Wife by Design. Tara Quinn Taylor
with her daughter.
He also didn’t have to travel to Santa Raquel for every visit. He would be well within his rights to take the child to San Francisco where he’d moved after the divorce.
“I should have called.”
She nodded. “Where’s Douglas?”
“He had to work and couldn’t make it down with me, which is why we didn’t go to the beach. I couldn’t prepare the picnic and keep an eagle eye on her by the water at the same time.”
“I take her to the beach by myself.”
“And you live with her, too. You know every move she’s going to make practically before she makes it. I don’t. I have to rely on my eyes and ears and I’m not going to risk her life on the chance that they’d fail me.”
She was making a big deal out of nothing. And...
“It’s just...her life is so unusual,” she said. “It’s not a bad thing, but because she doesn’t have a traditional home I think it’s important that she is at least able to rely on us to do what we say we’re going to do.”
“I know.” His hand was on her arm again. Rubbing gently. Like he’d done countless times in the past. The touch used to remind her of the physical bond they shared.
Now it just offered support.
She covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him. “I know I’m being an idiot. You couldn’t help your change of plans, and obviously you told Kara about them.”
“You’re not an idiot, my dear. Anything but. And as soon as I knew that plans had changed I should have called you and let you know. If anything had happened to us, you wouldn’t have known where to tell people to start looking.”
Their gazes met and she relaxed. Again. With a smile she asked, “So you had a good time?”
She invited Brandon to stay for dinner, but he had to get to the airport to catch his flight back to San Francisco. He and Douglas had tickets to a jazz festival the next afternoon.
And Lynn had a couple of women to see. One who’d checked in the day before with a concussion, and a twenty-seven weeks pregnant woman, Missy, who’d been spotting earlier in the week.
Knowing that Maddie was due over to feed Kara as soon as Maddie finished her afternoon therapy session, Lynn said goodbye to her ex-husband―but still best friend―and went in to spend a few minutes of quality time with her little girl.
* * *
BY FIVE-THIRTY MONDAY EVENING, Darin’s therapy was done for the day. Grant’s job wasn’t. Finishing up a weeklong venture of trimming, shaping and adjusting irrigation spray heads, he still had piles to load into the trailer hitched to the back of his truck.
“I can’t do my job,” Darin’s little-boy voice came from just behind him. “Not until four more weeks.”
“That’s right.” Grunting, Grant lifted a rake full of thorn-filled branches and, with thick-gloved hands, carried it over to the already heaping trailer.
“No lifting and bending,” Darin said, following at his heels. “I told Angelica, but she already knew.”
“She’s in touch with Dr. Zimmer,” Grant reminded him. “That’s how she knows how to help you.”
“Yeah...” Darin’s voice trailed off. And then he said, “I’d like to go for a little walk, Grant. Not far, just over to the park area. I won’t disturb any of the women, I promise.”
“I’ll bet one or two of them’ll notice your good looks, though, bro,” Grant said, standing to grin at his big brother. “You could’ve shared a little of that charisma with me, you know.”
“Right.” Hands in his pockets, Darin gave him a teasing smirk. “I almost missed my physics final my senior year in college because I was busy rescuing you from a bunch of beauties.”
Darin was teasing. And there was truth in his words, too. Grant, an orphan at seventeen, had given his brother some rough nights.
“Anyway, can I go for a walk?”
Grant studied the other man, thrilled, and a bit cautious, too. Darin almost never left his sight—by choice. If being in therapy, being at the Stand, was going to have this kind of effect on him, the grueling hours were worth every single minute.
Reaching for another pile of brush, he scooped it up between his hands and stood. “Show me which direction you want to go.”
“Over there.” Darin pointed. With his right hand.
“I’m not looking at your right hand, bro.”
Frowning, the older man turned his left side toward the direction he’d been pointing. His tongue rolled inward while the rest of his body remained still. Grant stood, holding the brush. One minute. Two. Sweat beaded on Darin’s upper lip. The injured man’s brow was creased and his gaze trained on his left arm. He took a couple of deep breaths.
And the arm moved. Just like that. Not much. An inch at most. But...
Throwing the brush up in the air, Grant said, “You did it!” and rushed over to grab Darin’s arms. “You did it, bro!”
Darin smiled, but looked off to the distance. “Can I go for my walk now?” he asked, seemingly more harried than happy.
“Of course. No farther than the park, though, okay?”
“Just the park,” Darin said, his voice lifting a bit as he strode off.
And Grant wondered if this was what it felt like when a man sent his kid off for his first campout without him.
* * *
HER CONCUSSION PATIENT was progressing nicely. Not even a headache to speak of. Lynn had a call just before she’d left the office on Monday saying that the woman had attended her first group counseling session and, it was discovered, was an incredible seamstress. She was already at work stitching up some tank-style summer dresses from patterns and fabric that had been donated to the Stand.
Missy, the twenty-seven weeks pregnant resident whose husband had thought a wedding ring gave him the right to take his panic and frustration out on his wife’s body, was doing better, as well. No more signs of spotting. And an examination showed that everything was as it should be. She’d released Missy to normal activity and was eager to get home to Kara. It had been a long day.
She heard the squeal and recognized her daughter’s voice before she saw them. Maddie was sliding down the slide at the park with Kara settled securely between her knees. The playground had been designed for the underage residents at the Stand, most of whom were there with their mothers, many of whom had suffered physical abuse as well as the trauma of living in a fear-based home. “Again!” The curly-haired charmer clapped when they reached the bottom.
Just as Lynn was about to approach, to put an end to the day’s fun and get her little one home for her bath and a quick story before bed, she noticed the man who appeared from the other side of the slide.
“I’ll take her over to you again,” the voice said, a strange combination of masculine capability and little-boy tone. Darin Bishop. The man held Maddie’s hand with his good one, and walked her to the back of the slide. He waited while Maddie climbed the steps and sat. Then he stood with his hands an inch from Kara as she climbed up to where Maddie could reach her.
Ducking behind a tree, Lynn watched for another couple of seconds. She could go back to her house, meet Maddie there as planned.
“You should count.” Darin’s voice carried easily. “One...two...three...go!”
“One...two...three...go!” Maddie repeated, and Kara squealed.
The same sound that had attracted Lynn’s attention in the first place. She wasn’t needed here.