Whirlwind - Janet Dailey Page 0,86

thinking that she could have been innocent.”

Nothing more had come of the idea. There was some speculation that Callie had caught the unknown intruder in the act of doing more harm, and that he’d killed her, which made sense to Lexie. But there’d been no more secret sabotage on the ranch, which suggested that it had been Callie all along.

But what if Callie was innocent? What if she’d actually been murdered and framed?

Your family owes me, the cryptic note had said. In a way, that did fit Callie. But the things that had been done—the dead animals and the slashed tire that had almost killed two men and four bulls—were not like gentle Callie at all.

Lexie pushed the thought aside. She was entering Tucson now, driving past the trailer parks and strip malls, and into the picturesque downtown historic district. She’d never been to the Santa Cruz Sports Rehabilitation Center, but she’d Googled directions online. With some trial and error, she found it—a low, pueblo-style building surrounded by trees, in a high-end business neighborhood.

Her heart crept into her throat as she parked and climbed out of the truck. She hadn’t called ahead to let Shane know she was coming. In fact, she hadn’t called him at all. She’d wanted to give him space—but maybe she’d given him too much. Maybe he’d already made plans that didn’t include her. It was even possible that he’d already left.

Braced to make a fool of herself, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and strode through the front door, into the reception area.

“May I help you?” The dark-haired girl behind the desk was pretty enough to be a model.

Lexie cleared her throat. “I understand Shane Tully is a patient here. Is he available?”

“I believe he’s in the weight room. Give me your name, and I’ll let him know you’re here.”

The receptionist took Lexie’s name and pressed a button on the intercom system.

“Shane, a Miss Champion is here to see you.”

The reply was muffled but Lexie recognized Shane’s deep baritone.

“He’ll be just a few minutes,” the girl said. “If you’d like to have a seat—”

“I’ll stand, thanks.” She left the desk and walked to the window, which was screened by tropical plants. Part of her wanted to make an excuse, run out the front door, and never look back. Anything would hurt less than how she would feel if Shane didn’t want to go home with her.

At the swish of the automatic door, she turned. Shane was coming out of the hallway, using the large wheels of his chair to speed along the floor. He looked fit and healthy. His hair was longer than she remembered, and his face sported a short, well-trimmed beard. His shoulder muscles bulged beneath the fresh blue tee he wore with the gray sweatpants and sneakers she’d bought him. His motionless legs rested on the chair’s foot supports.

“Hello, Lexie,” he said.

“Hello, Shane.” Her voice betrayed her nervousness. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do. I’ve been wondering if you’d even show up.”

“I have your truck.” As soon as she said the words, Lexie realized how inane they must sound. As if that were her reason for coming.

The girl at the desk was watching them. Maybe she had a crush on Shane. Lexie wouldn’t blame her if she did. Maybe he had a crush on her, too. But this was no time for petty jealousy.

“There’s a patio out back,” Shane said. “We can talk there. Come on.”

She followed him back down the hallway to the rear of the building. Shane kept the chair flowing along smoothly and expertly. It occurred to Lexie that she could give him a push, but she knew better than to offer. Clearly, he wanted to show her what he could do on his own.

The patio was small but charming, with benches surrounding a Spanish-style fountain. Flowers bloomed in painted clay pots, and a stuccoed wall, overgrown with bougainvillea, provided seclusion. Lexie sank onto the edge of a bench. Shane swung his chair around to face her. For a moment they sat in awkward silence. Then he spoke.

“You can keep the truck, Lexie. I’ll even sign the title over to you. I’ll never drive it again.”

She shook her head, fighting tears. “You know that isn’t the reason I’m here, don’t you?”

“I suspected it wasn’t. Are you here to tell me you’ve come to your senses?”

“Shane—”

“Because if you have come to your senses,” he continued, “there’s no need to worry. Brock has offered me a place. I’ll be fine.”

“You