Fly Away, page 5
part #5 of Baxter Boys Series
“Come, give me a hug, honey.” Her mom wiggled her eyebrows. “And introduce me to your boyfriend.” She stopped with her hands on Dusty’s shoulders. “You never told me you had a boyfriend.”
She shot Roland an apologetic look. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, patting her mom on the back and ignoring the ache in her back at her mom’s pressure before letting go. “He’s my therapist.”
“Oh?” Her mom’s voice lowered. “He’s a shrink?”
Then he’d really be in touch with his feminine side. “No. My physical therapist.”
Her mom’s brows lowered. “Should he be here? Is that appropriate?”
Her eyes flew to Roland’s. Her mom might have been a little put out, raising a child when she wanted to enjoy her late middle age, but she was still very influential in the community, and if she thought there was anything inappropriate going on, Roland could suffer. She didn’t want him to lose his job over her with her mom thinking he was here for a social visit. Could she just admit the truth? That Roland had offered her a ride? With only a second to make a decision, she decided not to risk it.
“The doctor said I wasn’t supposed to go out, so he’s coming here.” All technically true.
Her mom looked at the car and the door that was still open. Her brows lowered. “I don’t remember seeing that when we pulled in.”
“No,” Dusty drew the word out. “We were practicing getting in and out.” She caught Roland’s horrified expression over her mom’s shoulder. “And once I was able to get in, I haven’t been out in such a long time, I convinced him to give me a ride.”
“Well, I do know it gets hard when one has to sit around at home. After I had each of my babies, I got so sick and tired of being home, and that was just a week.” She smiled, and Dusty breathed a silent sigh of relief. Roland was off the hook.
“Mom, this is Roland Bryant. Roland, this is my mom, JoAnn.” Dusty shut the car door. “I guess we’re done with our session?”
“Yes, I’m finished.” Roland gave her a look that said he’d be talking to her later. “Do you feel comfortable getting someone to take you to therapy on Monday, or should I come here in the afternoon?”
He asked that for the benefit of her mother, probably. But Dusty hadn’t realized that she had a choice.
“You can just come here, Roland,” her mom answered for her. “Dusty always tries to do too much, and I don’t want her out before the doctor gives his okay.”
Dusty shifted, trying to ease the pain in her back. “I have a doctor appointment on Monday morning. I should know after that if I’m allowed out.”
Roland narrowed his eyes at her, concern clouding his face. He’d noticed her discomfort. But he didn’t say anything, just nodded.
Then, so her mom would know that there really hadn’t been anything inappropriate going on, Dusty fished her phone out of her back pocket, glad she’d worn jeans to the shower because of her braces.
She clicked it on. “Here. How about you put your number in my phone? I’ll call you after my appointment and let you know what the doctor says.”
Roland took her phone. He looked at it while he spoke to her. “I’ll be updated over the computer system, but I’ll give you my number anyway, just so you can let me know how you’re doing and if you’re feeling up to coming into therapy after going to the appointment.”
It seemed like he typed a lot longer than he needed to just to put his number in, but Dusty didn’t really think about it. She shoved it back in her pocket. “Thanks, Roland. I’ll see you Monday.”
He gave a small wave. “Monday.”
~~~
An hour later, as she was polishing her aluminum bike spokes, Dusty’s phone buzzed with a text from Cassidy, wanting to make sure she got home okay. When she went to answer it, she saw what had taken Roland so long to put his number in—he’d typed out a message to her.
This is the most ingenious way any woman has ever gotten my number.
Dusty grinned. She supposed what she’d done could have been considered hitting on Roland, although she certainly hadn’t meant it that way. Had she?
He was attractive, no doubt. With a great personality. He also had compassion and a sense of humor. Any girl would be interested in him, so it wasn’t unusual that she had a bit of an interest in the guy.
She rolled her eyes as she rubbed her polishing rag over her bike wheels. She was so full of it. There was no doubt she was attracted to him, and she thought he might feel something too. But he was her therapist. Not to mention she couldn’t have a life if she were going after the championship. Some goals left no time for a personal life.
Even as she thought this, her mind was trying to finagle a way to spend more time with him.
~~~
Monday morning, Roland had a spring in his step, and his lips kept quirking up. Yesterday had been a long day of doing outside chores around his house. But today he’d see Dusty. He didn’t examine his excitement too closely. Of course he liked her. Maybe there was a little attraction there, but he wasn’t going to act on it.
The morning flew by.
“I think that Mrs. Stinley has a thing for you.” Abigail, one of the other physical therapists, grabbed her salad out of the fridge in the break room.
“She’s like eighty.” Roland threw his lunch in the microwave and punched some buttons. He really hated it when his coworkers teased him about women crushing on him, since he tried so hard to be professional at all times. Even if the woman in question was elderly.
“She’s not dead.”
He shrugged, grabbing a water from the fridge. There were usually four therapists on duty and several nurses and office workers. Most of them did errands over lunch and ate out. Roland had a deal worked out with scheduling where he could take a short lunch and leave early. It worked for him, since he needed about five minutes to eat, and that gave him time in the evenings to do what he wanted. Lately, he’d been able to schedule some private consultations.
