Chapter Three
B ear woke up in a cold sweat, the sheet tangled around his hips and legs, his upper body thrashing.
He didn’t know what he’d dreamed but it had made his heart race, and his breathing was still ragged as he tried to orient himself. This was his room. This was his Clyde Park ranch house. This was home.
Or it was supposed to be his home.
Unfortunately, there was little of him here, little of who he’d been, little of who he’d become.
If anything, this house was a haunting reminder of what had happened to him. Once he could do anything, and he’d done everything, and nothing stopped him. But that person was gone. Forever.
It crossed Bear’s mind that he should start therapy again. Everyone who knew him thought it was a good idea, but after years of counseling, he was sick of talking, sick of peeling back the pain, sick of trying to explain the fury and helplessness of being broken.
He was not made to be helpless. Worse, his helplessness was accentuated here in this house. He struggled doing every little thing from sleeping to eating to peeing to bathing.
He slammed into corners and walls. He fell transferring to the shower chair. He fell transferring back to his chair from the toilet.
He fell sideways, and then fell forward and fell back, and if he was lucky, there was something for him to grab and use as leverage. But sometimes, there was nothing, and he crawled to his chair and then it took every bit of his upper body strength to lift up off the ground. And, eventually, he did get back in the chair. But sometimes it took a while. And sometimes it took longer than that, but that was because he was probably pounding his fist into the ground, into his leg, into the cushion of his chair, pounding and swearing and breaking things, including himself.
This was not the life for him. This was not his future. This shouldn’t be his house.
He should have said as much to beautiful lavender-eyed Josie Calhoun with her dark hair and full mouth and questions. So many questions, and she wasn’t wrong to ask them, and her feedback hadn’t been wrong, either. If anything, her feedback was spot on. She knew what she was talking about. She knew what would make his life easier here. She knew the changes that needed to be made.
But, good Lord, she was too pretty. Too pretty, too determined, too optimistic.
If she was around him long enough, she’d see the real Bear. The one that suffered and struggled, and how there were days he couldn’t handle the suffering and struggling. How there were days he just hurt all over. And there were days he couldn’t get the catheter in and there were days he had infections that made him need a trip to ER because his fever had spiked, and he’d waited too long to get on antibiotics.
But how did he know he needed an antibiotic when he couldn’t feel his bladder? Or his lower body? Or half of his back?
That was why he’d told her to stay away. He functioned best when no one was close. He didn’t have to be afraid of being seen for who he really was.
Not necessarily broken but changed. And sometimes so confused. There were days he was fine with it, and then there were days he didn’t know how to cope.
The therapists said it was normal. The doctors said it would take time—years—to adjust. But Bear had already prided himself on his control. On his ability to tolerate pain and overcome what most cowboys couldn’t.
But he wasn’t that man anymore.
He was a man with rage and moods and darkness, and he couldn’t let this darkness out. He couldn’t let anyone know or see, much less pretty Josie Calhoun with her sunny self-assurance and the dimple deep in her cheek.
The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Crush her. God knew the world needed more optimism. He craved her optimism. Today, she’d exuded light and hope. She’d felt like pure oxygen.
But he remembered his last attempt at a relationship. He remembered the nurse he’d dated for four months last autumn. She’d been sweet and hopeful, too, and he’d crushed her. She’d been a little bit older than Josie, but she was similar in her kindness and determination to help. She’d been certain she could make things better.
But no one could make things right—short of God reaching down and healing his spine, and that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to walk. He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to kneel. And he wasn’t going to be making love.
Who he was, what he was, would never be the same.
Bear struggled to sit up, and bracing his upper body with one arm, he yanked the damp tangled sheet out from his legs and gave it a little toss, cooling his skin, smoothing the sheet. He did it again, this time to calm his thoughts. Whatever he’d dreamed had upset him, and it was time to pull himself together.
He wasn’t going to slip into self-pity or despair. He couldn’t go to such a dark place, not again. He’d been there before, and it had been a battle to claw himself up, and out. He’d never understood depression until Savannah was gone and his world was narrow, reduced to appointment after appointment, just to regain control over his body.
He had control now. It wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t perfect, but he was better than he’d been two and a half years ago. Heck, the doctors hadn’t even thought he’d survive the accident, never mind come out of the coma. He’d been in the coma for almost a month, and there was concern he’d be brain damaged, along with paralyzed.
