Love Inspired August 2014 – Bundle 1 of 2

by Ruth Logan Herne, Allie Pleiter

  “If it helps, I think he really should go out on your boat. It’s a beautiful boat, and it’s fascinating to watch how it works and you work on it. It’s just not the right starting point. Basketball? Now, that was a good first step for a lot of reasons. Can we think of something else like that? Something that can take place here on school property?”

  “Williams is going to supervise, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes flicked down at the admission. “He’s asked to be present.” She looked up. “Think you can play nice here?”

  Normally, Max’s reply to a request like that would have been a resounding Not on your life! Only it was as if Simon’s pleading eyes watched him even though the kid wasn’t even in the room. “How are you at Ping-Pong?”

  That smile could have made him buy twelve flamingo-ducks in rainbow colors. “I happen to be pretty good. Thursday afternoon?”

  He could move his marketing-team meeting. It’d mean he would have to get up an hour earlier than normal—something he only did in the most dire circumstances—but he’d do it. “Let me make a few calls.”

  Chapter Five

  “Got ’em!”

  Heather watched in amazement Thursday afternoon as Simon edged his chair in front of his father to nail the match’s winning shot. In the last half of the game, Simon had seemed to come alive right before her eyes, showing a determination and enthusiasm she’d not ever seen from him. It was the first time she could use the phrase young man to describe Simon. Lots of boys made the transition from “boy” to “young man” in their first year of high school, but she’d never seen the transformation happen quite so dramatically.

  Max had noticed the change, as well; she could tell by the way he caught her eye in between volleys or when Simon made a particularly spectacular shot. Simon wasn’t the only one making surprising changes right in front of her. Max had gone out of his way to “play nice” with Brian Williams. Right down to the nondescript polo shirt instead of his usual T-shirt bearing a wild message. She’d spent the first game trying not to notice what the light blue color did for Max’s eyes. JJ had told her Max had rolled up in a tux for her wedding, and suddenly she wanted to see the pictures of what that looked like. Max Jones, for all his edgy attire, cleaned up very nice.

  “Hey, Dad, watch this!”

  Heather gasped as Simon made an attempt to pop one of the wild wheelies Max was known for—and succeeded only in toppling himself out of the chair. Mr. Williams let out a “Don’t do that!” and flew out of his own chair—for everyone had to play in chairs again to even the odds—grabbing Simon’s arm before Heather even had a chance to blink.

  “I’m fine!” Simon declared, pulling his arm out of his father’s grasp. The air in the gym suddenly thickened. Heather didn’t know quite what to do.

  Max did. In a matter of seconds, Max spun over next to Simon and proceeded to catapult himself out of his own chair. Now there were two people on the ground, with Heather and Mr. Williams standing in shock beside them.

  “Didn’t that hurt?” Simon asked, as stunned as anyone else in the room.

  “Not if I can’t feel anything below my waist. Of course, I wouldn’t advise this as a general practice, but it’s easier to show you how to get up than to sit there and explain it.”

  “I can help him get up,” Mr. Williams interjected, reaching between Max and Simon.

  “No, Dad,” Simon protested. “Let me see how Max does this.”

  Mr. Williams looked ready to object, but Heather walked over and gently touched his elbow. “Let him try,” she whispered, seeing the panic in the father’s eyes. “You can step in if he gets in trouble.”

  “What do I do?” Simon was as cool as a cucumber and obviously not a bit hurt.

  “First—” Max winked “—you find somewhere else for the people around you to look because this isn’t pretty. Point out a flower or a puppy or something.”

  Simon managed a wry grin. “They’re staring right at us.”

  “Well.” Max elbowed Simon as if being sprawled out on the gym floor were all part of the plan. “Think of something.”

  Simon pointed clear across the gym. “Hey, Dad, could you go get the Ping-Pong ball where it landed over in the corner?”

  Mr. Williams did not look as if he cared for this one bit. Heather offered him an encouraging smile, eyebrows raised in a silent invitation to just play along.

  The pause before Mr. Williams said, “Sure, son,” felt excruciating. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he stepped away from Max and Simon and walked across the gym floor.

  As she followed Mr. Williams, swallowing the urge to turn and look at whatever it was Max was teaching Simon, she heard the smile in Max’s voice as he instructed, “Okay, pull your chair over here and put your left hand up on this.”

  She walked in the direction Simon had pointed, catching Mr. Williams’s eye one more time. “I know that was hard,” she said, keenly aware that she truly had no idea how hard it might have been.

  Brian Williams was trying; she had to give him that. He wanted to turn and watch as badly as Heather did—it was all over his face—but he made a show of searching for the little white ball both of them quickly realized wasn’t anywhere near where Simon had sent them.

  After he heard Max’s overloud, “There you go, back upright,” Heather turned and threw up her hands in mock failure, inwardly delighted at the beaming and seated Simon—right next to a seated and slightly winded Max. Something hummed under her ribs as she realized what it had cost Max to toss himself out of his chair like that.

  “Hey, look, Dad—the ball was right here all the time.”

  Did Simon actually just wink?

