Joey arrived at the pool at five minutes to six the next morning. Chelsea was already there, wrapped in a white terry robe and looking annoyed.
“Good morning,” he said as he unlocked the gate to the pool. “How did you sleep?”
“I’d like to get to work, if you don’t mind,” she said, pushing through the gate as soon as it was open.
Joey took a second to hang one of the “Private Party” signs on the gate, then closed it up and joined Chelsea poolside. She had already begun her stretches and ignored him completely when he walked up to her.
“I’ll just be up there, on my tower, if you need anything,” he said.
No reply.
“Yup, just me and my tower, way up there, keeping an eye on things. Because that’s what I do.”
She turned to the other side.
“Me and my water bottle and my whistle. We’ll just head on up now.”
She looked over at him. “Was there something you wanted?”
He shrugged. “After we talked last night, I thought we’d moved past icy coldness and could at least say hello to each other.”
She straightened and met his gaze. “I’m here to work. I’m not here to chitchat or dillydally or shoot the breeze or anything else.”
“That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Eye of the tiger.”
“Yes. And don’t forget it again.”
He shook his head as he climbed the ladder and took a seat on the tower. The eye of the tiger. Chelsea’s favorite training song, and the phrase she used to indicate being in the zone. Nothing—and she meant nothing—was allowed to interrupt her when she was in the zone.
He almost snorted when he thought back on it. What had he seen in her, anyway? She was demanding and harsh, she never stopped pushing, her standards were impossible to meet, and she rarely let herself have any fun.
But then again . . . He watched as she sprang into the water and began her first lap. Now that he was letting himself reminisce, he remembered all the good stuff too. Her sense of humor. Her unswerving integrity. The way she’d shown up with a pot of soup when he caught a cold, but it was rewarmed canned soup because she didn’t know how to cook. And of course she was beautiful, and they shared a common love of the water. She had been something else, something wild and rare and temperamental, and he’d liked to think that he knew her better than anyone else did. That had proven entirely false when she’d left to take the scholarship, but at the time, it had been a wonderful thing to believe.
She swam consistently for twenty minutes, climbed out and stretched, then got back in. She kept this up for an hour, but Joey didn’t think that knee was getting any less stiff, no matter how much she stretched. There was just something off in her forward movement, something that said she was dealing with pain or with lack of flexibility, or both.
She took a break around seven, which allowed Joey the chance to run into the restroom for a minute, and then she started up again. Two full hours was a good workout for a patient in rehab, and when she said she was done at eight, he nodded.
“Good job. See you tomorrow morning?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “I’m in training. I’ll be back at two this afternoon. I’m sure you were told all this.”
“You’re in rehab, and you need to be easing back into it slowly.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Who said I was in rehab?”
“Maybe the fact that you just had knee surgery.” He put his hands on his own hips, mimicking her stance. He ignored the fact that two of the Kates had arrived and were getting set up for the day. He didn’t mind losing his cool in front of them.
“Yes, I just had knee surgery, but I healed up remarkably well, and I’m back in training. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some appointments at the spa.” She stomped off, leaving him there annoyed and angry.
There was only one thing he could do.
He pulled off his whistle, tossed it onto the deck, and dove into the water. Several thousand laps should be enough to burn it off. Or at least, they’d be a start.
***
“Now, I’ve looked up both the chiropractor and the massage therapist online, and they’re highly skilled,” Chelsea’s mother said as she bustled around the cabin, shoving odds and ends into her purse. Chelsea had no idea why her mom would want to take nail polish on her horseback ride, but oh, well.
“And we had your regular doctors email over your files, so the people here know everything about you,” her father added.
“They sent them straight over? You didn’t have to do anything?” Chelsea asked, keeping her voice light. If the files went from office to office, her parents wouldn’t have had the chance to find out anything, right?
“We barely had to lift a finger. One call was all it took. Of course, I had to pretend to be you—those privacy laws.” Her mother laughed. “But what’s a little impersonation among family members?”
Chelsea forced a smile. Was her mother in the habit of pretending to be her? This wasn’t good. “I could have called myself, Mom. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“But you were napping and I didn’t want to disturb you.” She paused in the doorway. “Are you ready to go? I hope this doesn’t take longer than an hour—we’re meeting up with Wyatt Weston, one of the owners of the ranch. He’s guiding our horseback ride personally. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Of course it was wonderful. Personal attention from the owner was something to brag about. Chelsea sighed, pulled herself up, and left the cabin with her parents, wondering what sorts of new torture techniques they’d inflict on her and hoping they would help.
When they walked into the spa, they were greeted by a friendly receptionist, and then shown back into an exam room. Chelsea caught the receptionist’s elbow before she walked off and said in a low tone, “Could you please let the doctor know that I don’t want to discuss the specifics of my case with my parents in the room?”
“Of course,” the receptionist said, giving her a bright smile. The request must have seemed unusual, but she acted as though it was the most common thing in the world, and Chelsea appreciated that.
A moment later, a tall, slender woman with light brown hair entered the room and introduced herself as Dr. Michelle, speaking with a soft Southern drawl. She carried a file with her, a somewhat thick file, that she set on the desk while she shook hands all around. She looked to be around thirty-five, which seemed young to Chelsea, but as long as she was qualified, it didn’t really matter.
“Thank you for having all your records sent over,” she said as she took a seat on the stool in front of the desk. “It helps me become familiar with your case and to see what tests have already been run. And then I can start doing my own thing.”
“Your own . . . thing?” Chelsea’s mother asked.
“That’s right. And one of those things is to consult with the patient privately, so I’m going to ask Mom and Dad to step out.”
“To step out?” Her mom was starting to sound like a parrot.
“Yes, please.” Dr. Michelle smiled politely until she and Chelsea were alone, then she turned to Chelsea with a discerning eye. “So, tell me what’s going on.”
Chelsea pulled in a deep breath. “Patient confidentiality, right?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Well, my doctor back home thinks that I’m not going to get full mobility back in my knee. I’ve been telling everyone that I’ll make a complete recovery, but we don’t know that yet. I’ve essentially been lying.” That hurt to admit. She never thought she’d do something so dishonest.
“And why did you feel the need to lie about it?” Dr. Michelle asked.
“My relationship with my parents is a little awkward. If they thought I’d have to stop swimming . . . it would be even more awkward.”
“I see. Or at least, I see enough. All right, I won’t bring that up in front of them. And in fact, I won’t know if I agree until I have a chance to examine you for myself. I tell you what, Miss Chelsea.” She looked Chelsea square in the eye. “While you’re here on the ranch, we’re going to move forward as if all things are possible. No more of this gloomy talk—possibilities only.”
Chelsea smiled. “I like that.”
“Good, because that’s what we’re doing. Now, tell me about your body—where are your aches and pains, all that sort of stuff.”
By the time Chelsea stepped out of Dr. Michelle’s office, she felt a lot better about things. It helped to focus solely on the positive—she spent enough time battling the what-ifs and the uncertainty.
Her massage with Maddie was wonderful, and she left the spa feeling like a limp noodle. “Go back to your cabin and take a nap,” Maddie told her as she walked her to the front door of the building. “Drink a ton of water, too. Just don’t drink in your sleep.”
Chelsea laughed. “Okay, I won’t.”
She crossed the parking lot to her cabin, grabbed a bottled water, and curled up on her bed. She wanted to read a chapter in her history book, but she was so tired, and a nap really did sound great. Just a little one. Then she’d study.