She might have allowed herself to enjoy the view a little more in the stretched-out shadows of late afternoon but she wasn’t exactly in the mood for restful Zen-like contemplation of the mountains—not when she stood on Brodie’s doorstep holding a basketful of therapy-equipment catalogs.
Oh, she didn’t want to be here. Three days after Katherine had laid on the emotional blackmail, Evie wasn’t any more comfortable with her decision to help Taryn transition to a home-based program. She didn’t want to be dragged into this world again, not after she had fought so hard to find peace outside of it.
She would simply have to be tough and determined and remind herself that this was all only temporary. For a few weeks she could be tough and detached, clinical even. She could keep her emotions contained and safe, despite her relationship with Katherine.
It was only a job, right?
With that thought firmly in mind, she rang the doorbell and waited, expecting some housekeeper or secretary to open the door. When it opened a moment later, she was greeted by the unexpected sight of Brodie standing in the doorway wearing jeans and a white-cotton dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to midforearm.
His dark hair was slightly messy as if he’d just run his hands through it and he had that typical afternoon shadow that made him look somehow rakish and dangerous. Throw in a sword and an eye patch and maybe switch out the tailored cut of his white shirt for one with flowing sleeves and she could definitely see him sailing the high seas with Jack Sparrow and friends.
Yum.
That was the only word that seemed to register in her brain for about half a second, until he spoke and shattered, like a well-placed cannon blast, all those half-formed pirate fantasies.
“Evaline. Hello. I wasn’t expecting you.” His tone was stiff, formal, as if he were greeting unwelcome gate-crashers at some highbrow society function, and she had to fight down her instinctive sharp retort.
“Katherine asked me to stop by and check on the renovations in Taryn’s bedroom and bathroom so I’ll know what equipment we might need to order eventually.”
“Right. Of course.” He thawed enough to give her a half smile. “She mentioned you might stop by to check things out. It’s a great idea, one I should have thought of earlier.”
He held the door open wider for her. “Come in. The truth is, I’ll be glad to have your perspective on what we’ve done in her rooms, to see if we’ve missed anything.”
Brodie inclined his head in the direction of the hammering she could hear coming from the far reaches of the house. “The crews might be working all night to wrap things up before tomorrow but at least they’re down to the finished carpentry now. Come in. We can work our way around the dust.”
She gazed at that door and the muscled arm holding it open, aware of the tiniest flicker of nervous hesitation. Stupid. It was only a doorway and this was only a job. A few weeks, that’s all, and then she could go back to her happy place, among the good and kind beaders of Hope’s Crossing.
When she finally forced herself to move forward, Brodie ushered her into a welcoming two-story foyer decorated in the Craftsman style—clean lines, tasteful use of wood and stone, a stunningly understated burnished glass chandelier that had probably cost a fortune.
The house was appealing and warm, just as she should have expected. No one ever said the man was a tasteless boor. His sporting-goods store managed to be stylish without seeming trendy and she had heard that several of the restaurants he owned in Hope’s Crossing had won design awards.
He led the way down a long hallway decorated with photographs of places she recognized around Hope’s Crossing. The bridge near Sweet Laurel Falls, moonlight reflecting on Silver Strike Reservoir, a moose standing in a pond she had walked past often on Woodrose Mountain, moss dripping from his antlers.
While one part of her mind was enjoying the photographs, the therapist side of her brain she could never quite silence was thinking that this long space with the polished-wood floors might be a perfect place to practice walking with Taryn.
“I’ve moved her bedroom down to the main level,” Brodie said when they neared a doorway at the end of the hall. Behind the extrawide door, the sounds of construction intensified.
“That seems logical.”
“You and I might agree but I’m afraid Taryn likely won’t see it that way. She loved her room upstairs and I have a feeling she’s likely to pitch a fit about the new digs. Just one more major change for her.”
“Some things can’t be helped. She’ll get over it.”
“I’m shocked. You actually agree with me about something?”
She smiled a little. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it become a habit. In this case you’re right. It makes perfect sense to keep her room on the ground floor for now.”
“For now. Right.” He frowned. “I’d like to tell her she can move back up to her room eventually, but that’s one more promise I can’t make Taryn right now. It seems cruel to promise her that when we don’t know if she’ll ever be out of that wheelchair.”
Somehow she sensed this was important to him. Only logical. He was a very active, very physical man. One of his many businesses was a sporting-goods store and Brodie had even been a former competitive ski jumper at one time.
Katherine had told her once that Brodie and Taryn interacted most through skiing together in the winter, hiking and mountain biking in summer. No doubt the prospect of his daughter never being able to join him again in those activities would seem a crushing blow. She only hoped he wouldn’t pin unrealistic hopes on Taryn and could keep proper perspective. Walking again was only one of Taryn’s many hurdles.
