred pounds soaking wet, the latest physical therapist to land on his doorstep appeared to be one very determined woman. He could only hope that she wasn’t as stubborn as she looked, but right now the fiery gleam in those pretty green eyes spelled trouble.
“Well?” She pinned him with a steady look. “Can I come in?”
Josh gritted his teeth and inwardly braced himself to mask his pain as he waved her on into the great room of the cabin. “Suit yourself.”
She hit him with a blinding smile, then traipsed on in, coochy-cooed his dog, Bear, who—traitor that he was—moaned with pleasure at her soft touch and followed her when she headed for the sofa under the moose head mounted on the wall.
She gave the moose a sad look, then angled a disapproving glance in Josh’s direction.
“Don’t look at me—he came with the cabin.” Josh turned on a table lamp beside his chair and waited until she settled on the couch with a folder in her lap that probably told her more about him than he wanted anyone to know—much less some perky little pixie who was planning to gush platitudes and false empathy about his “situation,” and then come up with yet another completely useless plan to turn his life around.
He’d been there, done that, and wasn’t going there again with anyone—even if this gal did have a smile that could rival the lighting in a surgical suite.
Glancing between the can of salmon in her hand and the rapt attention of the dog at her feet, she set the can on the table at the end of the couch and waggled a forefinger at Bear. “Don’t even think about it.”
“How do I know you haven’t poisoned my dog with that stuff?”
“I love dogs. I’m just not sure about the ones that meet me with a snarl, and I happened to have the salmon in a grocery bag I forgot to take out of my car last night. But believe me, after meeting several grumpy dogs and their even grumpier owners today I’ll always carry something yummy in the future. Pays to make friends.” She gave him a slow appraisal. “What about you? Ghirardelli? Lindt?”
He masked a startled bark of laughter with a deeper scowl.
“Well, then, let’s get on with things, okay?” she continued smoothly. “I suspect that with your medical background, you know far more than I do about your injuries and how to provide the exact type of therapy for regaining maximum function.”
Did he? Not really. Not anymore. He’d specialized in emergency medicine, not the long haul of restorative medicine that often followed severe injuries, and after ten years of intense focus on his own field, what he knew was based more on logic and what was now outdated information from medical school.
“But then that would beg the question of why you haven’t achieved that progress on your own.” She smiled gently. “My guess is that you do need me. Because I can provide the kind of deep massage, flexibility exercises and encouragement to get you to where you want to be.”
He snorted. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Where he deserved to be. “Spend your time on those other clients in your caseload.”
“I will. But I’ll be coming here, as well.”
“I don’t think—”
“We’ve got a deadline, Dr. McLaren. Both of us do, given the time limitation on your insurance policy and my boss.”
“I don’t honestly care.”
She leaned forward, her delicate brows drawing together. “Let’s give this a good shot anyway. I know I can help you. Let me prove it.”
“I don’t want this. Understand?” Guilt lanced through him at the stricken expression in her eyes, and he had to steel himself against the feeling that he’d just kicked a puppy.
But the others had given up and she would, too. He’d make sure of it.
She blasted him with another one of her dazzling smiles as she stood and headed for him, then thrust out a hand. Without thinking, he reflexively accepted her handshake, feeling a little dazed at the firm clasp of her delicate hand.
“I think we’ll get along just great. I’ll be back Friday, so we can start with a baseline assessment and some goal setting.”
He stared after her as she let herself out the door and closed it behind her.
She was coming back?
He’d have to make himself perfectly clear, if she did show up again. He didn’t want her intruding in his life. He didn’t want anyone promising the moon and stars, and the prospect of a full and rewarding future.
Because after what he’d done—and what he’d failed to do—that was the stuff of fairy tales, not reality. And he only wanted to be left alone.
Back in town, Sophie sloshed through the county office building to Grace’s, her feet soaked and cold, her hair a sodden mess. Her first day on the job had presented more challenges than she ever could have imagined, but it was the final home visit that disturbed her the most.
Grace looked up from her computer screen and surveyed her from head to toe. “What happened to you?”
“My last appointment. The storm was only half the problem, believe me.”
“You look like a drowned rat—pardon the cliché.”
“I had a difficult time even getting to my car, it was raining so hard, and the roads up there turned to deep mud. I was lucky to get back.”
Grace gave her an appraising look. “So you did see Dr. McLaren.” Sophie nodded.
“And how did it go?”
Sophie braced her hands on the front edge of Grace’s desk. “There should have been much more documentation in his files. That man has had severe injuries. Multiple surgeries. I cannot imagine the pain he has suffered. And all I had were the therapy orders and a brief page of progress notes—by therapists who apparently didn’t get to first base. I wasn’t prepared at all. And,” she added softly, feeling another surge of regret, “because of that, I’m afraid I was really hard on him.”
“Good.”
“Good? I’m embarrassed. I normally wouldn’t talk to a client like that. But when I got there, no one answered the door. I thought he was old and might be dead in there, and then—”
A smile flitted across Grace’s face. “But you got in the door.”
“Well, yes.”
“And he talked to you. Right?”
“He wasn’t very happy about it.”
“Did he tell you about the accident itself—how it happened?”
“No. I asked when I was leaving, and his face practically turned to granite. He said he wasn’t going to talk about it, and suddenly that was the end of our visit.” She shivered a little at the memory, because she’d seen pain in his eyes that was so bleak, so beyond reaching, that she could only imagine what he’d been through. “I think he could be a very intimidating man…but now he simply doesn’t care about anything or anyone. Except maybe his dog.”
“I’ll leave it up to him, if he wants to tell you about what happened, though he probably won’t.” Grace pushed away from her desk and went to look out the window facing Main Street. “But you’re right—he no longer cares. A number of our therapists have tried to help him, and he wouldn’t see any of them a second time. He’s at the end of the line for us because his insurance coverage for therapy runs out in sixty days. But if you don’t give up on him, you have a chance of giving him back his life, Sophie.”
“I’m not sure he’ll let me in the door next time.”
Grace turned around to face her. “Like I told you before, if you prove your mettle by succeeding with your clients, I give you my promise that you’ll have a full-time job here. If Paul comes back at the end of August and wants to keep his job, I’ll find a way to stretch the budget, because I know we can keep two good therapists busy. Is that a deal?”
She couldn’t contain her smile. “Absolutely.”
Eli would have his school. His friends. They wouldn’t have to move to some big anonymous city, where they wouldn’t know their neighbors, and where Eli could be lost in the shuffle and never receive the kind of help he needed. They wouldn’t have to leave the little house where Eli felt secure.
It was exactly what she’d hoped for, all along. But still, a niggle of worry crept back into her thoughts.
What if she failed?
Chapter Two
Stepping into Aspen Creek Books early on a Saturday morning had always filled Sophie with a warm sense of peace and happiness.
Until today.
Glancing at the imposing grandfather clock by the front register, she hurried to the back of the store, peeling off her light sweater along the way while juggling a manila folder and her purse.
The comforting scents of fresh-brewed, blueberry-flavored coffee and peach tea barely registered as she walked into the circle of easy chairs and rockers at the back and dropped into the nearest one.
Beth Carrigan, dressed in a long denim skirt and a canary blouse that accented her wild tumble of chestnut curls, looked up from the coffee she was pouring at the old oak credenza along the wall. Her gray eyes filled with instant sympathy. “Oh, no. Not again.”
The other two women were already seated, and both leaned forward with matching expressions of dismay.
“Yes, again.” Sophie sighed. “I think I need to ask you all to start praying because my prayers aren’t doing the job.”
“We’ve all been doing just that—even Hannah,” Olivia Carlson murmured gently. At forty-nine, she was the oldest of the five book club members, with prematurely silver hair cut in an elegant, supershort style that framed her dark brows and regal bone structure. Hannah was the youngest, but she was still away, helping with a family crisis in Texas.
“I guess there’s no guarantee that my job on the county home health team will be permanent, no matter how well I do. Did you see the article in yesterday’s newspaper?”
“Big cutbacks,” Olivia murmured. “In almost every department.”
“And the article says that the Home Health Agency will suffer one of the largest. How can Grace even consider asking the board to hiring me full-time after her other therapist comes back? They’ll laugh in her face.”
Keeley North pushed her blond hair out of her eyes and frowned. “But surely if there’s a need…”
“It won’t matter if there’s no money. I’m beginning to think I’ll be trying to pay off college loans and raise Eli on restaurant minimum wage if I don’t find something permanent soon.”
“Maybe God just has different timing in mind,” Olivia said. “Who knows what He has in store?”
Sophie managed a rueful smile. “If He could just give me a hint, I would rest a little easier.”
“Surely something will turn up, sweetie,” Keeley said with a sad shake of her head. “I just don’t understand why this is taking so long. I mean, you’d think physical therapy graduates would be in high demand. Just look at all the baby boomers these days.”
“The economy has led to cutbacks at the small town hospitals and clinics all over the area.” Sophie dropped her keys into her purse and set it beside her chair, then drummed her fingernails on the folder in her lap. “I know I could find a job in the Twin Cities or Chicago. But being a single mom and not knowing anyone there would be so hard. And then there are Eli’s special classes…”
Beth cut through the circle of chairs and handed her a cup of coffee. “Double creamer, two sugars. Maybe a sugar high and a little caffeine will help.”
Gratefully accepting the coffee, Sophie rolled her eyes. “Only if it can work some magic on what’s in this envelope from the Two Lakes Medical Center. It’s the one application I haven’t heard back on yet. I brought the letter because I just couldn’t bear to open it at home alone, and didn’t want to open it in front of Eli, either. He’s already worrying about leaving here.”
Flipping the folder open, she lifted the top envelope from a stack of ten recent rejections and handed it to Keeley. “You read it. I just can’t.”
Keeley darted a worried look at the others, then held the envelope in her hands for a moment before sliding a fingernail under the flap. She withdrew the document. Opened it slowly. After scanning it, she looked at Sophie, her eyes filling with even greater sympathy. “I…”
“It’s okay.” Sophie sagged into her chair. “I wasn’t expecting good news.”
“But wait—” Keeley smoothed the paper out with her hand. “They do say—right down here—that they’ve had a hiring freeze since January, and they’ll keep your application on file. That’s good, isn’t it? Maybe someone will go on a long maternity leave.”
“Or fly to the moon.” Sophie shook off her glum thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to moan about my problems. Maybe something will open up after my county job ends. And it’s a beautiful morning, right? It’s time to think positive.”
Keeley offered a bright smile. “If you need extra work, I could give you some hours at my store. Edna keeps saying she’s going to retire.”
“Edna has been saying that since she turned eighty, and what I know about antiques would fit in her little finger,” Sophie said drily. “But either way, thanks for the offer.”
“And I could use some extra hours here now that Elana is in school full-time,” Beth added.
“You guys are the best. I mean that.” Sophie dissolved into helpless laughter. “But you really don’t need me, and I refuse to be a burden to any of you.”
Olivia’s forehead creased in a worried frown. “But what will you do?”
Keeley handed the letter back, and Sophie put it in the folder with all the rest of her fading dreams. “I’ve tried every possible community hospital and clinic within a fifty-mile radius. I…guess I’ll just have to keep checking back with all of them. And I’ll also need to start looking much farther away.”
