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“Brady, most of the therapists at Dance of Hope are women. If this is going to be a problem—”
“No.” Brady met her eyes and reached for her. “It’s not a problem. I just—I needed a second.” Her touch was stronger, more deliberate than when she’d introduced herself earlier. He didn’t doubt her strength or ability to support him. He doubted his resolve to not want more of it.
Her cheeks darkened to a deep crimson—perhaps she sensed his attraction to her. “Take your time,” she reassured. “I’ve got you.”
Brady stared at her hospital identification badge as he slowly stood. Her photograph made him momentarily forget the shaking in his legs. She looked different with her dark hair down around her shoulders. Every time he’d seen her, it had always been either in a ponytail or a braid of some sort. Sheila. Her name was Sheila. He’d never known a Sheila before. It suited her.
She cleared her throat. His gaze immediately flew to hers and then back to her badge, which he realized rested right against her left breast. “I wasn’t looking at your— Your badge... I was looking at your badge.”
Sheila started to laugh. “It’s all right, Brady.” She took a step closer, offering him more support. “How does that feel?”
That was a loaded question. It felt amazing standing less than a foot away from her. Feeling her hands in his. She was tall. Taller than he’d thought from the vantage point of his chair. Maybe only four or five inches shorter than his six-foot-two frame. And she didn’t smell as he’d imagined. Whenever he’d seen her, he’d thought of honeysuckle for some reason. Her scent was more of freshly laundered cotton sheets.
“Brady?”
That feeling he had forgotten a few seconds ago suddenly came back. “Not as steady as I’d like, but better than yesterday.”
“Do you feel any pain?”
Brady shook his head. “I think I stopped noticing pain a month ago.”
“Okay, you can take a seat.” Sheila waited until he was in his chair before releasing his hands. “Hippotherapy will greatly strengthen your core and leg muscles. I’m going to discharge you today with the understanding that you adhere to the program at Dance of Hope. I will be closely monitoring your progress and I’ll be checking in with you when I make my rounds there. Don’t overdo it, Brady. I don’t want to admit you back into this hospital again.”
“I’ll be good, Doc.” Brady winked, then instantly regretted it when the nurse giggled. There was nothing like a disabled man flirting with a gorgeous doctor. “You won’t recognize me the next time you see me.”
Sheila’s brows rose. “I don’t know if I should be scared by that statement or not. Just remember, I’ll be watching you.” She made a V with her fingers and waved them between her eyes and his. “Take care, Brady. I’ll see you soon.”
Brady was torn between wanting to see her right away and wanting to wait until he could do more than stand on wobbly legs. He knew she doubted he’d make a full recovery, but he’d prove her wrong. And then, maybe he’d even ask her out.
Chapter Two (#ulink_7fd324f0-5208-5142-8d94-a6f2d7d5c490)
Sheila stripped out of her operating-room scrubs and tossed them into the hospital laundry bin. By the time she’d finished with her rotator-cuff reconstruction, Brady had been discharged and was on his way to Dance of Hope. Anyone who had one of the world’s most dangerous jobs definitely had the dedication it took to recover from his injuries. But a full recovery was doubtful. And she didn’t want Brady to become disillusioned if his body didn’t bounce back the way he hoped.
The thought of Brady being disappointed or giving up because he could not ride a bull bothered her more than it should. She’d learned during her first year internship to compartmentalize her emotions. Regardless of how hard she tried, she couldn’t save all of them and there were lots of Brady Sawyers in the world. Men determined to push their bodies further than they were meant to go.
Sheila had made a note on his file to discuss readjustment counseling in the upcoming weeks. She preferred to allow a patient to progress further along in their therapy before making the recommendation. Her colleagues didn’t always agree, but she felt mentioning it too soon shattered morale and hindered their improvement.
“Thanks for letting me take that surgery.” Marissa entered the locker room. “We had a patellar fracture during the tendon harvest.”
