She had worked in world-class therapy facilities that weren’t as well equipped.
“Wow.” It was all she could say.
“We ended up taking out a couple of walls between rooms down here to make an extra-large space. Most of the work was focused on the bathroom, where we put in a roll-in shower and a lift tub.”
“This looks really great, Brodie. Perfect.”
“I hope we’ve considered everything, at least structurally. If you think of any equipment we need, just say the word. I’ve got a treadmill and stationary bike in the exercise room upstairs and we can bring those down, or if you’d like a different kind, we can get that, too. I’ve also got plans to have an all-season cover installed over the pool and hot tub out back so Taryn can continue to use them for therapy after the weather changes.”
Evie didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she was touched that Brodie was going to so much effort and expense for his daughter. Despite her best intentions, she was finding it a little hard to dislike a man who was so obviously committed to doing all he could to return his injured daughter to her previous abilities.
“Offhand, the only need I can see immediately is perhaps a table and some chairs in here so the occupational therapist can work on fine motor skills during her visits.”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t even thought of that. We’ve got one down the hall in the media room I can bring up.”
She held out the basket, feeling a little like Red Riding Hood offering goodies to the Big Bad Wolf. “I’ve brought some catalogs with basic items that will probably be useful. Therapy balls, pommels, that sort of thing. I’ve marked them with sticky notes. There are a few other things you may want to consider down the line but I suggest you give me and the O.T. a chance to work with Taryn for a few days and assess a baseline before you make any decisions.”
“Great.” He took the basket from her, leaning a hip against the padded table while he leafed through the catalogs.
She found it interesting that even during a moment of apparent ease, when he was only looking through catalogs, he seemed restless. His toe tapped a little, he shifted his weight, he flipped a page and then back. It occurred to her she had never seen the man completely still. Was it her imagination or was that just Brodie?
She wasn’t here to wonder about him, she reminded herself, and forced herself to wander the room taking mental measurements. As soon as she shifted gears, her mind began to spin with ideas about how she could utilize the space for therapy.
This all seemed natural, right, as if the clinical part of her brain had simply been hibernating, waiting for the first chance to emerge and stretch in the sunlight again.
She should have known she couldn’t just twist a valve shut on years of training and experience. It was part of who she was. She had loved being a therapist, helping children in need because of accident or illness regain skills they had lost or achieve new milestones.
Until Cassie’s death, she had been extremely content in her career and had enjoyed knowing she was good at what she did.
Everything had changed when her adopted daughter died. What had always given her such satisfaction and fulfillment suddenly became a harsh reminder of her own failures. After the funeral, she had returned to work but quickly discovered that the passion and drive so necessary in a dedicated physical therapist seemed to have shriveled away. After a few weeks, she had known she couldn’t do it anymore. Her patients deserved more than someone going through the motions. If she couldn’t force herself to stretch past the pain—and if she was no longer able to find that joy and passion again—she had reached the grim conclusion it was time to walk away.
Apparently it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought to turn her back on the career path she had once loved.
“Can you give me your honest opinion?” Brodie asked, sliding the catalog back in the basket with the others.
“That’s usually not a problem for me.” She gave him a wry smile. “If anything, I can sometimes be a little too brutal.”
“Brutal is just what I need right now. Most of the doctors give platitudes and best-case scenarios. How the brain still is a big mystery and we have to wait and see, blah-blah-blah. It’s been more than three months and I need more than that. I know you’ve visited Taryn in Denver and I’m sure you’ve seen similar brain injuries to hers. When all is said and done and we’ve thrown all the intensive therapy we can at her, let’s be realistic. What are our chances for a full recovery?”
Oh, the dreaded question. Her stomach muscles tightened and she cursed that she’d ever allowed herself to be dragged here. Yes, she might have been hibernating. But right now she couldn’t help wishing she could curl up back in her warm cave where she was safe, and slide back into sleep.
“I haven’t seen Taryn yet from the perspective of a therapist, Brodie. Even if I had, I’m not sure I could answer that adequately. For one thing, full recovery is very subjective. Will she ever be exactly as she might have been if the accident had never happened? Probably not. That’s the cold, hard truth. People who have suffered traumatic brain injuries often have things they have to struggle with the rest of their lives. But does that mean she won’t be able to lead a functional, successful life? I’m sure the doctors at the rehab facility have given you a much more comprehensive outlook than I ever could.”
“They won’t tell me anything. Just about how the brain is still a big mystery, how every case is individual, how it’s a miracle she even survived the accident.”
“Six weeks ago, she was in a coma. Think about how far she has come!”
“Has she? Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Tell that to Maura, why don’t you?” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice but she was certain some of it filtered through, especially when a muscle in his jaw tightened at the reminder of Maura’s daughter, Layla, who hadn’t survived the same accident that had injured Taryn.
“Taryn is alive. I know. I get it. She survived and I’m deeply grateful for that. But I can’t help wondering what quality of life she’s going to have.”
