by Rachel Hanna
“Oh, I’m good, dear,” she said, though her voice was muffled as she lay face down on the table.
“Good. My next patient is due in soon, but Hillary will help you once your timer goes off, okay?” Hillary was Emmy’s assistant, a young college student studying physical therapy. She was good and did what Emmy asked of her, although she was a bit shy so they needed to work on that.
“Ms. Moore?” Hillary said as she walked into the therapy area.
“Again, please call me Emmy. Okay?” She smiled through semi-gritted teeth. Emmy wasn’t one who liked repeating herself. And being called “Ms” made her feel ancient.
“Sorry. Um, your next patient is here. Should I bring him back?”
“Yes, please. I need to run to the restroom, so just put him in the evaluation area and I’ll be there shortly. And be sure to ask if he’d like some water or coffee.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am. Ugh.
Emmy stood in the small bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. It was barely past nine in the morning and she already looked haggard. She was mentally exhausted between living with her mother and worrying about money. Maybe she could afford some new makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes.
She walked back out into the therapy area and saw Hillary working with Mrs. Riley. The older woman waved at her as she stood and stretched her back.
“If that stiffens up, try an ice pack for twenty minutes followed by a heating pad for twenty minutes, okay?” Emmy called to her.
She turned to go into the evaluation room, a small area off the large therapy room. She wasn’t expecting to see Nash sitting there, a scowl on his face.
“Good morning,” she said. He looked up and stalled for a moment before speaking.
“Hey. I mean good morning. What’re you doing here?”
Emmy laughed. “I work here. I’m a physical therapist.”
“Oh my gosh…”
“You didn’t know that?”
“Of course not. I would’ve requested…” he said, before stopping himself.
“Someone else? Nice vote of confidence.” She turned toward the desk and picked up an iPad that had all of her patient files and notes in it.
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that this is stressful enough…”
Emmy sat down and looked at him with her best poker face. “I’m a professional, Nash. I’ve worked in physical therapy for a long time. And I assure you that our past… issues… won’t hamper my ability to treat you. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a sly smile.
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“So how long is this going to take?” he asked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
“About an hour, I would think.”
“No. I mean this whole therapy thing. I need to get back to Vegas.”
“Ah, yes, Vegas. Your holy land. Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you any longer than necessary.” She looked down at the iPad, her vision blurry from irritation.
“Hey, I thought you said we wouldn’t have any issues relating to our past?”
“Fine. Sorry. Small slip-up. Won’t happen again.”
“You still didn’t answer me.”
“That’s because I don’t know, Nash. Everyone responds differently to treatment. You’re young, so that’s in your favor.”
“You think I’m young?” he asked with a smile.
“We’re almost the same age, Nash.”
He sighed. “Ballpark? How long are we looking at?”
She looked at his chart. “Dr. Miller wasn’t overly optimistic in his notes.”
“He hates me.”
“Regardless, he noted that you’re taking painkillers and anti-inflammatory medications?”
“Yes. When a bull steps on you, it tends to hurt.”
She looked up and smiled slightly. “I’m sure it does.”
“Is there anyone else? Literally, anyone?”
“Anyone else for what?”
“To be my therapist.”
Emmy had to admit that his words hurt. Either he didn’t trust her or he hated her, and both options bothered her more than she’d like to admit.
“No. I’m all you’ve got around here, Nash.” She turned off the tablet and looked at him. “But I will promise you this - If you’ll do what I ask and show up to therapy, I will give you one hundred percent of my knowledge. I will study case histories and try to find even more information to help you. I will do everything I can to get you back on your feet and back to the job you love as soon as possible. I’ll work with you and not let our past interfere at all. Deal?”
Nash looked up, his eyes softening a bit. He smiled. “Deal. And thank you, Emmy. I really do appreciate it.”
She sucked in a ragged, but thankfully quiet, breath. “It’s no problem. It’s what I do for all of my patients.”
She couldn’t be sure, but his face seemed to fall a bit at the thought that he wasn’t special. He was just another patient that she would tend to as best she could.
The only problem was, he was special.
Chapter 6
Emmy sat across from her cousin, whose face was full of surprise.
"He's your patient?" she said, stifling the giggle that was sure to erupt at any moment.
"Yes. And nobody was as surprised as I was. I mean I guess I should've known that he needed to have physical therapy while he was here, but I haven't exactly been thinking clearly lately."
Debbie picked her cinnamon bun apart, licking the sticky cinnamon mixture off her thumb before continuing. "How do you feel about this?"
"Well, it definitely isn't my first choice, but I have to be a professional. I certainly can't afford to lose this new job. Plus, the faster I can get him up and running, the faster he'll leave Whiskey Ridge."
"Are you sure you want him to leave?" Debbie asked, barely making eye contact, a quirk of a smile playing across her lips.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"I think you know what it means. You two certainly have a history. I mean, do you think there's a future?"
