That pleasant speculation was interrupted by another person coming into their section as if he owned the place—one of Evie’s least favorite people in town, Harry Lange.
“Oh. That man,” Katherine exclaimed when Harry plopped down into a booth at the other end of the otherwise empty section and immediately opened a newspaper. “He thinks he owns the whole blasted town.”
“It’s a good thing Mary Ella’s not here,” Evie said. “She’d probably go dump her water glass on his head.” Mary Ella, Maura’s mother, had a longstanding feud of unknown origin with Harry Lange.
Lange was about the only person who had more money than the Beaumonts. Evie knew he had sold the land up in Silver Strike Canyon that had eventually been turned into the ski resort and had been on the ground floor of the project. Maybe because he was richer than anyone else, he seemed to think that gave him the right to treat people in town like dirt. He was abrasive and annoying and raised her hackles every time she was forced to interact with him, which—blessedly—was rarely.
The man seemed to bring a big rain cloud with him. Katherine glowered a few times at Harry, Sage seemed to be studying him with interest, while Maura spent the rest of lunch moving her plate around and deliberately not looking at him.
The only time the mood lightened was when Dermot Caine himself delivered slices of his delicious blackberry pie. Nobody could stay in a bad mood while eating Dermot’s pie, with its flaky, buttery golden crust and the juicy, lemony berry filling.
“I guess we’d better get back before Ruth alienates all our customers,” Maura said when they were finished, still not looking at Harry, tucked behind his newspaper. “Happy birthday, Kat. Thanks for letting us share it. Evie, thank you for offering to buy lunch. I owe you next time.”
“My pleasure. I’m thrilled you could join us.” Evie smiled and stood up to hug her friend, vowing she would still find a moment to have a private visit. Maura turned and pressed her cheek to Katherine’s for a moment and Sage did the same, then the two of them left the diner.
“I should go as well,” Katherine said with regret, picking up the boxed meal they had ordered for Claire. “Claire’s been alone too long at the store and she really does need to go home and pack. Thank you so much for inviting me. You’ve made my birthday a lovely one.”
“It was all Taryn’s idea,” Evie insisted, winking at the girl.
Katherine squeezed her granddaughter’s hand. “That makes it even more lovely.”
They walked together back down Main Street toward String Fever since Brodie’s minivan was parked behind the store.
Evie already thought the summer crowds were beginning to thin. Traffic seemed more manageable and the crowds on the sidewalk a little more sparse. This weekend was Labor Day and after that, Hope’s Crossing would enjoy about two months of quiet before the winter ski crowds descended. Though she’d only been in town a year, Evie had learned she loved the shoulder seasons, when the year-round residents had the town to themselves, for the most part.
After saying goodbye to Katherine, Evie quickly helped Taryn into the van and began the short drive up the hill toward Brodie’s house. Taryn didn’t say much as they drove, she merely continued gazing out the window of the van.
Had lunch pushed her too much? She had seemed fine at the bead store but when they’d gone to the café, she had grown withdrawn and had barely spoken.
Evie tried a few more times to make conversation but Taryn didn’t seem to want to talk. At the house, Evie pushed the wheelchair out of the van, trying her best to remain cheerful in the face of this brick wall. “Talking about the game system at lunch today reminded me we haven’t played tennis for a while. Feel like a game?”
“I’m too tired,” Taryn said, the words clipped.
“Okay.” Evie worked to keep her tone agreeable. “I don’t blame you. It’s been a big day already and you’ve worked very hard. Why don’t you rest for a while and we’ll see how you feel a little later?”
“I don’t want to play. You should go home.”
Evie blinked. This was more like the Taryn of a few weeks ago. “Not yet. I still have plenty to do, writing out my treatment notes and making sure everything will be organized next week for Stephanie.”
“Just go home,” Taryn said. “I don’t want to work more today.”
“Are you sure?” She frowned. “I’ve only got a partial day tomorrow, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. I’m not...retarded!”
Evie straightened. “I know you’re not. Which means you should remember I don’t like that particular word.”
“I...don’t care...what you like.”
Taryn’s features suddenly seemed florid, unhealthy. Perhaps Evie had pushed her too hard today. A quiet afternoon wasn’t necessarily a bad idea, she decided.
“I guess it’s good you’re only stuck with me for a few more days then, isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
Taryn struggled to wheel herself through her doorway and then she slammed the door behind her. If she hadn’t glimpsed the misery in the girl’s eyes or felt such sympathy for her that she couldn’t stomp off in the middle of an argument like a normal teenage girl, Evie might have been upset and angry herself.
As things stood, it took a tremendous degree of effort not to follow after the girl, wrap her in her arms and whisper that everything would work out. Soon she would be herself again and this time of struggle would just be a bad dream.
To her deep regret, that was a promise she couldn’t make.
Ten
Taryn’s mood was even more prickly the next day. She refused to cooperate with any of the therapy activities, rolling her eyes or looking away or slumping in her chair when Evie tried to help her stand.
