Jake's Biggest Risk. Julianna Morris
peach cobbler to the social. It’s his favorite.”
“Yes, and she’s making vanilla ice cream.”
“He’ll be thrilled. He says it’s even better than his mom makes.” She looked at her watch. “Oops, better go. The babysitter can only take the boys in limited doses.”
When Gwen had gone, Hannah sat down and looked at her list. She needed to go shopping, but it would have to wait. Being out of bread wasn’t a big deal, and at least she now knew what had happened to the loaf in the garage freezer.
She was pretty sure the leftover Thai chicken she’d cooked on Tuesday had also traveled over to Huckleberry Lodge, thanks to Danny’s generous heart. The plastic container was nowhere to be found, and her son was still at the age where he asked for food instead of trolling through the refrigerator like a hungry vacuum cleaner. However, he was capable of deciding to bring leftovers to their neighbor.
She’d considered speaking to Danny about it, but she liked that he was concerned for other people’s well-being—even obnoxious photographers.
* * *
JAKE DROPPED TWO slices of the bread Danny Nolan had brought him into the toaster. Maybe he should have talked to Hannah before accepting it, but Danny had said it was okay. Besides, he’d given the youngster money, making him promise to get the cash to his mother.
When Hannah came over later he’d have to ask if she would take care of grocery shopping for him. Though considering her reaction when he’d teased her about doing his laundry, the answer would probably be no.
It was nice that Danny wasn’t proving to be the problem Jake had expected. He’d encountered kids in his travels, of course. They were fascinated that a captured image could be seen instantly with the digital equipment he favored. Josie, on the other hand, despised the new technology, saying the old cameras and film were the true art. Jake didn’t agree; it was simply a different kind of art. Still, he had to admit it was a pain having to recharge his camera batteries, especially in the remote parts of the world where he preferred working. He had a solar-powered charger, modified for his particular needs, but it wasn’t as convenient as plugging into an electric outlet.
Well...Toby had taken care of charging batteries and shuffling equipment the past eight years. Working without him was going to mean changes; the question was whether to replace Toby or go solo again. Solo was probably best; he could never replace Toby, with all his cursing and complaining and unquestioned loyalty.
The toaster popped, and Jake smeared butter on both slices of bread. He sprinkled sugar and cinnamon over the top, only to hear the front doorbell ring before he could take a bite.
Frowning, he limped toward the front door. He’d told Hannah she could come in without knocking or ringing, though he didn’t really expect her to do it. Jake opened the door, but instead of his landlady, he saw a broad-shouldered man holding an athletic bag with Lower Mahalaton Rehab Center emblazoned on the side.
“Mr. Hollister? I’m Owen Kershaw, your physical therapist, here for our eleven o’clock appointment.”
Crap.
Jake belatedly remembered his first rehab session was that morning. He was tempted to say he didn’t feel like company, but he’d never get better if he didn’t work his ass off.
“Uh, hello. Please call me Jake.”
Owen didn’t try shaking hands, he marched in with his bag and a folding table and motioned toward the kitchen. “I noticed a room with lots of windows on that side of the house. Is there enough space to work in there?”
“Probably.”
“Excellent. We’ll have to be prompt about starting and ending our sessions. I scheduled extra time today because it’s your first appointment, but from now on I’ll need to leave shortly after twelve so I can be back at the clinic by one.”
He walked toward the sunroom as Jake snorted. Why was the guy so uptight about coming to the lodge? He was getting paid well for the extra travel time.
Owen disappeared into the kitchen. “What is this?” he demanded a moment later.
Jake limped through the swinging door and saw the therapist pointing to the cinnamon toast with an accusing finger. “Breakfast.”
“It’s eleven o’clock. You haven’t eaten yet?”
“What’s the big deal?”
“Nutrition. The bread is fine—that particular brand is made from whole grain without a bunch of crap added to it. But sugar and butter won’t help your body heal and rebuild muscle. You need protein and fruits and vegetables, as well as whole grains.”
“Whatever.” Jake grabbed the bread bag and the plate of toast and shoved them into the refrigerator. Okay, he’d known cinnamon toast wasn’t the best meal in the world, but he could order a vegetarian pizza later in the day to make up for it. “Let’s get busy.”
Owen pulled something from his bag and handed it to him. “Eat this first. It’s a protein bar.”
Two hours later Jake was soaked with sweat and feeling as if he’d gone mountain climbing. He was also grateful for the protein bar, however hideous it had tasted. Not that the exercises had been as strenuous as hiking across an ice field loaded down with photographic equipment, but they were proof that he had a long way to go in his recovery.
“Excellent,” Owen said, smiling for the first time. “Some of my patients find it difficult doing what I ask, but the real proof will be whether you do the exercises between our sessions.”
“I’ll do them.” Jake wiped his face, perspiring as much from pain as from the workout. But he didn’t want to take a pill; the damned painkillers messed with his head. The hot tub, on the other hand...
While he wasn’t wild about many parts of the industrial world, the hot tub was a guilty pleasure. Sliding into the warm, swirling water when his body ached was one of the things he actually enjoyed here at Huckleberry Lodge. Sheltered from wind by Plexiglas on the railings, the private deck off the master bedroom still had a view of the lake, and at night, with the lights off, he could almost imagine he was in a natural hot spring, somewhere far away.
Through the window he saw Hannah come down her steps and cross to the lodge with Danny alongside. She was carrying a large bag, probably containing the sheets and towels she’d taken on Tuesday. Jake locked gazes with her as they came up the back steps to the sunroom.
“Come in,” he called.
Hannah opened the door and smiled when she saw Owen Kershaw. “Hi, Owen, remember me?”
The therapist grinned. “Hannah Nolan. Of course I remember. Your great-aunt was one of my favorite patients. What are you doing here?”
“This was Great-Aunt Elkie’s house. She passed away after I graduated from college and left Huckleberry Lodge to me. I’ve leased it to Jake. Owen, this is my son, Danny.”
“Hi, Danny.” Owen shook hands with the youngster. “I have something for you,” he said, and pulled something out of his athletic bag that looked like a tropical clown fish.
“That’s just like Nemo,” Danny declared.
“It’s made from a special kind of sponge rubber. My patients squeeze them to build strength in their hands and arms,” Owen explained, and Danny promptly began squeezing the toy with all his might.
“Does everybody know each other in Mahalaton Lake and Lower Mahalaton?” Jake asked.
Hannah shrugged. “No, but Owen works at the only rehab center in fifty miles—anybody who’s ever needed physical therapy has gone there. My great-aunt broke her hip when I was sixteen and stayed at the center for several weeks, then we drove down for her physical therapy sessions. That was when she put in the hot tub.”
“Hot tub?” Owen looked concerned. “I have questions