His Everlasting Love: 50 Loving States, Virginia (6 page)

God, she couldn’t wait for the six weeks to be over. She reached over and started up the car.

6

Apparently Willa couldn’t wait for their appointment.

Sawyer grinned when the doorbell sounded a full fifteen minutes before she was due.

He’d been anticipating it, too. Not only had he’d informed Josh that he’d only be doing half days for the next few Tuesdays, he’d rushed home from work in order to clean up for her. By the time the doorbell rang, he’d been ready and dressed for physical therapy for an hour, and he actually had to hold himself back from running to the door.

Somehow he managed to open the door with some measure of cool. Smooth, like he’d been doing something other than waiting for her to show up. However, the composed look fell right off his face when he saw the person on the other side of the door.

“Dad, what happened to calling first?” he asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

“I called over to the office and the girl behind the desk said you’d already left for the day,” his father answered. “I’m sorry, Son, is this a bad time for you?”

Quentin Grant showed just how much he cared about the answer to that question by pushing into the house past him. Bold as the four-star admiral he used to be, before switching to a career in politics.

Sawyer watched his father survey the front room. The Admiral still had officer posture. Straight spine, chin forward as he scanned the living space he’d ceded to his youngest son. Sawyer could just about hear Terminator-style beeps as he searched for something to disapprove of.

Earlier in the day, he would have found plenty. Bottles, one of his old prosthetics, a crapload of unopened mail. But he’d cleaned up for Willa.

“I see you took my advice and called in Grace to keep house for you.”

“Yeah, I did,” Sawyer said, crutching over to stand beside him. “She’s officially retired now, but she agreed to start coming over on Tuesdays and Thursdays starting next week.” He let a significant pause go by before he added, “…on the condition you wouldn’t be here. That’s not going to be a problem, will it, Dad?”

He watched for his father’s reaction, wondering not for the first time what he’d done to make Grace, their longtime housekeeper, quit. Knowing Quentin, he’d gotten upset over some immigration bill or something and said something so elitist and racist, even the super agreeable Grace couldn’t put up with him anymore.

But whatever it had been, it was huge. His father had moved out of the house to his apartment in Bon Air soon after, and as far as Sawyer knew, neither of them had been back to the house since.

Sawyer watched his father’s salt-and-pepper head—more salt than pepper now that Quentin was no longer keeping it “just the right amount of brown” for the cameras—move back and forth as he scanned the great room.

Again, Sawyer had to wonder what had compelled him to come back here. He could have run his campaign somewhere else. Some trendy apartment with a doorman, so his father couldn’t just show up without warning.

But he’d been drawn back to the house where he’d grown up. Like a magnet he couldn’t figure out how to fight. And now, he was standing here on his crutches, waiting for his father to finish his inspection. Feeling like a plebe, forced to stand there while his superior decided if his rack passed inspection.

“Can I get you anything, Dad?” Sawyer asked. “Beer, whiskey, water. That’s all I’ve got.”

His father answered with a censorious frown. “As soon as Grace gets back, tell her to start keeping a pitcher of tea at the ready for unexpected guests.”

“So I guess that’s a no.”

His father held up a manila folder. “I’ve got some copy for a few more campaign ads we’d like to record next month with you. It needs your approval.”

Sawyer took the folder and dropped it on the nearest Victorian couch without so much as a glance.

“Next time you can just email it to me. No need to come all the way out here.”

“What is this I hear about you buying one of The Crazy Librarian’s girls a car?”

So that was the real reason for his visit. He should’ve known Donny Sr. would go blabbing his mouth straight to his dad. Apparently the senior car salesman didn’t have near as much respect for his clients’ confidentiality as Willa.

“She needed a car. And I don’t need that lawsuit you had going with her mother coming back to haunt me when I start my run. Plus, I was a dick to her in high school. So I bought her a car with my own money. Extra incentive to keep her mouth closed if any reporters come sniffing around wanting to know how she feels about me running for your old seat.”

