Healing With Love: Bennett Family Book 3

By Amylynn Bright

Sarah Grant is holding it all together after the accidental death of her husband, the same accident that left her with a disabled child. She’s doing a pretty good job of it, too, until her son gets a new therapist. While Mr. Miller is full of unrealistic—and possibly dangerous—ideas, he’s also incredibly attractive. Driven by guilt, she’ll never let anything bad happen to Sidney again. Unfortunately, the more she’s forced to deal with Mr. Miller, the more she remembers she’s more than just someone’s mom. It’s hard to focus on getting the man fired when she’s set aflame whenever he’s around.

Zachary Miller didn’t expect his forced retirement from the military to be easy but dealing with Sidney’s mom was more than he’d bargained for. He’d faced down the enemy in combat and survived, but this woman could oppose anyone and win with her cool, no-nonsense gaze. She’s a force to be reckoned with even while she makes him want to forget the scars that define him. He’d bet good money that under her ice queen façade burns a fire ready to illuminate the dark future that terrifies him and keep his demons at bay. Maybe Sarah Grant and her son are exactly what he needs to pull himself into the light.

Can Sarah and Zach leave their broken pasts behind and find healing in each other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amylynn Bright
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224114443

Amylynn Bright

Amylynn Bright has branded her historical novels as “Regency Romantic Comedy” due to her love of humor and witty dialogue. After many starts and stops, in several different genres, she finally came to understand that she simply needed to write what she loved to read and then she had no issue sailing through several manuscripts since 2009.When Amylynn developed the super power of having to sleep only five hours a night, she began telling her stories after everyone else in the family (and most sane people) went to bed. The first of which is “Lady Belling’s Secret”, the initial book in the “Secrets” trilogy.She is a lifelong native of Tucson, AZ and lives there with her husband, two quiet children and an assortment of pets.Visit Amylynn at www.theQuillSisters.com for a daily dose of fun and mayhem.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Sarah Grant opened the glass front door with more force than was necessary, causing it to swing in a wide arc. The hydraulic hinge caught, and she didn’t get the satisfaction of a bang as the door began the agonizingly slow process of closing. Nevertheless, the receptionist at Fundamental Therapy Solutions sat up straighter, and a satisfying flash of alarm skittered across her expression before she gained control of herself.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Grant. How can I help you today?

Sarah dropped her purse on the reception counter with a heavy clunk. Tell Sidney’s therapist I’m here to see her.

Roberta swallowed. Alice isn’t at this location anymore. Zachary Miller has been assigned her cases.

She vaguely remembered something coming home about that but, uncharacteristically, she hadn’t followed up on it. The main reason her son came to FTS after school every day while she worked was because their enrichment programs for children with paralysis were so extensive. That, and there was hardly any staff turnover. Sarah had three full-time jobs – the one that paid her as the manager of a cardiology office, and then the two that meant the most: caring for her nine-year-old son and being an advocate for his healthcare.

"Fine then. Let Mr. Miller know I want to see him."

The receptionist opened and closed her mouth twice before she said anything. He’s not available right now.

I see. Sarah hardened her gaze and Roberta’s widened in response. I’ll wait. How long will he be?

Let me check. The girl rose from her chair and disappeared behind a door. It was only a moment before she reappeared with a small smile and retook her seat. He’ll be right out.

Sarah slipped the handle of her purse into the crook of her arm and nodded. Some days it was distasteful that so many people in Roberta’s position were afraid of her, but being a mama bear was not a job to be taken lightly. She was tired. It had been a long exhausting week, and when Sidney had come home the night before with a bandage on his knee, she’d been furious.

What happened here? As the mother of a paralytic son, she was hyper-vigilant about wound care on his lower extremities where he had no sensation. Unchecked issues could escalate quickly, and Sidney could end up in the hospital again.

Nuthin, Sidney had said with a shrug, but he’d studiously avoided making eye contact.

What do you mean nuthin? How did you get hurt? She squatted in front of his wheelchair and inspected the bandage. Scraped skin extended past the small square that covered the actual wound. She wanted to yank it off and see the extent of it, but she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to scare him. Already he’d lied to her about it and that meant he knew she’d be angry. Lifting her gaze to meet her son’s, she raised an eyebrow.

Don’t be mad.

Making a point to relax her body language, she told him, I’m not mad. She wasn’t mad at . He was just a kid. The teachers at his school, however, were a different story entirely.

