2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
Laiken
“Dr. Whitaker wants to see you before you go,” Bonnie says over her shoulder as she digs around in the fridge.
I have just finished with my last patient.
Ralph Riddles is the kind of man who doesn’t like to be told what to do, so forcing him to follow his therapy plan was about as easy as giving a raccoon a bath.
But it’s finally Friday. The week is wrapping up, which means I’ll be preparing to send my mother off with her best friend, Sasha, on their month-long road trip across the US.
They’ve been planning this voyage for the last three years, and to be honest, she deserves this trip more than anyone I know.
My father died in a tragic car accident when I was just out of high school, thrusting her into the role of single mom to three kids in a matter of seconds.
The mere seconds it took for a drunk driver to cross the highway, leaving her a widow at the age of forty-five.
She is home with Trace today—my six-year-old pride and joy—collecting all the cuddles to last her the duration of the trip.
Being a grandma is her entire personality these days and the fact I signed the papers on my very own home two weeks ago means she is feeling the absence already.
She isn’t thrilled about having an empty nest again, but it’s time for Trace and me to spread our wings.
Owning my own home is something I’ve worked hard for.
Hours of college courses while running on two hours of sleep with a newborn wasn’t easy but so worth it.
We don’t have a lot, but I managed to save enough for a down payment on a cute little farmhouse at the edge of town.
It needs some TLC, but the important thing is that it’s ours.
“Sure thing. Have a good weekend!” I call back as I shove Ralph’s file folder into the cabinet.
Doctor Whitaker has an unhealthy aversion to technology. Mainly computer programs, so we run this physical therapy office old-school. Pencils and paper files.
“Have a good weekend, Laiken.”
Matthew, the other PT tech, dips his chin as he passes, his black backpack strapped to his shoulders.
He’s a good guy. Young and eager to learn.
I’m glad he started here six months ago.
I was drowning, being the only tech in the office.
Dr. Whitaker did the consults and formed a therapy plan, but Matthew and I did the day-to-day.
Which can be the most rewarding and challenging job in the world.
“You too.” I flip the closed sign into view as he leaves through the front, then turn the lock.
My eyes scan the waiting area, making note that the chairs are in place and the magazines are neatly stacked.
After careful assessment, my sneakers carry me down the hall, stopping at the last door on the right. I knock twice before a voice calls me to come in.
“Hey, Laiken.” Dr. Whitaker motions to the chair across from her.
“Bonnie said you needed to see me?” I drop down in the seat and cross one scrub-covered leg over the other.
The ones I’m wearing today are purple, with small cowboy boots plastered wherever the space will allow. They’re adorable and comfy.
“Yes. I have something to discuss with you.” She clears her throat before pulling off her readers.
Elaine Whitaker is in her late fifties and drop dead gorgeous. Her blonde hair is neatly pulled back in a clip, and her ruby red lips quirk as she prepares to share her news.
“For the next six weeks, you will no longer be working full time in this office.”
Her words hit me like a semi-truck. My throat tightens as I blink rapidly. “I’m sorry.” My hand snakes up the front of my scrub top and pauses on my chest. The weight of her words feels like an elephant just planted its foot right in the center. “Are you firing me?”
Panic slides through my core, the lump in my throat forming as I think about how I’m going to pay for our new home. The first payment hasn’t even been drafted yet and I promised Trace he could play T-ball this spring.
“Oh, no!” Dr. Whitaker lifts her palms, her face morphing into an apology. “I should have worded that better. Of course you aren’t being fired. You’re my best employee. Think of this as a promotion.”
Relief washes through me, and I slouch back into the chair. “I almost passed out.”
A genuine smile graces her face as she lowers her hands. “I mean that. You have a way with patients. They love you.”
“Thank you.” Heat creeps up my neck.
I’m not sure I’ve ever learned how to take a compliment.
