Return to Rosewood

“You remember J. C. Mueller?” Bret asked. “Three years ahead of us in school?”

J.C. had been in Andy’s class. “So he made it to medical school?”

“He’s a neurologist. Gave up several offers to practice in New York, Chicago, Dallas.” Bret slowed down at the elevators, backing her into an open one.

Samantha remained quiet as they reached the doctor’s office and Bret signed her in. The consultation was pointless since she couldn’t afford to follow through on anything J.C. suggested. But Bret wasn’t listening.

It wasn’t long before the nurse ushered them into an examination room. Before Sam could think of a way to escape, J.C. entered. His grin was as friendly as she remembered. “Samantha!”

She also remembered her manners. “J.C.”

Instead of reaching for the chart hanging on the back of the door, he eased into the chair next to her, meeting Samantha at eye level. “So. Bret’s dragged you here and you’re wishing he hadn’t.”

Briefly glancing up at Bret, she swallowed. “Looks like you have the picture.”

“I’d know more about the picture if you’ll agree to let me send for your records.”

Twisting her hands together, she looked down, uncomfortable beneath the two masculine gazes.

“Sam, if I’d gone into medicine to make money, I wouldn’t have come back to Rosewood.”

Embarrassment colored her pale cheeks. “So Bret told you.”

“Glad he did. I never have understood why people will accept friendship, gifts, help with things out of their scope of experience, but they balk when it comes to money. I don’t have a lot of money to give, but I can offer my expertise.”

Overwhelmed, she covered her eyes with one hand.

“So, what do you say?”

Reluctantly, she uncovered her eyes. “It won’t do any good, J.C. I tried to tell Bret. There’s not any hope.”

“Hope’s a funny thing. The Lord surprises us when we least expect it.” He reached for the chart. “One thing is certain—we can’t know until we explore all the options.” He extended a clipboard that held a request for transfer of medical records.

Bret leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “You don’t have to do this alone. Your family knows.”

Shakily, she accepted the clipboard and pen, scribbling her name on the bottom of the paper. Drained, she slumped back.

“This is a good start,” J.C. assured her.

Samantha didn’t believe him. Maybe he’d had offers from New York, but she’d seen city doctors. She’d heard their opinions.

“My nurse will call in the request today. Shouldn’t be long until we get the records. In the meantime, I’m recommending both aqua and physical therapy.”

“It won’t do any good.” What physical therapy she’d tried in New York had failed.

“It won’t hurt. In cases like yours, muscles atrophy. Even if the spine heals, the muscles can’t respond after months of disuse. That’s where therapy comes in.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Bret knows where the pool is, so you can get started.”

She whipped her head up. “Now?”

“Can’t think of a better time.”

Bret held out his hand. “Thanks, J.C.”

The doctor stood, accepting Bret’s handshake. “Don’t let her buffalo you into leaving.”

Samantha stared. “What?”

“I know how intimidating you can be. I ran against you for student council, remember?”

She’d won. Back when everything was easy.

Bret wheeled Samantha to the physical therapy area despite her nonstop protests.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t do any kind of water therapy wearing sweats.”

He drew his eyebrows together in a frown. “Excellent point. Good thing Rachel’s here with your stuff to change into.”

Samantha twisted her head and Rachel rushed over with a tremulous smile. “Hey.”

“Et tu?” Sam rubbed her forehead. “Plotting with Bret?”

“And J.C.,” Rachel admitted. “You know we can’t stand by and do nothing.”

Hands folded in her lap, Samantha lifted her face. “I appreciate all the concern…I know it’s because you care. But it really, really is a waste of time to try and make this work.”

“It’s our time,” Rachel rebuked gently.

Outnumbered and weary, Sam gave in. “I didn’t pack a swimsuit.”

Rachel took Bret’s place behind the chair. “We do have stores in Rosewood.”

As they headed to the women’s dressing room, Bret retrieved his gym bag from the men’s lockers. He’d left it there after he and J.C. had come up with a plan. Rachel had figured out all the details for clothes, along with a time that worked for both of them.

Changing into his own knee-length swim shorts, he glanced at his watch. He should be at the nursery, but Herb would do his best.

With J.C.’s blessing, Bret and Rachel intended to learn how to do the water exercises. The aqua therapy teacher, Wanda, was willing to teach them so Sam could have daily sessions. And there wasn’t any charge to use the facilities. Once Rachel was comfortable with the exercises, he could turn the entire task over to her. It wasn’t just the fact that he needed to be both at work and checking on his dad—this much proximity to Sam was a bad plan.

Guessing it would take the women longer to change, he stowed his clothes in the locker, then looped a towel around his neck. In time, they emerged, wearing matching T-shirts and shorts to cover their swimsuits, like many of the other patients. Sam looked like a well-covered but trapped animal.

He took the towel from his neck and tossed it on a bench. “Reminds me of the time you tried to push me in the pool, missed and fell in yourself.”

Startled, Sam stopped fussing with her exposed calves. She was thin, but her legs were still knockouts. “I’m not even wet yet.”

“Only a matter of minutes. There’s a special PVC wheelchair and ramp to get you in.”

Mortification filled her features.

He stepped closer. “Or we could just hop in ourselves.” Not giving her time to process his words, he scooped her up, cradling her in his arms.