His father nodded, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. “Not a bad idea.”

But lest Sawyer let four whole words of approval go straight to his head, in the next breath he asked, “Where’s your leg? I thought we’d agreed you wouldn’t be seen without it from now on.”

Which reminded him… “Actually, I’m about to get some physical therapy for the new one any minute now. So if you don’t mind clearing out, I’ll look over that copy later.”

His father frowned. “Why do you need more physical therapy? You know, that won’t look good when your opponents start digging for things to use against you.”

“Just six sessions and they’re off-the-record, Dad. I made sure. I’m even paying out of pocket for the therapist.”

“Did you have this person sign a confidentiality agreement?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

And here it came again. The much more familiar look of disapproval tightened up his father’s entire face. “
Will
, should be
already have
. You know this, Son.”

Seriously, his brother Josh had no idea how lucky he was. His father had decided early on that his oldest son didn’t have enough camera presence to be a politician. So Sawyer had been tapped to run for The Admiral’s old seat.

And now it was Sawyer who was forced to listen as his father told him, “You have to be more careful with your reputation. The last thing this campaign needs—”

A knock sounded on the door, interrupting what Sawyer was sure would have turned into a scathing lecture.

“Let me get that, Dad,” Sawyer said, happy for the intrusion.

It was his house now, his place to answer the door. But try telling The Admiral that. Before Sawyer could stop him, his father was at the door.

And on the other side of it, he heard Willa’s surprised voice, saying, “Admiral Grant!”

“Willa Harper,” his father returned, voice as tight as Willa’s was surprised.

“I…ah…wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said.

“Nor I you. What are you doing here, if I might ask?”

To her credit, Willa didn’t crack under his father’s intimidating squint as many would have. “Just visiting with Sawyer.”

“Just visiting,” his father repeated, looking over his shoulder to pin Sawyer with a look that said it all:
You’re about to run for Congress and you’ve got a black girl whose mother destroyed my chances of becoming President “just visiting” you?

“She’s my new PT, Dad,” Sawyer said, letting Willa off the hook for having to answer what was sure to become a full out interrogation on his father’s part. “Now if you can just get going, I’ll have her sign the ND, and we’ll get started on my first session.”

“Where’s your new car, young lady?” his father asked Willa.

“I left it back at my place and walked over,” Willa answered. “Figured it would be better that way. No chance of anyone seeing me drive up here.”

“That was a good instinct on your part, Ms. Harper.”

He opened the door wider, standing aside to let Willa through with what looked like a folded massage table. “I’ll help you with that.”

“No, thank you,” Willa answered. “It’s actually lighter than it looks. Really, the best thing you could do for your son right now is give him some privacy. Physical therapy isn’t meant to be witnessed by an audience.”

“Oh, I see. In that case, I’ll leave you to it.” The Admiral gave her a stiff nod.

Then he said to Sawyer, “Make sure...”

“She signs the non-disclosure. Got it, Dad.” Sawyer went to stand by the still open door. “Call before you come over next time, okay?”

Of course The Admiral didn’t even acknowledge that request. But he did leave. Stiff as a tin soldier as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Sawyer took a steadying breath, gathering himself before he turned to face her. He was surprised to find her in the same spot. Massage table at her feet, concern written all over her face. Like she knew what no one else did. How he really felt about the man he’d appeared with in several campaign ads to convince Virginians why Quentin Grant, a single father, widower, and veteran, should be their next representative.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Willa?” he said.

“Yes?”

“Drive over here next time.”

“It’s seriously no big deal. It’s actually faster to come across the valley.”

He could see her logic. But still… “I don’t care what he said. Or who sees you. I don’t want you tramping through the goddamn valley with a heavy massage table like me getting PT is some kind of special ops mission.”

“Seriously, it’s not that heavy. And it’s only this once, really. I was planning to leave the table here.”

“Drive,” he said. The word hard and succinct, like a bullet.

"Okay," she finally agreed, voice quiet.

Silence settled over them then, awkward and thick with sexual tension.