Emmy barely let the words leave Debbie's mouth before interrupting her. "Are you crazy? You should know better than anyone else about our history. I certainly don't want to step into that again. I have absolutely no romantic interest in Nash. He's my patient. That's all."
"Okay, if you say so."
"Well I say so. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to work. My first patient is coming in about twenty minutes."
"Is it Nash?” Debbie asked, chuckling under her breath.
"No. For your information, it’s a new patient. A female patient."
Emmy stood up and pinched her cousin’s of her arm, causing her to wince. "Don't forget that I have the meanest pinches in all of Georgia."
Debbie laughed as she rubbed her arm.
Nash sat on the back deck overlooking his father’s yard. There were few places on Earth as peaceful as Whiskey Ridge, but the thought of ever calling it home again was foreign to him. He'd gotten used to his life out in Vegas, although the hectic pace sometimes wore him down. The last thing he wanted to have happen was to turn into his father – becoming an old man and being alone. But he needed to keep his mind occupied because otherwise it would wander to memories that he'd rather forget.
Still, there were times that he wished he had another life. A quiet place to call home. A wife who loved him and little kids running around underfoot. But he'd made a conscious decision to give the possibility of that life up many years ago, and he certainly wasn't going back now.
He loved his career, plus it was the only thing he knew how to do. From the very youngest age, it had been his life. Even before he wanted it to be his life, he had been thrust into the world of rodeo and bull riding by his father.
He could vividly remember his father on the phone day and night trying to build his company. Talking about all of the money he made. Talking about the day tha
t Nash would take over. But that didn't seem likely to happen now either.
And even though he didn't like to think about it, his memories had always been the true enemy. Visions of Emmy standing in the orange Georgia clay in her dusty cowboy boots, watching him learn the ropes of the rodeo business.
Thoughts of sweet kisses behind the barn.
Thoughts of hotter kisses behind the bales of hay in the loft of the very same barn.
Thoughts of mistakes made and promises not kept.
His memories were all so muddled up, and the pain pills certainly weren't helping. He would have to withdraw from those soon, no matter how much his body hurt. He wasn't going to become addicted like his mother.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, shaking him out of yet another walk down memory lane. Whiskey Ridge seemed to do that to him.
"Hello?"
"Hey, man! How’re you feeling?"
The unmistakable voice of his friend, Deke, was on the other end of the line. He had to admit it was good to hear from him, but he was jealous. Deke was currently living the life he wanted to get back to.
"Hanging in there. How's it going out there?"
"Well, I'm out in Texas this week. We've got a big championship on Saturday, you know."
Nash went silent for a moment. That had always been one of his favorite championships of the year. And he should be there. But instead he was sitting in a wheelchair like some sort of crippled old man.
"Yeah, I know. Who did Dan put in my place?"
"I didn’t call to talk about that.”
“Deke, I'm asking you a question."
Deke went quiet on the line for a moment before answering. "Travis."
Nash groaned under his breath. “Travis Blake? Seriously. That kid won’t win a damn thing!”
“He’s been winning a lot lately, Nash. Dan thinks he can take this thing.”
“Oh, please. How old is he, nineteen?”
“He’s twenty-two, and he’s got a lot of promise, man. He’s a good kid…”
“What are you? The president of his fan club?”
Deke chuckled. “How’s therapy going?”
“I just started yesterday, so I’m almost all healed,” Nash said sarcastically.
“Yesterday? What was the hold up?”
Nash leaned back against the log chair he’d lowered himself into. “Just wasn’t ready to start yet.”
“Come on, man. I know you. Why were you procrastinating?”
“Just hoped I could get better without it, I guess.”
“Yes, because just sitting around taking pain pills is known to magically repair tendons and muscles.”
“Don’t be a jackass, Deke.”
“I’m not the jackass in this situation, Nash. If you want to come back and give Travis a run for his money, you’re going to have to get off the pills and throw yourself into therapy. You have to know that.”
Nash sighed. “I know that.”
“Good. Then attack therapy like you attack your job. Therapy is your job until you can get back to the ring.”
Nash knew his friend was right. He needed to ditch the pills and put his full effort into therapy or he might never get back to his life. And that was just what he was going to do. Emmy or not, he was going into therapy tomorrow like a champion.
Emmy was not a morning person. These new hours, seeing patients as early as 7 am, were getting to her already. She’d talked to the receptionist about scheduling her easier patients before ten, just to give herself a little time to amp up with coffee.
But today she was keenly aware that her first patient was Nash. Her hardest, most complicated patient for a variety of reasons.
Certainly, Nash’s medical case was complicated all by itself, but the feelings and emotions from their past didn’t make things any easier.
When she looked at him, she saw so many things. His gorgeous honey brown eyes that still had those hints of hazel green in them, even though crows feet - a sexy thing on any man as far as she was concerned - were starting to form around his eyes.
