Accidentally Hers (Sterling Canyon #1) (3 page)

Grey lumbered out of the doctor’s office on crutches, carrying his presurgical instructions. Thankfully, Trip had pulled the Backtrax van up to the curb for him. After several clumsy steps, Grey handed his crutches to Trip and gently slid into the front seat.

“How’re you feeling?” Trip tossed the crutches in the back of the van and slammed the door.

“Shitty. Wish I didn’t have to wait another ten days for the surgery.” Grey shifted uncomfortably in the front seat and winced. Thankfully the painkillers helped numb the sharp twinges of bending and straightening the joint. But stuffing his leg into the car kinda sucked. “How were today’s treks?”

“Let’s get home and settled before we talk about business, okay?” Trip turned south out of the hospital driveway. “You need surgery. Maybe your first concern should be your health.”

“Don’t remind me.” Grey rubbed his thigh just above the knee with care. “I know it could be worse, but this damned injury screwed me during the final weeks of ski season.”

“Well, the driver got hurt, too.” Trip glanced at Grey from beneath the brim of one of his dozen cowboy hats. “I hear he’s looking at felony charges.”

“Should I feel bad about that? Seems he got what’s coming to him as far as I can tell.”

Trip shrugged. “Can’t blame you for those feelings.”

“Right? Not only am I out for the rest of ski season . . . this leg means I won’t be able to climb this summer. Puts a real crimp in my plans and bottom line.” Grey tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Maybe I can assist with some basic training by June.”

“You know, some of our friends feared the accident would do you in, but really, it’s gonna be stress that kills you.” Trip shook his head. “You need to get some perspective.”

Grey folded his arms across his chest, eyes on the windshield. He hated talking about the accident, but he really hated being lectured to by Trip. “Well, hello, Oprah. When did you arrive?”

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” Trip grinned then turned up the radio and whistled along with a Kenny Chesney song.

“Trip, I know I’m asking a lot, but what I need from you is help—with the business, not with me, personally.”

“Believe it or not, I understand what’
s at stake for you
. You’ll have to trust I’ve got your back.” Trip shot him a look of pure challenge.

“You’re right. Sorry.” Grey’s shoulders eased a bit. He stared at the yellow center line of the winding country road for a minute, trying to drown out the twangy music. “Hey, can we at least agree on some other station? Anything but this sappy, sad country stuff.”

Grey had been surrounded by music his entire life. His mother, a music teacher, had gifted him with both an appreciation of music and a natural talent for playing the piano. His talent had propped him up when he’d felt defeated by his dyslexia. He’d habitually turned to his piano in times of trouble or stress, which meant his keyboard would be getting a good workout in the upcoming months. Despite his broad tastes, however, country music had never quite captured his interest.

“Driver controls the radio, pal. Suck it up.” Ten minutes later, Trip parked the van in the paved lot adjacent to the office building and retrieved the crutches. “Do you need help?”

“I think I
’
ve got it.” Grey took the crutches and hobbled toward the entrance to the upstairs apartment. The skyrocketing costs of real estate—a downside to the town
’
s popularity—forced him and Trip to bunk up in the small apartment above the office. Not ideal, but the one-flight commute made up for the lack of privacy, at least for now.

“Damned ice everywhere is a menace.”

“Can’t live in a ski town without running into snow and ice.”

“I know.” Grey lumbered up the narrow steps, and his golden lab, Shaman, bounded toward him as he entered the apartment.

“Whoa, whoa, boy.” Grey struggled to balance himself on the crutches while preventing Shaman from hurting his knee further or knocking him over. He scratched under his dog’s jaw and accepted a sloppy kiss, ignoring the shock of pain piercing his knee. “Good boy. I missed you, too.”

Shaman
’s tail wagged, but he quickly became distracted when Trip tossed a dog biscuit in the opposite corner.

Once Shaman settled with his treat, Grey went directly to the sofa. “Hey, Trip, can you grab me a bag of ice?”

