The Maverick's Reward

by Roxann Delaney

  “Do you have kids?” he asked Jimmy.

  “Two. A boy, ten, and a girl, eight. Jimmy Jr.—everybody calls him J.J.—insisted that we come today. Says he wants to be just like Shawn.”

  For the first time in a long time, Tucker felt a chuckle rumble in his chest. “I guess he could do worse.”

  “He sure could,” Jimmy agreed, standing. “And I see Shawn headed this way. I’d better get back to my boy. Good seeing you again, Tucker. Glad you’re back.”

  “Thanks. Good to see you, too. And tell Ben hello for me.”

  “I will,” Jimmy said, before he turned to walk away.

  But Tucker’s attention was now on his son, who was walking toward him. He wished he’d been around to watch Shawn grow up. His aunt Bridey had shown him pictures of Shawn as a baby—Shawn toddling, riding horses, opening birthday and Christmas presents—but they were only pictures, not the real thing. He’d missed so much.

  “Hey, Dad,” Shawn called to him, as he approached the far end of the bleachers where Tucker sat.

  Tucker grasped at something dadlike to say. “You look good out there.”

  Shawn’s embarrassed grin and quick duck of his head was a sure sign that his ego wasn’t bigger than he was. He wore a baseball mitt and was tossing a ball into it. “Thanks. Say, Coach wants me to keep warmed up, and all the other guys are either already paired off or doing something else. Would you mind playing a little catch with me?”

  Tucker’s gut response was to shout no, loud and clear. But what kind of dad would do that? He was being offered the chance to do what every other dad did with his son. But could he do it? If he couldn’t, it would be just one more failure to add to his long list.

  Before he could answer, one of the other boys trotted up to Shawn and handed him another mitt. Shawn turned to Tucker. “All we’ll do is play catch. No running.”

  It wasn’t that Tucker couldn’t catch or throw a ball, but he’d have to do it without his cane, and his balance wasn’t as good as it could be. The thought of something happening that would not just embarrass him, but Shawn, too, had him hesitating. He didn’t want that to happen.

  “I’m pretty rusty, Shawn,” he said, hoping that would take care of it.

  There was a flash of disappointment in Shawn’s eyes, before he ducked his head again. “Yeah,” he said, with quiet resignation, “I guess you would be.”

  Tucker’s heart nearly broke. Shawn knew he was making excuses. He couldn’t do this, no matter what. Somehow he’d have to keep himself upright without help. “But, hey, I can try,” came out of his mouth.

  Shawn’s head came up, and a tentative smile lit his face. “Yeah?”

  Shrugging, Tucker mentally crossed his fingers. “Sure.”

  “Great! That’s…that’s great, Dad.”

  Knowing he didn’t want to get too far away from the bleachers, Tucker grabbed his cane and got to his feet, looking around for a good place to stand.

  “How about over there?” Shawn pointed a few yards away from the bleachers and handed him the extra mitt. “We’ll be out of everybody’s way.”

  Not only that, Tucker thought, but he’d also be out of the view of most of the people in the stands. He moved to where Shawn had indicated and dropped his cane on the ground beside him. Insurance.

  Shawn tossed him the ball, and Tucker caught it easily. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, and he’d do okay.

  He watched Shawn amble out ahead of him several yards, then turn back to face him. “We’ll start fairly close,” Shawn said, grinning, “until you wear off some of that rust.”

  “Sounds good.” Tucker, still not convinced this was such a great idea, but unable to refuse, tried for his own grin, but suspected he failed. Slamming the ball into his mitt to get a feel for it, he would’ve prayed all would go well, but he believed he’d used up his quota of prayers in Somalia. Grasping the ball in his right hand, he held it up, ready to throw. Could he remember how to throw? It had been a long time. But his grip felt right, and he’d do his best for Shawn. “Ready?” he shouted.

  “Ready.”