“Don’t give up, sweetie. Things will work out.”
Sophie thought of leaving the sweet little cottage she and her late husband, Rob, had bought just before his death two years ago. Then she thought of her crotchety grandpa, who refused to take care of his health or move from his little house in the woods, on the edge of town. And the teachers, who were gently helping her seven-year-old son learn to function better, despite his very mild form of Asperger’s.
This was the town she loved. The one that held poignant memories of happier times.
But sentiment wouldn’t pay her mortgage and school loans, or put food on the table, and Eli deserved better than having a mom who worked six days a week for minimum wage and who left him at his grandparents’ house way too much. And once her dad and stepmom moved to Florida this fall, what then? Paying full price for child care would be almost impossible on her tight budget.
Keeley flopped back in her chair and scooped her long, honey-blond hair back with both hands. “If you have to leave, things will never be the same. We’ll miss you so much!”
Beth nodded. “If that happens, we’ll take road trips. We’ll come visit once a month, if you can stand us.”
“Or at least we can stay in touch via iChat or Skype, so we can see each other,” Olivia added. “You’ll feel like you never even left home.”
The lilting notes of Bach’s “Solfegietto” rang merrily from the depths of Sophie’s purse, which meant she now owed a dollar to the coffee fund jar.
“Sorry—I thought I’d turned it off.”
“Answer it,” Keeley said, looking up from a book in her lap with a grin. “No penalty. We haven’t even started yet.” At the unfamiliar phone number on the screen Sophie hesitated, then answered anyway…and at the woman’s greeting she felt her heart lodge firmly in her throat.
“Sophie Alexander? This is Grace Dearborn. I need to speak to you right away.”
Sophie wearily leaned back in her desk chair and rubbed the back of her neck.
On Monday and Tuesday she’d traveled the county to meet nine of her homebound patients and begin taking over their physical therapy sessions. Some of the older ones had taken a good look at her, then asked when the real therapist—that older gentleman—would be coming back. Some appeared too frail to be capable of significant progress, while others had been testy and uncooperative.
Kindly Dr. McLaren had practically booted her out of the door.
But during last Saturday’s phone call, Grace Dearborn had been crystal clear again about her expectations, and had expressed specific concerns about the fact that Sophie hadn’t yet convinced McLaren to resume therapy.
Pointing out that the man had a perfect right to refuse any and all forms of medical care hadn’t impressed Grace in the least, and she hadn’t wavered a bit in her personal interest in his case, either.
Sophie glanced at her watch, then powered her laptop down and sighed. Worries about the future had fluttered through her thoughts like a legion of bats all night long.
Unable to sleep, she’d been on the internet since four o’clock in the morning searching for areas in the Twin Cities offering affordable housing, hospitals and rehabilitation centers close by, and school districts with good support systems for kids with disabilities.
She had no plans to fail at the challenges here in Aspen Creek, but it only made sense to look ahead. Motherhood and some of the mistakes she’d made in the past had driven that point home more than once.
Her stomach twisted. How would Eli fare if he had to move away from this familiar little town and the only home he’d known? Change was so difficult for him…
“Mom?”
At the sound of his drowsy voice, she turned toward the door of her bedroom, her heart catching on a burst of love. He was nearly eight now, his dark eyes and near-black hair a gift from his biological dad’s Greek heritage, though he had her light complexion. He was so very young to have experienced so many tough times.
Some days, it seemed as though they went from one meltdown to the next, sometimes leading to scenes in public that drew unwanted attention. Eli didn’t have the self-awareness to see it now, but if he ever did understand how different he was from other children, what then? Where was the fairness in life?
“Bad dreams?” She welcomed him into her arms as he flew across the room and wrapped his arms around her, nearly knocking her over.
She could feel his tear-streaked cheek against her neck and knew he’d been crying, probably over his father again, because the night of Rob’s death had been a true nightmare and one neither of them could forget. He hiccuped softly, his small body clinging to hers as if just an embrace wasn’t enough.
Her eyes burned. There were so many bad people in the world. People who murdered and cheated and stole; people with no apparent shred of honor or decency.
And yet, God had taken one of the good guys—a quiet, unassuming friend who had quietly stepped into her life when Eli’s real father dumped her and disappeared before Eli was even born. Rob had been a gentle, loving father, and a faithful husband.
Maybe their relationship hadn’t been the stuff of fairy tales and head-over-heels love, but that was only found in novels anyway. Even without the hot flame of romance, they’d still shared a good life together, and had been kind and caring to each other. Good friends. Companionship. What more did anyone need?
With hard work and big dreams they’d bought their cottage in Aspen Creek and had been looking ahead to a secure future. The family structure had been stable. Dependable. Predictable—which had been so important for Eli’s day-to-day routine.
And then Rob was gone.
“Dad died and we couldn’t stop it,” Eli whispered brokenly. “Even the EMTs couldn’t make him better. They’re ’sposed to fix people, not let them die.”
She’d healed over the past two years, but now the old fracture of her heart deepened a little more. “That’s not true, sweetheart. They didn’t let your dad die. It was out of their control. Even if he’d been in the biggest, fanciest hospital, the doctors probably couldn’t have saved him.” The words tasted like sawdust, but she marshaled a comforting smile and soldiered on. “Someday, I might meet the right man, and then you’ll have a daddy to do things with you again. Would you like that?”
He gave her a blank look. “I just want my real dad back.”
“I know. We’ve talked about this before, sweetheart. But that just isn’t possible.”
“A new one could die, too.”
Yesterday had been the last day of school, and traditionally it was also Bring Dad to Lunch Day—probably so the dads could help lug everything home from crammed desks and work folders.
She hadn’t been the only mom there, by far. But Eli had watched with a lonely expression as the other boys and their fathers teased and roughhoused, and he’d barely noticed that she was there.
“You had Todd, and he went away.” His voice wobbled.
She closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could undo the selfish choice she’d made a few months ago. She’d thought she was ready for a little casual dating, but it hadn’t taken more than a few weeks of seeing Todd on Saturday evenings before she realized how wrong she was about herself, and how thoughtless she’d been.
The greatest impact had been on Eli, who still missed his father even more than she’d realized.
Todd had mostly ignored him, though that might have been for the best. He’d been impatient with Eli’s lack of coordination, and when the three of them went on a picnic, the man had been irritated by Eli’s constant chatter about the Harley he’d seen in the parking lot.
Change had always been difficult for Eli—the brief presence of a new man in Sophie’s life had unsettled him; the abrupt departure had affected him just as much.
Agitated, he’d pelted her with questions when she told him that Todd wouldn’t be coming back, and then he’d retreated to his room for hours and immersed himself in his growing stack of books on Harley-Davidson motorcycles. He’d even refused to come out for supper that night.
“Why?”
Eli’s question jerked her out of her thoughts and back into the present. “Todd and I just weren’t a good match.”
Not even close, given his growing curiosity about her financial situation. Surely you got a whopping settlement after your husband died, he’d marveled with a gleam in his eyes. She’d already been worried about his callous behavior toward Eli, and she’d ended their relationship instantly after that.
“But why?”
“We just weren’t…compatible,” she said. “We…didn’t like the same things. You are the biggest blessing in my life, Eli. No one could ever hope for a better son.” And a man who can’t see that will never have a place in my life. Period.
“But…” His voice trailed off, his flash of hope clearly fading away. “He told me he was gonna get a motorcycle.”
“I don’t think he did, honey. But don’t worry, sweetheart. Things always work out for the best. And you’ll always have your grandma and two grandpas and me.”
He pulled away and looked up at her, his expression stark. “But you could die and they could, too,” he insisted. “You’re all old.”
She coughed to cover a startled laugh. Old? So that’s what this was about—his ongoing worry about everyone else in his family dying, too.
“Your dad had a very rare problem. Remember? An aneurysm the doctors couldn’t fix. It doesn’t mean the rest of us will die like that.” Hollow words, when the child had seen the frantic efforts of the EMTs in their living room, and then had paced the waiting room of the hospital with her while Rob was in surgery. “I’m only twenty-nine and your grandparents are in their sixties. We could all live to a hundred.”
His gaze skated to the family portrait on the wall, then he dropped his head. “But an aneurysm could kill anyone and you wouldn’t know it until you were dead. If it happened to Dad, it could get you and me and Grandpa, too.”
“I hope not. But let’s talk about something else. Okay? You look so tired. Can I tuck you in for an extra hour before we need to leave for Grandpa’s house?”
He usually refused to go back to bed when he awoke too early, then got overtired and more wound up over inconsequential things as the day went on. But now he stifled a yawn as he stepped away from her embrace, trudged back to his bedroom and climbed into bed.
She followed, to kiss his cheek and tuck the covers around him. “I know things are difficult to understand, Eli…. but I’m really, really proud of you. And I love you more than I could ever, ever say. We’ll always have each other. I promise.”
She stepped out of his bedroom, left the door partially open, then went down the hall to her own bedroom where the wedding picture on the bureau caught her eye.
She sighed and rested her forehead against the door frame. If you hadn’t had to leave us things would be so different now. I tried hard in school, and I think I would have made you proud. But now we’re going to lose this house that you loved so much. I wish…
But wishes didn’t change anything and her prayers hadn’t, either…and her one attempt at dating since Rob’s death had been a disaster.
From here on out, she was on her own.
Sophie stepped out of her ancient car to retrieve the backpack from the passenger side of the front seat, then opened Eli’s door.
“Here you go, honey. Remember, I might be home late this evening, but Grandpa and Grandma said the three of you can have a bonfire out back and toast marshmallows. Would you like that?”
He looked up at her with somber eyes. “Will we have to move?”
With Eli, conversations often took unexpected turns right back to his favorite topics, but even now his focus on his inner world sometimes surprised her.
“I hope not.”
“But you were looking at houses. On the internet. In Minneapolis.”
He’d been reading at the third grade level by early kindergarten, and she was reminded once again that though his mild Asperger’s impacted his interactions with others, he was extremely bright and perceptive, and keeping things from him wasn’t easy.
“I was looking, yes. Just in case. It could be a really big adventure—like explorers in a whole new land! But if we’re lucky, we can stay right here.”
“What about Grandma Margie and Grandpa Dean? And Gramps?”
“If we move, they’ll come visit. Maybe Gramps will even move with us.” The probability of her grandfather doing that was roughly the same as a blizzard in July, but she could still hope.
She gave Eli a quick hug “I love you. And I promise—things will work out.”
“Love you, too.” Still, he looked unconvinced about the future as he hooked his backpack filled with motorcycle books on one shoulder and trudged up the long sidewalk to the front door.
With lush flower beds overflowing with impatiens in pinks, violets and snowy-white, the little bungalow was pretty as a dollhouse with its white picket fence, crisp blue shutters and crimson door.
“There’s Grandma at the front door waiting for you, honey,” she called out when Margie stepped onto the front porch. “Good morning!”
“Well, look who’s here—my favorite grandson,” the older woman exclaimed. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
Eli nodded stoically, accepted her hug, then slipped past her to go inside where she would fuss and hover and ply him with offers of his favorite breakfast items anyway.