As he opened the door, the scent of fresh paint wafted out and the thuds and bangs grew louder. She had a quick impression of a roomy, bright space with large windows and a light-grained wood floor. The room was painted white with some lavender trim and one wall of mirrors reflected the mountain scene out the window.
The construction workers apparently were installing large eye-hooks from the ceiling at various intervals, which would be perfect for hanging a pommel or swing. Around the corner from the therapy space, set in its own good-size alcove, was a sleeping area, complete with a hospital bed covered in a fluffy lavender comforter. A padded treatment-table just right for stretching ran the length of one wall and she could see a wheeled lift in one corner for helping to transfer Taryn from the wheelchair to different positions. The workmen were putting the finishing touches on a built-in cabinet in one wall with open shelves that would be perfect for storing odds and ends like exercise bands, hand weights, small weighted balls.
She had worked in world-class therapy facilities that weren’t as well equipped.
“Wow.” It was all she could say.
“We ended up taking out a couple of walls between rooms down here to make an extra-large space. Most of the work was focused on the bathroom, where we put in a roll-in shower and a lift tub.”
“This looks really great, Brodie. Perfect.”
“I hope we’ve considered everything, at least structurally. If you think of any equipment we need, just say the word. I’ve got a treadmill and stationary bike in the exercise room upstairs and we can bring those down, or if you’d like a different kind, we can get that, too. I’ve also got plans to have an all-season cover installed over the pool and hot tub out back so Taryn can continue to use them for therapy after the weather changes.”
Evie didn’t want to admit it, even to herself, but she was touched that Brodie was going to so much effort and expense for his daughter. Despite her best intentions, she was finding it a little hard to dislike a man who was so obviously committed to doing all he could to return his injured daughter to her previous abilities.
“Offhand, the only need I can see immediately is perhaps a table and some chairs in here so the occupational therapist can work on fi
ne motor skills during her visits.”
“Oh, right. I hadn’t even thought of that. We’ve got one down the hall in the media room I can bring up.”
She held out the basket, feeling a little like Red Riding Hood offering goodies to the Big Bad Wolf. “I’ve brought some catalogs with basic items that will probably be useful. Therapy balls, pommels, that sort of thing. I’ve marked them with sticky notes. There are a few other things you may want to consider down the line but I suggest you give me and the O.T. a chance to work with Taryn for a few days and assess a baseline before you make any decisions.”
“Great.” He took the basket from her, leaning a hip against the padded table while he leafed through the catalogs.
She found it interesting that even during a moment of apparent ease, when he was only looking through catalogs, he seemed restless. His toe tapped a little, he shifted his weight, he flipped a page and then back. It occurred to her she had never seen the man completely still. Was it her imagination or was that just Brodie?
She wasn’t here to wonder about him, she reminded herself, and forced herself to wander the room taking mental measurements. As soon as she shifted gears, her mind began to spin with ideas about how she could utilize the space for therapy.
This all seemed natural, right, as if the clinical part of her brain had simply been hibernating, waiting for the first chance to emerge and stretch in the sunlight again.
She should have known she couldn’t just twist a valve shut on years of training and experience. It was part of who she was. She had loved being a therapist, helping children in need because of accident or illness regain skills they had lost or achieve new milestones.
Until Cassie’s death, she had been extremely content in her career and had enjoyed knowing she was good at what she did.
Everything had changed when her adopted daughter died. What had always given her such satisfaction and fulfillment suddenly became a harsh reminder of her own failures. After the funeral, she had returned to work but quickly discovered that the passion and drive so necessary in a dedicated physical therapist seemed to have shriveled away. After a few weeks, she had known she couldn’t do it anymore. Her patients deserved more than someone going through the motions. If she couldn’t force herself to stretch past the pain—and if she was no longer able to find that joy and passion again—she had reached the grim conclusion it was time to walk away.
Apparently it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought to turn her back on the career path she had once loved.
“Can you give me your honest opinion?” Brodie asked, sliding the catalog back in the basket with the others.
“That’s usually not a problem for me.” She gave him a wry smile. “If anything, I can sometimes be a little too brutal.”
“Brutal is just what I need right now. Most of the doctors give platitudes and best-case scenarios. How the brain still is a big mystery and we have to wait and see, blah-blah-blah. It’s been more than three months and I need more than that. I know you’ve visited Taryn in Denver and I’m sure you’ve seen similar brain injuries to hers. When all is said and done and we’ve thrown all the intensive therapy we can at her, let’s be realistic. What are our chances for a full recovery?”
Oh, the dreaded question. Her stomach muscles tightened and she cursed that she’d ever allowed herself to be dragged here. Yes, she might have been hibernating. But right now she couldn’t help wishing she could curl up back in her warm cave where she was safe, and slide back into sleep.
