The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Page 7

  Before her death, his mother would’ve said he was acting out. He didn’t care; he wanted to see the woman’s response. Most likely, her dimples and honeyed smile would disappear.

  Leaning back, he attempted to use the biofeedback exercise again. His leg hurt, but he found it difficult to relax in this chair with the commotion outside and the proximity of the redhead.

  “Hello, Captain Peterson.” She stood in front of him. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said.

  Yeah, fat chance.

  “As you know, I’m Willow Thomas, one of the two PTs in the department. I’d like to review the notes Trixie made the other day and conduct an intake interview with you.”

  As Willow closed the door, he saw her eyeing his crossed leg, but she didn’t say a word about it. Choosing her battles, he guessed.

  “How are you doing today?”

  “Peachy.”

  She nodded like she believed him, settled at her desk, and brought a file up on her screen. She perused the information for a moment before turning in the chair to look at him. “Why don’t you tell me about your injury?” She picked up a clipboard. “You served in Afghanistan? A marine?”

  He nodded.

  “Your records say you were stabilized in Hawaii then transferred to Walter Reed in DC?” At his nod, she continued, “A transtibial amputation. That’s fortunate.”

  “Oh, yeah, losing your leg is always lucky. All of us amputees celebrate it every glorious day.”

  She blinked. “I apologize. I can’t believe I said that.” She bit her lower lip. “I shouldn’t have used those words. What I meant is a transtibial amputation is easier to treat, easier to find a prosthesis that fits, one that will be comfortable. The loss of part of your leg certainly is not a lucky event.” She attempted a smile but it came off more worn-out than cheerful. “An unfortunate choice of words. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded again.

  She studied the screen. “I see you already have your initial prosthesis.” She glanced at the leg, which obviously didn’t have one. “Do you have it with you?”

  He’d have to use a few more words to explain. “It’s at home. It’s not comfortable.”

  She nodded, with sympathy. He hated sympathy and the sweet smiles and pitying glances that came with it. He slid down farther in the chair. He knew he was behaving like a butthead, but he figured if he was drowning, why should he go alone?

  “We’ll see what we can do to alleviate the pain, maybe add some cushioning. You’re going to have to get used to the prosthesis you have before the prosthetist can fit you for a new one.”

  Like the new one would be better.

  She glanced at his records again. “All right, let me check your file. I have copies of your initial intake from Hawaii and another from DC.” She looked up with green eyes as clear as a high mountain spring, exactly the same color as her sons’. On them they looked full of spirit and mischief. On her, they promised healing.

  He’d rather they promised something else.

  She turned away from the screen to face him. “How did you happen to end up in Butternut Creek when you could have rehabbed at Walter Reed or other large facilities?”

  He’d have to speak or he’d look like even more of a jerk than he was. “Didn’t want to stay in DC so the general—that’s my father—pulled a few strings. He was a marine, too. My aunt died a while back and left me a house over on Pine Street.”

  “On Pine Street?” She smiled at him. “I live close to that, in the new apartments on Eleventh.”

  “Oh?” He nodded as if the information were new.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your daily schedule,” she asked. “What’s your level of activity? What kind of physical activity do you take part in?”

  He narrowed his eyes and grinned—inside. “I do a lot of elbow bending, ma’am.” He mimed the actions of pouring from a bottle to a glass, then drinking. With a slow, mocking grin, he added, “I do it very well. No pain. No problems.”

  He had to hand it to her. A complete professional, she allowed not one sign of judgment or disgust to cross her face, to give away her opinion of a man who spent his day filling himself with booze to smooth off the ragged edges of pain and splinters of loss. She must have interviewed a lot of angry, depressed wounded vets.

  “But you’re a physical therapist,” he said to the top of her head as she made notes. “Why are you asking me questions about occupational therapy?” He knew the difference. He’d been interrogated by dozens of people in many different departments since the injury.

  “This is an intake session that covers all areas, to make sure you receive optimal care. Also, many of our services overlap.”

  He nodded and enjoyed the view of her beautiful hair.

  “You drink a great deal?” she asked without a trace of emotion. “How much would you say you drink a day?”

  “As much as necessary. I drink until I feel better, pass out, or can’t feel anything.”

  She studied him for a moment, her face expressionless. “You do know alcohol can change the effect of or weaken some of the medications you’re taking?”

  Too stupid a question to answer. Of course he knew. He didn’t care. No drinker would, but at least she didn’t give him the lecture about how he was ruining his life.

  She scribbled a few notes before asking, “Do you live alone?”

  He nodded.

  “How did you get to the hospital today?”

  “The community bus for cripples.”

  When her gaze flew to his face, he felt a spark of contrary pleasure. He’d gotten to her, but not for long. She looked back to her page, cool as ever.

  “Tell me about how you handle the chores of daily living.”

  “Chores of daily living?” He laughed without one note of humor. “They don’t get done.”

  “We offer in-home services like housekeeping, a medication aide, help with bathing.”

  “No,” he said. When she glanced up he added, “Thank you,” but didn’t mean it.