“An opportunity has come along.” She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. “I’ve always dealt with patients in-house and haven’t dabbled in-home health much. It seemed risky.”
“Okay.” I nod.
“Recent developments have caused me to consider broadening our horizons.” Her lips work into a smile. “I have agreed to specialized care with a new patient. This patient requires a six-week rehabilitation plan that is customized to his field of work.”
“Oh, wow, that’s exciting.” I sit up straighter, my interest piqued. “This will be one hundred percent in-home?”
We usually don’t work that way.
“Yes. Let’s just say he’s paying a pretty penny to have private PT. Insurance doesn’t cover the same things as in clinic, but I’m working on making that more affordable for future patients.”
I nod again, unsure of where this is going.
“Fortunately, money isn’t an issue in this instance and he was very clear in our agreement that you were to be the one to complete his rehab.”
“Me?” I point at my chest, my brow furrowing.
“Yes.” She smiles, wide and proud. “I would have recommended you anyway, but the patient said it was nonnegotiable.” She shrugs. “If this goes smoothly, this could open up a new avenue for the office. And for you.”
My mind fumbles to articulate who this patient could be. I come up blank. “Would I have to travel?”
That would be tough with Trace in school and Mom gone.
“Nope. He’s here in Mayson Ridge.” She leans forward, snagging her glasses.
I frown again, unease creeping up my spine. I’ve lived here my entire life and would bet the farm I know the majority of the male residents. None fit the bill.
She slips her glasses along her straight nose. “Sessions would start Monday. Obviously, this will be a salary increase for you for the length of the agreed contract. Think of it as a bonus.” She scribbles something on a notepad before sliding it my way.
I glance down at the number written in ink and almost fall out of my chair.
“Are you serious?” I gasp.
“Yep,” she continues as if the astronomical number is completely normal. “I have established a vigorous plan to get him where he needs to be. It’s all documented in his file. Regular rehab mixed in with some low-exertion cardio to help build his stamina back.”
“Okay.” I’m still trying to swallow the ten-thousand-dollar bonus salary for six weeks. This is insane. Who even has that kind of money?
“Can I ask who the patient is?”
She meets my eyes. “Of course. It’s not every day a woman gets to nurse a famous bull rider back to health.
I’m sure you know him. Everyone in this area seems to.
Parker Stillwater?” She winks, revealing the only name on this entire planet that I’ve tried to forget.
“Hence the agreement. Privacy is important to him.”
Fire lights in my veins, followed by a vicious pounding in my chest.
Parker freaking Stillwater.
Infamous bull rider.
The definition of danger in a pair of cowboy boots.
How dare he?
I swallow thickly before calming my voice. “Yeah. I know him.” Massive understatement I wish weren’t true. “And what if I decline?”
She arches a perfectly plucked brow. “I’ve never known you to decline a patient care.”
I shift in my seat. How do I explain that I would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than spend five minutes with this man?
“Hypothetically,” I urge.
“Well, hypothetically, I would lose a very big chance at opening this office to more high-profile patients. Namely, those in the rodeo world. Be a big deal for a town like this.”
My palms curl in. “So, hypothetically, you’d be disappointed?”
She holds my stare. “Hypothetically. Yes. But I would never force you, Laiken. You always have a choice.”
My hands clench tighter, my nails digging into the sweaty skin of my palm. Why am I sweating? It’s January. “And where will he be staying?”
She glances down at his file. “The Mayson Ranch.” She closes the folder, holding it out to me.
My smile barely shows my teeth as I give a tight nod. I grasp the folder in my hand. The one I plan to soon burn to nothing but ash. Null and void.
No way can I do this.
“Okay, everything you need to know is in there. If it makes you feel any better, take the weekend to look it over. If it’s something you can’t swing, we will have to figure a way to readjust.”
“Thank you, Dr. Whitaker. I will let you know.”
And I know exactly where I’m headed first. To see where Parker Stillwater found the sheer audacity to think he could buy me after what he did.