Her Hometown Hero. Margaret Daley
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A surge of aggravation flashed through him. He clamped his lips together, trying to choose his words carefully. “I never said you were broken. You did. I’ve never looked at you like that. An injury isn’t what defines a person. How you handle it does.”
She glared at him, then turned toward the exit. “Tell my brother I’ll be up to the house after dinner to talk with his children. I’m suddenly not hungry.”
He wasn’t going to let her run away. He moved quickly and planted himself in her path. “No, you tell your brother that. I’m not your messenger.”
“You’re not my friend, either. A friend wouldn’t push me like you are.”
“I hope I have friends who will push me when I need it,” he fired back at her.
She stepped away. “Fine. I’ll call Howard. Be gone by the time I get there.” When she charged toward the cabin, her limp was more pronounced.
Nate deflated. He’d blown it. He’d wanted to shake some sense into her, but he hadn’t handled it at all correctly. When she was forced into a corner, she always came out fighting. Somehow he would find a way to reach her without putting her on the defensive. He might not be able to, but maybe the kids in the youth group could when they come to the ranch tomorrow to plan the fund-raiser. Tonight he’d solicit Howard and Beth to make sure Kit was there when they arrived.
* * *
As Kathleen strolled toward the main house, her attention zeroed in on Nate’s truck, parked out front. His red Silverado mocked her order for him to be gone. She came to a halt in the yard, trying to decide what to do.
Beth opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she saw Kathleen, she moved toward her, carrying two mugs. “I was wondering where you were. I made the special tea you like so much.”
“Trying to bribe me to stay?”
“Is it working?” Her sister-in-law passed the mug slowly under her nose.
Kathleen drew in the scent of peaches and cream wafting in the heat rising from the cup. “Maybe just a little. Is Nate inside?”
“Nope.”
“His truck is here.”
“Your powers of observation are sharp.” She started toward the house. “Let’s sit on the steps. It’s been a long day, and I could use the break. And tomorrow will be busy.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll have eight teens descend on the ranch. Howard offered this place for the Western Day Fund-raiser next month and the first onsite planning session will be held here.”
Kathleen frowned, clasping both hands around the mug and leaning forward. “Nate wants me to help him with the fund-raiser.”
“Are you going to?”
“After this afternoon, I shouldn’t even consider it.” She took a sip and welcomed the smooth taste as it slid down her throat.
“What happened?”
“He thinks I need counseling. He wants me to have a therapy dog.”
“That isn’t what having a therapy dog means. Abbey started Caring Canines because she has a sister-in-law, a child really, who lost her parents in a plane crash and her legs were injured. The doctors weren’t sure if she would walk again even though Madi had several operations to repair the leg. They fixed what they could. The rest depended on physical therapy and the little girl’s will. Abbey found a perfect dog to replace the one Madi lost. Her pet died in the crash. Cottonballs was trained to be a therapy dog. It’s not like a service animal. Cottonballs helped Madi deal with her injuries, and today Madi runs and plays like anyone her age.”
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