Читать книгу Winning Heart - Laura Browning - Страница 4

Prologue

Sweat dripped down the man’s lean cheeks, mingling with tears of pain as he labored through physical therapy. His dark hair was wet from the effort to propel himself along parallel bars, and his arms shook with fatigue.

One good step, and then slowly, painfully, he forced the other leg forward, arms and strong leg bearing much of the weight.

“I think that’s enough today,” the therapist interrupted.

“No!” he barked, his tone darkened not only with pain but simmering with anger and bitterness just below the surface.

“Mr. Anderson,” she began in that voice he’d heard her use to warn other patients it was time they listen, “if you keep pushing yourself like this, you will do more harm than good.”

“I will not be wheeled inside that courtroom.”

“You’ll arrive in a coffin if you don’t quit!” she snapped back. “Don’t forget, you have suffered more injuries than just your leg. You’re also missing a few feet of intestines. Recovery takes a while. You can’t keep pushing this hard.”

Nelson sagged, and the therapist pushed the wheelchair under his shaking legs. His broad shoulders hunched, and he ran trembling fingers through wet hair.

“Don’t you have other patients to harass?”

She sighed. “I do. You have a pool in that great big house of yours, don’t you?”

“Yes, whatever good that does me. I can’t get up and down the stairs.”

She laughed, making him glare.

“For heaven’s sake! You’re one of the wealthiest men in the state—maybe in the country. Put in a damn elevator.”

“That’s like admitting I’ll be like this,” he waved a hand at his atrophied right leg, “for good.”

The therapist went down on her haunches. “No, it’s giving you access to an outstanding therapeutic tool. Water will help support your weight and add resistance to rebuild muscles in your leg. It will do more in half the time than grunting through exercises in here.”

He glared at her. “Hand me my cellphone,” he ordered in a voice accustomed to being obeyed.

“Yes, sir.” The therapist found the cellphone in the pocket of his jacket and handed it to him with a slight smile.

Five minutes later, he snapped it shut with a satisfied smirk. “The elevator will be in by the end of the week when I return home.”

“God, it must be nice to be filthy rich,” the therapist sighed.

Nelson grimaced. “It is until you find out money can’t buy everything.”