By early afternoon, Evie’s nerves were frayed and she was praying hard for patience to endure another hour, when she would be leaving early to set up for the arts festival in Crested Butte.
“Why isn’t Charlie here?” Taryn demanded as they worked with five-pound free weights to tone her weak muscles.
Evie frowned, wondering if Taryn’s medications might be affecting her short-term memory or if perhaps she might be having miniseizures. They’d talked about Charlie twice already that morning. She was positive of it.
Maybe Taryn was selectively ignoring her...or maybe Evie was the one having short-term memory problems.
“He has a court appearance tomorrow, remember? He told us he wouldn’t be able to come today because he would be meeting with his attorneys.”
“He should be here.”
“I’m sure he would agree. Even with your bad mood, I imagine he would much rather be here than sitting with a bunch of lawyers.”
“I’m not...in a bad mood.” Taryn glared. “Therapy is just...boring and stupid. So are you.”
She sounded as petulant as a four-year-old in need of a nap and Evie had to choke down the urge to tell her so. “Harsh,” she said instead, mustering a calm smile. “And all this time I thought we were having so much fun today. That’s it. Now give me three more biceps curls.”
“None of this is fun. I hate it!” With more strength and energy than she’d shown all day, Taryn threw the free weight as hard as she could muster. Evie didn’t have a chance for evasive action. The weight hit the side of her face and glanced off, landing on her shoulder before toppling to the floor.
Pain rocketed through her and she staggered backward a step or two, strangely aware as she tried to see past her graying vision that Jacques had moved protectively in front of her, even though he adored Taryn.
“Whoa!”
She heard Brodie’s exclamation from the doorway but couldn’t seem to make her neck muscles cooperate so she could turn toward him.
“Tell me that was an accident,” he growled, moving into her field of vision, w
hich was still hazy from the pain.
“Therapy is stupid and boring.” Taryn jutted out her jaw. “I’m so...sick of it.”
Evie managed to catch her breath as the pain dulled from that first rip-out-your-guts intensity to a steady owwww. She wasn’t sure which hurt worse, her face or her shoulder. She was in for some very lovely bruises, no doubt.
She didn’t worry too much about the shoulder but she was facing four days of interacting with customers at the art show in Crested Butte, and she really didn’t want to show up in the String Fever booth at the festival looking as if she had just lost the battle for the women’s featherweight world title.
When she pressed a hand to her face, her fingers came away covered in blood. Though it wasn’t sharp, the impact of the weight striking must have torn the skin on her cheekbone. She would be lucky to emerge without a broken bone or two.
She had never seen Brodie so angry. His features were tight, tense, and his eyes glittered with heat. “I don’t care how boring you might find it,” he snapped at his daughter. “That doesn’t give you any right to be hurtful to someone who’s only trying to help you.”
“She’s mean. She makes me...work too hard. I hate her!”
The words stung even more than her physical pain. While she accepted that she could never be best friends with her clients by the very nature of their relationship, she thought things had been better between her and Taryn. Barring the last few days, anyway.
“A month ago, you couldn’t stand up or put an entire sentence together,” Brodie said. “Look at you now. You can thank Evie for that.”
Taryn’s jaw firmed with stubbornness to match her father’s. “Not Evie. I’m doing...all the work.”
Evie could see Brodie readying an argument and she stepped forward to head him off. “You have been working very hard, Taryn. That’s not what your dad is saying. I think we’re both tired and out of sorts and in need of a break. I’ll be leaving early today and then you’ll have the long weekend to work a reduced therapy schedule with the home-health staff, and then Tuesday after Labor Day, Stephanie will be taking over.”
“I hope she’s not...a bitch, too.”
“Knock it off. Right now.” Brodie glowered at his daughter. “You love Evie. You told me so the other night.”
“It’s okay,” Evie said, her voice low. She wouldn’t let either of them see how the words hurt.
“No, it’s not.” He turned back to his daughter. “You’ve had a rough break, Taryn. We all know that, just like we know what a hard road you’ve had to walk to find your way back to where you are now. But just because you’ve had crap happen to you, that doesn’t give you the right to take your frustration and pain out on someone else, especially someone who’s only trying to help you. Apologize right now, both for throwing a temper tantrum that hurt Evie and for being rude.”
She glared right back at him. “Or what? I’ll have to stay here...with no friends and...do therapy all day?”
For a moment, Brodie looked as if he didn’t quite know how to respond but then he frowned. “If you hate therapy so much, fine. We can stop it altogether. You want to stay where you are right now? Let’s do it. Evie, don’t worry about coming back next week. I’ll call Stephanie and tell her to forget the whole thing. We don’t need her anymore. Taryn thinks she’s done with therapy. She’s progressed as far as she wants to go.”
Taryn looked down at her hands. “That’s...not what I want.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was small, her words more slurred and soft-edged than they’d been in a while. All the fight seemed to squeeze out of her and she slumped in her chair. “I don’t hate therapy. Or Evie.”
