help being a little envious of the late Mary Connor.
Chapter Two
Late Thursday afternoon, when her last patient had left and she’d closed up the office, Selena had driven to the new Brighton Valley Wellness Center.
A few days after it had opened for business, Selena had taken a tour with several of her colleagues. She’d been amazed at all the facility had to offer the community, including a rehab unit, a state-of-the-art gym, physical trainers on hand to answer questions or provide private lessons, an indoor pool, a variety of classes. But more than that, it also catered to the disabled and elderly because of its close connection to the medical center.
In fact, Selena had been so impressed with the center that she’d signed up before leaving that day, telling herself it wasn’t just about becoming more physically fit. After all, she watched her diet and jogged daily. But joining the BVWC would also fit nicely into her get-out-into-the-real-world-and-start-living-again campaign.
Now all she had to do was find the time to work out, because she usually kept busy with her ever-growing practice. However, on the days she had another doctor covering for her, she slipped on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of sneakers, just as she’d done today.
Now here she was, jogging on the treadmill and working up a sweat. With each stride she made, she pondered her options and considered the other medical specialties that had always interested her. The problem was, without going back to school and racking up more student loans, she’d have to settle on general or family medicine.
But not in Brighton Valley. In spite of the respect she’d earned in the medical community, she was giving some serious thought to selling her practice and moving back to Houston, where she’d change her specialty to one that didn’t revolve around pregnancy and newborns.
That was her secret, though. That and the fact that there were way too many nights she’d found her small condominium overlooking the playground at the city park to be painfully quiet, nights when she’d cry herself to sleep.
She’d loved that complex and the two-bedroom condo. But after learning she’d never get pregnant, she’d listed it for sale. And just six months ago, after selling her first home to a couple of newlyweds, she’d moved to a quiet, older neighborhood in town.
When her time on the treadmill came to an end and she began the cool-down process, she scanned the gym and spotted a man who looked a lot like Alex Connor. In fact, it was Alex, only minus his Stetson and boots. Today he wore a Texas Aggies T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, rather than the cowboy garb he’d had on Tuesday night.
He was talking to one of the female fitness instructors—a tall, lean blonde with a healthy glow.
What was he doing here? Not that it mattered, she supposed. It’s just that she’d been a little surprised when he hadn’t blinked about the cost of hiring a gestational carrier to bare his children.
At the time, she’d suspected that he might own a ranch. But why was he working out at a gym in town? Wouldn’t he get enough exercise from riding and roping and doing whatever else was required of him?
So who was Alex Connor?
Ever since she’d shared a cup of coffee with him, she’d found herself thinking about him, wondering about him. She’d chalked it up to her interest in the relationship he must have had with his late wife, but the man himself intrigued her.
She shut off the treadmill, then stepped onto the floor, her knees a little wobbly from the exertion. Then she started for the women’s locker room, where she would shower and change into her street clothes.
Before she could get ten steps—or tear her gaze from Alex and the female trainer—he glanced across the room and noticed her. He waved, then moments later, he left the blonde’s side and made his way to Selena.
“Hey, fancy meeting you here,” he said.
She could say the same thing. Instead, she smiled. “It’s my day off, and I thought I’d get a little exercise in.”
“Do you like it here?” he asked.
“Yes, I do. It’s a great facility.” Her curiosity mounted until she asked, “Are you thinking about joining?”
“I would if I lived in town.”
Where did he live? And why was he here?
She couldn’t very well come out and pummel him with all of her questions, so she tossed out an easy one, hoping to get a little more information.
“So why are you dressed as if you’re thinking about joining?” she asked, prodding him again.
“I’m here for a couple of other reasons, one of which is business.”
At that, she couldn’t help but cock a brow. And he chuckled.
“Jim Ragsdale, who’s on the wellness center board of directors, wanted to meet with me today. They’re interested in providing hippotherapy for adults and children with physical and emotional difficulties, and he wanted to run a couple of ideas past me.”
She didn’t know all that much about the program that used horseback riding as therapy for the disabled, other than those who’d taken part often showed improved balance, coordination, speech and mobility.
“It’s interesting that they’re thinking of adding that to their wellness program,” she said.
He nodded. “I was intrigued when Jim first mentioned it, too, so I agreed to meet with him while I was in town today.”
“Why the gym clothes?” she finally asked, unable to avoid a more direct approach.
“Yeah, well...” He sighed and gave a little shrug. “I messed up my knee a while back, and my orthopedic surgeon sent me to physical therapy, which I get here.”
“How did you get hurt?” she asked.
“I...uh... Well, it was pretty stupid.”
“Most accidents are.”
Alex chuffed. “I thought I was immune to that sort of thing, but that’s what I get for taking shortcuts and not keeping my mind on my work.”
He still hadn’t told her what he’d done, but she refrained from pushing any further. After all, his injury really wasn’t any of her business.
“So what are you doing now?” he asked.
“I’m going to head home and get a bite to eat.”
“Oh, yeah? Me, too. Why don’t you let me buy you dinner? There’s a little café a couple of blocks from here.”
She wondered if he had more questions this time around—or if he just wanted to spend some quiet time with her. As appealing as the latter seemed to be, she shook off the feminine thoughts. “You don’t need to buy my dinner.”
“All right. Then we’ll ask for separate checks.”
As she pondered the invitation, shaking off the urge to agree too quickly, he
