Sam Sheffield curled his fingers around the wheelchair’s hand rims and, for the first time in months, tried to fight his bitterness rather than lingering in self-pity. His prayers had gone unanswered, but his family was right. He had to accept his limitations and move forward.
But how?
The bank of windows showcased maize leaves drifting to the deck. Sunshine glinted off the blue waters of Michigan’s Lake Endwell. A stunning day in late October. He still loved the lake. At least the accident hadn’t taken that. Too much had been stripped away almost a year and a half ago, though. He’d yet to step foot in his auto dealership. Couldn’t imagine running the business from a wheelchair.
A knock on the door made him flinch. It must be the woman his sister had mentioned last night. Claire had advised him in her gentle-but-firm tone to be on his best behavior, that Celeste needed a new start. What Claire hadn’t said had come through clearly—his family was tired of doing everything for him. It was bad enough Claire had hired a caregiver without his permission, but the bomb his brothers had thrown out yesterday? Turned his blood to ice. He wouldn’t think about it. Not now, anyway.
Sam rolled across the hardwood floor. He had no need for a caregiver or personal assistant or whatever his sister wanted to call her. Sure, Claire claimed it was the only way Celeste would stay in the cabin next door for free. But whatever had happened to this girl couldn’t compare to what he was going through.
Leaning forward, he winced at the tremors in his leg and opened the door. A willowy brunette stood before him, and Sam moved back for her to enter. With her face shadowed by long dark hair, she took a few tentative steps his way. He held out his hand. “Sam Sheffield.”
“Celeste Monroe.” Her grasp, like her entry, was elusive, as if she wanted to be as invisible as possible.
He tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but her tucked chin and curtain of hair didn’t give him much to work with. Spinning the wheels around, he headed to the oak table. “Have a seat.”
She obeyed, not bothering to look his way.
“I saw the moving truck earlier.” He splayed his fingers on the smooth wood. “I take it Claire’s cabin is working out for you?”
“It’s perfect.” Celeste pushed her hair behind her ear. Deep brown eyes, nervous, glanced at him.
His breath caught in his throat. She’s beautiful. “I’m glad you like it.”
She smiled, revealing slightly misaligned teeth. Only then did he notice the scars. Jagged silver lines crisscrossed her left cheek and forehead, and one slashed her chin. They in no way detracted from her unusual beauty, and he was tempted to stare, to memorize her face. She bobbed her head, her shiny hair slipping back into position.
A volley of questions flew around in his mind. How had she gotten the scars? Why did she need a new start? What had Claire left out? But the puzzle kept coming back to those eyes—they’d touched a part of him that had been buried since the accident.
He forced his attraction deep down, unreachable. What woman would want a man who couldn’t do the most basic life tasks for himself? He couldn’t protect her. He could barely take care of himself.
“How do you know Claire?” he asked.
“I don’t. Not really. She works at the zoo with my mom’s best friend, Nancy, who told your sister about my accident. A few weeks ago Nancy put the word out that I was looking for a cheap apartment. Claire said she had the perfect solution. Basically, I get to stay in her cabin for free if I help you out.”
His meddling sister. He wasn’t angry, though. Claire couldn’t help worrying about him any more than she could control her urge to help Celeste by letting her stay in the cabin.
“You mentioned an accident,” he said. “What happened to you?”
“Car accident.” The words tumbled out. “My face took the brunt of it. The first five weeks were a blur in the hospital followed by a month in the rehab center. When they released me, I was in no shape to take care of myself. I ended up moving back in with my parents.”
“How long were you out of work?”
“I never went back. Until this summer, some issues prevented me from working full-time, and my boss hired someone else anyhow. But I’m working again. Self-employed. Virtual assistant. I’m hoping to take on more clients now that I’ll have my own place.”
“The cabin’s been empty since June,” Sam said gruffly. An accident had ripped her life apart, too. And she didn’t look much older than his twenty-seven years. “Claire and her husband moved into a new house. She hasn’t had the heart to sell it. I hope she cleaned it for you.”
“She did.” Celeste cast a sideways peek his way. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“Know what?” He itched to return to the windows, to stare past the deck and lawn out to the lake, to let the peaceful view soothe the commotion stirring inside him. Did Celeste mean he didn’t know about Claire’s arrangement with her? Or something else?
“My face.”
The scars. If he wasn’t so focused on himself, he would have put it together. It explained the fragile air about her. “Why would that matter?”
“It matters to most people,” she said so softly he barely heard her.
Wanting to put her at ease, he lifted his shirt to reveal the right side of his abdomen. He had his own scars, except they’d faded to a dull red. They lashed up and down the length of his torso. “I guess we’re even, then.”
Her eyes widened, and a breathy “oh” escaped her mouth. “I’m sorry.” The way her eyebrows dipped assured him she meant it.
“They’re the least of my worries.” His physical scars didn’t bother him, but the collateral damage from the accident festered. Memories from the conversation yesterday returned with a vengeance. His brothers, Tommy and Bryan, had actually suggested he consider selling his dealership.
Sell his dream?
He balled his hands into fists. Maybe they were right. The accident had been over sixteen months ago, but he couldn’t do even simple work tasks. The first time he’d printed out a sales report, his professional goals had seemed so out of reach he’d almost thrown up. He’d printed another one since then, but within minutes he’d broken down in tears. Tears. From him, the man who never cried. But then, he wasn’t the man he used to be. He wasn’t sure he would ever be more than a broken body.
Celeste’s shoulders hunched as she picked at her fingernail. Sunlight spilled into the room, making the table glow.
“I’m glad you recovered enough to work again.” He tapped the table lightly. “I don’t know how much Claire told you, but I was in a boating accident. The propeller sliced my right side. Severed the sciatic nerve in my upper thigh. The nerve graft wasn’t completely successful.”
Just speaking those words riled him up. Why hadn’t God listened to his prayers? Half of patients like him were able to get around on two feet again. Why couldn’t he be one of them?
Well, he had been making progress. Before the slip in the shower a few months ago, he’d been walking on crutches, getting closer to graduating to a cane—working hard so he wouldn’t need a wheelchair