Woodrose Mountain

“Just a few weeks. No more than that. I’ll help you hire another therapy coordinator and set up the treatment plan, but that’s all.”

She could handle anything for a few weeks, couldn’t she?

“That should be plenty of time to point us in the right direction.” Katherine pressed her cheek to Evie’s, filling her senses with flowers and guilt. “Thank you so much. I know it’s difficult for you and I’m very sorry, but believe me, we’re so grateful. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for this.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Katherine,” she answered, taking a subtle step back. “Tell Brodie to donate whatever fee he would have paid someone else for those few weeks to the scholarship fund.”

At least something good should come of this, she thought, as Katherine and Claire began discussing another fundraising event the high school student body officers wanted to sponsor for the Layla memorial fund.

Evie let their conversation drift around her, focusing instead on double-checking the kits for her class that evening to help beat off the residual twinges of panic. After a few moments, one of the mothers asked a question about their display of Greek worry beads and Evie was grateful to help the customers, an excuse to leave her friends and the heavy weight of their expectations.

“They’re called komboloi,” she explained. “Traditionally, they’re made with an odd number of beads and then a metal spacer in between. Touching them at various times throughout the day is believed to help with relaxation and stress management.”

“I certainly need that,” the woman said, rolling her eyes at her busy preschooler in the play area.

Evie smiled. “They’re easy to make and they can really relieve tension. There’s something very soothing about working the beads between your fingers. Lots of people even put them on their key chains. Want to try one?”

The two women exchanged glances. “Sure. Sounds like fun,” the other young mother said.

“You can use any kind of bead, though usually people use amber or coral because of their soft, comforting texture.”

Evie pointed them toward the beads, then went to gather the basic supplies for them. While she was helping them, she would make one for herself, she decided on impulse. It had been too long since she had crafted a piece simply for her own enjoyment—and she had a very strong feeling she was going to need all the stress management tools she could find in the coming two weeks.

CHAPTER THREE

BRODIE’S HOUSE IN the exclusive gated Aspen Ridge community wasn’t quite what Evie had imagined.

Given her preconception of the man as someone who always wanted something bigger and better than anyone else—at least in the various businesses and developments he owned around Hope’s Crossing—she had expected something opulent and overwhelming. The house was certainly vast and sprawling, with soaring windows and cedar-plank walls, unusual curves and angles. But the landscaping was tasteful and seemed to focus on native plants and trees and granite boulders. Whoever designed the place had managed to adapt it nicely to its surroundings, nestled into the hollow of a foothill.

His view was spectacular, she would definitely give him that. Even from her favorite spot on the Woodrose Mountain trail, she couldn’t see as far as Silver Strike Canyon but from various places on the property, he would have a clear vantage point of both the town below and the higher ski resort in the canyon.

She might have allowed herself to enjoy the view a little more in the stretched-out shadows of late afternoon but she wasn’t exactly in the mood for restful Zen-like contemplation of the mountains—not when she stood on Brodie’s doorstep holding a basketful of therapy-equipment catalogs.

Oh, she didn’t want to be here. Three days after Katherine had laid on the emotional blackmail, Evie wasn’t any more comfortable with her decision to help Taryn transition to a home-based program. She didn’t want to be dragged into this world again, not after she had fought so hard to find peace outside of it.

She would simply have to be tough and determined and remind herself that this was all only temporary. For a few weeks she could be tough and detached, clinical even. She could keep her emotions contained and safe, despite her relationship with Katherine.

It was only a job, right?

With that thought firmly in mind, she rang the doorbell and waited, expecting some housekeeper or secretary to open the door. When it opened a moment later, she was greeted by the unexpected sight of Brodie standing in the doorway wearing jeans and a white-cotton dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to midforearm.

His dark hair was slightly messy as if he’d just run his hands through it and he had that typical afternoon shadow that made him look somehow rakish and dangerous. Throw in a sword and an eye patch and maybe switch out the tailored cut of his white shirt for one with flowing sleeves and she could definitely see him sailing the high seas with Jack Sparrow and friends.

Yum.

That was the only word that seemed to register in her brain for about half a second, until he spoke and shattered, like a well-placed cannon blast, all those half-formed pirate fantasies.

“Evaline. Hello. I wasn’t expecting you.” His tone was stiff, formal, as if he were greeting unwelcome gate-crashers at some highbrow society function, and she had to fight down her instinctive sharp retort.

“Katherine asked me to stop by and check on the renovations in Taryn’s bedroom and bathroom so I’ll know what equipment we might need to order eventually.”

