by Toni Blake
“He’s rich,” Hannah had whispered just after introducing her to Tom when he’d come from the next ranch over to have dinner at the Bar J one summer night in 1974. Hannah then explained that he’d bought the Circle D Ranch “on a lark,” the man had told her, “’cause I like wide-open spaces,” and “the D in the brand matched my name.” He hailed from a family of Texas cattle barons, so he already knew a lot about ranching, “but I always liked horses more.”
“So basically, he’s dabbling in horse ranching,” Hannah explained. “Which is only a little irksome to me, since he seems like a nice enough fella. And if he runs the place into the ground, maybe it’ll ultimately be to my benefit. My impression is that he’s wealthy enough that a failed ranch wouldn’t be more than a fly in his soup.”
As far as Dahlia could tell, he’d moved into the ranch’s house, expanded it, and hired people to run the place. He liked the view, and he liked to watch the hands wrangle and tame the horses. He rode a large gelding named Midnight, and after he and Dahlia had started dating, he’d given her a pretty beige mare she’d named Sugar. That had been when she’d known he was serious about her. And the fact that she’d accepted the horse told her she was serious about him.
Now they lounged on a Hawaiian beach, whiling the days away. Hannah had hired a cook to fill in during the trip, which had alarmed Dahlia slightly. “I’ll only be gone two weeks.”
Hannah had only shrugged. “I’m not sure you’ll be back.”
“Of course I will. He’s invited me on a vacation, that’s all.”
“Well, your job is here when you return. But if something were to keep you away, then I’m covered.” She’d winked, and Dahlia had felt as if she were missing the joke.
Now, with a moment to stop and breathe and think, she understood. Her relationship with Tom had been a whirlwind—he’d been enamored of her the second they met, wooing her with roses and jewelry and fancier dinners than she had the proper clothing for. He’d bought her everything she was wearing on this trip, in fact.
And she was traveling with a man to whom she was not married. “I registered us as Mr. and Mrs. Delaney,” he told her after they’d arrived at the resort. Crossing the country in a VW van with other kids her own age was one thing, but a well-to-do man traveling with a woman who wasn’t his wife would be considered scandalous.
“Your lava flow, Mrs. Delaney,” a waitress said then.
“Thank you,” Dahlia answered, accepting the frothy red-and-white drink and wondering how this had happened. How had a girl who’d left home at sixteen with nothing but a beat-up suitcase and a prayer for a better life ended up in the lap of luxury with a man who adored her?
“I like the way that sounds,” Tom said with a youthful grin. He was thirty-one, ten years her senior, but he possessed a boyishness that put her at ease despite the differences in their ages and backgrounds. Then he repeated it. “Mrs. Delaney.”
She liked it, too. And when he looked at her, her skin sizzled. Of course, Pete had made that happen, as well. But they’d been so young, just kids. And Tom had a way of making her feel more like a woman than a girl, even when he was grinning at her like a sweet little boy.
He tilted his head and asked in his Texas drawl, “You like it here, doll baby?”
Part of her had wanted to be offended by the pet name, but it had grown organically from her name—at first it had been Dahlia baby, then just doll baby. “How could I not? It’s amazing.” They’d spent the last week soaking up tropical breezes, swimming in a little cove on the resort grounds, and driving around the island to take in spectacular vistas and more waterfalls than she’d known could exist in one place.
“I was thinkin’ maybe we’d just stay awhile. The Circle D can get by without me, and I reckon the Bar J can manage without you—but I’ll call Hannah if ya want me to.”
Dahlia was stunned. “You can just...do that?”
“I’m a fortunate man, Dahlia. Blessed with the means to do as I see fit. And now I’m blessed with a wonderful woman to enjoy it all with. Can’t see a reason to rush back and I’d be obliged if ya’d stay here taking in the pleasures of the islands with me.”
