Addicted to Love (13 page)

She raised a hand to her heart and wondered what it meant that he was checking on her mother.
He’s the sheriff. Your mother smacked her car into a Dumpster. He’s just doing his job. It’s got nothing to do with you.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Rachael shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. “Sure, fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve had an eventful weekend.” His eyes darkened with concern.

“Hello, Brody.” Selina smiled at him. “You look handsome today.”

“You flirting with me, Mrs. Henderson?” he asked, pushing his Stetson back on his forehead as he and the EMT wheeled her into the emergency room.

“Well, if my daughter won’t do it . . . ” she said. “You know I’m single now.”

“So I heard.”

“Mother!”

“Settle down, Rachael. Brody knows I’m just teasing.” Her mother said his name like they were the best of friends.

Brody’s gaze met Rachael’s, his eyes crinkled up at the corners. A slight smile tipped his lips. It was a knowing smile, a smug smile, and for some reason it bugged the hell out of her. She didn’t like what his smile insinuated.

Why did it feel as if he knew her mother better than she did?

She’d been so clueless about her parents’ marital problems. Probably the entire town of Valentine knew more than she did. She’d believed they were so happy and now she’d found out they’d been miserable enough to consider divorce. How was that possible? It made her reconsider everything she’d always believed about her family, and that tore her up inside. She felt betrayed by her own expectations and foolish to have accepted a fantasy as reality.

“Mom’s going to be okay,” Rachael said, struggling to fight her attraction to the man standing beside her. “So you can go now.”

“I’ll stick around,” he said. “I don’t have anything else to do. Besides, it’ll give us a chance to set up your community service hours while the doctor examines your mother.”

“Community service?” Selina asked. “What’s he talking about?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said to her mother.

A nurse came into the room. “Hey, Selina, is it true you tried to run Michael over?”

“I tried,” her mother said. “But I chickened out at the last minute and swerved.”

“Didn’t want to get blood on the Caddy’s grille?” the nurse joked.

“Something like that.”

Rachael hated hearing her mother talk this way. “Mom . . . ”

“Brody,” her mother said, “would you take Rachael out to the waiting room?”

Brody put a hand on her shoulder, but she twisted away from him. “I’d rather stay.”

“Well, I would rather you would have stayed in Houston and talked things out with me,” Selina said. “But you didn’t.”

Guilt grabbed hold of her and shook hard. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t gotten so upset, hadn’t run away, maybe her mother wouldn’t have tried to run her father down. Rachael raised her palms. “Okay, fine. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“Take care of her, Brody. She’s fragile right now.”

“I’m not fragile,” Rachael muttered. And she damn well didn’t need any man looking out for her, especially one as tempting as Brody. She gave in to temptation way too easily and her emotional wounds were raw. Her mother was right. She
was
fragile.

Crap.

“Can I offer you some advice?” Brody asked when they were sitting side by side in the waiting room.

“No.”

“Don’t blame what’s going on in your own life on your parents,” he said.

“You don’t listen so well, do you?”

His grin widened. “I have a hard time keeping quiet when I see someone headed for trouble.”

“I’m not headed for trouble.”

“You’re letting your emotions color your perspective. You can’t make rational decisions when you’re under the influence of powerful emotions.”

“I’m beginning to get that. Thanks for your sage advice.” She stepped away from him. Who was he to tell her how to run her life?

Brody trod closer, closing the gap of space she’d just opened, his gaze assessing her. The corners of his mouth curled up, his arms crossed over his chest. He was close. Too close. If she raised her hand, she would graze his upper arm.

He had such broad, straight shoulders. His uniform fit like it had been tailor-made and Department of Public Safety tan was definitely his color. He looked sharp, smart, and in control.

Not to mention his mouth. Her gaze hung on his lips. He looked like he would be a great kisser. His mouth was just the right size. Not too large, not too small. And to think that she’d slept in the same room with this potent, masculine male. Involuntarily, she swallowed against the memory. She’d also acted a little irrational and she didn’t want to remember that, either.

“Do you want to talk about your community service schedule?”

“No.”