Margie made her way down the sidewalk and rested her hands on the picket fence gate, her expression troubled.
Trim and attractive at sixty, she never stepped out of her house without being dressed well, her jewelry and makeup on, her soft platinum curls perfectly coiffed. Even now, she looked as if she could be heading for a ladies tea instead of babysitting her only grandson for the day.
“Are you still looking at other job options?” she asked.
“With regret.”
“I just hate to think of you and Eli being off in some city two long hours away, where we can’t see you every day. He’ll really miss being here, you know.”
“So will I. But I do have a job for the summer, and there’s a chance it could be permanent. Anyway,” Sophie added gently, “you and my dad will soon be moving to Florida.”
“We’re still discussing it,” Margie said. “We’d go for just the winters, if I had my way. But he’s still wanting to go year-round. And you know your dad. It’s his way—”
“—or the highway.” Sophie smiled faintly at their familiar exchange.
Over the past twelve years the two of them had never become close, but no one could deny that Margie tried to be a good wife, and that she’d accepted Eli with all of the love of a biological grandma.
And now that Sophie’s mom was gone, ensuring that Eli had the love and support of his grandfather and stepgrandma was more important than hanging on to hurt and anger over the illicit affair and subsequent divorce that had broken her mother’s heart.
“It’s been great, being able to leave Eli here while I commuted to school and worked at the restaurant. But soon you’ll be enjoying those warm, sunny winters down south.”
“Warm weather or being a part of our grandson’s life. There’s no contest in my mind.” Margie sighed. “But you’re right. Dean worked hard all his life, and that’s something he always wanted.”
“Just think of all the fun you’ll have. When you two aren’t on a golf course, you can be lying on a beach.”
“It isn’t good to be far from family. Not when you’re older. Things can happen…” Margie pressed her lips together.
Sophie felt a flash of alarm. “Is something wrong? Are you and Dad okay?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Margie waved her hands in airy dismissal. “No worries. But you’re right, of course. You need a career, wherever you can find the best options, and if there’s nothing for you here, then you need to move on.”
Determination washed through Sophie as she thought of the challenging days ahead. There could be something for her here. A career with good benefits, and the cottage that she and Eli loved. Good schools. Good friends.
A secure life.
As long as Josh McLaren didn’t stand in her way.
Chapter Three
Heavy rain had fallen all night and most of today, so the lane down to the highway was probably impassible. But even though the rain showed no signs of letting up, Josh had no choice.
Bear had finished off the last of his kibble this morning, and from his sorrowful expression as he followed Josh around the cabin and his mournful glances at the crumpled dog food sack at the front door, he was worried about his supper.
“You win, but you’re gonna get your feet wet,” Josh said with a sigh as he grabbed his cane in his left hand. “And we both know how much you love that.”
Out on the porch, the dog balked on the first step and looked out at the rain.
“Better now than after nightfall, buddy. C’mon.”
Traversing the short, wiry grass of the clearing surrounding the cabin was difficult on a sunny day, given the uneven ground and the weakness and instability of Josh’s right knee.
Today, with rain-slick grass underfoot, Bear instinctively walked next to him, his shaggy body pressing against Josh’s weak leg.
By the time Josh managed to open the door of the shed, toss a blanket across the front seat of the pickup and usher Bear into the cab, escalating pain radiated through his lower back, and his knee threatened to buckle with each slight movement.
The dog watched as Josh carefully sat on the edge of the seat, slowly lifted his bad leg and winced as he swiveled into position behind the wheel.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were telling me ‘I told you so,’” Josh said on a long sigh as he leaned against the headrest for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside.
But agreeing to physical therapy wouldn’t help. It never had—and that last therapist had even made things worse. The perky little therapist Grace kept sending out wouldn’t be any more successful than the ones she’d sent before.
If Grace hadn’t been an old college classmate of his mother’s, he would’ve quit being polite about her ongoing efforts a long time ago.
Bear gave a low woof.
“You’re a traitor, you know.” Josh reached over to ruffle his thick coat. “Falling for Sophie’s dog treats is not a positive measure of your integrity.”
As usual, Bear overflowed his half of the bench seat of the truck. Now, he awkwardly turned around and lay down, his feet slipping and sliding on the leather seat, until his tail pressed against Josh’s thigh and his head was propped against the passenger side door.
He didn’t respond.
“Great. I do this for you, and you’re sulking. I told you it was rainy outside,” Josh said with a laugh as he shifted the truck into reverse. “See if I brave the elements the next time you want to go to town.”
The long gravel lane down to the highway had partially washed out down by the creek, where a culvert under the road hadn’t been able to handle the deluge, and only slippery mud remained. How had Sophie managed to make it up to his cabin in her old Taurus, earlier this afternoon?
If nothing else, she was certainly one determined woman.
By the time he reached the highway, he’d had to circumvent several impassable areas by veering up into the brush at the side of the lane, his truck was splattered with mud, and he was already regretting the decision to head for town.
He pulled into the grocery store parking lot and pocketed his keys, thankful that the rain had now finally slowed to a chilly drizzle.
There were a number of trucks pulled up in front of the coffee shop a few doors down, and there’d been several down at the feed store where a lot of the older guys often sat around drinking coffee. A group of teenagers heading into the grocery store were the only pedestrians in sight.
Josh grabbed his cane and carefully climbed out of the truck, ignoring the searing pain arrowing down his spine. Protecting his weak knee, he eyed the distance to the door. No more than twenty or thirty feet. He could make it, easily.
One of the teenagers turned back, surveyed his progress and gave him a pitying stare, then spun around and joined her friends, their chatter and high-pitched laughter ending abruptly as the automatic double doors closed behind them.
Fifteen feet.
Ten.
Gritting his teeth, he reached the building and the doors whooshed open in front of him. Another few steps and he could steady himself with a grocery cart, pick up the dog food and the few things he needed for himself, and be on his way—
Ahead, he saw a petite, auburn-haired woman zip around a corner with a grocery basket slung over one arm. Sophie. Why did she have to be here now?
He groaned, pasted a strained smile on his face and made himself straighten up.
A muscle spasmed in his back. His balance faltered, sending his foot skidding on the slick, wet tiles of the entryway. In one dizzying moment, he saw the floor rush up to meet him.
And then stars exploded inside his skull.
A teenager shrieked. Footsteps thundered down the aisle by the front door. Sophie froze for a split second, then dropped her basket of groceries and spun around to the end cap of the aisle. Four—no, five girls were standing around someone sitting on the floor.
An all too-familiar oak cane with a carved handle lay on the floor nearby.
Lois, a pudgy, middle-aged clerk in jeans and a purple Aspen Creek Warriors sweatshirt, was kneeling at his side. “Step back, girls. Go on about your business.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the group. “I saw him fall,” one of them exclaimed. “He fell super hard. Is he, like, hurt real bad?”
“Do you need help?” asked another girl, her voice tinged with excitement. “I think he hit his head. I took CPR for babysitting last fall.”
“He’s breathing just fine, and says he’s perfectly okay.” Lois fluttered her hands at them, shooing them away. “Now scoot, and don’t embarrass the poor man any further. I’m just going to help him up in a minute, and he’ll be good to go.”
The girls hovered, obviously loath to miss any excitement, then reluctantly continued on their way down the aisle when Lois fixed them with a steely glare. Their brittle laughter and stage whispers floated behind them as they left.
Sure enough, Sophie could now see the man’s profile, and he was definitely Josh McLaren. His face was pale and strained, but from the high color at the back of his neck, rigid set of his jaw, and lines of tension bracketing his mouth and eyes, the fall had not only been painful, but he was also embarrassed at making a scene.
The dilemma—embarrass him further with her presence, or stand back and risk the chance that he might falter and fall again?
No contest.
“Howdy, stranger,” she said lightly, moving to his other side as Lois helped him to his feet.
He shot a glance at her and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“I told him we should call the EMTs because I do think he hit his head,” Lois said, the crook of her elbow still hooked through his as she handed him his cane. “But he said absolutely not—that he’d be on his way home before they showed up, anyway.”
“I don’t need any help. I need dog food. And then I need to go home,” he said, his voice ragged. He cleared his throat. “But thanks for the thought, and thanks for helping me out. You…probably need to put some mats down by that front door. It’s wet.”
“Here—you can sit on that bench by the entrance, and I’ll get what you need, okay?” Sophie offered. “Just give me your shopping list.”
“I’m not disabled,” he said through clenched teeth. The irony of his words apparently hit him, and his expression softened. “Well…maybe a little. But I can handle this myself.”
“It will take just a minute if you let me help, or it could end up with you slipping again. Your boots are wet and a little muddy from being outside. This could’ve happened to anyone.”
“Right. Which is my point exactly.” He nodded to her, then started slowly down the aisle, his shoulders stiff with the effort to keep each stride steady. “So, thanks for your concern, and please just take care of all your other clients. I am perfectly fine.”
Sophie showed up every morning at the cramped Pine County Home Health office on Main Street to pick up the day’s set of patient folders, any new physical therapy orders, and the necessary equipment and supplies for the clients on her schedule.
An orderly system. A good start to the day.
But her first four days on the job had all ended the same. Failure. And it wasn’t going to happen again.
She’d called the phone number listed on Dr. McLaren’s chart and found it disconnected, then she’d stopped at his cabin three days in a row after that first awkward meeting. He hadn’t answered the door the first two times, but since his dog was there, surely the man had to be somewhere on the property.
Yesterday, McLaren had been outside when she pulled in, and he’d flatly refused to begin therapy. Didn’t he have any idea of how much she could help, and how much better his quality of life could be? Why didn’t he care?
Only his mammoth dog liked to see her show up, and she hadn’t made any progress at all with its owner. That humiliating incident at the grocery store yesterday had probably only firmed McLaren’s resolve.
But after years of dealing with her critical father, difficult grandfather and a kind but apathetic husband, this was one man who wasn’t going to stand in her way, because far too much was at stake.
Sophie climbed out of her car and tossed a dog biscuit at Bear, who had started meeting her with a feverishly wagging tail every time she showed up at the McLaren place. “If I’d known you were this happy over dog biscuits, I wouldn’t have sacrificed my salmon,” she said drily, rubbing the wiry fur on the top of his head. “So, where’s this master of yours hiding this time?”
“I never hide. You just don’t know where to look. And frankly, that’s fine by me.”
She spun around and found her quarry shadowed in the doorway of a log building at the edge of the clearing. Roughly the size of a three-car garage, its weathered exterior blended into the forest as if it had stood there for a hundred years.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Answering a phone or a knock on the door would be common courtesy.”
“Of which I possess very little. So please, if you don’t mind—”
“I want to help you, Dr. McLaren.”
“And I just want to be left alone.” He stood straight and tall, a formidable and darkly handsome man who might have been at home in a boardroom or with a badge on his chest in the Old West, and his words rang with the finality of someone who didn’t intend to see her again. “I thought I made that clear at the grocery store yesterday. So good day, Ms…”
“After my phone calls and the business cards I left on your door, I’m sure you know my name by now.”