Though his features were stony, she heard the pain filtering through his voice and her anger faded. Whatever she might think of him, Brodie was a concerned father, worried for his daughter’s future and frustrated by the slow pace of her recovery. Evie had spoken with many such parents in her career and had been one herself for a few brief years.
Though she knew it would be far easier for her to keep a comfortable distance if she could nurture her dislike of him, she was sympathetic to his concerns.
Acting out of habit rather than conscious thought, she touched his bare forearm beneath the rolled sleeve of his shirt. A tiny spark jumped from his warm skin to hers and she pulled her hand away quickly.
“By the looks of things here, she’s going to have the very best quality of life you can provide for her. She has you and she has Katherine in her corner, along with the prayers of everyone else in Hope’s Crossing, which is no small thing.”
He didn’t look convinced. “We’re doing all we can. I just hope it’s enough.”
“You’re bringing her home tomorrow, then?”
“That’s the plan.”
She didn’t miss the glint of apprehension in his eyes. Again, she was aware of a pang of sympathy. The first night she took Cassie home, she had been terrified. Despite years of training and working with children who had similar disabilities, the idea of being responsible for this fragile person had been overwhelming.
“Have Katherine call me when you leave the care center and I’ll meet you here when you arrive. I’d like to get started right away.”
Surprise widened those startling blue eyes. “You don’t think she’ll need a rest? The drive from Denver might be rough on her, especially sitting in her wheelchair in the van for an hour.”
“I expect it will be tiring for her. That’s why I’d like to start working her muscles right away.”
“Whatever you think best.” He didn’t
bother to hide his doubt.
“You asked me to do this, remember? You’re going to have to trust my judgment on some things.”
It wouldn’t be easy, for either one of them. Brodie was a man of strong opinions—their limited contact before this week had made that crystal clear.
“Actually, I would like to make one thing clear,” she continued. “I’ve agreed to help you only as a stopgap while you’re looking for someone else to fill the position.”
“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. You want to get back to your beads as soon as you can.”
She refused to let herself flinch at the hint of disdain in his voice. Let him think what he wanted about her motives. She didn’t care. “While I’m only planning to be working with Taryn for a few weeks, I see my role as laying the groundwork for subsequent therapies.”
“I fully concur.” He was back to being the stiff, formal businessman, which she found something of a relief. That Brodie was much easier to categorize than the one who engendered empathy and compassion.
“Good. That makes this easier.”
He looked wary. “Makes what easier?”
“I need a promise from you before Taryn comes home tomorrow.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific. I learned a long time ago that the devil was in the details. What sort of promise?”
“I need to be certain I have full authority to do whatever I think is best for her care. I can’t have you coming in and questioning everything I do. If you have concerns about my methods, of course we can discuss those and you’re more than welcome to sit in all day as I work with her if you’d like.”
She really, really hoped he wouldn’t do that. She could imagine few things more disconcerting than having to work with Taryn while the girl’s entirely too gorgeous father watched from the sidelines. “But I need to know you’re not going to micromanage what I do here.”
“Full authority. I don’t even give my chief operations officer full authority.”
“It all comes down to trust. If you can’t trust me to do what I think is best for Taryn, this isn’t going to work out, even for the short term. You would be better coordinating her care yourself.”
“You’re asking a great deal.”
“Too much?”
He appeared to be consider. “I suppose it’s fair, especially since my mother basically guilted you into agreeing to help us anyway.”
She laughed. “Big of you to admit you sicced Katherine on me.”
“I didn’t get where I am today by refusing to capitalize on my advantages. My mother was my ace in the hole. I knew you could say no to me without blinking, but she has a true talent for getting her way.”
“Good to know she passed something on to the next generation.”
He laughed softly and her stomach muscles shivered. “Along with blue eyes, healthy tooth enamel and a particular fondness for artichokes,” he said.
Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad. Not only did she have to once more confront a life’s calling she thought she’d left behind, but working with Taryn was bound to put her into repeated contact with Brodie.
A few days ago, she had thought that wouldn’t matter. She had assumed that nothing could induce her to soften toward a man she disliked so instinctively. She was beginning to have the very uneasy feeling she might have been a smidge optimistic in that blind confidence in her ability to resist the man.
* * *
WHAT WAS IT ABOUT EVIE Blanchard that seeped under his skin like water wearing away at shale?
Fifteen minutes later, Brodie watched her drive through the gates and back toward town in her sporty little Honda SUV and wondered how one small, slender woman could leave him feeling as if he’d just tangled with a badger in a bad mood.
Every time he was with her, he felt itchy and off balance and he didn’t like it. A big part of it was this inconvenient attraction. Intellectually, he knew damn well he shouldn’t be so drawn to her. It made no sense at all, especially when they approached the world from completely different stratospheres when it came to, oh, just about everything. Politics, philosophy, business. Probably because of the attention deficit disorder he still battled, he craved order in his life, neat and organized structure to help him cope with the chaos that was his mind sometimes.
