Читать книгу A Family For The Rancher - Allison Collins B. - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThe next morning, Kelsey knocked on the heavy oak door to Nash’s cabin. She waited, then knocked again. A loud crash reverberated through the door, and she pounded louder. Still no answer. She tried the handle, and to her surprise, it opened. Rushing inside, she scanned the rustic living room and kitchen.
“Mr. Sullivan? Where are you? Are you okay?”
Loud groans echoed down the hallway, and she hurried in that direction. “Mr. Sullivan?” She knocked on the bedroom door. Another loud grunt. “Nash, I’m coming in.” The door opened into a cozy bedroom, and she searched for her new patient in the dim light.
Stepping farther into the room, she finally saw him lying on the floor near the dresser. She hurried over and knelt beside him. “Are you injured? Where does it hurt?”
He shoved her back. “No! I have to go back. I have to get them out.”
It finally dawned on her that he must be caught up in a nightmare. Gently, she shook his shoulder. “Wake up, Nash.” He still wasn’t waking, and the terrified expression on his face scared her.
He flailed an arm and hit her shoulder. She caught his hand and tried to hold it still, wondering how to wake him up.
“Commander, wake up now,” she all but shouted, hoping her voice would penetrate his dream.
Nash’s eyes slowly opened, and he squinted at her. “Where are my men? Who are you?”
She leaned over him and switched on the lamp, bathing the room in light. “Come on, let’s get you up. I’m Kelsey, remember? Your therapist.”
He sat up and scooted back to lean against the dresser, scrubbed a hand over his sweaty face.
Wanting to give him a moment of privacy, she stood and headed into the bathroom. Flipping the light on, she noted a big Jacuzzi tub in the corner and a large glassed-in shower. For being a ranch in Montana, this place sure was luxurious. Dark towels hung on the rack by the shower, and she grabbed a washcloth, ran it under cold water in the sink. She wrung it out and hurried back to him.
He still sat on the floor, his good leg drawn up, arms resting on his knee, hands covering his face. The gray cotton gym shorts he’d put on yesterday were all he wore, and she couldn’t help drinking in his broad shoulders, muscled chest and arms, even the scars crisscrossed on his stomach.
“Here, Mr. Sullivan, let’s get you off the floor.” She bent over to help him up, but he shoved her hand away.
“Leave me alone. Please,” he rasped, his voice strangled.
Her heart broke for him. He had a lot more scars on the inside than out. She sank down on the floor beside him and nudged him with the cool washcloth. “Want to talk about it?”
He took the cloth from her and rubbed it over his face. “Not really.”
“Were you dreaming about the war?”
He finally lowered both arms and looked at her. “What part of ‘not really’ did you miss?”
“I just thought it might help if you talk—get it out of your head.” She stood up. “Come on, we need to get your therapy going.” She reached to help him up, but he ignored her.
Moving slow, he turned on the floor and braced himself against the dresser as he rose. Wood crutches stood in the corner, and he stretched farther to grab them.
She kept still, knowing from the hard lines of determination bracketing his lips he wouldn’t want her help. “I’ll be out in the living room,” she said, and walked out. Other patients had been stubborn about rehab and therapy. She’d just have to keep after him until she won him over.
* * *
NASH FINISHED BRUSHING his teeth and stuck the toothbrush in the holder on the counter. Without thinking, he glanced at himself in the mirror. Anger and despair bubbled to the surface once again as he caught sight of the scars. He’d practically named them—one for each of the men he’d lost.
A knock echoed through his bedroom. “Mr. Sullivan? You okay in there?”
He rolled his eyes but sucked it up and grabbed the crutches, swung out of the bathroom. He strapped on his prosthetic leg and threw on a T-shirt, loose sweats and sneakers, then hauled the door open. “Might as well call me Nash since I can’t get rid of you.”
She smiled. “Stubborn is a family trait, so it comes in handy sometimes. Shall we get started?”
They spent the morning working on exercises to strengthen his thighs, and by the time they were finished, he’d sweated through his T-shirt. Mopping his face off with a towel, he asked, “When can I get back on a horse?”
Kelsey stacked her equipment against the wall. “Let’s shoot for a couple of weeks, okay?”
“That long? I need to be up and riding faster than that.”
“Why? What’s the rush?”
He turned away and paced to the refrigerator. “Strong tourist season this year, and our ranch is full this summer. I need to help.” Opening a bottle of water, he drank deep.
“How long have you been home from the hospital?”
“Few months.”
“And you were in for how long?”
“Five.”
“You don’t seem to understand that recovery from an injury like this takes time. We can’t rush it, or we’ll be doing more harm than good.”
He handed her a bottle of water and opened another for himself. “I need to get to work. I’m out of the military, so I need to earn a living.”
“Nash, please. Talk to your family. I’m sure they’ll under—”
“No. Final answer.” He opened the door. “I suppose you’re coming back tomorrow for another torture session?”
“Yes. And I’m bringing my medieval bag of tricks for you.”
Feisty. “What time shall I expect the full rack?”
“Probably a little later than today. I have to look at a rental property.”
“I thought you lived in town.”
She shook her head. “Just moved here with my mom and daughter, so we’re in a motel until we can find a house. Place I was ready to sign on last night fell through.”
Guilt pricked him. She was driving an hour each way every day to help him, and he hadn’t been very nice. He brushed the guilt aside. It wasn’t like he’d invited her into his life of hell.
“Kelsey, I was hoping I’d catch you before you left.”
Nash turned at the sound of his dad’s voice from the front porch. Kelsey brushed past him, her fresh scent drifting on the air toward him.
“Mr. Sullivan, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Did I hear you’re looking for a place to live?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“I have just the thing for you, if you’re interested. There’s a cabin less than a quarter mile from here. Three bedrooms, two full baths, fully equipped kitchen.”
Nash’s temper rose. He didn’t want her here to begin with, and now she was moving in?
“Thank you, sir, but I couldn’t impose on you like this. I have a young daughter, and my mother lives with us.”
Relieved that she’d turned down his dad’s offer, he moved to go back inside.
“No imposition at all,” his dad replied.
What the hell? He tried to catch his dad’s attention and stop this bad idea from going further, but the old man kept talking like he hadn’t seen Nash shaking his head.
Just like always. Angus Sullivan ran roughshod, forcing his way of thinking onto his sons.
“You can live there as long as you like, or until you find a place of your own. It’s just sitting empty right now. And you can put your daughter in our ranch day care. The woman who runs it is fully licensed. One of the benefits we have for our employees.”
“You’re so kind, Mr. Sullivan.”
“No kindness at all. You’re the one who has to put up with my surly son, so it’s the least I can do. In fact, feel free to use any of the guests’ amenities—swimming, riding, cookouts. There’s a party tomorrow night—you and your family are welcome to attend. Our annual midsummer barbecue.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“If you’re through with Nash for the day, I’ll take you over to see the cabin right now. Just follow me.” His dad glanced back at him. If Nash didn’t know better, he’d have sworn there was a gleam in his eye.
“See you tomorrow, Nash,” she said, then got in her car.
“Dad, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
A loud screech, followed by a groan, then a backfire had them both wincing as Kelsey started her car.
“This will keep her from having to drive all hours of the day and night in that piece of shit car. Besides, don’t you want to get better?”
Fury rose, making him grind his teeth. He limped back into the cabin and slammed the door. The rapid-fire staccato of his dad’s laughter dug in deep, and he flinched.