He tipped his head in slight acknowledgment as he awkwardly turned away, and she could see he was leaning even more heavily on his cane than usual. He winced, stilled for a moment, then started to close the door.
A flash of desperation shot through her. “Look, I’ve got four clients in their eighties and nineties, and they all have the courage to make their lives better.” She strode across the clearing. “What are you afraid of? That therapy will hurt? That you’ll fail?”
He paused, but didn’t turn back to face her. “That isn’t your concern. I am not your concern.”
“There, you’re wrong.” She stopped in the door way, effectively preventing him from shutting it in her face. “For whatever reason, Grace seems to have a particular interest in you, so giving up is not an option.”
“Maybe I just don’t care. Look, I’ll call her and let you off the hook. Last I heard, I have the right to decline medical services.”
“No.”
That earned a snort of irritation. “And why not?”
White knuckling his cane, he slowly turned back to face her. The lines of tension bracketing his mouth and sheen of perspiration on his forehead betrayed just how much the movement cost him.
She’d tried polite professionalism. She’d tried challenging his pride. Now, she could only bare her heart. “Because you are too young to live like this, with a disability that we can fix. You have too much to offer this world.”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “And what would you know about that?”
“Well, you obviously have a medical degree. You could be doing some good around here. We have so few doctors in this county—and the ones we have are retiring left and right. Wouldn’t it be better to work again, instead of just moping around this place?”
“I’ll never go back into medicine again.” His voice was harsh. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Then…try to get better just for yourself. Take away some of the pain you live with every day.”
A muscle ticked along the side of his jaw as a tense silence lengthened between them.
“Why,” he asked wearily, “does this matter so much to you?”
“Initially it was because my boss insisted, but now you’ve become the biggest challenge in my caseload, Dr. McLaren,” she admitted. “And I cannot fail. You need help, and I need a job—right here in Pine County.”
The hard line of his mouth softened. “And why does that matter? There’s a big world out there.”
She locked her gaze on his, willing him to give her a chance. “Family reasons. Important reasons.”
“You are one stubborn woman,” he said on a long sigh.
And with that, she knew she’d won. She tried to contain a grin of victory, then simply gave up. “One of my most endearing traits.”
“Yeah. Endearing.” He eyed her with renewed suspicion. “We’re talking about next week or the week after. Right? Not today.”
“You’re on my schedule for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at four-thirty—”
“Three times a week?” A pained look crossed his face.
“For starters. We’ll cut back gradually as time goes on.” She looked at her watch. “But we’ve already used up a good part of your time and I can’t stay late today, so maybe we can start your assessment on Monday instead.”
A wry look flashed in his eyes. “Big plans, tonight?”
“With the two most important men in my life.”
He blinked at that. “Good. Then you can be on your way.”
He gripped his cane and slowly crossed the distance from the outbuilding to the cabin, the stiff set of his shoulders and awkward gait belying his effort to walk with an even stride.
Her heart caught at what that effort cost him, and she had to stop herself from moving to his side to help. “You won’t be sorry, Dr. McLaren. This is the first day of a new life for you. I promise.”
He was already sorry, and that rust bucket of an old car of hers hadn’t even made it down the lane to the highway.
If it hadn’t been for that humiliating incident at the grocery store, he would not have capitulated. Ever.
He’d certainly fallen before on his home turf. Had felt weak and helpless and useless.
But that incident in public, with a gaggle of shrieking teenagers surrounding him and a motherly store clerk murmuring comforting platitudes in his ear more suited for a three-year-old with a scraped knee, had been the final straw.
He deserved an eternity of penance for what happened to his wife. He had probably deserved to die with her. But to be on the floor, helpless and pathetic and dizzy, the object of pity, wasn’t something he wanted to experience ever again.
And then there was Sophie herself.
Today, her expression of concern and gentle insistence had made him want to rebelliously refuse. Yet something about that sprinkling of freckles over her pert nose and the hint of humor dancing in her eyes had made him want to get to know her a lot better, too.
Because of that and more, he was back to wavering; not wanting her coming back here for deeper reasons than he wanted to think about.
But he didn’t have her cell number, and calling the Home Health office meant risking the chance of having Grace answer the phone. He certainly wasn’t taking her on again.
The cell phone on his belt vibrated. Lifting it, he read the screen and sighed, debating about answering. But failing to answer would only spur more calls and eventually, a harried trip from Sacramento by his only sibling, followed by more hovering and overt concern than he could handle.
“Josh,” Toni exclaimed. “When you didn’t answer last night and early this morning, I was starting to panic. I told Tom that I was going to have to book a flight if I didn’t reach you by this afternoon.”
Tom, a quiet, friendly guy with the energy level of a ninety-year-old, was the exact opposite of his overly anxious wife, and had probably been trying to calm her down with little success. How the man managed to live with such a whirlwind of energy was truly a mystery.
“I’m fine, Toni. Phone reception is just iffy here.”
“But when you didn’t answer—”
“What do you think might happen? I’m perfectly independent. In good health. Content.” None of it was true, but allaying her worries meant keeping her where she belonged—at home—instead of having her descend into his life again for a weekend or longer. He loved her. He knew she loved him. But in this case, distance was the best antidote to an awkward situation.
“I worry so about you, Josh…all alone, so far out of town. What if you fell? Got hurt?”
It would be what I deserved, he thought grimly.
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“I still want to bring you back here to live with us.
I could take you to that rehab clinic downtown—they have wonderful results. My friend Angela’s mother had a stroke, and they—”
“I have a therapist here.”
She fell silent for a long moment. “You what?” Her voice grew cautious, laced with doubt. “You have a…physical therapist? In Aspen Creek?”
He gave a short laugh. “The medical care in Wisconsin is excellent, you know. We do have rehab available.”
“But I thought you’d refused to go through with it. You said…they couldn’t do you any good.”
“I felt it was a waste of my time and theirs. But I’ve now got scheduled appointments.” He winced at the admission. “Three times a week, with home health. The therapist comes to the cabin.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/roxanne-rustand/second-chance-dad/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Roxanne Rustand
The minute she steps foot in his dark, miserable house, Sophie Alexander knows Josh McClaren is not her usual patient. But the single mom and physical therapist is desperate to make a life for her and her young son.And she's definitely no quitter! It's obvious to Sophie that handsome, cantankerous Josh hides his pain behind a wall of grief. Little by little, Sophie and her son, Eli, do more than help Josh find his faith again. They make Josh wonder if there's a family in his future after all….
“We’ve got a deadline,
Dr. McLaren.”
“I don’t honestly care.”
Sophie leaned forward, her delicate brows drawing together. “Let’s give this a good shot anyway. I know I can help you. Let me prove it.”
“I don’t want this. Understand?” The others had given up and she would, too. He’d make sure of it.
She blasted him with another one of her dazzling smiles. “I think we’ll get along just great. I’ll be back Friday.”
Josh stared after her as she let herself out the door.
She was coming back?
He’d have to make himself perfectly clear—he didn’t want her intruding in his life. He didn’t want anyone promising the moon and stars, and the prospect of a full and rewarding future.
Because after what he’d done, he knew that was the stuff of fairy tales, not reality. And he only wanted to be left alone.
ROXANNE RUSTAND
lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, many of whom find their way into her books. She works part-time as a registered dietitian at a psychiatric facility, but otherwise you’ll find her writing at home in her jammies, surrounded by three dogs begging for treats, or out in the barn with the horses. Her favorite time of all is when her kids are home—though all three are now busy with college and jobs.
This is her twenty-fifth novel. RT Book Reviews nominated her for a Career Achievement Award in 2005, and she won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.
She loves to hear from readers! Her snail-mail address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 52406-2550. You can also contact her at: www.roxannerustand.com, www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand or at her blog, where readers and writers talk about their pets: www.roxannerustand.blogspot.com.
Second Chance Dad
Roxanne Rustand
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
What does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
—Micah 6:8
DEDICATION
In memory of my mom, Arline. Without her,
I would not have believed in this dream, and
her endless love, support, encouragement and
enthusiasm always meant the world to me. Mom,
this one—as always—is for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With many thanks to Licensed Physical Therapists
Nancy Reilly and Erin Nicholas
for answering my many questions about
physical therapy. Any errors are mine alone.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Sophie stepped out of her ancient Taurus sedan but lingered at the open door, staring at the massive dog on the porch of the sprawling cabin. The dog stared back at her with laserlike intensity, head lowered and tail stiff.
It was not a welcoming pose.
But set back in the deep shadows of the pine trees crowding so close, the cabin itself—with all the windows dark—seemed even more menacing than a wolfhound mix with very sharp teeth.
“Don’t worry about the dog,” Grace Dearborn had said with a breezy smile during Sophie’s orientation at the county home health department offices. “He’s quite the bluffer. It’s the owner who is more likely to bite.”
From the spooky appearance of the dwelling, Sophie could imagine the home health care administrator’s words about this client being true in the most literal sense. Ominous clouds had rolled in earlier this afternoon, bringing heavy rains and lightning, and from the looks of the sky, the current respite would be brief.
So what kind of person would be sitting in there, in all that gloomy darkness?
She looked at the folder in her hand again.
Dr. Josh McLaren. Widower. Lives alone. No local support system. Declined home health aides. Postsurgical healing of comminuted fracture, right leg with a knee replacement. Surgical repair of fractured L-4 and L-5 lumbar vertebrae, multiple comminuted fractures, right hand.
There were no details on the accident itself. Had he been hit by a truck? She shuddered, imagining the pain he’d been through. The surgeries and therapy had to have been as bad as the injuries themselves.
The only other documentation in the folder were the doctor’s physical therapy orders dated last year, originating from Lucas General Hospital in Minneapolis, and some scant, frustrated progress notes written by her various physical therapist predecessors.
The last one had ignored professional convention by inserting his personal feelings into his notes.
The man is surly and impossible.
Ten minutes spent arguing about the need for therapy. Five minutes of deep massage of his right leg and strengthening exercises before he ordered me out of his house.
And the final note…
I give up. Doctor or not, McLaren is a highly unpleasant client and I will not be coming back here.
Sophie scanned the documents again, searching for a birth date or mention of the man’s age, which was basic information present in the other nine case charts she’d been assigned. Thus far, nothing.
Maybe this guy was an old duffer, like her grandfather. Crotchety and isolated and clinging to whatever measure of independence he could manage.
This morning, Grace had studied Sophie’s home visit schedule before handing it over, and she’d made it clear once again that Sophie had to succeed with every physical therapy client, to the limits of their potential, and that she’d be closely evaluating Sophie’s progress.
The job was temporary—just three months while covering for the regular therapist who’d gone to Chicago for some intensive advanced training. Excellence was expected on a daily basis, Grace had emphasized. But if Sophie did exceptionally well, Grace would try to push the county board to approve hiring her on a permanent basis.
The thought had lifted Sophie’s heart with joy, though now some of her giddy excitement faded. She set her jaw. If her ability to stay in Aspen Creek hinged on those stipulations, then no one—not even this difficult old man—was going to stand in her way. Far too much depended on it.
