by Amanda Renee
“Brady, get it through your head.” Alice grabbed his hands and squeezed. “I know you’re feeling better and think you can take on the world, but this was a serious injury. You need to watch the video of your accident and see what happened to you.”
Brady shook his head. He had refused to watch the footage the first ten times Alice had brought it up because he feared it would deter him from ever riding again. That was a fear he wasn’t willing to face.
“Even with Dad’s fund-raising, my health insurance and everything else, it still only amounts to a fraction of what I owe. It’s not like I can get a second mortgage on my house. I don’t have any equity in it yet. All I have is my job—my career. I need to be able to live—I need to be able to support Gunner. And even if money wasn’t a factor, I’d still want to compete again.”
Alice released his hands and waved him off dismissively. “Bull riding isn’t an option and most likely it won’t be ever again. Switch to one of the timed events, like roping or steer wrestling. At least it’s safer. It terrifies me that this place is connected to a rodeo school. Haven’t you heard one word the doctors have told you?”
“They don’t know my body the way I do. I’m a bull rider. It’s who I am. I need to compete in two events to qualify in the All-Around Cowboy category. That’s where the money is. I’ve always competed in roughstock and I’m not changing now. Even if I wanted to, it’s not like changing your shoes. We spend a lifetime training for our events.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wishing he had his Stetson. He made a mental note to remind his father to bring it during his next visit. He felt vulnerable enough in his wheelchair—he hated feeling naked without his hat.
“I’d say they know your body better than you after all those surgeries,” Alice hissed. “How many was it?”
“That’s beside the point.” Brady backed away from the table. “Thank you for breakfast, but I have to get to therapy.”
For a moment, she appeared as if she might continue their argument. “I thought maybe Gunner and I could hang around here today. He really misses you, Brady. You’re not in therapy all day, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I get numerous breaks throughout the day. I miss him too, but please do me a favor—keep him away from my physical therapy. I don’t want him to see me like that.”
“I don’t understand what the big d—”
“I asked you nicely.” Alice’s relentless persistence was one of the many reasons why they weren’t romantically involved. Everything was always an argument. “I want to spend time with Gunner and I’m fine with you staying the day, but please respect me enough to do this.”
“Brady?” Sheila called out to him from the sidewalk leading to the picnic tables. “Is that your son climbing through the fence?”
Brady looked toward the corral and saw Gunner already had a leg and shoulder over the bottom rail. He stood to chase after him before his body had a chance to remind him otherwise. Dammit! He grabbed hold of the picnic table to prevent himself from falling completely forward. Sheila rushed to his side as Alice ran across the grass and pulled their son back through the fence. Gunner hadn’t been in any imminent danger, but Brady’s first instinct was to save him—and he couldn’t. If Gunner got into trouble, he wouldn’t be able to help him. That was unacceptable, and another reason to push himself.
“Are you all right?” Sheila asked, guiding him into his chair.
Brady attempted to shrug her off to no avail. Great, now I have two persistent women in my life. “I’m fine. Please let me do this on my own.”
Sheila stepped to the side when Alice returned with Gunner. “He still doesn’t understand that he can’t pet every horse he sees.” Gunner squirmed in her arms. “I’m Alice,” she said to Sheila.
“I’m Dr. Lindstrom, but you can call me Sheila.”
“I’d shake your hand but—” Alice struggled to keep a grip on Gunner. “He needs a nap.”
“You can take him to my cottage,” Brady ground out. “I’ll come find you after hippotherapy.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Alice said to Sheila before carrying Gunner away.
He inhaled deeply. Sheila’s scent hung like freshly laundered linens in the thick summer heat. He’d waited three days to gaze into her silver eyes, but now he couldn’t look at her. Not after almost face-planting into the picnic table because he was too weak to chase after his son.
“I’m late for therapy,” Brady said to Sheila, wheeling his chair onto the sidewalk.
“Do you feel pain anywhere?” Sheila walked alongside him. He appreciated her concern, but his embarrassment made him want to hide in his cottage with Gunner.
