Small-Town Dreams (27 page)

“You could say that.”

“I’m sorry. Curt was able to help you, though. Right?”

With some difficulty, Jeff rolled over then pulled himself up in the bed while he considered how to answer her question without giving away too much about the night before. “Sure,” he said with a careless shrug. “He beat the pain into submission after about an hour.”

“I’d heard he was good at what he does. That’s why I wanted him here to help you. You don’t have any problem with moving out of this room for a while, do you?”

Was she trying to keep him constantly off balance? “Why would I move out? This has always been my room.”

“Because Curt thought the ground floor of the guest wing would be better for you two. He’s setting up an exercise room in a room near the hot tub and whirlpool. He also thought since there are ground-floor bedrooms in the guest wing you could both move into a couple of them and we could avoid the expense and mess of the chairlift on the back stairs.”

Jeff cleared his throat again and looked away. “Forget it. He’s wasting his time, Hope. So are you. The more I try, the worse I am. Look at last night.”

“It’s my business how I spend my time, and Curt’s being paid for his. And before you say it’s your money that’s being wasted, you know you don’t care. Try to be positive. Maybe the pain will get better. Maybe you’ll get better. Can you risk not trying? Really?”

Jeff stared at her earnest face. It was the face he longed to kiss. The face that always faded away before their lips met in his dreams. Maybe he could hang in there for a little while just to show her that he had tried but that it was hopeless. Then she’d have to give up and go home to her family and leave him to his broken life and his even more painfully broken heart.

That afternoon Jeff rolled into the room Hope and Curt had set aside as his bedroom and looked around with a disgusted sigh. Like many of the rooms in the house, it was eternally white and stark. All the comforts of home, Jeff thought sarcastically. It was even more impersonal than his hospital room had been. His mother would have loved it.

He may as well have gone to that rehab the doctors had tried to stick him in. He’d lost just as much control over his life here as he would have in an impersonal institution. Next thing they’d probably do was hand him a schedule to live by. At least at the rehab some decorator would have carefully chosen colors to cheer the poor invalid.

This, Hope had told him, was all for his benefit. She probably believed it, too. Hope would never do anything to hurt him, but it was a little hard to feel grateful. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that he wanted his space. His own bed. His own furniture. His own carefully painted walls surrounding him.

He was to sleep in a hospital bed which, though he hated to admit it, would probably make him a lot more comfortable than his own bed. There was a trapeze bar suspended by a frame that hung over the bed to help him sit up, turn over and get in the chair. The mattress was topped with an air bladder like the one in the hospital. It was made up with institutional looking sheets. White, of course. But comfortable and convenient though it might be, it was still the bed of a cripple. He wouldn’t even be able to pretend to be normal in bed anymore.

“So, what do you think?” Hope asked from behind him.

Jeff refused to looked at her. She sounded nervous. He was sure she was perceptive enough of his moods to know that this change wasn’t one he was happy with. And he knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him. But even her limited presence in his life did that. Why couldn’t she go home and leave him alone?

“Does my opinion matter?” he snapped.

He had the luxury of not seeing her face and was grateful when he heard the hurt in her answer. “This is all for your own good, Jeff. Of course your opinion matters.”

“Then tell me. Did you sterilize the walls, too? It’s about as personal! I like my room. It was the one thing I was allowed to pick when my father had this mausoleum built. I was only three, but I remember walking from room to room and trying to decide which one was mine. I remember it seemed impossible to choose because it all looked the same. Then I walked into my room. Maybe it was the terrace that looked out over the pastures. Or the tree that used to be outside the window. It was summer and the tree was bright green against the white walls. It was the first color I’d seen since I arrived. I don’t know for sure what it was, but the room felt like home.”

Her heart hitched at the sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry. This is only temporary. Pretty soon you’ll be able to walk into your room and feel at home again.”

He wheeled around to face her. “And what if all your optimism is off the mark?”

“Then we’ll put in the chairlift and you can move back up there. Either way, this is just temporary. I promise.”