  Cocking his arm back, Tucker threw the ball toward his son, and when Shawn shouted, “Good throw,” as he caught the ball, Tucker felt more secure. It wasn’t so bad, after all.

  Shawn returned the throw, and Tucker caught it without a problem. They continued, and a few throws later, Shawn stepped back farther. “Think you can throw it to the left of me?” Shawn asked. “You know, so I have to reach for it.”

  Without answering, Tucker threw the ball and it landed right in Shawn’s outstretched glove. “Looks like I can,” Tucker answered, feeling more positive.

  After a few more throws, Shawn stepped back another two or three yards. Tucker effortlessly threw the ball to him, and Shawn returned the throw.

  This time, the throw was a little off as it left Shawn’s hand, and Tucker heard him shout, “Sorry about that.” Tucker didn’t want to miss the throw, no matter how off it might be and he stepped hard to his left.

  A wrenching pain shot through his knee, and it was all he could do to keep from going to the ground. But he didn’t. No way, he thought, as he closed his eyes and tried to fight off the dizzying pain.

  “Dad! Dad!” The fear in Shawn’s voice was clear.

  Tucker managed to open his eyes enough to see Shawn running to him, but he quickly closed them again, as he focused on staying upright. He hadn’t had pain like this since before he’d left the hospital.

  He didn’t know how much time had gone by when he sensed someone beside him and opened his eyes enough to see Shawn picking up the cane. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know…”

  “It’s okay, son,” Tucker managed to say through clenched teeth. He felt Shawn press the cane to his hand and was grateful that he now had something to lean on and take the weight off his knee.

  “Maybe I should get—”

  “No!” Tucker didn’t want anyone around until he could get the pain under control. But he wondered if he ever would. Then just as he began to manage the pain more easily, he heard a voice.

  “There’s something you can do about that, you know.”

  He opened his eyes to see Paige walking by with the man he’d seen her talking to earlier, and he had to grit his teeth harder not to reply.

  “What did she say?” Shawn asked.

  “Nothing.” At least as far as Tucker was concerned.

  “Do you want me to go after her? She could take a look—”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Shawn didn’t seem convinced. “Okay, but if you aren’t better tonight, then you have to promise to go see her tomorrow.”

  It was the last thing Tucker wanted to do. Instead of answering, he shrugged in response as he carefully made his way back to the bleachers. Where you should have stayed.

  Following, Shawn sat on the bleachers next to him, once Tucker was seated. “What did she mean?”

  “What?” Tucker asked.

  “She said something about there was something you could do. What did she mean?”

  Tucker didn’t want to talk about this with his son. It wasn’t Shawn’s business. He shook his head. “Dad?”

  Choking back a frustrated sigh, Tucker finally answered. “She wants me to get some physical therapy.”

  Shawn was silent for a moment, as he studied Tucker. “Will it help?”

  Help? Tucker hated the word. There were reasons he didn’t want to give therapy a try—very important reasons—and he couldn’t tell Shawn, because his son wouldn’t understand. He’d spent months in hospitals, and another doctor was something he couldn’t deal with. And he didn’t believe therapy would help. Therapy wasn’t what had gotten him on his feet—to stand, then to take steps. It was because he’d learned he had a son, and there wasn’t anything that would keep him from going back to Desperation. Not his leg, not even his resentment of his brother.

  “Dad? Will it help?” Shawn asked again.

  “I doubt it,” Tucker answere
d, but couldn’t look at him.

  “But you don’t know, right? Why would she suggest it, if she didn’t think it would be worth it? I mean, she’s a doctor. She knows this stuff. Besides, there’s always a chance it might help. So do it.”

  Tucker was saved from answering when someone shouted to Shawn, reminding him they had a game to play. Tucker watched him walk away. In a few weeks, Shawn would be graduating. After that, Tucker knew Shawn had plans to travel with some friends—plans that had been made long before Tucker had shown up. In the fall, Shawn would be off to college, so these weeks were all he had to spend with his son, to get to know him, to try to learn how to be a father. A dad. Time spent traveling to do therapy somewhere would be time they wouldn’t have together, and Tucker couldn’t afford that.

