He squeezed the arms of the wheelchair. “What exactly did she say?”
“Physical therapy at least three times a week. I’m to drive you there and back. And...”
“And what?” He forced himself not to growl. He was going to have a long chat with his sister later.
“I’m not to take no for an answer.”
* * *
“No.”
Celeste expected the negative response, but she didn’t expect to sympathize with him. From the minute she stepped into this grand, lakefront cottage—completely wheelchair-accessible, according to Claire—she’d been fighting a losing battle. She’d agreed to be Sam’s assistant, because it felt like a God-given gift dropped in her lap. Celeste would get a rent-free home away from the whispers and all the darted looks at her disfigured face. The cabin would make it possible for her to expand her business, take on a few more clients. After all, she had other things to consider now.
She needed to convince Sam to go to physical therapy.
Sam had wheeled his chair in front of the patio door. The wall held floor-to-ceiling windows with magnificent views of mature trees, a rambling lawn and the sapphire water of the lake dancing in the sunlight. An incredible room. And the man with dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes wasn’t bad, either. The fact Sam had his own scars to heal made him less intimidating than most of the people she encountered.
Sort of.
But whether he was gorgeous or not wasn’t the issue. If she wanted to live in Claire’s cabin, she had to follow Claire’s rules. “What’s wrong with physical therapy?”
“It didn’t work.” His profile could have been etched in marble.
She thought back to what Claire told her, and something wasn’t adding up. “What do you mean?”
“All my progress was for nothing.”
“But you were making progress?”
“I’ll always need a wheelchair.” His lips drew into a thin line.
Should she continue this obviously touchy subject? If she didn’t, he might refuse physical therapy. Claire’s cabin meant a life of her own. Privacy. A reprieve from what her life had become. She couldn’t depend on her parents forever.
The plastic surgeon would reevaluate her at the follow-up appointment on December 16. Then she’d have another operation to reduce her scars. Who cared that he had already warned her he didn’t recommend further surgery? The appointment would prove him wrong. It had to.
This handsome, hurting man in front of her—the one who’d been given a crummy deal the same way she’d been—only made Celeste want her old face back more. She’d never been a supermodel, but men used to notice her and little kids didn’t ask awkward questions. She couldn’t imagine a romantic relationship in her current skin. It had been hard enough in her old one. More surgery was vital. Living here, away from unwanted attention, was, too.
She squared her shoulders. “You’re not paralyzed, correct?”
“No. Not paralyzed.” He flexed his hands. “I slipped in the shower back in June. Tore ligaments in my right knee. Had to have surgery on it.”
Her heart tightened at all he’d been through. Lord, I’m sorry for all the ways I pity myself. Please help Sam.
“Claire mentioned the possibility of using a cane.” It had been a while since she engaged in conversation this long with a stranger. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“My doctor didn’t make any promises.”
“Doctors can’t really make promises,” she said quietly. Hers certainly hadn’t. “What did yours say?”
“With enough physical therapy, I might be able to get around with a cane eventually. I’ll need a wheelchair or crutches to give my leg a break when the pain gets bad.”
“I’m sorry. I take it you can’t walk at all?”
“For short periods. With crutches.”
“That’s good.” She nodded.
“I haven’t used them much since I fell.”
“Oh. Does the doctor want you off your leg so it can heal?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, but his right shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s less painful this way.”
Not exactly the answer to her question. “But how will you get better if you stay in the wheelchair?”
“There’s no getting better. I won’t be able to do the things I used to do. I’ll never run, ski or slam-dunk a basketball again.”
Heat climbed her neck. It wasn’t her business. She was here to help him in exchange for the cabin. Nothing more. But she really couldn’t follow his way of thinking. He refused to go to physical therapy, but without it he’d always be in a wheelchair. Hmm...
“I don’t know much about it,” she murmured.
“I don’t want to be confined to this chair, but I can’t risk permanent damage.”
“So let me take you to physical therapy.”
“No.”
“But you just said—”
“I’d give anything to walk again. Hobbling around with a cane isn’t walking. It’s a rotten consolation prize.”
