his own. For a wild second every possibility open to him flooded his brain. He could be in Las Vegas in seven hours. Fort Worth in ten. Mexico in twelve. Women and drinks and sleeping in and no kids to worry about. No ranch. No house. Just him, the truck, the road and no worries.
When the second was over, he folded up those thoughts and put them away before checking his watch. Crap. If he didn’t speed like crazy he was going to be late.
Speed like crazy, it was.
Forty minutes later he parked the truck in front of a small house in Redmen. To those who didn’t know, it just looked like every other house on the street. Pretty redbrick with flowers along the porch. There was no sign, no indication, that it was more than a house.
When he stepped inside a bell rang out over the door and Jennifer, the receptionist, looked up.
“She’s waiting for you,” Jennifer said.
“Sorry I’m late.” He took off his hat, patting down the more wild of his overlong curls. A haircut was one more thing to put on his list of things to do.
“We understand, Jeremiah.” Her pretty smile held no pity. Just the kind of firm understanding that he had come to expect from the women in this house.
He nodded in gratitude. Anxious because despite knowing how important these weekly meetings were, he still didn’t like needing them. He didn’t want to be here, but he was glad he was—a conflict that just didn’t sit well.
Jennifer led him down the hallway to the back room.
“Dr. Gilman?” she said at the closed door.
“Come in,” a voice answered, and Jennifer pushed open the door. The room was awash with end-of-day sunlight and Dr. Gilman, a sturdy woman in a denim skirt and long silver earrings, stepped out from behind a big oak desk to shake his hand.
Dr. Gilman had the firmest handshake of any woman he’d ever known. It was the handshake that convinced him to trust her six months ago when he came here desperate and worried for himself and the boys. Though at that point he would have trusted a paper bag if it promised to help him.
“Hi, Jeremiah,” she said, her smile all earth-motherly and welcoming. Honestly, he loved this woman.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said again, because he didn’t know what else to say. All his charm and small talk were left in the truck; they seemed silly here. He hung his hat up on the rack beside the door. Briefly he wondered how many cowboys Dr. Gilman saw, if any. Getting psychological help was sort of against the whole code. Just ask Larry.
“It’s all right.” She held her hand out to the deep leather chair in front of the windows and across from a smaller chair where she usually sat. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what’s happened since last week.”
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