  But Shawn expected him to at least try. He couldn’t let Shawn down. He couldn’t let what happened today happen again. He had to get help. For Shawn.

  THE DAY TOOK A nosedive when Paige looked at the appointment book first thing the next morning and saw Tucker’s name as the third appointment of the day. She’d been standing on the baseline near the dugout, talking with some of the players, when Tucker reached for the baseball Shawn had thrown him. There was no doubt he’d suffered some serious pain. She saw his face as his knee gave out. The question was whether he’d done any permanent damage to his knee. But she really hadn’t expected him to make an appointment to see her—or to do it so soon.

  No, it wouldn’t be a good morning. She hated starting the day with a belligerent patient, and Tucker certainly fit that bill. He fit other bills, too, but she wouldn’t allow herself to think about them.

  Doctor first, woman second, she told herself as she opened the examining room door after seeing her first two patients. It was the one thing she needed to keep in mind, whenever Tucker was around.

  Stepping into the room, she did her best not to look directly at him. His brown eyes were always piercing and made her feel like she was undressed. Foolish, she knew, but she hadn’t been able to rid herself of the feeling since the barbecue at the O’Briens’. This time she’d do better.

  “You had some trouble at the baseball game yesterday,” she stated. There was no reason to ask. She’d seen it.

  The irresistible urge to tug at her skirt when she dared to look at him and noticed he was looking at her legs was almost more than she could control. But she did.

  “I shouldn’t have agreed when Shawn asked if I’d help him warm up.” His gaze moved upward, until it collided with hers.

  Determined to beat down the rush of warmth she felt, she refused to look away. “And as I told you as I was leaving, there’s something you can do about it.”

  For a moment, he held her gaze, and then he glanced away. “I admit it was my fault. Isn’t that enough?”

  Paige considered it. “Enough for me? Or enough for you?”

  His gaze nailed her again. “Seems you think it isn’t enough for you.”

  She shook her head. “No, it has nothing to do with me, except that I want to help you. I want you to do something about it. But there’s no need to point a finger. We’re both at fault, at any rate.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Because he looked sincere about the question, she decided to answer it truthfully. “Maybe I should have insisted that you see a physical therapist. Maybe I should have called and made the appointment for you myself.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  She ignored his reply. “Maybe you should have given it more thought and at least asked for a referral.”

  He shook his head, as if he had no responsibility in any of it. “I don’t like doctors.”

  Paige couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

  “You might feel the same if you’d spent as many months in hospitals as I have, being poked, prodded, cut and stitched.”

  She nodded slightly. “You may be right.” She waited for a response from him, but when he said nothing, she continued. “But in the case of physical therapy, you won’t be working with a doctor. You won’t be in the hospital, either. You’ll make visits, probably every week for several weeks, maybe twice a week, if needed. It won’t be the same.”

  His jaw moved, tightening, before he answered. “That’s the other thing.” He looked down, then back at her. “I can’t do the long drive to Oklahoma City. Now, if there’s a therapist nearby—”

  “I can check into that.”

  “But can you make up the time I’d have to spend away from Shawn?”

  She was surprised. “Would it be that much time? Especially if I can find someone close to Desperation?”

  His eyes narrowed in thought. “Maybe not. But if there isn’t, then, yes, it is too much time.”

  “An hour or two a week?”

  “Plus driving time. And the driving itself.”

  Paige understood. They’d been over this on his first visit. Standing, she first made sure her skirt wasn’t hiked, and then she picked up his file. “If you have a few minutes to wait, I’ll go check with the ladies in the office and see if they can find a physical therapist in the area.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t look convinced or happy at the prospect.

  She was out of the room quickly, with her fingers crossed. If she could find someone—anyone—within fifteen miles or so of Desperation, she just might be able to talk Tucker into doing the physical therapy. He needed to feel normal again, to be a whole, undamaged person. Once he was physically better, then he could work on the psychological problems he had. And she had no doubt there were many of those.

