Chapter 9       

“Helga!” Chase said the moment Evan walked into the sickeningly charming cabin that had become his prison. “You hired a nurse named Helga?”

“No one else could stand up to you,” Evan said, shutting the door after he set two large suitcases on the den floor. “Besides, Andy says she’s the best nurse in the state. He was a gem to help me find her on such short notice.”

The cold air that had been wafting through the door was the first fresh air Chase had experienced in over a day. There was snow on the ground, and—laid up like he was—he couldn’t exactly go for a hike. He’d been nauseous from the concussion, which only aggravated everything. Thankfully, the throbbing in his head was dull at the moment. In the middle of the night, he’d tried to roll over and almost cried from the pain. It was nearly impossible to sleep with his head injury and all this plaster.

“I’m going to go crazy being cooped up like this. With Helga! She could win a Sumo wrestling competition.”

“That’s the point,” Evan said. “She won’t take any of your shit, and trust me, she won’t be inclined to accept any inducements either.”

Like money, Chase realized he meant. Yeah, he’d thought about bribing his nurse. “I would never insult her that way.”

His friend had the nerve to chuckle. 

“I also can’t stay here,” he told Evan. “I hate this house. You need to find me another one.”

Of course, he couldn’t tell Evan the real reason, which he’d almost spilled to Moira. The damn house was an almost exact replica of his family’s ranch house in Wyoming. Of course, it was a common floor plan and style in the mountains, but still. Every time he looked at the massive flagstone hearth, his chest felt tight. While the furnishings were nicer, there were still too many homey touches. Every time he swung his chair around, he expected to catch a glimpse of his mother and father. His little brother. There was no question—being cooped up was messing with his head.

“Trust me, this is the best place we could find,” Evan said. “I brought what I thought you might want, but with those casts, we’re going to have to make some slits in your shirts and pants. And I felt weird packing your underwear. I deserve a Best Friend Medal for that alone.”

“Funny,” Chase said, doing his best to ignore the urge to itch at the edge of the cast on his leg. “Yesterday, Moira suggested tear-away stripper apparel. She wasn’t even joking. How many more indignities must I suffer?”

“Yeah, she told me,” Evan admitted. “Margie thought it was a great idea. Then they bonded over cinnamon rolls and Channing Tatum’s abs…and dance moves. I kinda hate that guy. He’s made it hard for every man in the free world. What other guy can get on the floor and hump it like that without making his woman laugh hysterically?”

Chase had enough use of his brain to realize Evan must have seen the movie in question at some point. He allowed himself a groan. “Are we really discussing Magic Mike? Evan, I’m cooped up here, and I’m serious about hating this house.”

“I know!” There was that look in his friend’s eyes—the one Evan always had when he’d brainstormed a potential invention. Only this time, Chase had a feeling he was the invention. “Close your eyes.”

“Give me a break.” He stared back at him in a silent refusal. 

“Do it! Work with me.”

He gave in.

“First thing that comes to mind. Favorite thing to do as a kid.”

A vision of riding fences with his dad on horseback flashed through his mind. After they lost the ranch, he’d never ridden horses again, only bulls. “Nothing.”

“Try again. Did you make anything fun?”

“This isn’t a therapy session, Evan. Come on.”

The hardwood floor squeaked, ostensibly because his friend had walked toward him. “C’mon. When I was a kid, I was always tinkering around. There must have been something you liked to do back then.”

An image came to mind—another memory with his dad. “I used to smoke meat,” he found himself saying.

“Really?”

Chase opened his eyes to see Evan crouched down in front of him. “You know I lived on a ranch. We butchered our own meat. My dad smoked some of the parts while my mom cooked the others. You can make anything taste better with a good smoke. Even tongue.”

Evan made a gagging sound. “Tongue! That’s disgusting.”

“You lived in France, Evan,” Chase said. “They use offal in everything.”

“Doesn’t mean I tried it,” Evan said. “So you smoked meat. What was your favorite?”

Chase decided to play along. After all, he had nothing better to do. “Bacon.” Largely because it involved time with both his father and mother. “And ribs. Nothing better than smoked ribs.”

“Did you ever draw?”

Chase shook his head on reflex, and pain shot across his skull.

“Paint?”

“No,” he said in exasperation. “We ranched, and trust me, that means you’re up before dawn milking cows and feeding animals. Then I’d go to school and come home to more chores, after which I would do homework and go to bed.”

“What about music?” Evan asked.

There had been singing during chores. He lifted his shoulder. “My parents liked music. My mom had a fine singing voice.” The last time he’d heard it had been at his dad’s funeral. They’d sung “Amazing Grace,” and Chase had fought tears at how raspy and halting his mom’s normally angelic voice had sounded.

“Do you play an instrument?” Evan asked.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” His friend didn’t blink once. “I played a little guitar, and I sang. Happy?”

“As a clam,” Evan said, standing and rubbing his hands together. “Beyond your clothes, I also brought something I found in your closet. At first I thought it might have been an old girlfriend’s. Wasn’t Trisha’s style.”

