then, sure. Go ahead,” Rebecca said.
“Thank you, Momma.” Casey pushed open the door and then raced down the stairs.
Rebecca turned to her mother. “Thank you.”
“I suppose it is confusing for her. I hadn’t considered that.”
“It’s all going to work out.”
Her mother met her gaze. “Rebecca, do you really think this is finally behind you?”
She stepped forward and knelt next to her mother’s chair, reaching out to wrap her hands around her mom’s. “I have made a commitment to the Lord to stop looking at how far I have to go. I need focus on how far I’ve come instead.”
Joan nodded slowly. “You’re absolutely right.”
“I want you to do the same. Promise me, Mom.”
“I will, but you know it’s hard. Casey is your baby, and you’ll always be mine. I hurt when you hurt.” She reached up to gently place her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “Even though you were far away in Denver, don’t think I haven’t read between the lines these past years. I always suspected there was a problem. I should have pushed harder, even when you denied anything was wrong.”
Rebecca bit her lip, her eyes shuttering closed for a brief moment, all the while rhythmically rubbing her right arm, as her mother continued. Yes, she could recall the too many times that she visited her mother, all the while disguising the bruises and scars on her arm with long sleeves. Or answering a phone call while holding back tears and pretending everything was perfectly fine when it wasn’t.
“All I knew to do was to get down on my knees and pray,” Joan continued.
“Oh, Mom.” Rebecca’s voice cracked, and she paused to swallow hard. “I thank God every single day that I have a mother like you.”
* * *
Joe glanced at the clock. Nearly nine a.m. He’d finished his Monday morning chores in record time before heading back to the house to shower and wait for Becca.
Reaching in his drawer for a clean white undershirt, his hand touched a box in the back of the bureau. Joe pulled it out. The ring. Twelve years ago he’d withdrawn everything out of savings to purchase the silver band with the solitaire diamond. His plan was to propose after college graduation, in the spring, his favorite time of year. He’d be working full-time at the ranch again, and he’d hoped Becca would transfer to a college close by.
Yeah, that was the idea.
Only Becca had married Nick Simpson.
He should have sold the ring right then and there. Bought a car maybe. Except he couldn’t do it. Instead he kept it to remind himself that he didn’t know a thing about women back then, and he sure hadn’t learned anything since.
Shoving the box out of sight, Joe yanked an undershirt and a sweatshirt from the open drawer.
A glance in the mirror confirmed that he wore a permanent frown on his face, but there wasn’t a thing he could do at the moment to change that. It wasn’t just the weather souring his disposition. He’d hardly slept last night knowing that Becca would be back today. That meant that he’d have to show her his arm.
Why was he nervous? No big deal, right? After all, she worked for the prosthesis company. Seeing amputees and amputations was part of her job on a daily basis. Only this wasn’t just another day in Paradise for him. His stomach churned at the thought of being fully exposed, figuratively, as well as literally. No one had seen his arm since the accident, except medical professionals. He’d made sure of that. Yeah, she was a medical professional, except this was different. It was Becca.
Would she be as repulsed as he was at the sight of his misshapen flesh? The residual limb was a shameful, daily reminder of his mistake and all he’d lost.
Joe groaned as he rubbed the taut muscles at the base of his neck. He needed coffee. Lots of coffee and he needed it now. Java might soothe the beast rumbling inside him. He headed to the kitchen where the coffeepot’s spitting noises indicated the brew was nearly ready.
The doorbell rang. Without thinking, he reached for the glass carafe with his left hand. He fumbled, causing the hot, dark liquid to slosh over the lip of the container onto the counter. In seconds it became a moving stream that raced to the tile floor.
It took an effort to bite back angry words. Shoving the carafe back into place, Joe tossed a towel onto the dark puddle on the floor and headed out of the room, nearly tripping over his brother’s black lab, Millie, on the way.
He swung open the front door. As his gaze met Becca’s through the screen, the building irritation that stalked him diffused. She wore a crisp blue shirt with OrthoBorne stitched on the pocket, and dark slacks, with a rolling briefcase at her side. Her long hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. Dressed like a professional, and she was bright-eyed and chipper to boot.
“Hey, Becca.”
“Joe.”
“Find the place all right?” He folded his arms across his chest. The residual limb remained hidden in the folds of his long-sleeve shirt, just the way he liked.
Becca cleared her throat and nodded. “Yes. I did. Thank you.”
Joe held open the door and nodded an invitation into the house. He was grateful the cleaning lady had been by on Friday. Everything still sparkled. High oak-beamed ceilings and polished oak floors made the interior appear huge. The décor had a Southwest theme, but the place was minimalist, like him.
“Beautiful room.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
She turned her head and smiled. “Who do we have here?”
Joe followed her gaze. Dan’s dog padded into the room. The animal looked at them with baleful eyes.
“This is Millie.”
Millie whined, nudging Becca’s leg until she reached down to rub her ears. “Oh, goodness, isn’t she sweet?”
“She’s neurotic.”
“Excuse me?”
“Separation anxiety. She’s been like this since Dan and my mother left. The dog is driving me crazy.”
Becca tilted her head, and her ponytail swayed with the movement as she assessed Joe. “You do seem a little out of sorts. Do you want to reschedule?”
“No. Let’s get this over with.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “This way.”
Becca grabbed her briefcase handle and followed him down a short hall to a spacious kitchen, the wheels clicking on the tile floor.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” She stopped, her gaze drawn to the mess on the floor. “What happened?”
“I got into a little argument with the coffeemaker.”
“I
