Full Contact

Black Leather. Ellen’s mother and most of the heroines of Shelter Valley—as Ellen secretly called the ladies who officially met for lunch once a month to solve the world’s problems, but who spoke to one another almost every day—had assured Ellen last night that they were going to have him out of town in no time. Not that Ellen had asked for, or needed, the reassurance.

She didn’t doubt the heroines’ prediction for a second—though she was half rooting for the bold man who had the courage to roar through their quiet town without apology.

“I heard he’s a massage therapist.”

Suddenly, considering that Shawna might actually be about to suggest that Ellen use massage as therapy for what ailed her, she decided this Friday-morning visit was unnecessary after all. She was happy not to be dating. Who had time for it?

When she met the right guy…

When she was ready…

“That’s right.” Shawna folded her hands on her desk. “I hired him.”

“Why?”

“He’s a medical massage therapist, and a good one. His reputation is above reproach. He works with elderly people, volunteers his services a lot of the time, and his success stories would keep the Hallmark Channel in business for years.”

“What kind of successes?”

“Patients with broken hips facing being bound to a wheelchair walking again. Stroke victims brushing their teeth, feeding themselves, learning to talk. A cerebral palsy patient taking his first step at seventy-two.”

“I don’t have a muscular disability. Nor am I geriatric.”

“No, but he’s also done quite a bit with trauma patients. Soldiers suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and abused women and children.”

“He helps them walk again?” She was defensive. She knew it. She just couldn’t help it. She wasn’t getting undressed for some biker guy. No way. Even if she was half rooting for him.

“No, he helps to retrain their instincts, teaching them to trust sudden physical movement in their space and, eventually, accept touch to their skin. He’s assisted women who couldn’t tolerate any kind of physical contact. Apparently several of them have invited him to their weddings.”

“Abused women. You mean women who were beaten? Like domestic abuse.”

“Yes.”

“What about rape victims? Has he ever had a rape victim for a client?”

“Not that I know of.”

She was off the hook then. “I don’t see—”

“What you’re going through, this aversion to being touched, even in a completely noninvasive, trusted situation, is the same thing many abused women experience.” Shawna’s words hung in the air. Echoing around the small office. Getting louder by the second.

Or so it seemed to Ellen.

“Fine,” she blurted to silence the sound. “I mean, what does this guy do? If you think I’m suddenly going to want a massage because a good-looking biker wants to give me one—” Heat flooded under her skin.

“You’ve seen Jay.”

“Maybe.”

“Were you afraid of him?”

“Not as much as I would have expected.”

“Good. He’s got a way about him.”

“My mother and her friends don’t think he should be trusted.”

“It’s not like them to judge by appearances.”

“I guess David invited him to the men’s group at church Sunday night and he said no. No excuses, just no, thank you.”

Shawna didn’t dignify the comment with a response.

“And Ben and Tory invited him to dinner. He turned them down, too.” Why Ellen felt compelled to defend the heroines wasn’t clear to her.

“Jay’s personal life has nothing to do with his skills as a therapist,” Shawna said. “I think you know that.”

Ellen didn’t always agree with some of the more narrow-minded opinions espoused by the heroines of Shelter Valley, as Shawna was well aware.

“If you see Jay, I’ll insist on being a primary player in your treatment. So far, with the few clients I’ve referred to him, Jay’s insisting on that, as well. I’ll want to speak with him first, but from what I know about his methods, the treatment will be completely noninvasive.”

The repetition of the word noninvasive set Ellen off. “What does that mean?” The words were out before she had a chance to take a deep breath. Temper her reaction.

“It means you’ll be fully dressed at all times.”

Oh. Well, then. She relaxed her fingers from the edge of her chair. “Where?”

“Here. I’ve given him a room right down the hall.”

She’d known she had to seek all the help she could get the second she’d pulled her son’s arms from around her neck five days ago.

She had a month to fix herself.

CHAPTER THREE

JAY HADN’T PLANNED TO spend the entire morning sitting in a car. It was a school day, Friday—what crazy school system started at the beginning of August?

With the academic year barely under way, why in hell hadn’t the kid left his house to catch the bus with the rest of the junior-high-aged kids?

There had been five of them. Three girls and two boys. Jay could describe them all in detail. He knew which houses they’d come from, too.

But he hadn’t seen the boy he wanted to see.

Only to see.

Without being seen.

At ten o’clock, after three hours of surveillance, he gave up. Either the boy was sick, cutting school, had spent the night at someone’s place or was in juvenile detention.