Home Again: A Whiskey Ridge Romance

by Rachel Hanna

  “You’re right. It’s old news, and apparently I’m going to have to deal with Nash for at least a little while. Avoidance is the only tactic I can use now.”

  Nash sat in the basement with the dark drapes blocking out any little bit of light that might peek through. Only the TV flickered in the distance with some second-rate 80s movie playing.

  He wasn’t watching it anyway. Instead, he was staring at his phone, trying unsuccessfully to stop stalking Emmy’s social media pages.

  He felt like a loser for reading about her life like this, but once he’d seen her it was like the floodgates had opened. He wanted to know more. Where had she been? Was she married? Did she have kids? He pored over every picture like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to post a lot of info about her life, and there were only a few older pictures that friends from their high school days had tagged her in.

  “Turn some damn lights on down here!” his brother shouted as he descended the stairs. Dang plush carpeting kept Nash from hearing him in time. His brother bumped into the back of the couch, peering over Nash’s shoulder before he could stop him. “Emmy? What the hell are you looking at her for?”

  Ah, Billy. His father’s favorite son, and his pain in the butt older brother.

  “I thought you were in Tennessee this week?” Nash said without looking up. Billy fell into the chair next to him and popped open a beer before slamming his dirty cowboy boot up on the coffee table.

  “Nah. I finished up my work there this morning. No reason to stick around. Besides, I’ve got a hot date tonight.”

  “With?” Nash feigned interest as he continued scrolling through Emmy’s posts from two years before.

  “Hot blond with big boobs that I met at the bar last weekend. Susie. No, wait. Stella. No… Damn, I can’t remember her name.”

  Billy had always been a player. Even in his thirties, he had no apparent interest in settling down and starting a family. Nash had wanted a family once upon a time. Now he wasn’t sure what he wanted, other than to get the heck out of Whiskey Ridge.

  “Nice,” he said in a monotone voice, hoping his brother would get out of his space sooner rather than later.

  “So I ask again, why are you looking at Emmy?”

  Nash sighed when it became apparent that Billy wasn’t going anywhere. He put his phone back in his pocket. “I ran into her today, that’s all.”

  Billy opened another beer and passed it to Nash. “Dang. Emmy Moore, back in Whiskey Ridge. Never thought I’d see the day. She bolted out of here just about as fast as you did.”

  “Apparently her mother got kicked out of the retirement home.”

  Billy let out a big laugh. “I can see that.”

  Nash finally cracked a smile before downing a swig of beer. “Me too.”

  “I never understood why ya’ll broke up,” Billy said offhandedly.

  Nash’s chest tightened. “Young love doesn’t last.”

  Billy stared at his brother for a long moment. “Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

  “You don’t buy what?”

  “Man, you were all wound up about that girl, and then suddenly you split up with her and leave town and never come back. What the hell happened?”

  Nash could feel his jaw tightening, even with muscle relaxers surging through his blood. “None of your damn business, Billy.”

  Billy held up his hands. “Chill out, dude. It was just a question.” He stood up and headed upstairs, but not before stopping halfway up. “But let’s just say your reaction after all these years speaks volumes.”

  “What on God’s green earth happened to you?” Pauline asked as Emmy appeared in the kitchen where her mother was sitting, having her regular cup of evening coffee.

  “I had a little mishap at the pharmacy.” Emmy poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.

  “Did you fight with Jimbo who drives the ice cream truck?”

  “Ha ha ha,” Emmy said dryly.

  “Go ahead and tell me what happened, Em. You know I’ll find out anyhow. Small towns work that way.”

  Emmy put her mug down on the counter and crossed her arms. “Fine. I ran into Nash.”

  “And he threw ice cream at you?”

  “No, mother, of course not. And it isn’t funny. I had no idea he was back in Whiskey Ridge.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. Never thought I’d see the day he darkened Brick’s door again. His daddy is a royal jackass!”

  “Mama, please… I already have a headache.”

  “You have a peanut stuck to your shirt,” Pauline pointed out. Emmy wondered if Debbie saw it and just decided it was too funny to point out. “So, you ran into Nash. And then what happened?”

  “I fell into his lap while holding a giant banana split.”

  “His lap? How on Earth did you manage that one?”

  “He’s in a wheelchair right now. His bull stepped on him.”

  “Good Lord, this story just keeps on getting better and better,” Pauline said with a chuckle as she took a sip of her coffee.

  “It’s really not funny, mother.” Emmy poured out her remaining coffee and rinsed her cup.

  “You know, if you’d look at life a little less seriously, I reckon you might be a whole lot happier.”

  “Point taken. I’m going to get a nice, hot shower. Then I’m going to wrap myself up in my blanket and watch TV on my computer until I pass out.”

  Emmy started walking up the hallway toward her room. “Sounds like quite a party!” her mother called out to her, the sound of her laughter filling the small house.

  “Emmy Moore?” the woman called from behind the counter. Emmy stood, her resume in one hand and her far too large handbag in the other. “Mr. Wayne will see you now.”

