"But I'll never play pro football now; I'll never get that athletic scholarship."
"There are loans, grants--"
Ben's chin jutted out as he banged his fist on the chair arm while his other tightened on his cane. "Don't you get it, Dr. Conrad? I don't want to do anything but play football."
"Ben..."
He threw his cane on the floor in disgust. "And I don't want to use a damn cane one more day. Everyone stares at me!"
"Everyone?"
With a sullen glance, he muttered, "You know what I mean. They look at me like I'm a...cripple." He lowered his head, his chin practically touching his chest. "Maybe I am."
Paige hated the hopelessness in the teenager's tone. She grasped at anything to say to make him feel better. "Franklin Delano Roosevelt was President of the United States and he was in a wheelchair."
Ben looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown three noses. "I don't want to be President of the United States. I want to play football."
Ben's major problem was he didn't want to change his view of his future, let alone his life. "Your parents tell me you get good grades. Doesn't anything else interest you?"
Ben's eyes were no longer defiant but dull and lifeless. "I started playing football with friends when I was eight years old. In junior high, I could run faster than anybody else on the team. I've practiced and played in heat and rain and mud and I love it. Nothing...absolutely nothing can replace football."
She said softly, "It's not only the game, is it? As star quarterback, you received an awful lot of attention."
His smile was smug. "Girls couldn't wait to go out with me."
"But were they going out with you because you were the star quarterback or because you were Ben Hockensmith?"
The smugness faded along with the smile. "What difference does it make?"
"You tell me."
He was quiet. Finally he admitted, "I guess I was more important when I was quarterback."
"Do you want people to like you for that reason?"
Ben shifted restlessly in his chair. "I don't know. I just..."
"Just what?"
He stared pensively at the leg that wouldn't work as well as he wanted it to. "When I first had the accident, everybody was there. With flowers and cards and...just there. Then I went into rehab for a month and it was like everybody forgot I existed. And when I came home, I was a semester behind in work and everybody acted like the accident never happened. Like they didn't care anymore. My old friends...they're just not around now."
Her heart went out to him and she wanted to ease the loneliness and abandonment he felt, yet she didn't know how. "Ben, I don't know what to tell you. Change is hard for everyone. And people do get sidetracked."
"I have one friend, one, who still calls and comes around."
"Then he's a real friend."
"But I want to play football with the guys, hang around the sports store."
She heard the catch in his voice. "I understand how you must feel. But, Ben, you have to start over."
He raised his head and his eyes were shiny. "I don't want to start over. I want it all back."
She leaned forward. "You have to look ahead, not back."
"Now you sound like that counselor you sent me to. She doesn't understand squat."
Paige held his gaze. "Have you given her a fair chance?"
"Talking about it isn't going to change it. She wants me to take these tests."
"What kind of tests?"
He lifted one shoulder halfheartedly. "I don't know. Bunches of questions that are supposed to show what I like and what I don't."
She nodded. "Interest surveys. They're not exactly tests. They'll show where your strengths and weaknesses are, what you might be good at. If you take them, it might give you direction."
Ben pushed at his cane with his right foot and shoved it closer to his chair. "I know what I'm good at. Football."
Paige stood and went around her desk. She leaned against the front. "Will you do me a favor?"
His expression was wary. "What?"
"Do the interest surveys."
"It's not gonna do any good," he mumbled.
"Just take them and see what they say."
He surveyed Paige speculatively. "Okay. As a favor to you. You've been okay with me, Dr. Conrad. You're straight and don't feed me a line that everything's going to be fine."
She had to be honest with herself and her patients to treat them effectively. That had been her big problem in Africa. She hadn't been honest with herself. Compassion and honesty had gotten rolled into one until neither was clear.
But she had to forget that for now. "I want everything to be fine for you, Ben. But you've got to look ahead, not back."
He shook his head dejectedly. "I don't see how."
She had to make Ben open his eyes to new possibilities, but she didn't know how. She'd bet her stethoscope Clay Reynolds did.
****
Paige glanced at Clay as he drove Sunday afternoon, admiring his profile. His bone structure created strong, defined lines. His jaw especially was insistently masculine. He had a way of setting it when she asked him questions he didn't want to answer.
He was relaxed today. She knew why. He didn't think she'd mention Ben again. He was wrong, but the early afternoon had been enjoyable and she didn't want to break the mood just yet. She liked being with Clay, though her reactions to him confused her. Why did she respond so strongly to him? Because she was at a crossroads in her life?
Or was it Clay himself? His strength, his gentle support, his appreciation of life. He'd been enthusiastic as he showed her the hot air balloon. She'd seen it lying in a barn, all spread out.
As they drove back to Clay's house, she asked, "Is that wicker basket the passengers stand in really safe?"
"Randy said he's been piloting about ten years. He's never had an accident. So I wouldn't worry."
"I just thought when it comes back down to the ground, it would land hard."
"Not if it's done right. Do you think you'll try it?"
"I'm not sure."
His quick glance was puzzled. "You fly in planes, don't you?"
"Yes. But they're closed in. This is open, suspended in midair."