While Trip filled the blue rubber ice bag and got a dishrag, Grey twisted his neck to alleviate the remaining strain in his shoulders.

Home.

Better than some places he’d lived, but not particularly warm and cozy. Just a small beige living area, sparsely decorated with used brown leather furnishings and a square oak table with four chairs.

No drapes. No pictures or paintings. No personality or style.

Nothing but Shaman’s dog bowls and the Yamaha piano keyboard in the corner to suggest Grey Lowell lived there. He’d lived a nomadic life for so long—always running, as if distance could make him forget
her
—he’d never accumulated the possessions or normal friendships most other men his age had in their lives.

At thirty-three, he craved something more, but had neither the time nor money now.
Hell.
He shoved aside his maudlin thoughts.

“How’s Jon working out?” Grey laid the towel across his leg and placed the ice bag on top. “He did his first solo gig yesterday, right?”

“He’s okay. Clients seem to like him.” Trip grimaced, tugging at the brim of his cowboy hat. “Poached him from ski patrol. He likes the tips.”

“I hate not being able to get out there to check out his skills.” Grey pulled a bag of Dum-Dums out of his jacket pocket and stuck a grape sucker in his mouth.

“He’s certified, Grey. PSIA, AIARE, yada yada.” Trip sank into the chair across from Grey, removed his cowboy hat and placed it, upside down, on the table.

“
Certifications don
’t mean shit if the guy doesn’t have the right combo of personality and restraint on the mountain.”

“He’s seasoned and mature. Available on short notice. Definitely good enough to get us through the rest of ski season.”

“Every time I think about the extra salary expense, let alone my personal loss in tips, I could strangle Andy Randall.” Grey locked his hands behind his head. “But I appreciate the way you’ve been picking up the slack these past couple of days.”

“
No problem. But don
’t micromanage the money for the next few months. It’s a setback, but you gotta focus on the big picture. Take a long-range view.” Trip stared at Grey’s sucker and then motioned for one with his hand. Unlike Grey, he immediately began crunching on the candy after shedding the wrapper. “Just get through surgery and start with therapy right away. I’ve heard it takes seven to twelve months before you can ski.”

“Don’t worry.” Grey pushed up his sleeves and started sifting through the mail on the coffee table. “I’ll recover quickly.” He stopped at the hand-addressed yellow envelope.

A card?

Curiosity spiked, although he suspected it might be from Kelsey. She’d texted him a couple of times since the accident, offering to help out. He wished she’d take the hint and stop trying so hard. She was nice enough, just not really his type. Still, he didn’t know how to shake her off without hurting her feelings.

He pulled the get-well card from its sleeve—a girly card with a picture of a branch with pink flower buds. At least the text was in a large, clear font. “Wishing you a quick and complete recovery.” However, the handwritten note gave him some trouble.

Using his index finger to track the words, he concentrated his best on the feminine, loopy scrawl. Two minutes later, he tossed it on his desk, surprised and frustrated.

“What’s that?” Trip asked.

“Best I can make out, it’s an apology note from Randall’s sister. You know how hard it is for me to read
cursive
. I can’t read her name.”

Trip picked up the note. “Avery Randall.” Apprehension edged Trip’s voice, which made no sense.

“Avery,” Grey repeated.

“This is either a real nice sentiment,” Trip began, setting the card back on the table, “or the cunning work of a woman trying to get on your good side so you won’t sue the shit out of her brother.”

Grey toyed with the TV remote and frowned. He’d never been a big proponent of litigation. Seemed like the only sure winners in any lawsuit were the lawyers.

But now everything he owned hung in the balance. He couldn’t work. He was bleeding money. He had a lot more medical bills to look forward to in the future. And God forbid this injury truly sidelined him from the demands of safely skiing the backcountry in the future.