Thank God, he’d been saved from that, and he had independence now—hard won. Bear was proud of the strides he’d made, proud that despite his terrible fears, he’d moved forward, and he was doing something positive again. Something that wasn’t just about himself.
Maybe he had too many scars and legs that didn’t work but he had his brain, and his spirit wasn’t broken, and he was going to keep fighting—not just for himself but all the others with spinal cord injuries who needed someone in their corner. Bear was going to be in their corner. Bear was going to make sure others didn’t have to struggle alone.
Bear’s chest burned, and his eyes felt gritty. He blinked and swallowed around the ache in his throat, and the ache in his heart.
Thirty-three months ago, he couldn’t stop asking why.
Thank goodness, he’d finally reached the point where he could say, why not ?
*
Bear was outside retrieving his wallet from his Bronco when a blue truck appeared in his driveway and parked not far from where Bear was waiting.
A man wearing a trucker hat climbed out of his vehicle and came forward, hand extended. “Rye Calhoun,” he said introducing himself before looking at the ramp behind Bear. “That is an eyesore of a ramp. I’m sorry.”
Bear glanced from the ramp, not quite as offensively shiny in the early morning light, to the man in the trucker hat. “Can I help you?”
“I think I’m here to help you.” The stranger settled his trucker hat more firmly on his head, his dark hair long at the back, brushing the collar of his shirt. “I’m with Calhoun Construction.”
That still didn’t resonate with Bear. “Sent by whom? The design firm?”
“No. My sister. Josie.”
Bear was beginning to understand. “I told her Tuesday I didn’t need her help.”
Rye rocked back on his heels, hands on his hips. “She said it was an emergency.”
Bear shook his head. “No emergency. Just ticked off that I’m destroying my house with my chair.”
“I have a bigger interior door in the back of the truck for your bathroom. I’d hoped to get here yesterday but Paradise Lumber needed a day to track down a wider door for me. But I’ve got it now and it won’t take long for me to swap it out.”
“How do you know that your door would work?”
“Doors come in standard sizes, and Josie thought you had a thirty inch bathroom door. The one in my truck is thirty-six inches. If that’s the case it’d give you a lot more room.”
The corner of Bear’s mouth lifted. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a bigger bathroom in that flatbed? As Josie might have told you, mine is pretty small.”
“I heard. Why don’t you show me?”
“No need. I’m making do, and I hate to waste your time—”
“I’m already here. At least seeing your problem bathroom would make me feel better.”
“You’re sounding just as stubborn as your sister.”
Rye’s eyes glinted. “Oh, she’s worse than me. But then, she’s a far better human. Josie will give the shirt off her back while I prefer to keep mine on.”
Bear was torn between exasperation and amusement. “I haven’t had coffee yet and I’m feeling it. You’re welcome to come in but know that I’m not planning on putting any money into this house, not when I’ve decided it doesn’t work for me.”
“You’re going to sell it?”
“I don’t know if I will sell or just lease it. But it isn’t comfortable and making the changes your sister suggested—” Bear broke off, jaw tightening. “I know how those projects are. One thing leads to another and another and it ends up taking months and twice the amount of money budgeted.”
“Or three times.”
“Exactly.”
“But you should rest assured that Josie is quite thrifty and is more sensitive to finances than many. We grew up without much, and she learned to create beauty out of thrift stores and hand-me-downs.
“I don’t doubt it, but remodels are exhausting, and I don’t have it in me.”
“Completely respect that.” Rye approached the ramp but instead of walking up it, he climbed the wide porch’s partially obscured front steps as he studied the ramp’s design. “Why didn’t they put the ramp off to the side?” he asked, taking another stair. “There’s plenty of space in your yard and you wouldn’t have had to destroy the symmetry of your front entrance.”
“Would it have worked there?”
“Absolutely.” Rye pointed to the rustic railing on one side. “That would have been a perfect place for the ramp to go. You’d only have had to remove those five-foot pieces, and you’d have had a great landing with minimal damage to the structure. It’s still just as close to the front door, but it provides a better area to arrive, with more room to turn.”
Bear rolled back slightly to study the side of the front porch. Rye was right. “How come you can see that so quickly and others can’t?”
