Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Hello, you two,” he says as he sits on the stool next to me and types on the keyboard.
“Hi, Dr. Blackwell.”
“Just call me Blake. How’s that ankle been feeling, Skyla?”
“Not normal,” I reply.
He frowns. “Okay, can you be more specific?”
The usual frustration sets in. “It’s not normal. Not how it was before it was injured.”
Before it ended my bloody career.
“Well, that’s not unusual. But you’ve done everything right. You did PT for longer than was necessary, and looking at this MRI from last week, the injury has completely healed. I would give you the clearance to dance right this minute if that’s what you wanted to do.”
“But I can’t.” I shake my head. “Of course, I don’t plan to return to New York to resume my professional career. That’s not possible. But even when I dance for pleasure in my studio, it’s not the same. The range of motion, the force it can handle when I jeté—”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“When I leap or jump,” I clarify, “and land on it. There’s no way I’d be able to put in fourteen-hour practice and rehearsal days.”
“And you don’t have to,” he reminds me gently. “It’s my understanding that such rigorous days aren’t a part of your lifestyle anymore.”
“But I should be able to if I had to.” I lift my chin. “I hate that it doesn’t feel normal.”
Dr. Blackwell sets his computer aside to give me his undivided attention.
“Skyla, ankle sprains are sometimes worse than fractures. They heal slowly, and occasionally, the full range of motion doesn’t return. But you’re a strong and gifted athlete, and I think that with time and practice, you’ll feel more and more normal.”
“Ankles are important in ballet,” I mutter.
“I know.” He nods and glances at Riley, who hasn’t taken his eyes off the doctor. “Strength training, stretches—all the exercises you did in PT will help.”
I nod, feeling defeated all over again. “That’s all we can do?”
“I’m afraid so. Dancers’ bodies take a beating, Skyla. I’m surprised you’re not more beat up than this.”
“You don’t even want to see my feet.” I laugh. “They’re not pretty.”
He chuckles, makes some notes on his computer, and my appointment is finished. Riley and I leave the office and walk out to the car, and he jumps into the back seat.
I’m not quite ready to go home, so we stop at my new favorite place, Billie’s Books. I’ve become good friends with the owner, Billie Blackwell, who happens to be Dr. Blackwell’s sister. We share a love of romance books, and our monthly book club is the highlight of my schedule.
“Hey, girl.” Bee waves as she rings up a customer’s purchase. “That new Monica Murphy book is on the shelf there.”
With a grin, I find the paperback and hug it to my chest. Monica Murphy is one of my favorites, and I’ve been waiting for this one. Of course, I have it on my e-reader, but I’m also a paperback collector.
I turned one of my guest rooms into a library. It might not be the size of Belle’s in Beauty and the Beast, but it’s mine, and I love filling it up.
Taking my purchase to the counter, I smile at my friend as she rings up my purchase. Bee’s a gorgeous girl with dark hair perfectly styled in long, beachy waves around her shoulders. She’s in a smart gray suit today, and as usual, her makeup is perfect.
This woman knows fashion, and I love it.
“How’s it going?” Bee asks.
“I’m better now that I have this beauty for my shelves.” I swipe my card and shake my head when she offers me a bag. “Do you mind if I sit in one of your cozy chairs and read for a bit?”
“That’s what the chairs are for,” she reminds me. “Since it’s quiet in here, I’m going to run next door for a coffee. Would you like one?”
“Just a black Earl Grey tea would be lovely. Thank you.”
“You got it. Back in a few.”
Riley and I settle in our favorite spot. The purple chair is deep and cozy, and Bee added a dog bed next to it just for Riley. He turns in a circle and lies down, but he’s still on alert.
“Good boy.” I rub his head before I open the book and get sucked into this talented author’s words.
Bee drops off the tea, then bustles back to work. I enjoy an hour by the window, reading and relaxing, until I finally decide to head over to the studio to prepare for my afternoon class. It was a good choice to come to Bitterroot Valley. My ankle might not have full range of motion, but I’m strangely content and at peace.
So bloody thankful.
Chapter Two
BECKETT
“Tell me you hired him,” Brad, my foreman, declares when I walk into the milking barn after waving off the applicant I just interviewed.