Evening Hours. Mary Baxter Lynn
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office. But not just now. She guessed it was only around seven-thirty, which gave her plenty of time to continue down this path of indulgence and still not be late.
She smiled again. She could be late if she wanted, she reminded herself. After all, she was the boss. For a second that thought made Kaylee giddy. She still couldn’t believe she’d been honored in such a fantastic way. She had enjoyed every minute of it, too, even though she had been exhausted when she’d crawled into bed around midnight.
She couldn’t complain. Life was good right now, and Kaylee had learned early to treasure such moments. After nearly losing her life at such a young age, nothing had ever been the same and she never wasted one precious moment.
That thinking gave her all the more reason not to waste one second contemplating a particular man. Her heart did a sudden somersault as she admitted to herself that she had thought about that cowboy off and on all night.
Unsettling?
Absolutely.
Crazy?
Absolutely.
A waste of time?
Absolutely.
Lethal.
Absolutely.
So why couldn’t she get him off her mind?
She couldn’t answer that. All she knew was that she didn’t want to think about any man, not in that context, anyway. But then Cutler McFarland wasn’t just any man.
Under no circumstances could she label him average. After meeting him, she thought he would be better suited to have been born in the early eighteen hundreds. She could see him with a holster and gun strapped to his waist and thigh, defending justice at all cost.
That picture forced a chuckle from Kaylee’s lips; but she saw no humor in her thoughts. She was just setting herself up for trouble and heartache, neither of which she could afford. Only since her agency had taken off had she felt like a whole woman, as if she wasn’t different from the average female walking the streets.
Now was not the time to let a man, especially a man’s man, the kind she could never have, undermine her happiness.
When she had first looked at her scarred stomach, the result of a trek across jagged glass, she had been repulsed. But over the years, and after several plastic surgeries, she could now bear the sight. But she couldn’t stand the thought of a man seeing it. She’d built an impenetrable wall that hadn’t failed her until she’d noticed Cutler McFarland’s great tush.
The fact that he appeared taken with her hadn’t helped any. Still, the minute he noticed her leg, she knew she’d see pity replace interest. She couldn’t handle that. So any further thoughts of that cowboy were taboo.
“You can dodge this bullet, Kaylee Benton,” she said to the tiny wren who perched on a sagging wisteria limb. Only something that small could light on such a flimsy place and be safe, she thought with inane desperation.
Her verbal warning did no good. Her mind settled back on Cutler and wouldn’t let go. Had he been as attracted to her as she had been to him? His gaze had held a special gleam, one she had never noticed in a man’s eye, though she was certainly no expert on men. Relationships had never been in the cards for her, nor could she have explored any had they been. She’d been too busy trying to put her body and soul back together and trying to craft a life for herself outside the handicapped world.
She hated the word handicapped, but she despised the new socially correct “special needs” term even more. She didn’t want to think of herself as special in any way. Or needy. She just wanted to be thought of as normal.
Unfortunately, that often became impossible, even for her.
When she got tired and her leg refused to function, she had to depend on her leg brace. That was when she noticed the pitying glances. They gagged her now just as they had so many years ago.
Suddenly Kaylee found herself traveling back in time to that fateful day when she had awakened from surgery to find her dad sitting beside her bed, his face twisted and drenched with tears.
“Daddy, where am I?” she remembered asking in a weak, trembling voice.
“In the hospital, baby.”
“Why?”
“There’s been an accident,” he choked out. “Don’t you remember?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No. What happened?”
“You just got out of surgery.”
“Is that why I hurt so badly?”
“Are you in pain?”
“My leg—”
“I’ll call the nurse.” He punched the button on the side of the bed.
“How bad am I injured?”
“Oh, God, baby—” Edgar’s voice broke and he couldn’t go on.
“Tell me, Daddy.”
He must have heard the panic in her voice, because he blurted out the words that changed her forever. “You had a wreck and hurt yourself real bad.”
“Mom? Mom was with me, wasn’t she?” When he didn’t answer, Kaylee went on, her voice in the shrill range. “Wasn’t she?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Where is she now? Why isn’t she here with me?”
Edgar put his head down and sobbed.
“Daddy,” she cried, placing a hand on his head and burying it in his hair. “Where’s Mom?”
“She can’t be here, baby,” he sobbed.
“Why not?”
“She…she didn’t make it.”
At first those horrible words didn’t penetrate, so she asked, “What do you mean?”
“She’s…she’s dead, baby. Your mother died on impact.”
“No!” Kaylee let out a wail that sounded like a wounded animal’s cry.
Edgar raised himself just enough to fold her in his arms, his chest absorbing the brunt of her sobs.
“I want my mother,” she cried over and over. “I want my mother. I want my mother….”
It was fresh tears falling on her arm that brought Kaylee back to reality. She raised her head and struggled to swallow the huge lump lodged in her throat. Dear Lord, she hadn’t taken that stroll down memory lane in years. But whenever she did, it racked her body and soul, rendering her useless for hours, days, even weeks.
This time was no exception. She felt spent, utterly drained and so depressed that she wanted to curl into a fetal position in the closet and say to hell with the world and everyone in it.
She wouldn’t do that. Pity parties where she was the only one in attendance were another part of her past that no longer existed, but she knew that hadn’t always been the case. Once she had gotten over the shock of her mother’s death, she’d had to deal with another shock—her broken body.
And guilt. Even though the accident hadn’t technically been her fault—the other driver had been charged—she had nonetheless borne the responsibility of causing her mother’s death.
That, combined with the fact she would never be a vibrant sixteen-year-old turning cartwheels and dancing at will, had turned her into a monster, especially after her daddy had told her that she might not walk again and would definitely suffer permanent scarring on the lower half of her body.
Kaylee didn’t realize she was no longer alone until she turned and saw her father standing behind the French doors