* * * *
Sipping her third Bud Light, Emma draped her arm across her stepfather’s broad shoulders. “What do you say we start a game of touch football?”
“You’re on, sweetheart. Let’s gather our victims.”
They were able to rope in a few willing players. Mason wanted to back out, but Connor dragged him in to the game, promising he could be on Connor’s team. By the sight of him without his shirt on—oh baby!—Mason could hold his own, but he always seemed insecure in large settings, even though everyone surrounding him was family.
Emma, Cole, Kent—Connor’s friend and assistant football coach at the high school—and Bumpa made one team. Connor, Mason, Paige, and Rick rounded out the other team. After three five-minute quarters, the score was tied.
“Okay, boys, it’s our last shot. We get them to fumble this possession, and then we score on our next drive. The game will be ours,” Emma growled to her teammates in the huddle.
“You kill me, Emma. I wish I had you on our team in high school.” Kent laughed.
“I can give out free advice on the sidelines this fall if you want.” She winked.
Emma put her game face on and worked her best to intimidate Connor, but he only smirked at her. She knew the play. He would pass it to Mason because that was the unexpected. She drew her eyes toward her victim. His jet-black hair glistened with sweat, his dark eyes bounced from Connor to Emma to Cole to the end zone. Paige hiked the ball, Connor stepped back, and Emma chased downfield after Mason keeping her eye on the ball. Connor fired a perfect spiral right into Mason’s hands. She heard the thump as he trapped the pigskin between his hands and glorious chest, and the wild, competitive side in her went in to overdrive.
Shouts from her teammates rang through her ears. She almost lost her footing but recovered and squared her bare feet in the lush green grass, bracing herself to make the block of the decade. Forgetting the rules of the game, she launched her body at her target, jumping onto Mason and knocking him to the ground. They both landed hard, but he shielded her fall.
She lay there sprawled out on top of him, panting hard, trying to catch her breath. There were muffled noises in the background. Her family hollering, calling her name, calling Mason’s. But the labored breathing of her and her victim’s drowned it out. When she thought she could move again, Emma sat up, straddling Mason. His skin had turned ashen, his left shoulder had bent extremely out of place, and his face crumpled in pain.
“Crap. Mason, did I hurt you?”
“No,” he moaned and closed his eyes.
Her years of schooling and time on the job as a physical therapist told her otherwise. He dislocated his shoulder.
“I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”
He sighed. “Let me up.”
“No, I’m going to fix your shoulder for you.”
“I got it,” he grumbled moving under her.
“Mason, chill. I’m trained to do this.”
“I’ve done it before. I can knock it back in to place.”
Ignoring his insistence to fix himself, she said, “Was it an anterior or posterior dislocation?”
“Anterior. Now get off me.”
Emma tried not to be phased by the fact that she still straddled him; as a trained professional it should not affect her in any way. She could totally handle a shirtless patient who had an impressive six-pack, sweat-slickened skin, and a body hard as a rock. Totally.
She bent his left elbow to a ninety-degree angle and rotated his arm and shoulder inward toward the chest, making an “L” shape. She felt him stiffen with pain and roamed her gaze over his body, noticing his tight jaw and clenched fists. Slowly, but steadily, she rotated his arm and shoulder outward, being sure to keep his upper arm stationary.
“Work with me, Mason. Let me know if it’s too much.”
Watching his face and trying to gauge the rate of his pain, Emma continued the same process, holding on to his wrist with the other arm and pushing slowly. When his lower arm went past the ninety-degree mark again, she listened and waited until she felt his shoulder pop back into place.
Skimming her hands up his muscled arm and gently massaging his shoulder, she asked, “How does that feel?”
A flood of relief came over his face, and he let out the breath he was holding. Emma rotated his arm in the other direction, back toward his chest then waited until the color returned to his face. While in work mode, the rest of the world halted. She wasn’t aware of the audience surrounding them until Mason opened his eyes and scowled at his onlookers.
“Show’s over,” he growled.
