“What do you have in mind?”
“If you work really hard today, maybe we can take some of your therapy sessions outside next week and make sure you don’t go stir-crazy.”
“Sure, I’m up for it. But why not today?”
“I think you need a little more work on the balance ball and the bars first. But come Monday, we’ll go for a walk. With your walker. Traversing uneven ground is excellent therapy and you could use some fresh air and sunlight.”
It sounded like a great idea and he needed the distraction. Something to look forward to as whatever life he’d lived before crumbled around him.
* * *
Lexie stepped onto the porch of the Rawlins ranch and rang the bell. Church had been nice, seeing people she hadn’t seen in a while, and she’d looked forward to avoiding Clint’s charm for the rest of the day. But she couldn’t let his mom down. Audrey needed a family outing and to know that Clint would be fine, so she could enjoy it.
Long minutes passed before a clunking noise sounded on the other side. Clint’s walker.
The door opened. He wore his typical track pants and T-shirt like he did on their therapy days.
“You ready?”
“For what?” He frowned. “I thought this was your—our—day off.”
“No therapy today. You did great yesterday, so your reward is a picnic lunch.” She stepped inside and hung her purse on the hall tree. “Cooper wanted everybody to go to the Old Spanish Trail for lunch. Apparently that’s something y’all usually do on Sunday after church. But your mom didn’t want you to be alone any longer.” She hurried to the kitchen as his walker thunked along lagging behind her.
“I can take care of myself.” His tone turned defensive.
“I know that. And you know that. But she doesn’t know that. You’re her baby boy and you’re hurt. I promised to come here so they could go and she wouldn’t worry.” Lexie winced. She probably should have skipped the part about the family lunch. Even though he knew about Ted now, Clint might still be struggling with the new man in Audrey’s life. But if he felt left out of the family gathering, he wasn’t showing it.
“Is that what you wore to church?”
“I wear jeans to Wednesday night Bible study since it’s casual, but not for Sunday service. I stopped by the house and changed.” She dug around in the refrigerator. “I thought we could warm up that soup your mom made for lunch yesterday and enjoy the pretty day.”
“I’m all about leftover tortilla soup and being outside.”
“Me, too. Do you know where your mom keeps plastic bowls with lids?” She found the Pyrex dish full of soup along with the pan of cornbread. Then she cut two nice-sized pieces, put them on a plate and zapped them in the microwave.
“Used to be in here.” He opened a cabinet. “Yep. How many you need?”
“Three.” She ladled the soup into a glass bowl, took the cornbread out of the microwave and put the soup in. “What about a thermos?”
“Bottom cabinet on the other side of the dishwasher.”
“Think you can put the cornbread in a bowl for us?” She dug the thermos out, poured tea into it from the pitcher kept in the Rawlinses’ fridge.
“I’ll try not to dump it all in the floor.” He clunked his way to the table and set three bowls and lids down.
It hadn’t taken him as long to collect them as she’d expected.
“Give it a whirl.” She dug a set of tongs out of a drawer, set them and the bowl of warmed bread on the table. “Don’t stress over it. If it’s too hard or frustrates you, I can take over. But sit down to do it.”
“Good idea.” He kerplunked into a chair.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as he worked the tongs, using both hands, a frown creasing his forehead. Not so firm a grip that he crumbled the cornbread, she noted. He successfully transferred it into the bowl. Very impressive.
The bell dinged on the microwave and she retrieved the warmed soup, then sat across the table from him to place each helping in the plastic containers.
Just a few crumbs dotted the table as Clint snapped the lids on his bowls. He stood, thudded over to the sink and grabbed a dishcloth, then came back and slowly wiped the mild mess into his other hand. Without dropping any, he went over to the trash can and threw it away.
“Do you realize what you just did?”
“Cleaned up my own mess. Did Mom tell you where the picnic basket is?”
“No. I was planning on using a grocery bag.”
“Not around here. She’s got the white-and-red-checked blanket and the whole shebang with plates, cups and utensils in the basket. We used to go camping a lot when Carly and I were kids.”
“I’ve never been camping,” she admitted.
“A travesty.”
“Not really. I don’t like bugs. I really prefer heated or air-conditioned premises, and plumbing is a must.”
He chuckled. “Typical female. We had a camper with air, heat and plumbing.”
“I might could go for that.”
“She used to keep the basket in the foyer closet. I’ll go take a look.” He plodded toward the front of the house.
She could have done it much faster. But he needed to do things on his own when he could. Especially with the progress he was making.
By the time he came back carrying a basket with the checked blanket folded on top, she had their lunch lined up on the table.
“Looks like we’re all set,” she murmured, stowing the items in the basket. “Ready?”
“We better not go far. As slowly as I move, the food will be cold.”
“You’re really doing great.” She made a point to meet his gaze, even though the intensity of his green eyes did a number on her pulse. “Can you imagine doing that professional cornbread transfer when you first got home?”
