A Path Less Traveled (16 page)

Guilt punched
Trish in the gut. Maybe she should’ve called to let her know he’d had a
setback. She stepped aside to allow Andy in the room. “Dr. Wyse, this is a
friend of ours, Andy Tyler.”

The doctor stood
and stretched out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. Why don’t we all have a
seat?”

“Andy is Bo’s
T-ball coach, and he has a few questions.” Trish rushed through her
carefully-rehearsed spiel as they made their way to the leather office chairs.

“Okay. First
let’s see if we can find a special toy for Bo to play with, and then you can
fire away.”

The woman, clad
in a flowing dress that depicted Noah’s Ark, laid a gentle hand on Bo’s back
and guided him to the toys. She offered several alternatives, but he refused
each one, until she handed him . . .
a stuffed horse.
He tucked it under
his arm and plopped down on a beanbag.

Trish shifted in
the chair and shot a quick glance at Andy. His eyes didn’t hold the
I-told-you-so look she’d expected.

Dr. Wyse made her
way back. “Okay, now for your questions.”

He cleared his
throat. “I’d like to introduce Bo to equine therapy. I used to volunteer at the
Sunnyvale Ranch near Dallas.”

“I’ve heard of
that ministry. They do great work.” She edged forward and crossed her arms on
the desk. “What is your relationship to Bo?”

“Just a friend.”

Trish shook her
head. “No. He’s more than a friend. Bo looks up to him like a father figure.
Which leads to my next question. Is Bo’s attachment to Andy healthy?”

“It’s actually
healthier to have a father figure than to not have one.”

Not what she
wanted to hear. She brought a hand up to brush back her hair. How was she
supposed to encourage Bo to have a relationship with someone without losing
herself? “Really?”

Dr. Wyse stared
at her a long moment then flicked her attention to Andy. “Do you have a family
of your own, Mr. Tyler?”

“No, ma’am, but
I’m concerned about Bo.” He stopped and looked at Trish, his eyes sincere. “And
Trish. I want to help.”

“I see.” Dr. Wyse
peered her way again then lowered her gaze, an understanding smile on her lips.
“I think that’s very noble of you, Mr. Tyler. Of course, if Trish has problems
with it, then maybe it’s not for the best.”

Andy’s mouth
opened halfway. “I don’t understand.” His tone held hurt.

“Bo is very
tuned-in to Trish’s emotions right now. If he senses any doubt toward a person
in her, he picks up on it.” She tapped her nails against the desk then
addressed Trish. “But you also need to consider the positive impact a father
figure and the horse therapy might have on Bo’s life.”

Her body went
numb and her thoughts tangled—a long lasso looped with knots. She’d do
anything—
anything
—to help her son. Even if it meant losing her heart.
“So you think horse riding would help?”

Dr. Wyse gazed at
Little Bo, who stared out the window, the furry pony on his lap. “I don’t know
if you’ve noticed, but he’s chosen the horse the last few times. Have you
noticed any other attachment to horses?”

Trish’s skin
tingled.
The book.
Andy’s soft green eyes focused on her. “Y-yes. He has
a horse book his father used to read to him at night. He chose that book for
Andy to read to him not long ago.”

A crinkle
appeared between the woman’s eyes. “It could be he’s subconsciously trying to
tell us something. Children can’t always verbalize what they’re feeling, so
they find other ways to tell us.” Dr. Wyse pursed her lips for a moment, one
hand on her mouth, seemingly deep in thought. “Does Bo like to draw?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to try
something new today.” Dr. Wyse stood and moved to the child-sized table near
Bo, motioning for Andy and Trish to follow. She eased into a seat and patted
the chair next to her. “Bo, why don’t you join us? We’re going to draw.”

He plodded to the
chair, the plush horse still squeezed under one arm. The doctor passed out blank
paper to all of them, the pages whispering against the bright yellow tabletop.
“Today I want us to draw a picture of something we’d really like, even if it’s
something that makes us afraid.”

An array of
colored pencils and crayons lay in baskets in the center of the table. Bo
grabbed a green crayon and started drawing, the only sounds the background
music and his crayon scratching against the surface of the paper and table.

Andy snatched up
two pencils. Their eyes met as he held one toward Trish, and an unexplainable
force tugged at her heart. She took the pencil and lowered her gaze to the
blank sheet of paper, her throat like a vise. What if nothing came out? What if
she couldn’t do this anymore?