Though maybe she shouldn’t be so stunned—Hannah had predicted it. How had she known? It made Dahlia feel naive. Just when she’d thought she was so mature. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to,” she said, “but I can’t ask Hannah to hold my job indefinitely. And I need it.”
“Not if you marry me and become Mrs. Delaney for real,” Tom replied.
Like it was nothing.
She, on the other hand, gasped.
And he smiled. “Dahlia, I wish I could get down on one knee right here and ask ya to be my wife in front of every person at this resort. But seein’s as they already think we’re married, guess I’d have some explaining to do.” He winked in that endearing, boyish way of his—then got more serious. “I’ve been in love with ya since we met and it just gets better every day. Marry me, doll baby, and I’ll make you a happy woman. I’ll take care of you the way ya deserve. Will you marry me, Dahlia?”
She blew out a breath, taken aback, her heart threatening to beat right through her chest. She thought she loved him, too. He was kind and affectionate and generous. And Hannah thought well of him, which counted for a lot. The only thing was... “This might sound crazy, Tom, but what if...what if I don’t want to just be a kept woman? What if I want to do things, and go places, and find ways to make some kind of difference in the world?”
He grinned. “I know you’re into that women’s lib thing and that’s okay. I don’t want a lady I can walk on and control. Maybe that’s what drew me to ya from the start. Well, that and them pretty green eyes.” He winked. “I could see from the first that you had...a spirit that’s searchin’ the world for meaning. And I got no desire to stop ya from lookin’ for it. All I ask is you let me come along for the ride, doll baby. We can have a good life together—me and you.”
“Okay,” Dahlia said. Just like that. Because every word he’d said had been just right in his Texasy Tom way.
“Okay?” he asked, clearly trying to contain his joy.
She smiled, her heart feeling as big as one of the hibiscuses dripping from vines and bushes all over the island.
“You just made me the happiest fella in the world, doll baby.” Peering over the beautiful crescent swath of golden beach in the distance, he pointed. “We’ll do it tomorrow night at sunset, right there. We’ll be joined together forever.”
Dahlia bit her lip. Forever. Maybe it was a fast decision. But it seemed far wiser than marrying Pete had been. And forever, with Tom and his love and his willingness to give her everything she could want, including a little independence, sounded like an offer it would be crazy to turn down. Forever, here I come. “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Delaney.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“DAMN IT, WOMAN, are you trying to kill me?”
Some things never changed, and Zack’s grousing during physical therapy was one of them. But Suzanne had every intention of continuing to push him. She replied in her normal, calm tone—a habit from her nursing days that had come back recently, especially after learning that Zack’s bark was worse than his bite. “You know this is for your own good, and I’ve told you dozens of times—stimulating the muscles can only help.”
“If you want to stimulate my muscles, Suzie Q,” he said, narrowing his gaze on her, “I can think of ways to do it that are a hell of a lot more fun.”
A familiar heat ascended her cheeks, but now she just laughed. She never would have dreamed the key to relaxing the tensions between them would be sex—but unlikely things happened all the time, and the unlikely truth was that since this morning, even when he was grumpy, the fact that they were suddenly into each other had beamed a light into their forced cohabitation.
She hadn’t answered Dahlia’s text—simply because she had no idea what
to say. Zack’s joking avoidance on the phone had certainly left no doubt as to what had happened, but she didn’t know how to discuss it because she didn’t know what it meant. Was it fun and games? Sexual healing? The start of a relationship? She had no idea.
And she’d resolved to just not think about it. Even if she already knew that, for her, it was more than fun and games. But she’d taken that leap knowingly, albeit without a net.
What she didn’t know was where Zack stood. But if she judged from his past with Meg, where he didn’t stand was in the relationship zone. Which meant it was one of the other two options—both equating to casual and convenient and good for right now. So she’d just have to go with the flow because there was no other reasonable, sensible choice. If you wanted sensible, maybe you should have thought twice before just...surrendering yourself to him.
And stop being ridiculous. It was more than surrender; you climbed on top of the man.
