Laurel Greer - A Father For Her Child

Lauren shook her head but she spread her palms in surrender and stood. “I’m not trying to take over, Cadie.”

“I know. But I’ve been working on this for a year and you’ve stepped in at the last minute.”

“You said you were okay—”

“I am.” Cadie rose and put a hand on her sister’s arm. “I’m pumped to get to work with you and glad you’ve found something that makes you happy. But I want to be able to put my stamp on things.”

A puzzled look crossed her sister’s face. “But given this is an AlpinePeaks project, we’re all involved in it.”

Yeah, they were, and their father and brother were, too. Technically more than Cadie, because she’d liquidated a good chunk of her shares in their family’s company to support Sam’s dream of becoming a world-renowned, extreme-ski film star. Had he known that attempting to achieve that fame would mean dying, would he have insisted on pursuing it so hard?

A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed it. Best not to answer that question. “I know you’re just trying to help, Laur. But let me take the lead. Please.”

A minute later she was heading through the atrium, passing the glassed entrances of the spa and the hallway to where various energy-healing practices would take place. She hung a left past a ceiling-to-floor waterfall and entered the fitness facility. Her footsteps were the only sound in the large space—odd to have a gym without some sort of loud music. Had Zach already left?

But a quick scan revealed him sprawled on one of the exercise mats across the room, chest rising and falling rapidly. His two-day stubble failed to hide the stark defeat marking the line of his jaw. Concern shot through her. Taking stock of potential physical reasons for his unrest, she skirted around exercise equipment as she headed in his direction. Sweat dripped from his forehead into the chestnut-brown hair at his temples. A stability ball and a set of small hand weights lay within arm’s reach. His crutches leaned against the pristine mirror. He’d lost some muscle mass since his accident. But not so much that he didn’t have women virtually lining up outside the door to his apartment, offering to take care of him.

As if casseroles and doe-eyed sympathy would magically heal him.

No, he needed rehab. Specifically, her skill set. Which meant no more salivating over the way his thin T-shirt was currently plastered to his perfect abs. Not if she wanted him as a client.

Business, Cadie. To get what she needed—and to facilitate what Zach needed—it was time to work some emotional sleight of hand.

* * *

Breathing hard from exertion, Zach flopped his head to the side, taking in the wonder that was Cadie Dawson in yoga clothing. Tight leggings hugged those perfect legs. Her curly brown hair was straightened today, captured in a ponytail. The curve of her waist, the strength in her arms... His hands bitched loud and long over not being able to slide under her shirt, to test the softness of her pale skin.

As was becoming more frequent, something mysterious flashed in her blue eyes. He’d assumed that, after all the time they’d spent together over the past seven years, he knew all her expressions. “Cadence. Hey.”

“This would be going a heck of a lot faster if you’d let me stick needles in you.”

“We talked about that. Not happening.”

She crossed her arms. “You must be tired. Your Canadian is showing.”

He wasn’t going to dignify her reference to his accent. For the love of God, British Columbians did not say “aboot.” That was an east coast thing. But she liked to pretend he did to get a rise out of him.

“Back to nag me?” he asked.

“I just want you to get better.”

“I thought you were pissed about my Whistler trip. About the film.”

“I am. I don’t think it’s worth risking your rehab in order to get the film done. It can wait. Sam’s not going anywhere.” She let out a dry laugh, the kind that covered her increasingly hoarse tone. Well, sort of covered it. The sound came out strident.

Zach pushed himself up to sitting, leaning more heavily on his left arm. His broken right arm had complicated his recovery, delaying his ability to get up on crutches. “I have to get it done. It can’t wait.”

“I’m aware,” she murmured.

You think you are. He’d confided in her enough for her to know how much Sam’s death weighed on him. But he hadn’t told her everything. Didn’t want to hurt her worse that she already was.

“Your time crunch is the reason I keep nagging you about trying new techniques,” she continued. “Dry needling, for one. And we could combine PT with some holistic methods from other center practitioners. You’re out of alignment from overcompensating, and you need to loosen those muscles. And the program you’re following isn’t getting that done. Not in time for you to be tromping across a glacier by October.”

He went through the painstaking motions of getting himself up off the ground. He winced as he limped the few feet to get his crutches. Why did she have to be here, seeing him hobble around? “I’m comfortable working with my therapist.”

Her throat bobbed. “PT’s not supposed to be comfortable.”

“No kidding.” At this rate he didn’t think he’d be physically comfortable again for the rest of his life. His doctor had assured him he should make a full recovery, but it sure wasn’t happening anytime soon. A cramp pulsed in his back and he straightened, had to breathe deeply to release the pain. He paused for a few seconds to take in another lungful of air before tucking his crutches under his arms.

“So why won’t you let me help you, then?” she pressed.

Ah, one more thing he and Cadie wouldn’t ever discuss. He’d literally held her upright for a good chunk of the first few months after Sam’s death. He’d watched her belly grow. Had been the first one to feel Ben’s kick on the outside. Had held the little guy for hours once he was born, letting Cadie get caught up on sleep after a rough labor, pretending all the while that the protective, paternal feelings clamoring in his chest were solely connected to fulfilling his promises.

Hell, Sam had begged him to watch over Cadie.

But he had to draw the line at having her massage his aching muscles. And having her as his physiotherapist would require just that. Yeah, he had no doubt Cadie would be the utmost professional during treatment. But he’d had his therapist’s thumbs pressing into his ass muscles more than once. And he didn’t want to know what his body would do if Cadie touched him likewise.

“We’re friends. It would be weird,” he hedged.

“But I’ve worked with friends before—” She took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re resistant to letting me help you. But how about the other way around?”

“Huh?”

“If you signed on as a client and my ideas work, you could talk us up to some of your friends in the ski world. Or even just locally. Since you moved here, you’ve wrapped most of Sutter Creek around your pinky in less time than it used to take you to rotate through the air eight times.”

“Three times,” he said with a smirk.

“What?”

“I only did 1080s.”

She let out a single ha . “Whatever. Point being, your fan club will listen to you.”

Rocking forward onto his crutches, he stared at the ground. Fan club. Not quite. But he’d done what he could to fit in—he didn’t see Cadie leaving any time soon, so neither would he.

“I’ll talk Evolve up no matter what,” he promised.

“I need more than that, Zach.” Vulnerability cracked through her matter-of-fact expression and the breach ripped straight to his core. “I need you to be my client. And if you want to be ready to shoot that video come the fall, you need me, too.”