Though her face was throbbing and blood was probably dripping all over her favorite blue T-shirt, Evie stepped forward and ran her hand down Taryn’s hair. “I know, honey. I know.”
Taryn sniffled and turned her face into Evie’s hand. Startled, Evie’s gaze met Brodie’s and she found him watching the two of them, his gaze arrested.
She drew a shaky breath, with an odd sense of monumental, profound shaking and settling inside her. She had seen grainy old photographs once of a dam break years ago, not far from here, and that was how she felt right now, as if every emotion she had been trying to hold back had found first one tiny break in the wall to leak through, and then another and another until she was now awash with emotions, tenderness not only for this girl who had endured far too much but for Brodie, strong and protective and concerned for his child above all else.
“I’m sorry. I’m...a brat.”
“Yeah. Sometimes.” She managed a smile to take the sting from her words. “I’m afraid I can be a bit of a drill sergeant. I like to see you making progress and sometimes I forget how hard-fought that progress can be.”
“I shouldn’t have...thrown the weight. You’re still bleeding.”
She could feel the hot drops sliding down her skin. Suddenly all she wanted was to escape to where she could clean up and come to terms with these emotions she didn’t want.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be okay. I had planned to leave in an hour anyway. I’ll just head out a little earlier and take care of it at home.”
Brodie turned that stern, serious face on her. “Forget it. I’m not about to let you drive home with blood streaming down your face.”
“Hardly streaming, I’m sure.”
“Trickling, then. Either way, we need to clean it up.”
She wanted to argue but she had the feeling this was one of those times when Brodie wouldn’t be budged. Since she wasn’t sure she had the emotional reserves to fight with him right now, she decided a wise woman would simply give in to the inevitable and let him have his way.
* * *
What was that all about?
Brodie tugged a reluctant Evie into the half bathroom off the entryway, where he kept most of the medical supplies that weren’t directly associated with Taryn’s care. He probably could have found everything he needed in Taryn’s suite of rooms but he was grateful to have a moment to talk privately with Evie.
“Sit down. We’ll get you cleaned up and check the damages.”
“Really, Brodie. I can take care of this. I don’t need a nurse.”
“My house, my responsibility. Sit.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she complied and perched on the edge of the padded bench, though she looked as if she wished to be anywhere else in the world. He washed his hands before opening the cabinet for the gentle antiseptic wipes that, once upon a time, he had used to clean up Taryn’s scraped knees and elbows bunged up from falling off her bike or taking a header off the swing set.
He hated the reminder that his daughter now had to suffer through things he couldn’t fix with a kiss and a hug and an artfully placed Band-Aid.
With a sigh, he turned his attention back to Evie. Her cheekbone looked awful, streaked with blood, and his stomach turned all over again, as it had that moment he’d walked into Taryn’s room just in time to see her throw the heavy hand weight.
“I can’t believe Taryn would take out her temper on you like that. She knows better.”
“She’s had a couple of rough days,” Evie said. “My guess is that she’s hit a bit of a plateau and is beginning to be frustrated that she’s not progressing more quickly. Despite all her hard work, she’s still limited in so many ways and that can’t be easy for her to stomach.”
“That doesn’t give her an excuse to mistreat someone else.”
“Keep in mind also that underneath the injuries from the car accident, she’s still a teenage girl. They’re not always the most emotionally steady demographic to begin with.”
“There is that,” he said as he slid next to Evie on the bench and cupped her chin, tugging her to face him. Her skin was soft and he had to fight th
e urge to spread his fingers and explore the curve of her chin, the hollow of her neck, those soft, kissable lips....
He jerked his attention back to the matter at hand and forced himself to reach for the cleansing wipes. “I’m sorry. These are pretty easy on the skin but they can still sting a little.”
She winced and instinctively tried to tug away but after that first jerk, she remained motionless while he finished cleaning the cut, already beginning to discolor around the edges. With all that ethereal blond hair and those blue eyes, she looked slight and fragile. His wounded angel.
“What are the damages? Do I need stitches?” Her voice sounded a little husky in the intimate confines of the room and for some reason, color crawled across her features.
“Doesn’t look like it. You are going to need a bandage, though.”
“Any chance you have Spider-Man bandages in there? He’s my favorite.”
He had to smile. “Got a thing for guys in tights, hmm?”
“It’s the ‘web shooting out of his wrists’ action that always gets me.”
Brodie rummaged through the medicine cabinet. “Well, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment. I’ve only got plain old beige.”
“That’s okay.” Despite everything, she gave him a winsome look. “I can always draw a smiley face on it later.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, that tenderness jumbling around in his chest again. How did she do it? She had been deeply touched by sadness and grief in her life, but somehow she had still managed to climb out of it to reach out to others. He liked her, far more than he had ever expected a few weeks ago. She was sweet and funny, kind and compassionate.
She made him laugh as he hadn’t in years and reminded him life was meant to be savored, not conquered and subdued.
He was crazy about her.
He stuck the bandage on her cheek with fingers that suddenly felt thick and awkward. “There you go. All better now.”
Country Bride Page 36