His new lawyer, Warren Adler, advised him to hold off on accepting a payout from Andy’s auto-insurance carrier because Andy had only carried the minimum policy limits. Adler needed time to investigate Andy’s assets, and to determine Grey’s “maximum medical improvement” in order to accurately assess damages. He’d said it could take up to six months to determine the MMI.
Six months!
Grey just wanted the whole thing to be settled quickly so he didn’t lose everything in the process.

“You’re right about one thing,” Grey said, tossing the remote aside. “I need a good therapist.”

Trip wrinkled his nose. “Well, I asked around about the local PTs, but I doubt you’ll like what I have to say.”

“Why not?” Grey sat forward, grimacing when his knee accidentally bumped the edge of the table. “I thought there were good orthopedic therapists in this town.”

“There are two. One’s an old dude who’s temporarily living out of state with a sick parent.”

“So what’s wrong with the other one?” Grey crunched on the remaining bit of lollipop then tossed the tattered stick on top of last month’s
Powder
magazine. “Is he some kind of freak show?”

“
She
is not a freak show and has an excellent reputation.” Trip sat back with a smirk on his face.

“You think I can’t work with a woman?”

“Maybe not
this
woman.” Trip leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’
s Randall
’s sister, Avery.”

“Get the fuck out.” When Trip nodded, Grey picked up the get-well card again, studying her handwriting as if that would make the situation more tolerable. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“’Cause after the accident, I dreaded giving you more bad news.”

“
Well, isn
’t that just peachy?” Grey scrubbed one hand over his face, using the other to tap the edge of the card against his thigh.

“It’s thorny. But honestly, Grey, she’s not to blame for her brother’s screw-up.”

“You think I don’t know that? Still sucks. That drunk asshole screwed with my future, and now I’m going to have to work with his sister each week?” He shook his head in disgust. “God, this is an unholy mess. Watch her blame me for her brother’s injuries. I bet she thinks he wouldn’t have swerved and hit the lamppost if I hadn’t been on the road.” Grey frowned, shaking off his own niggling feelings of guilt.

“You know it’s not your fault.” Trip sank deeper into the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. “He’d been drinking.”

Grey pitched the card across the table. “I know. But if I hadn’t been out there on my bike, he might’ve made it home without hurting himself or anyone else.”

How many times had he replayed the events of that evening? Five minutes either way would’ve avoided the whole thing. Fate chose to test him instead. At least a physical test was one he had a chance of passing.

“We could look into PTs elsewhere. It’ll probably involve a thirty-mile drive or farther each way. Could be a problem until we get through the snow season.”

“No. This could work in my favor. Maybe I’ll learn something about Randall that could help move my case along faster. Besides, I want the best so I can get back on the mountain as early as possible.” Grey drummed his fingers on his thigh. Shaman trotted over and rested his head on the sofa cushion, waiting for affection from Grey, which he promptly received. Grey petted Shaman’s head, gazing at nothing in particular. “If she’s the best, then that’s the end of the discussion. I’ve dealt with tougher situations.”

“Of course, she might not want to work with you.” Trip cocked one brow.

Grey’s voice hardened as he glanced at the card on the table. “She’ll work with me. It’ll be her way of making up for her brother’s mistake.”

“That’s harsh—and unlike you.”

“I’m feeling pretty harsh right now.” Grey rubbed at his thigh again. “I’ve got very little in savings and a three-hundred-thousand-dollar loan hanging over my head. I could lose everything in a New York minute if I’m not looking out for myself. I can’t take any chances. And if I have to apply a little pressure to get what I need, then so be it.”
Grey sighed at Trip
’s shocked expression. “Don’t pull a face. You know I’ll be nothing but polite—
compassionate, even
—but Avery Randall
will
agree to work with me.”

Chapter Three

Grey exited the cab on crutches and lumbered toward the rehabilitation center, bracing for a confrontation with Randall’s sister. During the past twenty-four hours, he’d felt like two wildcats were wrestling inside his chest.

Working with Randall’s sister was either brilliant or plain stupid. Guilt over her brother’s actions could spur her to work harder, or make it uncomfortable and awkward. Gripped by indecision, he knew only one thing was certain: aggressive therapy.

