by Liz Talley
Lynn put visible and immediate distance between them, saying nothing. And Grant cursed himself silently for not being more aware, more in tune, with the fact that he and his brother had just entered a very sensitive culture.
It wasn’t going to be enough just to make certain that he and Darin didn’t do anything to hurt these women; they were going to have to be aware that every move they made, every look they gave, every sentence they spoke, could potentially scare any one of them.
Lynn Duncan included—apparently.
* * *
“WE CAN WATCH through here.” Avoiding eye contact with the man she’d been schooling herself not to think about for a week now, Lynn walked toward the large window in the hallway outside the physical therapy room where Maddie had led Darrin. “Angelica keeps the blinds closed when she has to, but if she can keep them open, she does. A lot of battered women suffer from PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder—and often that’s accompanied by bouts of claustrophobia.” Keeping it professional. Aside from the warmth that suffused her body as it came, once again, in close contact with Grant Bishop.
What in the hell was the matter with her?
Darin looked up, saw them and waved. With a tap on his shoulder, Angelica called his attention back to her and the bar she’d placed within his brother’s left grasp.
“If you want to hand me over to whoever’s going to show me the grounds, we can move on,” Grant said. “He’ll do better if I’m not here distracting him.”
“Lila, our managing director, was going to go over things with you, but she’s...busy...this morning.” Their newest resident, a middle-aged woman named Melanie Zoyne, had appeared on the doorstep in the middle of the night with no broken bones or cuts that needed stitching, but bruising on every bruisable part of her body. “My next appointment isn’t until after lunch, so as long as there aren’t any emergencies, I’ve been elected to do the honors.”
She’d been up with Melanie since three—thankfully there’d been no indication of internal injuries to accompany the varying stages of bruising the woman’s brother had left in his wake—and was running on adrenaline.
Which might explain the weakened state that was allowing for inappropriate reactions to the jeans-clad man standing beside her.
He was just a man. Like any other.
“Darin’s eager to please you.” It was one of the things she’d noticed about the brothers four years before. Rather than being cantankerous or resentful, as many injury patients were, Darin just seemed to want to keep his brother happy.
Did Grant have that effect on everyone?
“He’s eager to get the use of his arm back,” the man at her side said, his gaze trained on his brother. And then he glanced at her. “Dr. Zimmer says that the location of the injury, the part of the brain affected by the surgery, is retrainable. With hard work Darin will be as good as new.”
As good as he’d ever be with an incurable brain injury. Grant was still watching her. Waiting?
“I know, he told me,” she said. “And while I’m not a surgeon, I dealt with a lot of brain injury patients during my years on the neurosurgery ward, and from everything I’ve studied, seen and learned, I completely believe that Darin can recover from this latest setback.” She sounded like the consummate professional. With a last glance in the therapy room, not at Grant’s brother, but to make certain that Maddie was fine, Lynn headed down the wide hallway, stopping to straighten a magazine on one of the cherrywood end tables in one of the conversation nooks stationed along the wall.
She’d take him to Lila’s outer office. Show him the large map of the grounds on the wall across from Lila’s desk. Take him out to the garage that housed the lawn equipment and fertilizer they already owned—collected through donations. Then give him a brief tour of the private beach and the bungalows because he couldn’t explore those unescorted—and finally get back to real life.
Lunch with Kara, whom she hadn’t seen since Maddie had brought the little girl to her office on the way to the preschool housed on the property. This was the private preschool for residents at the Stand, not the preschool run by current and former residents that was attended by neighboring children and—like the other businesses—helped support the Stand.
She’d get through these next moments and then get her mind back on the things that mattered most.
* * *
“YOU AND DARIN have the biggest part of the battle won,” Lynn Duncan said as she guided him through a maze of hallways that were wide enough to be rooms. “He’s willing to work hard.”
“Darin’s always been willing to go the extra mile.”
“But his attitude is good,” she said, turning another corner closely enough that he bumped into her.
And moved away immediately.
“After what you said about his depression, I expected him to be at least minimally resistant. In my experience, patients with a brain injury like his, one that allows moments of complete lucidity, tend to battle with frustration, resentment and even bitterness as they experience awareness of their loss again and again.”
She didn’t seem bothered by his accidental touch. Grant filed the knowledge away. Yet she’d shied away earlier, when he leaned in too close. He’d never dealt firsthand with a battered woman before, and while he’d assured the gorgeous nurse that he and Darin would behave with impeccable decorum, while his brother’s future depended on them doing so, he’d just realized that he had no idea what that decorum required.
“Darin has his moments, but overall he handles his situation with the dignity and class that I’ve always associated with him,” he said, keeping his voice level down, his tone easy.
One hall led to another and they entered a large, upscale lobby complete with a shiny black baby grand piano set on a dais that dominated about a quarter of the room.
“It’s great when situations like these bring out the best in people. It could just as easily have brought out the worst.” Lynn sounded like a doctor on rounds with med students. Or at least what Grant imagined one would sound like.