Until she said, "Ready to get started?"

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled.

"So usually most of the real PT is done when you first get the leg and then only again if you fall into bad habits that need to be corrected."

"Yeah, they mentioned something about me needing to maybe work on my posture."

Her brow wrinkled. "How discreet do you want to keep this?" Then off his questioning look, she asked, "Like, would you be okay with me talking with your prosthetist? Because usually they're the ones who are supposed to make sure you're new prosthesis is working for you.

He studied her, leaning in closer on his crutches. "So sounds like this isn’t your first amputee rodeo, Willa."

Long pause as if she were running a few different responses through her head before she settled on, "No, it’s not. So are you okay with me talking with your prosthetist, just to make sure my therapy plan is sound?"

"Nah, you don’t have to consult with that guy," he answered with a half smile. "You know your stuff, I can tell. I think you can handle me all on your lonesome."

The look she threw him was pretty skeptical, but she didn't argue.

Instead, she bent down and seemed to be addressing the missing part of his leg when she said, "Okay, this is the plan for today. We're going to put on the leg and run through all the regular PT exercises you should be doing daily. Then we'll take it back off and end with some stretching and a light massage."

"You talking to me or my gimp leg?"

Another ghost of a smile as she stood and answered, "Both. Obviously we've got some bad habits to undo if your leg's still bothering you six years later."

A small alarm bell went off in the back of his head. How did she know when he got his first leg? His father managed to keep the fact that Sawyer lost his leg under wraps for a while, thanks to his old Navy contacts. And as far as Sawyer knew, she didn't have access to any of his medical records.

But he supposed Greenlee was a small place. People gossip. Especially the servants—as his mother used to point out, sometimes with one of their maids in the room. And he knew Grace was friendly enough with The Crazy Librarian.

For all he knew Grace had told Ms. Marian, and then she’d told Willa all about it. Grace being one of the few people his father had told about Sawyer’s condition from the start. Still it didn’t seem like Grace to go around telling others about his personal details…

“Sawyer?” Willa asked, crooking her head with concern after he’d stayed quiet too long. “Are you okay with that plan?”

“I’m not lazy,” he pointed out, hauling himself back into the conversation. “I exercise every day.”

“Obviously…” The sight of brown eyes moving over his ripped body sent a ripple of vain pleasure through him. Even if it was probably just a medical assessment on her part.

“Which is probably why you don’t have back problems on top of your leg issues,” Willa said. “But lets start from the beginning anyhow. Make sure you’re doing everything right. Where’s your prosthesis now?”

“I left it in the home gym. Figured you’d want to see me put it on.”

“Okay, we’re going to go to the gym and put the prosthesis on now,” she said. And once again, she seemed to address his leg, not him. “But just for a little bit.”

A little bit ended up feeling like a very long time. Willa hadn’t been kidding about starting from the beginning. But unlike the prosthetist he’d mostly talked with about sports during their handful of sessions, she really put him through his paces. Correcting his posture and eventually giving him a whole ‘nother set of leg and back exercises to do on top of his usual workout.

By the time their forty-five minutes were up, he didn’t hesitate when she told him to get on the massage table. Hell, he felt like he deserved a massage after what she’d put him through.

“We’re going to do a few stretches first…”

However, his feeling of relief was short-lived. As soon as she touched his good leg, everything on his body came to life. And he did mean everything.

There was going to be a problem when she asked him to turn over.

“How’s that brother of yours?” he asked. Yeah, the one with the severe mental disability, who he’d sometimes see trailing around after his sisters in town. That was a guaranteed boner deflater. “What’s his name again? Trevor?”

7

Willa put a lot of effort into not reacting to his question.

Her hands only stilled for a moment, before she answered, “Yes, Trevor. That’s his name. Did you ride any yesterday?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Yeah, I actually did. To and from work in Richmond. And maybe I’m just imagining it, but it seemed like my leg hurt a lot less when I took off the peg this time. So thanks for the advice.”