“Buddy, I’m going to overwhelm you with kind ness, and your mean ole dog, too,” she muttered under her breath as she pawed through a grocery sack on the front seat of her car. “See how you like that.”
Withdrawing a small can, she peeled off the outer plastic lid, pulled the tab to open the can and held it high. “Salmon,” she crooned. “Come and get it.”
It took a minute for the scent to drift over to the cabin. The dog’s head jerked up. He sniffed the breeze, then he cautiously started across the stretch of grass between the cabin and driveway.
She stayed in the lee of her open car door, ready to leap back inside at the least sign of aggression. But by the time the dog reached her front bumper his tongue was lolling and his tail wagging.
She grabbed a plastic spoon on her dashboard—a remnant of her last trip to a Dairy Queen—and scooped up a chunk of the pungent, pink fish. She dropped it on the grass and the dog wolfed it down, his tail wagging even faster. “Friends?”
She held out a cautious hand and he licked it, his eyes riveted on the can in her other hand. “Just one bite. When I come out, I’ll give you one more. Deal?”
His entire body wagged as he followed her to the cabin door.
No lights shone through the windows. She knocked. Then knocked again as loud as she could and listened for any signs of movement.
What if…what if the old guy had passed on?
Her heart in her throat, she framed her face with her hands and pressed her nose to a pane of glass, trying to peer into the gloom. Knocked again. And then she quietly tried the doorknob.
It turned easily in her hand. She pulled the door open, just an inch. “Hello? Anyone here?” She raised her voice. “I’m from the home health agency.”
No answer.
Thunder rumbled outside, heavy and ominous. A nearby crack of lightning shook the porch beneath her feet. She opened the door wider, then bracketed her hands against the inner screen door and tried to look inside. “Hello?”
The dog at her side whimpered. Then he shoved past her, sending the door swinging back to crash against the interior wall.
So much for subtlety.
“Hello,” she yelled. “Are you here? Are you okay?”
Something moved in the darkness—probably just the dog. Still, she took a cautious step back.
If the old fellow had died, she had no business disturbing the scene. The sheriff should be called, and the coroner. And if he was in there with a shotgun, she sure didn’t want to surprise him.
But on the other hand, if he needed help, she could hardly walk away. Steeling herself, she reached around the corner and fumbled along the inside wall until she found a light switch and flipped it on.
Only a single, weak bulb came to life in the center of the room, leaving most of it dark. She started to step over the threshold…then drew in a sharp breath.
The room was nearly bare. She could make out the shapes of a sofa, chair and what might be a desk in one corner. But it was the figure suddenly looming over her that made her heart lurch into overdrive with fear. Tall. Broad shoulders. Silhouetted by the faint light behind him, she couldn’t make out his expression, but his stance telegraphed irritation.
This wasn’t some old guy.
Maybe…maybe he was an intruder. Maybe he’d hurt poor old crotchety Dr. McLaren and was hauling away all the loot in this cabin…
Raising her hands defensively, she backed up a step, and then another, preparing to run.
But then she saw the dog amble over and sit at the man’s side, leaning its shaggy body against his hip. He rested a gentle hand on the animal’s head.
“I—I’m sorry,” she faltered, searching his face. He didn’t look disabled…but then she saw the tell-tale signs of tension in his stance, as if it had been painful to make it to the door. And the angle of his body, as if he were guarding himself against injuries that probably still kept him up at night.
He said nothing.
“You must be Dr. McLaren. I thought…I thought you were old,” she stammered as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. He wasn’t only a much younger man—probably in his mid-thirties at the most—but he was striking in that tall, dark, and dangerous sort of way that always made her self-conscious about her very ordinary self. “When you didn’t answer, I…um…I was afraid that you might be dead.”
“Unfortunately, no,” he growled. He glanced at her upraised hands, then met her eyes with a piercing stare. “So who are you, and why are you threatening me with a can of salmon?” His gaze slid over to the folder in her other hand. “Second thought—just forget it and go away.”
He started to close the door. She stopped it with her foot. “I can’t leave. I’m Sophie Alexander, your new physical therapist, from the county home health agency.”
“Well, Sophie, maybe you’re the new therapist, but you’re wrong. You certainly can leave.”
“No, I can’t.”
“The others did, which was fine with me.”
“Look. I’ve been given my schedule, and Grace Dearborn—”
“Grace.” He sighed heavily.
“Right. Ms. Dearborn made it very clear that I had to follow through without fail on every person in my caseload. And honestly? Today hasn’t been good. I’ve been scratched and bitten by an eighty-seven-year-old woman with Alzheimer’s who should be in a care center, not living with her son. And I have been screamed at by an old man who was sure I was his ex-wife come back to life, and who called 911, while I was there. You can call 911 too, or you can just let me in and we’ll talk about where you’re at with your therapy. Okay? Because either way, I’m not leaving. I cannot let Grace down.”
He scowled back at her, obviously impressed…or maybe, just stunned into silence.
“Please.” She softened her tone. “It was a long drive up here. I’d like to get this visit over before that storm hits, so I can get back to town before the roads wash out. Okay?”
“Why does pleasing Grace mean so much to you? It’s just a job.”
“It means a lot more to me than you could ever imagine. So now, can we get down to business?”
For someone who couldn’t be more than five foot three and a hundred pounds soaking wet, the latest physical therapist to land on his doorstep appeared to be one very determined woman. He could only hope that she wasn’t as stubborn as she looked, but right now the fiery gleam in those pretty green eyes spelled trouble.
“Well?” She pinned him with a steady look. “Can I come in?”
Josh gritted his teeth and inwardly braced himself to mask his pain as he waved her on into the great room of the cabin. “Suit yourself.”
She hit him with a blinding smile, then traipsed on in, coochy-cooed his dog, Bear, who—traitor that he was—moaned with pleasure at her soft touch and followed her when she headed for the sofa under the moose head mounted on the wall.
She gave the moose a sad look, then angled a disapproving glance in Josh’s direction.
“Don’t look at me—he came with the cabin.” Josh turned on a table lamp beside his chair and waited until she settled on the couch with a folder in her lap that probably told her more about him than he wanted anyone to know—much less some perky little pixie who was planning to gush platitudes and false empathy about his “situation,” and then come up with yet another completely useless plan to turn his life around.
He’d been there, done that, and wasn’t going there again with anyone—even if this gal did have a smile that could rival the lighting in a surgical suite.
Glancing between the can of salmon in her hand and the rapt attention of the dog at her feet, she set the can on the table at the end of the couch and waggled a forefinger at Bear. “Don’t even think about it.”
“How do I know you haven’t poisoned my dog with that stuff?”
“I love dogs. I’m just not sure about the ones that meet me with a snarl, and I happened to have the salmon in a grocery bag I forgot to take out of my car last night. But believe me, after meeting several grumpy dogs and their even grumpier owners today I’ll always carry something yummy in the future. Pays to make friends.” She gave him a slow appraisal. “What about you? Ghirardelli? Lindt?”
He masked a startled bark of laughter with a deeper scowl.
“Well, then, let’s get on with things, okay?” she continued smoothly. “I suspect that with your medical background, you know far more than I do about your injuries and how to provide the exact type of therapy for regaining maximum function.”
Did he? Not really. Not anymore. He’d specialized in emergency medicine, not the long haul of restorative medicine that often followed severe injuries, and after ten years of intense focus on his own field, what he knew was based more on logic and what was now outdated information from medical school.
“But then that would beg the question of why you haven’t achieved that progress on your own.” She smiled gently. “My guess is that you do need me. Because I can provide the kind of deep massage, flexibility exercises and encouragement to get you to where you want to be.”
He snorted. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Where he deserved to be. “Spend your time on those other clients in your caseload.”
“I will. But I’ll be coming here, as well.”
“I don’t think—”
“We’ve got a deadline, Dr. McLaren. Both of us do, given the time limitation on your insurance policy and my boss.”
“I don’t honestly care.”
She leaned forward, her delicate brows drawing together. “Let’s give this a good shot anyway. I know I can help you. Let me prove it.”
“I don’t want this. Understand?” Guilt lanced through him at the stricken expression in her eyes, and he had to steel himself against the feeling that he’d just kicked a puppy.
But the others had given up and she would, too. He’d make sure of it.
She blasted him with another one of her dazzling smiles as she stood and headed for him, then thrust out a hand. Without thinking, he reflexively accepted her handshake, feeling a little dazed at the firm clasp of her delicate hand.
“I think we’ll get along just great. I’ll be back Friday, so we can start with a baseline assessment and some goal setting.”
He stared after her as she let herself out the door and closed it behind her.
She was coming back?
He’d have to make himself perfectly clear, if she did show up again. He didn’t want her intruding in his life. He didn’t want anyone promising the moon and stars, and the prospect of a full and rewarding future.
Because after what he’d done—and what he’d failed to do—that was the stuff of fairy tales, not reality. And he only wanted to be left alone.
Back in town, Sophie sloshed through the county office building to Grace’s, her feet soaked and cold, her hair a sodden mess. Her first day on the job had presented more challenges than she ever could have imagined, but it was the final home visit that disturbed her the most.
Grace looked up from her computer screen and surveyed her from head to toe. “What happened to you?”
“My last appointment. The storm was only half the problem, believe me.”
“You look like a drowned rat—pardon the cliché.”
“I had a difficult time even getting to my car, it was raining so hard, and the roads up there turned to deep mud. I was lucky to get back.”
Grace gave her an appraising look. “So you did see Dr. McLaren.” Sophie nodded.
“And how did it go?”
Sophie braced her hands on the front edge of Grace’s desk. “There should have been much more documentation in his files. That man has had severe injuries. Multiple surgeries. I cannot imagine the pain he has suffered. And all I had were the therapy orders and a brief page of progress notes—by therapists who apparently didn’t get to first base. I wasn’t prepared at all. And,” she added softly, feeling another surge of regret, “because of that, I’m afraid I was really hard on him.”
“Good.”
“Good? I’m embarrassed. I normally wouldn’t talk to a client like that. But when I got there, no one answered the door. I thought he was old and might be dead in there, and then—”
A smile flitted across Grace’s face. “But you got in the door.”
“Well, yes.”
“And he talked to you. Right?”
“He wasn’t very happy about it.”
“Did he tell you about the accident itself—how it happened?”
“No. I asked when I was leaving, and his face practically turned to granite. He said he wasn’t going to talk about it, and suddenly that was the end of our visit.” She shivered a little at the memory, because she’d seen pain in his eyes that was so bleak, so beyond reaching, that she could only imagine what he’d been through. “I think he could be a very intimidating man…but now he simply doesn’t care about anything or anyone. Except maybe his dog.”
“I’ll leave it up to him, if he wants to tell you about what happened, though he probably won’t.” Grace pushed away from her desk and went to look out the window facing Main Street. “But you’re right—he no longer cares. A number of our therapists have tried to help him, and he wouldn’t see any of them a second time. He’s at the end of the line for us because his insurance coverage for therapy runs out in sixty days. But if you don’t give up on him, you have a chance of giving him back his life, Sophie.”
“I’m not sure he’ll let me in the door next time.”