  Mr. Wayne, the head of HR for Whiskey Ridge Hospital, had done a personal favor for Debbie by allowing Emmy to interview. She was sure they had far better applicants for the position she was seeking, but right now she wasn’t above using the “it’s who you know” excuse. She needed a job, and fast.

  Her mounting debt back in Atlanta and the daily calls from collection agencies wasn’t helping her mental state at all. On top of that, dealing with her mother’s shenanigans and lapses in memory were fraying her already frazzled nerves.

  “Hello, Emmy. Nice to meet you,” Mr. Wayne said with a broad smile. He wasn’t what she expected. He was young, probably close to her age, and lean with thick brown hair. Her mother would’ve said he had a “swimmer’s build” with his muscular yet wiry frame.

  “Nice to meet you too, sir,” Emmy said, immediately wanting to take back the sir part. It just didn’t feel authentic given their close proximity in age.

  “Please, call me David.” She nodded before walking past him into the office, taking a seat in the chair across from his very organized desk.

  Not much had changed about Whiskey Ridge Hospital in all the years she’d been away. Of course, she had only darkened its doors for the occasional visit to see a sick relative.

  Still, the hospital appeared stuck somewhere in time with its dated decor and musty smell.

  “I’m glad you could come on such short notice, Emmy. I’ve heard some great things about you,” David said as he took a seat at his desk and straightened his line of pens. One thing was apparent - he had OCD big time. Everything on his desk was at right angles.

  “Well, thank you for seeing me so quickly. I know you have a line of people interviewing for this job.”

  “Jobs are a bit hard to come by around here, but I was impressed by your credentials. Debbie told me you were a physical therapist in Atlanta?”

  “Yes. I worked for a private group, but we worked out of one of the largest hospitals there. I really enjoyed it.”

  “Do you have a specialty?”

  “Well, I worked with all types of things. Sports injuries were a big part of our patients, mainly from football teams and a few baseball players. We also worked with car a
ccident victims, although some had to go to the spinal center instead of just regular physical therapy.”

  “It sounds like you would be more than qualified for this position. In fact, I’m a little concerned that it wouldn’t be challenging enough for you.”

  “Oh, please don’t think that. In fact, I’d welcome a little slower pace.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, Emmy, but can I ask why you would leave such a successful life behind in Atlanta to come back to Whiskey Ridge?”

  Emmy swallowed hard. There were so many answers to that question, and none of them were anything she wanted to talk about with a perfect stranger.

  “My mother is here, and she needs my help right now.” Maybe that would suffice as an explanation as to why she had fled Atlanta.

  “Understood. My parents are getting elderly too, but thankfully my brother lives close to them and can help out.”

  “Yeah, that’s great,” Emmy said, plastering a fake smile on her face. Right now, she really just wanted to finish the interview, get the job and gorge on the banana split she missed out on a few days ago.

  “Well, listen, I don’t think there’s any reason to beat around the bush. You have the job if you want it.”

  “Really? Oh, wow. Thanks so much. When do I start?”

  “Actually, if you could start tomorrow morning, that would be a big help. We have a backlog of therapy patients that have been traveling to the next town over for care. We’re going to keep you very busy, Ms. Moore.”

  Emmy smiled. “Good. I like to be busy.” And right now, being busy was a godsend.

  Chapter 5

  Nash rolled into the kitchen after maneuvering himself around the outside of the house, up the walkway to the front door and through the living room. His father’s house wasn’t exactly handicap accessible.

  But thankfully, the house was empty right now, which gave him a little slice of peace. Between listening to his brother prod him with questions about Emmy and his father ridicule pretty much every decision he’d ever made in his life, his mind was a whirlwind of negativity right now.

  What he wanted was a nice, cold beer and some uninterrupted time in front of the TV. He pulled on the refrigerator door with his good arm and surveyed what was available to him. Beer was on top, just enough to be out of reach.

  “Damn it,” he muttered to himself as he inched his way forward on his seat and extended his good arm as far as possible. He managed to topple one of the glass bottles, but it didn’t land in his hand. Instead, it bypassed him completely, bounced off the arm rest and shattered against the cold tile floor below.

  “What in the holy hell are you doing?” Brick yelled from the front door. Great, he wasn’t alone after all.

  “Well, ya know, I thought busting a beer bottle all over the damn floor sounded like a fun idea today. I was a little bored,” Nash said through gritted teeth. His father pulled the back of his wheelchair away from the towering appliance and slammed the door.

  “You’ve got to start therapy, Nash. You’re not getting any better.”

  “I’ve decided that therapy isn’t going to help me. I just need to rest and heal, and then I’ll be our of your hair and back to Vegas where I belong.” Nash wheeled himself around the large breakfast bar and out of the way of the glass shards that were scattered across the tile floor. He watched as his father struggled to pick them up.

  Brick had back problems from years in the rodeo world, and he wasn’t getting any younger. But Nash would never mention either of those issues to his father or risk an all out argument that the neighbors several acres away would hear. In Brick’s mind, he was invincible no matter his age or medical ailments.

  “Back where you belong, huh?” Brick muttered as he tossed another piece of glass in the stainless steel trashcan at the end of the island, causing the sound of pinging metal to reverberate around the room.

