Lies That Bind

by Shirley Wine

  ‘I guess,’ Luke muttered, lifting his wide-brimmed hat to run his hand through his dark hair leaving it dishevelled.

  Brooke could have left it there, but something in Luke’s expression made her determined to spell it out. ‘What you need to do, is to stop trying to shield Otto and protect him from pain. Nothing will impede his progress more than you hovering over him.’ She lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. ‘The pain of rehabilitation will get worse before it can get better.’

  For several long moments their gazes clashed. Brooke caught the glitter of anger in his expression, but she refused to back down or soften her stance. Unless Luke understood what Otto’s rehabilitation entailed, she was fighting an uphill battle.

  ‘Such easy advice to give,’ he said flatly. ‘You’ve never been forced to watch a kid you love trying to straighten or bend legs that don’t want to do either despite numerous surgeries meant to have fixed them, or steel yourself against the pleading in his eyes when he begs permission to just stop hurting.’

  ‘I have worked with far worse injuries than Otto’s. And I’ve watched people work through the pain and make a full recovery. Surely, this is what you want for your nephew?’

  ‘Of course it is. How can you think otherwise?’

  Brooke winced at the genuine horror she heard in his voice, but decided it would do none of them any good to evade the issue. ‘What about your niece? Is she coming in or is she going to stay in your ute?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’ Luke pushed a hand through his hair again. ‘Give me a few moments.’

  Brooke turned and walked up the ramp and into the garage she’d kitted out as a treatment room for her father. Otto was wheeling himself around the room, examining all the equipment, and when he saw her, his smile flashed and she caught a glimpse of what the boy must have been like before an accident had robbed him of his spirit and his innocence.

  Swallowing a surge of compassion, Brooke went to a bench and picked up her camera. ‘Before we start, Otto, I want a photo of you.’

  Immediately, he was on the defensive. ‘Why? I don’t want pictures of me looking like a freak.’

  ‘You are not a freak,’ Brooke said with quiet vehemence. ‘You were in an accident that has damaged your legs. Be thankful it never damaged your brain.’

  The boy flushed and looked away. ‘Why do you want a photo?’

  ‘It’s really helpful for you to be able to chart your progress and the easiest way for you to do this is by taking pictures. At the moment you’re struggling to take weight on your legs. When you’re walking and then running, you’ll appreciate looking at these photos and seeing how far you’ve come,’ she said evenly. ‘Progress with physical therapy is often very slow, and patients think they’ve not made any improvement, yet when they look at a photo, they can see the progress.’

  ‘I guess that makes sense.’

  ‘Can you get from the chair to the table by yourself?’

  ‘I’m not completely helpless.’ Otto’s chin came up in mute challenge.

  His fierce glare reminded Brooke so much of his uncle that she struggled to suppress a grin as she snapped off several photos while the boy swung himself from the wheelchair to the treatment table. Good, strong shoulder and well-developed arm muscles, she noted. And this kid was sure as heck going to need them.

  ‘Good work.’ She moved the wheelchair aside. ‘What do you have on under your jeans?’

  ‘Dorky shorts.’

  ‘Great. Can you wriggle out of your jeans or do you need me to give you a hand?’

  Otto gave her an offended look that clearly said, What are you? A pervert?

  Brooke bit down on her lower lip to prevent a burst of inappropriate laughter. Hurriedly turning away, she busied herself by pulling out a privacy screen. ‘Give me a yell when you’re ready. I’ll put some pads on to heat.’

  Luke and Rose walked into the room. Luke had an arm around the girl’s shoulders and Brooke saw the tell-tale evidence of tears. Rose’s arm was supported in a black sling brace, the bulky contraption emphasising the girl’s pale fragility. The defenceless air about the girl underlined the responsibility Brooke had assumed in agreeing to assist these children with their rehabilitation.

  She ached for Rose and averted her gaze to give them privacy.

  Rose is very vulnerable right now—Luke’s words drummed in Brooke’s ears.