  “Are you aware of the veterans’ support groups in the area? One meets at—”

  He snorted.

  “I take it you’re not interested.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “When you’re ready, if you’re ever interested, I can give you some information. One meets at the Christian Church.” She jotted more notes. “How well do you sleep?”

  “Have trouble nodding off.”

  “Pain?”

  He nodded. “But once I have a couple of nightcaps to blunt the pain and fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up. Could probably stay in bed all day.” He paused. “If it weren’t for the kids.”

  She glanced up at him quickly, a touch of confusion in her eyes. “Kids?”

  “Yeah, sounds like a dozen but I’ve only seen two boys. About this high, and this high.” He used his hand to indicate their heights.

  “Two boys? In your neighborhood?” The confusion had changed to concern.

  “In my backyard.”

  She blinked. He was getting to her. Good. She looked nervous.

  “Yeah, redheaded little fiends, make more noise than you could imagine. Running around in my backyard.”

  “Redheaded little fiends?” She closed the file with a slap and leaned forward. “In your yard?” Her voice remained even but her eyes flashed.

  He’d pierced her calm facade. Could he tell her she was beautiful when she was angry? No, too clichéd and too forward. Rudeness didn’t bother him these days, but he hated clichés. He nodded and hid a grin of triumph.

  “They broke my slider yesterday. Threw a rock through it.”

  She glared—only a bit—but emotion in those eyes was much more interesting than her cool, professional demeanor. Obviously the kids hadn’t told her. Of course, it had only happened the day before. Probably hadn’t gotten up their courage yet.

  “Yes, the little scamps did. Took me forever to clean the glass off the floor. Talk about chores of daily living. Using a broom and dustpa
n is difficult for a guy with one leg.”

  She swallowed and attempted to mask her response. Cool on the outside but obviously upset inside. “Has the glass been fixed?”

  “I took care of it right away but it cost more than I had in the budget.”

  The therapist’s beautiful green eyes grew large.

  “Funny thing.” He paused. “I gave them my phone number, to have their mother call me. No one did.” He shook his head. “Guess she doesn’t care. Guess she can’t control them.”

  She took a deep breath. A determined look covered her face, and her eyes showed a resolute glint. She glared over his head, her lips narrowed to almost nothing. An amazing transformation from compassionate professional to troubled mother.

  “As you have probably guessed, those two were my sons. Your expenditure will be taken care of and the nuisance addressed.” She stood. “If you will excuse me.” She headed toward the door and opened it. “I’m going to ask Mike to work with you on strengthening your leg and core muscles and on improving your balance. We’ll complete the intake during your next appointment.”

  He watched her walk out the door.

  He didn’t get as much pleasure out of ticking people off as he used to, but, as long as he got a reaction, he wasn’t about to stop. What else did he have to do, other than watch the great parts of Willow Thomas as she moved away from him? He figured she’d refuse to add that means of entertainment to his treatment plan.

  The occupational therapist would expect him to find a wheelchair basketball league or learn to whittle, but neither of those interested him nearly as much as Willow Thomas and the way her eyes flashed when she became upset.

  Nothing scared him more than the attraction toward this woman. He was a mess and so was his life. He knew what a bargain he was not. She had too much on her plate now without taking on a bitter cripple.

  Besides, his interest was completely physical. The woman had a great body, and she was nice enough. But he had no interest in an emotional entanglement with a single mother of two rambunctious boys, or any woman for that matter.

  Watching her didn’t commit him to anything, however, and it gave him more pleasure than anything had in a long time.

  Chapter Six

  Willow pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, parked, and turned off the ignition. Her husband had bought her this very expensive car two years ago, back when he was seeing Tiffany but still felt guilty about it. The insurance payments took a big hunk of her paycheck. Her lawyer should have done a better job on that. Also, the backseat was tiny and the gas mileage was terrible, but it looked great and went very fast on the highway.

  As she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, she knew she was delaying entering the apartment, postponing the discussion with the boys. What was she going to do with them? What should she do about them? They were young boys who’d lost their father, friends, and home to come to a small town hundreds of miles away from Chicago with a completely different culture and climate.

  Knowing they’d want to be active, she’d enrolled them in a day camp until school started, but not enough had signed up so the last session was canceled. By that time, it was too late to enroll them in the summer soccer league. She could hardly take them to work, but she thought they’d be safe playing in the park, walking to the library, and wandering over to the box store on the edge of town. After all, they were eight and ten. Never had she thought they’d trespass and break a window.

  She shouldn’t have allowed the captain’s revelation to bother her so much. For heaven’s sake, she’d run out on a patient during the intake sessions. How incompetent did that appear? But she’d felt overwhelmed by life, and breaking down in tears in front of the captain wouldn’t seem professional to him or to anyone. Certainly not to her.

  Exactly what she needed: to have Leo and Nick running wild and to have a patient think she was a terrible, uncaring mother. That would hardly justify his having confidence in any area.

