The next morning a new physical therapist came for her first visit. The first of many. And I knew the moment I saw her that I would hate every single one. She just looked severe. There wasn't a soft edge to the woman, and when she opened her mouth, she only confirmed my suspicion. "Hey, Sarah. I'm Karen." She had a tight red bun perched at the crown of her head, and her nose was as straight as her thin lips. Frankly, she was a bit scary. "I'm not going to like this, am I?" I didn't mean to sound ornery right off the bat, but she could have given me a little friendlier introduction, one that consisted of more than four words. Her green eyes met mine, and her pupils were tiny. The way she looked through me sent a shiver up my spine. "Not if you're looking for an easy fix." Well, that was pointed. "But if you're serious about the possibility of regaining mobility, then you'll suck it up and put in the work." Karen gave me the once over, and apparently didn't seem
Jack Adams was getting harder and harder to pin down. And when I was able to locate him, his mind was everywhere but on the task at hand. We didn't live in a huge town, but that man was covering more square miles than everyone else in the county combined. I wound up at the hospital because I couldn't find him at home, the bank, the hardware store, or my parents' house. It had been almost a week since Sarah's last surgery, and Jack was scrambling to keep things in order. Sarah was back in the hospital, recovering. I didn't know when they'd move her to the therapy center again since they had her in physical therapy at the hospital. I just knew it would happen because Jack had said it would. I'd done my best to avoid the hospital since the day she'd woken up, but after the surgery to try to repair her spinal cord, Jack was practically living here again. I think it had more to do with Sarah's mental state than his need to be present for anything going on. He floated back
I was mortified at the idea of anyone trying to make her feel bad about what she was going through. This was one of the hardest times of her life; hell, she was lucky to be alive. If I were ever privy to anyone trying to tell her to suck it up, I'd give them a clear message regarding their behavior. I'd be damned if I didn't put them through a window. "You're not making a scene." I wasn't great with words and even worse at empathy, so I tried to keep my voice gentle. I tended to have a rather deep timbre, and in this stark room, it reverberated rather forcefully. The last thing I wanted to do was come across as patronizing. "You've been through a lot. I think you're entitled to show some emotion." I needed her to look at me, to give me an indication that she heard me, but I got nothing. "Most people would have cracked under the pressure you've been under. You are an incredibly strong woman." She shook her head, and her messy blond curls bounced with the movement. "I'm
That moment-time with Charlie-stayed with me long after he had left. I couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he had touched my face, how his gaze almost caressed my soul, and when he parted his lips and my name flowed past-I didn't even realize he knew my name. He'd been under no obligation to stay. I wasn't delusional enough to believe he'd been there for me in the first place. Heck, he'd flat out asked for Daddy, but he hadn't left. Charlie Burin had seen me at my lowest, yet instead of turning up his nose in disgust at my injuries and the aftermath of what the accident had left behind, he'd been tender, gentle, kind. It was a side of Charlie I didn't know existed, and I fell that much harder for the boy whose heart I'd never win. Either way, it had been enough to carry my spirits through the rest of the day, and I woke up today filled with more hope than I'd had since I came out of the coma. And then, there he was. He appeared early in the morning with two cups
"Focus on breathing." His instruction was firm and left little room for discussion. "Deep, even breaths." He didn't move my knee while he spoke, waiting for me to align myself with what he'd told me to do. "When I bend your knee, I want you to take a deep breath in, and then as I straighten your leg, release the breath, trying to make the exhale last through the entire movement. Time your intake and exhale with each repetition, focusing on filling your lungs. It will bring oxygen to the muscles and help with the pain." All I could do was nod. The truth wasn't I didn't know if I could do it. I didn't deal well with pain, and this went beyond anything I'd ever experienced. "Ready?" Michael waited for my hesitant confirmation. "Here we go, then. Deep breath in, fill your lungs with as much air as possible. In, in, in, in." He chanted as he bent my knee to a ninety-degree angle, pressing my lower back into the immobilizer and my hip into the crummy hospital mattress.
Each day was a repeat of the last, and Charlie kept showing up for every one of them. Therapy session after therapy session, he never missed one. I didn't have any idea how he managed to work at his parents' ranch or Daddy's along with being with me daily, but selfishly, I feared asking would alert him to the fact that he could be doing something else. Every morning, he appeared with two cups of coffee, and recently, he'd added breakfast. I didn't know the why behind that, either. And I almost didn't want to know the answer. If he was doing this out of pity, or out of deference to Daddy, or even if he just somehow didn't have anything better to do... I couldn't bring myself to believe that Charlie would have any ulterior motive for his attention. His attitude and actions went far beyond helping a family friend, especially one he hadn't previously been close to. He got along well with the therapists, and he had made friends with the doctors. Just like in high school, the guy ma
Daddy sat in the chair that Charlie had managed to finagle out of the nurses, and he'd pulled my swinging table up to use it as a desk. There were papers scattered all over it, and he had his checkbook out and a pen stuck in it. "Daddy, why don't you let me help you with that?" Cross Acre's books had been my responsibility since I was in high school. "I can write checks and pay bills." My handwriting might not be pretty, but if a doctor got away with chicken scratch, surely no one would question my wobbly script. He ran a hand through his grey hair. I didn't think I'd ever get used to seeing Daddy without a hat. There were rarely times I saw him without one-church and supper; that was about it. But in the hospital, he never brought one, although I could tell he'd had one on in the truck from the ring it left behind. "I've got it, sweetheart." I sighed. "You're being silly. Just because my body isn't working right doesn't mean my mind won't function." I waited fo
Charlie tossed out a card and then laid his hand on the mattress. "Royal flush." He was proud of himself and fought the smirk that indicated just how much. "Flush? I thought we were playing gin." I didn't really, but seeing his expression fall was nothing short of adorable. "I'm kidding." I tossed my cards onto the pile. I didn't have a clue about how to play poker. He could have had four of a kind and told me it was a straight, and I wouldn't have known the difference. "Another hand?" He had already started to shuffle the cards, and then as he started to deal, I picked them up one by one. "You're supposed to wait until the dealer's done before you pick up the cards." I rolled my eyes. "Remind me of that if we're ever in Vegas. I don't think anyone on the ward is going to call the poker police." "For some reason, I don't ever see you on the strip in Vegas." He chuckled and kept doling out cards before he stacked the remainder of the deck between us.