His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

  From the glazed look in Ebenezer’s eyes it appeared he’d drifted back in time. While Colin felt badly for him he needed to keep him focused.

  “I’ll have to have to have a Private Eye check out your background. I can’t risk surprises.”

  “What about Bert? Are you going to check out his background too?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll need to speak with Bert. Can you arrange it?”

  “Let me talk to him first. Tell him you’re all right. If he finds out you’re a lawyer he’ll clam up. What’s in it for us?” Ebenezer asked slyly.

  Colin grinned back. “A good steak dinner.”

  “Porterhouse. And a good peach cobbler for dessert?”

  “You got it.” The men shook hands. Colin handed over his card. “You and Bert can reach me at this number anytime.”

  “We’ll be in touch. You wouldn’t back down on our Porterhouse?”

  Colin winked. “Hey, I’m a man of my word.”

  “So are we,” the older man said, shuffling off. “We’s got a rep to maintain.”

  * * *

  “Hey,” Shayna said to Beau, “You’ve been working on your exercises at home. It’s noticeable.”

  He was flexing and kicking out his legs as if his life depended on it. He was still upset with her. Upset that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him about her past. He’d gotten over her not telling him about Reggie, but this recent revelation now had him wondering what other secrets she had.

  “How can you tell I’ve been practicing?” Beau asked, sticking to a topic that was safe. Heavy weights were still strapped to his ankles and he kept moving his legs back and forth as she had instructed.

  “You’re more coordinated, for one. Your muscles appear stronger.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He was saving his surprise for last. He had indeed been working at home. Fiercely. Furiously. He’d been pushing himself to the limit. Kelly had on more than one occasion been forced to rescue him when he’d gone toppling. Still he’d persisted. His sister had finally talked him out of hiring an aide. She’d extended her stay by several weeks when her husband announced he was off to Tokyo on a business trip.

  “So how come you never told me you were little Shay?” Beau puffed, changing his mind, and deciding to address the issue. He flexed his legs, groaning at the effort.

  “It wasn’t relevant.”

  Bull Crap!

  “Maybe to you it wasn’t,” he said. “But it sure as hell would have helped me understand where you were coming from. Why you took such an interest in me. You just kept pounding away, telling me I needed to get into the right mental shape. You must have had a difficult adjustment going from ‘it girl’ to therapist. You were every bit as famous as me.”

  “True. But I remained grounded because I had parents who reminded me on every occasion my talents were God given and should never be taken for granted. When I fell, I was humiliated. I felt I had failed them, failed the world, failed myself. They were the ones that reminded me that Shay DaCosta still existed. That my sport didn’t define me and that once I healed I could still make a contribution. “They gave me inspirational books to read. Made me pray. They reminded me how restricted my life had been as an athlete. All of it was true. I did love my sport but I’d been a prisoner to it and unable to live a normal life. I never knew if people liked me for the person I was, or because of my celebrity status. I’d been little Shay for so long it took me a while to discover who I really was.”

  “You straddled that hurdle obviously,” Beau conceded, watching Shayna bend to increase the weight on his ankles. “Are you happy with your life now?”

  “For the most part I am. I love what I do.”

  She looked up and flashed him a smile that made his heart flip-flop. Shayna was a truly remarkable person, he thought. She’d dealt with her fall from grace and started a new career. Why couldn’t he? She was raising a troublesome teenage brother on her own.

  How different she was from his self-centered ex. It was silly of him to stay mad at a woman who got him completely. He couldn’t stop himself from bending over and running his fingers through the shiny curls that clung so closely to her scalp.

  She went deadly still. “Beau, don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…”

  Those liquid eyes pulled him in. The warmth of her scalp under his fingers triggered a need in him. He wanted her badly. Needed her in his life.

  “Because we’re patient and therapist?”

  “Something like that,” Shayna finally got out.

  Beau pushed out of his chair and, wobbling slightly, stood on his feet. Shayna reached out, grasping him at the waist, anchoring him.

  “Beau, you’re not ready.”

  “Says who?” He straightened, all six feet two inches of him towering over her. “Come closer,” he ordered.

  Wonder and amazement in her eyes, she did.

  Beau was suddenly conscious of the clean fresh smell of her, of the fact that they were alone in this room, of the very strong physical attraction that they couldn’t switch off.

  He wanted to touch her, needed to hold her in his arms. Despite the fact he was beginning to tire, he reminded himself of what it was all about. Mind over matter. The desire to win.

  Beau embraced Shayna, burying his face in the back of her neck, inhaling Shayna’s unique smell.

  “Beau,” she said, gasping his name. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  He kissed her, capturing her tongue between his teeth, sucking on the tip, teasing her mercilessly. His legs were really hurting now, all the long unused muscles beginning to ache. Still not breaking the kiss he sank onto his chair, bringing her down with him. Shayna made him feel as if anything was possible, as if he could hold on to her forever. She was what he needed to feel complete.