He drew the crisp mountain air into his lungs before opening the door of the bustling clinic.

Inside, sunlight flooded through the large windows, bouncing off the wall of mirrors lining the spotless exercise area. State-of-the-art gym equipment filled the airy space. That and the citrusy-clean scent improved his mood considerably, although his muscles still twitched in anticipation of their introduction.

He trudged to the receptionist area, pleased to discover a candy dish filled with Jolly Ranchers set upon the station’s counter. After fishing around the bowl for a grape piece, he tossed it into his mouth. Lollipops were preferable to Jolly Ranchers, which always stuck to his teeth, but honestly, he’d never met a grape candy he didn’t like.

“Good morning.” A chipper young lady smiled at him. “Are you here to see Dr. Randall, Mr. White, or Ms. Hastings?”

“I’ve got a four-thirty appointment with Dr. Randall,” he replied. “Grey Lowell.”

“Super,” she said. “Did you print out and complete the paperwork?”

“I’m not a patient yet. I’m just here to meet with her.” He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out folded-up papers. “I did fill out these forms in case we end up working together.”

“Okay. I’ll hold on to these for now.” She took them and then pushed out of her chair. “Let me show you to the conference room.”

Grey followed her into a small room. He leaned his crutches against the small table and sat in one of the plastic chairs with his back to the door. “Thanks.”

“She’ll be here in a minute.” The receptionist smiled and left him alone.

While waiting, he scrolled through his email, then texted Trip with a reminder to pick him up at five.

“Mr. Lowell.”

He looked up at the source of the soft voice.

“Bambi?” His ears burned as soon as the word flew from his mouth. Bambi was Randall’s sister? Good God, another stroke of bad luck—or maybe not. Damn, she was just as pretty as he’d remembered.

Despite his discomfort, her confused expression made him smile.

“Excuse me?” Her stunned voice yanked him from his lusty daze. He noticed her eyebrows had risen to her hairline. “Did you just call me
Bambi
?”

Sky blue, not green. Sky blue eyes dappled with warm flecks of gold. Mesmerizing, but not as bright as the first time he’d seen them. Now faint dark circles beneath them underscored the strain she’d been under.

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed his jaw, trying to look nonchalant despite the rush of embarrassed heat racing up his neck.

She paused, clearly flabbergasted by his ridiculous remarks.
Way to be impressive, Grey.
He tucked his phone into his pocket. Unlike the other night, today she wore simple black sweats and a white, Alpine PT-embossed pullover. The boxy clothes did little to conceal the womanly frame underneath. She’d been seated when he first saw her, so he hadn’t known if her figure would be as cute as her face. Apparently this girl had it all.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this question, but where did that come from?” She held his gaze, just like the first time he’d seen her.

Backbone.

He liked it. A lot.

Maybe too much.

“From the way you reacted to me at Plum Tree.” He shrugged, grinning. Something about her provoked the hell out of him, which prompted him to push her buttons and watch her respond. He decided to roll with the pleasant buzz traveling through his limbs . . . and elsewhere.

“Reacted?” She closed one eye and scratched at her temple, pretending to think back. “Gee, and here I recall you ducking out before we even spoke.”

A ripple of satisfaction skimmed through him upon confirming she remembered their near encounter. He leaned close enough to smell her light perfume.

“When you looked up at me, your eyes got real wide and you blinked a few times.” He paused, smiling at the memory. “Well, like a deer in the headlights.”

“I did not!” She tugged at her ponytail, but she didn’t back away. A good sign. “Anyway, that name’s demeaning.”

“Is not. Everyone loves Bambi.” He squared his shoulders. She might claim not to like the name, but the subtle quirk at the corners of her mouth gave her away. He affected her, which revved him up further. “Regardless, it’s how I always think of you.”

Oh Jesus, he might as well have simply used the word
fantasize
.
Real smooth, Grey.
When he finally found the balls to meet her eyes, he noticed a hint of temptation in her expression.

