Читать книгу A Bull Rider's Pride - Amanda Renee - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Three days had passed since Brady had seen Sheila. In a way, it felt like only a few hours since he’d held her hand in the dark. But at times it felt as if it had happened years ago. Either way, he missed it more than he should. He hadn’t even kissed the woman—not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a few hundred times—and he was already craving her touch again. He’d held hands, kissed and done much more with his fair share of women and none of them had had anywhere near the same effect. Once he was capable of taking her on a proper date, he would plan a night she wouldn’t forget. That is if he could convince her to say yes. He didn’t want to endanger her job, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Maybe they could find a way...

He wheeled his chair to the abdominal crunch machine in the fitness room and adjusted the weight plates to slightly more than he’d lifted yesterday. He’d been a little overconfident the first day, thinking he could crunch close to what he did preaccident only to discover just how much his ab muscles had atrophied in two and a half months. When he looked in the mirror, he still saw the same man he was before GhostMaker took him out...with the exception of numerous surgery scars. He could live with those. Rodeo cowboys and ranchers had plenty of them. And while they were still raw, they didn’t bother him nearly as much as his lack of strength. Walking two feet without any assistance had become a daily goal he still couldn’t master. Weakness wasn’t part of his vocabulary.

He missed working on his house. He’d bought the small ranch thirty miles outside Ramblewood in January. Here it was July and he was already dipping into the money he’d set aside for renovations so he could pay the mortgage. He refused to allow his father to pay for his house. His dad didn’t have the money either, but knowing him, he’d sure as heck try to earn it.

He longed to get back to the ranch and his career, but he missed playing with his son more than anything. Gunner’s laughter was his favorite sound in the world. Now when his son looked at him, he saw worry in the boy’s small face. No father wants to hear his child ask when he’ll be able to play with them again. It broke his heart. Now that he was out of the hospital, they had the opportunity to spend more time together and have some long overdue fun.

Standing steadier every day since his arrival at Dance of Hope a week ago, Brady maneuvered into the machine’s seat and slid his feet under the pads. He reached above his shoulders and firmly grabbed hold of the handles. He concentrated on contracting his abdominal muscles and slowly bent forward, lifting his thighs and knees toward his upper body, and then eased the machine back into position. By not allowing the weight plates to touch, he could keep constant tension on his muscles. With each set, his range of motion increased slightly. He’d probably be able to squeeze in only ten or fifteen reps before his physical therapist came in and scolded him for pushing himself too hard. They didn’t understand. He’d continue to feel like half a man until he no longer needed anyone else’s help to provide for his son.

Brady heard the door to the fitness room open. Choosing to ignore it, he closed his eyes and continued his workout. One or two more crunches meant one or two more steps away from his wheelchair.

“Ahem.” A very feminine sounding throat cleared.

Determined to complete two sets, he refused to stop. Abby would physically have to block him this time. After another three crunches, Brady was surprised she still hadn’t said a word. Grunting, he opened his eyes and saw two tiny red-and-black sneakers. His heart lifted. Slowly, he eased the weight plates down as his son eagerly danced in front of him.

“Surprise, Daddy!”

Brady unfastened his fingerless gloves and tugged them off. “Come here, little man.” He slowly slid his feet out from under the pads and lifted his son into his arms. It was the first time since the accident that he’d held his son from somewhere other than a hospital bed or a wheelchair. It was a simple pleasure he wanted to enjoy for as long as he could. “I thought you were working today,” Brady said to Alice.

“Rebecca wanted tonight off so we traded shifts. Mom said she would watch Gunner. Since I had the day off, I thought we’d bring you your mail and see how you were doing.”

“Be careful when you head home tonight.” Brady hated when Alice worked the late shift at the emergency call center. Granted the police department was in the same building, but it wasn’t located in the safest part of town. “How did you know where to find me?”

“The tiny blonde physical therapist said you sneak in here every morning when you think no one’s looking.”

So much for getting away with an unsupervised workout this morning. It was a nice move on Abby’s part. She didn’t have to put an end to his routine today. She’d had his son do it instead. That was okay... Gunner was a welcome interruption. “Mmm. What’s that smell?” Brady sniffed the air.

