Healing A Hero (The Camerons of Tide’s Way #4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wilted.
    Then she came back on the line. “I can’t see you until four. Will that work for you?” All of the annoyed impatience was gone from her words, replaced by the soft huskiness he’d once loved and let himself be aroused by.
    It had been fourteen years since that time. Why did the sound of her voice still make his heart rate skip? He shook his head trying to dispel the unwanted response.  “Four is good.”
    “See you then.
    After she’d disconnected, Philip stood staring at his phone.
    There had been moments during his first session with her just hours earlier when her professionalism had slipped and some of the warm, generous woman he knew her to be had slipped through. Moments that had reminded him how easily they’d become friends, and how much that friendship had meant before he’d let passion take over their relationship.
    Perhaps they could still be friends. God knew he was going to have to spend plenty of time in her PT department. Wouldn’t those hours be easier to deal with if he could let the pain and anger of her betrayal remain in the past where it belonged? Or was it even possible to be friends with a woman who had once had your heart in the palm of her hand and then crushed it?
    He didn’t know the answer and wasn’t sure he had the courage to find out. Somehow, he’d just have to tough it out, get through the therapy as quickly as possible, and get on with his life.
    He shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned away from the window to face his new quarters. A helpful young corporal had carted all his gear up the stairs for him and dumped it in a pile beside the door.
    The place looked more like a college dormitory than a senior NCO billet, although far more spacious. At least he had the place to himself. He snorted. First time in years he hadn’t shared quarters with at least one other person or a whole lot of others.
    He’d still be eating at the mess hall. At least for a while. Until he got used to muddling through with just his left hand, or Elena did her thing and got his right hand back in working order.
    He glanced down at his hand where it protruded from the sling. He stretched the fingers, then closed them into a fist and stretched them again. The pain he could deal with. If only he could get the function back.
    “Suck it up, Marine,” he muttered aloud. Gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself and focus on what you can do .
    He bent to the pile by the door, hoisted the biggest of the duffels to his shoulder and carried it over to dump onto his bed. Then he began sorting and stowing his belongings.
    After hanging his uniforms in the closet and lining his shoes up underneath, he carried his toiletry kit into the bathroom and emptied it into the cabinet over the sink. Then he set his computer on the desk, plugged it in, and turned it on.
    While it booted up, he sat down on the edge of his bed with a small canvas bag his sister had made for him that he’d carried pretty much everywhere he’d ever been assigned. It held all the little things that tied him to family and home.
    He set three framed photos on the headboard over his bed. One of his parents, one of himself with his siblings taken several years ago, and one of a dark-haired young man wearing a cap and gown. Then he tipped the remaining contents onto his bed. The rosary his gran had given him slithered out along with a battered silver cross with no chain, his worn and much-read New Testament, and a folded square of paper. His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the cross and held it in the palm of his hand.
    Until very recently, he’d worn it on the chain with his dog tags. Until some nurse somewhere along the line between Afghanistan and Walter Reed had removed it. Had he opened the little bag before today, he’d have returned the cross to the chain around his neck. Hastily, he dropped it back into the bag and reached for the folded square of paper.
    A much happier memory. He smiled as he unfolded it and