Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) Read Free Page A

regrets. She was a good therapist, and she knew it. Cases like these were her best—and for a reason. Absently, she stopped playing and rubbed her thigh.
    “Don’t quit.”
    The words surprised her, and she turned around. Sloan had rolled his chair onto the veranda and was only a few feet from her. Foolishly, Joy hadn’t realized their adjacent rooms shared the deck.
    Wordlessly, she lifted the flute to her lips and played her favorite pieces. Lively jigs followed by the sweet, soulful sounds of the classics.
    “Where did you ever learn to play like that?” he asked, in a whisper.
    It was the first time she had heard him speak without being angry. “I started as a child. My father was a musician.”
    His strong profile was illuminated by the darkening sky. Her eyes fell from the powerful face to the chair, and her heart wanted to cry for him. Arrogant, noble, proud—and trapped.
    No.
Swiftly, she jerked her gaze free. The last thing she wanted was to become emotionally attached to a patient. For now Sloan Whittaker needed her, but that would soon change, and he would be free from the chains that bound him. As he became independent to live and love again, he wouldn’t want or need her.
    Joy had never fooled herself—she wasn’t a beauty. Dark hair and equally dark eyes were probably her best features. Her mouth was too small to be sensuous, her nose a little short, her cheekbones too high. The Sloan Whittakers of this world wouldn’t be interested in a hundred-pound misfit.
    “Good night, Mr. Whittaker,” she spoke softly.
    “Miss Nielsen.” He remained on the deck while Joy turned sharply and entered her room, closing the sliding glass door after her. Her heart was pounding wildly, and she placed a calming hand over it. What was the matter with her? It would be utter foolishness to become attracted to this man. Two, maybe three, months at the most, and she would be leaving.

    Joy woke with the alarm early the following morning. The sun hadn’t broken the horizon when she pulled open the draperies and stared into the distance. Quickly, she dressed in sweatpants and an old gray sweatshirt. She hadn’t run on sand before, and she wondered about wearing tennis shoes.
    The house was quiet and still as she slipped out the kitchen door. A chill ran goose bumps up her arms, and she jiggled them loosely at her sides as she performed the perfunctory warm-up exercises.
    An angry gust of wind nearly toppled her along the beach as the surf pounded the shore. Heedless to the blustery force, Joy picked up her heels and ran. The first quarter-mile was always the hardest. Her lungs heaved with the effort. Her shoes sank in the sand, making it almost impossible to maintain her usual pace. Soon she discovered it was much easier if she ran close to the water, where the sand was wet and hard.
    When she figured she’d gone a mile or more, she turned and headed back. The house was in sight when she spotted a seagull walking along the shore, dragging one wing. Slowing her pace, she watched as the poor creature pitifully attempted to fly. After several tries the large bird keeled over, exhausted. Realizing the pain it must be enduring, she stopped running, hoping she could find some way to help. When she took a tentative step toward it, the gull struggled to sit upright and flee.
    Speaking in soothing tones, she fell to her knees in the sand. “Long John Seagull, what are you doing here?”
    The bird hobbled a few steps and fell over.
    “It looks like you need a friend,” she said softly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” With urgent strides, Joy raced toward the house.
    Breathlessly, she stumbled into the kitchen.
    “Dear heavens, are you all right?” Clara stood with her back to the sink.
    Out of wind, all Joy could do was nod.
    “You scared me clean out of my skin.”
    “Sorry,” Joy managed. Not wishing to wake Sloan, she moved quietly down the hall toher room. Only yesterday she’d unpacked some emergency medical