“Whatever I might have once been is a long road away. That’s not me anymore, Katherine. I’m a beader. I make jewelry.”
“I thought you might make an exception in this case, if not for Brodie than maybe for me and especially for Taryn.”
The tension in Evie’s shoulders tightened to a fine and exquisite pain. No wonder Katherine made such a good Hope’s Crossing Town Council member. She knew exactly which buttons to push.
“Not fair,” she murmured.
“I know.” Katherine looked unapologetic. “My son is not the only ruthless one in the Thorne family.”
Evie was trapped in an unwinnable dilemma. Refuse and hurt a dear friend. Accept and hurt herself.
Claire’s approach was a welcome reprieve. “Katherine! I didn’t hear you come in. Hello, darling! How’s Taryn?” she asked instantly.
Katherine aimed a quick look at Evie and then turned back to Claire. Evie’s tension tightened a few more screws.
“She’s coming home at the end of the week.”
Claire’s mouth sagged open and a fierce joy lit up her lovely, serene features. “You’re kidding! I never heard a word. This is fabulous! We need to celebrate! Fireworks, confetti. Throw a parade or something!”
Katherine shook her head slightly, squeezing Claire’s fingers. “I’m afraid we’re not breaking out the champagne yet. The doctors and therapists in Denver are basically kicking her out of the rehab center, saying they’ve done all they can with her. She’s become what the experts call a recalcitrant patient.”
A little of Claire’s ebullience faded but she was enough of a natural optimist that Evie could tell she wouldn’t let that minor setback completely dim her happiness. “Well, it will be wonderful to have her back in Hope’s Crossing anyway, right? What can we do? Do you have any idea yet what Brodie’s going to need help with at first?”
Claire’s instant willingness to step forward, no matter the cost, left Evie feeling small and ashamed. That was always her friend’s way, always thinking about what she could do to help someone else. As much as she loved Claire, sometimes she privately thought her friend carried that whole give-of-yourself thing a little too far.
Katherine hugged the other woman again. “We don’t know yet. We have so many details to figure out. We’ve been looking ahead to this day for some time. Over the last month or so, Brodie has been having Paul Harris do some work on the house, knock out a couple walls to put in a roll-in shower, install a couple of ramps, a lift system, that sort of thing.”
Katherine’s gaze slanted quickly toward Evie. That tension gripped her and she drew in a ragged breath. Here we go.
“Actually, we’re trying to persuade Evie to help us set up a home-based rehab program.”
Claire gasped, her eyes bright. “Oh, brilliant!”
“That’s exactly what Brodie and I think. I’m afraid Evie isn’t as convinced.”
Claire’s gaze zinged from one of them to the other and Evie knew precisely the moment she picked up the undercurrents of tension seething between them.
“Is it the store?” she asked. “If that’s the case, don’t you worry about us for a moment, Evie. I know I said you’re a beading rock star and all that but we can get along here at the store without you if we have to, especially when it’s for such a good cause. I’ve got a couple of teenage girls who’ve been in a half dozen times since the beginning of the summer with their résumés, looking for part-time work. I can use them until school starts in a few weeks and then figure something else out. You take as long as you need with Taryn.”
“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I stopped in,” Katherine said smoothly. “I don’t want you to think we’re trying to steal Evie away from String Fever during the rest of the busy summer tourist weeks before the shoulder season. I wanted to offer a trade.”
When Evie was a girl, their nanny used to take her and her younger sister to the park near their home in Santa Barbara. Lizzie would beg her to come with her on the merry-go-round and Evie would always eventually relent, though she always hated that out-of-control feeling, that whirling, churning, wind-tossed disorder. This conversation felt very much as if she was clinging tightly to the bars, trying to keep from being flung into chaos.
Claire smiled at Katherine. “Tell me more.”
“I want to apply for a temporary job as Evie’s substitute here at the store,” Katherine said. “I can even take over some of her classes. That would free her schedule so she can work with my granddaughter.”
Evie fought the urge to close her eyes. She was well and truly trapped now. Claire looked delighted at the offer. Why wouldn’t she be? Katherine was the founder and original owner of String Fever. She’d sold the store to Claire a few years ago after Claire’s divorce. Nobody in town—least of all Evie—knew more about beads than Katherine.
“Again, brilliant, Kat. You’re a genius.”
“I was going to say, positively Machiavellian,” Evie muttered.
Claire looked startled but Katherine only gave a smug sort of smile. “When I have to be, my dear.”
“You don’t have to be in this case. I’m a beader now, not a physical therapist,” she repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time. “I have no experience here in Colorado.”
“But you are licensed, right?”
“Katherine. You know why I quit.”
For the first time, she saw a glimmer of sympathy in the older woman’s eyes but it quickly hardened into more of that steely determination. How could Evie blame her? She understood Katherine’s perspective. Her granddaughter was facing months—possibly years—of painful, difficult rehabilitation with no guarantee of a rosy recovery.
