Double Wedding Ring by Peg Sutherland

possibilities in a skinny kid with oversize hands and feet who thought he could do something with his life besides follow in his old man’s footsteps.
    He’d damned sure been right about that.
    It was when Malorie Hovis turned back to him once more, from the street, and said to him with such breathless innocence, “Thanks again. So much!” that he lost his resolve.
    â€œYou’re Susan’s girl, aren’t you?”
    A startled look crossed her face. “Susan? Yes. I am. Did you know Mother? From before, I mean?”
    â€œPretty well. She...she never mentioned me? Tag Hutchins?”
    He waited with a hitch in his pulse. Surely he had been important enough to her to mention to a daughter. Surely...
    When Malorie frowned and shook her head, Tag felt as if Susan had abandoned him all over again.

CHAPTER FOUR
    S AM HATED SEEING the ones who had lost their fight. His Uncle Tag had been like that at first, long before Sam was old enough to understand what it did to a man to accept the fact that his legs or arms no longer responded when his brain gave the order to move.
    Now Sam always knew his first battle—long before he could begin to tackle weak muscles or haywire coordination—was to help them rediscover their spirit. Without it, he knew, his task as physical therapist was a hopeless one.
    This new one was one of those.
    â€œWe have to make an agreement before we get started,” he said, squatting in front of her wheelchair to bring his eyes to a level with hers. Hers were haunted, fearful, with emptiness flirting around the edges. “Understand?”
    She looked at him hesitantly, then shook her head. He smiled, to reassure her. He’d seen Susan Hovis’s chart, knew her history. Knew her age, even, although it was hard to believe this woman with the elfin face and the wispy body was forty-four. The baby-fuzz hair that was just getting long enough to brush her ears made her look like a pixie; her softly freckled cheeks were smooth; the long-boned hands resting in her lap, elegant. He would have guessed her to be closer to his age than his uncle’s. Which just went to prove Tag’s derisive boast that he’d been ridden hard and put up wet too many times to have aged well.
    If Tag was weathered leather, Sam’s new patient was lambswool soft.
    He took one of her hands—her good right hand—in his and squeezed it gently. “I’m Sam. Do you mind if I call you Susan?”
    She hesitated, then gave a tentative shake of her head.
    â€œGood. Now, we’ve got a lot of hard work ahead of us, Susan. Hard for me. But especially hard for you. Understand?”
    She nodded.
    Sam tried to keep his sigh inaudible. “I wish you’d answer me, Susan. Speak to me. Could you do that?”
    Her eyes slipped away, focused on her lap.
    â€œI ask because I want to know that you’ll make this commitment, too. I can’t do it alone. You’re going to have to do most of the work. I need to know you’re with me, Susan.”
    He stopped, waiting for her response. She continued staring at her lap. He felt the fingers of the hand he held twitch, a sign of nervousness, of agitation. That was good. That meant she understood. But he wanted more. So he continued waiting.
    According to her records from the rehab institute in Atlanta, Susan Hovis had made more progress than she was exhibiting today. Her speech was still slurred and ataxia still made her wobbly on her feet, according to her records. But in the few days since leaving rehab, she had apparently retreated to a wheelchair and clamped her jaws tightly shut.
    Having spoken with her primary caregiver, Betsy Foster, Sam wasn’t surprised at the change in Susan.
    Family reaction and cooperation could be a significant component in any patient’s speedy recovery. And Betsy Foster struck him as a critical and contrary partner in the process. Or course, Sam had heard those things about