Part 7 (1/2)
”Sorry. Your fiance told me you were an artist,” she said, not answering Sam's question. ”Do you have any supplies with you? The scenery up here is fantastic and-”
”Humph,” Sam replied with a soft snort, and closed her eyes. ”I haven't painted in years.”
”It might be a good distraction for you. Give you a focus outside of your therapy, and a mental break. Maybe you want to-”
”No,” Sam said curtly, s.h.i.+fting uneasily on the chaise. ”Your job is to work on my leg, not my head.”
Frowning, Anne grabbed a towel and wiped the oil from her hands. Fine; Sam was right. She was a physical therapist, not a psychologist, but it didn't take a doctor to see Samantha Moore had more issues than just a damaged leg. Not her problem, though. Her job was to help Sam build the strength in her leg. Moving to the end of the chaise, she pulled the leg of Sam's sweatpants down, and lifting Sam's ankle with one hand, she placed the palm of her other hand on the arch of the girl's foot.
”I want you to push against my hand with your foot, hold it for five seconds, then release. We'll do it-”
Sudden footfalls coming around the corner of the house stopped her. Sam jerked her foot away and sat up in alarm. Together she and Anne turned as a man strolled across the deck toward them.
Wonderful. Fritz Thorpe. Anne had wondered how long it would take for him to show up. Today he was dressed immaculately in white linen pants and a navy polo s.h.i.+rt and his silver hair peeked out from beneath his captain's hat. Stifling a groan, Anne looked down at Sam to gauge her reaction to Fritz's sudden appearance.
Distrust shadowed Sam's eyes as they darted from Anne to Fritz and back again. Her muscles tensed.
Noticing Sam's reaction, Fritz held up a hand and stepped back. ”I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.” Pointing over his shoulder, he smiled at them. ”I knocked, but no one answered. Anne can attest to the fact that I'm perfectly harmless.”
Anne leaned forward and pressed a firm hand on Sam's arm. ”Sam, this is Fritz Thorpe,” she said, her voice calm. ”He lives right across the lake.”
”What Anne didn't add is that some consider me an old busybody who has to check out all the new residents in our little community,” he replied with a chuckle as he pulled out a chair and sat. ”Personally, I see myself as the unofficial welcoming committee of Elk Horn Lake.”
Sam's fingers stole to her hair and plucked at the short strands. ”Ah,” she said stiffly, ”I'm Samantha Moore.”
”Lovely to meet you, Samantha,” Fritz replied with a broad smile. ”How long are you going to be staying with us?”
”Not long,” Sam answered, swinging her legs off the chaise. ”Anne, I'm tired.” She rose awkwardly to her feet. ”I'm going back to bed.” With a nod toward Fritz, she limped across the deck and disappeared into the cabin.
Anne watched her leave with reluctance. Now that Sam was back to hibernating in her bedroom, she felt the small victories won this morning slip away.
After Sam had closed the patio door, Fritz turned to Anne. ”Oh dear,” he said with a rueful look, ”she is a bit skittish, isn't she?”
Frowning, Anne picked up the towel and scrubbed it across her hands. ”Sam's wary of strangers. She's been through a lot.”
Fritz leaned back, steepling his fingers. ”Esther Dunlap told me that she'd suffered some type of trauma. What happened?”
”I don't gossip about my patients,” she replied curtly, tossing the towel into her bag. ”If you want to know-”
”What is that smell?” Fritz exclaimed, cutting her off.
Glancing over at him, she saw him waving a hand in front of his nose. She picked up the bottle and held it out. ”Lavender oil.”
His lips curled in distaste. ”Ugh, I never could abide that scent.”
”Sorry,” she answered in a neutral tone, capping the bottle and throwing it on top of the towel. ”Most people find it calming.”
Fritz gave his head a quick shake. ”Not me.” His attention turned toward the cabin. ”Does your patient know about this place?”
”Not you, too,” she said, rolling her eyes.
A hard look stole across his face. ”I remember Blanche and Harley quite well and I was here that last summer. Blanche poisoned everything she touched.” Tugging on his bottom lip, he shook his head. ”It was a sorry day when Harley brought her here. All the lives she destroyed.” He shook his head again. ”It wouldn't surprise me if her evil lingers on.”
Anne snorted. ”Oh, come on. They left the lake years ago. Whatever happened back then is old news.”
His eyes narrowed. ”Tell that to Edward Dunlap.” His face suddenly relaxed and he leaned forward. ”Since my attempt at welcoming Ms. Moore fell flat, while I'm here, let me broach another subject with you.”
Anne tilted her head and studied him suspiciously. ”What?”
He gave her a charming smile. ”I'm putting together a little quartet for the annual Fourth of July celebration and I'd like Caleb to join us.”
She stood quickly, grabbing her bag. ”He's busy working and getting ready for school this fall.”
Fritz chuckled softly. ”He told me you'd say that.”
”You've already talked to him?”
”Yes,” he said, rising. ”Caleb is a very talented young man. He should be encouraged to develop his gift.”
”He's going to make something of his life.” She turned on her heel and headed for the French doors. ”He's going to college.”
”That's what you want . . .” Fritz paused. ”What does he want?”
Anne whirled. ”He's my son, not yours. It's up to me to guide him, not you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. ”Guide or force?”
”My son is none of your business,” she replied in a curt voice. ”Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”
With two angry strides, she left him standing on the deck alone.
Chapter Eight.
What was she doing here? Sam thought as she paused in the doorway of Alice's Beauty Barn. This wasn't part of her therapy-just another situation in which she'd been prodded into complying. She pa.s.sed a hand over her eyes. Honestly, she was so tired of being forced into things. The same hand then strayed to her chopped-off hair. What difference did it make how she looked? Why couldn't everyone leave her alone? If she had the strength, she'd get the h.e.l.l out of here and walk back to the d.a.m.n cabin.
Anne, as if sensing Sam's thoughts, suddenly took her arm and led her over to one of the cus.h.i.+oned chairs in the tiny waiting area.
Two of the chairs were occupied by women-a mother and daughter possibly. They reminded Sam of her mother's friends-glossy and smooth with an unmistakable air of wealth and privilege. When their eyes met Sam's, the older woman leaned close and whispered something to her companion. They were talking about her, Sam thought as a wave of panic hit.
Anne's grip on Sam's arm tightened for an instant as she glanced over at them. ”Irene, Kimberly,” she said with a quick smile as she guided Sam into the chair.
Murmuring ”h.e.l.lo, Anne,” the women returned her smile then resumed their whispers.
Unfazed by their cool response, Anne released Sam and picked up a magazine, shoving it in her lap.
”Here. Read this,” Anne said, then turned and marched over to the receptionist's desk. She leaned forward and, in a hushed voice, began to talk to the young woman standing behind the desk.