The Late Bloomer's Road to Love

by Marie Ferrarella

  A wave of relief washed over her.

  Both her father and the therapist were looking at her right now, as if waiting for her to make some sort of a response.

  C’mon, Rach, this is no time to suddenly go brain-dead.

  “How is he doing?” she repeated a bit haltingly at first. “My father’s been dying to get back to work, but I’m afraid that if he does and if it’s too soon, he’s going to wind up having another heart attack,” she said to the therapist honestly, her voice lowering just a shade.

  Rather than answer her, Wyatt nodded his head to the side, indicating that they should take the conversation over there.

  To her surprise—and relief—her father didn’t look offended or impatient. He remained where he was. This Wyatt Watson really did seem to have a good effect on him.

  Eager to obtain some sort of a response—hopefully a positive answer—from Wyatt, she opened her mouth to urge him on. But before she could say anything further, Wyatt quietly told her, “While there’s always a chance—a slim one—that your father might take a step backward, you must know that he appears to be a very strong man, not to mention stubborn,” he added with a smile.

  It pleased her that he seemed to have such a good handle on her father. At least the stubborn part, she thought. She began to feel hopeful. “Oh, he is that.”

  “Well, stubbornness can actually be a good thing,” Wyatt said. “Trust me, there’s nothing worse than a patient just throwing up their hands and saying that they can’t do something, or they aren’t up to it. Stubbornness is what gets them out of a funk, not to mention that it helps them with the exercises.”

  Rachel was trying to understand what Wyatt was telling her and put it in perspective. It made a lot of sense to her. Glancing back at her father’s happy expression, she felt exceedingly heartened. It seemed as if the physical therapist was on the right path and her father appeared to be sold on it.

  “Then you’re saying you think he’ll be able to go back to work?” she asked.

  “Part-time,” Wyatt interjected. “I’d say that he can definitely go back on a part-time basis as long as he promises not to overdo it.”

  Rachel laughed. She’d been down that route before, more than once. “Ah, easier said than done.”

  “It’s all in the way you say it. And he does understand the ramifications, you know. As for now,” Wyatt went on, turning his attention back to her father, “would you like to see your dad go through some of the exercises we have been working on?”

  He made it sound like a joint venture, but she knew better. There was nothing she would have liked more than to see her father exercising and making progress, but there was a slight problem with that.

  “I would, but Dad might feel uncomfortable having me look on,” Rachel said honestly.

  “I think his pride of accomplishment might just outweigh his sense of embarrassment,” Wyatt said. And then he stepped back. “But it’s entirely up to you.”

  She appeared undecided for a moment, then, making up her mind, she crossed the floor back over to her father.

  Rather than any trendy workout attire—which Rachel had gotten her father in order to motivate him—George was wearing a sleeveless sweatshirt and a pair of nondescript sweatpants.

  She smiled at him. “I hear you’re doing well, Dad.”

  George looked beyond his daughter’s shoulder at Wyatt. He had to admit that he was a little uneasy about this whole venture, but once he had met the young man—who hadn’t a clue that this was anything more than just a professional engagement of his services—he was well pleased with the choice that his old friend had made. Nothing he had heard about Maizie and her friends’ matchmaking venture was an exaggeration.

  For the first time since he had found himself lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to all those wires and tubes that threatened to turn his active lifestyle into that of an inert vegetable, George Fenelli felt real hope. Hope that everything he had ever wanted for his daughter—a career in nursing and more important, a thoughtful, caring man to love her—was more than a possibility. Going back to work was just icing on the cake.

  “For the first time, I think I am,” George told her after a beat and it wasn’t just for the sake of the part he was playing. He truly meant it. Then, taking a breath, he asked, “Do you want to stick around and see what this newest slave driver has me doing?”

  For a moment, the question caught her off guard. Worded the way it was, she thought her father was being resentful again. And then she saw the sparkle in his green eyes. He actually liked the physical therapist who had been assigned to him this time.

  Suddenly, she felt a real surge of optimism. If her father liked this man, then maybe, just maybe he would try to go through the paces that the therapist set for him and do the exercises that the man felt were called for. At any rate, that meant that her beloved father would eventually be his normal old self again.

  A huge wave of cheer swelled in her heart.

  It was going to be all right.

  “I’d love to, Dad,” she said, drawing a chair over so she could watch him and not be in either man’s way. Her eyes sparkling, she urged, “Go for it.”

  Chapter Four

  Rachel stuck around for a while, watching Wyatt interact with her father. She was impressed that even though it was his first time with her father, he patiently reviewed a series of exercises with him.

  Her father did better than she had expected. The exercises were simple. None of them were really strenuous on the surface. However, Rachel had a feeling that once they were put together, they would have the desired effect. Little by little—if he kept up with them—the exercises would get her father back on the road to complete recovery—or as complete as humanly possible.

  She told herself that she wasn’t hoping for miracles—but the plain truth of it was that she actually was—because it meant so much to her father. And even after all this time, the restaurant still didn’t seem the same without him.

