Return to Rosewood

“It won’t hurt. In cases like yours, muscles atrophy. Even if the spine heals, the muscles can’t respond after months of disuse. That’s where therapy comes in.” He patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Bret knows where the pool is, so you can get started.”

She whipped her head up. “Now?”

“Can’t think of a better time.”

Bret held out his hand. “Thanks, J.C.”

The doctor stood, accepting Bret’s handshake. “Don’t let her buffalo you into leaving.”

Samantha stared. “What?”

“I know how intimidating you can be. I ran against you for student council, remember?”

She’d won. Back when everything was easy.

Bret wheeled Samantha to the physical therapy area despite her nonstop protests.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t do any kind of water therapy wearing sweats.”

He drew his eyebrows together in a frown. “Excellent point. Good thing Rachel’s here with your stuff to change into.”

Samantha twisted her head and Rachel rushed over with a tremulous smile. “Hey.”

“Et tu?” Sam rubbed her forehead. “Plotting with Bret?”

“And J.C.,” Rachel admitted. “You know we can’t stand by and do nothing.”

Hands folded in her lap, Samantha lifted her face. “I appreciate all the concern…I know it’s because you care. But it really, really is a waste of time to try and make this work.”

“It’s our time,” Rachel rebuked gently.

Outnumbered and weary, Sam gave in. “I didn’t pack a swimsuit.”

Rachel took Bret’s place behind the chair. “We do have stores in Rosewood.”

As they headed to the women’s dressing room, Bret retrieved his gym bag from the men’s lockers. He’d left it there after he and J.C. had come up with a plan. Rachel had figured out all the details for clothes, along with a time that worked for both of them.

Changing into his own knee-length swim shorts, he glanced at his watch. He should be at the nursery, but Herb would do his best.

With J.C.’s blessing, Bret and Rachel intended to learn how to do the water exercises. The aqua therapy teacher, Wanda, was willing to teach them so Sam could have daily sessions. And there wasn’t any charge to use the facilities. Once Rachel was comfortable with the exercises, he could turn the entire task over to her. It wasn’t just the fact that he needed to be both at work and checking on his dad—this much proximity to Sam was a bad plan.

Guessing it would take the women longer to change, he stowed his clothes in the locker, then looped a towel around his neck. In time, they emerged, wearing matching T-shirts and shorts to cover their swimsuits, like many of the other patients. Sam looked like a well-covered but trapped animal.

He took the towel from his neck and tossed it on a bench. “Reminds me of the time you tried to push me in the pool, missed and fell in yourself.”

Startled, Sam stopped fussing with her exposed calves. She was thin, but her legs were still knockouts. “I’m not even wet yet.”

“Only a matter of minutes. There’s a special PVC wheelchair and ramp to get you in.”

Mortification filled her features.

He stepped closer. “Or we could just hop in ourselves.” Not giving her time to process his words, he scooped her up, cradling her in his arms.

“What do—”

“We don’t really need the special chair.” She was so slight now, it was like carrying feathers. Feathers covered in silky skin. Skin that grazed his arms, teased his senses.

Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on. And he remembered how they’d felt in that same position years ago when they dated in college. He’d never expected to feel them there again. Nor to experience a rush of awareness now that they were.

Warm water enveloped them both as he walked deeper, stopping at one of the built-in ledges that Sam could sit on. Rachel followed, taking a spot directly across the pool.

The teacher wasn’t far behind. “Hi. Samantha? I’m Wanda, the aqua therapy teacher. I hope you’ll relax, let the water soothe you. We’ll learn some exercises to rebuild your strength, but part of the therapy is to ease muscle tension.”

Samantha averted her face. “That’s not really a problem with my muscles.”

“Dr. Mueller briefed me. You have a spinal injury and your legs aren’t responding. Those muscles may be in a state of atrophy—I understand we’ll know more after the doctor runs some tests. Naturally, the shock of injury causes tension in the rest of your body. Your neck, shoulders—the usual suspects.”

Reluctantly, Samantha nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Without an injury, I get stressed.” Good at her job, Wanda had understanding in her voice without resorting to pity. “The warm water helps. Try to think of it as an oversize tub.”

In just over waist-deep, Sam tentatively touched the surface of the water. It was a tiny step, but Bret expected most of them would be. J.C. had been candid when Bret had talked with him alone. It was possible Sam might never regain the use of her legs. Then again, she hadn’t had the intensive program he thought she needed. After a long coma, her muscles hadn’t worked properly. Not having a positive attitude about the therapy could have made a huge difference as well. And she hadn’t been surrounded by friends, or the power of prayer.

Not letting the past intrude, Bret had placed Sam’s name in the prayer circle a day after the fire. Now the entire church was praying for her. Sam didn’t know it, but she was being circled herself—neighbors and friends wanting to shore her up, to help in any way they could. Despite the untenable break in their relationship, Bret hated that Sam had been injured, that she’d lost hope.

Listening closely, he followed as Wanda took them through some relaxation motions. Warm water slipped between them, pushing them apart, pulling them back together. The entire time his hand remained at Sam’s waist, to support her, he told himself. Even though his heart echoed a time he believed they’d never be separated.

