Stone stood at the window, watching. Even as he told himself he had no right to spy on Cathy, he found himself unable to turn away. The physical therapist seemed capable, but he barely spared her a glance. Instead, all of his attention focused on his guest.
She moved across the patio, her stride slow and halting. The therapist stopped her and made an adjustment to the crutches. Cathy was able to straighten a little, and that seemed to help her balance.
Her straight hair hung down, concealing her face from him. Shapeless sweats hid her body. She wasn’t all she’d claimed to be, but none of that mattered to him. Their relationship had never been about what she looked like. What he’d cared about was who she was inside.
She continued to pace across the patio. With each pass, her mobility improved. It wouldn’t be all that long before she would be an expert on the crutches. By then, she would be able to put them aside and walk on her own.
Even though the darkened glass prevented anyone from seeing into the room, after a few minutes he stepped back. He’d wanted to check on Cathy’s progress, nothing else. The physical therapist had been as competent as he’d been promised. So now he could forget about his houseguest and go about his business. Everything was on schedule. He was helping Cathy get better. He would fix her—both physically and in any other way she required. That was his goal. To improve her lot in life, to atone.
Yet as he focused on the computer screen in front of him, he found himself thinking about Cathy instead of balance sheets. He found himself eager for the darkness so that he could again spend time with her. As he had a thousand times since the car accident three years before, he cursed the day and the light it brought.
* * *
Cathy stared longingly at the tray next to her bed. She’d demolished her dinner in less than ten minutes. The fish had been perfectly cooked in a delectable sauce. Sautéed mushrooms had been added to the rice; even the vegetables had been delicious. The small plate of cut-up fruit with a single scoop of frozen yogurt had been a very nice surprise for dessert. The only problem was, she was starving. She would have sold her soul for fast food, or even real, fat-filled chocolate. If there had been a way to hobble to a local store for a quick fix, she would have done it. However, she was well and truly trapped. She might as well have been at a spa in the middle of the desert. Maybe that’s how they were so successful. It wasn’t anything more than physically keeping clients away from the food they loved.
Cathy sighed softly and leaned back against the pillows. She wasn’treallyhungry, she told herself. She’d just had dinner. Maybe she should have eaten more slowly so that her brain would have had time to register the food sitting in her stomach. At least that’s what all the magazine articles said. Or if that wasn’t it, then it was just psychological. While she was physically full, she wanted the rich, fattening foods to provide emotional comfort. She needed something with which to distract herself. In time she would get used to eating less. The results would be worth it.
Cathy stared down at herself, wondering if she’d lost any weight yet. It had been a whole day, and she hadn’t cheated once. In her mind, weight loss should be a function of sincerity rather than calories. In this case, she was very, very sincere. Surely that would count for at least a five-pound weight loss.
The phone on her nightstand rang. She jumped slightly and stared at the instrument. She hadn’t heard it ring before. Yet Stone must get calls. No doubt he had several lines for business. Maybe this was the house line.
The phone rang four more times. She ignored it and picked up the television guide Ula had brought her. Maybe there was a good movie on tonight. Or something scary. If she was worried about being attacked by aliens or vampires, maybe she wouldn’t think about food.
She flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything that looked interesting. She’d just tossed the magazine aside when someone knocked at her door. She glanced up as the housekeeper entered the room.
“How was dinner?” the older woman asked.
“Great. I didn’t think I liked fish, but whatever you made was terrific.”
Ula took the empty tray and smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed your food. I had a good time finding the recipes. We’ll try something with chicken tomorrow.”
It was nearly seven in the evening, yet the housekeeper looked as fresh and alert as she had first thing in the morning. Every hair was in place, and there wasn’t a wrinkle in her pale gray dress. Who was this woman? Did she live here? Cathy opened her mouth to ask, then closed it. Ula’s living arrangements weren’t her business. The older woman was just starting to warm up to her. Cathy didn’t want to risk shutting her down by asking personal questions.
“Your phone rang a few minutes ago,” Ula said. “Were you in the rest room?”
Cathy blinked. “This extension rang, but I didn’t think it was for me.”
“It was. Mr. Ward wanted to check on you. I told him you probably didn’t realize the guest room had a dedicated line. If this phone rings, feel free to answer it.”
“Stone called?” she repeated. “Did he leave the house?”
Ula headed for the door. “Not at all. He rarely leaves. He’s in his office. I’ll let him know that it’s all right for him to call back.”
“Please,” Cathy told her, then took a breath. “Ula, is Stone all right?”
The housekeeper paused and looked at her. “What do you mean?” The smile had faded, no doubt because in her opinion, Cathy had overstepped her bounds.
“He told me about the scars on his face. I mean, they’re why he doesn’t go out much and…” Her voice trailed off. What was the old saying? In for a penny? She might as well finish. “Is there anything else? Any other lasting effects? Physical ones, I mean, from the accident.”
“Oh.” Ula shook her head. “He’s fine. There are just the scars.”
Cathy wanted to ask how bad they were, but she couldn’t think of a way to politely phrase it and she wasn’t comfortable enough to just blurt out the question.
“He was injured in the same car accident that killed his wife, wasn’t he?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Okay, so Ula wasn’t going to offer information. At least she was answering questions.
