Full Contact. Tara Quinn Taylor
in front of her.
Ellen, hands folded across her stomach, met the older woman’s gaze head-on.
She and Shawna had been together, on and off, since before Josh was born.
“And sometimes, most particularly when he comes at me when I’m not expecting it, I have to fight the instinct to tear his hands away.”
And then she quickly added, “But my patients at work hug me all the time and I’m fine with that. I love it.” She was fine. Healthy.
She just wasn’t dating.
And while no one but old Joe Frasier was on her about it, Ellen didn’t want to spend her life alone, raising her son alone, watching him grow and succeed alone.
She didn’t want to sleep alone for the rest of her life.
“How many of them come at you unexpectedly?” How could Shawna’s question come out so quiet when her voice sounded so firm?
“None.”
“Are there times when Josh hugs you, when you are expecting it, that you feel cramped?”
Oh, God. Was she a horrible mother? “Yes,” she barely whispered.
“Hey.” Shawna leaned forward, her blond hair falling over her shoulders to her desk. Ellen focused on the hair. “It’s okay.”
She met Shawna’s gaze and listened intently.
“You’re fine,” Shawna said. “Look at you, Ellen, you live independently. You have a successful career that you love. From what I can tell, everyone in town, young and old, comes to you for assistance because they know they can rely on you. You go out alone all the time.”
Of course she did. She was alive. She lived.
She just didn’t date.
“You’re going to have hard times. We talked about that five years ago. I told you to expect them. And to know that you would get through them.” But…
“And you have gotten through them, haven’t you?” Shawna asked.
Ellen thought to the time when she couldn’t be in a room alone. When she couldn’t leave her mother’s house.
It had taken her two years to walk into Walmart.
She thought of the years when she hadn’t slept through the night—any night.
“Yes,” she finally said.
“You’ll get through this, too, if that’s what you want.”
Because she could do anything she set her mind to. She knew that. Believed it.
And yet…
“Listen, I have a suggestion…” The way Shawna sat back, her words trailing off, got Ellen’s attention. “What?”
Studying her, Shawna remained silent, then glanced at Ellen’s file and seemed to come to some kind of decision. “There’s this new guy in town. He arrived this week. His name’s Jay Billingsley.”
Black Leather. Ellen’s mother and most of the heroines of Shelter Valley—as Ellen secretly called the ladies who officially met for lunch once a month to solve the world’s problems, but who spoke to one another almost every day—had assured Ellen last night that they were going to have him out of town in no time. Not that Ellen had asked for, or needed, the reassurance.
She didn’t doubt the heroines’ prediction for a second—though she was half rooting for the bold man who had the courage to roar through their quiet town without apology.
“I heard he’s a massage therapist.”
Suddenly, considering that Shawna might actually be about to suggest that Ellen use massage as therapy for what ailed her, she decided this Friday-morning visit was unnecessary after all. She was happy not to be dating. Who had time for it?
When she met the right guy…
When she was ready…
“That’s right.” Shawna folded her hands on her desk. “I hired him.”
“Why?”
“He’s a medical massage therapist, and a good one. His reputation is above reproach. He works with elderly people, volunteers his services a lot of the time, and his success stories would keep the Hallmark Channel in business for years.”
“What kind of successes?”
“Patients with broken hips facing being bound to a wheelchair walking again. Stroke victims brushing their teeth, feeding themselves, learning to talk. A cerebral palsy patient taking his first step at seventy-two.”
“I don’t have a muscular disability. Nor am I geriatric.”
“No, but he’s also done quite a bit with trauma patients. Soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and abused women and children.”
“He helps them walk again?” She was defensive. She knew it. She just couldn’t help it. She wasn’t getting undressed for some biker guy. No way. Even if she was half rooting for him.
“No, he helps to retrain their instincts, teaching them to trust sudden physical movement in their space and, eventually, accept touch to their skin. He’s assisted women who couldn’t tolerate any kind of physical contact. Apparently several of them have invited him to their weddings.”
“Abused women. You mean women who were beaten? Like domestic abuse.”
“Yes.”
“What about rape victims? Has he ever had a rape victim for a client?”
“Not that I know of.”
She was off the hook then. “I don’t see—”
“What you’re going through, this aversion to being touched, even in a completely noninvasive, trusted situation, is the same thing many abused women experience.” Shawna’s words hung in the air. Echoing around the small office. Getting louder by the second.
Or so it seemed to Ellen.
“Fine,” she blurted to silence the sound. “I mean, what does this guy do? If you think I’m suddenly going to want a massage because a good-looking biker wants to give me one—” Heat flooded under her skin.
“You’ve seen Jay.”
“Maybe.”
“Were you afraid of him?”
“Not as much as I would have expected.”
“Good. He’s got a way about him.”
“My mother and her friends don’t think he should be trusted.”
“It’s not like them to judge by appearances.”
“I guess David invited him to the men’s group at church Sunday night and he said no. No excuses, just no, thank you.”
Shawna didn’t dignify the comment with a response.
“And Ben and Tory invited him to dinner. He turned them down, too.” Why Ellen felt compelled to defend the heroines wasn’t clear to her.
“Jay’s personal life has nothing to do with his skills as a therapist,” Shawna said. “I think you know that.”
Ellen didn’t always agree with some of the more narrow-minded opinions espoused by the heroines of Shelter Valley, as Shawna was well aware.
“If you see Jay, I’ll insist on being a primary player in your treatment. So far, with the few clients I’ve referred to him, Jay’s insisting on that, as well. I’ll want to speak with him first, but from what I know about his methods, the treatment will be completely noninvasive.”
The repetition of the word noninvasive set Ellen off. “What does that mean?”