“It’s court ordered. Plus, you’ve got to scrub down the Valentine sign and repaint it. That’s not going to be a cakewalk.”

“I’ll get started on it tomorrow. That soon enough for you?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

Because,
she thought.
You epitomize everything I’ve ever wanted in a man and I know I can’t have you. I shouldn’t even want you, after all I’ve been through. And yet I do. And I know it’s all just a symptom of my affliction.

She had a serious problem. She couldn’t stay away from thoughts of romance no matter how hard she tried.

Rachael didn’t answer him. Instead, she plopped down in an uncomfortable metal chair and picked up a well-thumbed copy of
Texas Monthly.
Brody settled in beside her.

She heard a faint whirring sound. Like gears turning. “What’s that noise?”

He paused a long moment, then said, “My leg.”

“Your leg?”

“It’s computerized.”

“Your leg has a computer chip in it?”

“My prosthesis, to be exact.”

“Your prosthesis?” She sounded like a parrot.

He looked at her. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew you were hurt in Iraq. I didn’t know you’d . . . ” She dropped her gaze to his knees.

“Lost a leg.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

“But how? I mean . . . you climbed a ladder after me yesterday.”

“Courtesy of the Power Knee. It’s state-of-the-art. I’m part of a special test group. I couldn’t afford the thing otherwise.”

“I didn’t see it when I slept in your room. Even when you got up in the middle of the night to reassure me.”

“Because I didn’t want you to see it.”

“Are you ashamed?”

“No.”

“Self-conscious?”

“A little, maybe. I don’t want people thinking I can’t do my job just because I’m an amputee. I don’t want people judging me, lauding me. Or feeling sorry for me because of it.”

“It must have been horrible. In Iraq.” She shuddered. She could not imagine the awful things he’d seen, done.

“After the Twin Towers, it was nothing. It was what I had to do in order to justify what happened to Joe.”

“Joe was your friend that got killed?”

“Yeah.”

“But going to Iraq cost you your leg.”

“Small price to pay for freedom.”

A strange feeling came over her. Sadness, wistfulness, and an odd aching sensation that made no sense. She didn’t know what else to say to him, so she said nothing at all.

She was supposed to be in Fiji on her honeymoon sipping mai tais and making love to Trace. Not sitting here in the hospital emergency waiting room in Valentine, Texas, beside a sexy Iraq War vet with an artificial computerized leg, waiting for her mother to get stitches after a car smashup in which she’d tried to run down Rachael’s father.

So much for best-laid plans.

A laundry cart laden with freshly folded sheets squeaked as a member of the housekeeping staff wheeled it from the laundry room; the smell of bleach, fabric softener, and the slightly singed odor of overheated cotton trailing the corridor.

“Is that why you’re divorced?” she dared to ask. “Did your wife leave because of the leg?”

He got up without answering, heading for the coffeepot and Styrofoam cups on a stand in the corner. “You want a cup of coffee?”

She shrugged, but inside she felt weirdly disturbed. Was he still so hung up on his ex-wife he couldn’t even talk about her? “Sure.”

“How do you take it?”

“Lots of cream and three sugars.”

“Sweet tooth,” he commented, tapping three packets of sugar into the coffee and two spoonfuls of creamer. He dropped a red plastic stir stick into her cup and handed it to her. He sat back down, took a long sip of the coffee, and then said, “Belinda left before the leg. While I was still stationed in Iraq.”

It took a second before she realized he was finally answering her question.

“Another man?”

He nodded.

“That sucks.”

“Can’t argue.”

“At one time, were you guys ever truly madly in love?”

“I’m not exactly known for my romantic soul.”

She sat up straighter, took a sip of her coffee. Perfect. Exactly how she liked it. “Really? Why not?”

“Couple of reasons, I suppose.” He stared off into space.

“So what are the reasons?” she prompted.

“Huh?”

That’s when she realized he’d been staring at her legs. The way she was sitting — still wearing the suit Jillian had brought her — the skirt had risen up high on her thighs. She lifted her butt off the seat, tugged the skirt hem down.

“Aw,” he complained. “I was enjoying the view. You’ve got world-class legs.”