Clay flicked on his turn signal and passed a tractor rumbling in front of them. "Did you ever want to be a bird?"
"Not particularly."
He chuckled. "You've never sat on a hill and looked up and wondered what it would be like to soar above everything, to be free to go high and low and see the world from an entirely different perspective?"
"No. I've sat on a hill, stared out at miles of sand and dry earth, and wondered what in the world I could do for these people to make their lives easier."
"You're a crusader."
"No! No, I'm not." She hated when anyone called her that. It was not meant as a compliment but more as a click of the tongue, as if she and her parents were all Don Quixotes charging at windmills.
Clay's voice was gentle. "There's nothing wrong with crusading if that's what you want to do."
He seemed sincere--sincere enough for her to want to confide her confusion about the direction of her life. But she couldn't do that. She had to solve this one herself.
Shep greeted Paige and Clay at the door when they returned to Clay's house. He stood on his hind legs, his paws on Paige's thighs.
"Shep, down," Clay commanded.
He got a tilt of the head from the dog as if he was asking, "Do you really mean it?"
Paige laughed. "It's okay." She patted Shep's side and scratched around his ears.
Clay shook his head. "I don't know what it is with him when he's around you. He usually follows commands. I take him to the store and he doesn't bother the customers."
Paige gave the animal a final pat, and the dog pushed away. He trotted into the kitchen, heading toward the back door.
Clay went after him. "He wants to go out. We can sit at the table to talk about the games."
In
the car they'd talked about the countryside, music, Doc. They hadn't gotten around to the Fourth of July. Paige followed Clay. "How long have you had Shep?"
"Since I moved here."
"I've often wanted to have a dog."
Clay opened the back door and Shep ran outside. "Another part of a normal life?"
"I guess." Someone to love that would be strictly hers. She'd always felt her parents belonged to the world, not to her in particular.
"There are lots of them that need homes. I got Shep from the SPCA."
"Did you have a dog as a boy?"
Clay paused and came over to the table. "No." He pulled a chair out and motioned for her to sit. "As soon as we plan the agenda, we can go for that canoe ride. Days like this are made for floating in the middle of the lake."
So many puzzle pieces missing where Clay was concerned. He was close-mouthed about his background, yet his friendliness was genuine. "I really know nothing about planning these games. I mean, I know what a relay race is because we did that in physical education. But that's about all I know."
"Think fun, laughter, exertion. We need something for everyone. How about a balloon toss?"
"You bat a balloon back and forth?"
He laughed and sat down across from her. "No. You fill the balloons with water and toss them back and forth to a partner. The team farthest apart wins. We could do several rounds of it, winners play winners."
"I suppose these balloons break?"
He wiggled his brows. "You bet. That's the fun part. Wet hair, wet faces, wet T-shirts--"
She imagined her shirt molded to her chest and Clay seeing it. Feeling heat rise to her cheeks, she cleared her throat. "And what do the winners get?"
He studied her face thoughtfully. "We'll decide that later. Ribbons or buttons."
"What about baked goods? You said we need something for everyone. We could have a baked goods contest. The prize-winning entries can go to the winners of the games."
"That's an excellent idea. And maybe we could have a pie-eating contest."
"I can treat everyone with antacids after it's over."
"What else are doctors for?"
She thought about that a lot lately.
Clay reached behind the table and pulled open a drawer. Taking out paper and pen, he pushed it toward her. "You want to take notes, or should I?"
"I can." It would give her something to do so she didn't have to look into Clay's green eyes so often. They had a most disturbing effect on her.
"Three-legged races are always good," he suggested.
She wrote down their ideas.
Clay leaned back in his chair, rocking it on its two back legs. "What about a softball game? One for the kids and one for adults. Maybe we could sell T-shirts--"
Barking from out back had Clay's head swinging toward the window. Spotting Shep running across the yard after a rabbit, Clay swore, jumped up, and ran out the back door, letting the screen door slam.
Paige took off after him. The expression on his face had been grim. But she couldn't begin to keep up with Clay's long-legged stride.
Shep streaked across the yard, headed for the split-rail fence at the back boundary. Clay slowed, but when Shep curved to the right, he picked up the pace again.
Paige suddenly saw why. The stretch of fence for which Shep was headed wasn't split rail, but barbed wire. She tried to run faster to help Clay head off the German shepherd.
Clay yelled over and over, "Shep, heel. Shep, heel." But the dog paid no mind. The furry little creature scurrying in front of him held all his interest.
When the hare made a circle, trying to figure out which way was safe, Clay reached the fence before the dog. Paige thought they'd averted trouble, but the rabbit suddenly veered toward the barbed wire and so did Shep.
The rabbit dashed under the fence. Before Shep could follow, Clay tackled him.
By the time Paige arrived, Clay was playfully wrestling with the dog and scolding him at the same time. "You've got to leave the rabbits alone. They don't appreciate being scared to death by a big son-of-a-gun like you. That was probably a mama hurrying home to her babies."
Paige couldn't believe Clay wasn't yelling and swearing at the dog for the bother and fuss. There was a strong connection between him and Shep, and a caring attitude on Clay's part. In the countries where she'd lived, dogs were little more than wild animals. The villagers hadn't had enough food to feed themselves, let alone their pets.