“I’m really confused. You have a chance to improve your life.” She let the rest of her thought go unspoken. But you’re too proud to see a cane as an improvement.
He jerked his head to the side. “I don’t want this life.”
And there it was.
Now Celeste understood why Claire had offered an empty cabin in exchange for help with Sam. Until this moment Celeste had worried the offer was only made out of pity. But if pity played a part, Claire’s concern for her brother was clearly the bigger factor. This man had been through so much, and he hadn’t reconciled his past to move on to the future.
“What do you want?”
He didn’t answer right away, but he sighed. “I was the CEO of Sheffield Auto, our family business. Making decisions for five auto dealerships, including one of my own. Everything was going great. Then one day I go fishing with my friend, and nothing has been the same since.”
Celeste nodded in sympathy. He’d had big goals. Unlike her. Until last December, she’d been drifting along, working for an insurance agency and living in a dinky apartment. Her degree in history had been filed away in a box, unused. Lately she’d been thinking of dusting it off to become a teacher. Be the woman she could have been.
But not with these scars. She’d be the laughingstock of the school.
“My life isn’t the same, either. I don’t think it ever will be.” She focused on a chickadee perched on the deck railing outside. Another joined it and they flew off together. Escaping. Lake Endwell was her escape.
“I haven’t figured out how to move forward.” With his elbow propped on the table, his chin rested on his fist.
“Do you still want to run your dealership? And be CEO?”
“Not from a wheelchair.”
Her gut told her this man needed physical therapy as badly as she needed more surgery on her face. But how could she convince him?
“What about returning to work with a cane? You have options.” She tipped her head. “Try physical therapy again. Claire won’t let me live in her cabin unless you do.”
“My sister?” He scoffed. “She wouldn’t kick you out.”
“She would. She’s determined to get you back to PT.”
“I’ll find you another place to stay.”
“I don’t want another place.” She didn’t know why this man was touching such a nerve in her. She could live somewhere else. But the dark circles under his eyes shot compassion through her heart. She wanted him to smile. Wanted him to have hope. And her approach clearly wasn’t working. “Look, I need this.”
“Why?”
What was the saying about desperate times and desperate measures?
“I’ll show you.” She prayed this didn’t backfire as s
he walked out the door.
* * *
Sam rubbed his forehead as the door clicked behind Celeste. For a soft-spoken person, she sure knew how to say things that barbed right to his soul. He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t even upset. For months he’d carried a Dumpster full of excuses on why he should give up. Why physical therapy wasn’t for him.
And for what? He kicked the table leg with his good foot. This was no way to live.
If he didn’t return to work after Christmas, there would be no work to return to. His brothers had told him they couldn’t continue to help run his dealership. They each had two of their own, and they’d given up most of their free time to keep his profitable.
He would be forced to sell the dealership. They would name a new person to step in as CEO. Succeeding in this business took a hands-on approach and a special personality—one Sam used to have.
Maybe that was the real problem. He’d lost his courage. Lost his identity. Maybe it was time to try physical therapy again. His bones ached thinking about it. Getting around in the wheelchair wasn’t ideal, but it kept him from the relentless aching and stiffness PT brought on.
Besides, his weak knee could very well cause him to fall, putting him at risk of tearing open the healing sciatic nerve. He’d fought hard to regain feeling in his foot and lower leg. Portions of it were still numb. He might not be moving forward, but at least he wasn’t in danger of a permanent setback—paralysis.
The door opened with a creak. Sam sat up straighter, not believing what he was seeing.
Celeste held a dark-haired child in her arms. The baby rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back against her shoulder. He wore little navy pants and a lime-green shirt. A diaper stuck out from the top of the elastic, and his feet were strapped into tiny running shoes.
Sam’s heartbeat paused at the picture they presented.
She had a baby.
Longing for a child of his own slammed in his gut. He closed his eyes briefly, willing the futile emotion away.
No wonder she needed a new start. It all made sense now.
Celeste padded forward. “Is it okay if I sit on the couch?”