  While the pair’s medical report concentrated on their physical injuries, Brooke knew that the psychological injuries were just as damaging. Of the two, Brooke guessed that Rose had suffered a greater emotional toll. According to their medical reports, the girl had been awake and conscious throughout the ordeal. She knew from the moment of impact that her parents were dead or critically injured, while Otto had been asleep and, although trapped inside the vehicle, he’d been knocked unconscious and had no recall of the crash.

  So far, the cause of that crash was a mystery.

  On a straight stretch of road, for no apparent reason, the car the family was travelling in had braked and swerved violently. It had veered off the road, crashing head-on into a stone wall and killing Ian McLellan instantly; his wife, the children’s mother, had lingered in hospital for a few days. It was a tragedy all round.

  ‘Rose’s arm is paining her today,’ Luke said as he crossed to where Brooke was lifting the heating pads from the warmer.

  ‘I’m sure it is.’ She gave the girl one swift comprehensive glance and said briskly, ‘Take a seat in the recliner, Rose. After I’ve put these pads on Otto’s legs, I’ll be right with you.’

  Brooke disappeared behind the privacy screen. ‘I’ll just put these heat pads on your legs, Otto, and leave them to warm up your muscles before we work on them while I have a look at your sister’s shoulder. Okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Brooke walked briskly out from behind the screen and approached the young teenager.

  ‘Do you need any help removing the arm brace and your tee-shirt, Rose? We need them off so I can work on your shoulder and upper arm.’ Brooke gave Luke a telling look. ‘Do you still want me to bring Rose and Otto back out to Whitby Downs, or are you waiting in town while they have their therapy session?’

  Luke hesitated, looking torn. ‘I can’t stay. Matt has a full day’s work program mapped out for the station. If you could drive them back home I’d really appreciate it.’

  Against her better judgement Brooke’s stance softened. The man was in an unenviable situation, a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor thrust into the position of becoming an instant parent to two traumatised adolescents.

  ‘I can drive Rose and Otto back.’ She crossed the space and laid a hand on his arm as she said softly, ‘Let’s step outside and give Rose some privacy to get herself settled.’

  Luke nodded and they walked together out through the side door of the garage. When they were out of earshot, Brooke turned to him. ‘Teenage girls are very self-conscious about any injury or scars. You need to ensure that Rose has privacy.’

  Luke’s lips tightened as he regarded her through narrowed eyes. ‘I’m not completely clueless.’

  Ouch!

  ‘Rose seems upset,’ she ventured carefully. ‘Is she unsure about the physical therapy? Or is there something else going on with her that I should know about?’

  He hesitated.

  Brooke gained the distinct impression that he was trying to decide if he could trust her. She met his gaze steadily. ‘If I’m to help Rose and Otto I need to have all the relevant information. I need you to be honest with me so we’re on the same page. And it goes without saying that anything you do tell me, goes no further.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a minute.’ His brow furrowed and shadows darkened his eyes. ‘It’s just that I have this weird sense that something other than the accident is weighing heavily on Rose. As to what that may be, I can’t begin to guess. She may feel more comfortable talking to another woman.’

  The candid admission was totally unexpected and roc
ked Brooke’s presumptions. She studied his troubled face. ‘If Rose does confide in me, I’m constrained by medical privilege to respect her privacy and confidences, but if I consider any of her confidences are serious enough to warrant your intervention, then rest assured, I will do my best to get her permission to discuss it with you.’

  He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. Brooke resisted the urge to fidget under his intense scrutiny as once again she felt very much like a bug under a microscope.

  ‘Fair enough.’ With another of his casual waves, he strode to his vehicle then paused with his hand on the door. ‘What time will you bring them back?’

  Brooke glanced at her watch. ‘Should be around noon, or thereabouts.’

  ‘Stay and have lunch with us.’

  ‘I have to get back here. My father can’t be left on his own for too long.’

  ‘Why not bring him with you? I’m sure Frank would like a change of scenery and a chance to escape the confines of the house. A visit with us at Whitby Downs for an hour or two will probably do him the world of good.’

