Michelle Celmer—Playing by the Baby Rules; Exerpt


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HOUSE CALLS

Silhouette Desire
January 2006
ISBN 0-373-76703-x

CHAPTER ONE

At the sound of a car door slamming, Pete Morgan wheeled himself across the library to the window overlooking the circle drive, but he was too late to see the occupant of the dark blue SUV parked there.
What difference did it make? He’d only gone to the window out of habit. It’s not like he got many visitors these days. Or wanted any, for that matter.
The flowers and get well cards had stopped arriving soon after he was released from the hospital, and after weeks of enduring the seemingly endless looks of pity from friends and colleagues, he’d begun turning visitors away. It had taken a few weeks, but people finally got the hint and stopped coming altogether. Now he spent his days alone in his private wing of the house. The solitude it provided suited him just fine.
He stared out the window, trying to recall when he’d last been outside. The afternoon sun looked warm and inviting and a gentle breeze swayed the trees bordering the ten acre estate. Occasionally he yearned to get out. He missed the sting of the sun on his back as he sliced across the lake on water skis, the burn of his muscles as he climbed the jagged face of a mountain, the wind in his hair as he biked the trails at Stony Creek State Park. Those had been the days he’d lived for, the days he’d felt truly free.
Those days were over.
He stared out the window, remembering all that he’d lost--all that he would never get back. When he heard the door open, it might have been five minutes or it could have been an hour.
“ Peter?” a voice said stiffly, like the mere mention of his name caused enormous regret.
He didn’t bother turning to face her. He knew what he would see if he did--disappointment, pity. He wasn’t in the mood.
“ What do you want, mother?”
“ Your father and I would like to have a word with you.”
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his father stood next to her in the doorway--towered over her is more like it. Charles Morgan, a force to be reckoned with. There had been a time, long ago, when Pete had respected his father’s powerful presence, feared it even. Not anymore. He’d grown immune to him a long time ago. “I’m afraid you’ll have to call my secretary for an appointment. I’m booked solid this afternoon.”
The pinched, irritated look he received from his father gave Pete tremendous satisfaction.
“ I don’t find your sarcasm amusing,” he thundered. “You will apologize to your mother this instant.”
“ Or else what?” He swiveled to face them. “You’ll ground me to my room? You’ll take away my driving privileges? News flash. I’m not going anywhere.”
“ I’ve had enough of your attitude,” his father ground out, a vein pulsing at his temple. “You’ve spent weeks wallowing in self pity when you should have been working to rehabilitate yourself.”
“ What you think is of no concern to me. If you insist that I stay here, you’re just going to have to learn to live with me this way.” Pete tossed the medical journal he’d been reading on the table next to the couch and spun back to the window. “Maybe I’m happy the way I am.”
“ Nonsense,” his mother said, her voice softer but no less disapproving. “You’re a doctor. You won’t be satisfied until you’ve made a complete recovery.”
“ Has it occurred to either one of you that I may not make a complete recovery? Have you forgotten that my leg was nearly blown off?”
“ Morgan’s are fighters,” his father replied, as if his word was law. As if that reversed the damage Pete had sustained. Talk about arrogant.
“ You’ll learn to walk again,” his father said. “Starting today.”
He sensed his mother crossing the room, and in his peripheral vision saw her lift a hand to his shoulder, then pull away before she touched him. Touching had never been a big hit at the Morgan estate. His father had always believed in tough love. Affection hadn’t factored into the program. Obviously that hadn’t changed in all the years he’d been away.
“ Peter--” she said gently, before his father’s voice boomed behind her.
“ We’re wasting our time here. He won’t listen.”
He sensed her pause, like she might actually defy her husband and speak her mind for the first time in her life, but her hand dropped to her side and she backed away. Their retreating footsteps told him the conversation was over.
“ Suppose I don’t ever walk,” he said to himself, wheeling back to the window. “What then?”
“ Suppose you stop acting like a big baby and at least try.”
The comment came from neither of his parents and Pete swung around, startled to find that he wasn’t alone. “I beg your pardon?”
She stood across the room, her back to him, a compact little package of luscious curves and softness poured into a snug pair of blue jeans and a clingy red shirt. She gazed up at the bookcases spanning the north wall. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place.” She laughed to herself. “I mean, I’ve obviously seen lot’s of books at the library and the book store, but not in someone’s house. I wonder if they’ve all been read?”
She pulled a leather bound copy of The Hobbit from the shelf, running a hand over the careworn jacket. That had been one of his favorites. He’d read it so many times he was sure if he gave it some thought, he could recite it word for word from memory.
“ I love the smell of paper and leather, don’t you?” She raised the book to her nose and inhaled. “Hmm, it reminds me of weekends at my grandfather’s house. He owned lots of books too. But not this many.”
Pete wheeled himself closer, mesmerized. Something about her was so familiar, yet he hadn’t even seen her face. “Who are you?”
She carefully returned the book to its place on the shelf. “Considering that little tantrum you just pulled with your parents, I suppose you could say I’m you’re worst nightmare.”
As she turned to him, Pete had to remind himself to breath. Worst nightmare? Hardly. She looked more like a wet dream fantasy. Short dark hair hung in soft ringlets around a lovely, heart shaped face--
Lovely? Good God, where had he dredged that up from? He wasn’t the kind of man to use a word like lovely, though he had to admit the description fit. She was sharp too. He could clearly see the spark of intelligence in her eyes. They were round and dark and shone with a cockiness he used to see when he looked in the mirror. She also looked very familiar.
“ Do I know you?”
“ You know that taking your anger out on your parents isn’t very constructive,” she said. “You should channel those emotions into your recovery.”
He frowned. “What are you, a shrink?”

From the book: House Calls

By: Michelle Celmer