Healing Trace (10 page)

"You're
kidding?" She shook her head. "Never mind. I believe you. I'm
learning Trace is tougher and more stubborn than anyone I've ever met
before."

Brody's
smile faded. "He's the best friend I have. I wish…"

She
waited for him to explain, but he shook his head and walked back down the
hallway. She closed the door and leaned against it for support. Curious about
what Brody was going to say before he caught himself, she had to admit it
wasn't the first time one of the guys seemed to hold back from speaking their
mind when the subject came to Trace.

Ten
minutes later, Joan stared down at herself and had second thoughts. Despite how
much she liked all the men, and had grown comfortable around them, she was
still Trace's nurse, and a bikini meant for backyard sun tanning was not
appropriate clothing.

Digging
through her bag, she found a yellow, oversized T-shirt and slipped it on. More
confident now that she had less showing, she relaxed. She'd just sit beside the
pool, dangle her legs in the water, and make sure Trace did nothing to get his
cast wet.

Downstairs,
at the back of the house, the lights under the water lit up the pool area in
the night. Joan slid the glass door open and paused. Her stomach fluttered.
This wasn't a shared dinner or conversation in the living room with the guys.

Swimming
was an intimate act, with bare skin, muscles, and moonlight.

"Great.
You decided to join us." Devon stood behind the freestanding bar, smiling.
"You caught me playing server. What's your pleasure?"

She
strolled to the mini bar. "What's everyone else having?"

"Pop,
ice water, and lemonade." He shrugged. "But, we have beer, wine, juice,
and anything else you can imagine."

"I'll
take lemonade. Thank you." She turned and found Trace. Brody had been
right.

Trace
sat at the end of the pool with his bad leg stretched out on a towel, and his
other leg dipped in the pool, keeping his cast out of harm's way. He slouched
with his gaze directed toward the water. The ripples on the surface Brody
created in the pool when he jumped in reflected on Trace's face.

The
glow emphasized the tired expression, as if he'd given up on ever getting rid
of the cast on his leg that kept him from normal activities. Raven hair lay
loose around his shoulders. She headed in his direction, her heart softening.

Trace
didn't watch her approach, but kept staring down into the pool, lost in his
thoughts. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

With
a wounded cry, his arm flew back and knocked her glass out of her hands and
into the water. However, it was the way he jolted, ducked his head, and flung
his arm over his face that made her physically sick. She reached out, but his
mouth hardened and his eyes shot out wounding her. Gone was the frightened mask
she saw seconds before, and in its place was anger, ready to lash out at her
once again.

"What
the hell are you doing out here? You're a nurse, go find someone who needs
their ass wiped and leave me the hell alone." He leaned back for the
crutches.

Shocked
and traumatized, she'd never, in all her life, forget the fear that'd spilled
out of him and poisoned the night.

Many
times over the past weeks, she wondered what would cause his defenses to come
out and shut him off from her. The pain she witnessed on his face on occasions
wasn't coming from his leg. It came from deeper inside of him.

How
many times had he stepped away from her touch, turned his back on her, or
snapped at her to push her away? Her chest tightened, until she thought her
next breath wouldn't come. She swallowed past the cry stuck in her throat. It
all made sense.

They'd
taught her how to spot abuse in college, but she'd misread the signs in Trace
because he was an adult, a man. She stopped herself from covering her mouth.
Somewhere in his past, he'd suffered from the hands of someone else.

Without
thinking, she kicked his crutches out of his reach and sat down beside him. Her
hands shook, but she managed to fish her glass out of the water and set it
beside her. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Now that the truth
was revealed, what was she supposed to say?

The
beating of his heart, or maybe it was her own, filled the silence stretching
between them. Her vision blurred and she made no effort to blink the tears
away. Pain should never be hidden, but healed.

He'd
looked so lost and broken. The impulse to wrap her arms around him had been so
strong she'd almost given in to her need to help him. She glanced at Trace. His
hands remained fisted in front of him and he'd lost himself somewhere in the
memories of his past. She ignored the banter at the other end of the pool. For
the last month, she'd spent all her time with Trace. She'd denied how she felt
about him, but she couldn't do that anymore.

Without
thinking of the consequences, or what trespassing over the line of what she
deemed a professional distance, she lightly stroked his fist until he allowed
her to slip her hand into his. She never spoke a word, only offered him a light
touch. He squeezed her fingers, grasping, holding, and taking the comfort she
offered like a dying man with only minutes to live.

It
wasn't much, but she only hoped holding his hand would comfort him.

She'd
like to offer him more. An ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, if that's
what he needed. Whatever he wanted her to do, she'd willingly do it, if only
because she sensed he needed something, someone, to tell him it was okay to
react the way he had moments ago. He was living a secretive life that was too
painful for one person to handle.

Deep
inside, she knew he'd never ask for help.

Connected,
but miles apart, Joan knew there was more to her feelings than being fascinated
with Trace and the mystery behind his distance. She'd fallen in love with the
gruff, stubborn, magnificent, man.

"Hey
Joan. Are you going swimming or not?" Brody motioned for her to jump in.

Not
wanting to put Trace in any more of an uncomfortable position by having to
explain why she was holding his hand, she let go of him but not before Trace
gave her fingers an extra squeeze. Not knowing what to do and afraid to leave
him after having shocked him into a place he feared, where he had to battle his
demons, she gazed up at him. She wouldn't leave if he wanted her to stay beside
him.