“Just my ego.” Brady stopped at the entrance to the hippotherapy center. “The kindest thing you can do is walk away and give me a chance to regroup.”
Brady didn’t even have to look. He sensed when she stepped away. Confident she wouldn’t follow him into the building, he pressed the automatic door button and wheeled into the cool corridor. As much as he preferred his hippotherapy outdoors, he wouldn’t have to worry about Alice and Gunner watching him in the indoor arena. His therapy consisted of more than just riding horses. Walking and stair-climbing was a huge part of his morning routine and it could be excruciating. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate with them there. It would serve only to reaffirm Alice’s opinions on bull riding, and it might scare Gunner to see him in that kind of pain. No thank you. There were some things a man needed to do alone. This was one of them.
* * *
WELL, THAT WAS AWKWARD. Sheila hadn’t expected to meet Gunner’s mother this morning. She hadn’t really given the woman much thought until she’d been face-to-face with her. She was attractive. She had huge blue eyes and glossy straight shoulder-length dark brown hair with bangs. Petite, but not short, she was one of those narrow women. Narrow hips, narrow shoulders. The type that made surgery more difficult because it didn’t give her a lot of room to work with. She didn’t hope to operate on Alice—it was just the way her brain worked 99 percent of the time. She was perpetually in work mode...unless she was in the dark with Brady.
The chances of that ever happening again were zero, zilch, zip, wasn’t going to happen—couldn’t happen—and she needed to eliminate all thoughts of it. Therein lay the problem. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Even when she thought she had, he invaded her dreams.
Meeting Alice shouldn’t have been awkward. Brady was her patient. She’d met many of her patients’ family members. Was Alice part of Brady’s family? She had to be something. They had a kid together. He said they weren’t married, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t his ex-girlfriend or even his current girlfriend. Could Alice be his girlfriend? The thought alone made her uneasy. Patients fell for their doctors all the time. She’d dismissed Brady’s attraction to her as a classic case of transference because she hadn’t been his doctor all along. They had learned how to handle transference in medical school and this didn’t fit. Nor should it matter.
That wasn’t why she was there. She had two surgeries scheduled for the afternoon and had decided to make her rounds in the morning. Tomorrow hadn’t looked promising either, and she didn’t like going more than a few days without seeing her Dance of Hope patients.
In the rare event she couldn’t make it, the facility employed two physician’s assistants, ensuring the best care was available twenty-four hours a day should any of the resident therapy patients need it. The fellowship at Grace General ensured she’d continue her association with Dance of Hope—if she was accepted into the program.
Her first patient today was an army veteran who’d lost his leg after his Humvee ran over an IED pressure plate in Afghanistan. She wished Greg had half the fight in him that Brady had. At twenty years old, Greg had already faced the harsh realities of life. He didn’t have a wife or child waiting for him at home. Despite months of mental and physical
therapy, he still envisioned a future alone. It wasn’t just his physical appearance. He feared he wouldn’t be able to support a family. She hoped that eventually he’d realize he had the inner strength to overcome any obstacle.
It was close to noon when she finished her rounds. She had seen every patient except Brady. She popped her head into the physical therapy room just as he was taking his last few steps with the aid of the parallel bars. From her angle, she had a difficult time determining how much pressure he was putting on his legs and how much he was relying on upper body strength. She imagined the earlier incident at the picnic table helped propel him forward. If the pure grit etched on his face was any indication, he still had a lot of fight left in him.
She closed the door softly and exited the room unobserved. Sheila hated interrupting someone’s physical therapy unless absolutely necessary. Patients deserved that time to focus on their recovery. Unfortunately, not all of her colleagues agreed. She’d seen countless doctors monopolize a patient’s therapy time because they didn’t want to inconvenience themselves. She had another hour before she had to be back at the hospital and didn’t mind waiting.
Sheila wound her way to the community dining area. Meals were provided free of charge to all residents and staff, but Sheila always felt the need to put twenty dollars into the nonprofit’s contribution box at the end of the buffet table.