  “Vegas is my home, Dad. You know that.”

  “Vegas is the home you chose, Nash. And don’t think for one second that I don’t know you chose Vegas to get away from me.” He stood and opened the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of beer. He popped the top on one and handed it to Nash.

  Brick Collier wasn’t an emotional man. He didn’t cry. He didn’t have heartfelt conversations with anyone, especially Nash. They had butted heads since he could remember. But right now, he seemed softer than Nash remembered.

  “I chose to go my own way. I needed to break away from…”

  “Me,” Brick said, finishing his sentence.

  Nash sighed. “I needed to be my own man. Surely you of all people can understand that.”

  “You know, when I was a kid, I remember my Dad wanting me to come work in his plumbing business. He talked about it all the time. ‘Boy, I’m building this business so you never have to worry about money in your life’, he would say. And I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t want to stick my hand in other people’s crap everyday for the rest of my life. When he died, I was seventeen years old. I’d apprenticed for him for two years at that point. He died thinking that I would take the reins of his company and build it even bigger. But as soon as I could sell it off, I did. And I made a profit and built my company.” Brick took a long sip of his beer. “I guess I should’ve felt guilty about not continuing the family business, but I can’t say I ever did.”

  Nash had never heard that story. “So you understand that I needed to do my own thing?”

  Brick sighed. “No. I don’t.”

  Nash shook his head. “What? How can you not see it’s the same situation?”

  “It’s not the same situation at all, Nash. My Dad wanted me to do what he loved. I only asked you to do what you already loved. And you rejected that.”

  There was a weighty moment of silence between the two men before Nash’s cell phone rang. He hesitated for a moment before looking down, but when he noticed his new doctor’s phone number, he knew he had to answer it.

  “Sorry. It’s Dr. Miller…”

  Brick waved his hand. “Take it.”

  Nash pressed the button to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Nash? Dr. Miller here.”

  Dr. Miller was about as gruff as any person he’d ever met. For a small town doctor, he didn’t pull any punches.

  “What’s up, Doc?” Nash said without thinking about the obvious correlation to a popular cartoon character. He heard the doctor grunt under his breath.

  “I understand you haven’t begun your therapy yet, Nash. Why is that?”

  Nash looked up at his father for moment. Brick got the message and excused himself out to the deck, shutting the door behind him.

  “Look, Dr. Miller, I just don’t think therapy is going to do a dang thing to heal me any faster. I think what I need is some rest here at my father’s house, and then I’ll be good as new to head back to Vegas. Plus, I think these anti-inflammatories and pain pills are magical…”

  “I told you at your appointment what the rules were, Nash. I will not continue prescribing pain medication to a patient who won’t even do the simplest things I suggest. Therapy… early therapy… can mean the difference between a full life or one spent in a wheelchair.”

  “I understand your suggestions…”

  “No, I don’t think you do. You’re becoming too dependent on the medications, and you’re not doing the bare minimum to help yourself. I spoke with Dan Sheffield today.”

  The name Dan Sheffield was enough to stop Nash in his tracks. For all intents and purposes, Dan was his boss. He owned the whole rodeo company that Nash competed for, so Dr. Miller had certainly caught his attention.

  “You spoke to Dan?”

  “Yes. He called me this morning for an update on your progress.”

  “But I talked to him two days ago.”

  “Yes, and he noted that you were slurring your words and hadn’t started therapy yet.”

  Slurring his words? No way that was true. Dr. Miller was just being dramatic.

  “I resent
being made to feel like a drug addict. I’m taking these pills as prescribed.” In his heart of hearts, he knew he was in dangerous territory. With his mother’s history of alcoholism, addiction was a definite possibility for Nash.

  “And drinking a few beers along with them, I’d bet,” Dr. Miller said. Nash looked down at the bottle in his hand and then surveyed the room, wondering if there were nanny cams watching him or something.

  “That’s my business,” Nash said under his breath.

  “Well, you’re about to be out of business. The rodeo business anyway.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Let me lay it out for you, my boy. If you don’t show up at therapy tomorrow and every other day scheduled for you, Dan is not going to renew your contract.”

  “I’m his biggest draw, Doc. No way that’s true,” Nash said, his stomach starting to lurch.

  “Well, Mr. Rodeo Celebrity, you’re in your thirties, injured and more than a little cocky, so it’s quite possible that some young buck is going to take your place while you’re ‘recuperating’ in your father’s house.”

  Nash hated being wrong. He hated being told what to do. But he loved a challenge, and this was starting to feel like one. He’d show them. He’d go to every therapy appointment and work overtime to get back to his prime. He’d come back better than ever no matter what anybody thought.

  “Doc, I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow.”

  Emmy liked feeling useful again. It got her mind off her troubles, at least somewhat. Her cell phone was off and in her purse, keeping the collectors at bay. Debbie had offered to sit with Pauline for a few hours, which gave Emmy comfort that her mother wasn’t setting the house on fire or something.

  “How’re you feeling, Mrs. Riley?” Emmy asked the older woman who was her first therapy patient of the day. She had a bad back and mostly just needed some trigger point massage and heat packs.