Grace turned around to face her. “Like I told you before, if you prove your mettle by succeeding with your clients, I give you my promise that you’ll have a full-time job here. If Paul comes back at the end of August and wants to keep his job, I’ll find a way to stretch the budget, because I know we can keep two good therapists busy. Is that a deal?”
She couldn’t contain her smile. “Absolutely.”
Eli would have his school. His friends. They wouldn’t have to move to some big anonymous city, where they wouldn’t know their neighbors, and where Eli could be lost in the shuffle and never receive the kind of help he needed. They wouldn’t have to leave the little house where Eli felt secure.
It was exactly what she’d hoped for, all along. But still, a niggle of worry crept back into her thoughts.
What if she failed?
Chapter Two
Stepping into Aspen Creek Books early on a Saturday morning had always filled Sophie with a warm sense of peace and happiness.
Until today.
Glancing at the imposing grandfather clock by the front register, she hurried to the back of the store, peeling off her light sweater along the way while juggling a manila folder and her purse.
The comforting scents of fresh-brewed, blueberry-flavored coffee and peach tea barely registered as she walked into the circle of easy chairs and rockers at the back and dropped into the nearest one.
Beth Carrigan, dressed in a long denim skirt and a canary blouse that accented her wild tumble of chestnut curls, looked up from the coffee she was pouring at the old oak credenza along the wall. Her gray eyes filled with instant sympathy. “Oh, no. Not again.”
The other two women were already seated, and both leaned forward with matching expressions of dismay.
“Yes, again.” Sophie sighed. “I think I need to ask you all to start praying because my prayers aren’t doing the job.”
“We’ve all been doing just that—even Hannah,” Olivia Carlson murmured gently. At forty-nine, she was the oldest of the five book club members, with prematurely silver hair cut in an elegant, supershort style that framed her dark brows and regal bone structure. Hannah was the youngest, but she was still away, helping with a family crisis in Texas.
“I guess there’s no guarantee that my job on the county home health team will be permanent, no matter how well I do. Did you see the article in yesterday’s newspaper?”
“Big cutbacks,” Olivia murmured. “In almost every department.”
“And the article says that the Home Health Agency will suffer one of the largest. How can Grace even consider asking the board to hiring me full-time after her other therapist comes back? They’ll laugh in her face.”
Keeley North pushed her blond hair out of her eyes and frowned. “But surely if there’s a need…”
“It won’t matter if there’s no money. I’m beginning to think I’ll be trying to pay off college loans and raise Eli on restaurant minimum wage if I don’t find something permanent soon.”
“Maybe God just has different timing in mind,” Olivia said. “Who knows what He has in store?”
Sophie managed a rueful smile. “If He could just give me a hint, I would rest a little easier.”
“Surely something will turn up, sweetie,” Keeley said with a sad shake of her head. “I just don’t understand why this is taking so long. I mean, you’d think physical therapy graduates would be in high demand. Just look at all the baby boomers these days.”
“The economy has led to cutbacks at the small town hospitals and clinics all over the area.” Sophie dropped her keys into her purse and set it beside her chair, then drummed her fingernails on the folder in her lap. “I know I could find a job in the Twin Cities or Chicago. But being a single mom and not knowing anyone there would be so hard. And then there are Eli’s special classes…”
Beth cut through the circle of chairs and handed her a cup of coffee. “Double creamer, two sugars. Maybe a sugar high and a little caffeine will help.”
Gratefully accepting the coffee, Sophie rolled her eyes. “Only if it can work some magic on what’s in this envelope from the Two Lakes Medical Center. It’s the one application I haven’t heard back on yet. I brought the letter because I just couldn’t bear to open it at home alone, and didn’t want to open it in front of Eli, either. He’s already worrying about leaving here.”
Flipping the folder open, she lifted the top envelope from a stack of ten recent rejections and handed it to Keeley. “You read it. I just can’t.”
Keeley darted a worried look at the others, then held the envelope in her hands for a moment before sliding a fingernail under the flap. She withdrew the document. Opened it slowly. After scanning it, she looked at Sophie, her eyes filling with even greater sympathy. “I…”
“It’s okay.” Sophie sagged into her chair. “I wasn’t expecting good news.”
“But wait—” Keeley smoothed the paper out with her hand. “They do say—right down here—that they’ve had a hiring freeze since January, and they’ll keep your application on file. That’s good, isn’t it? Maybe someone will go on a long maternity leave.”
“Or fly to the moon.” Sophie shook off her glum thoughts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to moan about my problems. Maybe something will open up after my county job ends. And it’s a beautiful morning, right? It’s time to think positive.”
Keeley offered a bright smile. “If you need extra work, I could give you some hours at my store. Edna keeps saying she’s going to retire.”
“Edna has been saying that since she turned eighty, and what I know about antiques would fit in her little finger,” Sophie said drily. “But either way, thanks for the offer.”
“And I could use some extra hours here now that Elana is in school full-time,” Beth added.
“You guys are the best. I mean that.” Sophie dissolved into helpless laughter. “But you really don’t need me, and I refuse to be a burden to any of you.”
Olivia’s forehead creased in a worried frown. “But what will you do?”
Keeley handed the letter back, and Sophie put it in the folder with all the rest of her fading dreams. “I’ve tried every possible community hospital and clinic within a fifty-mile radius. I…guess I’ll just have to keep checking back with all of them. And I’ll also need to start looking much farther away.”
“Don’t give up, sweetie. Things will work out.”
Sophie thought of leaving the sweet little cottage she and her late husband, Rob, had bought just before his death two years ago. Then she thought of her crotchety grandpa, who refused to take care of his health or move from his little house in the woods, on the edge of town. And the teachers, who were gently helping her seven-year-old son learn to function better, despite his very mild form of Asperger’s.
This was the town she loved. The one that held poignant memories of happier times.
But sentiment wouldn’t pay her mortgage and school loans, or put food on the table, and Eli deserved better than having a mom who worked six days a week for minimum wage and who left him at his grandparents’ house way too much. And once her dad and stepmom moved to Florida this fall, what then? Paying full price for child care would be almost impossible on her tight budget.
Keeley flopped back in her chair and scooped her long, honey-blond hair back with both hands. “If you have to leave, things will never be the same. We’ll miss you so much!”
Beth nodded. “If that happens, we’ll take road trips. We’ll come visit once a month, if you can stand us.”
“Or at least we can stay in touch via iChat or Skype, so we can see each other,” Olivia added. “You’ll feel like you never even left home.”
The lilting notes of Bach’s “Solfegietto” rang merrily from the depths of Sophie’s purse, which meant she now owed a dollar to the coffee fund jar.
“Sorry—I thought I’d turned it off.”
“Answer it,” Keeley said, looking up from a book in her lap with a grin. “No penalty. We haven’t even started yet.” At the unfamiliar phone number on the screen Sophie hesitated, then answered anyway…and at the woman’s greeting she felt her heart lodge firmly in her throat.
“Sophie Alexander? This is Grace Dearborn. I need to speak to you right away.”
Sophie wearily leaned back in her desk chair and rubbed the back of her neck.
On Monday and Tuesday she’d traveled the county to meet nine of her homebound patients and begin taking over their physical therapy sessions. Some of the older ones had taken a good look at her, then asked when the real therapist—that older gentleman—would be coming back. Some appeared too frail to be capable of significant progress, while others had been testy and uncooperative.
Kindly Dr. McLaren had practically booted her out of the door.
But during last Saturday’s phone call, Grace Dearborn had been crystal clear again about her expectations, and had expressed specific concerns about the fact that Sophie hadn’t yet convinced McLaren to resume therapy.
Pointing out that the man had a perfect right to refuse any and all forms of medical care hadn’t impressed Grace in the least, and she hadn’t wavered a bit in her personal interest in his case, either.
Sophie glanced at her watch, then powered her laptop down and sighed. Worries about the future had fluttered through her thoughts like a legion of bats all night long.
Unable to sleep, she’d been on the internet since four o’clock in the morning searching for areas in the Twin Cities offering affordable housing, hospitals and rehabilitation centers close by, and school districts with good support systems for kids with disabilities.
She had no plans to fail at the challenges here in Aspen Creek, but it only made sense to look ahead. Motherhood and some of the mistakes she’d made in the past had driven that point home more than once.
Her stomach twisted. How would Eli fare if he had to move away from this familiar little town and the only home he’d known? Change was so difficult for him…
“Mom?”
At the sound of his drowsy voice, she turned toward the door of her bedroom, her heart catching on a burst of love. He was nearly eight now, his dark eyes and near-black hair a gift from his biological dad’s Greek heritage, though he had her light complexion. He was so very young to have experienced so many tough times.
Some days, it seemed as though they went from one meltdown to the next, sometimes leading to scenes in public that drew unwanted attention. Eli didn’t have the self-awareness to see it now, but if he ever did understand how different he was from other children, what then? Where was the fairness in life?
“Bad dreams?” She welcomed him into her arms as he flew across the room and wrapped his arms around her, nearly knocking her over.
She could feel his tear-streaked cheek against her neck and knew he’d been crying, probably over his father again, because the night of Rob’s death had been a true nightmare and one neither of them could forget. He hiccuped softly, his small body clinging to hers as if just an embrace wasn’t enough.
Her eyes burned. There were so many bad people in the world. People who murdered and cheated and stole; people with no apparent shred of honor or decency.
And yet, God had taken one of the good guys—a quiet, unassuming friend who had quietly stepped into her life when Eli’s real father dumped her and disappeared before Eli was even born. Rob had been a gentle, loving father, and a faithful husband.
Maybe their relationship hadn’t been the stuff of fairy tales and head-over-heels love, but that was only found in novels anyway. Even without the hot flame of romance, they’d still shared a good life together, and had been kind and caring to each other. Good friends. Companionship. What more did anyone need?
With hard work and big dreams they’d bought their cottage in Aspen Creek and had been looking ahead to a secure future. The family structure had been stable. Dependable. Predictable—which had been so important for Eli’s day-to-day routine.
And then Rob was gone.
“Dad died and we couldn’t stop it,” Eli whispered brokenly. “Even the EMTs couldn’t make him better. They’re ’sposed to fix people, not let them die.”
She’d healed over the past two years, but now the old fracture of her heart deepened a little more. “That’s not true, sweetheart. They didn’t let your dad die. It was out of their control. Even if he’d been in the biggest, fanciest hospital, the doctors probably couldn’t have saved him.” The words tasted like sawdust, but she marshaled a comforting smile and soldiered on. “Someday, I might meet the right man, and then you’ll have a daddy to do things with you again. Would you like that?”
He gave her a blank look. “I just want my real dad back.”
“I know. We’ve talked about this before, sweetheart. But that just isn’t possible.”
“A new one could die, too.”
Yesterday had been the last day of school, and traditionally it was also Bring Dad to Lunch Day—probably so the dads could help lug everything home from crammed desks and work folders.
She hadn’t been the only mom there, by far. But Eli had watched with a lonely expression as the other boys and their fathers teased and roughhoused, and he’d barely noticed that she was there.
“You had Todd, and he went away.” His voice wobbled.
She closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could undo the selfish choice she’d made a few months ago. She’d thought she was ready for a little casual dating, but it hadn’t taken more than a few weeks of seeing Todd on Saturday evenings before she realized how wrong she was about herself, and how thoughtless she’d been.
The greatest impact had been on Eli, who still missed his father even more than she’d realized.
Todd had mostly ignored him, though that might have been for the best. He’d been impatient with Eli’s lack of coordination, and when the three of them went on a picnic, the man had been irritated by Eli’s constant chatter about the Harley he’d seen in the parking lot.
Change had always been difficult for Eli—the brief presence of a new man in Sophie’s life had unsettled him; the abrupt departure had affected him just as much.
Agitated, he’d pelted her with questions when she told him that Todd wouldn’t be coming back, and then he’d retreated to his room for hours and immersed himself in his growing stack of books on Harley-Davidson motorcycles. He’d even refused to come out for supper that night.
“Why?”
Eli’s question jerked her out of her thoughts and back into the present. “Todd and I just weren’t a good match.”
Not even close, given his growing curiosity about her financial situation. Surely you got a whopping settlement after your husband died, he’d marveled with a gleam in his eyes. She’d already been worried about his callous behavior toward Eli, and she’d ended their relationship instantly after that.
“But why?”
“We just weren’t…compatible,” she said. “We…didn’t like the same things. You are the biggest blessing in my life, Eli. No one could ever hope for a better son.” And a man who can’t see that will never have a place in my life. Period.
“But…” His voice trailed off, his flash of hope clearly fading away. “He told me he was gonna get a motorcycle.”
“I don’t think he did, honey. But don’t worry, sweetheart. Things always work out for the best. And you’ll always have your grandma and two grandpas and me.”
He pulled away and looked up at her, his expression stark. “But you could die and they could, too,” he insisted. “You’re all old.”
She coughed to cover a startled laugh. Old? So that’s what this was about—his ongoing worry about everyone else in his family dying, too.
“Your dad had a very rare problem. Remember? An aneurysm the doctors couldn’t fix. It doesn’t mean the rest of us will die like that.” Hollow words, when the child had seen the frantic efforts of the EMTs in their living room, and then had paced the waiting room of the hospital with her while Rob was in surgery. “I’m only twenty-nine and your grandparents are in their sixties. We could all live to a hundred.”
His gaze skated to the family portrait on the wall, then he dropped his head. “But an aneurysm could kill anyone and you wouldn’t know it until you were dead. If it happened to Dad, it could get you and me and Grandpa, too.”
“I hope not. But let’s talk about something else. Okay? You look so tired. Can I tuck you in for an extra hour before we need to leave for Grandpa’s house?”
He usually refused to go back to bed when he awoke too early, then got overtired and more wound up over inconsequential things as the day went on. But now he stifled a yawn as he stepped away from her embrace, trudged back to his bedroom and climbed into bed.
She followed, to kiss his cheek and tuck the covers around him. “I know things are difficult to understand, Eli…. but I’m really, really proud of you. And I love you more than I could ever, ever say. We’ll always have each other. I promise.”
She stepped out of his bedroom, left the door partially open, then went down the hall to her own bedroom where the wedding picture on the bureau caught her eye.
She sighed and rested her forehead against the door frame. If you hadn’t had to leave us things would be so different now. I tried hard in school, and I think I would have made you proud. But now we’re going to lose this house that you loved so much. I wish…
But wishes didn’t change anything and her prayers hadn’t, either…and her one attempt at dating since Rob’s death had been a disaster.
From here on out, she was on her own.
Sophie stepped out of her ancient car to retrieve the backpack from the passenger side of the front seat, then opened Eli’s door.
“Here you go, honey. Remember, I might be home late this evening, but Grandpa and Grandma said the three of you can have a bonfire out back and toast marshmallows. Would you like that?”
He looked up at her with somber eyes. “Will we have to move?”
With Eli, conversations often took unexpected turns right back to his favorite topics, but even now his focus on his inner world sometimes surprised her.
“I hope not.”
“But you were looking at houses. On the internet. In Minneapolis.”
He’d been reading at the third grade level by early kindergarten, and she was reminded once again that though his mild Asperger’s impacted his interactions with others, he was extremely bright and perceptive, and keeping things from him wasn’t easy.
“I was looking, yes. Just in case. It could be a really big adventure—like explorers in a whole new land! But if we’re lucky, we can stay right here.”
“What about Grandma Margie and Grandpa Dean? And Gramps?”
“If we move, they’ll come visit. Maybe Gramps will even move with us.” The probability of her grandfather doing that was roughly the same as a blizzard in July, but she could still hope.
She gave Eli a quick hug “I love you. And I promise—things will work out.”
“Love you, too.” Still, he looked unconvinced about the future as he hooked his backpack filled with motorcycle books on one shoulder and trudged up the long sidewalk to the front door.
With lush flower beds overflowing with impatiens in pinks, violets and snowy-white, the little bungalow was pretty as a dollhouse with its white picket fence, crisp blue shutters and crimson door.
“There’s Grandma at the front door waiting for you, honey,” she called out when Margie stepped onto the front porch. “Good morning!”
“Well, look who’s here—my favorite grandson,” the older woman exclaimed. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
Eli nodded stoically, accepted her hug, then slipped past her to go inside where she would fuss and hover and ply him with offers of his favorite breakfast items anyway.
Margie made her way down the sidewalk and rested her hands on the picket fence gate, her expression troubled.
Trim and attractive at sixty, she never stepped out of her house without being dressed well, her jewelry and makeup on, her soft platinum curls perfectly coiffed. Even now, she looked as if she could be heading for a ladies tea instead of babysitting her only grandson for the day.
“Are you still looking at other job options?” she asked.
“With regret.”
“I just hate to think of you and Eli being off in some city two long hours away, where we can’t see you every day. He’ll really miss being here, you know.”
“So will I. But I do have a job for the summer, and there’s a chance it could be permanent. Anyway,” Sophie added gently, “you and my dad will soon be moving to Florida.”
“We’re still discussing it,” Margie said. “We’d go for just the winters, if I had my way. But he’s still wanting to go year-round. And you know your dad. It’s his way—”
“—or the highway.” Sophie smiled faintly at their familiar exchange.
Over the past twelve years the two of them had never become close, but no one could deny that Margie tried to be a good wife, and that she’d accepted Eli with all of the love of a biological grandma.
And now that Sophie’s mom was gone, ensuring that Eli had the love and support of his grandfather and stepgrandma was more important than hanging on to hurt and anger over the illicit affair and subsequent divorce that had broken her mother’s heart.
“It’s been great, being able to leave Eli here while I commuted to school and worked at the restaurant. But soon you’ll be enjoying those warm, sunny winters down south.”
“Warm weather or being a part of our grandson’s life. There’s no contest in my mind.” Margie sighed. “But you’re right. Dean worked hard all his life, and that’s something he always wanted.”
“Just think of all the fun you’ll have. When you two aren’t on a golf course, you can be lying on a beach.”
“It isn’t good to be far from family. Not when you’re older. Things can happen…” Margie pressed her lips together.
Sophie felt a flash of alarm. “Is something wrong? Are you and Dad okay?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Margie waved her hands in airy dismissal. “No worries. But you’re right, of course. You need a career, wherever you can find the best options, and if there’s nothing for you here, then you need to move on.”
Determination washed through Sophie as she thought of the challenging days ahead. There could be something for her here. A career with good benefits, and the cottage that she and Eli loved. Good schools. Good friends.
A secure life.
As long as Josh McLaren didn’t stand in her way.
Chapter Three
Heavy rain had fallen all night and most of today, so the lane down to the highway was probably impassible. But even though the rain showed no signs of letting up, Josh had no choice.
Bear had finished off the last of his kibble this morning, and from his sorrowful expression as he followed Josh around the cabin and his mournful glances at the crumpled dog food sack at the front door, he was worried about his supper.
“You win, but you’re gonna get your feet wet,” Josh said with a sigh as he grabbed his cane in his left hand. “And we both know how much you love that.”
Out on the porch, the dog balked on the first step and looked out at the rain.
“Better now than after nightfall, buddy. C’mon.”
Traversing the short, wiry grass of the clearing surrounding the cabin was difficult on a sunny day, given the uneven ground and the weakness and instability of Josh’s right knee.
Today, with rain-slick grass underfoot, Bear instinctively walked next to him, his shaggy body pressing against Josh’s weak leg.
By the time Josh managed to open the door of the shed, toss a blanket across the front seat of the pickup and usher Bear into the cab, escalating pain radiated through his lower back, and his knee threatened to buckle with each slight movement.
The dog watched as Josh carefully sat on the edge of the seat, slowly lifted his bad leg and winced as he swiveled into position behind the wheel.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were telling me ‘I told you so,’” Josh said on a long sigh as he leaned against the headrest for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside.
But agreeing to physical therapy wouldn’t help. It never had—and that last therapist had even made things worse. The perky little therapist Grace kept sending out wouldn’t be any more successful than the ones she’d sent before.
If Grace hadn’t been an old college classmate of his mother’s, he would’ve quit being polite about her ongoing efforts a long time ago.
Bear gave a low woof.
“You’re a traitor, you know.” Josh reached over to ruffle his thick coat. “Falling for Sophie’s dog treats is not a positive measure of your integrity.”
As usual, Bear overflowed his half of the bench seat of the truck. Now, he awkwardly turned around and lay down, his feet slipping and sliding on the leather seat, until his tail pressed against Josh’s thigh and his head was propped against the passenger side door.
He didn’t respond.
“Great. I do this for you, and you’re sulking. I told you it was rainy outside,” Josh said with a laugh as he shifted the truck into reverse. “See if I brave the elements the next time you want to go to town.”
The long gravel lane down to the highway had partially washed out down by the creek, where a culvert under the road hadn’t been able to handle the deluge, and only slippery mud remained. How had Sophie managed to make it up to his cabin in her old Taurus, earlier this afternoon?
If nothing else, she was certainly one determined woman.
By the time he reached the highway, he’d had to circumvent several impassable areas by veering up into the brush at the side of the lane, his truck was splattered with mud, and he was already regretting the decision to head for town.
He pulled into the grocery store parking lot and pocketed his keys, thankful that the rain had now finally slowed to a chilly drizzle.
There were a number of trucks pulled up in front of the coffee shop a few doors down, and there’d been several down at the feed store where a lot of the older guys often sat around drinking coffee. A group of teenagers heading into the grocery store were the only pedestrians in sight.
Josh grabbed his cane and carefully climbed out of the truck, ignoring the searing pain arrowing down his spine. Protecting his weak knee, he eyed the distance to the door. No more than twenty or thirty feet. He could make it, easily.
One of the teenagers turned back, surveyed his progress and gave him a pitying stare, then spun around and joined her friends, their chatter and high-pitched laughter ending abruptly as the automatic double doors closed behind them.
Fifteen feet.
Ten.
Gritting his teeth, he reached the building and the doors whooshed open in front of him. Another few steps and he could steady himself with a grocery cart, pick up the dog food and the few things he needed for himself, and be on his way—
Ahead, he saw a petite, auburn-haired woman zip around a corner with a grocery basket slung over one arm. Sophie. Why did she have to be here now?