But...water under the bridge and all that. Now all she could do was move forward—with physical therapy, a grouchy patient, and, apparently, more sex. Which she would not turn down. Because last night had been amazing. And there was that unwitting attachment thing she already suffered from. So, yep, more sex sounded...downright heavenly. Sexual healing could work both ways. And she’d been trying to heal from losing Cal for a very long time.
Completing Zack’s ankle rotations with him lying on his back, she said, “Let’s do the new one—where we bend our foot inward ’til our big toe touches the bed, then the other way until our little toe touches.”
As she bent over, guiding his left, uninjured leg to remind him of the motions, he said, “First of all, all the feet and toes involved here are mine. Second, it’s a waste of time to do this one on my good leg. It doesn’t work the muscles enough to be worth the effort.”
Her pleasant nurse tone slipped just a little as she said, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible patient?”
“Only every time I’ve ever been one.”
“Well, I suggest you remember which one of us is the medical professional.”
Zack rolled his eyes—partly from annoyance, partly just habit.
Even if he saw his nurse through entirely new eyes than he had yesterday.
Sure, he’d noticed her charms before—but sex with Suzanne had been mind-blowing. Maybe it was just about the timing, showing him life was still worth living, letting him feel like a man again. He might not be able to work a fishing boat, but at least he could still get it up, and find a pretty woman who wanted him to.
“Okay,” she said as he completed the tenth rep on his left leg. “Great. Now ten more.”
But the truth was, it felt different than if she’d just been some woman in a port town, or a Summer Island tourist here for bicycles, lighthouses, and a one-night stand. Was it her being his caregiver, and that like it or not, that meant something to him? Or was it the sweet, hungry look in her eyes, the fiery need he’d sensed in her body? He knew she missed her husband—but the way she’d given herself to him had left him feeling like she needed to be cared about, loved, maybe even more than she knew.
Of course, he wasn’t the guy for that job—and surely she realized that. Surely they were both on the same page here: it was sex—nice sex, good sex, fun sex. And she only had to ask Meg to know he didn’t possess the skills for much more. Not that he was a heartless jerk—there were times he’d been there for Meg, like when her great-aunt was dying. He’d been there by choice—taken care of her in a way that he could. But there were other ways he couldn’t.
“Very good,” Suzanne said, smiling down on him. “Let’s go to three reps of ten today.”
The suggestion inspired another eye roll. “Sure, yeah—let’s make me do more and more of the ones I don’t even feel.”
He’d never committed to Meg because...a commitment was a promise; it was putting down a stake. He’d been there for her aunt’s death because it had been imminent, something that, however difficult, wouldn’t last forever. When it came to bigger promises than that, he wasn’t sure he could keep them. And he hadn’t wanted to let her down.
And he’d refused to give up his solitude on the fishing boat. She’d asked him to cultivate business closer to home, become a day fisherman, one who didn’t stay away for weeks and months at a time. But no matter where he was, getting back onto the Emily Ann was the thing he looked forward to, the core of his life that everything else revolved around. It hadn’t made sense to give up something he loved in order to have something else he loved. So in the end, he’d kept his first love—the water. And lost his second love—Meg.
And now you’ve lost the water, too.
For five pretty nice years with Meg, he’d had his cake and eaten it, too.
Now, no cake. Only exercise.
And Suzanne’s brownies, and other good food, and—last night at least—kisses and touches and slick, hot connections. No cake—but things could be worse. Remember that.
Just two weeks ago that kind of logic didn’t work on him—but things were changing; he was changing. Though when he thought of the loss of his work—hell, that still made his existence feel like a bottomless pit he’d never climb out of.
“Good,” Suzanne said when he completed the third rep of ten. “Now the right leg.”