Within a few
seconds, the blank paper sucked her in the way an empty canvas had once lured
and beckoned. She abandoned herself to the joyful urge and drew without
thinking, only stopping long enough to pick up other colored pencils, her ears
tuned to the conversation between Dr. Wyse and Bo.

“Tell me what you’re
drawing, Bo.” The woman’s voice was soothing and calm, like the musical trickle
of the creek after a spring rain.

“It’s my horse,
Domino.”

Trish’s heart
pounded faster, but she forced her eyes to her paper, afraid she’d shatter the
tenuous moment.

“You have your
own horse?”

“Yep. Daddy and
Mommy bought him last year for my birthday.” His voice took on an excitement
and eagerness—almost a hunger—Trish hadn’t heard in such a long time.

“I bet you like
to ride Domino, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer
right away. “I love to ride him, but I haven’t ridden in a long, long, long,
long time.” Now his voice was sad.

Trish swallowed
the tears lodged in her throat, and glanced up at Bo’s pallid face. Andy had
his gaze trained on her son, too, his eyes oozing love and compassion.

“Does riding
Domino again make you afraid?” Dr. Wyse’s voice was non-threatening, and she
continued to sketch.

Bo didn’t answer
with words, but nodded, his brow furrowed with wavy wrinkles.

“Are you afraid
he’ll kick you?”

Thick heavy lines
now crossed his paper, his agitation stabbing so hard Trish’s left fist
clenched in her lap, her fingernails scooping into soft flesh. She opened her
mouth to speak, but Andy laid his hand on her arm and shook his head.

Dr. Wyse repeated
the question, a little softer.

The chubby crayon
fell from Bo’s hand, clattering to the table. He slumped in his chair,
shoulders sagging. “I’m afraid it’ll make Mommy more sadder.”

Immediate tears
spilled down Trish’s cheeks. Andy encircled her shoulders with a strong arm.

“Bo,” Dr. Wyse
knelt in front of her son, forcing eye contact. “Would you like it if Andy took
you riding?”

Bo looked at
Trish, his dark eyes holding an odd mixture of sorrow and hope. “Only if it’s
okay with Mom.”

“Of course, it’s
okay, sweetie.” Trish reached across the table to caress his cheek. “I know how
much you love Domino.”

Bo nodded, a
small smile on his lips. “Yep, but not more than I love you.”

Tears flowing
freely, Trish leapt from her chair and engulfed him in a hug. She snuggled into
his warmth, her lips against his baby-shampoo-scented hair. “I love you, too,
sweetie, and I’m glad you and Andy are going to ride horses together. Domino
misses you.”

Bo pulled away,
his chocolate eyes searching hers. “You’ll come with us, won’t you Mom? Can we
go when we get home?”

Trish didn’t know
how to answer. She had no desire to ride again.
Ever.

Andy came to her
rescue. “We’ll talk about it on the ride home.”

“Thanks for
drawing such a beautiful picture and telling us how much you love horses.” Dr.
Wyse patted Bo’s back. “Would you mind going out to the waiting room with Andy?
I think Miss Judy probably has a treat for you. I’d like to talk to your Mom
alone for a few minutes.”

“’kay.” He hopped
from the chair, clutched Andy’s hand and tugged him toward the door, his
expression bright. A complete turnaround in such a short time. If only she
could bounce back like that.

Trish used
fingertips to wipe away tears and followed Dr. Wyse to the leather chairs.

The woman scooted
a box of tissues across the desk. “That was a major breakthrough for Bo. I feel
certain the horse-riding will be good for him. There’s a lot of truth to the
adage about dusting yourself off and getting back on the horse.”

“I agree.”

Dr. Wyse eyed her
knowingly. “Now I want to talk about you.”

“Me?” Trish’s
eyes widened, and she rubbed her bare arms. “Okay.”

“Don’t feel
guilty that Bo’s reason for not wanting to ride horses had to do with you. It
just shows how much he loves you.”

Trish nodded,
blinking back more tears that flooded the never-ending reservoir flowing
beneath the surface.

“Do you trust
Andy with your son?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think
he’s a good role model and a good person?”

“Without a
doubt.” Where was she going with this line of questions?