Eventually, someday, he wanted to open his own practice, focusing on training for injury prevention. There was definitely a market for it, and he’d worked hard for the reputation as the best in his current practice, but to be successful on his own, he needed an even bigger name. For what he wanted to do, it wasn’t about saving money to get started, it was about building a reputation. He could be patient. As long as he kept working hard, it would come.
The microwave beeped, and he grabbed his bowl. With his water and spoon in one hand, he started toward the door.
“You know, you could actually sit down and eat,” Abigail said from where she sat at the table.
She was new, having only been in the office for a few weeks.
He gave her a smile to ease any sting in his words. “I’m sure you could do what I do—give up the lunch break and get out early.” Actually, he was sure she could. Lunchtime was one of their busiest times of day. People wanted to schedule their therapy so they didn’t miss work. Legally, the company couldn’t make them work through their lunch, but they could volunteer.
Abigail shrugged dismissively. “They offered to let me do that when they hired me, but I can’t go all day without eating, and I can’t eat a salad in five minutes.”
Roland jerked his head in acknowledgment and walked out of the lunchroom to the high desk, which was now deserted, that held the computers they used to type up their notes and get the doctors’ information on patients.
He’d been eager—too eager—all day to see how Dusty’s appointment went.
Punching in the password and pulling up the screen he wanted, Roland waited, chewing. Finally the info he needed loaded, and he took another bite as he read through the notes.
She’d not been given permission to lose the brace nor to drive. Basically the doctor had noted that she was “making progress” but was still in pain and needed to rest, other than therapy.
Dusty had cancelled her afternoon appointment. The doctor also had a note that the patient was doing “at-home” therapy with the same therapy group she’d been seeing.
So she was going to hold him to going to her house. One part of him thrilled at that. The other part wished he’d never suggested it.
They didn’t need any special equipment, since, unless it was absolutely necessary, he always tried to plan a patient’s program so they could do it at home without a big, expensive purchase. It wasn’t that.
He already had a hard time keeping her off his mind. Saturday, it had been too tempting to run his fingers through her hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. Not to mention his odd desire to touch her, and not in a clinical way. He couldn’t allow himself to cross that line. Especially if he intended to start his own practice. Patients needed to be able to trust their therapist.
As he finished his lunch, he ran down through his afternoon appointments. Nothing difficult.
The hours dragged, and he was uncharacteristically distracted as he finished out his day. Normally he loved helping people find ways to deal with the pain and get their range of motion and motor abilities back. Hard, but rewarding.
He gave his last patient their instructions and made sure they had a ride before grabbing his things, saying farewell to his coworkers, and heading out the back door.
His phone buzzed just as he was stepping out.
It wasn’t a number he recognized, but he smiled as he read the message.
When you can barely move, you have to get creative.
He actually laughed out loud as he clicked the fob in his hand. She’d gotten his message anyway.
What time do you want me? He hit send before he got in and started the car.
Come at four. You can stay for dinner.
That was tempting. He’d really like to get to know Dusty outside of therapy. Normally, he’d feel like as long as they weren’t actually doing therapy sessions, it would be okay for them to develop a friendship. He considered a lot of his clients friends. But with this attraction he felt, could he keep her at a friend’s level?
Everything in him wanted to try. Aside from the attraction he felt, Dusty was a nice person, who could really use a friend right now. One who didn’t have small children and a spouse demanding their time.
To give himself some time to think, he typed, What’s on the menu?
Idk. I’d have to ask the housekeeper.
Tempted to accept, Roland forced himself to type out, Not today. Maybe some other time.
He couldn’t quite get himself to turn her down flat. Because he really wanted to eat with her. But housekeeper?
He grunted. Maybe because she raced motocross, or maybe because she was just so unpretentious, but it had really surprised him to find that Dusty’s family was so wealthy. He wasn’t exactly slouching in his current job, and he had plans to go even bigger, but they had a wealth he definitely wasn’t used to. Who had a housekeeper?
Dusty, apparently.
Were her parents still home? He supposed he’d find out at four. That was another thing he’d found really hard to believe. How could a parent—a mother, especially—have her daughter go through all this therapy by herself and not feel the need to be with her, helping? It’d be one thing if she had a job and couldn’t. But to leave her child alone so she could travel in her RV... No wonder Dusty was so determined to excel in a dangerous, male-dominated sport.
He rang her bell right at four, after a short debate with himself about whether to go to the front door or the back door. When he’d been there Friday, they’d disappeared around the back of the house, so he assumed the family used the back door.
He’d settled on the front door. He’d like to be friends with Dusty, but he was there in a professional capacity, so that’s how he was going to play it.
The RV was no longer in the drive, but maybe it was out for maintenance? He could hardly believe that her parents would have left again already. Dusty was a grown adult, but still...