“That’s . . . interesting. But we should probably stick with my real name.” She held out her hand, smiling. “I’m Avery.”

His pulse kicked up a notch when he clasped her hand, more than it had from kissing her friend Kelsey.
Not good.
He didn’t want to let go. “Avery.”

“No. Avery,” she repeated.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” His mind struggled to focus on their conversation, which seemed impossible with every nerve ending in his body on high alert.

“Uh-uh. You said
A-vree
. But it’s three syllables.
A-ver-ee
.” Up close he could tell she enjoyed poking at him. Playful—he liked that, too.

He bit his lower lip and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. “Guess I’ll stick with Bambi then.”

“But I don’t like it.”

Sure you don’t.
He chuckled. “Since when does a person get to pick their own nickname?”

She narrowed her eyes as if about to lay something good on him, but then her expression fell serious. “I suspect my name, real or otherwise, is the least of the awkward things between us.”

Dammit.
He’d been flirting as if they were at a bar instead of in a clinic dealing with a sticky situation.

“Yeah.” He tried to catch her eye again. “But I’m hoping we can put aside any personal matters and work together.”

“I’m not sure that’
s possible.
” She
shuffl
ed her foot.

“My issues aren’t with you. You’re not responsible for your brother’s screw-up.
You
didn’t put my whole future at risk.”

Avery winced. “Gee, thanks. But your ill will toward him may be a problem for me. Despite his mistakes, I love him. And I’ve got professional ethics to abide by. Taking you on as a patient is a conflict of interest.”

Grey scrubbed his hand over his face. “You didn’t cause the accident. What’s the conflict?”

“The conflict is that your recovery will affect your claim. Working with you would put me smack in the middle of a messy situation with my brother, especially if you don’t achieve the results you desire.”

Not achieve the results he desired? The mere idea pissed him off, but he wouldn’t alienate her by letting his anger bubble to the surface.

“Well then, I’ve got a problem since the only other ortho PT in this little town isn’t even in Colorado right now.” He could see her struggling with the decision, so he applied more pressure. “From what I’ve been told, the sooner I start therapy, the better my chances of recovery. On top of that, I’ve been told you’re the best. If that’s true, then you should want me to work with you instead of some lesser PT. Aren’t
you
my best chance at getting back on the mountain ASAP? Won’t a speedy recovery mean less trouble for your brother? So the way I see it, it’s in both our interests to work together. No conflict there.”

One of her brows shot up. “Subtle.”

“I can’t really afford to play nice, so I’m respecting you enough to play it straight. I don’t think that’s unfair unless, somehow, you blame
me
for this mess.” He watched her withdraw, which was not the result he wanted. His ham-handed approach was proving her fears right. Time to change tactics. “By the way, thanks for the get-well card.”

The fight in her eyes dimmed, but her arms remained crossed.

“I wasn’t sure about the etiquette, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I’m sorry about your injuries.” Her voice had dropped to just above a whisper. Misery and disgrace washed over her features. “And I don’t blame you.”

When despair shone through the cracks in her tough shell, he yearned to offer the comfort of his arms.

Hell. Maybe she was right. Maybe they couldn’t work together without creating bigger problems. But he wanted to work with her, and deep down he knew it wasn’t only because she was the best PT around.

His body came alive around her. Every little thing she did or said stirred him. Therapy would put her in his orbit a few times each week, a positive outcome of an otherwise dire situation.

“Avery, despite my current mood, I am sorry your brother got hurt. I’m sure his troubles are at least as big as mine right now, and I’m sorry about how it all affects you.” He meant it, too.

“Thank you.” She glanced up, misty-eyed, petal-pink lips parted, eyes lit with appreciation. “I would’ve assumed you’d be glad to see the book thrown at him.”

God, his heart was already pumping hard and they hadn’t even begun therapy. Her obvious gratitude temporarily robbed him of speech.

