didn’t want to talk, he could handle the silence.
She sighed as he moved his focus back to untangling the chain from her brace. The shredded spandex material and mud that covered her knee proved she’d lost the battle between her bike and the rocky hillside.
“I’m out of the navy. I’m an adventure guide in the Grand Canyon. I’m good at my job, so that’s not how I got injured. I need six more weeks of physical therapy before they will even consider releasing me back to work.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, as if telling him that much had drained her.
“Home is a good place to recover. Family can take care of you like no other.” He didn’t make eye contact, hoping to keep her talking. “Are you staying?”
“I’ve already missed a couple months of work. I was in the middle of buying my own outfitter company when I had the accident and my roommate decided there were more opportunities elsewhere. If I can get the new doctor to release me sooner, I can be back faster, plus I’m saving money instead of spending. Is that enough information?”
Looking up from his work, he winked at her. “In the last ten years, I haven’t been past San Antonio. Sounds like you’ve had an adventure.” And she wanted to get back to it. She had plans to leave. He didn’t even know her anymore, so he didn’t understand his disappointment.
“I thought bull riders did a lot of traveling. Last I heard, you were on the road for some big purses and the next big thing to hit the PBR.”
“I don’t ride bulls anymore.”
The edge of the brace popped, and she sucked in her breath. Her hands fisted on the edge of the bench.
“Sorry.” He gave her a fast glance.
“It’s okay, just surprised me.”
Fresh blood bubbled from the wound. Pulling a bandanna out of his pocket, he applied pressure. “Here, hold this. I think I almost have it.” He stood and took off his duster. Throwing it over a nearby rocking chair, he went back to work. “So riding your bike off-trail in the rain is part of your therapy?”
“I figured it wouldn’t be much different than the stationary bike they have me on in the office.”
He laughed. He shook his head as he slipped the last chain from under the metal hinge on her brace. “You might have gone backward in your recovery. The chain did a number on your skin, and the knee looks discolored and swollen. You need to elevate and put ice on it.”
Biting hard on her lip, she tilted her head back, eyes squeezed shut. Each breath was deep and hard.
He wanted to cover her free hand and stop it from rubbing her thigh red. He had never seen anyone work so hard not to cry. “Nikki, it’s going to be okay.”
“I can’t take this anymore. I have to get better. I need to get back to work.”
“Rushing it will only make the recovery longer.” A gust of wind pushed rain onto the porch. “Let’s get inside and clean all this mud off. Last thing you want is an infection.”
* * *
Do not cry. Only the weak cried. She was not weak. The last thing she wanted was Adrian seeing her pathetic self-pity, or anyone, for that matter. Weakness gave people the impression they could use you.
Standing, Nikki tried to put weight on her bad leg, but sharp pain shot up her spine, threatening to bring her to her knees. Swallowing down a scream, she instinctively reached out to Adrian for support.
What she really wanted was to be whole again, independent and strong. She’d get her life back.
She had to. Being in Clear Water was too painful, and it brought secrets too close to the surface.
Twelve years separated her from the past. She had made the mistake thinking she was over it. It was easier to forget when you weren’t surrounded by reminders.
Allowing Adrian to help settle her into one of the ladder-back chairs, she traced the patterns in the wood her grandpa had carved. When she saw her mother’s study Bible, she stopped breathing. “How did that get here?”
“What? Oh, the Bible. I found it tucked away when I was looking for—”
“Put it back.” She closed her eyes. “Please.”
“Sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I just don’t wanna see it.” A burn started at her arm. An angry red scratch showed through her fitted shirt. The sleeve of her favorite workout top had a rip running all the way up to the shoulder.
Adrian pulled another chair up close for her useless leg and gently pulled her favorite running shoe off her foot. The timeworn sofa would have been more comfortable, but no telling what critters had moved in under the old cushions or what they might have left behind. The years of dust alone would smother her if she plopped down on the blue plaid fabric.
Images of her and her twin sisters curled up around their mother as she read from her Bible bubbled to the surface. Nikki used to rush to answer the questions at the end of each story. The twins were one year younger than her, but she had wanted to prove she was smarter and better at everything.
Looking back, she was sure it had to do with all the attention they got. Beautiful twin girls did not go unnoticed, but the plain big sister did.
It wasn’t their fault.
She never felt that competition with their youngest sister, Samantha. She’d been more of a mother to her. Sammi was the only good thing their stepmother had given their family. Sheila’s leaving had been the other good thing, but that happened after she herself had left.
Nikki took in a deep breath. She had no right to judge. Her family needed her, but she’d been too much of a coward to face the consequences of her own mistakes and abandoned everyone that counted on her. She turned away from the living room and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t remember the last time she felt smart or accomplished.
Her gaze went back to the river stone fireplace, to the past. It was cold and empty now, not crackling with a warm blaze like her memory. She could see her father sitting on the recliner, telling her to give her sisters a chance.
Remembering the twins when they were little had a tendency to soften her heart. Soft hearts broke easily.
The image needed to leave her head. She didn’t have time for regrets or grief. They weren’t real anyway. Just pictures she stared at when she was little so she wouldn’t forget the way her mom looked.
Her mom was gone, and the twins were women now. Danica had her own twin daughters. Even little Sammi, who had barely been in school when she left, was now in her twenties and helping run the lumberyard.
Eyes closed, she focused on her body and took deep breaths, pulling in all wayward thoughts. She rotated her foot to evaluate the pain of the injury. Hopefully it wasn’t anything that damaged her recovery. A cold chill climbed up her spine. The last thing she needed was another surgery. Adrian had left. His warm touch no longer working on her knee.
The sputtering of water forcing air through old rusted pipes brought