“We’ve had years to learn what works for a wheelchair and what doesn’t. Not sure if Josie told you, but our younger brother Jasper has cerebral palsy and is in an electric chair. His chair, by necessity, is big and bulky, so space is always at a premium.”
“She probably mentioned it, but I was in a terrible mood, and missed half of what she said. I owe her an apology.”
“It couldn’t have upset her that much. She still called and asked me to help you.”
“She shouldn’t have.”
“No, probably not, but Josie’s not your average bear—no pun intended.”
Bear reluctantly smiled. “Come in, check out the bathroom, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He turned and with a push of his right hand, moved into the house with Rye following. “When I turn left into the kitchen, you just keep going down the hall and the first door on the right is my bedroom and bathroom. Ignore the mess if you can. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
Bear filled his mug with coffee and waited for Rye to reappear. Rye was gone longer than Bear had expected.
“Wasn’t sure if you were working or just needed to use the facilities,” Bear said when Rye finally appeared.
Rye laughed. “Today it was just lots of note taking.”
“With what?”
“My phone.” He pulled the phone out of his back pocket. “I dictate everything these days, makes it much easier than trying to scribble it down.” Rye nodded at the coffee pot. “If you have coffee to spare, I’d love a cup.”
Bear scooted to the edge of his seat and stretched an arm up to retrieve a mug. “Creamer is in the fridge, if you want it.”
Rye took the carton of creamer out and topped off his coffee before putting the creamer back. “You definitely need the bigger bathroom door. You’re destroying the one that’s there now.”
“It’s a tight fit getting the chair in there, which is why I think I’m better off just finding a place that will work for me—a place that has everything I need already, without having to take on a renovation job.”
“I’m not sure there are going to be a lot of places like that around here. You might have to move into Bozeman. With a city you’d have more options.”
“I’m not a city guy. I’ve been on the outskirts of Nashville for a number of years, and I moved back to Montana wanting a different quality of life.”
“You’ll get that here.” Rye’s tone was ironic. “There aren’t a lot of people out this way.”
“I have found it rather remote.”
“Did your girl move back with you?”
Bear shook his head. “No. I moved back on my own. And there is no girl,” he smiled grimly. “Or woman. Just me.”
“This house is certainly big for one person.”
“It’s big for two people. I only use a couple rooms here. No point hanging onto it, not when someone else could enjoy it. I certainly don’t enjoy it.”
“Would you enjoy it more if it were accessible? Put in an elevator, get those necessary changes to your master bedroom and bathroom.”
“No. I built this for my fiancé. We made a lot of decisions together. I wanted the great room’s wall of windows and the wood—the hundred-year-old barn beams and flooring. She was all about size and the finishes, bigger, better, more luxurious. So, it has both of us here. I’m the timber and rustic wood. Savannah’s the expensive finishes and additional six thousand feet no one needs.”
“But you agreed to her ideas.”
“I figured we would have a lot of kids. I always wanted a lot of kids. But that’s not going to happen a now, and this place just reminds me of a time, and a life, that no longer exists.”
“You have to get out of here in that case. I wouldn’t stay either.” Rye sipped his coffee. “But if you are hoping to lease this place, or one day sell it, you’ll want to make a few repairs. I’m not suggesting I need to do the work. In fact, I’m pretty slammed during the summer months, but that bathroom of yours and the bedroom have seen better days. The walls and doors are scuffed, and there’s a place the drywall looks like something hit it—”
“Me.”
Rye grinned. “I wasn’t going to say it. But once you get the new bathroom door in, I can recommend some painters and they can come in and do the necessary touch ups.” He hesitated. “If you’re tempted to stay, I’d suggest replacing the vanity and the shower, making it a roll-in shower. But if you’re serious about leaving, don’t spend the money. Just give it a refresh so it doesn’t look like your walls and cabinets have been feuding with your chair.”
“Oh, they have. My casters make contact with virtually everything, every day.”
“Our old house up in Eureka was the same. Between my dad’s chair and my brothers chair—”
“Your dad’s in a chair?”
“He had a roofing accident. Broke his back. Happened about ten years ago.”
“That’s rough.”
“It is what it is.”
“No wonder your sister said she’s passionate about accessible design.”
“My dad’s accident was hard on her… hard on all of us, but especially her. She’d always been a daddy’s girl and seeing him so changed turned her into a warrior, determined to make things better—for as many people as she can.”
