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Chapter One
Callum
The grumble of my Harley's engine sputters out as I remove my helmet and gaze at the nondescript brick building in front of me, where I have volunteered to be tortured for three days every week. Well, "volunteered" might be a slight exaggeration. My brother gave me no choice. Jack tried to convince me this is physical therapy for my knee, which I injured a few weeks ago, but I know he has ulterior motives. No idea what they are, not yet, but I have no doubts I'll find out soon.
With my helmet tucked under one arm, I stride across the pavement to the front doors of the therapy clinic. All right, maybe I limp over to the doors. And it might've taken me twice as long as it should have, and I probably growled and groaned the whole time. My bloody knee bloody hurts.
Aye, I shouldn't have come on my Harley. Jack will have my hide if he finds out I did that.
I take a deep breath, straighten my posture, and march—all right, limp—into the building. A receptionist greets me, and I sign in for my appointment, then sit down in a chair that feels like a torture device. I'd known physical therapy would be painful, but I hadn't expected the torment to start in the waiting room. I sit here squirming and grimacing as the seconds tick by. Since the clinic doesn't have a clock on the wall, I keep glancing at the one on my mobile.
Two minutes. Five minutes. Seven minutes.
Why do medical people always make their patients wait?
"Callum?" a female voice calls out.
I stuff my mobile into my pocket and struggle to get up out of my chair.
A bonnie lass with golden red hair glances my way. "Do you need some help?"
"No." I can't stop myself from sounding grumpy. Accepting help, especially from a woman, is not something I like to do. As I reach the lass, though, my mood brightens. She's not only bonnie, but she has beautiful green eyes, sensuous lips, and a toned body. I smile and offer her my hand. "Callum MacTaggart. Are you my physical therapist?"
"Yes." The lass shakes my hand. "Kate Wagner. Come with me, please."
I'll follow her anywhere.
She sweeps her gaze over my entire body, but it doesn't seem like sexual interest. No, I get the feeling she's analyzing me. As she takes in my clothes, her brows wrinkle. I'm wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, leather boots, and a black leather jacket, along with a black helmet tucked under my arm. Why should she seem confused by that?
The lass twists her mouth into what seems like a disapproving expression. "Did you come here on a motorcycle?"
"Aye."
"Why would you do that? It's bad for your knee." She lifts her gaze to my face. "Your brother said you were coming from Loch Fairbairn. Did you ride your bike all the way here? It's got to be three hours away."
"I towed my Harley to Inverness on a trailer, then rode it here."
"You still shouldn't be doing that."
I struggle to stay calm despite her mother-knows-best tone and the way she's squinting at me. "It's my life. If I want to ride a Harley, I'll do it. When I'm here in this clinic, I'll do what you say. But the rest of my life is none of your business."
"All of your life is my business, Callum." She leans in to stare into my eyes, though she has to stand on her tiptoes to do that. "I'm not just your physical therapist. I'm your counselor too."
"Counselor?"
"Your brother hired me to rehabilitate your knee and your mind."
Cannae help it. I clench my jaw and hiss a breath out through my nostrils. Counseling? Jack is going to pay for this.
I take a deep breath to calm myself, which doesn't work, and look at Kate Wagner. "Thank you for the offer, but I donnae need a mental counselor."
She shakes her head. "Sorry. I'm under strict orders to refurbish you, inside and out."
Refurbish? Ahmno a piece of furniture.
"Your brother paid for four weeks in advance," Kate says. "The clinic doesn't offer refunds. So if you walk out the door—"
"Aye, ahmno a bairn. I understand the situation."