“No.”
“Yesterday at lunch, you got very little soup on your shirt and you cleaned up your very minor mess just now.”
“I did, didn’t I.” He smiled and it reached his eyes for the first time since she’d met him.
Oh, those eyes.
She turned away. “Let’s go. Time’s a-wasting.”
They made their way slowly outside. “I’m thinking under that live oak is the perfect picnic spot.” And it was only a few yards from the back of the house.
“Maybe we could go on that walk after we eat?”
“Baby steps,” she reminded him. “This is your prologue to the walk tomorrow.”
“Is this a test? And if I fail, I don’t get to walk?”
“No. It’s a practice run.”
He made it to the steps. The walker was twice as deep as each porch step, leaving the apparatus with two feet suspended in the air.
“Hold up, I’ve got it.” Lexie set down the basket and held his walker steady, countering with her weight.
Then reality hit. “Why does everything have to be so hard?” Clint grumbled.
“It won’t be hard for long. Right?”
“Right.” But his tone came out flat.
“I’ve got you, I promise.”
“How can that be? I outweigh you.”
“Surely you don’t think this is my first rodeo. I’ve had patients who outweighed you.” Poor guy. Afraid to step off the porch. A task he used to do without thinking. “Trust me.”
Clint shuffled one foot down, then the other.
“Perfect. Now set the walker on the next one.”
He tipped forward, but she steadied the walker, and him.
Slowly, painfully he progressed until he stood on the sidewalk. His face was flushed. From effort or embarrassment? Probably a little bit of both.
As they inched their way down the walk, his coloring returned to normal.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” She slowed her stride
to match his halting movements. “You’re not clumsy or awkward. Your brain just doesn’t remember how to make your hands and feet move right. Just for now. But we’re teaching, retraining your brain. The only way you’d have any right to be embarrassed would be if you went to bed and didn’t try.”
“You’ve had patients like that?”
“Too many,” she admitted.
“What happened to them?” A tendon in his jaw tensed.
“They’re still in bed.”
They made it to the shade and Lexie spread the blanket out, placed the picnic basket in the middle.
“Maybe I should have brought chairs.” She hadn’t really thought about him trying to get down to the ground.
“I’ve got this.”
“The best way—”
But he’d already turned his walker around, bent, gripped the lower bars, then lowered to his knees and onto his hip.
“Wow! You did that exactly like I was about to instruct you.”
He shrugged but she could tell that her praise pleased him. “I’ve had some practice when you weren’t here. In fact, I googled how to do a few things.”
“You’re getting very self-sufficient.” She opened the basket, handed him a warm bowl, divvied out the utensils and cornbread, then poured their teas.
“Thanks to you.”
“And Google.”
“If only my memory would progress.” He blessed the food with a thankful prayer and a petition to restore his mind and body.
“So what did you plan to do with your time off between jobs?” Clint hadn’t missed his mouth or dropped anything yet.
“I have no idea. Everybody in my life thought I needed time off, so I was doing it to appease them.” She sighed. “I tend to put everything into my job and have very little social life. It works for me, but my parents and friends are certain I’ll burn myself out. I’d honestly have been bored to tears with a month and no job.”
“So I saved you from boredom.”
“Yes and I appreciate it. Do you remember what you used to like to do in your free time?”
He frowned, obviously trying to remember, overthinking her simple question.
“From what I remember, I usually stayed so busy with the ranch that I didn’t have any spare daylight. But I liked to go camping. I even considered buying a camper several years ago. Back before Dad got sick, before the ranch became my sole responsibility.”
“The ranch is doing well now. And you’ve had a week off already. When we get you back to a hundred percent, you should buy that camper. In fact, I heard you’ve got a rodeo purse to spend.”
“I could do that.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe I will if—when—I recover. And I could introduce you to camping. I mean, not together. Well sort of. You could sleep in the camper and I’d make a tent if you wanted to go sometime.”
“That actually sounds fun.” It sounded dreamy. Spending time with him once he was whole again. But when he fully recovered, he’d probably travel the rodeo circuit with his camper. “But by then, I’ll be busy with my new job.”
“Do you think we’ll see each other once my therapy is over?” he asked.
“If we both stick around here. Medina is a very small town.” But that was all it could be. Seeing one another in passing. Even when he fully recovered physically and he wasn’t her patient any longer, she couldn’t trust a relationship built on a patient having a crush on his therapist. And especially not if the emotion and decision-making aspects of his brain were permanently damaged.
Tread carefully and keep her heart out of it.
“This is where Carly used to try to make me have tea parties with her when we were kids.” He tilted his head back and looked up into the branches of the gigantic tree.
“Sounds like some rough childhood you had there.”
