Chapter 3
EMBERLYNN
“What people do you have working for you?” The voice boomed through the open window while I was on the porch.
I turned to make sure there wasn’t another house in this direction. The door was ajar, and a man yelled from inside. I neared the opening but stayed out of sight. Was this Hardison?
“I did. There were supposed to be two physical therapists. Two girls showed up, and they spent more time chatting about their boyfriends than trying to fucking help. One girl showed up twenty minutes later than the first one. And I never heard from the psychologist.” He sighed.
It was easy to hear the frustration in his voice.
And if what he was saying was true, I understood where he was coming from.
I raised my hand to knock but stopped when the next words came out of his mouth.
“You left me in a crappy situation. Why isn’t that reason enough to expedite someone else coming? I wasn’t fucking rude. I asked how long they were going to be talking because I was achy. I’m still in pain!”
It showed how his words seemed to be forced out of his mouth.
“I’m… Listen, I understand all that. I just need someone…” The cry for help was too much for me to continue to stand there. Why were they being so difficult with him?
I felt bad enough for eavesdropping. I’d only been trying to let him finish his conversation, but this had gone on for long enough.
Knocking on the screen door, I could see him moving about, but the door wasn’t open wide enough to see much more.
“Hold on a second.” He came to the door, and when he opened it, I didn’t expect this beautiful dark-haired warrior to appear.
His face was scarred, unlike the recent pictures I’d seen of him.
There was a gash on his eyebrow where the hair refused to grow back.
Another traced along his left eye, then down his cheek, ending at his lip.
It made his face appear more serious and no-nonsense.
Even when he smiled, it seemed as if he was grimacing at me. And I loved it.
If Beast were real…
I stood still, trying not to trace the scar with gentle finger touches.
“Emberlynn.” He grunted out my name as if it was too painful to hold back.
I was too dumbfounded to respond right away. Too awestruck to chime in with good intentions. This was where I was supposed to confess why I was there. I needed to explain to him that I couldn’t stay. We couldn’t get to know each other because…
“Come in, queen.” He opened the door fully and beckoned me inside.
Mindlessly, I followed his lead. I entered the house, and he closed the door behind me. His scent seemed to cover the entire space. It reminded me of the ocean–a soft and gentle breeze followed by waves pushing up to shore.
He took my bags and showed me the room he’d set up for me. As I followed him, I saw a scar just behind his ear. It was thicker than the one on his face but just as beautiful. I also noticed that he had a bit of a limp, too.
I wonder if he got them while serving.
He’d given me the main bedroom, and it was exquisite.
Sheer white curtains draped around the bed, canopying it like a bed of clouds.
The chests were made of mahogany and added depth to the room.
White tall curtains lined the windows from ceiling to floor, giving me a picture-perfect view of nature–the trees, pastures, and the sky.
“How did you get so lucky to have this place?” I asked, turning in circles. There was a futon in front of the window, where I sat comfortably.
“A friend of mine owns the land. He recently came across a deal he couldn’t pass up.
A ranch is closing up shop because it owes the bank.
They sold everything they had in order to keep it.
The land has been in their family for generations, and keeping the ranch was more important than being able to wrangle the animals.
My best friend–Hardison–knows that I have experience with horses and cows and his foreman could use the help in exchange for having this place.
” He rolled my luggage into the expansive walk-in closet.
“That’s damn impressive. I hope it all works out.” I paused and rubbed my hands on my knees to make the jitters go away before I dared speak to tell him about my having to leave.
“I–ah–need to get back to my call. Welcome to Cadell’s Fields. If you can give me ten minutes, I promise that I’ll be a better host.”
I nodded, lost for what to say. He was having a miserable time with whatever was happening, making me feel even more guilty about leaving.
When he didn’t return after twenty minutes, I stood and walked out into the living room to see him sitting on the couch with clasped hands.
“Everything okay?” I asked, though it clearly wasn’t.
“If I were smart, I’d lie to you. Tell you I have my shit together, but I guess I don’t.” Honest eyes looked up at me for a second before his gaze dropped back to his large hands.
They fit his body structure. He was easily 6’4”, making me feel petite at my 6’0” height. He was stocky, though toned. Instead of sitting, he had folded in on himself.
“Then tell me how you don’t have it together.” I sat next to him. “I can handle the truth. Respect it even more.” Lord, I sure knew I couldn’t judge.