“You tend to see a lot of that in sports medicine,” Sheila said. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Care to join me?”
“Sure. How did it go with your cowboy?”
The question created a slight tingle in her belly. “He’s not my cowboy.” The image of him standing in front of her replayed in her brain. She shook her head in a vain attempt to rid herself of the memory. “After talking with him, I understand Dr. Mangone’s trepidation about sending him to Dance of Hope. Brady’s a bit too gung ho to climb back on a bull and the fact that the hippotherapy center is located next to a rodeo school concerns me.”
“Brady?” Marissa stopped in the doorway and faced her. “It didn’t take long to progress to first names.”
Sheila pushed past her. “Don’t even joke about that. He’s a patient, Marissa. You know any romantic relationship is strictly forbidden by the medical board and this hospital. I’m not willing to risk my residency on anyone.”
“Relax, I’m only teasing.” Marissa held up her hands. “But if he wasn’t your patient you’d be tempted, right?”
Sheila spun to face her. “Listen to me. I’ve come too far and worked too hard to jeopardize my career over a rumor. If the wrong person hears what you’re saying, you could ruin everything for me. I’m trying to get into the orthopedic trauma fellowship program next year and I don’t need this.”
“Whoa. For someone with no romantic attachments to a patient you’re certainly doing your damnedest to defend yourself.”
She had every reason to. She’d almost given up medical school when her boyfriend asked her to move to Arizona. Fate had intervened and she’d caught him in bed with someone else, saving her from walking away from her dreams. Now she realized no amount of love or promise of a happily-ever-after was worth it. Relationships didn’t last forever. Being a doctor would.
Before Sheila had the chance to argue her point further, both of their pagers went off. Trauma Alert ER. “Let’s move!”
* * *
THE DANCE OF HOPE transport van pulled in front of the combined hippotherapy center and rodeo school entrance. The July sun warmed Brady’s face as he eased his legs out of the van and stepped onto the ground using the door as support. A woman with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair greeted him with a wheelchair.
“I’m Kay Langtry.” She helped him into the chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brady.”
“Ma’am, it’s a pleasure to be here.”
“We promise to take good care of you during your stay. Since it’s lunchtime, why don’t I start our tour in the common dining area.”
Brady hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “Sounds good to me. Lead the way.”
Kay nodded, silently acknowledging that he didn’t need any assistance. He was sweating by the time they reached the center’s entrance. It was the first time he’d used a wheelchair outside. The experience left him craving a cold shower rather than lunch. Brady paused in the entryway. He could hear the whoops and shouts coming from the rodeo school through massive oak doors to the right. He knew those sounds well and he missed them more than anything. The rodeo was his life—his past and his future.
“Do you need a moment?” Kay crouched down beside him so they were at eye level with one another. A gesture he appreciated. He got tired of always looking up at everyone, especially when he was used to towering over most people.
“I’m good. I’m anxious to get started.” When Dr. Mangone had told him about the hippotherapy center, he’d hopped online to research it. He’d been relieved to discover it was less than an hour away from his father, son and Alice. “Visitors are allowed, right?”
“Yes, they are.” Kay stood. “As often as you’d like. Let’s grab a bite to eat and settle you in. Feel free to invite your family to join us for dinner tonight. We always have enough food around here.”
“Thank you, I think I will.”
The common dining area took Brady off guard. He’d seen photos of it online, but it had been empty then. He hadn’t been prepared for the number of children in wheelchairs or on crutches. There were some military personnel—both men and women. That he’d expected. But the children broke his heart. Children Gunner’s age.
“I know this can be unsettling at first.” Kay placed a hand on his shoulder. “But don’t ever tell anyone here that you feel sorry for them or show them any pity. You will find this to be a very grateful and determined group. Everyone has the same goal—to get out of here one day. Some will walk out, others won’t. But it’s a team effort and everybody is rooting for you.”
