Second Chance Dad by Roxanne Rustand Page B

it, a refreshing change from the usual expectations associated with his profession.
    â€œAre we done for today?”
    She rolled her eyes. “You wish. I need you back on the sofa so I can do fifteen minutes of deep tissuemassage of your leg, then I’ll go over your first set of exercises to make sure you can do them.”
    â€œI’ll do my best,” he said drily.
    A hint of a smile twinkled in her eyes. “You actually get to enjoy my company for another twenty-five minutes.”
    His first inward response was… enjoy ? Yeah, right. The second blindsided him—that he was going to be sorry when she left.
    He already knew her efforts weren’t going to make much difference in his physical limitations. She was just too inexperienced to realize that just yet.
    Still, the thought of her coming back on Wednesday to brighten up the cabin with her irrepressible air of energy was already lifting his heart—not that he was attracted to her on a personal level.
    After the way his wife died, those days were long gone for him.
    But maybe physical therapy wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Chapter Five
    A t McLaren’s first real appointment, Sophie had managed to complete his assessment and provide some deep massage to the painful knots of scar tissue in his leg.
    The man had been civil, silent during that initial, painful procedure, but she knew what that silence had cost him in the way his face had blanched and jaw tensed.
    Now, as she knocked again on his front door, a single woof sounded inside, and she wondered if he was going to barricade himself inside with Bear and refuse to see her. Surely not. “Dr. McLaren, are you in there?”
    The heavy wood door screeched open and he stood before her, his face pale and drawn, with Bear at his side. Past them, she could see stacks of folders and an open laptop on his round oak kitchen table.
    â€œLooks like you’re busy,” she said brightly,offering a big smile as she gave Bear a dog biscuit. “I’ll be out of your way in an hour.”
    â€œAnd I can only imagine how much fun that hour will be.” He sighed heavily. “Come on in.”
    â€œYou won’t be sorry, you know. You’re going to thank me a thousand times over when you’re dancing down the middle of Main Street because you feel so much better .”
    He snorted. “My dancing days are long over, in case you haven’t noticed.”
    â€œDon’t be so sure.” She bit her lower lip as she watched him laboriously turn and head for the chair by the sofa. “You look a lot more uncomfortable today.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œYou’ve been doing your exercises.”
    That earned another snort. “And they are helping so much. Can’t you tell?”
    â€œYes, I can.” She knew the deep massage alone had been painful for him, though he’d suffered in silence. But as a physician, he had to know on an intellectual level how and why persistence would pay good dividends.
    But living here all alone in this dark and silent cabin, struggling with pain and impaired mobility, had to make the days seem long.
    She dropped her duffel on the floor and sorted through the equipment inside. “I want to measureyour range of motion. Just relax and let me be the one to move your leg, all right?”
    He winced as she flexed and extended his injured leg, then wrote down each angle on her chart. “You understand that this would have been much easier if you’d had extensive therapy right away. More effective, too.”
    â€œI think you’ve mentioned it,” he said tersely. “Maybe a dozen times.”
    She rechecked her measurements.
    â€œBut look here—you’ve got maybe fifteen degrees more this time. Look!” She held up the graph in his chart. “Isn’t that fantastic? Just think where you’ll be in a few months.”
    He glowered back at her. “What were you,