Jeff looked away. He hated seeing her hurting, and almost as much, he hated the guilt he heard in her voice. It reminded him that guilt was the only reason she was here, now that he’d told her there was no future for them.

“Tell you what,” Hope said after a few silent moments. “Suppose I call in some men to move the armoire and bureau down here. And maybe hanging some of your paintings would make it feel less impersonal. If you still hate it too much, we’ll get an elevator chairlift put in and move you back upstairs. How does that sound?” she asked.

In the interest of cooperation, maybe he could stand the white walls with his paintings hanging and his things around him. At least this way there wouldn’t be all the problems with getting him up to his room, and if he really did hate it he could still have the elevator installed.

“All right. But only if I decide I want to stay down here. Deal?”

She smiled, and the room brightened as surely as if the sun had suddenly risen right there. “Deal. I should have thought of transferring your stuff with you. I’m sorry. I’ll get right on it.”

Hope pivoted and rushed out before he recovered from the effects of that smile. He hadn’t told her he’d once again decided to give up on the idea of therapy. Mrs. Roberts seemed to understand that the pain it caused was too unbearable. Now he wasn’t sure he
could
tell Hope. If he stopped trying to work with Curt, he’d never set her free. And much as he wanted to keep her with him forever, he knew he couldn’t tie her to him the way he was—half a man.

“Did you convince him to keep working at it?” Curt asked as Hope entered the kitchen. Emily turned anxious eyes toward her, as well.

Hope sat and grabbed one of Emily’s cookies. “He just complained about the room.” She chuckled. “Actually he demanded to know if we’d sterilized the walls. It’s obvious his tastes don’t run parallel to his mother’s.” She told them about the compromise she and Jeff had reached over the room.

“But he didn’t tell you he didn’t want to do his therapy because of last night?” Emily took a seat at the table with Hope and Curt. “He seemed so determined to quit earlier.”

“I’m afraid Jeff feels his life isn’t his to control any more,” Curt added. “And screaming last night bothered him a lot.”

Hope agreed. “Jeff’s always been about control. I guess losing control enough to scream the way he did would have felt like the ultimate loss of control. I’ve always thought that’s why he enjoyed riding and why he took on that half-wild animal out there in the pasture. That way he could control the seemingly uncontrollable. It’s probably the same with his investments and the breeding program.”

“At least he didn’t give up again,” Emily said, the worry clearing from her lined face.

“He must have rethought his decision after the pain faded,” Hope ventured.

“It’s more likely that he doesn’t want to disappoint you, dear,” Emily replied.

Curt nodded his agreement.

Hope couldn’t deny or confirm it, so she shrugged and stood. “Well, it’s time this girl hits the books. Do me a favor, drag me out of there for lunch before I OD on finance. This really isn’t my forte but there’s not much left to do around the stables today, and from the depth of the mail on that desk, I’d say my work’s cut out for me.”

Making her way to Jeff’s office, Hope thought of the room where Jeff used to work. The walls, lined with shelf after shelf of books both new and old, gave her the same warm feeling her office at Laurel Glen did. She was tempted to build a fire in the fireplace but knew she’d probably fall asleep. She hadn’t let Jeff know but she’d been in the kitchen in the early morning hours heating some milk to help her sleep when Jeff screamed. Only knowing that he wouldn’t want her there had kept her out of his room. But she’d stood in the hall until Curt’s massage and the drugs let him rest comfortably.

It was easy to see why he’d gotten so discouraged and why it would be such a temptation to quit trying. If her presence kept him working toward a goal, even if that goal was not disappointing her, she’d stay till she was old and gray, Hope thought, and settled behind the big desk.

She glanced at the stack of bills and financial statements she’d sorted into piles and groaned. There were, however, plenty of other reasons for her to stay. Jeff apparently hadn’t been taking care of the household’s finances, the stable feed bills or his stocks since the accident. Right now, working at his therapy would be all he could handle, so she would have to fill in for him as best she could.