A woman in shorts and a t-shirt, with a bandana tied around her hair and her eyes smiling, answered the door, holding it open but not inviting him in. “Hello.”
“I’m Roland Bryant, the therapist.”
The woman stepped back. “Dusty said it was probably you. Come on in.” She closed the door behind him. “Follow me.”
He managed to keep his mouth closed as he looked around at the immaculate tile floors and soaring ceilings. The house was bigger than it looked from the outside, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could find his way out as the housekeeper took him back a short hall and down some steps.
Dusty waited at the bottom. “Thanks, Blanche.”
Blanche stood aside and waited for him to pass before heading back up the steps.
“I would have answered the door myself, but...” Dusty shrugged, indicating her braced leg.
“It’s fine,” he said. Her blond hair was pulled back in its typical ponytail and hung over her shoulder down past her stomach. He shoved back the urge to see it down. She wore yoga pants and a t-shirt. He saw outfits like that a thousand times a day, and his heart never did the strange thumping it was doing in his chest now.
If she had makeup on, he couldn’t tell. She looked fresh and happy, and so beautiful she made his eyes hurt, especially when she turned the wattage of her smile directly onto him. He figured he could safely assume that the doctor hadn’t told her she’d never race again.
“Your parents have left again?” he asked, breaking the silence.
She blinked, looking away, and he wished he hadn’t asked.
“There’s a race in Kansas.”
“NASCAR?”
“Yep.”
“I thought the races were on Sundays.” He didn’t follow motor sports at all, but he did watch sports channels and knew a little.
“Dad likes to get a good spot.” She shrugged. “There are a bunch of people who have RVs and follow the races. They all know each other, and they hang out together.”
Her parents left her to go “hang out” with their friends. Anger flared in his chest. He reminded himself she wasn’t a child. He supposed she was lucky they let her live with them. Which maybe was why the next question tumbled off his tongue without thought.
“Do you do anything? I mean, besides race?”
She gave him an assessing glance, like she was trying to figure out why he asked.
“I have a graphic design degree. I pick up freelance work on the internet.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve been doing a lot of it lately.”
“I see.”
She moved into the room and spread her hand around. A wet bar lined one wall. There was a treadmill and a few other exercise-type pieces of equipment grouped along the far wall. A cluster of couches and recliners circled a gas fireplace and a big-screen TV hung on the wall above it. A few magazines lay on the coffee table. The walls gleamed white, and even though it was a basement area, it felt spacious and open.
“Where do you want to work?”
If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say she was nervous. She twisted her fingers and didn’t meet his eyes again. Was he having that effect on her? Maybe she was worried about what he’d think of her home? He couldn’t think of another reason for her to be shifting her feet and twining the ends of her ponytail.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, unable to ignore the fact that there might be something wrong.
Her head jerked, and her eyes widened. “Uh, yeah. Yes.” She laughed. “Okay. I’m sorry. It just feels a little weird having you in my home...doing this here.”
He smiled. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that meant it actually was him that was making her nervous.
“Well, let’s just get started, then, okay? Take your brace off, and we’ll go to the steps first.”
He set his briefcase down on the counter and pulled out her chart. One of the benefits of working in the center was the computer access. He had the internet. That was it.
“You’ll have to tell the doctor that you’re seeing me personally, if that’s what you want.” He looked over his shoulder. “Our office doesn’t actually do outpatient, but I’m set up with my own business and license. The doctor just has to know and approve, and you’ll have to notify your insurance.” He had done this a few times with different patients. Not very often. Technically, there was a clause in his contract to the effect that he wouldn’t steal clients from the practice, but they’d allowed him to give home therapy sessions to already participating clients if coming to the center was too much for them. Eventually, Roland knew the center he worked for wanted to add home visits, but they didn’t have the structure in place to do so as of yet.
She nodded as she set her bulky knee brace aside. She still didn’t seem completely comfortable, so he figured it was his job to make things “normal.”
“Ready? Let’s get to work.”
She stood. He gave her his elbow and a dark look when she acted like she wasn’t going to take it.
“Did you recover from Saturday? Still sore? How’s your back?”
He fired the questions off in his most professional tone. Maybe they were both attracted to each other. Whatever kinds of complicated that made their relationship, he wasn’t going to let it get in the way of giving her the best therapy he could.
Chapter 8
All week, Dusty worked her butt off for Roland. She loved doing the therapy in her home. It kept her from feeling like she was bothering her friends.
By the next Monday, things had relaxed between them to the point where she’d gotten Roland to agree to stay for dinner. A win.
They started therapy at four as usual. An hour later, they were both sweating. Dusty swiped a hand over her forehead. Not that the therapy was so hard, but pushing through the pain did take a toll. Her home was warmer than the therapy center, too.
Roland always took charge and acted like everything was completely normal, which made things so much easier for her. He also dressed more casually for her home therapy. He’d come in jeans and a t-shirt. He looked way too much like he did after the shower when she’d wanted to walk into his arms and run her hands down his back. Not the kind of thoughts she should be having about her therapist.