She saw his sun tinted brown hair, still thick and wavy like it was when they were young. She’d loved watching his hair bounce around and blow in the wind when he rode bulls, the Georgia clay dust kicking up into the air.
But she also saw other things when she looked at Nash Collier. Pain. Tears. The back of his Mustang as he drove it out of Whiskey Ridge and left her in that orange plume of dust.
Sometimes she wondered where it had all gone wrong, but she couldn’t linger in that space. If she did, her whole day would be shot and she’d get nothing done.
Their relationship, and its ultimate demise, was like a big un-solvable math problem. And she obviously wasn’t great a math or she wouldn’t be living back in Whiskey Ridge with a financial mess waiting for her back in Atlanta.
“Good morning,” Nash said as she approached, her first cup of coffee starting to make its way through her veins.
“Morning. Ready to get started?” she asked, trying not to make eye contact. That wasn’t going to work since physical therapists needed to actually look at their patients in order to help them. She had to get past these jumbled up feelings.
“I’m ready to rock this,” he said, a weird grin on his face. For a moment, she worried that he was taking something other than pain pills.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I am. Why?”
“You seem a little… revved up this morning.”
Nash chuckled. “I’m just ready to get back to my life, Emmy. I’m here - at your mercy - to put in my full effort no matter what you throw at me. I need to get better fast.”
Emmy sighed and sat on the edge of the massage table across from Nash’s wheelchair.
“Nash, this isn’t a tournament or a championship. You have no idea how your body is going to respond to treatment. And if you try to force it, you might just put yourself out of commission permanently.”
“Why do you have to be so damn negative all the time?” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not being negative. I’m being realistic. But you never were one for being realistic, were you?” she shot back, regretting her words immediately.
“Emmy…”
“Sorry. It’s hard to separate the past from the present. Won’t happen again. Okay, let’s get started, shall we?” Emmy stood up and started preparing the table.
“We shall.”
She shot him a glance and decided not to respond to his sarcastic comment.
“First, I’m going to help you up onto the table so that I can go over your injuries and see what we’re starting with.” She reached out her hand to help him up, but Nash ignored it and started to stand up on his own.
“I’ve got it,” he mumbled.
“Of course you do,” she mumbled back. They’d always been like this, one upping each other, always needing to get the last word.
Nash eased himself over to the table and gingerly leaned back enough to get his butt over the edge.
“At least let me help you scoot back,” Emmy said without waiting for a response. He winced as she helped him, eventually lying down onto the pillow behind him.
“You can just relax. I’m going to look over Dr. Miller’s notes about your injuries and then do some assessments, okay?”
“Have at it,” Nash said, acting cool as he always did. His motto was “never let them see you sweat”, and he’d always taken that approach to life and relationships.
“Okay, do you feel any pain here?” Emmy asked as she started pressing on different areas of his injured leg.
“Nope.”
“What about here?” Before he could answer, Nash almost jumped off the table. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes…”
“What the hell did you do?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together.
“I touched your muscle that’s injured.”
“Are you trying to hurt me?”
“Of course not, Nash. This is my job. We have to find
the source of the pain and treat it.”
“Well, you found it.”
Emmy struggled not to giggle. “You can relax. I’m not going to press it like that again today. Now, I’m going to start working out some of the kinks and see if we can get more mobility in this leg.”
“Okay…”
Emmy pulled some lotion off the shelf and rubbed it into her hands, completed aware that Nash was watching her closely.
She began rubbing her hands across his thigh muscle first, his well toned legs reminding her of times gone by.
Nash had amazing legs, even if they were injured at the moment. He had to have strong legs to hold onto the back of a bull, of course.
And right now, running her hands across the thigh of the man she’d loved more than anyone else so many years ago was pure torture. She knew those legs. She’d touched them so many times in her life, and this felt like coming home again.
She needed to distract herself. She started thinking other things in her mind like her grocery list, her mother’s podiatry appointment coming up for that ingrown toenail she had… But it wasn’t working. She was keenly aware that she was touching Nash’s thigh. God help her when she had to work on his glutes soon.
Oh God. Emmy was touching his thigh. It felt wrong. It felt right. It felt weird. He wanted to run but if he could do that, he wouldn’t need physical therapy in the first place.
They locked eyes for a moment as she rubbed the muscles of his calf now. He quickly closed his eyes trying to avoid an embarrassing situation. And the situation could get a lot more embarrassing if he didn’t distract himself soon. He was wearing pretty tight shorts after all. And he was basically on full display. Gosh, why didn’t she have him lay face down?
As he settled into the rhythm of her touch, his mind started to wander back to the days when her touch was always welcome.
They’d just been young teenagers when they first let at the rodeo. She was there with friends, and he was just learning the ropes of his family business.
But once he’d seen her across the ring, nothing else mattered. It was like a lightning bolt, just like in those sappy romantic movies.