Paige wiped her hair away from her forehead while her breathing returned to normal. Clay didn't even appear winded. Since she'd met him, she'd seen nothing to suggest he'd been injured in any way.
Shep looked beyond the fence toward the brush where the rabbit had disappeared.
Clay said firmly and loudly, "No, Shep. No."
The dog whined and gave his master a pleading look.
Clay repeated, "No."
Shep sat and cocked his head as if inquiring, "Why not?"
Clay pushed himself to a sitting position and pointed to the house. "Back home, Shep. Go home."
The dog glanced at Clay, the area beyond the fence, then back at the house. He took off in the direction of the house.
Clay moved his arm and Paige thought she saw him wince as he stood and dusted off his jeans. "I told old man Holtz this would never work. That section of fence rotted and his cows were getting out. So he rigged up the barbed wire temporarily. But there must be a nest of rabbits back there."
"Shep likes rabbits?"
"He likes the fast movement and thinks it's a game. I'm going to have to put up that length of fence myself so he doesn't get hurt. He thinks he can run under it like the rabbits do."
When Clay lifted his arm to brush loose grass from his knee, Paige saw his cut hand. "Clay, you're hurt. Let me see."
He glanced at the tricklings of blood. "It's nothing. I must have scraped it when I took Shep down."
She held his hand in hers and examined the top. "You didn't scrape it. You cut it on the barbed wire. It looks nasty. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?"
"Two years ago."
She ran her thumb over his, over the bend between it and his index finger. There were four cuts and a few scratches below his knuckles. "Do you have a first-aid kit?"
When her eyes found his, the awareness there shook her. She could feel the heat between their hands. Clay stood immobile, a deep fire glowing in his green eyes that made her excited and afraid at the same time.
He stared at their clasped hands then at her lips. He drew in a breath. "No, I don't have a first aid kit here."
His response took a moment to register; her body felt as if it were melting under his gaze. She knew she'd better release his hand before she stepped even closer and wanted more than a simple touch.
"I have my bag in my car." She started across the yard.
While Paige fetched her bag, Clay washed his hand at the kitchen sink, amazed that he could still feel her touch under the cool water. He could tell she didn't know her comforting little touches drove him crazy. He'd almost kissed her. He'd almost wrapped his arms around her....
Dear Lord, this woman got to him in more than physical ways. Once in a while, she used an unusual turn of phrase that showed she'd been out of the States. And it added to her... There was that damn word again--innocence. She even blushed!
Her exploration of his hand had been almost curious. Well, the curiosity would have to stop. So would the hot, tight ache that plagued him whenever he got too close to her. They'd finish planning games for the Fourth of July, take a quick canoe ride, and go back to being...neighborly.
When Paige entered the kitchen, Clay was prepared. Her soft scent wouldn't snare him, the vulnerability in her blue eyes wouldn't touch him. He'd set his mind to feats he'd thought were impossible. Defying attraction he felt for one woman should be easy.
Paige joined him at the sink, washed her hands, then opened her bag on the table. She took a gauze pad and a bottle of peroxide from inside. "Sit dow
n over here. The light's better."
"There's really no reason why--" The determination on her face stopped him. He might as well get this over with, and quickly. He parked on the chair next to hers and laid his hand on the table.
She smiled. "You don't have to look as if I'm going to chop it off. I'll be as gentle as I can."
He knew she would. That was the problem. He steeled himself for her touch, though her smile had almost the same effect on his nervous system.
Paige talked as she prepared the wounds. "I've noticed Shep listens most of the time. Did you train him yourself?"
The wet gauze was cold, the light caress of her fingers warm. "Yes. I got one of those DVD's. It worked well." He tried to ignore her thumb under his palm, holding his hand in the right position.
"You have patience."
He had more patience with others than himself. "Shep wants to please. It's just when a distraction or innate instincts take over that we have a problem." In some ways, men and dogs weren't so different.
Paige's sleek hair swung across her cheek as she leaned forward to dab at his hand with another sterile patch. The whiff of her perfume made him lean back.
He looked over her shoulder and stared at the pattern of the wallpaper on the wall behind her. "I took him along to Reisterstown last weekend and he behaved like a gentleman. Of course, he got plenty of attention from my mother and Trish."
"Trish is your sister?"
Clay nodded. The soreness of the cuts was nothing compared to the pain of another kind of need Paige stirred up by touching him.
"Don't you usually take him along?"
"No. I only go for short visits."
Paige unclasped his hand and rummaged in her bag. "You stayed all weekend?"
Clay grunted. "No. An afternoon and evening. Trish announced her engagement, so we discussed wedding plans."
"How nice!"
"She thinks so. I do too. Michael's a nice guy. But they've been living together for two years. I didn't know if they'd want to make it permanent."
"Have you ever been married?"
The tension in his body made Clay say more sharply than he intended, "No." He shifted his feet under the table. "Have you?"
Paige sat against the carved back of the chair, tube of antibiotic cream in hand. "No." She applied the cream on each wound, watching carefully what she was doing.
Love In Bloom Page 4