“I haven’t seen Taryn yet from the perspective of a therapist, Brodie. Even if I had, I’m not sure I could answer that adequately. For one thing, full recovery is very subjective. Will she ever be exactly as she might have been if the accident had never happened? Probably not. That’s the cold, hard truth. People who have suffered traumatic brain injuries often have things they have to struggle with the rest of their lives. But does that mean she won’t be able to lead a functional, successful life? I’m sure the doctors at the rehab facility have given you a much more comprehensive outlook than I ever could.”
“They won’t tell me anything. Just about how the brain is still a big mystery, how every case is individual, how it’s a miracle she even survived the accident.”
“Six weeks ago, she was in a coma. Think about how far she has come!”
“Has she? Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”
“Tell that to Maura, why don’t you?” She tried to keep the anger out of her voice but she was certain some of it filtered through, especially when a muscle in his jaw tightened at the reminder of Maura’s daughter, Layla, who hadn’t survived the same accident that had injured Taryn.
“Taryn is alive. I know. I get it. She survived and I’m deeply grateful for that. But I can’t help wondering what quality of life she’s going to have.”
Though his features were stony, she heard the pain filtering through his voice and her anger faded. Whatever she might think of him, Brodie was a concerned father, worried for his daughter’s future and frustrated by the slow pace of her recovery. Evie had spoken with many such parents in her career and had been one herself for a few brief years.
Though she knew it would be far easier for her to keep a comfortable distance if she could nurture her dislike of him, she was sympathetic to his concerns.
Acting out of habit rather than conscious thought, she touched his bare forearm beneath the rolled sleeve of his shirt. A tiny spark jumped from his warm skin to hers and she pulled her hand away quickly.
“By the looks of things here, she’s going to have the very best quality of life you can provide for her. She has you and she has Katherine in her corner, along with the prayers of everyone else in Hope’s Crossing, which is no small thing.”
He didn’t look convinced. “We’re doing all we can. I just hope it’s enough.”
“You’re bringing her home tomorrow, then?”
“That’s the plan.”
She didn’t miss the glint of apprehension in his eyes. Again, she was aware of a pang of sympathy. The first night she took Cassie home, she had been terrified. Despite years of training and working with children who had similar disabilities, the idea of being responsible for this fragile person had been overwhelming.
“Have Katherine call me when you leave the care center and I’ll meet you here when you arrive. I’d like to get started right away.”
Surprise widened those startling blue eyes. “You don’t think she’ll need a rest? The drive from Denver might be rough on her, especially sitting in her wheelchair in the van for an hour.”
“I expect it will be tiring for her. That’s why I’d like to start working her muscles right away.”
“Whatever you think best.” He didn’t bother to hide his doubt.
“You asked me to do this, remember? You’re going to have to trust my judgment on some things.”
It wouldn’t be easy, for either one of them. Brodie was a man of strong opinions—their limited contact before this week had made that crystal clear.
“Actually, I would like to make one thing clear,” she continued. “I’ve agreed to help you only as a stopgap while you’re looking for someone else to fill the position.”
“Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. You want to get back to your beads as soon as you can.”
She refused to let herself flinch at the hint of disdain in his voice. Let him think what he wanted about her motives. She didn’t care. “While I’m only planning to be working with Taryn for a few weeks, I see my role as laying the groundwork for subsequent therapies.”
“I fully concur.” He was back to being the stiff, formal businessman, which she found something of a relief. That Brodie was much easier to categorize than the one who engendered empathy and compassion.
“Good. That makes this easier.”
He looked wary. “Makes
what easier?”
“I need a promise from you before Taryn comes home tomorrow.”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific. I learned a long time ago that the devil was in the details. What sort of promise?”
“I need to be certain I have full authority to do whatever I think is best for her care. I can’t have you coming in and questioning everything I do. If you have concerns about my methods, of course we can discuss those and you’re more than welcome to sit in all day as I work with her if you’d like.”
She really, really hoped he wouldn’t do that. She could imagine few things more disconcerting than having to work with Taryn while the girl’s entirely too gorgeous father watched from the sidelines. “But I need to know you’re not going to micromanage what I do here.”
“Full authority. I don’t even give my chief operations officer full authority.”
“It all comes down to trust. If you can’t trust me to do what I think is best for Taryn, this isn’t going to work out, even for the short term. You would be better coordinating her care yourself.”
“You’re asking a great deal.”
“Too much?”
He appeared to be consider. “I suppose it’s fair, especially since my mother basically guilted you into agreeing to help us anyway.”
She laughed. “Big of you to admit you sicced Katherine on me.”
“I didn’t get where I am today by refusing to capitalize on my advantages. My mother was my ace in the hole. I knew you could say no to me without blinking, but she has a true talent for getting her way.”
“Good to know she passed something on to the next generation.”
He laughed softly and her stomach muscles shivered. “Along with blue eyes, healthy tooth enamel and a particular fondness for artichokes,” he said.
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