Hope wished she’d paid more attention in her finance classes. She’d been able to figure out the discrepancies Billy Dever had caused in Emily’s petty cash account, and with care yesterday she’d balanced Jeff’s several checking accounts. She was perfectly able to write checks to pay utility, grocery and feed bills, and she did that first. Two hours later all bills were paid and she’d mastered the payroll software. Since the next day was Friday and payday at Lavender Hill, she wrote those checks, as well.

She had lunch then, for the rest of the afternoon, answered inquiries about stud fees and possible purchases of Lavender Hill’s yearlings. Then she sat, staring at the last pile. What did she do with all this stuff about the stock market? The whole concept escaped her, from how to trade stocks right down to what good it was in the first place. Hope was never so grateful as when she heard Emily’s sweet grandmotherly voice accompany a knock on the door. Saved by dinner!

J
eff crossed his arms and shot Hope and Curt a mutinous stare. “I said I’m on strike! For one solid month all I’ve done is what you two tell me to do. Including taking naps! I’m sick of it.”

“Can you honestly sit there and tell me you’re not doing better?” Curt asked.

“The operative word is
sit!
”

“Jeff,” Hope cajoled, “you knew going in it would take a while. You lost your first month and a lot of ground with it. First you had to get back to square one. But as Curt said, you’re better. The cramps are coming less and less. You sleep for less time during those horrible naps, but you do sleep. You can get yourself into your chair and into the tub and back out. You’ve lost all the fat you put on and gained muscle. You’re moving forward now.”

“I’m
rolling
forward,” he retorted. And that was the real problem. He’d wanted to believe that this wasn’t all there was going to be in his life. He’d begun to believe Curt could really help him. He’d begun to believe in miracles. Then last night he’d dreamed of dancing with Hope in his arms, but when he’d awakened this morning, he’d found himself still unable to stand. It was a bitter pill to swallow to have to sit there and look up into her eyes when she should have been gazing up into his.

At the time of the accident, he’d thought he might be in love with her, and he’d wanted to explore the possibility. But now, when he couldn’t, he knew there was no speculation about it. It was a simple fact. He loved her. And he would lose her.

The sooner the better.

A quick pain was better than this drawn-out cycle of agony—dreams of a glowing future in the night and the realization of the truth as day dawned.

“Why don’t you both go home and leave me in peace? Go torture someone you can help,” he said to Curt, then pinned Hope with a virulent look. “Go home and train horses and stop trying to train me. Why are you here, anyway? I don’t need either of you. I can take care of myself for the most part now. I’ll hire someone else to help me with what I can’t do alone.”

Jeff looked away from the wounded expression on Hope’s face. He’d hurt her. He tried to make himself ignore the deep shame that came over him, but he couldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said, not even waiting for Hope’s response.

“Curt, would you leave us alone for a few minutes?” Hope asked. When Curt nodded and left after a long assessing look at both of them, Hope silently moved a chair in front of Jeff and sat facing him. “Want to talk about it?” she asked calmly. Kindly.

Jeff blinked. She was supposed to be angry. She was supposed to leave. He deserved an irate set down, not sweet understanding. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m an ungrateful louse who doesn’t deserve a friend like you.”

She shook her head. “Not good enough. Something happened between last night and this morning. What has you so discouraged today?”

Jeff wondered how she knew him so well and fought the urge to reach out and touch her. It was the same every time she was near. He looked away—and straight into his own face reflected in the mirrored wall of the exercise room.

He turned his head, unable to look at himself. He wanted her here as much if not more than he wanted her to leave. And it shamed him almost as much as hurting her had. To cover his nearly overwhelming need and to distract himself from her nearness, Jeff decided to admit to half the truth.

“I had a dream that I could walk. Then I woke up and I couldn’t. Nothing mysterious. Just a cold dip in life’s pool of miserable reality.”

Hope reached out and gripped his hand where it lay fisted on his useless legs. “But that’s only the reality of the moment,” she told him, her voice rife with deep conviction. “It’s not the reality of the future. The future is fluid. Always moving. Always changing and shifting. Your situation can turn around at any time.”