He screwed his mouth up to one side. We were playing basketball.

She nodded and kept the anger from her expression. Honey, I’ve told you. You can’t rough house like the other boys.

Her son deflated before her eyes. Yeah.

She had kissed his head and made dinner. His resignation broke her heart, but it was simply too dangerous for Sidney to risk another infection like the last one.

She heard the door open behind her and hushed words exchanged. She kept her back to the reception desk and pretended to study the bulletin boards. A carwash for charity was coming up on Saturday. A pink notecard asking if anyone could donate some air miles. A used pickup for sale.

A deep voice intoned, breaking the silence. Mrs. Grant?

She waited a beat, then turned on her heel. The game was ridiculous, but she’d learned a thing or two about being a bitch since the accident. She’d tried the get more attention with honey bullshit, and all that got you was sympathetic pats on the hand. She generally got what she wanted when she took the evil ice queen approach.

Mr. Miller wasn’t what she expected. He was not the usual granola-eating-love-mother-Earth kind of guy she’d encountered so many times with Sidney’s male teachers. Also, he wasn’t gay either, of that she was one hundred percent certain. The man was big. Not like her brothers, although he was easily as tall. Where her brothers were lanky, this man was built with thick shoulders and arms, and a broad chest. She couldn’t help noticing his hands when he thrust one out in greeting. His fingers wrapped around hers, engulfing her hand with rough skin and calluses. The end of a tattoo snaked out from beneath his shirt cuff.

She hesitated a moment before she recaptured her composure. She regained her hand and settled her gaze on his. Mr. Miller.

Call me Zach. He rumbled. His voice was so deep, it rumbled. Seriously.

She put her fists on her hips to regain the upper hand. She wasn’t going to let him and his mossy green eyes distract her. Do you want to tell me why my son was playing basketball when he was supposed to be in his book club?

He grinned. His front teeth were just the slightest bit crooked. It was a beautiful day.

It was a beautiful day? That’s what you’re going with?

His grin widened. Maybe you don’t remember what it’s like when you’re a kid, but sometimes it’s just impossible to concentrate when spring is in the air.

She kept her expression blank. Isn’t that your job as a teacher? To focus the children whether it’s sunny or there’s a typhoon?

I see your mistake. I’m not a teacher. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo pants. His smile hadn’t faded one bit. I deal with the kids in an occupational and physical therapy capacity. PT’s a ton of hard work, and I like to try to make it fun.

How much fun will it be if Sidney gets an infection and spends another two weeks in the hospital? Are you going to be around then, Mr. Fun Therapist?

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side as if he was studying her, assessing her. His inflection morphed slightly to a placating tone, like he’d diagnosed her as crazy and now he was going to handle her. Mrs. Grant, I think we could use a little perspective here. Sidney was burning off some energy with the other boys and there was an accident. He didn’t fall hard out of his chair, just slipped actually, and a skinned knee is hardly a prelude to hospitalization.

Sarah felt the blood drain from her face and her mouth went dry. He fell out of his chair? Sweet Jesus. I’ll expect him in book club the rest of the week. She dug in her purse for her sunglasses as a way to get her equilibrium back. By the time she found them, she’d taken a deep breath and composed herself.

His grin was gone. Sadly, it didn’t make him any less attractive. I think the two of us should set up a time to get together and discuss some new ideas for his care plan. Sidney needs to start hitting some milestones pretty soon and—

No more basketball.

He took her elbow and proceeded to steer her back to the reception desk. She teetered along with him on her heels, too shocked to yank her arm back. Roberta’s gaze at Mr. Miller was nauseatingly doting. We’ll talk about that and some other things I want to introduce to his routine when we meet. Roberta, can you find out when is a good time for Mrs. Grant to meet me and schedule her in. He extended his hand to Sarah again. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you again later in the week.

Then he turned and, with a little hitch in his step, strode back through the door. She couldn’t help watching him walk away. The seams of the cargo pants emphasized his ass like the frame of the Mona Lisa. The best part of Zachary Miller was watching him walk away.

The man was an idiot.

She turned her gaze back to Roberta, who was still staring at the closed door. Sarah cleared her throat and the receptionist jumped to attention.

Afternoon better for you, Mrs. Grant? Mr. Miller is usually available after 4:30.

Sarah couldn’t believe she’d been managed like that. She didn’t know exactly when she’d lost control of the conversation, but she sure as hell had. She didn’t even think he’d agreed to no more basketball games.