“I can’t honestly tell you what Darin’s worst is. Except maybe taking too much on himself. Which, I’m told, brings on the depression. He can’t stand being a burden to me. Or anyone.”
The look she gave him was a bit unsettling, as though she was reading more into his words than he’d put there.
“So you take him to work with you so he feels like he’s contributing,” she said. “That can’t be easy, trying to run a business and watching out for Darin at the same time.”
He didn’t like the way her statement made him feel. As if he had a problem. “Darin’s a big help.” He set her straight on that one. “Even in his childlike moments he can perform the simple tasks accurately.”
As he spoke, his voice rose a bit, and Grant noticed the women milling in the areas around them. Some stared. A couple bowed their heads. One faded away down a hall, giving real meaning to the phrase “fading into the woodwork.”
“I’m sorry,” he said more softly. “Was I too loud?”
“You’re fine.” Her smile made him uncomfortable again. In an entirely different fashion. Grant didn’t have a lot of opportunity for sex in his life, or women in general. But he liked them.
And he liked this particular woman a lot.
“You’re with me,” she said, as though that explained everything.
Maybe it did. These women trusted her.
“That’s why we’re walking all these hallways, isn’t it?” he asked, eyeing her with new respect. “You’re showing them that I’m trustworthy.”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean they won’t be afraid.”
He nodded. And frowned, too, feeling as if he should be able to do something to help.
He was there to do landscaping. Nothing more.
“I’ll keep
my distance,” he assured his companion as they entered yet another hallway, this one a bit narrower but still oversized, with closed doors lining both sides.
Lynn stopped before one and knocked. “It’s okay to talk to anyone here,” she told him. “As long as they speak with you first. Our residents need to feel safe, but they also need to be able to interact with men. The world they’ll be going back to is full of them.”
She smiled and, when her knock wasn’t answered, opened the door.
“You know we did background checks on you and your brother this week,” she was saying, reminding him of the permission he’d granted several days before when he’d stopped in to finalize details and paperwork for the day’s appointments. “And Dr. Zimmer vouched for you, as well. You wouldn’t be here if the staff had concerns about our residents being exposed to either one of you. We have four full-time security guards, all women, and three part-timers, two of whom are men. So there’s someone here twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The bungalows all have panic buttons in them and everyone has Security on their speed dial.”
Made sense.
They were in an office—of sorts. There was a desk in one section, but it didn’t dominate the room.
“This is Lila’s office,” Lynn said, brushing a strand of hair back over her shoulder in a movement that was completely feminine—and drew his attention to her...womanliness.
The rest of the place looked like a formal living room in a wonderfully kept, warm and inviting home, with off-white couches, maroon pillows, a vase of roses on the glass coffee table and mirrors with gilded accents on the walls.
Grant was wearing leather work boots and the jeans he’d had on when he’d dug holes at six that morning to mark where a brick fence would be going.
If she was planning to ask him to have a seat, he’d have to come up with a tactful way to decline.
She turned to face the wall, holding the door they’d come through. “This map shows you The Lemonade Stand premises in its entirety,” she said, walking up to a framed three-dimensional aerial photograph that was taller than he was and almost the width of the office.
Grant studied the scaled-to-size model of a complex that was twice as massive as he’d imagined.
And exquisitely laid out.
At one time, he’d had dreams of designing properties just like this one, and he was kind of jazzed at the thought of working on one again. Getting his hands dirty.
And maybe updating and making improvements, too, if...
He was getting ahead of himself. He mentioned flower beds, underground irrigation, fruit trees, all things that he imagined he was looking at but couldn’t be sure.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s not a problem,” Grant assured her, realizing that while Lynn understood the aesthetics of the grounds, she knew absolutely nothing about the technicalities of the job he had in store for him. “All I need is a walk around the place and I’ll find my answers.” He felt like grinning when the frown cleared from her brow.
She wasn’t wearing any makeup.
He couldn’t remember if she’d had makeup on the day he’d spent with her in the hospital four years before. But he thought so.
Her hair had been curled then, too, now that he thought about it. Gathered loosely in the back by some kind of clip. Darin had pulled on a curl, laughing when it sprang back, and Grant had stepped up, preparing to take accountability for his brother if the nurse had been offended. Instead, she’d let Darin pull the curl again and laughed with him this time.
Today her hair was as it had been when he’d seen her the week before. Pulled back tight into a ponytail, with the exception of that one small piece that had escaped and kept falling over her shoulder.
The change, between four years ago and now, made him curious, but no less attracted to her.
CHAPTER SIX
“DADDY GIVED ME this and I named him Sammy and then Daddy taked me to see el’phants but he spit and I got scared and Daddy picked me up and then he sucked water up his nooosse....” Kara’s sweet little voice erupted in giggles. It was the following Saturday afternoon, almost a week since Darin and Grant Bishop had descended on The Lemonade Stand with their charm and kindness. A long week.