  Brooke struggled for a viable excuse not to accept the invitation, but came up short. He’d found her weak spot, and this added yet another burden to the crap-load of guilt she carried. Her father would welcome a break. Lord knows, he’d complained often enough about the never-ending routine of exercise and rest.

  ‘I’m sure Dad would enjoy that.’ She hoped her brisk voice didn’t betray her inner turmoil. ‘I’ll bring him with us and we’ll stay for lunch. Now I must get back to my patients.’

  She turned her back and strode indoors. Once out of Luke’s sight, she leaned against the doorframe and sucked in a slow, steadying breath. That man was altogether too observant, something that left her more rattled than she cared to admit.

  Otto’s rustling movements caught her attention. ‘I’ll put heat packs on Rose’s shoulder, then I’ll be right with you.’

  Brooke tended to Rose before she walked around the screen into the cubicle and looked down at Otto. ‘How much do you hate that chair?’

  ‘Heaps,’ he responded with unabashed loathing.

  ‘Then let’s see what we can do about getting you out of it and back to walking on these popsicle-stick legs of yours, shall we?’

  Otto laughed and through the screen Brooke heard Rose’s watery giggle. ‘That’s the ticket.’ Brooke kept up a flow of inconsequential chatter as she removed the heat packs from Otto’s damaged legs. She squirted lotion on her hands to warm them before she began massaging the boy’s atrophied muscles. ‘You sure do have some impressive scars.’

  ‘Uncle Luke reckons the chicks will dig these when I’m older.’

  ‘That is such a male attitude.’ Brooke smiled and shook her head. ‘By the time you’re old enough for girls to appreciate these scars, lad, they will be much more impressed by your muscles. Now I want you to show me what you can do. Left leg first, how far can you lift if off the bed? Give it your best shot, buddy.’

  Chapter Three

  Luke whistled instructions to his dog as he squinted through the dusty haze kicked up by the Black Angus cows and calves. Today, he worked alongside Matt Daintry to move the cattle from the back section of Whitby to a holding paddock nearer the cattle yards. Once there, the calves would be branded, marked and weaned from their mamas.

  Matt Daintry walked his mount alongside Luke’s. ‘You seem preoccupied today.’

  Luke shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable under the other man’s shrewd scrutiny. ‘Just worried about the kids.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re in Sweetwater for a physio session with Brooke Galbraith.’ Luke lifted his hat and swiped a hand across his sweaty brow.

  ‘So you said earlier. And this troubles you?’

  ‘Yeah, it does.’

  The animals milled around the central race, cows bawling for their calves, as the two men rode at the rear watching for any animals attempting a breakaway.

  ‘Brooke is a professional. Stands to reason she wouldn’t hold the position she did at the Sunrise Clinic without the requisite skills.’

  The observation and Matt’s searching look sent heat scudding up Luke’s neck; his hands tightened on the reins, the involuntary movement making his horse restive. Was he paranoid? Maybe, but the scuttlebutt surrounding Brooke left him more than a little antsy. Rose and Otto were both exceedingly vulnerable.

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘But you still worry?’

  Luke rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Welcome to parenthood,’ Matt said with dry humour. ‘Kids never have arrived complete with a manual.’

  ‘Tell me about it! It’s not as if Rose and Otto are babies either, and they’re both so damn needy.’

  Matt reined in his mount, holding the reins in a loose grip. ‘That’s not surprising given the circumstances. How are they dealing with their parents’ deaths?’

  Luke frowned, studying the hair between his mount’s ears before he glanced up at his boss. ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘Kids are notorious for talking in grunts.’

  Luke gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘You just have to keep trying.’ Matt whistled his dog to bring back a straying calf. ‘You can’t afford to give up.’

  Luke met Matt’s shrewd gaze. ‘That’s not an option. When my sister was dying, I promised her I’d take care of Rose and Otto. They are stuck with me, whether they like it or not.’

