LITMIR.BIZ

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Ali wasn’t impressed with his sports celebrity, she thought his positive living mantra was simplistic, she didn’t approve of his politics and she had reason to question his parenting skills.

      “You don’t like dogs, do you?” she asked.

      “They don’t care much for me either, so it’s mutual. I don’t take it personally.”

      “That’s probably a good thing. Political campaigning requires thick skin.” Something he’d need to soothe his ego when he lost if her vote counted for anything.

      “Well said.” He nodded. “But that’s not the subject I tracked you down to discuss.”

      She checked her watch, knowing the crew was waiting. “If you were a paying client I’d start the meter, but the first one’s always a freebie. What do you want, Mr. Lamar?”

      His handsome head snapped back at the tone in her voice. Good! After what he’d put his son through, she wanted to shake the confident man till his teeth rattled!

      “Since time appears to be money to you, Doctor Stone, I’ll be brief. First, and most important, I want to thank you for bringing Ethan safely home to me.” Lamar pointed toward the E.R. “That boy is the center of my life and I’ve been sick with worry these past few days. You righted my world when you hoisted him out of that canyon and I’ll never forget your bravery.”

      Now, as she bothered to look beneath the very appealing exterior, it did appear he hadn’t slept in a while. Okay, it was Ali’s turn to stare humbly at her steel-toed boots. Before she could ask for forgiveness for being a jerk, he hurried on.

      “Second, I believe you called this meeting.” He fished a scrap of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “This says you wanted to have a word with me.” He looked at his heavy, gold wristwatch. “I need to be with my son, so please make it quick.”

      The small amount of guilt she’d been feeling toward the famous linebacker crumbled like a vanilla wafer between Simba’s molars.

      “I’m a psychotherapist and I deal primarily with kids who’ve suffered traumatic loss or abuse—”

      He held his palm outward to silence her. “Ethan already has a therapist, several in fact. If you were going to pitch your services—”

      “Your son’s condition is not in my area of expertise,” Ali blocked his interruption with one of her own. “But it took me less than sixty seconds to realize how terrified Ethan is of being left alone or, worse, being sent away. I think it’s unconscionable that your therapist suggested you allow your son to attend that wilderness camp. Any idiot who feels that was the proper way to treat Ethan should be strung up and used for a punching bag.”

      “Uuf!” He bent at the waist and grabbed his gut.

      She had no idea how to interpret his action. “Are you in pain?” she asked the obvious.

      “Only if you consider a low blow painful.”

      Lamar stood tall. He folded arms any man would envy, stretching his black T-shirt tight across a broad chest. Then he raised his chin and stared her down from a height that forced her to look up. His eyes were dangerous slits of blue ice.

      “I guess I deserved it since I’m the unconscionable idiot who thought sending Ethan to camp was a good idea.”

      Ali’s belly quaked in a way that never happened when she was suspended a couple thousand feet above the earth from the bottom of a rescue line. This person looming over her was both manly and menacing, celebrated in a sport where intimidation was a minimum daily requirement. It was his right to call the shots on treatment. Ethan was his son.

      She should back down, apologize for overstepping her bounds. Still, Ali completely disagreed with the man’s approach and wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight if she thought the boy could be sent back into a dangerous situation.

      “Sir, I respect you as Ethan’s father and support your right to make decisions about his future. That said, since I was engaged in his rescue I have every intention of following up on the welfare of my patient. I’ll be keeping my ear to the ground for any news on this case.”

      “Take a number.” Lamar walked away from any further discussion.

      “Simba, heel,” Ali called. She hurried to catch the aggravating man. “Wait up, Lamar!”

      “Going my way, Stone?” He didn’t as much as glance over his shoulder.

      “As a matter of fact, I am. I told Ethan I’d be right back.”

      “I don’t know what he found so funny about that.”

      She smiled to think she’d coaxed an appropriate response from Ethan. “He was amused?”

      “Laughed out loud. And with his weird sense of humor that’s something he doesn’t do often. What did you whisper to him, anyway?”

      “I told him Simba and I needed to go for a walk before one of us marked our territory right across the toes of your handmade boots.”

      Chapter Three

      Ten days had passed and Ethan was stubbornly nursing a grudge.

      “Son, you’ve got to leave that room sooner or later. Please come down and join me for dinner,” Ben called from the top of the stairwell. Since Ethan could detect a pin dropping, there was little doubt he’d heard his father’s request.

      That Big Bend business with the camp and the helicopter rescue was over and done with, behind them forever. The publicity had died down, most of Ethan’s scrapes were healed and the swelling in his ankle was gone. But the boy hadn’t been outside the threshold of his bedroom since the E.R. experience.

      Ben knew there was no bribe he could offer or threat he could make that would get his son to budge. Short of starving Ethan into cooperation there was little to do but give it time, the one thing Ben had in short supply.

      As much as it irked him to admit it, that know-it-all doctor had been right when she’d called him an unconscionable idiot! Coaxing Ethan into the camping experience seemed to have set them back months of progress. Ben was not only running out of time, he was running out of places to turn for help.

      His visits to online forums revealed patient coping methods he never dreamed anybody would attempt. Reading the posts by self-proclaimed “Aspies” was heartbreaking. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to save his son from sinking further into the depths of the bizarre disorder.

      “Ethan? We may have company later.” Ben was winging it, determined to get a reaction.

      There was no reply, nor could he detect volume from the television. Self-injury was a concern since Ethan had done his share of experimental cutting. So, complete quiet in the rooms upstairs was never a good sign.

      “Ethan!” Ben called loudly, as he traveled the hallway toward the rooms where privacy was no longer his son’s right. The last shred of patience snapped as Ben’s shoulders filled the open doorway. “Answer me this instant!”

      Ethan jumped at the sudden intrusion, brushed away his earphones and flung himself against the headboard of the bed where he’d been sitting.

      “What is it?” he demanded. “Why are you always scaring me like that?”

      The boy’s abrupt tone and disrespectful comments were almost intolerable for Ben. He’d been reared with strict rules of etiquette and sportsmanship, had embraced them all his life. In his head he knew Ethan’s rudeness was a symptom of anxiety—the boy probably wasn’t even aware of the effect of his tone and choice of vocabulary—but the words penetrated Ben’s sense of decency like darts pierced a bull’s-eye. Every medical professional he’d spoken with had warned him to choose his battles. On the worry scale, disrespect was fairly low compared to what seemed like a budding case of agoraphobia. Ethan’s refusal to leave his rooms had to be brought under control, but Ben was at his wit’s end.

      How

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