He groaned, pasted a strained smile on his face and made himself straighten up.
A muscle spasmed in his back. His balance faltered, sending his foot skidding on the slick, wet tiles of the entryway. In one dizzying moment, he saw the floor rush up to meet him.
And then stars exploded inside his skull.
A teenager shrieked. Footsteps thundered down the aisle by the front door. Sophie froze for a split second, then dropped her basket of groceries and spun around to the end cap of the aisle. Four—no, five girls were standing around someone sitting on the floor.
An all too-familiar oak cane with a carved handle lay on the floor nearby.
Lois, a pudgy, middle-aged clerk in jeans and a purple Aspen Creek Warriors sweatshirt, was kneeling at his side. “Step back, girls. Go on about your business.”
Nervous laughter rippled through the group. “I saw him fall,” one of them exclaimed. “He fell super hard. Is he, like, hurt real bad?”
“Do you need help?” asked another girl, her voice tinged with excitement. “I think he hit his head. I took CPR for babysitting last fall.”
“He’s breathing just fine, and says he’s perfectly okay.” Lois fluttered her hands at them, shooing them away. “Now scoot, and don’t embarrass the poor man any further. I’m just going to help him up in a minute, and he’ll be good to go.”
The girls hovered, obviously loath to miss any excitement, then reluctantly continued on their way down the aisle when Lois fixed them with a steely glare. Their brittle laughter and stage whispers floated behind them as they left.
Sure enough, Sophie could now see the man’s profile, and he was definitely Josh McLaren. His face was pale and strained, but from the high color at the back of his neck, rigid set of his jaw, and lines of tension bracketing his mouth and eyes, the fall had not only been painful, but he was also embarrassed at making a scene.
The dilemma—embarrass him further with her presence, or stand back and risk the chance that he might falter and fall again?
No contest.
“Howdy, stranger,” she said lightly, moving to his other side as Lois helped him to his feet.
He shot a glance at her and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“I told him we should call the EMTs because I do think he hit his head,” Lois said, the crook of her elbow still hooked through his as she handed him his cane. “But he said absolutely not—that he’d be on his way home before they showed up, anyway.”
“I don’t need any help. I need dog food. And then I need to go home,” he said, his voice ragged. He cleared his throat. “But thanks for the thought, and thanks for helping me out. You…probably need to put some mats down by that front door. It’s wet.”
“Here—you can sit on that bench by the entrance, and I’ll get what you need, okay?” Sophie offered. “Just give me your shopping list.”
“I’m not disabled,” he said through clenched teeth. The irony of his words apparently hit him, and his expression softened. “Well…maybe a little. But I can handle this myself.”
“It will take just a minute if you let me help, or it could end up with you slipping again. Your boots are wet and a little muddy from being outside. This could’ve happened to anyone.”
“Right. Which is my point exactly.” He nodded to her, then started slowly down the aisle, his shoulders stiff with the effort to keep each stride steady. “So, thanks for your concern, and please just take care of all your other clients. I am perfectly fine.”
Sophie showed up every morning at the cramped Pine County Home Health office on Main Street to pick up the day’s set of patient folders, any new physical therapy orders, and the necessary equipment and supplies for the clients on her schedule.
An orderly system. A good start to the day.
But her first four days on the job had all ended the same. Failure. And it wasn’t going to happen again.
She’d called the phone number listed on Dr. McLaren’s chart and found it disconnected, then she’d stopped at his cabin three days in a row after that first awkward meeting. He hadn’t answered the door the first two times, but since his dog was there, surely the man had to be somewhere on the property.
Yesterday, McLaren had been outside when she pulled in, and he’d flatly refused to begin therapy. Didn’t he have any idea of how much she could help, and how much better his quality of life could be? Why didn’t he care?
Only his mammoth dog liked to see her show up, and she hadn’t made any progress at all with its owner. That humiliating incident at the grocery store yesterday had probably only firmed McLaren’s resolve.
But after years of dealing with her critical father, difficult grandfather and a kind but apathetic husband, this was one man who wasn’t going to stand in her way, because far too much was at stake.
Sophie climbed out of her car and tossed a dog biscuit at Bear, who had started meeting her with a feverishly wagging tail every time she showed up at the McLaren place. “If I’d known you were this happy over dog biscuits, I wouldn’t have sacrificed my salmon,” she said drily, rubbing the wiry fur on the top of his head. “So, where’s this master of yours hiding this time?”
“I never hide. You just don’t know where to look. And frankly, that’s fine by me.”
She spun around and found her quarry shadowed in the doorway of a log building at the edge of the clearing. Roughly the size of a three-car garage, its weathered exterior blended into the forest as if it had stood there for a hundred years.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Answering a phone or a knock on the door would be common courtesy.”
“Of which I possess very little. So please, if you don’t mind—”
“I want to help you, Dr. McLaren.”
“And I just want to be left alone.” He stood straight and tall, a formidable and darkly handsome man who might have been at home in a boardroom or with a badge on his chest in the Old West, and his words rang with the finality of someone who didn’t intend to see her again. “I thought I made that clear at the grocery store yesterday. So good day, Ms…”
“After my phone calls and the business cards I left on your door, I’m sure you know my name by now.”
He tipped his head in slight acknowledgment as he awkwardly turned away, and she could see he was leaning even more heavily on his cane than usual. He winced, stilled for a moment, then started to close the door.
A flash of desperation shot through her. “Look, I’ve got four clients in their eighties and nineties, and they all have the courage to make their lives better.” She strode across the clearing. “What are you afraid of? That therapy will hurt? That you’ll fail?”
He paused, but didn’t turn back to face her. “That isn’t your concern. I am not your concern.”
“There, you’re wrong.” She stopped in the door way, effectively preventing him from shutting it in her face. “For whatever reason, Grace seems to have a particular interest in you, so giving up is not an option.”
“Maybe I just don’t care. Look, I’ll call her and let you off the hook. Last I heard, I have the right to decline medical services.”
“No.”
That earned a snort of irritation. “And why not?”
White knuckling his cane, he slowly turned back to face her. The lines of tension bracketing his mouth and sheen of perspiration on his forehead betrayed just how much the movement cost him.
She’d tried polite professionalism. She’d tried challenging his pride. Now, she could only bare her heart. “Because you are too young to live like this, with a disability that we can fix. You have too much to offer this world.”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “And what would you know about that?”
“Well, you obviously have a medical degree. You could be doing some good around here. We have so few doctors in this county—and the ones we have are retiring left and right. Wouldn’t it be better to work again, instead of just moping around this place?”
“I’ll never go back into medicine again.” His voice was harsh. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Then…try to get better just for yourself. Take away some of the pain you live with every day.”
A muscle ticked along the side of his jaw as a tense silence lengthened between them.
“Why,” he asked wearily, “does this matter so much to you?”
“Initially it was because my boss insisted, but now you’ve become the biggest challenge in my caseload, Dr. McLaren,” she admitted. “And I cannot fail. You need help, and I need a job—right here in Pine County.”
The hard line of his mouth softened. “And why does that matter? There’s a big world out there.”
She locked her gaze on his, willing him to give her a chance. “Family reasons. Important reasons.”
“You are one stubborn woman,” he said on a long sigh.
And with that, she knew she’d won. She tried to contain a grin of victory, then simply gave up. “One of my most endearing traits.”
“Yeah. Endearing.” He eyed her with renewed suspicion. “We’re talking about next week or the week after. Right? Not today.”
“You’re on my schedule for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at four-thirty—”
“Three times a week?” A pained look crossed his face.
“For starters. We’ll cut back gradually as time goes on.” She looked at her watch. “But we’ve already used up a good part of your time and I can’t stay late today, so maybe we can start your assessment on Monday instead.”
A wry look flashed in his eyes. “Big plans, tonight?”
“With the two most important men in my life.”
He blinked at that. “Good. Then you can be on your way.”
He gripped his cane and slowly crossed the distance from the outbuilding to the cabin, the stiff set of his shoulders and awkward gait belying his effort to walk with an even stride.
Her heart caught at what that effort cost him, and she had to stop herself from moving to his side to help. “You won’t be sorry, Dr. McLaren. This is the first day of a new life for you. I promise.”
He was already sorry, and that rust bucket of an old car of hers hadn’t even made it down the lane to the highway.
If it hadn’t been for that humiliating incident at the grocery store, he would not have capitulated. Ever.
He’d certainly fallen before on his home turf. Had felt weak and helpless and useless.
But that incident in public, with a gaggle of shrieking teenagers surrounding him and a motherly store clerk murmuring comforting platitudes in his ear more suited for a three-year-old with a scraped knee, had been the final straw.
He deserved an eternity of penance for what happened to his wife. He had probably deserved to die with her. But to be on the floor, helpless and pathetic and dizzy, the object of pity, wasn’t something he wanted to experience ever again.
And then there was Sophie herself.
Today, her expression of concern and gentle insistence had made him want to rebelliously refuse. Yet something about that sprinkling of freckles over her pert nose and the hint of humor dancing in her eyes had made him want to get to know her a lot better, too.
Because of that and more, he was back to wavering; not wanting her coming back here for deeper reasons than he wanted to think about.
But he didn’t have her cell number, and calling the Home Health office meant risking the chance of having Grace answer the phone. He certainly wasn’t taking her on again.
The cell phone on his belt vibrated. Lifting it, he read the screen and sighed, debating about answering. But failing to answer would only spur more calls and eventually, a harried trip from Sacramento by his only sibling, followed by more hovering and overt concern than he could handle.
“Josh,” Toni exclaimed. “When you didn’t answer last night and early this morning, I was starting to panic. I told Tom that I was going to have to book a flight if I didn’t reach you by this afternoon.”
Tom, a quiet, friendly guy with the energy level of a ninety-year-old, was the exact opposite of his overly anxious wife, and had probably been trying to calm her down with little success. How the man managed to live with such a whirlwind of energy was truly a mystery.
“I’m fine, Toni. Phone reception is just iffy here.”
“But when you didn’t answer—”
“What do you think might happen? I’m perfectly independent. In good health. Content.” None of it was true, but allaying her worries meant keeping her where she belonged—at home—instead of having her descend into his life again for a weekend or longer. He loved her. He knew she loved him. But in this case, distance was the best antidote to an awkward situation.
“I worry so about you, Josh…all alone, so far out of town. What if you fell? Got hurt?”
It would be what I deserved, he thought grimly.
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“I still want to bring you back here to live with us.
I could take you to that rehab clinic downtown—they have wonderful results. My friend Angela’s mother had a stroke, and they—”
“I have a therapist here.”
She fell silent for a long moment. “You what?” Her voice grew cautious, laced with doubt. “You have a…physical therapist? In Aspen Creek?”
He gave a short laugh. “The medical care in Wisconsin is excellent, you know. We do have rehab available.”
“But I thought you’d refused to go through with it. You said…they couldn’t do you any good.”
“I felt it was a waste of my time and theirs. But I’ve now got scheduled appointments.” He winced at the admission. “Three times a week, with home health. The therapist comes to the cabin.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/roxanne-rustand/second-chance-dad/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.