Steadfast Soldier. Cheryl Wyatt
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what he was doing, Chance’s hand inched toward them. Then Brock bumped his arm, and Chance realized he was staring. He dropped his hand quickly and dipped his chin to find blades of grass clinging to his rather ripe T-shirt. At least his deodorant was pulling double duty. Hopefully.
Chance raised his gaze back to her.
The woman’s grin extended, and her generous lips parted to reveal shiny, silver braces. Her easy gaze slid to Brock for the slightest moment, then returned readily to Chance. And stayed.
Shyness swooped in like a stealth bomber, even as ripples of delight over the prolonged eye contact tried to intercept it.
“Hi,” Chance managed. He concentrated on not stumbling over Brock’s jump boots as he stepped back to let her in.
Smiling, Brock nodded a greeting to the therapist, then moved toward the bedroom. “I’ll help your dad into his transfer chair.”
“Hi,” the therapist replied to Chance and stepped fully inside the door. With dogzilla. She extended her hand. “You must be Chance. I’m Chloe.”
“Miss C-C-Callett.” Chance engulfed her petite hand in his and gave it a polite shake. Quiet confidence returning, he directed a not-so-polite nod to the dog. “Uh, not sure how to s-say this, but Dad doesn’t particularly care for animals in the house.”
Chloe knelt, patting the beast. “That’s all right. He’s not really an animal. This is Midnight, my assistant.”
Assistant? An unintended laugh tumbled from Chance’s mouth. “A dog is your assistant?”
She rose, braced smile stiffening. “Yes. My specialty is that I use rescued animals to help rehabilitate humans.”
Instant remorse hit Chance with a thud. “Look, I didn’t m-mean to offend….” He stepped closer to Chloe and her mutt, who actually was kind of cute. Though not as cute as the girl.
Chance cleared his throat and was trying to formulate a more articulate apology when Chloe graced him with another stunning smile, this one as genuine as the first. “It’s okay, really. I get that reaction a lot.”
She gave the dog a command and he stood. “I know this is a shock if you’re not used to it, but please, for your father’s sake, trust us?”
“Us?”
“Us.” She placed an affectionate, protective palm on Midnight’s massive head. The deep compassion he detected in her voice when she spoke of his dad helped Chance nod without hesitation. The sincerity in her expression and tone enveloped him in familiar warmth.
“Your eyes remind me of my late mother’s hugs.”
Yikes! No idea what made him blurt that. Stress maybe.
Chloe paused, blinked. “Thanks.” She passed Chance and smiled again. Her very essence enchanted him. The perfume, vivid makeup, neon-green nail polish, shiny lime patent-leather sandals and colorful geometric sundress didn’t hurt.
If he could sum up Miss Callett in one word, it would be alive. Full of life and loving it.
He hoped some of that would rub off on his dad.
“M-may I offer you something to d-d-drink, Miss Callett?”
“Nope. I’m good.” She grinned. “And it’s Chloe.”
He smiled. Mostly because he’d run out of anything to say. Chloe eyed the living room, which made Chance wish he’d cleaned up evidence of all the fast food and takeout he’d been ordering lately.
“With moving and work and taking care of Dad plus getting a house ready to sell, I don’t have time to cook.” Chance felt like he needed to explain.
He wrestled a pile of foam containers from the coffee table and dumped them in a trash bag. “Life at this point consists of convenience, which means less h-h-home-cooked and lots of takeout.”
“Understandable. Does Ivan like home-cooked meals?”
“Yeah, but I’m not that great of a cook and he’s picky.” Thankfully, his dad’s appetite was still healthy, unlike Chance’s, which had atrophied a lot, like his father’s now-unused hands.
A thoughtful look entered her captivating eyes. “I noticed from Ivan’s medical history that he doesn’t have dietary restrictions other than sodium. Do you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What does he like to eat?”
Where was she going with this? “Old-fashioned meat and potatoes.”
“And you?”
“That suits me too.” They both liked lots of red meat, even though it supposedly clogged the pipes. Chance hadn’t been eating or sleeping well for months, and it was definitely starting to take its toll.
“That’s good. Protein to feed your muscles for all that bodybuilding I can tell you do.” She winked, causing his cheeks to flush. He brought his hand up to feel the scorch.
“Do you compete?” She pulled items from her bag.
“No, ma’am. I have to stay in this kind of shape for my job.” That elicited her attention, and the respect he saw in her gaze suddenly added an extra benefit to all the daily pain and strain he put in at his team leader Joel’s gym. Chance instantly felt ten feet taller and two tons of stress lighter.
“I see.” Chloe pivoted in a graceful circle and eyed the room. “Are either of you allergic to flowers?”
What did flowers have to do with anything? he wondered, but just said, “No.”
Lifting her pixie chin, Chloe appeared quite pleased with herself; her grin looked to harbor a well-planned secret. Her eyes veered toward his stack of Bible study books. Curiosity flitted across her features until her vision snagged on one book… then soured.
Why?
He eyed the title, Becoming an Effective Youth Pastor. He returned his gaze to her.
Professional mask back in place, she folded petite hands in front of her trim middle. “Shall we get started?”
Chance nodded concession to her as she stepped boldly toward the ruckus forming at his dad’s bedroom door.
“I don’t need anyone coming in here and telling me what to do!” Ivan could be heard loud and clear.
Chance cringed. Dad’s mood was already festering, and he was about to see a dinosaur of a dog. In the house.
“And what in tarnation is that?” Ivan now squinted at his first glimpse of the massive black dog. He yanked his glasses from his chest pocket, squinted even more, and jabbed his good finger at Midnight. “Who let that heap-a-hair in here?” he bellowed and scowled at Chance.
Before Chance could offer an explanation, Chloe stepped forward. “Hi, Mister Garrison. I’m Chloe Callett. This is Midnight. We’re here to assess your need for in-home OT, better known as occupational therapy.”
“We? What’s that doggone mutt got to do with it?” Ivan glowered at Chloe to the point that drool fell from the weak side of his sullen mouth.
Brock dabbed it with a red, bandit-style kerchief hanging loosely around Ivan’s neck. Ivan let him but grunted. Brock pretended not to notice. He tried to finish discreetly until Ivan skewered him with a glare.
“On that note, I’ll let myself out. Good luck,” he said to Chloe and Chance and chuckled his way out the door.
Chloe didn’t cringe at Brock’s rapid departure or cower under Ivan’s escalating disapproval and hollers, even though his pinched face shaded redder by the second.
Ivan’s bulging eyes wrinkled at the corners and his nose squished up as he went nose to nose with Chloe. “What have you got stuck in your teeth there?”
“Braces.”