Tomorrow. Give me your last possible appointment.

Maybe he’d won this battle, but the war was on. She’d make certain she was late for the appointment and keep him waiting around. Until then, she was calling Mr. Miller’s boss. He’d learn pretty damn quick, she wasn’t a pushover—not when it came to Sidney.

Zach watched Mrs. Grant storm through the parking lot and back to her car. She flung her purse on the back seat and climbed into the minivan. She was on her phone and her arms were waving around like propellers. He sort of felt sorry for whomever she was yelling at on the other end of the line. He chuckled at how she’d tried to intimidate him with her fierce looks and aggressive posture. It might work on a girl like Roberta, but he’d spent ten years being bullied by professionals while in the Army. Pretty little Mrs. Grant had nothing on Master Sergeant Huffman.

She was pretty, though, even through all that bluster and meanness. She’d been yelling at him about book clubs and he’d been concentrating with every ounce of his being on not checking out her tits. The V in her shirt begged to be inspected, but he’d kept his gaze on hers. She’d been in one of those anonymous black skirt-shirt combos that all the office people wore, but she’d blown the look with a pair of hot pink heels that screamed for attention.

He’d checked out her legs when she walked across the pavement, balancing on those thin spikes, and he’d enjoyed that view immensely.

Bitchy Mrs. Grant. Zach sucked through his teeth and waited until she pulled out of the parking lot to leave. He’d need to be prepared with a care plan for their next meeting because he suspected Mrs. Grant wasn’t the type to let anything go. He could handle her; he just didn’t want to deal with her today.

He grabbed his messenger bag and shut off the light in his cubicle. He waved goodbye to the mooning Roberta. She was a cute kid, and a little hero worship was great for the ego, but it was never going to happen. She had a whole lifetime of chances to get her heart broken by ruined men, and Zach had no intention of being her first.

He did a little hop to get into his Jeep. His hip was killing him today. Ironically, he’d also hurt it in the same basketball game that hurt Sidney. While the kids were a lot heartier than parents like Mrs. Grant believed them to be, he wasn’t so much these days. It seemed like he had more screws and pins holding him together than his Jeep did, and it didn’t take much for his right hip or thigh to ache, or sometimes randomly, to experience phantom pain from where his leg used to be.

The VA complex was massive, and he had to drive around for a while to find a parking spot ’cause fuck handicapped parking. Finally, he made a spot of his own and pulled the Jeep half up on to an island and hustled his gimpy ass into the building.

You’re late, man.

Dr. Perkins might be an actual psychiatrist with advanced degrees and shit, but he was also a vet and he talked like one. He was somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-five-years-old, short with a gray ponytail. If someone asked for the physical description of a cliché Vietnam vet, you could use a picture of Dr. Perkins, no problem.

Sorry. Zach dropped his bag on the floor and settled into a comfortable chair.

You’re limping today.

Yeah. He adjusted his position, relieving some of the pressure on his hip. Jacked up my hip playing basketball with the kids.

Dr. Perkins nodded and made a note on his note pad. That used to really piss Zach off—all that damn scribbling. Really, what the fuck was he writing down? It made him not want to tell the shrink anything in the beginning. Now he ignored it. Maybe he was only drawing nudie pictures anyway. The point was, the visits with the doc were helping, so whatever he was writing down, he was welcome to it.

The doc raised his eyebrows. There’s no shame in taking something for that, you know.

Zach wrinkled his nose and shrugged. He very rarely indulged in pain meds, especially now, two years out. Even with his last surgery, he kept it to a bare minimum. He had enough troubles without ending up like half the guys he knew from the VA, fucked up in the head and strung out on hydrocodone or whatever else they could get their hands on. Zach found that a snort of Johnny Walker did wonders when the Earth came crashing down, but he had a firm handle on it.

Also, you can park in the handicapped spots. There are few bright spots to your situation, so you might as well take advantage of them, especially when you’re already hurting.

The first time I park there, man, you’ll know I’ve given up. Turn on the suicide watch. Zach chuckled but there wasn’t any mirth in it.

More scribbling. So besides your hip, how were things this week?

He inhaled through his nose until his lungs felt like they’d burst and held it. How were things? His breath came out in a whoosh. Okay, I guess. Not dreaming a whole lot, which is a relief.

And the drinking?

A smaller breath this time. Pretty good.