Brady felt his heart pound in his chest. He was used to people rooting for him...in a different arena. He’d root for every child, every person here. As much as he wanted to be in his own home, he knew this was the best place for him. He would walk and compete again.
* * *
SHEILA SLAMMED HER front door. She’d lost a patient on the operating table. It happened often in trauma surgeries. She should be used to it by now. But how did someone get used to having a person with a family and a future breathing beneath their fingertips one minute and then gone the next along with all their hopes, all their dreams?
Sheila ran into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. It never got easier—you just grew more desensitized to it. Today had been particularly difficult—a ten-year-old girl with her whole future ahead of her. Dead thanks to her sister who had been texting and driving. The sister had survived, but would live with the consequences for the rest of her life.
This was why Sheila was so infuriated with Brady Sawyer. Most of her patients learned something from their experience. The overweight person with two knee replacements learned they had to move and exercise more. The kid with a fractured tibia learned not to attempt a flip-over-willy-grind skateboard trick down the school handrail. What did Brady Sawyer learn? Nothing.
And yes, there was a chance he’d fully recover. A very slim one, but with the proper therapy, the chance was real. Sheila had been a longtime proponent of hippotherapy and its benefits. Growing up in Colorado, she’d lived near a facility much like Dance of Hope. Few people had known much about hippotherapy and its benefits back then. When she turned fourteen, her parents had allowed her to volunteer there. There was an orthopedic surgeon who visited the facility every week and for four years she’d watched him restore quality of life back to people who’d felt as if their world had ended. He’d inspired her to go into medicine, particularly orthopedic trauma. Now she helped save lives like Brady’s and he was all too willing to throw it away.
His attitude shouldn’t bother her, but it did. And it would continue to bother her until he was no longer her patient, and then every time she saw a bull riding event on television she’d still wonder. Sheila laughed to herself. He wasn’t her first bull rider and probably wouldn’t be her last. She lived in the heart of Hill Country where rodeos were as common as apple pie. The suburban town she’d grown up in had been a stark contrast. She’d known many equestrians, but not bull riders.
Thinking of home reminded her it had been over a week since she’d last phoned her parents. Every night there was a message from them on her voice mail. Today she’d actually gotten off early enough to return the call.
“Hello, honey,” her mom answered on the first ring. “How’s our favorite surgeon?”
“It was a rough day. I lost a patient.” No matter how difficult her residency was, she knew she could always turn to her mother for comfort.
“Oh honey, do you want to talk about it?” Sheila heard a muffled sound and assumed her mother had covered the receiver.
“Mom, tell Daddy later, and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’d rather hear about your day.”
“Your sister had an ultrasound today—a three-dimensional one. You won’t believe how much Sophia resembles you as a baby—that’s the name they’ve chosen—did I tell you that already? Anyway, she posted the photos online. Look at them later if you get the chance. We’ll be so glad when your residency is over next summer and you move home. You’re missing your nieces and nephews growing up.”
Sheila released her ponytail and flopped onto the couch. “About that. I’ve decided to pursue the two-year orthopedic trauma fellowship at Grace General.”
“I thought you were looking into fellowships here.” Disappointment was evident in her mother’s tone.
“I know that was the plan, Mom, but this fellowship wasn’t available until recently. I like Grace General and my work here. I’m looking to make this permanent. My landlord gave me the option to apply my rent toward a down payment on this house. It’s not much but it’s more than I can afford in Colorado. Once I weed through these student loans, then maybe, but I’ve given this a lot of thought and this is what’s best for me.”
“What about settling down and starting a family? You’re not getting any younger.”
Any comfort she’d hoped for had just flown out the window. “My social life consists of my colleagues. It’s not as if I have much time or energy to go out and meet people. Besides children require much more than I’m able to give. Maybe in a few years I’ll feel differently. I don’t need a husband and kids to make me happy. I’m content with my life right now.”
