Self-doubt crept along his spine as he thought of what her opinion of him would be if she saw him running in his blade. Aiden had not been far from wrong when he jokingly called him the bionic man. The first time he had ever seen someone running with a blade had been when he was in rehab after his amputation. At that time, he was not sure he would ever walk again, much less run. Watching the man practicing in his blade, Scott had been first appalled at the balance necessary and then intrigued with the idea of success.
Dogged determination kicked in, and he anxiously awaited the first time he was fitted with a blade and tried it out.
As he continued to run down the road, he passed the Weston Farm but did not see Lizzie in the yard or near the fence. A strange mixture of disappointment and relief moved through him. He would have loved to have seen her again, and yet, hated to see the look on her face when she realized he was an amputee. Lifting a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, he continued down the road until the farm was out of sight.
Lizzie finished her morning chores with the goats and now stood in the pasture with the alpacas. Finally, calmer from the early morning goat escape, she leaned against the fence and breathed the fresh air deeply into her lungs. The humming sound they made filled her with joy, and she laughed at their antics. Making sure they had feed, she lazily ran her fingers over their fleece. Her mind began to wander, and as so often recently, it wandered to Scott. She could not figure out why he continued to invade her thoughts.
He was certainly handsome, and he had always been exceedingly kind to her. Sighing, she realized that thoughts of him were pointless. He had offered to help, and she’d shoved him away.
The alpacas crowded around her, each trying to see if she had more treats for them. Suddenly, all three twisted their long necks, swinging their heads to the side. She turned to see what had captured their attention. In the distance, she could see a lone man running, his lower left leg replaced by a blade prosthetic. He was not close to her, but even at her distance she could see that his body was muscular. With a ball cap covering his head, the brim creating a shadow over his face, she had no idea who he was and had not seen him running along the lane before. Not wanting to be caught gawking, she turned and moved with the alpacas back to the barn.
“I’m not going to feed you now,” she insisted as she began mucking out their stalls. A few minutes later, she peeked out of the barn and could see that the man had passed her farm, continuing to run down the road. His T-shirt was wet with sweat and clinging to the muscles in his back and upper arms. His running shorts were molded to his taut ass and thick thighs.
His gait was steady, and her gaze dropped to his legs. It was fascinating to watch him run on the prosthetic blade. She had certainly seen runners with a blade on television but never in real life. There was a strange, other-worldly appearance to the appendage, and she wondered how difficult it would be to get used to it. She continued to stare, thoughts of the man running through her mind.
I wonder when he lost his leg. Her grandfather had talked about a farming accident with a young man a few years back, and as she searched her memory banks, she remembered that the accident happened with his arm. There are a lot of veterans in the area. When coming home from an American Legion meeting, Papa Beau would mention the young men coming back from their service or moving to the Baytown area.
I wonder if he was a runner before. If he was a veteran, she felt sure that running has been part of his life. It must have been agonizing to learn how to walk again, much less run. She thought of the news reports that would show the physical therapy and training required just to learn to stand, balance, and walk with the prosthetic leg.
As he disappeared into the distance, she turned, leaning heavily against the barn door, the air in her lungs leaving her body in a rush. She closed her eyes tightly, the image of the man still burning inside. What fortitude he has to come back from a devastating injury to not only live but take life at a run. Embarrassment slid through her as she thought about the self-pity she had felt since Papa Beau died.
Certainly, she grieved and knew that was normal and healthy. But to wallow in self-pity… Papa Beau would never have wanted that.
Opening her eyes, she looked around the barn, mentally categorizing what needed to be done on a daily basis as well as the general upkeep of jobs that would need to be completed. She walked back outside and turned slowly in a circle. Working long hours, she was able to continue all of her tasks on the farm plus some of what her grandfather used to do.
She dropped her chin to her chest as the reality sunk in. A weight pressed on her chest again as she accepted that she was going to need help, especially if she was going to be increasing her sales for the goat milk products that she so wanted to do. And then there was the shearing of the alpacas.
But where do I come up with the money to pay someone to help? An image of Scott landed right in the middle of her thoughts. With hands on her hips, she continued to stare at her old, scuffed boots. She had been so angry to find out that her grandfather specifically wanted Scott to help her figure out the finances for the farm. But the reality was she needed him. Wincing, she thought of how she had not been very welcoming or accommodating. Pinching the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, she squeezed her eyes even tighter before sucking in a deep breath and lifting her head.
Squaring her shoulders, she knew what she needed to do. She was Beau Weston’s granddaughter and would not allow Weston Farms to go under.
Before she had a chance to reconsider, she finished her morning chores. Once complete, she double-checked to make sure the animals were secure in their pastures and hurried into the house to shower. Taking care to dry her hair smooth, she braided it so that it hung down her back, out of her way. Looking into her closet, she had few clothes that might be deemed appropriate for visiting someone in their office other than what she wore to the lawyer’s the other day. Deciding it did not matter, she pulled on a pair of clean jeans, a simple, unadorned T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers that had seen better days but had not become dirty with farm work. Grabbing her purse, she headed to the truck.
Within fifteen minutes, she was driving down Main Street of Baytown, passing Jillian’s Coffee House and Galleria. The dark green awning over the few tables that sat on the sidewalk looked inviting, and she wondered if her goat milk products would really sell there. Turning onto a side street, she was able to find parking near McFarlane–Redding Accounting.
Walking with a purposeful stride, she pulled open the front door and stepped inside, her gaze landing on a perfectly-coiffed older woman sitting behind a wooden desk. The woman looked up, smiled pleasantly, and asked, “May I help you?”
Uncertainty filled her and her stomach knotted. She clutched the strap of her purse tightly, and blurted, “Uh… I was going to see… but I don’t have an appointment. Uh… I’ll just…”
“You’re Elizabeth Weston, aren’t you?”
Jerking her head up and down in reply, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman stood and extended her hand. “I’m Mrs. Markham. I knew your grandparents from years back. I’m very sorry for your loss, my dear.”
Expecting the usual sting of tears that tended to hit when anyone referred to her grandparents, she found Mrs. Markham’s warm tone and sincere expression to soothe over her. Letting out a breath she did not know she was holding, she smiled slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”