  In her judgment, Wyatt seemed competent enough but she had to admit that he was too damn good-looking. She couldn’t shake off the notion that he had been sent from Central Casting rather than an actual physical therapy firm.

  You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Rachel chided herself.

  All in all, given the circumstances, Rachel would have wanted to remain longer. However, as usual, there was a whole list of things she still had to see to at the restaurant if it was to retain its reputation as well as continue to bring in money. When she caught herself staring at Wyatt for the third time instead of watching her father do his exercises, she decided that it was time to get going.

  As discreetly as possible, Rachel rose to her feet and picked up her shoulder purse. The second she did, both men stopped interacting and turned to look in her direction in unison.

  “Sorry,” she apologized, flushing slightly, “But I’m afraid I have to be getting back to the restaurant.”

  Her father nodded. He was the last person she needed to explain herself to. Moreover, her dedication warmed his heart and he waved her on.

  “Go, go,” he urged his daughter.

  For his part, Wyatt looked somewhat surprised. It was obvious that he had assumed she would stay longer, possibly throughout the rest of the session.

  But then, he did understand that work could be a demanding mistress. His certainly was.

  In a way, that gave them something in common.

  “I’m just planning on doing more of the same,” Wyatt told her, thinking that might make this easier for her. “Each session, we’ll be adding a few more exercises to the workout so that it begins to feel easier and easier.”

  To emphasize his point, he took out a blue folder from his briefcase and held it up. He kept a collection of exercises in the folder, each providing detailed steps of the exercises so that his patients would know
precisely what to do with each one as it came up.

  Peeking over her shoulder, her father glanced at some of the exercises. He didn’t bother stifling a groan.

  The sound made Rachel laugh. “Perfect.”

  She was clearly delighted and handed the folder back to Wyatt. In her opinion, the collection was wonderful and it appeared that her father’s physical therapist was on to something.

  Maybe the man wasn’t just another pretty face.

  Pausing to kiss her father’s cheek before she left, Rachel told him, “Follow Wyatt’s instructions and maybe, just maybe I’ll let you come back to the restaurant sooner than later.”

  And then she turned toward the physical therapist for just a second. “Thank you,” she told the man, smiling at him warmly.

  The next moment, Rachel turned on her heel and was out the door before Wyatt had a chance to say anything in response.

  Wyatt shook his head. “Your daughter certainly moves fast.”

  George saw the admiring look in Wyatt’s eyes. He could have sworn he was aware of sparks flying between his daughter and the handsome physical therapist.

  Yes! he thought. Bless you, Maizie.

  Out loud, George replied with a soft, pleased laugh, “You don’t know the half of it.” Then, just in case his comment made Wyatt wonder what was going on, George continued with his story. “Luckily, Rachel takes after her mother. That makes her very resilient. Otherwise I’m not all that sure she would have survived.” He saw Wyatt looking at him curiously. “I raised her after her mother left us.”

  George realized that Wyatt might have gotten the wrong impression. At the very least, the therapist might have thought that there had been an acrimonious divorce involved. He wanted to set the record straight.

  George told Wyatt in a very quiet voice, “My wife died.”

  “Yes, I know,” Wyatt said quickly.

  “You know?” George questioned, surprised.

  Had Maizie told the young man about the family? But why? Had the woman confessed what she was actually attempting to accomplish by bringing Wyatt in to give him physical therapy exercises, George wondered.

  That didn’t sound right. After all, Maizie had told him that this whole thing was being conducted beneath a veil of secrecy, just like all the other “matches” that she and her two friends had managed to arrange in the past.

  “Yes,” Wyatt answered, “I try to find out as much as possible about my patient before I undertake his or her case. That gives me a clearer understanding of what I’m dealing with, as well as how to help my patient more efficiently. I don’t believe in wasting time.”

  “Well, that’s commendable,” George said as he slowly raised and lowered first one leg, then the other, under the younger man’s watchful eye. “But I would have thought that becoming familiar with the reason I needed a physical therapist would have given you enough information to set up the exercise program.”

  “I don’t work that way,” Wyatt told him with a smile. “You never know when the smallest detail might provide the key to an exercise that would wind up helping a patient.”

  George struggled not to grin from ear to ear. Right at that moment, he began to envision himself dancing at his daughter’s wedding.

  * * *

  The moment Rachel walked into the restaurant, Johanna left what she was doing in the office and hurried to her side. The expression on the assistant manager’s face was hopeful and eager.

  “So do you think this new physical therapist is here to stay, or is your father going to exercise his power of veto on this one, too?”

  Rachel left her purse in the small office and came out to join the assistant manager. “No, I really think that he’s going to last, at least for a little while.”

  “He?” Johanna asked, obviously surprised.

  Rachel nodded. “He,” she told the woman she had known ever since she was a little girl.

  “This time it appears that the agency sent a man and Dad really seems to like him—thank heavens.”

  Focused on doing her job even while she talked, Rachel began reviewing the checklist she had made for herself late last night.