Jeff looked into her beautiful eyes and knew the answer to his next question even before he asked it. The truth of her incredible faith in him was there in the depths of those eyes he loved so much. But there was something else there, too, and it hurt. “Do you really believe that, or is it your guilt talking? You know, wishful thinking to get you off the hook? I told you I don’t blame you for the accident. I should have checked my own tack.”

Hope shook her head. “No. I made the mistake. I am guilty. I feel guilty. There’s no point denying it. But I also really believe you’ll walk again.”

Jeff closed his eyes and dropped his head back, then, taking a deep breath and drawing in her unique scent, he gazed at her again, his heart as heavy with the weight of her belief in him as his body was with his need of her. “You have more faith in me than I deserve.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Hope said as she smiled and stood. “You never have. I wish you could forget every negative word you heard about yourself from your parents.”

“Mother wasn’t so bad. At least she was too busy with committees and her tennis to have much time left for criticism. Unfortunately, my father was such a genius that he only had to spend half his days making his fortune. That left him the rest of the time for me and all my faults.”

Hope looked into his eyes. “I wish you could see what I see in you. And I wish you knew what I know. You have another Father, Jeff, and He wouldn’t see anything but His perfect child if you’d put your faith in His Son.”

Jeff blew a sharp breath through his lips. “You never give up, do you?”

“Wouldn’t I be an awfully selfish person if I kept His good news to myself when it’s given me such joy and peace of mind? I want you to share in His joy, Jeff. He could give you that and so much more.”

Jeff had to admit, even if just to himself, that he’d never really looked at it in that way. He’d always thought she wanted to drag him to church and make his life as boring as hers. A misery-likes-company sort of scenario.

“You know what you need?” Hope continued. “You need a day off and a change of scene. We need to get you out and about in the world again.”

Jeff’s stomach turned to rock. “No. I’m fine. I don’t need to get out. I don’t want to get out. I like it here just fine.”

“You can’t stay cooped up here. Pretty soon you won’t be able to face going off the property. My great-aunt was like that, and she didn’t go out of her house for years before her death.”

“I’m not your aunt.” Jeff gritted his teeth. He was sick to death of feeling like a weakling around her. “I don’t want people pointing at me and wondering what happened to me. I don’t want to look
up
at a bunch of strangers from a chair, or sit in the handicapped section at the movies, or have waiters trying to figure out where to stick me so I won’t be in their way. Don’t tell me it won’t happen because I’ve seen it happening to other people. I was probably one of the insensitive clods gawking.”

“Jeff—”

“No! I don’t want to go anywhere. Drop it!” he snarled and pivoted the chair so he could stare out the window. Seconds later he heard her withdraw quietly from the room. Hands fisted, Jeff pounded again and again on his useless legs, satisfied that at least they still felt pain.

When a week had passed with no indication that Jeff was ready to face the world, Hope decided to talk about it with Curt. She found him seated at the wrought-iron table on the stone patio off the breakfast room. He’d begun to brave the cool spring air to sit with his coffee, reading the Word before breakfast.

After bringing up the subject of Jeff’s increasing avoidance of the outside world, she asked, “Do you think I should just force him to go somewhere?”

While Curt considered her question, Hope said a quick prayer that Curt would have a better suggestion. Even though Jeff was improving physically, she knew that every time she pushed him she tested the love she prayed he still felt for her. The possibility that he’d meant what he’d said that day when he called her pathetic haunted her sleep.

Hope’s heart fell when Curt shook his head. “I doubt that would do more than make him hopping mad along with making him feel he’s lost control of another aspect of his life. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I confess I don’t have another one. Maybe we should just let it ride a while longer.”

Hope frowned and gazed over the evenly mowed fields that by summer would be tall with alfalfa. The fields were crisscrossed with sparkling white fences, as they had been when Jeff’s grandfather ran Lavender Hill as a horse farm. Along the knee-high stone wall that surrounded the terrace, lined up like soldiers awaiting battle, sat several verdigris planters resplendent with purple and yellow crocuses. Rather than cheer her, the beautiful scene saddened her. The world was bursting with life and change, and Jeff was missing it all.