  “How’s it going?” Cara Milton, the clinic’s receptionist asked, when Paige stepped into the office.

  Paige looked around. “Are Fran and Susan busy?”

  “I’m here,” Fran said, from behind her. “Susan’s getting vitals. Shall I buzz her?”

  “Please,” Paige answered.

  “You might want this.” Cara handed Paige an extremely thick packet and glanced at Fran, who was on the phone with Susan.

  Paige took the package and looked at the address. It was from Dr. Fuller at the VA in Oklahoma City and obviously Tucker’s records. “Thanks. This could help.”

  “Is he okay?” Cara asked. “I heard he may have been hurt at the game yesterday.”

  Paige smiled. News spread fast in Desperation, but she wasn’t saying anything. She was his doctor. “I’ll need an X-ray of his left knee.”

  Susan Fulcom slipped into the office. “Do you need something?”

  Paige addressed all three of them. “Do any of you know if there’s a physical therapist in the area? Fifteen miles or less away, if possible?”

  “Martha Bentley practiced in Kingfisher for several years,” Susan offered, “but she moved away a few years ago. To the West Coast, I think, lucky woman.”

  Paige still held hope that one of them would know someone. “Anyone else?” All three women shook their heads. “All right. I was hoping, that’s all.”

  Back in the examining room, she tossed the package Cara had given her onto the counter.

  “What’s that?” Tucker asked.

  Paige turned to him. “Your medical records.”

  “How did you get them?”

  “You signed a release when you were here last week. Don’t you remember?”

  “No.”

  She knew he’d been in pain, so it didn’t surprise her that he had no recollection of signing anything. “Then maybe I should ask if it’s all right if I look through them.”

  He didn’t look directly at her when he shrugged. “What did you find out about a therapist?”

  Paige hated giving bad news more than anything. And she knew he wouldn’t accept this well. “There isn’t one in the area. You’ll need to go to Oklahoma City.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes—deep disappointment. He reached for his cane. “Then that’s that.”

  As he moved off of the examining table, she saw him wince. “Tucker…”
He turned to look at her, and she knew she couldn’t say what she should. “Are the pain pills helping?”

  “Some. At least they were.”

  She couldn’t let him leave, not until they knew the score about his injury. “We should x-ray your knee,” she said, before he could take another step. His frown deepened, and she quickly added, “To see if there’s any damage.”

  It was as if she’d told him he was terminal. “Damage? To what they fixed?”

  Nodding, she wished she could skip this. If there was damage done— She didn’t want to think about it. Another surgery wouldn’t be something he’d embrace with joy. “Do you have the time? It won’t take long. Your latest X-rays are probably in here.” She tapped on the package beside her on the counter. “I can compare the two sets and determine if there’s any new damage.”

  He nodded. “I’d rather know than not know.”

  Relief flooded through her. “Good. Stay right here, and we’ll get on it immediately. I promise not to keep you much longer.”

  Twenty minutes later, as she compared the new X-rays with the last ones taken at the VA, she felt weak with relief. At least she had some good news for Tucker.

  “No damage,” she told him, when she walked into the examining room.

  His relief was visible. “So now what?”

  “Were you given a knee brace?” When he nodded, she smiled. “Wear it. And ice that knee for the rest of the day. I’ll give you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory. Get it filled and start taking it.”

  He didn’t move as she’d expected he would. “What about the therapy?” he asked.

  “It all comes down to going to Oklahoma City. I’m sure we can find you a good therapist there. It doesn’t have to be at the VA.”

  His deep brown eyes revealed nothing. “Why can’t you do it?”

  Paige was speechless. He thought she’d do it? Why in the world would she do that? He’d freely admitted that he didn’t like doctors, so why choose her? Why put her through all of this, and then ask something like that of her? And that was just the beginning. There was also that fact that—