The one she had to move for him. As she placed her hands on his limp right leg, stretched out in front of him, and began to twist it inward, he peered up at her, his pretty Nurse Ratchet, aware that her hoodie hid the sweet curves underneath. Curves he knew the feel of now. He started getting just a little hard remembering how it felt to touch her, to run his palms up her thighs, to—
“Ow, damn it!” he said as a jolt of electric pain shot through him, yanking him from the sweet, hot reverie.
Her gaze darted to his face. “What did you just say?” Why did she look so dramatic?
“I said ‘ow.’ Then ‘damn it,’” he repeated dryly—a residual echo of pain still arcing through his thigh.
She continued to gape at him. “You’re saying...you felt what I just did.”
He looked down. This was his right leg, not his left. His injured, paralyzed leg. Usually he complained when she twisted his left leg every which way. But this...wasn’t that. This was...his right leg. His answer came out more hushed than intended. “I did. I felt it.”
She pursed her lips. “Where exactly?”
He pointed, drawing an imaginary line up his thigh. “It kind of...shot up. Into my hip.”
Above him, she’d grown very calm, like a doctor wearing a poker face. “I want you to close your eyes—because I don’t want visual stimulus to confuse you at all.”
He had no idea what she even meant by that, but shut his eyes.
“Okay, good,” she said softly. “Now...do you feel this?”
And Zack flinched. From the utter shock of it. She’d just poked a finger into a spot high on his right leg. “Yeah.” Then he let out a laugh, a demented sort of sound, but he didn’t much care. “I mean, it doesn’t feel completely normal—but yeah, I felt it.”
He could hear her trying to remain stoic while clearly excited underneath. “Okay, that’s great. Keep your eyes closed, and tell me if you feel...this.”
He scrunched up his face slightly. Because...so many things. It hadn’t felt like he expected or hoped. But still it had felt. “A little. Not as much.”
“That’s okay,” she assured him. “That’s totally okay. How about this?”
Another flinch—his whole body lurching slightly. “Yep!”
At this, a pretty trill of laughter erupted from her, the sound perhaps sweeter for not being able to see her. No visual stimulus. Maybe that made other things clearer, too—like newfound joy.
She continued poking and prodding various points on his right thigh. Not every spot produced feeling, but many did, even if only slight. “Does
it hurt?” she asked, when poking a spot where he’d verified sensation.
He hadn’t even noticed that aspect of it, too elated by this turn of events, but, “Yeah, actually. Everywhere you touched hurts some. In that weird, electric way.”
“Nerve pain is unpleasant,” she said as he opened his eyes, “but in your case good. It means you’re having some reconnection. And...”
“And what?” He looked up at her, aware they were both trying not to smile.
“And I don’t want to get your hopes up, because I truly have no idea what’s going to happen here. But...”
“But?” he prodded when she trailed off.
She bit her lip, tilted her head. “But I couldn’t have dreamed even yesterday that you’d have feeling back in any part of your leg this soon. And it could stop right here for all we know—as we keep saying, every case of paralysis is unique. But...” Finally, she let her smile unfurl. “This is a very good sign. A very, very good sign. We have every reason to think you’ll continue to regain sensation, whether quickly or slowly.”
They looked at each other a few seconds more—until Zack let out a whoop, and Suzanne followed with a few yipping sounds, twirling in a circle. He pumped his fists into the air as they both laughed, and she bounced herself joyfully onto the foot of the bed on her knees.
“Clearly our exercises are paying off and I’m a miracle worker,” she said with a wide smile, teasingly smug.
He grinned at her, ready to tease back. “Exercises, my ass. It was the sex.” Though he was half-serious, too.
She leaned her head back and let out another laugh. “Only a man would say that.”
“I’m not kidding,” he told her. “It had to be the sex. I used, um, muscles that I hadn’t in a while—more than just the one between my legs.” He winked. “And hell, it’s good for a guy to, you know, get to use that muscle, too.”
She responded by simply tilting her head, tossing him another pretty smile, and saying, “Either way, just call me the miracle worker! Step aside, Anne Sullivan!”