“Sorry, Mace, looks like you fumbled the ball.” Cole winked at his twin and tossed the forgotten ball in the air. “Good job, poptart. Should I run this back for a touchdown or call the game a tie?”
“Cole Tucker!” Meg scolded.
Cole wrapped his arm around Emma’s mom and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re such a softie. We Tuckers are built stronger than the McKay you married.”
“Shut up, meathead,” Connor growled. “My team gets the win. Your teammate didn’t play by the rules. This was supposed to be a game of touch football, not tackle.” He tried his best to come off pissed, but Emma could tell he was trying hard not to laugh.
“Yeah, totally my bad,” Emma said, then returned her attention to the man under her body. “I’m really sorry, Mason. Let me drive you to the ER. You really should have x-rays done.”
Mason slowly sat up, forcing Emma to roll off him, and rubbed his shoulder. “I’m good.” After a few breaths, he stood and plodded to the deck. Cole beat him there and opened up a bottle of Sam Adams.
“Nothing a nice cold one won’t cure.” Cole popped open his own beer and chugged half of the bottle in one gulp. “Damn, Mason. You got creamed by a girl.” Cole made himself laugh so hard he started choking on his beer.
“Prick,” Mason muttered.
“Okay, boys. That’s enough. Cole, you be nice. Mason, I’m bringing you to the ER,” Emma demanded.
“No. You’re not.” He stomped up the deck stairs and into the house, slamming the door behind him.
“What’s his problem?” Emma asked.
“Beats me.” Cole shrugged. “Probably hurt his male ego. He’ll be fine.”
“I thought he was different, but you freakin’ boys are all the same.” Emma snorted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, Mason’s not…I dunno, he’s not like you and Connor. He’s more…” Emma shrugged.
Cole mimicked her shrug. “More…?”
“He’s different. You and Connor are all alpha-male like, and Mason’s sweet and shy and…” She wanted to say sensitive but knew Cole would interpret it as a negative quality.
“Sweet? Where the hell d’ya come up with that one?” Cole finished his beer and reached into the cooler for another. “I’m the sweet, fun one. Mace is a mouse. We’re all still trying to figure the boy out. He made buckets of money doing his computer spyware stuff in New York but moves back here and buys an ordinary little house. Had a girlfriend for a few years, but no one ever met her. He’s not happy, not sad, not anything. Guy is as emotionless as they come.” Cole munched on a few Doritos and washed them down with more Sam Adams. “I’ve been trying to bring him out with me, but he wants to sit home and make love to his laptop.”
“You don’t know what happened with the girlfriend?” Emma reached into the ice-filled cooler and pulled out a Twisted Tea.
“Nope. Whenever I visited him in the city, it was just he and I. Guess they weren’t very close. I picture her as a little church mouse, kinda like Mason.”
“So you got all the bad boy genes?”
“Damn straight,” Cole said smiling.
Hannah and Tucker squealed as Connor picked up a squirt gun and sprayed his kids with water. Emma watched the scene with a smile. She wished she had a brother or sister to play with growing up but was so thankful her mother had found someone to love and could sta
rt fresh with a new family. Part of Emma wished she was still in the city enjoying the party life that came with it, but she’d missed her relatively new family in Newhall. The sense of security she never quite had growing up.
Meg rushed up the deck stairs, worry in her eyes. “Sweetheart, do you think Mason is okay? Should I ask Connor to bring him to the emergency room? It’s really not like him to be so sour. He must be in a lot of pain.”
Emma hadn’t been around Mason much, but he always seemed somewhat sour around her. They were virtual strangers, never having the chance to get to know each other, but anytime she’d seen him, he remained aloof. Which made him all the more alluring.
“I’ll go check on him,” Cole said and went into the house.
“Mom, what’s his story? Mason’s.”
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Meg tidied up the food table, cleaning off drips of potato salad and brushing chip crumbs into the nearby trash can.
“Cole says he’s pretty distant. He and his girlfriend broke up a while back, but no one knew much about her.”
