Restore My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

television screen. Dumping her fanny pack and keys on an end table, Sally limped back to the kitchen. She scrubbed her hands at the sink, while her mind wandered. She wasn’t sure what to make of Special Agent Ferguson’s revelation. The FBI’s investigation had led to Leo Desalvo before his death.
    She assembled her dad’s favorite, boiled ham and baby Swiss cheese on rye, not that he’d notice. His Celexa pill lay untouched where she’d set it out that morning. Sometimes he took it, but usually he didn’t. She’d stopped nagging him about it, afraid he’d refuse to take it just to be contrary. She wasn’t qualified to treat his illness, and long ago he’d stopped his therapy.
    She longed to talk with him about the FBI’s request, to seek his advice. But Justin Clay seemed to want as little conversation with his daughter as he could manage, although they lived under the same roof. Was she a disappointment to her father? Is that why he’d been unable to break free of his depression?
    She’d pushed herself at rehab, proud of her progress with her upper body muscles. Her leg was a different matter. Her physical therapist assured Sally she had exceeded even the most optimistic prognoses. Translated, she should be thankful she wasn’t in a wheel chair. But Sally had defied the odds nine years ago, and she’d defy them now. She’d go the distance to strengthen what leg muscles she still had.
    Taking careful steps to balance the tray, she carried her dad’s meal into the living room. “Here you go. Need anything else?”
    He shook his head, still avoiding her gaze, and mumbled a “thanks.”
    “Well, I’ll be in the shower.” She shrugged at his lack of response, then made her way down the short hall to her bedroom.
    She carried her gown and robe into the bathroom, closed the door, then leaned against it and blew out a lengthy sigh. Ever since that damned accident, her father had deteriorated every day, sinking deeper into apathy. The doctor called it clinical depression, prescribed anti-depressants, and recommended therapy, both of which her dad said they couldn’t afford.
    She pushed away from the door, slipped her arms through the straps of her overalls, then grabbed the vanity so she could step out of her clothes without falling.
    Although Sally knew she could never make things right for her father, she intended to take care of him. That’s why she’d bought Mustang Sally’s. Even Uncle Sal didn’t know the real reason she needed the business. Somehow, someday, she hoped to rekindle her father’s interest in automobiles. In life. So what if the Kaiser Darrin job hadn’t panned out. She’d find more clients.
    After adjusting the water to a hot spray, she grabbed the safety bar and pulled herself over the side of the tub. The welcomed heat pelted her aching shoulders, pulsating against the tightness from her workout. She closed her eyes, moaning as the water sluiced over her scalp.
    From out of nowhere, a vision of Joe Desalvo invaded her mind. For a brief and insane moment, Sally allowed herself to fantasize. Remembering the light touch of his finger skimming her chin, she imagined Joe stroking the skin along her jaw and neck, then lower. The shower spray became his tongue, licking the points of her breasts to rigid peaks. She moaned again, this time from the deliciously painful sting of his teeth grazing her nipples.
    She shook off her erotic thoughts.
You’ve been without sex too long
. She may have crushed her leg in the accident, but not her libido. If only Joe hadn’t asked her out. It wasn’t as if she’d never been asked out before, although, remembering Orel, she had to remind herself that Joe had been the first
sober
man to ask her out in nine years. And it had stuck in her mind all day, all evening, triggering a multitude of dangerous thoughts.
    Tempted to turn the temperature to cold, she roughly soaped her body, then rinsed away the suds. Instead of shaking free of her fantasies, she