“Then what are
you afraid of?” The woman pushed a paper across the desk—the drawing she’d done
while she listened to Bo and Dr. Wyse.

Her pulse pounded
and she blinked. Hard. She’d meant to draw someone else. How could this have
happened? She studied the picture. Bo. Herself. Both with smiles on their faces.
But the part that bothered her was the third person in the sketch.

A man.

Not a man with a
cowboy hat and handlebar moustache, but a man with sea-green eyes and sandy
curls. She knit her eyebrows together.

“Trish, what
about this picture makes you afraid?”

“I-I didn’t mean
to draw that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Dr. Wyse didn’t
respond immediately, a silence that seemed to stretch with insinuation. Then
the woman’s head cocked to one side and her face took on kindness. “You don’t
have to experience guilt if you have feelings for this man. It’s normal to care
about someone who cares for you and your child.”

“B-but Doc’s only
been dead a few months.”

“The fact that
it’s only been a few months doesn’t make it any less final. Your husband’s not
coming back.”

In a daze, Trish
slowly rose to her feet and turned her back, one arm encircling her waist, one
shaky hand on her lips. “It just seems so wrong.”

“It’s not wrong
to have feelings of love for another person. Wrong comes with how we express
it.” She hesitated briefly. “Or fail to express it.”

Love? Was she
falling in love with Andy, or was it only admiration and gratitude? She
swallowed and forced the question from her mind. “But what if . . .?”

“What if it
doesn’t work out?” Dr. Wyse drifted from behind the desk with a smile, and
placed a hand on Trish’s shoulder. “That’s a chance we take in our interactions
with others every day. The real question is what if you allowed your guilt and
fear to keep you from a relationship that has the potential to be wonderful?
Not only for you, but for your son?”

Andy’s paper
still rested on the sunshine yellow table. One glance and her heart sank.

Blank.

Chapter 14

“D
on’t you think a
paying job is a prerequisite to a marriage proposal?” Andy intentionally huffed
out the words. How could Matt ask for more money in one breath and casually
mention asking his girlfriend to marry him the next?

“Chill, bro. I
didn’t say I was gonna ask her tomorrow.” A defensive hurt resonated in Matt’s
tone.

The bat bag
slammed against the concrete floor of the dugout, the metallic clink of the
chain link fence rattling in reply. Matt’s news wasn’t what bothered him and he
knew it.

“Are
you
doing okay?”

Andy had to grin
at Matt’s turnaround question. He ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Yeah,
I’m okay. Just busy and tired.” He had nothing to complain about. Business was
better than expected, but loneliness had loomed over him all week. What good
was a successful practice if he had no one to share it with?

Matt continued.
“You haven’t sounded this cranky in like forever, dude. Maybe I should come for
a visit.”

Andy chuckled.
“Sounds good, but you might wanna wait ‘til I have a place for you to sleep. My
little apartment barely holds me.”

“And how long
will that be?”

His brother’s
words immediately sobered him. Good question. “The contractor was supposed to
break ground today, but we’ve had a lot of rain this week.” So much rain that
he still hadn’t taken Bo riding, and ball practice had to be canceled. He’d
missed Bo and Trish something awful, but knew better than to push. Trish needed
her space, and he didn’t need to butt in on their private family time. “The
ground-breaking has been postponed ‘til next week, provided everything dries
out.”

The wooden
bleachers groaned beneath the burgeoning crowd, and jabbering little boys
threatened to climb the chain link fence around the dugout. “Hate to cut this
short, Matt, but the game’s about to start. Do me a favor. Don’t propose ‘til
I’ve at least had a chance to meet the girl.”

Matt laughed,
short and forced. “Got it, bro. Hope y’all win. Talk to you later.”

Andy hit the end
call button on his cell phone just as Brody Clark swaggered into the dugout. It
took every ounce of willpower he had to be civil to the kid. He’d missed more
practices than the rest of the kids combined. Figured that he’d show up for the
first game.
Lord, give me patience and wisdom.

Trish rounded the
gate of the dugout lugging a tall cooler. Her sleek pony tail poked through the
back of her purple Legal Eagles baseball cap.

Something about
her seemed . . . mended. “Here. Let me get that.” He grabbed the heavy cooler
and set it on the end of the bench. Something sloshed. “What’s in it?”