  One of Beau’s hands slipped under her billowing shirt to find her lace-covered bra. His fingers stroked a soft mound and then dipped below. His thumb circled, explored, and circled again, teasing a nipple into a turgid peak. Shayna gasped, her breathing now coming in erratic little bursts. Beau’s hand worked its way under her bra, finding soft flesh. His fingers closed around a nub. Oh, God, it had been so long since he’d made love. He wanted to be inside her and hold her close. He wanted to hear her cry out for him. He wanted to smell the unique scent of this special woman.

  “Beau,” Shayna protested even as his erection pressed against her bottom. “Beau, we have to stop.”

  It felt as if she’d doused him in cold water. He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to hold her forever. Make her part of his life and all the dreams he held. He was able to stand now, and in time he would walk and eventually ski. By God, it would feel good to be out on the slopes again. That feeling of exhilaration could never be reproduced.

  “Shayna, I love you,” he said impulsively.

  “You couldn’t possibly love me,” she argued, shooting to her feet.

  “I do.”

  He didn’t like being rejected. Telling her he loved her hadn’t come easily but it was how he felt.

  She faced him. “Are you that fickle? A few months ago you were in love with Chandra, ready to marry her.”

  “I hadn’t met you. Now I know for certain my relationship with Chandra wasn’t about love.”

  Shayna fisted her hands on her hips. “Shame on you. You were going to marry a woman you didn’t love.”

  “I said I loved Chandra. I didn’t say I was in love with her. There is a difference, you know.”

  “And you were willing to settle?”

  “We worked well together and had a good thing going.”

  “I’m your therapist, Beau,” Shayna ground out. “You may be confusing gratitude for love.”

  “Damn it, woman, I know the difference. Deny it all you want, you feel the same way about me. You’re just determined to fight it. “

  How dare she say he wasn’t in love with her when his
heart was filled to overflowing with this aching need? This all-consuming feeling of completeness that started in his head, spread throughout his body, and ended in his toes. He loved Shayna with a passion that burned brightly. That hurt she would say this. Maybe his obsession had something to do with her never being awed by him. She’d seen him at his worst and had stood up to him, challenged his capabilities, and made him want to live again. He was grateful to Shayna for many things, but he did know the difference between gratitude and love.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The phone rang for what seemed the hundredth time. Kelly was sick and tired of racing to pick up, only to be greeted by crackling then a rude dial tone in her ear. The caller was a persistent bugger and a rude one at that, yet she couldn’t just let the answering machine pick up. What if it was her husband?

  When the phone rang again, Kelly sighed, and took her time getting it. Kazoo was in

  Tokyo and he knew better than to call her mobile and risk the pricey international charge. But she missed her husband and longed to hear his voice.

  Buoyed by the possibility of Kazoo being on the other end of the line, she picked up her pace, raced to get the receiver, and breathlessly answered.

  “Hello.”

  “What took you so long?” a woman snapped.

  “Who is this?” Kelly countered.

  “Who are you? I’m looking for Beau.”

  Must be one of Beau’s old girlfriends.

  “He’s not here,” Kelly said, holding onto her temper.

  “Where can I reach him? On his mobile phone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” the woman ranted. “This is Chandra Leon. Why are you answering Beau’s phone anyway?”

  Kelly knew the response she was about to give would irk the heck out of her brother’s bitchy ex. “Chandra? Chandra? Sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “You’re new, aren’t you? I don’t need to talk to the help,” Chandra yelped. “I’ll call Beau’s cell.”

  “Do that. I’m not the help, by the way. I live here.”

  Kelly had never met Chandra but she’d heard enough about her to form her own opinion. Now she understood why her normally tolerant mother disliked the woman so much. Beau had done a good thing by losing Chandra Leon.

  Chandra’s crude expletive made Kelly wince. She cut off the model’s rantings by hanging up and returned to the couch where she’d been dozing. No need to mention to Beau that Chandra Leon had called. It would serve no purpose.

  * * *

  When Beau’s cell phone rang, Shayna was grateful for the reprieve. She needed time to process what Beau had just said. His confessions of love had her head in a whirl. Instinctively she wanted to run away from the emotions that churned within her.

  Beau groped for the phone at his waistband and came up empty. “What the hell,” he said, scanning the floor where the ringing seemed to be coming from.

  “There it is,” Shayna said, spotting the cell phone at his feet. It must have fallen when he’d embraced her. She bent down, retrieved it, and handed it to him.

  “Hello,” Beau snapped, his voice impatient by the interruption, his gaze still on Shayna’s face. After a while his expression underwent a lightning change, anger, outrage, and caution all vying for dominance. He listened intently and finally got a word in.

  “What woman at my house?”

  The person on the other end was going on and on.

  “Could be Kelly,” Beau said. “But why am I even giving you an explanation?”

  Shayna didn’t even try to hide the fact that she openly listened.

  “Now’s not a good time to talk. I’m in the middle of an appointment. When will you be back?” Beau asked.

  Beau’s clenched jaw meant that every one of his buttons had been pushed. “What are you not understanding?” he snapped. “Your actions have clearly demonstrated our relationship meant nothing to you.”