“My physical therapists who showed up today were a bust. I don’t know what those young girls were expecting when they arrived, but I know they didn’t do any work. I need daily workouts to keep my leg strong. It relieves the aches that like to settle in.”
“I kind of overheard when I arrived. Are they going to do something about it?”
“No, they said they don’t have anybody that can come and see me for another few days. They were excited to chat about their sex lives, though. They were so busy talking and were in a rush to leave that she left her binder and stuff here.”
“Where?” I searched the living room with my eyes but came up short.
“Kitchen table.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
“No.” He leaned back onto the couch, silently pouting his man pout.
I found the binder and looked inside for a quick summary of his case—shrapnel injury. There was a list of exercises for her to perform on him and some practice ones that he’d do alone.
I brought the file over to where he sat. “These look easy enough. If you’re willing to try them out, we can do it right here on the floor.”
I disappeared into the hall closet across from the bathroom, guessing I’d find linen in there. I found a thick duvet for him to lie on. Then I returned, moved the table over, and spread it for him. “Want to?”
He stared at me for a minute, like I had three heads before he agreed. He stood up, and I helped him into the flat position on the floor. I made sure that he was comfortable and then checked the book for directions.
“Says you should stretch first.” I showed him the paper and how we would stretch his legs. “I’ll support your leg. You’ll lift your hips.”
“Okay.” A firm nod confirmed he was ready.
He lifted his hips, thrusting his pelvis upward.
Sheesh. I guess I now knew he could f–
He relaxed, counted to five, and did it again. Yup, he was gifted in that department. His hips worked just fine. I tried to focus on what we were doing to keep my mind out of the gutter, but it was difficult. Hardison was fine. Sinful even.
I knew he needed my help in other ways right now, so I kept myself on a short leash. No watching him flex and thrust. No concentrating on his face. It gave me the perfect image of how disciplined he could be about something.
We worked through all the exercises, and when we were finished, he had me massage some menthol-scented stuff onto his leg. The sun had fallen, barely lighting the room. Though I couldn’t see much of anything, I felt the muscles in his leg relax as I worked it.
“You’re a godsend,” he said as he relaxed in the spot where he was lying. “Now, if I could find a new therapist…”
“I thought you said one would be here in a few days.” I furrowed my eyebrows, reflecting on what he said.
“Mind doctor.” He clarified behind closed eyelids.
“Oh!” I giggled. “I am one.”
“Really?” He finally looked at me.
“Yes, I really am.”
“Yes, but we’re dating, so…”
“What do you need, Hardison?” I asked, overruling his stubbornness.
“I have PTSD, so I’m supposed to see someone. The doctor I saw arranged for me to see someone a few times a week to work through the initial trauma.” Hardison shook his head before speaking again. “Told you, I’m a mess. Maybe we shouldn’t be dating after all.”
“I think you’re right. We shouldn’t be. It sounds like you need to be working on yourself.” Though it was sad, it was truthful. It also could have been my nerves working overtime.
“Damn. It’s the scars, huh?” He chuffed.
“Yes, actually.” I leaned over him and touched his forehead. “The ones in here. Hardison, I know how important it is to get those healed up. They can be just as deadly as the ones you can get on your skin. I think you need to focus on that, and maybe when you’re ready, we can try dating afterward.”
“Are you trying to say the scars on my skin—”
“Are beautiful.” I finished for him. “They complement your already handsome face, giving it even more character. Right now, it’s the ones we can’t see that are the problem. Trust me, I know.”
“How so?”
“Not only have I seen it firsthand. I’ve lived through it, too,” I admitted. Old terrors liked to sneak up when you least expected them.
“If you won’t date me, then you’ll be my therapist?” he asked.
I hated dimming the light in his eyes. “No, if we ever want to try anything between us, we can’t have a doctor-patient relationship. I’ll try to help you find someone, though,” I agreed. Since we were being honest, and this wouldn’t work out, I could do this for him. At least I’d know he was safe.
“Deal. And, queen, you’re the beautiful one in this room. Never let that be a question in your mind.”
I smiled with one of those silly grins you couldn’t help when you were blushing as a pink rose in a garden of blues.
He’d just clarified that I needed to watch myself around him.
With too many more of those ‘queen’ pet names thrown around, I could get used to it.
For now, I was going to admit that we were both attracted to one another and hoped I would find him a therapist tomorrow. Then I could leave shortly after.