“She’s certainly something.”
“Josie can be a lot,” Rye said ruefully.
“That’s not what I meant. Your sister is…” Bear hesitated. “She’s young. And confident.” And ridiculously pretty , he added silently.
“Ambitious,” Rye added. “As well as passionate about design.”
“Nashville is full of beautiful ambitious women, but your sister is different.”
“Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have a lot of ego.” Rye shrugged. “Hard to be cocky when you’re considered the poor family in town.”
“That bad?”
“After Dad couldn’t work, it got pretty grim for a number of years. Happily, we’re all doing better now. Moving from Eureka to Park County was a good decision for the entire family.”
“There are more of you?”
Rye grinned. “Another sister.”
“Is she into design, too?”
“No. Hannah’s a nurse and wrapping up her degree in Missoula. We’re hoping she’ll be moving back once she graduates at the end of the year. My family really misses her, especially Jasper.”
“He’s the one with CP?”
“He’ll be nineteen this year.”
“You said he’s doing better since you moved?” Bear asked.
“He’s working with a physical therapist that’s been helping him with his strength and mobility. She’s also really pretty, which motivates my brother.”
Bear laughed. “Sounds just like the motivation he needs.”
Rye gestured. “I just had a thought. Why don’t you make your current bedroom and bathroom suite more accessible, not less? That way when you go to sell the house, you’d have something unique on the market. It’s hard to find a home that is accessible for different needs, and if your downstairs suite could accommodate someone like my brother Jasper, or others who can’t manage stairs, you’d be helping people out. Lots of families want a ground floor suite for their parents or in-laws. And should you decide not to sell the house, you have a space that works for you.”
“Your sister suggested the same thing, but I don’t want to invest more in this house. I’m not ready to sell it, but I’m also unwilling to put more money into it.” He glanced down into his coffee before looking up at Rye. “I would appreciate you giving me a bid for replacing the bathroom door and basic touchups and repairs—like covering up the hole from my fist in the wall.”
“Do you have any objection to me including Josie? She could use the work. She has to put together a portfolio to graduate.” Rye quickly added, “Best of all, she’s very affordable. She’s free right now. At least until she graduates.”
“That would be taking advantage of her.”
“No. Trust me. You’d be doing her a favor.”
Bear studied Rye a moment. “You’re protective of her.”
“We’re close. Adversity breaks some people, while it brings others together. For us—Josie, Hannah, and me—the challenges just made us grow closer.”
“You’re lucky.”
Rye’s head inclined. “I am.”
*
Rye phoned Josie as he left Bear’s ranch.
“How did it go? Any problem getting the door in?” she asked.
“He didn’t know I was coming.”
“Was that a problem?”
Rye sighed. “Josie.”
“So, tell me what happened.”
“The door is still in the back of my truck.”
“Oh no!”
“He’s decided he doesn’t want to stay in the house. He’s going to start looking for a place that would already be accessible.”
“But he can’t sell the house with that bathroom looking like a teenager took a bat to it.”
“I don’t think he used a bat, but he’s agreed to get the damage fixed.”
“Seems as if you got along much better with him than I did. Everything I said annoyed him.”
“I don’t think that’s the case. He seemed impressed by you.”
“No.”
“He did say he owes you an apology—”
“He doesn’t,” she answered quickly.
“If he thinks he does, he does. Men usually know when they’ve crossed the line.” Rye merged onto the frontage road, easing between a huge semi-truck hauling lumber and another truck hauling livestock.
“I didn’t think he crossed a line. I think he was just frustrated with his situation and unwilling to invest a lot more into a house that wasn’t making him happy. It’s a shame, though, as it’s a gorgeous place—at least what I saw of it.”
“He does have an incredible view of the Crazies.”
“It was his grandfather’s property, which is why I’d hate to see him sell it.”
“But the house was built for his fiancé, and that weighs on him.”
“That’s a problem,” she agreed.
“I gave him the name of the realtor I used when Ansley and I bought our house in Marietta. Not sure if Bear needs one, but Paul was honest and easy to work with.”
“Thank you for taking the time to go out there. I really appreciate it, Rye.”
“I know you do, and I’m glad I went. Bear’s a good guy. I liked him, and happy to help him out.”