Dr. Perkins watched him with intelligent eyes, letting the silence stretch out. Then finally, Well good, then. How’s the new job?

Zach let himself smile. I like it. Who’d have thought, huh?

He had always thought he’d be a doctor. Bones and shit were fascinating. He ought to know, he spent enough of his life in casts. He’d broken his right leg at fifteen skateboarding. He’d done the McTwist a bunch of times before, but that time he’d miscalculated and he could tell it had gone wrong off the ramp almost immediately. The ulna on the same side poked through his skin during a motocross race at seventeen. Later that year, he’d done his collarbone base jumping off a bridge. His mother had called him a wild child. His friends said adrenaline junkie. Zach admitted to being a daredevil; it was just that he wanted to experience everything. He wanted to live—that whole YOLO bullshit that teenagers tossed around now. When he graduated from high school, he and the crew of guys he ran with dared each other to enlist. At the time, it seemed like the ultimate rush, romantic as fuck to run off to war, testosterone filling the air around them like clouds.

Tell me about the kids. Dr. Perkins’ pencil was poised and ready. When he’d suggested to Zach to put his occupational therapy credentials to work at Fundamental Therapy Solutions, Zach had balked. He was more comfortable dealing with the grunts in the VA rehab. He understood those guys and where they were coming from. What did he know about kids? Three months of nagging from the therapist, and Zach had finally called Dr. Perkins’ friend and went on a tour of the facility.

He settled into the cushions and tried to relax. I don’t know what I was expecting. All those broken bodies, but not the broken bodies I’m used to, you know? The doctor nodded in understanding when Zach paused and glanced at him. Like this one kid, Sidney. He had a quick flash of the boy’s mother and her long legs. He’s funny and smart and wants to try everything. I remember being like that when I was a kid.

It just seemed like there wasn’t any room in Zach’s life for that attitude anymore. No one was going to climb the Khumbu Ice Falls with one leg.

He looked at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure he knew what the doc expected to accomplish, but at the very least it was a change of scenery. Prior to FTS, the only places he ever went were to his job at the VA rehab, Dr. Perkin’s office, and the gym. His life was stagnant, brown, and miserable. Some days—nights mostly—he wasn’t certain there was even a point anymore. Those were the nights when he and his friend Johnny Walker took some grim meanderings into his head, and sometimes it seemed those were coming more and more frequently.

Keep working with the kids. This is going to be good for you. Children are life affirming, man.

There wasn’t usually a family dinner during the week, but Sarah’s oldest brother Lee and his wife Candace had asked for a family meeting that night. She was the last to arrive and parked behind the motorcycle her middle brother Mark rode. She’d arranged for her mother to pick up Sidney so that she could talk to that idiot teacher. Now she paused outside the screen door and listened to her family’s laughter filter into the driveway. Lee’s booming guffaw made her smile, and most of the residual venom from the confrontation leaked away.

Slipping her feet from the too-high high-heels, she scrunched her aching toes in the grass and let the rest of the aggravation drift away. The screen door banged against the frame as she stepped into her mother’s kitchen, and everyone turned to greet her.

Mom, Sidney called from the far side of the kitchen table.

Her own mother gave her a kiss on the cheek and she got a hug from her sister-in-law, Candace.

You wore the shoes, Holly, her other sister-in-law, squealed from the counter where she stood with Mark chopping vegetables.

Sarah raised the pink Christian Dior’s over her head in salute. I probably won’t be able to walk normally for a week.

But they’re so cute, Holly protested.

Holly dressed like a 1950’s pinup girl and she looked adorable every minute in her vintage dresses and outrageous shoes. The previous weekend, Candace, Holly, and their friend Marisol had kidnapped her for a ladies day out. They’d gone for mani/pedis and lunch, then rounded out the rest of the afternoon shopping. Holly had insisted that Sarah needed the shoes, declared that they were shoes for a gorgeous woman and not a mom, and that it was high time Sarah remembered there was more to her than Sidney.

That was easy for her to say—it was easy for them all—but they didn’t have the responsibility Sarah did. She was all Sidney had, and he was a fragile kid. One minute he was great, fine, relatively healthy if broken, and the next thing you know he was in the hospital for weeks with a bacterial infection that threatened to rob her of the very last thing that meant anything to her.

What’s for dinner? she asked Mark. Her middle brother was a chef with a wildly popular restaurant.