  “No kidding,” Mr. Williams said, his voice a mixture of emotions Heather couldn’t quite read. Was he proud of his son? Or annoyed at being “played”?

  “Yeah. And I’m fine,” Simon repeated.

  “Upright and awesome.” Max held up a fist and Simon bumped it in the universal high school sign of victory and admiration. “Only, I’d hold back on the wheelies till you get better at them. Knocks the cool right out of the whole thing if you tumble like we just did.”

  “True.” Simon looked at Max. “We still beat you.”

  Max pasted a dejected look on his face. “You and your dad creamed me and Ms. Browning. I’m not used to losing—we’d better find something else to play next time where I can be sure I’ll win.”

  “Then it can’t be chess,” Mr. Williams offered. “He beats me every time.”

  Surely this would bring some crack about chess’s geek factor. Max probably stuffed the Chess Club into lockers on a weekly basis in high school. Heather saw the barb come across his face, then watched as he swallowed whatever wisecrack was on the tip of his tongue. “Not really my thing, chess. But I’ll think of something and run it by Ms. Browning and your dad before I set it up, okay?”

  Heather had to work to keep her mouth from dropping open. Somehow she was sure Max Jones never sought approval for anything—he definitely seemed more like the “do what you want and apologize later if you get caught” type. Was Max doing a little maturing of his own?

  After they’d packed up the equipment and walked Simon and his dad to their car—and Max had gotten a lot of mileage out of a “walk you to your car” bit—Heather found herself at a loss for how to deal with this new side of Max.

  She knew where to start, at least. Sitting down on the short wall that framed the school steps, she folded her hands in her lap. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” His face told her he knew exactly for what.

  “I want to say for behaving, but that doesn’t sound very good.” She fiddled with her watch, suddenly finding his eyes a little too intense. “You know what you did back there. I just want you to know I appre
ciate it.”

  “You mean launching myself onto the floor so Simon wouldn’t feel like a train wreck? That was kind of fun, actually. Although, I expect I’ll find a few bruises in the morning.”

  “Did it hurt?” The minute the words left her mouth, they felt like the most insensitive thing she could have picked to ask.

  Max held her gaze for a moment—something that made her insides buzz. The man had astounding, expressive eyes. “It’s okay to ask stuff like that, you know. I don’t mind. If I think you’re stepping over the line, believe me, I’ll tell you.” He shifted in his chair. “No, it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurts. I’m deadweight from the waist down. But it also means I can’t tell if I’ve hurt myself, so flinging myself out of chairs isn’t the smartest thing I could be doing. That was more of an impulse.”

  “It was a good one—I mean, provided you didn’t get hurt. Did you see Simon’s eyes?”

  “Couldn’t miss it. Kid lit up like a firecracker. Do you think that’s the first time he’s told his dad to back off a bit?” Max was as excited about Simon’s confidence level as she was.

  “Could be. And you found an appropriate way to make that happen.”

  He got that heart-slayer gleam in his eyes again. “Look at me, Mr. Appropriate. Who knew I had it in me?”

  She hadn’t. Up until today, Heather had worried that he would grow bored and skip out on Simon in a matter of days. Looking at him now, she could see his investment in Simon was surprising even him. “You did a great thing today. I hope you know that.” Before she could think better of it, she nodded toward his shirt. “You even dressed for the occasion.”

  “You noticed.” He preened the collar on his polo shirt, grinning. “Had to dig deep in the closet for this. Not a lot of call for business-casual attire at Adventure Access.”

  “Not a suit-and-tie kind of office?”

  “Are you kidding? This counts for formal wear at AA.”

  The visage of a tuxedoed Max at the wedding where Alex married Max’s sister popped back up in her imagination. He must have had ladies lined up at his feet when he could walk.

  The horrid nature of that thought shot through her—what an awful, terrible thing to think! Why was Max Jones such a mental minefield for her good sense?

  “Okay, what was that?”

  She hated that he noticed. “Nothing.”

  He pointed at her. “You just had a cripple thought.”

  “A what?”

  “Aw, come on—you think I can’t tell? Someone has a thought, usually to do with my paralysis, that they think is totally awful and cruel, usually because it is, and their face goes all screwy like yours just did. I call them ‘cripple thoughts,’ because that’s the most offensive word for what I am.”

  She felt horrendously exposed. Guilty and trapped. What on earth was she supposed to do? Why did Max feel as if he had to shove the awkwardness in everyone’s face like this?

  “Look, just get over it, okay? It’s easier if you admit this is weird. I hate tiptoeing around the issue. You had a cripple thought. It’s gonna happen. I’m used to it. I can see it a mile off.”

  Heather launched up off the wall. “Why do you do that? It was a terrible thing to think and I’m already ashamed of myself, so why are you making me feel so bad about it when you were just so incredibly nice to Simon?”

  Max spun around to follow her. “There. See? You can yell at me for being a jerk just like any other guy. Glad we got that out of the way.”

  She turned to look at him. “You’re awful—you know that?” But, she had to admit, the tension had just evaporated. Crude as it was, he was breaking down her misconceptions about him one at a time. Ten minutes ago she would not have felt free to tell him he was awful. He’d sensed her pity even before she had, and he’d called her on it because he didn’t want pity from her. Or anyone.