Avery’s particular blend of bluntness and reluctant vulnerability made him want to jump off the table and kiss her. Of course, he did think her brother should be convicted, but watching Bambi—another innocent victim—struggle with the consequences of the accident made his desire for vengeance seem petty.

Suddenly, in spite of his tough talk with Trip, his need to pressure
her
to be his therapist took a backseat. Maybe he could find another option that wasn’t too inconvenient. “Look, I’m not trying to cause you more trouble. If you can’t legally treat me, or even if you’re too uncomfortable with the idea, I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re full of surprises.” She tilted her head and studied him for several seconds. He held his breath, wondering what she would decide, and whether he inspired any of the same animal attraction in her. “Despite the impression I’ve given so far, I can be professional. I’m assuming even if this butts against the ethics line, the hardship factor of Richard Donner’s absence can probably clear the way as long as you sign whatever waivers or such that need to be signed.”

Thank you, God!
“Well okay, A-ver-ee, ’cause I need to get my knee in top shape ASAP. It’s critical I be back on the slopes by November.”

Her expression turned doubtful. “Nine months isn’t ideal. As you well know, skiing is especially demanding on the knees because of constant impact and side-to-side motion. Best practice would be to wait a full year. I’m sure it sounds like forever, but your long-term results will be greatly improved if you’re patient.”

“It’s not negotiable. I’ve got to be ski-ready by next season.” His rough tone appeared to startle her. “My business depends on it. I’ve got no Plan B if this venture fails. I need to know you’re committed to doing everything you can to get me back on the mountain as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do my best, but you need to listen to my advice and your body’s signals. Can you follow my orders?” Her perceptive eyes locked with his for a second before she stepped back. Once he nodded, she continued, “Let’s take one step at a time. First, I’ll complete an evaluation and get some baseline statistics. I’ll give you a home program to do leading up to your surgery. After your procedure, I’ll go over your surgeon’s plans and we’ll work from there.”

“Deal.” Grey followed her to the exam room next door.

She examined the swelling. Her fingers lightly feathered around his knee. “In addition to ice and elevation, you need to begin working on restoring range of motion by doing some simple exercises like heel slides, and quad sets, and such. Flex your quad for me and hold it a few seconds.” When he did, she squeezed the muscle as if testing his strength. “This feels pretty good.”

Pretty good
is right.
He nodded while focusing on the slender hands massaging his knee. Holy hell. Watching her touch his body sent his thoughts straight to the gutter.

Totally inappropriate on so many levels. Not that he could control his visceral reaction to her—or even wanted to at this point.

Before he’d arrived, he’d thought having Avery Randall as his therapist would be problematic because of her brother. Now he realized another kind of trouble arose from having Bambi touching his thighs. She’d be a major distraction at a time he couldn’t afford any, yet nothing would persuade him to walk away now.

“So, one thing we can check is quad lag. Do a straight-leg raise for me so I can watch your knee and see if you can hold it without bending.”

Grey repressed a grunt and tried to keep his leg as straight as possible, without success.

She droned on about studies and neuromuscular electrical stimulators for a few minutes, but Grey had stopped listening, opting instead to openly stare at her like some kind of lovesick puppy. He’d seen and dated beautiful women throughout his adult life. He barely knew this girl, yet something about her awakened a part of his heart he’d long ago buried with Juliette.

Perhaps the fact the potential lawsuit, her brother’s criminal charges, and her loyalty to her friend Kelsey killed any chance his fantasies could ever become reality spurred his competitive nature. But really, he suspected it had more to do with her ability to go toe-to-toe without shrinking or playing coy.

She caught him gawking again. His body flushed, hot and needy, when he noticed the artery at the base of her neck throbbing. Maybe he had a chance after all.

Avery replaced his brace, then handed him a set of instructions. “Follow these at home. No more, no less. Don’t overdo it.”

“Got it, Sarge.”

She handed him his crutches, chuckling. “Well, at least that’s better than Bambi.”