items from her bag.
“No, ma’am. I have to stay in this kind of shape for my job.” That elicited her attention, and the respect he saw in her gaze suddenly added an extra benefit to all the daily pain and strain he put in at his team leader Joel’s gym. Chance instantly felt ten feet taller and two tons of stress lighter.
“I see.” Chloe pivoted in a graceful circle and eyed the room. “Are either of you allergic to flowers?”
What did flowers have to do with anything? he wondered, but just said, “No.”
Lifting her pixie chin, Chloe appeared quite pleased with herself; her grin looked to harbor a well-planned secret. Her eyes veered toward his stack of Bible study books. Curiosity flitted across her features until her vision snagged on one book… then soured.
Why?
He eyed the title, Becoming an Effective Youth Pastor. He returned his gaze to her.
Professional mask back in place, she folded petite hands in front of her trim middle. “Shall we get started?”
Chance nodded concession to her as she stepped boldly toward the ruckus forming at his dad’s bedroom door.
“I don’t need anyone coming in here and telling me what to do!” Ivan could be heard loud and clear.
Chance cringed. Dad’s mood was already festering, and he was about to see a dinosaur of a dog. In the house.
“And what in tarnation is that?” Ivan now squinted at his first glimpse of the massive black dog. He yanked his glasses from his chest pocket, squinted even more, and jabbed his good finger at Midnight. “Who let that heap-a-hair in here?” he bellowed and scowled at Chance.
Before Chance could offer an explanation, Chloe stepped forward. “Hi, Mister Garrison. I’m Chloe Callett. This is Midnight. We’re here to assess your need for in-home OT, better known as occupational therapy.”
“We? What’s that doggone mutt got to do with it?” Ivan glowered at Chloe to the point that drool fell from the weak side of his sullen mouth.
Brock dabbed it with a red, bandit-style kerchief hanging loosely around Ivan’s neck. Ivan let him but grunted. Brock pretended not to notice. He tried to finish discreetly until Ivan skewered him with a glare.
“On that note, I’ll let myself out. Good luck,” he said to Chloe and Chance and chuckled his way out the door.
Chloe didn’t cringe at Brock’s rapid departure or cower under Ivan’s escalating disapproval and hollers, even though his pinched face shaded redder by the second.
Ivan’s bulging eyes wrinkled at the corners and his nose squished up as he went nose to nose with Chloe. “What have you got stuck in your teeth there?”
“Braces.”
“Aren’t you too old for that?”
She shrugged and bit back a grin. “Maybe.”
Ivan scowled. “Ask me, it’s a waste of good money. My boy there’s got crooked teeth and he’s not bothered by it.”
He wasn’t?
True. He wasn’t.
Until Chloe’s gaze fell on his mouth. His face heated again. “Au contraire, Dad. I h-have one tooth that doesn’t s-sit right. One.” Chance chuckled and held up a pointer finger.
He also placed a clandestine hand on Ivan’s shoulder and prepared to squeeze if his manners bounced any further out of bounds. The stroke had definitely adversely affected his father’s cognitive and social judgment. Chance didn’t mind his dad taking pokes at him, but Ivan was picking on Chloe. Chance would intervene. “Dad, we have a lady present.”
As Chance increased pressure of his hand, Ivan stared Chance down, then swerved his head back toward Chloe. “Say, how old are you anyway? You married? ’Cause my son here is not, and it’s about time he took the plunge.”
Chance clamped his mouth shut and his hand tighter and tried not to laugh at the shocked look on Chloe’s face. He cast an apologetic glance her way while his dad prattled on.
Undaunted other than a slight flush to her cheeks, Chloe calmly pulled a clipboard out and knelt in front of Ivan’s chair. She made a couple of adjustments on the footrest then reached for Ivan’s hand. “Squeeze for me?”
Ivan scowled but squished her hand with his good one. Hard. Harder than Chance thought necessary.
Chloe grimaced but her eyes grinned. “Nice grip. You’ve got the hands of a hardworking man.”
A sliver of a smile creased the unaffected side of Ivan’s mouth. The scowl eased from his face and a twinkle dared to dance in his eyes.
Until Chloe reached for his affected hand. “Now let’s try the other one.”
Back came the scowl. “Don’t you read anything in that chart? My stroke made it so I can’t do the other one.”
She smiled sweetly. “Try.” She held his listless hand.
A grunt. More intent scowling. But no response from his hand.
“I know you don’t like dogs in your house. So go ahead. Squeeze and pretend you’re knocking me upside the noggin for bringing Midnight in here.” She winked.
Ivan blinked as though surprised by her candor, then bit back what might have been either the beginnings of a smile or a taunt, Chance couldn’t be certain which one.
Ivan’s wrist strained in effort, but his fingers didn’t move and his hand didn’t clench. His countenance fell. “Told ya! It’s no use. I’m a useless man.” He looked away.
Pain streaked through Chance. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg: Dad, don’t give up. Please don’t give up.
Compassion filled Chloe’s expression. “Try again, Ivan. Please.”
“Why? Got nothing other’n Chance left to live for. And he’d do fine without me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t want to have to do without you. So come on. Try.” She held her hand out closer to Ivan. They stared at each other in a state of silent stalemate.
Then fury flashed over Ivan’s face. He glared at Chloe’s outstretched hand and growled. Then he called her names that would have sent a weaker woman sobbing from the house. Jaw clenched, Chance pinched Ivan’s shoulder to get the message across to be respectful to the lady. “Dad, that’s quite enough.” Chance felt mortified.
But Chloe, serene, didn’t budge. After a moment, she knelt closer and whispered, “I think your late wife would want you to try. I know Chance does.” Chloe winked. “Think of all the beautiful grandbabies you have to look forward to in the future. They’d want you to try.”
At first, Ivan scowled again. But as her words finally seeped in, he blinked several times. Met Chance’s gaze, which had been reduced to pleading. Ivan’s face softened. With a quaky motion, Ivan brought his hand to hers. A clumsy tremor proved his attempt
