Wife by Design

He paused, watched her for a moment and then said, “It’s my business.”

“Our agreement only requires you to keep up the premises, not enhance it.”

“Do you always only give what’s expected of you? What you’re required to give?”

They weren’t talking about landscaping. Or jobs.

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.” His expression serious, he moved farther into the garden, with occasional glances back toward where they’d come.

“You can go get him,” Lynn said, understanding the burden of being solely responsible for the welfare of another human being—the senses that had to be tuned in every hour of every day, whether you were physically with that person or not.

Grant shook his head. “No, as much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“For the first time in longer than I can remember, Darin reached out for freedom today. It makes me nervous, but from what I’m told, he has to form some kind of life for himself or risk falling into a depression that could eventually kill him.”

And she only had to watch over Kara while she grew up and could take responsibility for herself….

“He moved his arm a little bit ago.” Grant’s tone reminded her of Brandon when he’d called her in between her university classes to tell her he’d seen Kara take her first step. “He’s only had six days of therapy and already there’s improvement.”

“That’s great!” she said, meaning it. “I expected it to take a couple of weeks, at least, before there was any noticeable change.”

“Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t much. Just an inch or so. But I saw it with my own eyes. He moved his arm.”

“I’m not surprised, Grant,” she said when he started to sound defensive. “Darin’s determined. And the damage the surgery did was to a portion of the brain that is retrainable, as you know. I’m just surprised at the speed with which we’ve seen progress!”

“That’s my brother for you. Once he’s made his mind up about something, there’s no going back.”

The way he was looking at her seemed to be sending some kind of personal message—beyond the perfectly circumspect conversation they were having. Had Grant made up his mind about something, too?

Something to do with her?

And him?

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I REMEMBER WHEN Darin decided he was going to play ball for the high school team.” Grant was heading for the middle of the garden, and Lynn kept pace beside him, trying to follow his conversation while she recovered her breath and wondered if she’d imagined the double meaning behind his words. “He’d been a star in Little League. I’d gone to all his games. But his high school…they had guys playing for them that were expected to go straight to Triple-A. That didn’t stop Darin, though. He wasn’t just going to play ball, he was going to play first base. I didn’t doubt him for a second.”

“You two were close growing up.” She had herself fully back in control.

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of unusual, given your age difference.” They’d reached the gazebo and were standing inside of it. Out of the setting sun. Glad that she’d brought her sweater with her, Lynn rubbed her arms to stave off the chill of the February evening air.

She tried not to notice the way Grant Bishop’s jeans fit thighs that were proportioned perfectly enough to be etched in stone and gawked at for eternity.

Or to be aware of the fact that they were in the private gazebo all alone.

“Our father was an officer with the LAPD, killed in the line of duty when I was eight,” Grant said, and somehow they were sitting together on a bench of one of the three wooden picnic tables set in the gazebo. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, his work gloves on his thigh, as he sat with his back to the table, facing the direction of the park across the commons. She was facing out, as well, with several inches between them.

“Darin was fourteen at the time. Somewhere along the way someone told him he was the man of the house, and he took his responsibility seriously.”