At least that was the lie she told herself every night before she went to bed. Sometimes she’d roll over in the middle of the night and reach out for someone who wasn’t there. Her life severely lacked intimacy. The last hug she’d received had been from a patient after Sheila had given her good news. The last time someone other than a family member had said I love you had been her college boyfriend. And sex? She didn’t want to think about how long that had been. Okay, so it bothered her, but she’d known this career path came with sacrifices. She’d accepted it. She just didn’t exactly care for it.
“I want you to be happy, Sheila.” Her mom’s voice softened. “You need to call more often. We miss you.”
“I miss you more.”
After hearing about her father’s new car, her mother’s bridge-game gossip and more about her sister’s third pregnancy, she poured herself a glass of wine and eased into a bubble bath. She closed her eyes and Brady Sawyer immediately came to mind.
“Dammit!” She sat up so quickly she knocked her wine into the tub. “That’s lovely.” She’d touched him twice and she couldn’t erase the feeling of his hands in hers. She turned her glass upright and set it on the floor. Grabbing a pumice stone, she ran it over her palms. Why was he haunting her? That was exactly how she felt. Haunted. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And it wasn’t just today. He’d been a daily thought for two and a half months. She constantly told herself she wasn’t attracted to him. She couldn’t be. It simply wasn’t allowed and she chalked it up to curiosity about the man. But if Marissa had detected it so easily, she wondered who else had.
Brady Sawyer had left the building. With his drive and determination, he’d progress quickly at Dance of Hope and be out of her life for good. Which was for the best. So why did the thought of never seeing him again bother her?
* * *
“DON’T WORRY ABOUT the child-support payments. Focus on getting better.” Alice sat on the bed across from Brady in his Dance of Hope cottage while Gunner played with his See & Spell at the table. “You’re an amazing father and I know you want to do everything possible to make sure Gunner is provided for, and I promise you, if things get really bad I’ll let you know. We’re okay. It’s tight, but we’re managing. Your father checks in on us all the time.”
“You shouldn’t have to manage and my father shouldn’t be the one providing for you.” Brady gripped the arms of his wheelchair. He and Alice had never been a couple. They’d been best friends since childhood who happened to have spent one lonely night together that resulted in the most precious gift he could have ever received. Unfortunately, they hadn’t any romantic feelings toward each other. So far, they’d successfully raised Gunner together, yet separately. “Why do you do this to me?”
“Why do I do what? Bring your son to see you? Because he loves you and he asks about you every day.”
Brady wheeled closer to the bed so Gunner wouldn’t hear him. “And a part of you secretly wishes that by seeing me in this condition he won’t want anything to do with the rodeo.”
“There might be some truth to that.” Alice lowered her voice. “What mother doesn’t want her child to be safe? You almost died, Brady. We keep telling you that, but it hasn’t seemed to register in your brain yet. I don’t want that future for our son. You already have him mutton busting and racing around the arena on miniature horses. I’m terrified of what comes next.”
“The severity of my accident was highly unusual and you know it. I was a special circumstance.” Brady had grown tired of defending himself to Alice and his father. At first he’d been disappointed when his father told him he couldn’t make it tonight; now he was glad the two of them weren’t together to gang up on him.
“You were only special because you survived. It was never a matter of if you’d get hurt, it was when you’d get hurt. I almost lost my best friend that day, but more important, Gunner almost lost his father. I get so angry when I hear you say you need to compete again in order to support him. You’re using our son as an excuse. There are other ways to earn a living, so don’t you dare tell me it’s all for Gunner. I know better and so do you.”
“You have no idea. Before they discharged me, I had to meet with the billing department. My insurance doesn’t cover everything and if I don’t pay, believe me they will come after me for their money. Every cent I have to pay them takes away from Gunner. Working minimum wage won’t pay the bills, Alice. At least Dance of Hope didn’t cost me anything.” Brady had already promised to one day give back to the nonprofit dedicated to providing therapy to people regardless of their ability to pay.