In contrast, Evie’s personality was like the beads and bangles she tended to favor—colorful, splashy, unique.
He knew his reaction to her was purely physical. Something about that lithe body, her delicate, sun-kissed features, all that sumptuous, silky honey-blond hair just reached into his gut and twisted hard.
Having her here in his house for the next few weeks would be an exercise in self-restraint, especially when his unruly mind drifted into all kinds of unwelcome areas, like wondering just what she would do if he gave in to temptation and tasted that mobile, fascinating mouth of hers.
If he tried it, he didn’t doubt she would probably shut him down faster than that pissed-off badger would go for his throat if he ventured into its personal space.
He couldn’t afford to antagonize her any more than he seemed to do just by simply breathing. The woman knew her stuff. His mother was right. He hadn’t even seen her work with Taryn yet but he sensed knowledge and competence in the cool appraisal she’d given the renovations to the house.
He was impressed, despite his instinctive objections, by her firm assurance that she planned to begin working immediately with Taryn. How could he help but respect her willingness to jump right in, especially when she was still quite obviously reluctant to take on Taryn’s therapy.
Absolute authority, Evie had demanded he give her. He shook his head, watching as her little SUV headed down the hill. That wasn’t going to be an easy thing to surrender but he understood the wisdom of it. In every one of his endeavors, someone needed to be the boss. Sometimes he refused to relinquish that role but most of the time he had seen the wisdom and efficiency in handing it off to someone else he trusted. Like it or not, this was going to have to be one of those times. If he second-guessed every decision, she might bolt before the two weeks were up.
Already, he could tell he wasn’t going to be satisfied with her agreement to only help Taryn transition to a home program. He wanted her here permanently. She was the best choice to help Taryn; he knew it in that same gut that responded so physically to Evie as a beautiful woman—which meant he would have to do everything in his power to convince her to stay beyond that initial two weeks.
What choice did he have? She was absolutely right. He intended to do every freaking thing possible to make sure his daughter had the best chance at a normal life, no matter what the cost.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOME.
She was almost home.
Taryn looked out the window of the van. Town. Trees. Mountains.
Home.
She was glad. So glad.
She shifted, back aching from the wheelchair.
“We’re almost there, baby.” Her dad spoke from the front seat.
“Only a few more miles.” Grandma smiled. She looked pretty. Tired.
No more hospital. Her friends. Her room.
Normal.
She heard the word just right in her head but she when she tried to talk, she could only make a stupid sound. “Noorrmmm.”
Grandma smiled again. “You’re going to be surprised. Your dad’s been so busy fixing things up for you. You’ve got a beautiful new room downstairs with a roll-in shower in the bathroom and your own private workout space.”
She frowned. “No. Up.” She thought of posters on the wall, her pillow couch, purple walls. Her room.
Her dad turned, frowning. “We don’t have an elevator yet and you’re a ways from tackling the stairs, kiddo. This will be better.”
She wanted her room. Window seat, canopy bed, everything. She wanted to argue but the words caught. “No. Up.”
“Wait until you see your new room, Taryn.” Dad’s smile was fake, too big. “We pai
nted the trim your favorite color and it has a really nice view. I think you’re going to love it.”
She shook her head. She wouldn’t.
This wasn’t right. She was going home but it wasn’t the same. Out the window, she saw trees, flowers, mountains.
Home.
Everything else was normal. Not her. Not anymore. Never again.
She was broken.
* * *
IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR, Brodie watched his daughter’s chin tremble and he thought she would cry. He’d been afraid of this. She wanted her regular room, her regular life. That she couldn’t have those things right now would be one more stark reality-check for a girl who had endured far too many already.
He kept his gaze on the road as he drove the wheelchair-accessible van he’d purchased for an ungodly amount from a dealership in Loveland just a few days earlier, but he allowed himself occasional glances at Taryn in her wheelchair—secured by latches to the lowered floor behind the driver and passenger seats—until finally the distress in her features eased a little.
She was still pretty, his baby girl. Her facial features might seem a little more slack than before the accident and she would always have faint traces of scars but most of them were beneath her hairline.
Her hair was short since they’d had to shave it during her various procedures, but it was dark and impishly curly, and her eyes were still the same blue of the sky just before a twilight thunderstorm. He wondered if others would see the courage and strength inside her or if they would only register the wheelchair, the scars, the halting, mangled words.
“Oh, it will be nice to be home,” Katherine said from the seat beside him.
She gazed out the window as if she’d been away for years and he was grateful all over again for his mother’s sacrifices for him and his daughter. After the accident, Katherine had basically given up her own life and moved to Denver to stay at Taryn’s bedside around the clock. He had spent as much time at the hospital as he could and had turned many of his business responsibilities over to his associates at Thorne and Company. He had eventually set up a mobile office at the apartment they had rented near the hospital and had scrambled the best he could to keep everything running smoothly.
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