CHAPTER THREE

      HE HAD TO GO.

      Facing Grant Bishop in the only section of The Lemonade Stand that was accessible to anyone walking in off the street, she couldn’t believe it was him. The one man who, in all the years she’d been married, had ever tempted her to think about being unfaithful to Brandon.

      Not that either man knew. Or would ever know.

      But four years ago, just before she’d become pregnant with Kara, there’d been a bit of an attraction between them. At least, she’d been attracted. And she’d been as certain as she could be without verbal confirmation that he was aware of her, as well. There’d been a moment or two of recognition, of something that could’ve been interesting if she hadn’t been married. And if she hadn’t been his brother’s nurse.

      The sexual feelings he’d aroused within her had scared her so badly she’d gone home and made love to her husband like she’d never made love before. Over and over again. For more than a month. Long after Darin Bishop had been discharged and the brothers had left her life forever.

      Kara had been the result.

      “My brother developed an infection around the portion of stingray barb still lodged in his brain,” Grant Bishop was saying.

      He wasn’t there to see her personally.

      Of course not.

      “I’m no longer working at the hospital, Mr. Bishop.” She could have invited him back to her office. The anonymity of the front hall felt better.

      “I know.”

      He smiled. At her?

      Or just to be polite?

      “Dr. Zimmer told me this morning that you’ve been here full-time for the past couple of years. He said there’s a physical therapy program here that sometimes accepts nonresident patients. He also said The Lemonade Stand welcomes men into these programs whenever possible—after extensive background checks, of course. That it’s part of the overall therapy program for your residents. Something about women needing positive male influences in their environment because it helps build trust, and they’ll have to deal with men when they’re back in the outside world. Makes sense. I understand you’re the chief medical person in charge and thought that maybe, since Darin was once your patient, you might be able to help pave the way for us here. If there is a way.”

      He wasn’t there because he’d remembered her.

      Feeling like a bit of a fool, but a relieved one, Lynn kept her face schooled to polite calmness—a talent that she’d developed early on in her nursing career—and said, “Dr. Zimmer sent you?”

      The surgeon had been one of her favorites. As busy as he’d been, he’d spent as much time with his patients as they’d needed—emotionally, not just physically. The bodies he worked on weren’t just the job. They were attached to people he’d seemed to genuinely care about.

      “Darin had surgery yesterday morning to drain the infection. As a result he’s displaying partial paralysis on his left side.” The look in those brown eyes, a combination of strength and little-boy-lost, tugged at her in a way that was reminiscent of four years before.

      No man was ever going to have power over her emotions again.

      Her job as live-in certified nurse/midwife at a woman’s shelter generally precluded the chance.

      “He’s going to need physical therapy several times a week over the next few months if he’s to have any hope of ever obtaining full mobility again.”

      Like a flash of lightning, she saw where this was going. “Dr. Zimmer suggested you apply here for Darin’s therapy.”

      “He also told me that The Lemonade Stand sometimes trades services for services.”

      “For residents. Or previous residents,” she clarified. Many of the services offered at The Lemonade Stand were free to the Stand, donated by former clients. Or by current residents. Some by way of payment. And some just because.

      “That’s what Dr. Zimmer said.” Grant Bishop nodded. “He also said that you have group therapy sessions when patients have similar needs and don’t require one-on-one physical touch, and those sessions are less expensive.” Grant shrugged as he added, “But he explained that male involvement in group therapy is a sensitive issue and has to be decided on a case-by-case basis.”

      His hands were still in his pockets. Lynn was still distracted.

      “The thing is, I can’t afford physical therapy sessions at all.”

      “Darin’s on disability insurance, isn’t he?” She’d seen something about it on his paperwork—not that she paid attention or remembered such things about her former patients, but Darin and Grant...they’d been different.

      Brothers who were all alone. Devoted. And acting as if their lives were perfect.

      “It covers eighty percent of his costs. And I’m going to be tapped out for a while covering the other twenty percent of yesterday’s surgery.”

      A craniotomy, which was the only way to do the drainage he’d spoken of, could run fifty thousand or more. Just for the procedure. Add in hospital and supply costs...

      “I don’t know what―”

      “Please...” the man interrupted her. “Dr. Zimmer thought you might be able to put a word in for me with Lila McDaniels. I understand she’s the managing director of The Lemonade Stand. I’m a landscaper,” he continued, almost as though if he didn’t stop for air he wouldn’t be able to hear the word no. “I own a small design business. Darin works with me and I employ a couple of other guys. I don’t know what you’re currently paying for yard care, but I can already see that that parking lot out there could benefit from some shrubbery.” He pointed to the small lot accessible to the public. “I suspect we could make improvements to the rest of the grounds, as well. We’d be willing to take it all on, for free, in exchange for Darin’s therapy. Dr. Zimmer said that if there’s a session for general motor skill exercise, he’d be fine there.”

      “And afterward?” Lynn asked, going with the first objection she could voice. “We fire our landscapers, you take over for the couple of months that Darin needs therapy and then what happens?”

      “We’ll continue to service the clinic indefinitely at a rate that’s ten percent less than you’re currently paying.”

      “You don’t know what we’re currently paying,” she reminded him.

      “My brother could be partially paralyzed for the rest of his life if I don’t get him this therapy.”

      If she recommended him, Lila would pay attention. Angelica Morrison, the Stand’s physical therapist, would approve the decision, too. As long as both men passed background checks. The Stand’s founder was actually a man. A good man. The world was filled with good men. And the residents at The Lemonade Stand needed to be exposed to them.

      Grant Bishop’s proposal completely fit with their mission statement. Lynn had nothing to do with the Stand’s finances, but she was privy to them. Their landscaping bill was exorbitant—and rising.

      And landscaping was paramount to the overall healing atmosphere of their center.

      “You do realize that the secondhand store and boutique out on the boulevard are part of our center? And the garage on the corner is ours, too,” she added. The Lemonade Stand owned a city block.

      He’d be responsible for the exterior grounds of all of it.

      “I didn’t, no. But it doesn’t matter. Darin