Page 17 of California Dreaming

His mom seemed satisfied now that she’d said her piece. She turned the subject back to her morning class, but Arch’s mind wandered a little as she spoke. She would never have known how bad his accident had been if his emergency contact—his big brother Nick—hadn’t called the family and let them know Arch had been hospitalized. He would have to speak to Nick about not worrying their folks unnecessarily. It caused too much anguish.

He was about to help himself to another cookie when the door buzzer sounded. His mom stood to answer it, but before she could get there, the door opened. His sister Mila called, “Anybody home?”

Which was clearly her idea of a joke, because they all knew he was marooned in his house, recuperating.

Mila appeared in the doorway, a bunch of grapes in one hand, flowers in the other, and her hair still dripping wet.

“Been surfing, sis?” he asked.

Mila waved the flowers. “No. I was getting a manicure.” She paused a beat before giving a little laugh. “Of course I was surfing.”

Arch knew he should have laughed, too, but he was struck with a sudden, overwhelming envy of her ability to dive into the cool ocean and ride the waves, when he was in a cast. “Do you have to rub it in? Showing up here all sandy and windblown when I’m stuck in this chair for ten weeks?”

Mila shared a look with his mom, clearly both thinking, What’s he so annoyed about?

But Mila had learned something about patience herself over the years—especially considering her injury had ended her career, whereas once his broken leg healed, his career could continue without any issues. So, in a calm voice, she said, “I’ll just put these flowers in water.”

Mila placed the grapes on the coffee table next to the cookies. Arch eyed the fruit—he would have to stick to a healthy diet and keep working out if he was going to be in shape for Shock Tactics. But his mom’s oatmeal cookies were irresistible. He reached for one, telling himself that he had the willpower to train extra hard when he needed to burn off some cookie calories. The buttery dough all but melted on his tongue, and he chewed the raisins, enjoying the bursts of sweetness.

His mom sent him that look, the one that said, This is not how I raised you, Archer Davenport, so with his mouth still half full, he said, “Thanks for the flowers, and sorry about the bad mood—but don’t you think I want to be surfing?”

Mila turned back from the kitchen cabinet, her blue-green eyes flashing. “Then you shouldn’t have done a stunt that nearly got you killed. I heard that horse rolled over onto you and nearly did you in.”

Arch felt the color rise in his cheeks. Why did everyone seem to think it was his fault? He was tired of explaining that it hadn’t been. The prop department had screwed up. It happened. And now he had to listen to everyone in his family tell him he’d been an idiot.

“I’m changing my emergency contact to somebody who doesn’t tell everyone my business,” he said in a grumpy voice. “Nick’s nothing but a blabbermouth.”

Mila put down the vase she’d been filling with water a little too abruptly, and some liquid splashed over the side. “Arch, you know we don’t keep secrets in this family. There’s no way Nick wasn’t going to tell us what happened. It would be the same no matter which of us was your emergency contact.”

He sighed. Mila was right. There were no secrets among Davenports. He knew he was being difficult. But he was in pain and felt like a fool sitting there with his leg elevated while his mom and sister fussed over him. Plus, if he was honest with himself, the biggest reason he was in a bad mood was because the warm, fascinating woman he’d met on Carmel beach and gotten to know better at the birthday party seemed to have been replaced by a cool model of efficiency.

More often than not, his mom could read his mind, and his siblings’ minds too. In her most gentle tone, she said, “I know you’re in pain. I can see it on your face. Is there anything I can get you? Do you need more pain meds?”

He told her he was up to date with his meds, and in return she told him that the pain of a break was always worse in the first few days. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you would explain the injury to me in more detail.”

“I broke my tibia. It’s a simple fracture.”

She tousled his hair. “I’m glad it wasn’t something worse. You kids always have healed well from injuries. Still,” she added with a sigh, “it’s a broken leg. That’s what, four months for a full recovery?”

He felt his mood grow cloudy again and scowled. There was no hiding anything from his mom. She had spent so much time in the emergency room with six athletic kids that she was almost as good at giving a diagnosis as a seasoned ER doc.

“I start shooting my next movie in ten weeks. I need to heal in eight. Ten is the absolute max.”

His mom wasn’t surprised that he was pushing the timeline of his recovery. He had always played by his own rules, and if there was one thing she understood, it was that her kids were ambitious and driven. He was certain he could begin filming in ten weeks.

Betsy smiled and said, “Well, if anyone can heal that quickly, it’s you. And there’s no question in any of our minds that you’ll do all your exercises. I hear from Margaret Percy that Tessa’s extremely strict with her clients, especially when it comes to physical therapy.”

His scowl deepened. “She showed up here in a lab coat with her name stitched on the pocket. I feel like a science experiment.”

Mila snorted with laughter. “I love that! She’s letting you know who’s boss right from the get-go. I knew I liked that woman the moment I met her.”

Again, he recalled the way Tessa had scolded him when she’d first arrived. But Mila’s comment made him even more determined to keep the upper hand when his all too attractive companion returned from the store.

Mila brought over the vase of flowers and sat next to their mom. The flowers were perfectly arranged—a trick of the trade from her real estate business. She helped herself to an oatmeal cookie and then asked, “So, is she sleeping in the guest room down here?”

Their mom turned to her. “Mila, what are you suggesting?”

“Nothing, really,” she said with a shrug. “I’m just glad that when I sold Arch this house, it came with two beds on the ground floor as well as a gym and pool in the basement.” She turned to him. “It’s almost like I knew the day would come when you’d need water therapy and a gym within a thirty-second walk.”

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