That made her feel pleased, and feeling pleased made her feel put out with herself. “I thought you said you didn’t have a romantic soul.”

“Peaches,” he said, his grin wolfish, “what the sight of your legs stirs in my soul is anything but romantic.”

“Peaches?” she asked, latching on to anything to keep the excitement jumping inside her at bay. “What does that mean?”

He shook his head. “I have peach trees. You remind me of the peaches. Ripe and rounded and sun-kissed and juicy.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. One part of her wanted to enjoy the compliments, another part wanted to accuse him of sexual harassment. But she’d started this whole line of conversation.

“Rachael?”

Startled, she looked up to see Dr. Edison Jr. standing in the doorway. Her pulse quickened. She got to her feet. “Yes?”

“Your mother is going to be just fine. I had to give her a couple of stitches for the wound on her forehead but it shouldn’t leave much of a scar.”

Rachael splayed a palm to her chest and let out a pent-up breath. “Oh, thank heavens.”

“She’ll be ready to go in just a minute.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The junior Edison had no sooner disappeared than Selina came around the corner. Her color was pale and she had a small rectangular bandage taped just above her eye, but other than that she looked fine.

“Rachael,” she said. “Take me home.”

Rachael hesitated. “You mean take you home to Daddy’s house?”

“No,” she said. “Take me to my new home.”

“You have a new home?”

“I moved in last week.”

Distressed, Rachael sank her hands onto her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were so busy getting ready for your wedding, I didn’t want to spoil your big day.”

“No worries there,” she said. “Trace is the one who spoiled it.”

“Along with your father and I. He shouldn’t have sprung the news of our separation on you like that.”

“It’s okay. I’ll adjust,” Rachael said coolly, even though she was feeling anything but cool. She had a million questions for her mother about the divorce, yet she had no idea where to start. “Where are you staying?”

“Didn’t Brody tell you?” Selina looked over at Brody, who’d also gotten to his feet.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m renting Mrs. Potter’s place. She broke her hip and had to move into Shady Hills Manor and her son’s letting me stay there while it’s on the market.”

Mrs. Potter had been the old high school principal before Giada Vito took over the job. The very same Mrs. Potter who lived right across the street from Brody.

“Hey,” Brody said. “I can give you a lift home.”

Chapter Seven

R
achael called Delaney, Tish, and Jillian to let them know what was going on. She’d been so unnerved, she’d forgotten about her friends. They rallied around and came over to offer moral support as she got Selina ensconced in her new place.

Not long after her friends arrived, the local florist’s delivery driver showed up with a bouquet of twenty-seven pink roses in full bloom. “Delivery for Selina Henderson,” he said when Rachael answered the door.

Rachael tipped the guy and took the bouquet into the living room where Selina was propped up on the couch, watching the evening news and drinking a glass of Shiraz. Jillian had shown up with the bottle of wine and a corkscrew. Delaney, being pregnant, was the designated driver back to Houston. Everyone else was having a glass to take the edge off the day.

Selina took one look at the roses and waved them away. “Get rid of them.”

“What?” Rachael stared at her mother.

“Throw them in the trash.”

“Don’t you want to know who they’re from?” Rachael held up the little white envelope that had come with the flowers.

“I know who they’re from. Pink. In full bloom. How many are there? Twenty-seven, I’m guessing. For the number of years we’ve been married. Plus it’s nine bouquets of three. I’m sure your father enjoyed the symmetry. Pitch them.”

“It might not be from Daddy. Would you like for me to read the card?”

“No.” Selina hardened her cheek and acted as if she were paying extra attention to the television sportscaster.

Rachael read the card anyway. “Selina, my darling, words cannot express the depth of my sorrow and shame for the hurt I’ve caused you. Please forgive me. Love, Michael.”

“I told you not to read it.”

“Aw, Mom. Come on, it sounds like he’s really sorry. Can’t you give him another chance?”

Selina raised her hand. “This is between me and your father. He thinks roses and an apology can fix everything. Well, it can’t. I’ve spent twenty-seven years trying to convince myself romance was enough, but it’s not. What matters is real intimacy. And that’s the one thing he’s never given me.”