Chase watched as Evan unzipped one of the suitcases and drew out a pillow. His heart stopped.

“The more I looked at it, the more I realized the stitching wasn’t from a factory or anything. In fact, the pillow smelled a little off to me. Then I realized why.”

His friend held up the pillow his mother had sewed by hand. The backing was a simple cream fabric, but it was the front that garnered the attention. On a bold blue fabric, his mom had cross-stitched Home Sweet Love in the center in white thread. Pain shot through his heart, and Chase had to bite down to keep from crying out.

“You shouldn’t have brought that, Evan,” he ground out, suddenly sweating.

“Who made it? Your mom?” He brought the pillow over and set it in Chase’s lap. 

“Take it away, Evan. I don’t want it here.”

“Why not? It was in your closet.” Evan sunk to his haunches in front of him. “Tell me about the pillow, Chase.”

Instead, Chase used his good arm to hurl it across the room. It hit the wall. But the words his mom had cross-stitched still taunted him. 

“I’m going to put this pillow on the couch for the moment,” Evan said, walking over and picking it up. “I’m hoping someday soon you’ll tell me about it. I’m quite fascinated with its origin, you see. It’s the first homey thing I’ve ever seen in your house.”

Which was why he’d stuffed it in the back of his closet. “You’re crossing some pretty big lines here, Evan.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I have this feeling in my gut that I’m on to something. And now, since you’re all worked up, I’m going to give you my surprise.”

“I don’t want anything,” he said, hating how petulant he sounded.

Evan opened the front door and disappeared. The cold wind stole over him, and while it felt good to be exposed to fresh air again, it hurt to shiver when you had two broken bones and a concussion. When Evan reemerged, he was driving a sleek, four-wheel, all-terrain mobility scooter. The door was just wide enough to accommodate it.

Chase made sure to lock his jaw so his mouth didn’t gape open like some idiot.

Evan’s smile was practically beaming sunshine. “I thought this baby would soothe you some. I made some modifications to the design. The scooter can travel up to eleven miles an hour, and it’ll even tilt you up to help you get out of it easier.”

He demonstrated these functions by pushing on what looked like a simple keyboard.

“Evan—”

“Oh, and check this out,” he said, grinning. “You can call or text me, Moira, Helga, or Andy about anything related to your recovery by using this keyboard. And the screen isn’t backlit, so it won’t hurt your head.”

“How quaint,” Chase drawled. “You’re not completely taking my phone away, but I can only call or text my jailers.”

“I guess I should be wearing a guard uniform then,” Evan said, swinging off the scooter. “You can also adjust the arm and leg rests with the punch of a button.”

“Can I order room service too?” he quipped.

“I’ve already talked to both Chef T at The Grand Mountain Hotel and Brian at Brasserie Dare. They’re setting up meals on wheels for you.”

Chase clapped his good hand against the side of the wheelchair. “Goodie!”

Evan sucked in a steady stream of air, signaling he was losing his patience.

“If I can listen to CNBC, why don’t you fly out Gerdie?” Chase pressed. “She can read me emails, and I can dictate responses. I can work on the bid.” His executive assistant would be more than happy to help him, he was sure.

“Because listening to CNBC is different than the mental concentration your work requires,” Evan answered. “Especially on a complex bid like this. It’s a hotbed of stress.”

He wasn’t wrong there.

“I’ve done the medical research myself, Chase,” Evan said with a sigh. “Do you think I like having you laid up like this? That I’d insist on you taking a break if it wasn’t what’s best for you?”

Chase shook his head and then winced. Dammit, he needed to remember that hurt. “I know you don’t. It just seems like we could come up with a better plan.”

“Right. Plan. I’ve drafted how we’re going to reallocate your work for the next four weeks—” Sensing Chase’s objection before it was voiced, he raised a hand to keep him quiet. “Just to be safe. Even if you can work sooner, you’ll have to ease back in. Would you like to hear what I came up with and comment?”

Work, real work. “Please.”

“First, tell me about that pillow.”

It seemed Evan wasn’t the only one in the room who could drive a hard bargain. “No. I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Funny,” Evan said, heading into the kitchen. “I’ll pour us some water and then we can make sure all my reallocations are suitable.”

A half hour later, Chase had to concur they were. Evan had done an excellent job of dividing up his workload, even though it put extra pressure on his already hardworking staff, especially Rajan and Darren. It should have made him proud that Evan knew his own company so well—he’d come such a long way from the untried genius kid Chase had met a decade ago—but instead it sort of galled him. Made him feel expendable.

“You’ll be back in no time,” Evan assured him. “Without the headaches, surliness, and nausea.”

Chase wasn’t so sure about that, but he let Evan help him into his new all-terrain scooter. With those wheels, maybe he could run away from home at eleven miles per hour.

Except he’d have nowhere to run to. For the first time that felt like something of a problem.