There had to be a way to get him out and about without driving a wedge between them, she thought. But what if she did get him out and his worst fears came true? What if people did stare? What if someone openly showed pity for him?

The only safe place she could think to take him was her church. She was sure the people at the Tabernacle would accept him as her friend and take him at face value. Of course, getting Jeff to go to a church service would be even harder than getting him to go to a dinner or movie.

Obviously seeing her distress, Curt took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Hope, he’s not going to agree yet. And you can’t force the man to do everything you want.”

Hope sighed. “I know. I wouldn’t love him if I could.”

“Let’s give it to the Lord and ask Him to show us the way.”

Nodding, Hope joined hands with Curt and closed her eyes as he prayed for guidance and patience with Jeff. Curt’s prayers for patience were less desperate these days than they once had been. It was proof positive that Jeff’s attitude toward therapy had improved as much as his muscle tone. She tried to be grateful, but she wanted so much more for him than to be called cooperative by two of the few people in his life.

“Hey, you two,” Emily called out the back door. “Breakfast in a few minutes. I’ve called Jeff.”

“Thanks, Mrs. R,” Curt called and let go of Hope’s hand, his prayer concluded. “You better be ready for a hungry man. I could eat a horse this morning.”

“Ouch, Madden. I’ve told you that’s not an expression to use around horse people,” Jeff called, laughter in his voice. He sat behind Emily in the doorway.

Curt chuckled. “With all the developments going up and all the executives moving in along the main roads, I keep forgetting that there are still so many horse farms out here on the side roads.”

“That’s sad, Madden. Look out there. You’re living on a horse farm. And over yonder is Laurel Glen, one of the biggest in the state!”

With Jeff’s words, Hope’s thoughts winged their way to Laurel Glen. She was still too tied to her home to forget the reality of what all those starter castles sprouting up meant financially for her father and the farm that had been in the Taggert family for centuries. She turned and looked toward home.

“If we can’t find a way to hold the line against rising property taxes, this part of Chester County is going to be as built up as the northern part of the county,” she mused sadly.

“Is Laurel Glen having problems?” Jeff asked from behind her. She’d missed the sound of the wheels in her musings and turned to face him.

How could she tell him that rumor about his accident had caused her father more setbacks than the rising taxes that plagued nearly every farm in the county? Especially when the rumors were true. He
had
been crippled by a careless worker and poorly maintained tack. Her carelessness. Her father’s tack. Each mistake had been inconsistent with both of them. But the result was still Jeff in a wheelchair and her at Lavender Hill searching for ways to help him venture into the world.

The snap of Jeff’s fingers in front of her face jolted Hope to the matter at hand. “Hey, space cadet, I’m still waiting. Is your dad in trouble?” he asked when her eyes locked with his.

She looked away and grimaced. “Let’s just say profits are down.” Way down. And she felt guilty about that, as well. The farm’s downhill slide had begun with her mistake. Should she be there helping? Was her insistence on helping Jeff dishonoring her father? He was probably doing the job of two, and without her there, Aunt Meg was stuck refereeing between Cole and Ross.

Hope told herself that part of the situation had been caused by her father’s decisions and by his stubbornness. Unfortunately, that didn’t ease her guilt a whit. She kept giving it to the Lord, along with her guilt over Jeff’s injuries, but both loads of guilt kept coming back. That had never happened to her before when she’d asked Him to carry a burden for her. She needed to talk to Pastor Jim about it. Maybe he could figure out what she was doing wrong.

“Ross should get the other farm and stable owners together to see that their tax structure…”

Hope stared at Jeff, letting his words and ideas fly over her head like brilliantly crafted paper airplanes. He had such a fine mind, and she had a feeling he also had every bit of his father’s financial genius.

“Would you talk to my father about all that?” she asked, thinking that maybe that was a way to show her father how much substance there was to Jeff. “I’m afraid having their wills in order and working like men possessed are the limits of Taggert family financial planning. It was about all my grandfather did, and I’ll bet that’s all Dad’s done.”