  Johanna seemed intrigued. Like Rachel, she wanted to see George fully recovered and back at work. “So what’s this miracle worker like?”

  The question caught Rachel off guard. She thought for a moment. The answer that sprang to her lips—“Cute”—had nothing to do with Wyatt’s qualifications. Besides, it didn’t matter if the man was cute, she had put her life on hold far too long. She had no time for “cute” or anything remotely like “cute.” She needed to concentrate on the career she had let slide.

  “What do you mean?” Rachel asked a tad too innocently to Johanna’s way of thinking.

  “Is he young, old, knowledgeable, confused? Is he good-looking or does he have a face that would stop a clock at twenty paces?” Johanna answered, wondering why Rachel needed to have that clarified.

  Rachel deliberately avoided making eye contact with the older woman. Instead, she addressed the questions as matter-of-factly as possible. “Well, he’s young and he seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “What does he look like?” Johanna prodded, returning to the question she wanted answered. The question she felt that Rachel was doing her best to avoid. She couldn’t help wondering why.

  Still avoiding eye contact, Rachel shrugged. “He’s okay,” she answered vaguely.

  “In other words,” Johanna guessed, “he’s gorgeous.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Rachel said quickly.

  “You didn’t have to. Your eyes said it for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he looks like, Johanna,” Rachel protested a little too strongly. “It matters what he does for Dad.”

  “Oh, I totally agree—but it doesn’t hurt anything if he’s easy on the eyes,” the woman said with a smile.

  At a loss, Rachel merely shrugged again. She was still rather uncomfortable with her reaction to the physical therapist. Admittedly, she hadn’t responded that way to a man since Elliott.

  “I see we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” Johanna concluded.

  “We don’t have to do this at all,” Rachel said pointedly.

  Johanna’s eyes seemed to be laughing at her. “What fun is that?”

  Rachel sighed. “This isn’t supposed to be fun, Johanna. This is supposed to be about Dad getting better,” she insisted. She didn’t like the thought that she seemed to be so transparent. And she really didn’t know why, but this was making her uncomfortable.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Johanna agreed easily. “But if the guy working with your dad is handsome, that isn’t exactly what I’d call a deal breaker, either.” She smiled brightly, adding, “I’d call that a real opportunity.”

  Rachel relented. “Maybe some other time and place, it would be. But right now, honestly, all I want to do is make some headway in my schoolwork.”

  Johanna nodded, indicating that she clearly understood—but she had an addendum. “But who’s to say that you can’t do both?”

  Rachel looked at Johanna, clearly stunned. The woman had to be kidding, right? Hadn’t Johanna been paying any attention the last couple of years as she ran herself ragged and practically into the ground just to keep the restaurant going and seeing to her father’s care until he could get back up on his feet and run the restaurant on his own?

  By her calculation, she was about two years behind in her sleep.

  “For one thing, there are only twenty-four hours in a day and I’m already using up twenty-six and a half. I don’t think I get to use any more,” Rachel confessed. “I’m already burning the candle not just on both ends—but in the middle, too.”

  Johanna drew her aside and lowered her voice so that the rest of the staff couldn’t hear her. “Honey, there’s always time for a good-looking man
. Because if you decide on plowing through your existence with blinders on, you’ll always wonder what it might have been like if you’d paused long enough to admire the ‘scenery’ along the way.”

  “Sorry, Johanna,” Rachel said as she made her way into the storage area, “I just don’t have the time for that sort of thing.”

  “Make time,” Johanna called out to her. “By the way, what’s this physical therapist’s name?”

  “Wyatt,” Rachel called back.

  She could hear the woman sigh all the way to the storage area. “Wyatt what?”

  “Are you thinking of getting some physical therapy?” she asked, concerned. Was Johanna keeping something from her? She wasn’t by nature a complainer. Every since her father had had his heart attack, Rachel was exceedingly alert for any signs of unaddressed health problems amid her staff and that included Johanna.

  “Wyatt what?” Johanna asked once again.

  “Watson,” Rachel answered. “Wyatt Watson.” She glanced at Johanna over her shoulder. “Do you want to know his shoe size, too?”

  Johanna’s eyes met Rachel’s. Even with this much distance between them, Rachel could see the devilish look in the woman’s eyes.

  “That’s not the part I’m interested in,” Johanna said matter-of-factly.

  That gave Rachel some pause. Maybe she had completely misunderstood the situation. Maybe Johanna had decided that her father wasn’t interested in her and she was looking for someone to fill the void in her own life. The poor woman had been alone for more years than she could count. Initially, Rachel had hoped, after her mother’s passing, that her father and Johanna would get together.

  For the first time she decided that maybe that didn’t seem likely.

  “He’s too young for you, Johanna,” she informed the assistant manager.

  “Good to know,” Johanna answered. “But I wasn’t thinking about being the one to pair up with him,” she said pointedly.

  Okay, back to the first theory, Rachel thought. “Well, I’m certainly not pairing up with him,” she said. And she had already wasted too much time discussing this.