“We brought you bre-fast, Daddy,” Gunner said. “All your fav-rits. Show him, Mommy.”

Alice held up a bag she had hidden behind her. “We stopped in town on the way here. Care to join us?”

Brady’s stomach began to growl. “Most definitely.” He eased Gunner onto his feet and gave him a playful poke so he would move out of the way. Alice reached for the boy’s hand, leading him away from the equipment. While his son’s back was still turned, Brady took the opportunity to stand and maneuver into his chair, consciously aware Alice was watching his every move.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re doing so much better than the last time I saw you.”

Brady released the brake and grumbled a thanks before wheeling to the door. He was grateful for Alice and her support even though he knew how much she wanted him to retire from bull riding. As much as he respected her concerns, he wished his recovery hadn’t come as such a surprise. He’d made it clear to her and anyone else who’d listen that he’d beat this. Alice hadn’t quite grasped that concept yet.

They feasted on pancakes, sausage and eggs at one of the picnic tables facing the rolling hills of the Bridle Dance Ranch. The view from his ten-acre ranch paled in comparison but it was home and he missed it. Brady’s father had taken his horses while he recuperated. That had been his father’s choice of words. It made it sound so simple, as if he had the flu. But they both knew it would probably be months until he was able to care for them on his own again. Months was tolerable, forever wasn’t. Despite his improvement, the more he spoke about getting back to his old life, the more people downplayed his career and told him either to take it easy or not to get his hopes up. Everyone except Gunner. Through Gunner’s eyes, anything and everything was possible.

“You’re thinking about home, aren’t you?” Alice asked as she gathered their take-out containers and stuffed them into a paper sack. “You’ll be there before you know it and then you can decide what you want to do next.”

Brady wiped his mouth on a napkin before crumpling it. “I already know what I’m going to do next. So do you.”

They watched Gunner waving to the horses near the corral fence. “I refuse to even entertain that idea. You’re out of the hospital and it’s time for you to get your priorities straight.”

“They are straight.” Brady kept his voice down so Gunner wouldn’t overhear them. “This is who I am, who I’ve always been. You’ve known me forever, know how much I love rodeo. I won’t stop competing till I’ve won the World All-Around Champion Cowboy title at the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas. I can’t possibly win this year, but just you watch—I will win. Until then, the money will pay the bills and keep me from losing my ranch.”

“What about the fund-raiser your dad set up?” Alice asked.

Brady cringed. He’d been humiliated when he discovered his father had pleaded for donations on social media. His sponsors, family and friends had all chipped in, but it still wasn’t close to the amount he needed. “I know Dad meant well, but I wish he hadn’t done that.”

“Are you mad that I contacted some of the relief funds designated to help injured rodeo competitors? Because if you are, you need to stop being modest and accept the help people are offering you.”

“Those funds are meant for people with serious injuries.”

“Brady, get it through your head.” Alice grabbed his hands and squeezed. “I know you’re feeling better and think you can take on the world, but this was a serious injury. You need to watch the video of your accident and see what happened to you.”

Brady shook his head. He had refused to watch the footage the first ten times Alice had brought it up because he feared it would deter him from ever riding again. That was a fear he wasn’t willing to face.

“Even with Dad’s fund-raising, my health insurance and everything else, it still only amounts to a fraction of what I owe. It’s not like I can get a second mortgage on my house. I don’t have any equity in it yet. All I have is my job—my career. I need to be able to live—I need to be able to support Gunner. And even if money wasn’t a factor, I’d still want to compete again.”

Alice released his hands and waved him off dismissively. “Bull riding isn’t an option and most likely it won’t be ever again. Switch to one of the timed events, like roping or steer wrestling. At least it’s safer. It terrifies me that this place is connected to a rodeo school. Haven’t you heard one word the doctors have told you?”

“They don’t know my body the way I do. I’m a bull rider. It’s who I am. I need to compete in two events to qualify in the All-Around Cowboy category. That’s where the money is. I’ve always competed in roughstock and I’m not changing now. Even if I wanted to, it’s not like changing your shoes. We spend a lifetime training for our events.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wishing he had his Stetson. He made a mental note to remind his father to bring it during his next visit. He felt vulnerable enough in his wheelchair—he hated feeling naked without his hat.

