*
“Wow,” Shay said in the cab of the truck as Reese drove them to the ranch. “I didn’t see that coming. Did you?” She looked over at his rugged profile.
“No. But I think it’s a good thing. Don’t you?” Reese gave her a quick glance before returning his attention to the busy four-lane highway out of Jackson Hole.
Shay pushed some hair away from her cheek. “I don’t know, Reese. Truthfully? I’m ambivalent about it. On the one hand, he’s finally decided to get into the wheelchair, which will give him much more freedom.”
“You’re worried he’s going to take you apart at the ranch?”
She smiled a little and gave him a warm look. “You always know what I’m really feeling, don’t you?”
He reached out, curving his hand around hers on the seat. He squeezed it for a moment and then released it. “Sometimes I know what’s bothering you,” he admitted. “Not all the time, though.”
“Well”—she managed a short laugh—“you do a pretty good job.” Her heart swelled with love for Reese. Shay no longer tried to hide from what she felt about this man, part cowboy, part Marine Corps officer. He was a mix of the two, molded by hard work over the years. One would never be separated from the other. “Yes, I’m concerned. I saw my father struggling for all he was worth to be nice to me in there.”
“Or,” Reese said, “as nice as he could be. There’s plenty of room for improvement on his end.”
“I know,” she said wearily, leaning back on the seat, closing her eyes. “In one way, I’m thrilled he’s finally going to get physical therapy and start using the wheelchair. I don’t know how he managed to stay a year in that bed. If I’d been in his place, I’d have gone stark raving mad.” She opened her eyes, watching the passing scenery of the evergreens down below the road, the wide, green meadows dotted with horses and cattle here and there.
“Do you think it’s a good sign he wants to come out to the ranch?”
Shay rubbed her head. “If I’m being unselfish, the answer is yes.”
“But you’re worried he’ll want to stay at the ranch? Not be willing to go back to the nursing home?”
Her lips thinned. “Yes. But as I told him from the beginning, I couldn’t take care of him and the ranch.”
“I think he got that,” Reese said. “He’s hired Troy to take care of him while he’s with us on Saturday. It’s a good thing, because no one else has time. We will all be too busy.”
Shay sat there, a mixture of so many emotions. “I don’t know what his end game is, Reese. This sounds awful of me to say, but I’ve been in therapy weekly since I got home. Taylor Douglas had recommended a good psychotherapist, Libby Hilbert, in Jackson Hole. She’s helped me see the games an alcoholic plays on the family around him. I feel like my father’s manipulating me for his own reasons and he isn’t about to tell me what they are.” She rubbed her arm slowly, frowning and thinking.
“I had a couple of young Marines who came out of alcoholic families,” he told her. “That’s the game the alcoholic plays. He or she manipulates the family to get what they want. For whatever it’s worth, I felt like your father was genuinely trying to respect you. But I felt he also had a goal in mind that he wasn’t divulging to either of us. At least, not yet.”
“Thanks, I needed to hear that,” Shay whispered, giving him a grateful glance. “He struggled so hard to try to be nice to me, not angry.”
“Yeah, he was definitely trying to change that about himself.” Reese’s voice grew deep. “And he should.”
“But what does he really want? I hate myself for thinking badly of him, Reese. I know in the first three months after I got home, I pleaded with him to get into the wheelchair, that I’d bring him out to the ranch. I knew getting back here would help him so much.”
“But he refused?”
“Brother, did he ever. He was so damned angry. He was screaming and yelling at everyone. My therapist counseled me to stop trying to get him to the ranch, that he was in shock over his stroke and taking it out on those around him. Especially me. So, I finally stopped asking him to visit.”
Reese reached out, gripping her hand for a moment. “You’ve done more to help him than he ever did for you, Shay.”
She wanted to keep the connection with Reese but allowed him to remove his hand from around her fingers. “Now I’m questioning his motives, Reese. I feel bad about that.”
“You shouldn’t. Not yet, and maybe never.”
Blowing out a puff of air, Shay muttered, “I hope I can see what his game plan is, and keep one step ahead of him. I’m going to be so distracted on Saturday . . .” She felt a new sense of helplessness invading her. “I made it over one hurdle with my father, but then there’s another larger, taller one right in front of me, staring me in the face. I always feel I’m in a war with him. It just never stops.”