  “Awful is a personal specialty. Just don’t sugarcoat things for me on account of my wheels, okay? I can take just about anything but that.” He motioned to the wall again, silently asking her to sit down so they could be eye to eye again. Heather was coming to realize how important that courtesy was to him.

  “So,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “how about we start that part over?”

  Heather cleared her throat. She would do as he asked; she would treat him as she would treat any other person who had just done something incredibly nice for Simon. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a slice of pie at Karl’s to show my appreciation?”

  It was fun to be the one surprising him for once. He wasn’t expecting that. “Celebrate our little victory over helicopter dad?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “When you put it that way...”

  “No. I mean, I won’t put it that way. Which means yes. Yes to coffee. If you’re buying.”

  “I am.”

  “Only if I drive.”

  How had she known there’d be a catch to his yes? “You drive?”

  “Yep. If you’re willing to ride in the flaming toaster, I’ll know you really mean it.”

  “Is everything a test with you?”

  There was that glint again. “Only the good stuff.”

  She might regret this. “I’ll go get my handbag—since I’m paying and all.” She walked toward the door, then turned around again. “The flaming toaster?”

  “JJ’s name. Fits.”

  She didn’t know what to say. I feel that a lot around you, she thought as she pulled the door open and went inside.

  * * *

  Max punched JJ’s number into his cell phone the minute the school door shut behind Heather.

  “Hi there,” she answered. “I just put the steaks into the marinade.”

  “I might not make dinner. I don’t have a ton of time to talk, but I’m heading out for coffee with Heather Browning.”

  Silence greeted his news.

  “Look, we can have dinner tomorrow night, right?”

  Another long pause. “Max, don’t.”

  Oh, she was a master of the big-sister tone of conviction. “What?”

  “You promised me you wouldn’t get personal with Heather. She’s a friend. You were helping her out. Now you’re going to go all Max on her, aren’t you?” Max could practically hear her stabbing the steaks with a sharp fork over the phone.

  “I’m not doing anything. She invited me out for coffee. A friendly celebration over something good that happened with Simon.”

  “You don’t know how to do friendly, Max. Please don’t get into this with Heather.”

  Now she was getting annoying. “Get into what, exactly?” Sure, Max had left a long line of broken hearts in his wake before his accident, but he hadn’t exactly boasted a stuffed social calendar since. “So now that I’m in a wheelchair, the entire female gender is off-limits?”

  “You can date anyone you like, Max, as long as it’s not Heather.”

  “Who said I was even dating Heather? Or planning to date her? Jumping to a few conclusions, aren’t you?” Max kept one eye on the door. “You’re out of line here, JJ.”

  There was a pause on her end of the line. “I just don’t want you...well...you know.”

  “Wow. Your confidence in me staggers the mind. It’s pie and coffee at Karl’s, for crying out loud. And she asked. Give me a little credit here.”

  “Credit or not, you’re still blowing Alex and me off for dinner. We’ve been planning this for two weeks.”

  She was right about that much. Between her shifts at the firehouse and Alex’s schedule, getting together was proving nearly impossible lately. “What if I came by at seven—would that work?”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” After a moment she added, “I miss you, Max. I used to see you all the time and now—”

&nb
sp; “Hey. We’re still Max and JJ. Besides, you’ve got that spiffy new groom to keep you occupied.”

  “That spiffy new groom also happens to be your boss. Have you considered you were just trying to ditch your boss, too?”

  “I’m trying to help a kid out, JJ. That’s all this is.”

  “Look, I just want you to steer clear of Heather in the date department. You know your track record. She’s a friend. This could get all kinds of weird, you know?”

  It bugged Max that his own sister thought of him as toxic in the boyfriend department. Sure, he wasn’t a master of solid relationships, and all her cautiousness hinted at a seriously painful past, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a decent human being over a slice of pie. “It’s just coffee, JJ. I gotta go.”

  “Be nice, Max. Nice? Do you remember how?”

  Chapter Six

  Max hit the remote-control button that slowly opened the double doors on his adapted Honda Element. Heather was surprised to see the pair of doors open from the middle like French doors, but it made sense given the large opening they formed.

  “Ta-da!” Max imitated a trumpet fanfare as if the gates to his castle were being raised. He was always cracking jokes. Max was like a kid that way—ramping up the wisecracks when he was nervous or uncomfortable. The mechanized ramp unfolded, making the drawbridge metaphor a little more apt, and Max waved her on board with a grandiose gesture. “Ladies first. You get to ride like I’m your chauffeur this time. I can put in the passenger seat with a little more notice, but right now my chair goes there. Although I’ll warn you, it’s not the cleanest car in the world. Just shove everything over on the backseat and make room for yourself.”

  She walked up the ramp, surprised to see the backseats were a little higher than the front seats. It made her feel like a spectator instead of a passenger; an odd sensation. True to Max’s warning, Heather had to move three T-shirts, a fast-food bag and a pair of sports magazines over to make a spot to sit. Max rolled on board and went through the process of securing his chair where the passenger seat usually went, then shifted himself into the driver’s seat and rotated it into position.