She sat down at an empty table and unwrapped her ham and cheese sandwich. After slathering it with mustard and mayonnaise, she tore open her bag of potato chips. She was stress eating and the chocolate peanut-butter brownie sitting next to her Dr Pepper confirmed it.
“Do you mind if we join you?” Alice asked. “I couldn’t get Gunner to fall asleep. It’s been impossible to settle him down ever since Brady left the hospital. He only wants his father.”
“Please do.” Cue nerves. She moved her bag aside to make room for them.
“We didn’t really get to properly meet earlier.” Alice held out her hand. “Again, I’m Alice. You said your name was Sheila, right? Are you Brady’s doctor?”
Sheila shook Alice’s hand. “You are correct on both accounts. I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I was in the OR the night he was admitted but only became his physician last week.” She carefully chose her words, not knowing how much Gunner understood about his father’s injuries.
“Has he discussed his future intentions with you?” Alice’s emphasis didn’t go unnoticed.
They both looked at Gunner who was happily munching on a chicken nugget while dipping his fingers in the barbecue sauce.
“He has,” Sheila said. “I’m sorry, are you a family member? Because I can’t legally discuss a patient without their permission.” It was a legitimate question and one way of finding out more about Alice and Brady’s relationship.
“Sort of. I mean, not legally.” She ruffled Gunner’s hair. “We share Gunner and Brady’s my best friend, but we’re not together. I ask only because I hope—I pray—you are as strongly against his competing again as I am.” Apprehension reflected in Alice’s eyes. “He can’t go back out there and I don’t know how to get through to him. His father hasn’t committed to the idea one way or the other, which shouldn’t surprise me since Brady has a very singular focus, especially when it comes to bull riding. Unfortunately, those genes have already been passed down to my son and it’s all he wants to do, even at his age. If there’s any way you could sober Brady up to his new reality, I’d appreciate it. Gunner deserves to have a father who’ll be around and be able to do things with him.”
“I completely understand your concerns.” Sheila wished she could reassure Alice further, but without Brady’s consent or the knowledge of what Alice had already been told, she was very limited on how much she could say. “I have been well apprised of his career aspirations and I won’t clear him for anything unless he’s fully capable of handling it.”
“Thank you.”
Alice poked the lettuce in her salad with a fork before pushing it away as Sheila took a bite of her sandwich.
“I don’t know if I should be scared or thrilled at the sight of you two together.” Brady wheeled to their table, balancing his tray on his lap.
“Daddy!” Gunner climbed down from his chair and gave him a hug. “I missed you.”
“You did! It’s only been a few hours.” Brady set his tray on the table and lifted Gunner onto his lap. “But you know what? I bet I missed you more.”
“No, I missed you more.”
Brady wrapped his arms tightly around Gunner, burying his head in the child’s neck. “Why do you smell like my aftershave?”
“You might notice your entire cottage smells like your aftershave,” Alice said. “He saw it sitting there on the edge of the sink and decided he wanted to smell like Daddy.”
“That’s the downside to keeping everything at wheelchair level.” Brady set Gunner back down. “But it’s only temporary, right Doc?”
“That’s certainly our goal.”
Sheila noted that Brady didn’t seem too concerned she and Alice were eating lunch together. Maybe there really was nothing more to the relationship than Gunner. Then again, maybe he wasn’t concerned because there was nothing more to his relationship with Sheila than a little flirting on the Fourth of July. After all, if Alice and Brady could have a baby together without a romantic entanglement, what was a little hand-holding? Nothing. And that’s how it needed to stay.
“I’m just grabbing a quick bite to eat before I head to the hospital.” Sheila debated wrapping up her sandwich and stuffing it in her bag for later, then decided against it. She could handle another meal with him. “I had hoped to check in on you before I left, but I don’t want to interrupt your family time.”
Brady forked a piece of meat loaf. “You’re not. I’m fine. I appreciate your checking up on me, though.”