“Ha ha,” he shot back. “But in all seriousness, I know I was very blessed. I look back now and realize she just wanted to spend time with her little brother.” Suddenly he grimaced. “All my friends had brothers, so back then I thought I was cursed with only a sister. I could have been nicer, found something we could play together.”
“Little boys don’t think like adults, though.”
He turned toward her. “How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“Was that lonely for you?”
“Not at all,” she answered. “I had my friend, Larae. Since my parents worked at her ranch, I went there every day after school. So we were constantly together, practically like sisters.”
“And Larae lives here?”
“She just moved back last year. I got to sit with her at church this morning, along with another friend of ours. It was great for all of us to be there together again.”
He finished his last spoonful of soup and his cornbread was long gone.
“We better get back to the house,” she said.
“Can’t we stay out here?”
“I think Carly is bringing the kids to see you. So I’ll head home, spend some time with my folks and see you tomorrow.” She put her bowl back in the basket.
“Let me.” He picked up each of his items and placed them back carefully into the basket. With a tight grip on the lower bar of his walker, he leaned on his hip and started to get on his knees. But he lost his balance and fell back on his hip.
“Here.” She stood, offering him her hand.
But he shooed her away. “I can do it,” he snapped. “Just go back to the house.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She nodded. “I’ll get the basket and the blanket.”
“Leave the blanket. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m folding it by myself and bringing it back to the house.”
“Okay.” She grabbed the basket and turned toward the house. Leaving him there went against everything she wanted to do. But he was determined.
She stepped inside the back door and watched from the kitchen window. Another try to get up landed him on his hip again. Two more tries before he managed to get on his knees. He looped the corner of the blanket on the side rail of his walker, then stood. Then with one hand, he picked the blanket up.
There was no way he could fold the blanket and hold on to his walker, too. She winced as he struggled. With everything in her, she wanted to help instead of stand back and watch, but she knew he needed to figure things out on his own in order to regain his independence.
“Lexie?” Audrey’s voice came from behind her.
She jumped and spun.
“What are you doing?”
“We had a picnic.” Lexie filled her in on how well Clint had done, until the trouble he’d encountered with standing up.
“It breaks my heart, too.” Audrey fished a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Lexie.
Why was she crying? She dabbed her eyes. “It just reminds me of Levi.” She covered.
“Me, too. But Clint will be fine. Thanks to you. You’re the most caring therapist I’ve ever known.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “I better go since I promised to spend some time with my parents today.”
“I appreciate you keeping him company on your day off. See you tomorrow. I’ll make sure he makes it inside okay.”
Lexie had been told she cared too much. That she got too attached. But this was different. This time, she was smitten with a brain-damaged patient who was incapable of making sound decisions. So even if she was reading him correctly and he was interested in her, there could never be anything between them.
Chapter Eight
Though Clint had made it down the steps with more confidence today, Lexie had to slow her pace, forcing herself to wait on him.
“Where are we going?”
“To the barn. I want to see these beefalo you raise.” The structure loomed i
n the distance.
“You can go ahead. You don’t have to wait for me. It’ll take me half a day to get there.”
She flashed him a grin. “Not quite that long and I don’t mind.”
His next several slow-motion steps echoed with the thwack of his walker accompanied by bird chatter in the breeze.
“Was my dad embarrassed when he couldn’t do things?”
“Sometimes. At first.”
“He’d be upset if he was still here and he knew I went back to the rodeo even after what happened to him.”
“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But I’m sure he’d be worried about you more than anything.”
He blew out a big breath. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Sure, he was remorseful now, after a bull had cost him memories for two years of his life and taken away the ability to do simple tasks he’d done before without thinking. But what about once he recovered his physical and mental abilities? Was he a rodeo junkie?
“So is my mom sneaking off to see Ted?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She needed to tread carefully. Lord, give me the words. “I do know that he comforts her. And when he offered to stay away until you’re reconciled to things as they are, the doctor said he didn’t need to avoid your mom, that she’d need him.”
“Is he as good a guy as my dad?”
“Well, I’ve only been around him a few times. But he seems great. And I doubt your mom would be engaged to anyone who wasn’t.”
They made it to the steel rail fence. Several huge female beefalo with curly foreheads surrounded a massive bull.
A ranch hand near the barn waved. They returned the gesture.
“I don’t know that guy.” Clint set his walker aside and hooked his elbows over the fence. “From what I’ve seen, none of the hands I remember are still around.”
“You can get to know them. Until you remember.”
Metal clanks and bawling echoed from the barn. A reminder that the vet was there and the beefalo obviously weren’t happy with their plight.
“So why beefalo?”
“Some years Medina is really dry. Beefalo aren’t picky grazers and don’t require grain, so they’re easier and cheaper to raise. They’re hardier in extreme heat or cold and the meat is leaner with low fat and cholesterol. They breed longer and have easier births and they’re docile, like cows.”
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