“I’m pretty memorable.” Darin shook Lynn’s hand as his voice reverted to that of a grown man. A completely harmless, charming grown man.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m going to work hard because I want to use my arm and because I promised Grant. Who’s that?” Like Grant, Darin had noticed the slender blonde woman in jeans and a staff blouse who was hovering behind Lynn.
Unlike Grant, his older brother had the tact of a child.
“Darin, Grant, this is Maddie,” Lynn said, turning to take the other woman’s hand and pull her forward.
“You’re pretty.” Darin smiled the killer smile that had been unwittingly stealing hearts from good men for most of his life.
“It’s good to meet you,” Maddie said, her words a tad slow and thick sounding. After a quick glance at each of them, her gaze returned to the floor.
“Do you see a spider?” Darin asked. “I could kill it for you. I can step on him. Both of my feet still work.”
“I don’t see a spider.” With a sideways glance, Maddie seemed to send Lynn some kind of message.
“Maddie’s in physical therapy, too,” Lynn said. “She and Darin will be sharing this morning’s session.”
“And maybe more,” Maddie said. “Angelica mostly works with groups unless someone needs her to stand right there next to them the whole time. I don’t need that. I know my exercises and don’t need help with the machines anymore. She just has to check and make sure that I’m using my muscles right.”
Grant studied the other woman. She was…way above average in the looks department. Her blue gaze was clear. And yet…she reminded him of Darin. Postaccident Darin.
“Maddie works here,” Lynn told the two men.
“I’m a good Friday.”
“A girl Friday,” Lynn said quickly, and Grant took a mental step back. He’d been so busy taking care of his own business and finding help for Darin that he hadn’t really considered the day-to-day business of The Lemonade Stand.
Lynn had mentioned residents. She’d been referring to abused and battered women.
Like Maddie?
Was she in therapy to recover from injuries caused by physical abuse?
Had she been hit in the head?
“I saw a movie called His Girl Friday,” Darin inserted into the conversation. “It’s a Cary Grant film that’s part of the National Film Registry’s catalog and ranks number nineteen on the American Film Institute’s 100 Years…100 Laughs,” the man who’d once been headed toward a top position on Wall Street finished.
“That was a funny movie,” Maddie said. “That guy kept getting arrested. But I didn’t like it that the main guy yelled all the time. If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you where we do therapy….”
Darin stepped forward, took Maddie’s elbow and Lynn started. She looked as though she was going to step in.
“Okay, but I’m a little scared.” Darin’s childlike voice could be heard as the two walked through the door that Darin opened after letting go of Maddie while she typed a code into the box on the wall. “I can’t use my left arm at all, you know….”
Lynn followed, looking like a mother hen as her gaze darted back and forth between Maddie and Darin.
“He won’t hurt her,” Grant whispered, leaning in close as he fell into step beside her.
Lynn put visible and immediate distance between them, saying nothing. And Grant cursed himself silently for not being more aware, more in tune, with the fact that he and his brother had just entered a very sensitive culture.
It wasn’t going to be enough just to make certain that he and Darin didn’t do anything to hurt these women; they were going to have to be aware that every move they made, every look they gave, every sentence they spoke, could potentially scare any one of them.
Lynn Duncan included—apparently.
* * *
“WE CAN WATCH through here.” Avoiding eye contact with the man she’d been schooling herself not to think about for a week now, Lynn walked toward the large window in the hallway outside the physical therapy room where Maddie had led Darrin. “Angelica keeps the blinds closed when she has to, but if she can keep them open, she does. A lot of battered women suffer from PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder—and often that’s accompanied by bouts of claustrophobia.” Keeping it professional. Aside from the warmth that suffused her body as it came, once again, in close contact with Grant Bishop.