“I’d say they know your body better than you after all those surgeries,” Alice hissed. “How many was it?”

“That’s beside the point.” Brady backed away from the table. “Thank you for breakfast, but I have to get to therapy.”

For a moment, she appeared as if she might continue their argument. “I thought maybe Gunner and I could hang around here today. He really misses you, Brady. You’re not in therapy all day, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I get numerous breaks throughout the day. I miss him too, but please do me a favor—keep him away from my physical therapy. I don’t want him to see me like that.”

“I don’t understand what the big d—”

“I asked you nicely.” Alice’s relentless persistence was one of the many reasons why they weren’t romantically involved. Everything was always an argument. “I want to spend time with Gunner and I’m fine with you staying the day, but please respect me enough to do this.”

“Brady?” Sheila called out to him from the sidewalk leading to the picnic tables. “Is that your son climbing through the fence?”

Brady looked toward the corral and saw Gunner already had a leg and shoulder over the bottom rail. He stood to chase after him before his body had a chance to remind him otherwise. Dammit! He grabbed hold of the picnic table to prevent himself from falling completely forward. Sheila rushed to his side as Alice ran across the grass and pulled their son back through the fence. Gunner hadn’t been in any imminent danger, but Brady’s first instinct was to save him—and he couldn’t. If Gunner got into trouble, he wouldn’t be able to help him. That was unacceptable, and another reason to push himself.

“Are you all right?” Sheila asked, guiding him into his chair.

Brady attempted to shrug her off to no avail. Great, now I have two persistent women in my life. “I’m fine. Please let me do this on my own.”

Sheila stepped to the side when Alice returned with Gunner. “He still doesn’t understand that he can’t pet every horse he sees.” Gunner squirmed in her arms. “I’m Alice,” she said to Sheila.

“I’m Dr. Lindstrom, but you can call me Sheila.”

“I’d shake your hand but—” Alice struggled to keep a grip on Gunner. “He needs a nap.”

“You can take him to my cottage,” Brady ground out. “I’ll come find you after hippotherapy.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Alice said to Sheila before carrying Gunner away.

He inhaled deeply. Sheila’s scent hung like freshly laundered linens in the thick summer heat. He’d waited three days to gaze into her silver eyes, but now he couldn’t look at her. Not after almost face-planting into the picnic table because he was too weak to chase after his son.

“I’m late for therapy,” Brady said to Sheila, wheeling his chair onto the sidewalk.

“Do you feel pain anywhere?” Sheila walked alongside him. He appreciated her concern, but his embarrassment made him want to hide in his cottage with Gunner.

“Just my ego.” Brady stopped at the entrance to the hippotherapy center. “The kindest thing you can do is walk away and give me a chance to regroup.”

Brady didn’t even have to look. He sensed when she stepped away. Confident she wouldn’t follow him into the building, he pressed the automatic door button and wheeled into the cool corridor. As much as he preferred his hippotherapy outdoors, he wouldn’t have to worry about Alice and Gunner watching him in the indoor arena. His therapy consisted of more than just riding horses. Walking and stair-climbing was a huge part of his morning routine and it could be excruciating. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate with them there. It would serve only to reaffirm Alice’s opinions on bull riding, and it might scare Gunner to see him in that kind of pain. No thank you. There were some things a man needed to do alone. This was one of them.

* * *

WELL, THAT WAS AWKWARD. Sheila hadn’t expected to meet Gunner’s mother this morning. She hadn’t really given the woman much thought until she’d been face-to-face with her. She was attractive. She had huge blue eyes and glossy straight shoulder-length dark brown hair with bangs. Petite, but not short, she was one of those narrow women. Narrow hips, narrow shoulders. The type that made surgery more difficult because it didn’t give her a lot of room to work with. She didn’t hope to operate on Alice—it was just the way her brain worked 99 percent of the time. She was perpetually in work mode...unless she was in the dark with Brady.

The chances of that ever happening again were zero, zilch, zip, wasn’t going to happen—couldn’t happen—and she needed to eliminate all thoughts of it. Therein lay the problem. She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Even when she thought she had, he invaded her dreams.