Evie could empathize. She would have done anything to help those she loved, would have traded on every possible friendship to help Liz after the fire that had severely burned her and their mother.
And Cassie. In the two years she had with her daughter, she had fought fiercely to provide the best possible care but in the end none of her efforts had worked.
“I know. I’m sorry. You know that. But we need you, Evie.”
Claire looked from one of them to the other, her expression confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. How could she? Evie had never shared all her reasons for leaving her practice in L.A. As far as Claire knew, she had dropped out of her practice and moved to Colorado only because she needed a change.
Katherine knew, however. She had been there to comfort and lift Evie through a very dark and ugly time. Evie heartily wished she could do the same now for her friend.
“I understand your reluctance, my dear,” Katherine went on. “This is a big commitment with a great deal of pressure attached to it.”
“You know that’s not it. If I could help you, I would.”
Katherine nodded and to Evie’s dismay, her friend pulled her into another hug. “I do understand,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve put you in a difficult position.”
“You’re the only one I would consider coming out of retirement—or whatever you want to call it—to help. You know that, don’t you?”
Katherine eased away. “I do. And I’m going to presume on our friendship terribly to ask you one more favor.”
Evie braced herself.
“Will you at least consider helping us for a week or two, just while we find our feet and start a treatment plan for Taryn?” Katherine asked. “With your knowledge and experience, you can make sure Brodie has retrofitted the house with everything we might need for her care. A few weeks would give us a little breathing room so we can take our time looking for the best possible person for the job.”
The request was reasonable and certainly made sense. Refusing to give up a few weeks of her life for her dear friend would make her sound churlish. Immature, even.
“When is Taryn being transferred from Birch Glen?” she asked, doing her best to keep the weary resignation from her voice.
To Katherine’s credit, not so much as a trace of victory flashed in
her expression, even though she must have known Evie couldn’t say no. “Friday.”
“I suppose I could give you a week or two, as long as you can help Claire with my responsibilities here.”
Claire squeezed her arm. “Of course. Take as long as necessary. Whatever Taryn needs.”
“Just a few weeks. No more than that. I’ll help you hire another therapy coordinator and set up the treatment plan, but that’s all.”
She could handle anything for a few weeks, couldn’t she?
“That should be plenty of time to point us in the right direction.” Katherine pressed her cheek to Evie’s, filling her senses with flowers and guilt. “Thank you so much. I know it’s difficult for you and I’m very sorry, but believe me, we’re so grateful. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for this.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Katherine,” she answered, taking a subtle step back. “Tell Brodie to donate whatever fee he would have paid someone else for those few weeks to the scholarship fund.”
At least something good should come of this, she thought, as Katherine and Claire began discussing another fundraising event the high school student body officers wanted to sponsor for the Layla memorial fund.
Evie let their conversation drift around her, focusing instead on double-checking the kits for her class that evening to help beat off the residual twinges of panic. After a few moments, one of the mothers asked a question about their display of Greek worry beads and Evie was grateful to help the customers, an excuse to leave her friends and the heavy weight of their expectations.
“They’re called komboloi,” she explained. “Traditionally, they’re made with an odd number of beads and then a metal spacer in between. Touching them at various times throughout the day is believed to help with relaxation and stress management.”
“I certainly need that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes at her busy preschooler in the play area.
Evie smiled. “They’re easy to make and they can really relieve tension. There’s something very soothing about working the beads between your fingers. Lots of people even put them on their key chains. Want to try one?”
The two women exchanged glances. “Sure. Sounds like fun,” the other young mother said.
“You can use any kind of bead, though usually people use amber or coral because of their soft, comforting texture.”
Evie pointed them toward the beads, then went to gather the basic supplies for them. While she was helping them, she would make one for herself, she decided on impulse. It had been too long since she had crafted a piece simply for her own enjoyment—and she had a very strong feeling she was going to need all the stress management tools she could find in the coming two weeks.
CHAPTER THREE
BRODIE’S HOUSE IN the exclusive gated Aspen Ridge community wasn’t quite what Evie had imagined.
Given her preconception of the man as someone who always wanted something bigger and better than anyone else—at least in the various businesses and developments he owned around Hope’s Crossing—she had expected something opulent and overwhelming. The house was certainly vast and sprawling, with soaring windows and cedar-plank walls, unusual curves and angles. But the landscaping was tasteful and seemed to focus on native plants and trees and granite boulders. Whoever designed the place had managed to adapt it nicely to its surroundings, nestled into the hollow of a foothill.
His view was spectacular, she would definitely give him that. Even from her favorite spot on the Woodrose Mountain trail, she couldn’t see as far as Silver Strike Canyon but from various places on the property, he would have a clear vantage point of both the town below and the higher ski resort in the canyon.
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 afr
aid 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.
Woodrose Mountain Page 4