Mark put his arm around his wife and squeezed her to him. Holly’s making dinner tonight. Chicken cacciatore.

Holly waved her arms in front of her. Don’t worry. I’ll be operating under supervision.

Her brother chuckled. He had met his wife when she joined his cooking class for beginners. She was an awful cook, but her attempts were heartfelt and charming. They’d fallen madly in love despite Holly being an anonymous restaurant reviewer who’d panned his restaurant.

I’m also an excellent sous chef. You’ll be fine, Mark seemed to be trying to assure the rest of them as much as his wife.

Whatever. I’m starving. Sarah dropped in a chair after kissing Sidney’s head. She tried to be surreptitious about checking out the condition of his knee, but Sidney caught her. He rolled his eyes and allowed her to look. There was no redness or other signs of infection, and she exhaled a breath in relief.

I have a scab, Mom, her son said proudly. Like a real kid.

She looked at him quizzically. What are you talking about? You’re a real kid.

I mean like a normal kid.

Bah, you’re totally a normal kid. She leaned in to kiss him and he gave her his forehead. This was a recent thing. He never wanted her to kiss him in public anymore. And absolutely no hand holding. She licked his forehead instead.

Yuck! he exclaimed, but he also giggled while he wiped off her spit.

I love you, muffin. She whispered the words so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed if his uncles heard, not that anyone was paying attention to their little exchange.

Right back at ya.

Her son was a happy kid. His knee was going to be fine. Sarah exhaled and made a conscious effort to let the worry fade away. She’d meet with the idiot Mr. Miller and lay down some serious ground rules. She’d left a message on his supervisor’s voicemail that held enough venom for a nest of pit vipers. Everything was going to be all right. She turned back into the banter of her family, teasing each other about sports rivalries, talking about their days, and what was new since they’d seen each other last week.

At last Holly beamed as she set the meal on the table. It looked like a magazine spread. I hope it’s as good as it looks.

Before you dig in, Lee interjected. He grabbed his wife’s hand. They were both beaming and Sarah could see what was coming from a million miles away. We waited this time around until we were super sure.

Her mother gasped and clapped her hands together. A baby! When?

Sarah jumped up with a squeal and grabbed Candace in a fierce embrace. Oh honey, I couldn’t be happier.

This was the second pregnancy for Lee and Candace, the first one ending in a miscarriage that almost derailed their love affair. Lee was going to be an outstanding father. He spent most of his time fussing over his family like a mother hen anyway, so that baby would be in excellent hands.

There were kisses all around, and by the time they finally settled back down to eat, dinner had cooled considerably. No one cared.

Sarah was ecstatic for them. Nothing in the world meant as much to her as Sidney, and she wanted Candace and Lee to have that same kind of love for a baby. Peter flashed through her mind and sadness tickled at the edges of the warm fuzzy feeling. She wished she could share her amazing son with his father, but almost seven years had passed since the accident and his absence didn’t crush her like it used to.

Her son giggled, his eyes shining in excitement at the prospect of being a cousin, and Sarah was filled with a rush of love that made her chest tight.

Everything would be fine. That was the mantra that got her though. It was her penance for ruining everything. The idiot teacher would learn the hard way if necessary, but nothing would hurt Sidney ever again.

CHAPTER TWO

Mrs. Grant was twenty minutes late for their meeting. Zach wasn’t angry. On the contrary, he had suspected this would be her play. It wasn’t a very original tactic, but then he supposed it wasn’t like the woman had a lot of artillery at her disposal. Making him wait was probably the heavy gun of her armaments. Still, she was going to have to regroup and come up with another plan of attack because making someone late only worked if that person had a life.

He didn’t have anywhere to be after work today. He almost never did. Probably hit the gym, and then he was thinking of going to see his friend Iggy about some new ink. There was an empty space on his arm that itched to be covered. Dr. Perkins had made the suggestion a couple of weeks before that Zach needed to reach for the light, to seek it out, actively pursue it. It was too easy to build a brick fort in the dark recesses. Maybe what Zach needed was a physical manifestation of lightness to remind him. He’d been mulling over what that meant as far as tattoos went.

He tilted back in his desk chair, making it squeak and pop like it was dying, and flipped another peanut butter pretzel in his mouth while he watched the parking lot from his cubicle.

Asking around about her since their encounter the day before, he’d determined that the general consensus from the staff was that she was a bitch. He was reserving judgment. He suspected her