  ‘Good to hear.’ Matt’s brow furrowed in a frown. ‘Brooke is not only skilled; she has an intuitive understanding of what will work best in each situation. You only need to see what she’s done for her father. And she’s been an enormous help for us.’

  ‘With Isabella?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Matt gave Luke another of those shrewd looks. ‘She helped us devise an exercise routine for our little girl. Isabella’s making such rapid progress you’d hardly know now that she was born with crippled feet.’

  Luke watched Matt’s usually austere expression soften. It was clear that he adored the little girl he’d found neglected and abandoned on his door step. He’d adopted Isabella and brought her home with him from Argentina to ensure she received the medical care she needed to correct a congenital deformity in her feet.

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear,’ Luke said, lifting his hat and pushing a hand through his hair.

  Matt drilled Luke with a hard look. ‘You don’t sound too sure about that.’

  ‘Maybe I have reason,’ Luke muttered. ‘I’ve seen the carnage she’s left in her wake, first-hand.’

  Matt pinned him with a hard, measured look. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance. I thought you, of all people, would be more open-minded about this.’

  The reminder made Luke squirm in the saddle.

  Matt and Charlotte had given Luke a second chance. Matt had been more than a little angry when he discovered Luke was a cop, working undercover, when he’d first employed him to work on Whitby Downs.

  How can I do less for Brooke Galbraith?

  ***

  As Luke watched the rooster tail of dust that marked the approach of Brooke’s car, his sick sensation of worry grew more intense. How had the therapy session for Rose and Otto gone down? Unable to stand still, he strode down the verandah steps and across the remnants of lawn burnt to a crisp under the relentless heat of late summer. He waited by the sturdy garden gate, impatient for Brooke to park.

  When the car was stationary, he jerked open the rear door. Rose looked up at him and smiled. The fine thread of tension that held him in its grip eased as he searched her face. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Brooke thinks it won’t be long before I can get this thing off,’ Rose said in breathless haste, indicating the cumbersome sling. ‘Otto has to use his crutches and work at ditching his wheelchair.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Luke’s gaze clashed with Brooke’s across the roof of the car, but he gleaned
nothing from her expression. Her dark eyes were as fathomless as peat pools on a hot summer’s day.

  She was first to break the stare-down, moving to open the rear door behind the driver’s seat for Otto. ‘Wait until I get your crutches from the boot.’ She glanced across at Luke. ‘Can you get the door for my dad please?’

  Luke bit down on an oath and hastened to remedy the oversight, annoyed that Brooke felt the need to point out this lapse in manners.

  ‘Do you need a hand?’ he asked as he opened the door for the frail, elderly man.

  ‘I can manage.’ Frank smiled and shook his head. ‘Besides, Brooke’s a slave driver and she’ll have my head if people start doing things for me that I’m capable of doing for myself.’

  Frank winked, the twinkle in his eyes belying his words.

  Luke glanced at Brooke who was pulling the wheelchair and crutches from the car boot. He made an involuntary move towards Otto, but she waved him away, her attention firmly fixed on his nephew.

  ‘Now, Otto.’ Brooke’s clear voice carried on the hot air currents. ‘Remember to turn on the seat as we practised. That’s it, turn until you’re facing the door, then slide both feet out until they are resting flat on the ground.’

  The boy did as instructed and looked up at her and took the crutches she held ready.

  ‘Put a crutch either side of your feet and lean your weight forward onto them.’ The boy followed her direct and pragmatic instructions. ‘Make sure they are firmly on the ground either side of your feet and slide your arms into the elbow grips … That’s it … Now use them to support your weight like we practised.’

  Is Otto ready to do this?

  Luke took an instinctive step forward, hot words of protest burning the tip of his tongue. Brooke held up a hand in a universal stop sign, her gaze stern enough to weld his feet to the sunburnt grass. He watched Otto, his heart in his mouth, prepared to leap forward at the first sign of the boy faltering.

  ‘Okay, now make use of those great arm muscles,’ she said, her voice brisk and confident. ‘Pull yourself upright. Take your time, there’s no rush.’