Melt (Steel Brothers Saga 4)

“How old are you, Jonah?”

“I’m thirty-eight. How old are you?”

I shouldn’t have asked that. I wasn’t sure why it had popped out.

“I’m forty.”

I hoped my shock didn’t show on my face. I’d have pegged her for much younger, but all that schooling…and she’d been in practice for a while. Of course she was older.

She continued, “But we’re not here to talk about me, are we?”

“I’m sorry. That was personal.”

“No worries. I’m not one of those women who gets weird about her age.”

“No reason you should. You look great. I’d take you for late twenties.”

She blushed again, this time all the way down her neck. Her skin was fair, and the rosiness erupted like pink petals against her flesh.

My groin tightened.

“Thank you. Let’s get back to your friendships. You mentioned that your friend has a little boy. Do you ever think about having a family?”

I tensed up. “For a long time, I didn’t. But now I see what Talon and Jade have together, and I wonder…”

“What do you wonder about?”

“I wonder if…if there’s someone like Jade out there for me.” And I also wondered if she might be sitting across from me. “I mean, if Talon, with all of his past, can make a relationship work, maybe there’s hope for me.”

“I think there’s plenty of hope for you.” She looked at the clock on her table. “Our time is up for today. I want you to think about something before we meet again.”

“Sure. What’s that?”

“I want you to think about what your responsibilities truly are, and the next time you come in, we’ll talk about that.”

“Easy. I’m responsible for everything. It’s my ranch.”

“It’s one-quarter your ranch. Let your siblings do their jobs. When you come back next time, I want to know what you’re truly responsible for. Not what you think you’re responsible for, but what you actually are responsible for.”

Seemed like a simple enough question. So why did I have no idea where to start?

Chapter Four

Melanie

I sat down in my chair, shaking, after Jonah Steel left my office. The poor man felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and I wasn’t sure how to help him realize that it was not his responsibility. I specialized in treating victims of childhood trauma, and in his own way, Jonah was a victim of childhood trauma. But I had the feeling that his problems went further back than Talon’s abduction. Somehow he had grown to believe he was responsible for everything in his life, and I had to figure out how to disavow him of that that notion.

More importantly, if I was to truly help, I had to get rid of my sweaty palms and quivering body. Jonah was the most attractive man I’d met in some time, and I didn’t mean just his amazing physical looks. I was a sucker for someone like him—a man who had so much honor that it became his nemesis. Jonah wanted to protect everyone, but he couldn’t. He was only one man. And twenty-five years ago, he was a thirteen-year-old boy.

How I ached to help him. But I wasn’t sure I was the right therapist for this job.

I riffled through the papers on my desk, looking for Brad Logan’s number. He might be a better fit for Jonah. For some reason, his number wasn’t in my phone or in my paper Rolodex on my desk. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, but he’d given me a business card then. I wouldn’t have thrown it away. My desk was an infernal mess, of course. I was as disorganized as anything. It was a wonder I ever got anything accomplished. Paper after paper after paper. I’d have to have Randi go through all this stuff. Normally my office was my sanctuary and Randi did her work out in the reception area, but this was more than I could handle. I picked up some folders to take them out to her desk for filing, when a piece of paper slipped out of one.

I glanced at the floor, and my heart sank. I knew what it was before I picked it up.

The piece of stationery was pink and tear-stained. Whether they were my tears or Gina’s, I wasn’t sure. The pain was still new and raw.

Six months had passed, but I hadn’t dealt with all these emotions. Oh, I put up a good front. I told the few who knew that I’d made peace as best I could with what had occurred, and I repeated my own advice—advice I gave to all my patients—in my head. You have to want to heal, and you have to do it for yourself. Did I not want to heal on some subconscious level? Many times I’d thought about calling Brad for my own benefit, but I hadn’t. I resisted.