“Right. Of course.” He thawed enough to give her a half smile. “She mentioned you might stop by to check things out. It’s a great idea, one I should have thought of earlier.”

He held the door open wider for her. “Come in. The truth is, I’ll be glad to have your perspective on what we’ve done in her rooms, to see if we’ve missed anything.”

Brodie inclined his head in the direction of the hammering she could hear coming from the far reaches of the house. “The crews might be working all night to wrap things up before tomorrow but at least they’re down to the finished carpentry now. Come in. We can work our way around the dust.”

She gazed at that door and the muscled arm holding it open, aware of the tiniest flicker of nervous hesitation. Stupid. It was only a doorway and this was only a job. A few weeks, that’s all, and then she could go back to her happy place, among the good and kind beaders of Hope’s Crossing.

When she finally forced herself to move forward, Brodie ushered her into a welcoming two-story foyer decorated in the Craftsman style—clean lines, tasteful use of wood and stone, a stunningly understated burnished glass chandelier that had probably cost a fortune.

The house was appealing and warm, just as she should have expected. No one ever said the man was a tasteless boor. His sporting-goods store managed to be stylish without seeming trendy and she had heard that several of the restaurants he owned in Hope’s Crossing had won design awards.

He led the way down a long hallway decorated with photographs of places she recognized around Hope’s Crossing. The bridge near Sweet Laurel Falls, moonlight reflecting on Silver Strike Reservoir, a moose standing in a pond she had walked past often on Woodrose Mountain, moss dripping from his antlers.

While one part of her mind was enjoying the photographs, the therapist side of her brain she could never quite silence was thinking that this long space with the polished-wood floors might be a perfect place to practice walking with Taryn.

“I’ve moved her bedroom down to the main level,” Brodie said when they neared a doorway at the end of the hall. Behind the extrawide door, the sounds of construction intensified.

“That seems logical.”

“You and I might agree but I’m afraid Taryn likely won’t see it that way. She loved her room upstairs and I have a feeling she’s likely to pitch a fit about the new digs. Just one more major change for her.”

“Some things can’t be helped. She’ll get over it.”

“I’m shocked. You actually agree with me about something?”

She smiled a little. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it become a habit. In this case you’re right. It makes perfect sense to keep her room on the ground floor for now.”

“For now. Right.” He frowned. “I’d like to tell her she can move back up to her room eventually, but that’s one more promise I can’t make Taryn right now. It seems cruel to promise her that when we don’t know if she’ll ever be out of that wheelchair.”

Somehow she sensed this was important to him. Only logical. He was a very active, very physical man. One of his many businesses was a sporting-goods store and Brodie had even been a former competitive ski jumper at one time.

Katherine had told her once that Brodie and Taryn interacted most through skiing together in the winter, hiking and mountain biking in summer. No doubt the prospect of his daughter never being able to join him again in those activities would seem a crushing blow. She only hoped he wouldn’t pin unrealistic hopes on Taryn and could keep proper perspective. Walking again was only one of Taryn’s many hurdles.

As he opened the door, the scent of fresh paint wafted out and the thuds and bangs grew louder. She had a quick impression of a roomy, bright space with large windows and a light-grained wood floor. The room was painted white with some lavender trim and one wall of mirrors reflected the mountain scene out the window.

The construction workers apparently were installing large eye-hooks from the ceiling at various intervals, which would be perfect for hanging a pommel or swing. Around the corner from the therapy space, set in its own good-size alcove, was a sleeping area, complete with a hospital bed covered in a fluffy lavender comforter. A padded treatment-table just right for stretching ran the length of one wall and she could see a wheeled lift in one corner for helping to transfer Taryn from the wheelchair to different positions. The workmen were putting the finishing touches on a built-in cabinet in one wall with open shelves that would be perfect for storing odds and ends like exercise bands, hand weights, small weighted balls.

She had worked in world-class therapy facilities that weren’t as well equipped.

“Wow.” It was all she could say.

“We ended up taking out a couple of walls between rooms down here to make an extra-large space. Most of the work was focused on the bathroom, where we put in a roll-in shower and a lift tub.”

“This looks really great, Brodie. Perfect.”

“I hope we’ve considered everything, at least structurally. If you think of any equipment we need, just say the word. I’ve got a treadmill and stationary bike in the exercise room upstairs and we can bring those down, or if you’d like a different kind, we can get that, too. I’ve also got plans to have an all-season cover installed over the pool and hot tub out back so Taryn can continue to use them for therapy after the weather changes.”