Page 9 of Bear's Heart

“Clyde Park.A property off Brackett Creek Road.”

“Are you being deliberately vague?”

“You’re going to Braden Anderson’s home.I need you to widen his bathroom door.And replace his ramp with something more custom.If you can.”

“I thought your firm was fired.”

“They were, yes, but if you saw his ramp—its shiny metal, and it’s an eyesore, and it looks institutional.”

Rye remained silent and Josie’s pulse quickened, fueled by determination.“Nothing works for him, Rye.He can’t use his kitchen.He struggles to use his bathroom.He’s all boxed in.And I’m not asking you to fix all of that.Just give him a bigger bathroom door and I’ll feel better.He will, too.”

“You’ve met him?”

“I have.Today.And he’s… struggling.I wouldn’t call him angry, but he’s frustrated and when you see what he’s dealing with, you’ll understand why.I think having a slightly more functional bathroom would make him feel better.And replacing the metal ramp with something else—”

“The ramp is going to have to wait, sis.I can go and measure the bathroom and make some calls and see if Paradise Lumber has something in stock, and if they do, I can get this done tomorrow.But the ramp will be later, once we’ve caught up on my contracted jobs.”

“That’s great.I’ll call Paradise Lumber and see if they have anything that would work.”

“Let me know what you find out.”

“I will.”

Chapter Three

Bear woke upin a cold sweat, the sheet tangled around his hips and legs, his upper body thrashing.

He didn’t know what he’d dreamed but it had made his heart race, and his breathing was still ragged as he tried to orient himself.This was his room.This was his Clyde Park ranch house.This was home.

Or it was supposed to be his home.

Unfortunately, there was little of him here, little of who he’d been, little of who he’d become.

If anything, this house was a haunting reminder of what had happened to him.Once he could do anything, and he’d done everything, and nothing stopped him.But that person was gone.Forever.

It crossed Bear’s mind that he should start therapy again.Everyone who knew him thought it was a good idea, but after years of counseling, he was sick of talking, sick of peeling back the pain, sick of trying to explain the fury and helplessness of being broken.

He was not made to be helpless.Worse, his helplessness was accentuated here in this house.He struggled doing every little thing from sleeping to eating to peeing to bathing.

He slammed into corners and walls.He fell transferring to the shower chair.He fell transferring back to his chair from the toilet.

He fell sideways, and then fell forward and fell back, and if he was lucky, there was something for him to grab and use as leverage.But sometimes, there was nothing, and he crawled to his chair and then it took every bit of his upper body strength to lift up off the ground.And, eventually, he did get back in the chair.But sometimes it took a while.And sometimes it took longer than that, but that was because he was probably pounding his fist into the ground, into his leg, into the cushion of his chair, pounding and swearing and breaking things, including himself.

This was not the life for him.This was not his future.This shouldn’t be his house.

He should have said as much to beautiful lavender-eyed Josie Calhoun with her dark hair and full mouth and questions.So many questions, and she wasn’t wrong to ask them, and her feedback hadn’t been wrong, either.If anything, her feedback was spot on.She knew what she was talking about.She knew what would make his life easier here.She knew the changes that needed to be made.

But, good Lord, she was too pretty.Too pretty, too determined, too optimistic.

If she was around him long enough, she’d see the real Bear.The one that suffered and struggled, and how there were days he couldn’t handle the suffering and struggling.How there were days he just hurt all over.And there were days he couldn’t get the catheter in and there were days he had infections that made him need a trip to ER because his fever had spiked, and he’d waited too long to get on antibiotics.

But how did he know he needed an antibiotic when he couldn’t feel his bladder?Or his lower body?Or half of his back?

That was why he’d told her to stay away.He functioned best when no one was close.He didn’t have to be afraid of being seen for who he really was.

Not necessarily broken but changed.And sometimes so confused.There were days he was fine with it, and then there were days he didn’t know how to cope.

The therapists said it was normal.The doctors said it would take time—years—to adjust.But Bear had already prided himself on his control.On his ability to tolerate pain and overcome what most cowboys couldn’t.

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