“Leslie? Oh, she was a sweet girl. I met her once when Connor and I took a trip to New York. There didn’t seem to be any fireworks, not that I would have noticed. I was still a little love-struck.”
“Was?”
Her mother smiled warmly. “Am. Always will be. And I can’t wait for you to fall in love someday as well.”
“He’s very different from Cole.”
Meg laughed. “Oh, you can say that again. Speaking of Cole…”
“Ugh, Mom, don’t you ever give up? We’re friends. That’s it. I’m going inside to talk to Mason. If he’s not going to the hospital, he needs to come see me for some physical therapy.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Meg said.
Emma didn’t need to go inside, Cole and Mason came out. Cole with a grin on his face, Mason with a scowl.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Mason continued with his monotone, short responses.
Exasperated, Emma sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal. I feel totally guilty about hurting you. You won’t let me take you to the hospital, but you are going to let me take care of your shoulder.”
Mason stood silently looking out over the lake, avoiding eye contact with Emma.
“I want you in my office Monday morning for therapy. You said this wasn’t the first time this happened so I need to examine you. Feel around a little. We need to strengthen and tighten your shoulder.” Oh, she couldn’t wait to feel around a little.
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, my word! Seriously, Mason. Are you always this obstinate? If you don’t come to my office Monday, then I will go to your house. I’ll stalk you until you let me help. Do you understand?”
Cole laughed in his beer while Mason didn’t break eye contact with the lake, didn’t move a muscle. As if he was concentrating on something. On what exactly, Emma had no clue.
“Whatever.”
“‘Whatever’ as in you want me to hunt you down, or ‘whatever’ as in you’ll stop by Monday?”
Showing the first sign of life, Mason, turned his haunting eyes to her and said, “I’ll come by.” He walked down the stairs and out toward the horseshoe pits where his father and Kent were playing.
“Damn, I don’t think he likes you.” Cole laughed.
“What the hell is so funny? And why the hell is your brother so moody?”
“Hey, watch your language young lady, the kids can hear you,” Meg scolded.
“Ah, family reunions. We haven’t had any drama since your mom and Connor’s dating days. This is almost as good.”
“Whatever.” Emma sighed.
“Now you sound like Mason,” Cole teased.
She gave him a dirty look and marched out to the lawn to play with her little brother and sister, deciding to enjoy what was left of the summer day and ignoring the annoying, tingling feeling she got as she watched Mason bend down to pick up his discarded T-shirt.
Chapter 2
As Harry Radley, the owner of Creative Care Therapy, neared retirement and spent most days on the golf course, Emma’s cliental list grew. But her schedule had been exceptionally light lately, most patients foregoing therapy and spending more time in the sun or on vacation.
“Hey, Becca.” Emma smiled at the new receptionist. She was a recent community college graduate working for the summer while she figured out what she would do with her life. Becca, barely twenty-one, had blonde hair, blue eyes, an amazing smile, and a wonderful personality. Emma figured if the receptionist deal didn’t work for her, she could always model. “What’s the schedule like today?”
“Morning, Emma. Sue Bakersfield will be here in fifteen minutes; she’s running a little late. Had a hard time getting in her car this morning. The hip again. You’ve got Molly Jones at ten. She got her cast off on Friday and wants to go back to ballet classes next week. Her mom is waiting for your or the doctor’s approval first.” Becca continued to rattle off three more names while Emma flipped through the files of her patients.
“Great. Send Ms. Bakersfield back when she arrives.”
Emma went out back to check over the equipment. The space was perfect, not too big, and not too small. She had all the basic exercise necessities: treadmill, elliptical trainer, spinning bikes, recumbent bikes, and a few nautilus machines. To the left of the gym was a heated, 800 square-foot pool, nothing huge, about the size of a typical residential inground pool, but it was heated to a comfortable ninety-two degrees. The pool was a favorite among the elderly patients.