Chapter Five

“You’ve got to tell your parents.” Rachel ladled out more of the homemade soup she’d brought over.

Samantha shook her head. “Your mother’s already making chicken soup for me. Imagine what my mom would do.”

Rachel sniffed the broth. “My mother does make good soup.”

“Which you prefer to a hamburger? Right.” Samantha accepted the mug and took a small sip.

“I’d hate to be you when they find out.”

Sam put the mug on the tabletop. “Too many people are already in on my secret. Someone’s bound to talk. And then they’ll be back here.” In Rosewood, where she couldn’t put them off or hide away in an apartment. She loved them more than she could say, but she couldn’t bear the pain in their eyes. More pain than one set of parents should have to endure. “I’m just not ready.”

Rachel’s expression softened. “Sam, I don’t know how you feel…how I’d feel in your place. But I’m sure you can conquer this.” She leaned forward. “You’re the most determined person I’ve ever known. You’ve always run the fastest, the farthest.”

Sam couldn’t contain a brittle laugh.

“Running isn’t just physical,” Rachel insisted. “Your mind has to be in sync…you have to believe.”

“Belief isn’t on the agenda anymore.”

“Do you remember when we were eight? You wanted to climb the Hyde Plateau?” She laughed at the memory. “Andy was older, stronger and you still talked him into racing to the top. None of us could believe you won, but you acted like there couldn’t have been any other outcome.”

“I’m not eight anymore.” Determined not to become a pity case, Sam left the rest of the difference unsaid.

“How many people insisted you’d never discover a new species? That everything had already been cataloged?”

“I…” Stumbling for a reply, her protest died away.

“Yes? This is different?” Rachel stood, pacing across the wooden floor. “Sure it is. And how much more is at stake?”

Sam found her voice. “Splashing around in aqua therapy’s going to change things?”

“Sitting in your chair will?” Rachel knelt next to the wheelchair, then squeezed Sam’s hand, her expression encouraging. “You know I’m not going to give up on this. Bret won’t either.”

Startled, Sam drew back. “Bret?”

“Don’t let the past get in the way. He isn’t.”

“No.” Samantha hadn’t seen a glimpse of the feelings she’d once shared with him. He acted as though they’d just been casual acquaintances. “He’s not.”

Rachel checked the contents of her gym bag, making sure she had everything they needed. “Have you made any progress with that broth?”

Samantha ignored the still full mug, looking for another way to distract her cousin. “You can’t keep taking off this much time from your job.”

“Bret and I have it worked out. For now, we’ll alternate taking you to the pool. After I’ve learned the aqua stuff well enough, I’ll get someone else to help us. Until we get reinforcements, we’ll split the regular therapy sessions, too. Mom wants to help, but I’m worried about her rheumatoid arthritis. The latest treatment hasn’t been all that successful—and she hates taking the shots. She could go with you to the water therapy class, but I’m not sure she’d be much help. At home, Dad helps her in and out of the hot tub.”

“But—”

“If you don’t cooperate, I have Bret standing by.”

He was outside, waiting to talk with Matt about the kitchen cabinets. Samantha didn’t want to go to therapy, but she wanted a confrontation with Bret less.

It was the futility of the therapy that disturbed her. Sure, she’d heard of people who overcame the odds—walking despite doctors’ predictions. But she hadn’t made an iota of progress. Something she couldn’t get across to anyone. And she hated being mollycoddled as though she were mentally incapacitated as well.

“Sam?”

Her energy faded, and along with it, her defiance. “Whatever.”

“That’s the spirit,” Rachel teased.

Between them, Sam may have been the tenacious one, but Rachel had always been the cheeriest. There were more giggles than grinches in her world. Maybe that’s why they’d always gotten on so well. No matter what Sam thought up, Rachel figured out a way to make it fun. But Samantha was convinced this stupid therapy was going to blotch her cousin’s pristine record.

Once Sam was outside, Bret lifted her into the car, noting the mutiny on her face, trying to ignore the effect of her soft limbs in his arms. “No apple for the teacher?”

She thinned her lips even more. “Isn’t it enough that I’m going?”

Seeing she was safely inside, he closed the door, then packed her chair in the back. One of the aides at the hospital would help Rachel with Sam, getting her in and out of the car.

It was an important day. J.C. had received many of Sam’s records from New York, and he also had results from the tests done locally. Based on the combination, he had assigned a physical therapist, Harold, to her case.

J.C. and Harold put together a comprehensive program of treatments and exercises meant to rebuild her body, concentrating on the atrophied leg muscles. Bret guessed Sam’s stubbornness was because she didn’t dare believe the program could work. If she didn’t believe, didn’t hope, she wouldn’t be devastated if the therapy failed.

As they drove off, he spotted his friend Matt Whitaker approaching in a Dodge Ram pickup. Matt designed all things wooden, including furniture—pieces so unique collectors around the country waited in line for his work. But true to his hometown roots, he donated both his time and some of his creations to Rosewood fundraisers. And he hadn’t hesitated when Bret had asked for help with the kitchen.

“That Samantha with Rachel?” Matt asked, stepping down from the tall truck. “Looks different.”

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