  Would it have mattered if the patient hadn’t been Captain Peterson? As much as she tried to ignore it, the question wiggled into her brain. Yes, he was handsome and charismatic. His eyes smoldered. Wasn’t that the word they used in romance novels? Didn’t the hero always have smoldering eyes that burned into the soul of the heroine? But this wasn’t a book and he wasn’t the hero and she shouldn’t care about the opinion of a patient more than that of anyone else.

  Nor was this about her. This was about Leo and Nick and how she could guide them without making them more unhappy about their situation.

  But as hard as she attempted to ignore this—she certainly was deep in denial this afternoon—she had to admit she liked how the captain had looked at her, as if he found her an attractive woman, maybe even sexy. Her self-esteem had suffered when she first found out about Tiffany, but the captain seemed to…

  “Mom?”

  She glanced up to see Nick standing at her window.

  “Is there something wrong?” He frowned a little as if wondering why she was still in the car in the parking lot. “Are you sick?”

  “No.” She smiled at him. Plenty of time to talk about that broken slider once she was inside with both boys. “Just thinking. But I do want to talk to you and Leo.”

  “Oh.”

  That one syllable, spoken in the high, shaky voice Nick used when he was worried or frightened, tipped her off. He and his brother had broken the slider and hadn’t told her. Not that she’d doubt the captain, who had no reason to make the story up, but she’d wanted to ask the boys first. Now she knew.

  “Let’s go inside.” She opened the door and handed the sack of hamburgers to him. Probably shouldn’t buy their favorite fast food when she was going to have to punish them, but after a long day of work, she couldn’t face cooking. “Where’s your brother?”

  Nick gulped as he took the bag. “Watching television,” he said, his voice still wavering.

  When she unlocked the apartment and Nick shoved the door open, he said, “Mom wants to talk to us.”

  If she hadn’t already known what had happened, the sight of Leo leaping to his feet and glancing at his brother in silent communication would have tipped her off. She closed the door, walked toward the window, and opened the blinds. That completed, she turned back to face the boys. “Boys, does either of you want to tell me about Captain Peterson?”

  “Mom, he’s the coolest man,” Nick said. “He has tattoos—I mean tats—and he’s a marine.”

  “He was wounded,” Leo added, his voice filled with admiration.

  She could tell by his face that her eldest had just realized a wounded marine might end up at physical therapy. “Have you met him?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Nick and Leo exchanged glances again.

  “Guess we’d better tell you what happened,” Leo said.

  “Yes, and after you do that, explain why you didn’t tell me about it and what you’re going to do to repay the captain.” She’d have to be tough because she didn’t want anyone—not only the captain—to think she let the boys get away with anything.

  But making the boys compensate him for the broken door meant she’d have to see him again. She didn’t want to, not outside the secure walls of the hospital, the safe haven of the physical therapy department where she could hide behind her professional demeanor. He and his scrutiny made her feel attractive, like a woman again, as her husband had done for years. But Grant taught her not to trust men, and she’d learned that lesson well. With two sons, she didn’t dare make another mistake.

  Adam hurried across the parking lot toward the church, carrying the plate of warm muffins Ouida had handed him on his way out of the parsonage.

  Surely there could be no better place for a bachelor than living next to a friendly neighbor who baked. He whistled as he entered the church. When he spotted the frown on Maggie’s face, the whistling stopped.

  “You have a guest.” She continued to type the bulletin, but her tone and lack of
eye contact suggested he might not be pleased with the identity of the visitor.

  Guessing who it was, Adam attempted to recapture his exhilaration. It eluded him. He hadn’t seen Miss Birdie’s old van outside, but she could have walked. No destination in town was too far to walk.

  “Who is it?” he whispered.

  Maggie kept her eye on the screen and didn’t answer. Surely setting the margin couldn’t demand so much attention.

  Squaring his shoulders, Adam pushed the door open and walked into the minister’s study. He knew he should call this his study, but he worried about acting too possessive, as if claiming this as his might make the extraordinary place disappear. Magical and un-Christian thinking, he knew.

  Yes, Miss Birdie stood next to the desk. She hadn’t heard him enter and rubbed her shoulder as if… Well, for a moment, she looked vulnerable. Like a real person, like a church member whose minister should comfort her instead of wanting to run and hide every time he saw her.

  When she heard him come in, the pillar dropped her hands and turned toward him. Her lips curved, an expression he couldn’t read but made him suspicious. She looked almost friendly.

  He had to quit judging Miss Birdie. She was a member of the congregation, a child of God who deserved to be loved and accepted by her minister. Adam smiled back. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, first you need to do something about these books all over the place.”

  “I agree, but…” He realized as he began to defend the mess that the books weren’t the real reason for her visit. Oddly, instead of appearing confident, she looked almost uncertain about her purpose. Adam guessed the hesitation would disappear as soon as the reason for her presence emerged. Miss Birdie wasn’t one to hem and haw.

  The minister gestured toward the two chairs he’d cleared after her first visit and walked to the desk. Piles of books and tottering stacks of paper littered the surface. As if he’d always meant to do exactly that, Adam opened the large bottom drawer, swept the mess inside, and closed it. “Won’t you have a seat?”