Chapter Two #3
Carly stood in a far corner of the room watching the well-meaning folks of Service swarm Owen as if he were the last cookie at a town picnic.
Then she chided herself for not following up with his parents after she’d left the message.
She’d meant to, but instead she’d been caught up with her own issues.
It turned out her father had been right about laying down the law with Ryder making the situation worse, at least with her.
Since her father’s talk, Ryder hadn’t acknowledged her existence.
The angry words he hurled at their father when he explained the consequences if Ryder’s behavior didn’t change still rang in her ears.
Take away my truck? The hell you will. This is her idea, isn’t it?
Be a man and stand up to Carly. Quit letting her run our lives.
Tell her to get a life of her own and to mind her own damn business.
Now as she watched Owen shuffle into the living room, his face tight, his green eyes dull, her concern multiplied. How could he cope with this crush after being released from the hospital a few days ago and spending all those hours on a plane?
Dressed in a wrinkled Army uniform, he stood out among a sea of plaid and denim.
He’d lost as much as fifteen pounds since she’d last seen him.
His normally muscular frame now lacked its previous tone and definition.
Not that he appeared gaunt, but he was headed there.
The dark blond hair growing back near his right temple hadn’t returned enough to conceal the fresh pink scar, where he’d undergone surgery to remove shrapnel and relieve his brain swelling.
Other smaller shrapnel scars dotted his scalp.
Still, his handsome face and dazzling smile would make any girl’s heart go pitter patter. Hers included.
With his parents beside him beaming the way only proud parents could, the crowd tightened around them.
The noise level rose, making Carly’s ears ring.
Poor Owen. Between everyone talking and the background noise, he stood as much chance of following a conversation as a two-year-old had of doing advanced calculus.
“I wonder how Owen will manage in Service without Landon,” Caroline Sharp, Owen’s former kindergarten teacher, said when she joined Carly. “That loss has to hurt worse than his physical injuries.”
Carly nodded. Growing up, people pretty much ran Owen and Landon’s names together, since one was rarely seen without the other. They’d played sports together, were in the same Scout troop, attended the Texas A&M, and entered the Army together. Owen had to feel as if he’d lost part of himself.
Not knowing what to say, and not really wanting to discuss the subject, Carly said, “I’m sure his parents will help him cope.”
The elderly woman grinned like a child who’d conned her brother out of the bigger piece of cake. “I know people say high school sweethearts often don’t last, but I would’ve bet on you two. I always thought you were meant for each other. Maybe this is your second chance.”
Not now when I finally have plans for my life.
Carly swallowed her groan. First Reese and now Mrs. Sharp, hinting at her and Owen getting back together. While matchmaking came in third as entertainment behind high school football and gossip, the excitement shining on Caroline’s face made Carly want to squirm at being a target now.
People could matchmake all they wanted. She wasn’t playing.
No thanks. She had plans, and they didn’t include getting involved with any man, much less one suffering from a traumatic brain injury.
Carly smiled at one of her agency’s generous donors and slipped into executive director mode.
“Like everyone else in Service, I’ll assist Owen any way I can. ”
Carly’s gaze sought out Owen, finding him among a group of older vets, his shoulders rounded, dark circles under his eyes, his lips thin and pinched. Why weren’t his parents running interference for him?
After spotting Owen’s mother in the dining room, Carly turned to Mrs. Sharp, mumbled the standard vague but polite excuse-me-I-see-someone-I need-to-speak-with excuse, and set out to navigate the maze to reach Owen’s mother.
Before she left the kitchen, Sharon Wilburn called her name. “I left you a message, but since you’re here, I’ll ask in person. Could you take a meal to Sarah Hampton on Thursday? She broke her arm and can’t cook.”
Nodding, Carly pulled out her phone and added the item to her calendar. “I’ll be happy to. Nothing spicy, right?”
“She asked if you could bring your beef stew and homemade biscuits if you’ve got the time for that.”
Again Carly nodded and edited her note. “You sure all you need is the one night?”
“I’ve got the following Monday open too. I wasn’t going to ask you for two meals, but if you’re offering, I’ll take you up on it.”
Just like Old Faithful. Carly chided herself for her comment. Why did she do that? Someone asked for a favor, and after saying yes, she asked if she could do more. “You’re welcome, Sharon. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“Go on. I don’t want to monopolize your time.”
Carly made it halfway to the dining room before another church member, this one arranging greeters, corralled her to fill an open slot on Sunday. When she looked up, she couldn’t locate Owen’s mother. Instead, her gaze landed on the guest of honor.
“Good to see you, Carly.”
She nodded. “You too.”
“I can’t wait for us to get started Monday.”
“Excuse me?”
“Monday. We’re starting my therapy.”
We’re? Absolutely not. For the first time in almost a year, she found herself thankful for her executive director position. Considering how jazzed up he got her with a simple look, them working together would be as smart as someone allergic to cats opening a pet store.
“I guess you haven’t heard. I’m the executive director. Unfortunately, I don’t work with clients anymore. At least not with therapy.”
“I remember hearing something about that. Congratulations.” He grabbed her hand. Tingles raced from her fingertips and through her body as he led her into the hallway away from the guests. “About my therapy. How about you make an exception for an old friend?”
She flinched. Old friend? Buzz kill. Those two words blasted away the remaining ripples of feminine excitement from his touch. “Calling me old isn’t the best strategy.”
He chuckled. The rich, warm sound tickled her down to her toes, bringing memories of the way he once teased her when she became too serious or worried. She frowned. Nothing good could come from those memories.
“I didn’t call you old. I called our friendship old.”
“An old friend hardly sounds better.”