“Of course.” He followed her to the leather couch and chairs. A sweet smile graced her face as she stroked the sleeping child’s hair from his forehead.
“This is my nephew, Parker. His mom was killed in the accident.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open. Wasn’t expecting those words. A nephew. The accident. Had Celeste’s sister been killed?
“Brandy and I were best friends ever since we sat next to each other in first grade. My big brother, Josh, started dating her after we graduated from high school. They got married four years ago—Josh was deployed off and on throughout their marriage—and then they found out about this little bundle of joy.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” His mind reeled. Here he’d been having a pity party about his leg, not realizing Celeste had lost her best friend. Her sister-in-law.
“I am, too. It breaks my heart every day knowing Brandy and Josh are missing Parker’s life.”
“Josh? Was he in the car as well?”
She shook her head. “No. He was killed overseas a few weeks after finding out Brandy was pregnant. Roadside bomb in Afghanistan. After he died, Brandy got really depressed. She was obsessed with making up a will. Of course I agreed to be Parker’s guardian, although I thought she was a little too intense about it. But here I am. Raising Parker. Permanently.”
He could barely take it in. “So your brother never got to see his baby?”
Celeste kissed Parker’s head. He slept soundly on her lap, his cheek still resting on her shoulder. “No, and it breaks my heart. I wish he could have. He would have loved his baby. I miss him.”
“Don’t you have family who could raise him?” He couldn’t imagine taking on such a big responsibility so soon after an accident.
“I want to raise him. I promised Brandy. My brother and I were close, and I consider it an honor. Besides, my parents both work full-time. They’re getting older, and they don’t have the energy I have.”
Sam hesitated. “Why is it so important for you to live in Claire’s cabin? Why here?”
Her pretty brown eyes dimmed. “I need to create a life of my own.” She wrapped her arms tightly around Parker. “I guess I need some time away from it all. Losing my brother and my best friend. Getting used to this face. It’s hard when people see the new me but mourn the old me with their eyes.”
He understood what she was saying. It was why he hadn’t left the cottage in a long time. People expected to see the Sam with a quick joke who could stand tall and play volleyball at a picnic. Seeing him in a wheelchair made them uncomfortable. Or maybe it made him uncomfortable. Maybe both.
“Yes, that’s a good way to put it,” Sam said. “I guess neither of us got what we wanted out of life.”
“I guess not.” She tugged Parker’s shirt down over his back. “But I’m going to be the best parent Parker could have in this situation. I’m going to make sure he knows everything about his mommy and daddy. Brandy would have done the same for me. And Josh—well, I’d do anything for him.”
Sam thought of his four siblings. He’d do anything for them, too.
He’d been selfish. It was time to start thinking about someone other than himself. He had an opportunity to help Celeste. And the baby in her arms.
“Okay, I’ll go to physical therapy.”
“Really?” Celeste blinked, then beamed.
Man, she was pretty. “Yeah.”
“Good. I hope you don’t mind Parker riding with us. I’m kind of all he has.”
“I like kids.” The desire for one of his own hit him again. “How old is he, anyway?”
“Just turned a year. He’s almost walking. Claire told me there are plenty of babysitters she can recommend if you don’t want him underfoot when I’m cleaning or helping you.”
“Save your money. He’s welcome anytime. It will be easier for all of us. Why don’t you give me your phone number, get settled next door and come back in a few days. We’ll work out a schedule then.”
Celeste stood, jostling Parker, and rattled off her cell phone number. He typed it into his phone. She carried the baby to the door. “Sam?”
“What?” He followed her, waiting as she stood in the open doorway.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
A blush rose up to her cheeks. “For understanding.”
Once she left, he stared at the closed door for a long time. If she had the courage to raise a little boy and continue with her life after being in a terrible accident and losing her best friend, maybe he could find it in himself to try again.
Because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days in a wheelchair.
Copyright © 2016 by Jill Kemerer
ISBN-13: 9781488007668
Reunited at Christmas
Copyright © 2016 by Sandra Calhoune
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Boo
ks S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Reunited at Christmas Page 19