Slipping off her flip-flops, Emma picked up her ankle socks and laced up her sneakers getting ready for a busy morning of therapy. She reached into her small fridge, pulled out a water bottle, and wondered if Mason would actually show up, hoping he didn’t come when she was in the middle of a session or he’d have to wait, and she wasn’t sure he would.
The morning hours flew by, one patient after another, all needing specialized therapy. At noon, Becca found Emma in her office.
“Is there anything else you need me to do?”
Emma glanced up from her files, “No, Becca. Thanks. Have a good afternoon. Seems like a great beach day.” Harry insisted on only keeping the office open half-days on Monday and Friday during the summer. Someday, Emma hoped to take over. She had a lot of ideas on how to make the office more of a “center” by offering aerobic and yoga courses and even swim lessons for kids. In the meantime, she’d keep things status quo.
“Yeah, I may go down to the lake with a few friends. Interested in joining us?”
“Thanks, maybe some other time.”
“Okay, I’ll lock up.”
“Actually, you can leave the doors open. I’m expecting someone.”
“Oh, want me to stick around?”
“No, go have fun. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Becca turned to leave and bumped into an imposing figure in the doorway.
“Oh, can I help you, sir?”
Mason looked the same as he did on Saturday, but instead of shirtless and sweaty he was clothed—damn—and clean. The familiar scowl still donned his gorgeous face. Emma stood up and rounded her desk, sitting nonchalantly on the corner.
“He’s my last appointment, Becca. I guess you can lock up after all.”
Becca turned to face Emma, her back to Mason, and her eyes lit up, “Oh, sure. No problem.” A knowing smirk on her face. Unfortunately, Becca misinterpreted the situation, but trying to clarify the matter would only embarrass Mason.
“Bye, boss.” Becca slipped passed Mason and turned around to give Emma a thumbs up.
Telling her cheeks not to redden didn’t work. Emma felt the blush rise to her face, but it didn’t matter, Mason wasn’t paying attention to her, he stared out the window behind her desk. The man had a serious phobia of making eye contact.
“Come on,” she said and walked past him, lightly brushing up against his right side. She picked up a three-pound weight on her way and
led them to a private room, leaving the door open. Closing it would feel too intimate, even if this was a standard physical therapy visit.
“How does your shoulder feel today?”
“Fine.”
“Any pain or discomfort?”
He shook his head. So much for small talk.
“You need to lay down on your right side.”
Without uttering a word, Mason obeyed.
“Straighten your left arm.” He did. “Good, now move your left forearm across your belly button.” She put the weight in his left hand, her fingers brushing across his flat, hard stomach. Heat filled her face again. She tried to tell herself she was a professional but was having a hard time believing it. Why Mason had such an effect on her, she had no idea. It wasn’t like he was a nice person or charming or…anything other than incredibly sexy.
Emma cleared her throat. “Okay, pretend your upper arm is a door hinge. Rotate your forearm about forty-five degrees, then lower it for a complete rep. Good, now do three sets of thirty. It is imperative to keep perfect form. We’ll take a one-minute break in between each set.”
Mason was a model student. No complaining. He didn’t say a word, his face showing no reaction of pain, discomfort, or annoyance.
“Do you play poker?” When patients got into their exercise routine, Emma liked to keep up small talk, it often distracted her patients from their discomfort.
“A little.”
Ah! He speaks! “You’ve got the perfect poker face. I can’t read you at all. How do you feel? Is the weight too much?”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “No.”
Emma smiled. “You shouldn’t overdo it. If you’re not sore tomorrow, we’ll move up to five pounds next time.”
“Next time?”
“Yes, Thursday or Friday. You can’t do therapy only once. This exercise alone will target a portion of your rotator cuff muscle and help strengthen it. We’ll combine this exercise with two more, and you’ll be well on your way to regaining strength and motion in your shoulder. I expect you to come back for at least five more sessions.” She tried to sound cheerful, but it came off like a sales pitch. In a way it was, she wanted Mason to come back for more therapy. A purely selfless request.
False Hope (McKay-Tucker Men Book 2) Page 2