He
motioned his head toward the water. "Go. I'm fine."

He
was lying.

"I
could stay here." She glanced down at her shirt. "Swimming's really
not in my job description."

He
spoke softly for her ears only. "Since when have you let rules stop you
when you've set your mind to something?"

"Don't
let the red hair fool you." She gently bumped her shoulder into his arm.
"I'm not always stubborn."

They
were back on even ground. Trace had found the strength to move past what
happened, and accepted her back as a friend. She inhaled deeply. They'd tackle
what happened tonight on another day, when he was ready.

"Go.
You deserve to have fun." He grinned, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Eyes,
which would haunt her for the rest of her life.

***

Joan
stood and pulled her shirt over her head.

 Trace's
breath whooshed out, and his body reacted.
Shit.

He
had to get out of here. Not trusting himself around her, he blamed his leg for
his inability to run away.

His
gaze traveled the length of her. From her long, lean, bare legs up to the pink
bikini bottoms. If he could call that thin strip of material tied at the sides
with a string, a bikini. He swallowed through the rise of desire consuming him.
Not sure if he'd survive if she got her satiny skin wet.

Her
flat stomach undulated as she checked all the ties on her suit. A sparkle
flashed. He leaned closer and struggled to draw in a breath. She had a
red-jeweled belly button ring. Now
that
was something he never expected
to see all those times he imagined her with her clothes off.

He
forced himself to look away from the jewelry, but what came next stole his
breath. Her plump breasts swayed with her movements as she lazily adjusted her
top. He was unable to turn away. His anger and embarrassment of earlier faded
away and in its place, he reacted like any man who'd been too long between
women.

Even
the splash of her diving into the water didn't faze him. He had one focus. Joan.

Her
thick, wild hair spread over the surface of the water, further reminding him
how well he was feeling. All he could think about was how he was glad it was
dark, and the others couldn't see his reaction to her.

Devon
swam to Trace's side of the pool, hooking his elbows along the edge. "Need
anything?"

He
shook his head, and then cleared his throat. "No."

Devon
pulled himself out of the water, picked up the glass Trace had knocked out of Joan's
hand, and kept his eyes averted. "You'll survive. You've been down this
road before. Another few weeks and you can heal all those horses that need you,
and Joan will be out of your life."

His
friends knew him. They'd been there when he'd needed somewhere to hide, to lie
for him, and covered his ass more times than he could count. He was grateful
for their friendship, but no one knew how much he wished he didn't need them.
How he didn't want to need anyone.

Somehow,
the beautiful nurse with the soothing voice and compassionate personality had
braved the hardened shield he always kept carefully in place, and had him
feeling again. He gazed out at her splashing Brody with water, laughing and
full of life. How did someone so gentle cause him so much pain?

Chapter Eleven

Joan
spun in a circle in the middle of the weight room in Brody's part of the house.
The wall composed entirely of mirrors, and the ceiling littered with skylights
would work perfect for Trace's physical therapy. The light and cheery atmosphere
would help keep him positive as he fought through the pain.

The
doctor had noted that it was important to keep the upper thigh muscles
strengthened to support the healing bone for when his cast came off. She ran
her hand along the barbell. She had to focus on his leg, and not the person.

Her
mind told her to heal him from the inside out, but that wasn't what she was
being paid for. The only problem she needed to fix was his broken leg.

"What
do you think?" Devon gripped a chin up bar and pulled himself off the
floor.

"Are
you kidding me? This is better than any gym I've seen advertised on
television." She planted her hands on her hips. "No wonder you guys
are in such great shape."

She
whirled around and scrunched her nose where he couldn't see her, cringing over
her blatant confession. Devon laughed. She jerked her head up and gazed
straight into his reflection in the mirror. There was no hiding in here, and
she really opened her mouth this time.

He
flexed his arms. "Although, I think I've only came in here twice since we
built the house to work out. The ranch gives me more than enough exercise, and
I leave the heavy weights to Brody."

She
nodded. It was safer that way. It wasn't in her favor to comment any more on
the shape of the men who lived here, or they might not take her care of Trace
seriously.

Trace's
crutches
thunked
along the wooden floor outside the door. Joan turned,
glad to see he'd come when she'd asked. She never knew if he'd follow
directions or not.

Besides
being the most stubborn man she'd ever worked with, he neglected to talk about anything
that transpired last night at the pool. After breakfast, he seemed eager to
change the subject anytime there was a lull in the conversation. She took the
hint, and decided it was best not to talk about what battles he'd fought that
still caused him pain.

She
only had three weeks left at the ranch, and she'd convinced herself that
whatever she felt for Trace would disappear when she completed the job. Falling
in love with him wouldn't help him get better, but add more to his already
confused life. She knew how that was, because there wasn't a minute that went
by that she didn't think about the deadline facing her.

"Come
on in, and sit down on this bench. We're not going to be working with weights,
but gentle manipulations that'll get the blood circulating and promote faster
healing. It'll also keep your muscles toned, and you won't lose as much
strength while you're in the cast and afterward when you're taking it
easy." She patted the leather seat.

Trace
glanced from her to Devon. Devon held up his hands in surrender and backed out
of the room. She raised her brows, waiting.

"Just
tell me what to do, and I'll do it myself." He maneuvered his way to the bench
and sat.

"Oh,
you'll like this kind of therapy. It's very relaxing. You won't even realize
its exercise. Some people have even compared therapy to a day at the spa."
She kneeled down in front of him. "You'll feel pampered."