“Considering it’s part of my job, it’s not a problem.” Sheila felt the need to restate her professional position to both her and Brady. “The next time I’m here, I do want to thoroughly examine you.” Brady almost dropped his fork, causing her to immediately regret the statement. Alice’s quiet giggle only reconfirmed how poor her phrasing had been. “I want to compare your mobility to last week.”
“Just be gentle with me, Doc.” Brady winked.
Alice sucked so hard on her straw it made a loud noise inside the aluminum can. “Oh! Sorry. Do continue.” She beamed.
Was she actually condoning his flirtation?
“I’d like to talk to you before you leave.” Brady’s eyes held hers for a second longer than they should have before he looked at Alice. “Privately.”
“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” she whispered to Gunner. “Can you at least let him finish his lunch?” she asked Brady.
“If it’s nothing pressing, you have my number at the hospital and you can call me there. I need to be getting back anyway.” Sheila stood and looked at the little family in front of her. They were cute together. She could see equal parts of Brady and Alice in their son. She admired their relationship, whatever it was. Maybe someday she’d have something similar, although she didn’t know where she’d ever find the time or energy to provide the kind of attention a child deserved.
Seeing them together helped her understand Brady’s desire to compete again even better than she thought she had earlier. She was beginning to see it wasn’t just about money or being too proud to admit defeat. It was about taking pride in himself and his family. Gunner adored his father, in or out of a wheelchair. Hopefully Brady would realize he didn’t have to be a champion bull rider to be a hero in Gunner’s eyes. He already was one.
Chapter Five
Brady sat alone in his cottage, listening to the rain drum softly against the tin roof. The rain had started shortly after the three of them finished dinner. Alice had been right—his temporary reside
nce smelled of his aftershave, but they’d decided to eat there anyway, wanting a little private time.
He would have preferred to see them to the car after dinner, but Alice had questioned if it was okay to get his wheelchair wet. He honestly didn’t know. He didn’t think water would cause any harm, but she insisted that he stay inside just to be safe.
Safe.
It wasn’t her job to ensure his safety. It was his job to make sure his son and his son’s mother were safe.
The majority of the day had felt more normal than he’d experienced in months. He’d eaten breakfast, lunch and dinner with his son. He and Alice shared custody of Gunner and he was used to having him around 50 percent of the time. Since they didn’t have a formal court-ordered arrangement to adhere to, he saw his son whenever he wasn’t traveling from one event to another. And Alice always made a point to join him when he competed locally. He’d spent a good portion of the morning doing hippotherapy and despite the borderline torturous physical therapy session he’d endured that afternoon, he’d begun to feel like his old self...until it came time for Alice and Gunner to leave and he couldn’t accomplish the simple task of escorting them out.
He was mad. He was mad at GhostMaker. He was mad at himself for not holding on those eight seconds. He was mad for the miscalculation that had resulted in the bull goring him.
He was mad.
Brady closed his eyes and allowed the anger to fuel him. The angrier he was at the situation the more determined he became. He opened the bedside table drawer and removed an envelope Alice had given him earlier. If she had realized who it was from, he doubted he’d ever have seen it. The few sponsors that hadn’t dropped him had donated substantial amounts toward his medical bills. It didn’t come close to covering everything, but it definitely helped. When he’d opened the envelope earlier, he’d seen not only another check, but the rodeo schedule tucked neatly behind it.
He and his father had managed to keep the full extent of his injuries out of the media. The sponsors that had stuck with them fully expected him to compete again. He removed the schedule and clamped it between his teeth. He wheeled to the closet on the other side of the room and removed the folded walker Alice had noticed earlier when she and Gunner were playing hide-and-seek. When his father had placed Brady’s empty suitcase in the closet last week, it had completely blocked his view of the walker. He locked it in the open position and extended the legs. After double-checking his wheelchair brake, he cautiously stood, gripping the tubular aluminum as if his life depended on it. If he was going to plan out next year’s rodeo schedule, he was going to walk to the table and do it...not wheel there.