“We both know this isn’t just about money.” Alice rested her hand on his. “You need to forgive yourself. Your mom wouldn’t want you to carry around all this guilt.”
He pulled away from her. His mother had died in her sleep while Brady and his father were away on a rodeo trip. He didn’t want to think about that day, but the memory of finding her remained fresh in his mind every time he competed. Alice was right. It was about much more than the money. He rode for his mother. He rode for his father. And now, he rode for his son.
He wheeled over to the table. “Hey, champ, it’s almost your bedtime. You and your mommy need to head home.”
“I want to stay with you,” Gunner pleaded.
Brady bit back the sob that threatened to break free. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night with his son. He missed their time together more than anything. “Daddy doesn’t live here. I’m just visiting. Once I get home, you can stay with me anytime you want.”
“Promise?” Gunner looked up at him with his big brown eyes.
He hated telling his son no. “I promise, little man. Things will be back to normal soon.”
Brady had never broken a promise to his son, and he wouldn’t start now.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Brady awoke feeling more rested than he had in months—the ranch was dead silent at night in comparison to the constant bustle of the hospital. He’d almost been afraid to open his eyes out of fear his release had been a dream.
Over a hearty country breakfast, he reviewed the schedule Kay Langtry had given him the day before. Eager to begin his therapy, he hurriedly ate and wheeled to the main indoor hippotherapy arena.
A woman no more than an inch or two over five feet tall greeted him.
“Good morning, Brady. I’m Abby, your physical therapist.”
“Are you sure you can support my weight?” Brady asked.
“Don’t let my size fool you, and you’re going to be supporting yourself the majority of the time. I know you’re raring to get on a horse, but there are a few things we need to go over first.” Abby marched to an oversize cabinet along the wall and opened it. “Rule number one—when you’re in an arena, either indoors or out, a helmet must be worn at all times. No exceptions. No helmet, no hippotherapy.”
Brady hated helmets. It had been a heavily debated issue throughout the industry for years and he’d always been against it. That didn’t stop him from making Gunner wear one whenever he entered the ring. But considering he didn’t want to end up back in the hospital, a helmet sounded like a good idea. “Agreed.”
“Number two, it’s my understanding your wheelchair usage has been limited to the smooth flat surfaces inside the hospital. Dance of Hope is situated on the Bridle Dance Ranch, which is a 250,000 acre paint and cutting horse ranch. You have access to many of the trails and I assure you, they’re not smooth or flat.”
“We’re free to roam around?” Brady itched to do some exploring, especially with Gunner. They had always spent their father and son time together at rodeo events, fishing or trail riding. He’d missed that during his hospital stay.
Abby nodded. “Our goal is to get you as active as possible. The trails closest to the hippotherapy center are marked. We have all-terrain wheelchairs available, but they’re not motorized. If you push yourself out on a trail, be sure you can get yourself back. Each chair is equipped with a GPS locator in case of an emergency. And don’t worry, if you do get tired out there, we won’t leave you stranded.”
For a tiny thing, Abby had a strong presence. The complete opposite of the nurses in the hospital. They had tried to blend into their surroundings while Abby let you know who was in charge. “Can I trail ride?”
“Not alone. I promise you’ll get plenty of saddle time to the point where you’ll look forward to taking a break.”
“I’ve spent my life on horseback. I don’t think I could ever tire of it.” Brady feared the facility severely underestimated his riding abilities.
“With all due respect, your body hasn’t been through this level of trauma before, so don’t be surprised if things don’t feel the way they used to. Your injuries will limit what you can do at first. It’s also my understanding you had a punctured lung and underwent six weeks of respiratory therapy.”
Why did it always sound worse when somebody else said it? Not that he downplayed any of what had happened. It was the most painful experience of his life, but it was behind him. And that’s where he wanted to leave it. She was beginning to remind him of Dr. Lindstrom.