  Must be Chandra on the other end. What rotten timing. The model obviously had no intention of just walking away from Beau. Well, guess what? Shayna wasn’t walking away from him either. To heck with waiting until after therapy was over to see where this would go. She too had feelings for Beau and she needed to explore them.

  A smart woman would most likely run away from this mess. Chandra would be a formidable opponent, especially when she discovered that Beau was involved with his physical therapist. And though Beau claimed not to be in love with Chandra they’d had a codependent relationship that was difficult to break.

  Mumbling something less than complimentary, Beau depressed the button on his phone, successfully disconnecting the call.

  Shayna had just enough time to slip on her professional mask and say, “Can we resume our business?”

  Beau reached for her and began to nip at her neck. “With pleasure. No one kisses better than you. No one even comes close.”

  Shayna batted his hands away. How could he change gears so quickly when her emotions still churned? “We’ve got fifteen minutes left of therapy. Let’s make it count,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t shake.

  “I had planned on making it count. Is there a problem?” Beau said coolly.

  He acted as if his ex hadn’t just called. That she didn’t have a reason to feel insecure or jealous. She was too old for this.

  “The problem is,” Shayna said, her eyes challenging him to object, “two seconds ago you were telling me you loved me.”

  “That hasn’t changed.”

  “It will when Chandra comes back into the picture.”

  “We’re no longer involved,” Beau said with such finality that even she was beginning to believe him. He reached for her again. This time she let him wrap an arm around her waist.

  “I’ll never be satisfied playing second fiddle and I have no intention of working around her.”

  Beau’s gray eyes twinkled. “Understood. Does that mean we’re an item?”

  Shayna’s stomach flip-flopped. What an old-fashioned word. It was an expression her mother might use. She seriously wondered if she could put her heart on the line again and risk getting involved with Beau.

  “Item isn’t exactly what I would call us,” Shayna joked. “Let’s see how it goes.”

  * * *

  The commercial shoot had gone amazingly well. The scene did not require Beau to do much more than raise a cup of steaming coffee to his lips while staring lovingly into an actress’s eyes.

  “You get my vote,” the cute dark-skinned actress said, balancing a cup of coffee, while reaching for the gold medal hanging on a ribbon around Beau’s neck.

  He leaned in closer, closed his eyes, and sipped from her cup. “My vote goes to Olympic Gold. Nothing tastes better.”

  “I disagree.” The actress winked at the camera. Sotto voce, she said, “He’s better.” She set down her cup and held the coffee jar high, label forward. “Why don’t you put it to the test? Drink Olympic Gold.”

  “That’s a wrap,” the director, a ponytailed man of indeterminate age, shouted.

  David waited with Beau’s wheelchair. “Great job,” he said. “You’re a natural. You might want to take up acting.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Beau managed the few stilted steps with some assistance from the camera crew. Every agonizing one gave him hope that one day he would again walk without assistance. Winded, he sank gratefully into the wheelchair David held out for him. “Ready to head home, Beau?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  The script writer had had to change the lines a bit to accommodate his defeat. But at least the coffee company hadn’t tried to weasel out of the commercial as so many had. Even Olympic Gold’s company representative had perked up immensely when she realized he wasn’t totally immobile. She’d even mumbled something about shooting another commercial after seeing how this one went.

  Inside the van, David commented, “Would Towanda be the obvious person to sign a UPS slip if a delivery came to yo
ur house?”

  “Yeah, would make sense. What’s up?”

  David shifted gears and took off. Beau sat in the passenger seat, his wheelchair relegated to the back. He waited impatiently for David to answer.

  “Peter Turner says your personal items were sent ground UPS. Let’s chat with Towanda when we get home, maybe she can tell us where your things are stowed. Peter’s since forgotten who was responsible for sending them.”

  “Selective memory, you think?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  David steered the van up the steep mountain road, carefully navigating the hairpin bends and treacherous curves. They parked in the circular driveway. Once they were inside the house, he said, “Would UPS have dumped several boxes on your doorstep without getting a signature?”

  “Hmmmm. I don’t know. But I would think that most of the boxes would have been itemized or had the contents listed.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Anybody home?” Beau called, “Kelly, Towanda, where are you?”

  The house had been deadly quiet since they arrived. But since it wasn’t exactly small, its occupants could be anywhere, including out back. Beau depressed the intercom button. “Hey, Kell, Towanda. Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Mr. Beau,” Towanda said, racing in, looking guilty.

  “Where’s Kelly?”

  “She went out. Says she had errands to run. By the way, Ms. Leon has called you several times. I wrote down the messages.”

  Beau groaned at the thought of that conversation. Lucky for him he’d had his cell phone off. He’d figured it made good sense not to be disturbed during the commercial shoot. “Do you remember getting any packages for me?” Beau asked, taking the conversation in a completely different direction.

  Towanda screwed up her face, thinking. “Not recently.”

  “What about a UPS delivery a few months back?” David interjected.

  “It’s a vague memory.”

  “Think, Towanda, think,” Beau urged.

  “If there was more than one box, I would have had Harry put them in the utility room.”