Typical of February in North Carolina—at least in the mountains—evening was falling faster than a stone. The afternoon’s brisk wind had turned noisy and blustery, and the clouds were puffing in hard now. In another month or so, magnolias and rhododendron would furiously flower on the elegant hospital grounds, but right now, even the sentinel oaks weren’t gutsy enough to leaf out yet. The wind shivered through her long auburn braid, teasing at the ribbon wrapped through it and threatening to unravel it.
The guys were starting to unravel her, too—but not for the reasons she’d first feared. By the time they reached her old white van in the third row, she had the ghastly feeling that she’d fallen totally in love with both of them. They looked at her as if she were a goddess. That helped. They treated her as if she were a hero. She liked that, too. Mostly, though, she had a strong sixth sense about predators. These two were just plain good guys. How was she supposed to resist that?
“Ben, Harry…look. I don’t know if the hospital misled you, but I don’t do any regular physical therapy anymore. I just don’t have time. And besides that, if your brother has some kind of special problems, I have no qualifications to help him.”
“Yeah, well, Fox has been to tons of people with blue-ribbon qualifications. Doctors. Psychiatrists.
Specialized physical therapists. Hell, we even brought in a priest and we’re not Catholic.” Ben made the joke but then couldn’t pull off a smile. “We have to try something different. We’re losing our brother. We need some fresh ideas, a different outlook. If you’d just take a look at him—”
Sometime over the next ten minutes. Phoebe picked up that the Lockwood brothers regularly referred to themselves as animals. Ben was Bear. Harry was Moose. And they called their youngest brother Fox.
She loved animals. Wild or tame. And the Lockwood brothers had clearly dropped their jobs and lives to come here and gang up on her, which said something about how much they loved their brother.
“Honest to Pete, I’m telling you straight, I can’t help you. I would if I could.”
“Just come and meet him.”
“I can’t.”
“We haven’t explained what he’s been through yet. At least listen. And then if you can’t help, you can’t.
We’re just asking you totry. ”
“Guys.I can’t. ”
“Just one shot. A few minutes. We’ll pay you five hundred bucks for a half hour, how’s that? I swear, if you decide you can’t help him after that, we’ll never bug you again. You have our word.”
My God. They wheedled and whined and charmed and bribed. Phoebe rarely met anyone who could outstubborn her, but these two were beyond blockheaded. Still. If she took on one adult patient, it would open the door to being asked again. And that wasn’t worth the risk.
“I’m sorry, guys, but no,” she said firmly.
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At seven o’clock that night, Phoebe flipped the gearshift in reverse and barreled out of her driveway. “I don’t want to hear any grief,” she told the dogs sharing the passenger seat. “A woman has a right to change her mind.”
Neither Mop nor Duster argued. As long as they got to ride in the van with their noses out the window, they never cared what she said.
“You two just stick by me. If something feels hinky, then we’ll all take off together. Got it?”
Again, neither mutt responded. Even after two years, Phoebe wasn’t dead positive who’d rescued whom. The two pint-size dirty-white mop heads had shown up at her back door when she first moved to Gold River. They’d been scrawny and matted and starved. Throwaways. Yet ever since they’d acted as if she was the throwaway and they were the benevolent adopters. It boggled the mind.
“The brothers really were okay. I know, I know, they were men. And who can trust anyone stuck with all that testosterone? But really, the situation isn’t what I first thought. Their brother sounds as if he’s in rough shape. So even if I can’t do anything, it just seemed heartless to keep saying no.”
Again the mutts offered no input. They were both hanging out the open window, their bitsy tongues lolling, paying her no attention whosoever.
Before the sun completely dropped, lights popped on all down Main Street. Wrought-iron carriage lamps lined the shopping district. If she hadn’t agreed to this darn fool meeting, she could have been suckered into the shoe sale at Well Heeled, or accidentally slipped into TJ Maxx. Well, it was hard to slip into TJ accidentally when the store was two blocks away, but the principle was still valid.
Worry started circling her mood. She loved her work. The bank claimed she was a long way from solvent, but money wasn’t that important to her. Doing something that mattered was. She’d found a touch therapy for babies with unique problems that really worked. Babies were her niche.
Men weren’t.
She liked guys. Always had, always would. But she’d met Alan evenbefore she’d hung up the masseuse sign, when she’d still been a physical therapist. He’d been a patient recovering from a serious bone break. Right off he’d judged her as a hedonist and a sensualist—a woman who loved to touch. And he’d loved those qualities in her.
He’d said.
He’d also claimed she was the hottest woman he’d ever met. He’d even said that as if it were a compliment. In the beginning.
Edgily she gnawed on a thumbnail. She’d moved to Gold River to obliterate those painful memories and start over. She’d done just that. Her whole life was on an uphill track again—but she also had good reason to be careful.
Those darn Lockwood brothers had sabotaged her common sense by painting a picture in her mind. A picture of their brother. A picture she just couldn’t seem to shake.
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Apparently this Fergus