Brandon’s gaze met Lynn’s as she took the teddy bear her daughter handed her and stood back to let the two inside the bungalow Kara and Lynn shared. She looked away first. Quickly.
She’d just gotten off the phone with her folks, who lived in Denver to be close to Katie and her kids. Her mom didn’t blame Brandon for his sexual preferences but didn’t understand why he’d chosen to leave his family rather than ignore his gay tendencies. She’d been after Lynn to start dating again.
It was a continuous go-nowhere conversation.
“I took her to the zoo,” Brandon said.
“You said you were going to the beach. She was dressed for the beach and had flip-flops instead of tennis shoes.”
“Can I take Sammy to show him our room?” The lispy voice piped up between them.
“Of course you can.” Lynn smiled at her daughter and, bending down, added, “as soon as you give Mama a hug. I missed you, squirt.”
“I miss you, too, Mama,” Kara said, her pudgy little mouth pouty for a second as she leaned forward to give Lynn a wet kiss. Then, grabbing Sammy from Lynn’s fingers, she tripped over her feet as she ran through the little living area toward her bedroom, stopping before she left them. “Bye, Daddy, see you soon I love you,” she said, the words slurring together in a rush of baby talk that was their rote goodbye phrase, and was gone.
Lynn stood and took the day bag she’d packed that morning from Brandon’s outstretched hand, avoiding eye contact. “You said you were taking her to the beach.”
She sounded petulant. And hated that.
“Lynnie.” Brandon took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I’m sorry,” he said when, by rights, he could have been telling her to mind her own damned business. While she had full custody and he paid child support, Brandon also had full visiting privileges and didn’t have to tell her anything about his time with Kara. Just like she didn’t have to report to him every time she did something with her daughter.
He also didn’t have to travel to Santa Raquel for every visit. He would be well within his rights to take the child to San Francisco where he’d moved after the divorce.
“I should have called.”
She nodded. “Where’s Douglas?”
“He had to work and couldn’t make it down with me, which is why we didn’t go to the beach. I couldn’t prepare the picnic and keep an eagle eye on her by the water at the same time.”
“I take her to the beach by myself.”
“And you live with her, too. You know every move she’s going to make practically before she makes it. I don’t. I have to rely on my eyes and ears and I’m not going to risk her life on the chance that they’d fail me.”
She was making a big deal out of nothing. And...
“It’s just...her life is so unusual,” she said. “It’s not a bad thing, but because she doesn’t have a traditional home I think it’s important that she is at least able to rely on us to do what we say we’re going to do.”
“I know.” His hand was on her arm again. Rubbing gently. Like he’d done countless times in the past. The touch used to remind her of the physical bond they shared.
Now it just offered support.
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him. “I know I’m being an idiot. You couldn’t help your change of plans, and obviously you told Kara about them.”
“You’re not an idiot, my dear. Anything but. And as soon as I knew that plans had changed I should have called you and let you know. If anything had happened to us, you wouldn’t have know
n where to tell people to start looking.”
Their gazes met and she relaxed. Again. With a smile she asked, “So you had a good time?”
She invited Brandon to stay for dinner, but he had to get to the airport to catch his flight back to San Francisco. He and Douglas had tickets to a jazz festival the next afternoon.
And Lynn had a couple of women to see. One who’d checked in the day before with a concussion, and a twenty-seven weeks pregnant woman, Missy, who’d been spotting earlier in the week.
Knowing that Maddie was due over to feed Kara as soon as Maddie finished her afternoon therapy session, Lynn said goodbye to her ex-husband—but still best friend—and went in to spend a few minutes of quality time with her little girl.
* * *
BY FIVE-THIRTY MONDAY EVENING, Darin’s therapy was done for the day. Grant’s job wasn’t. Finishing up a weeklong venture of trimming, shaping and adjusting irrigation spray heads, he still had piles to load into the trailer hitched to the back of his truck.
“I can’t do my job,” Darin’s little-boy voice came from just behind him. “Not until four more weeks.”
“That’s right.” Grunting, Grant lifted a rake full of thorn-filled branches and, with thick-gloved hands, carried it over to the already heaping trailer.
“No lifting and bending,” Darin said, following at his heels. “I told Angelica, but she already knew.”
“She’s in touch with Dr. Zimmer,” Grant reminded him. “That’s how she knows how to help you.”
“Yeah...” Darin’s voice trailed off. And then he said, “I’d like to go for a little walk, Grant. Not far, just over to the park area. I won’t disturb any of the women, I promise.”
“I’ll bet one or two of them’ll notice your good looks, though, bro,” Grant said, standing to grin at his big brother. “You could’ve shared a little of that charisma with me, you know.”
“Right.” Hands in his pockets, Darin gave him a teasing smirk. “I almost missed my physics final my senior year in college because I was busy rescuing you from a bunch of beauties.”