Safe In His Arms - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,1

about post-traumatic stress.” He turned to the man who’d come up behind him. “And my buddy Will wrote the book on it. Literally.” He looked at Val again. “If you need—”

“To see someone?” She managed not to choke on the words. “I appreciate the thought, but I have that covered.” She had nothing covered, because she was determined to handle the issue herself, despite what her friends thought she should do. But he didn’t have to know any of that.

“Good. That’s good. But if you need a second opinion, I highly recommend Will. Say, Will, you have any cards with you?”

“I think so.” The man reached inside his suit jacket. “Yep. Here’s one.”

Val stepped back, away from the outstretched business card. If she ever decided to go that route, she’d find her own shrink. Locating the right person would require lots of research. A chance meeting on the sidewalk didn’t qualify as an intelligent method for hiring a professional therapist. “Thanks, but I—”

“I’ll take it.” Astrid reached for the card. She looked at the name printed there before tucking the card in her jeans pocket. Then she exchanged a glance with the cowboy.

Val figured that the wordless message between Astrid and the cowboy was along the lines of I can handle it from here.

As if to confirm that, the cowboy touched the brim of his hat, a classic farewell gesture. “We’ve kept you ladies long enough. I’m glad you’re all right, ma’am. You three have a nice evening.” Both men turned and headed back toward the bar.

Val swung to face Astrid. “I know what you’re up to, but I’m not making an appointment with some guy I met on the street.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” Astrid’s blue eyes flashed with determination. She was small and blond, but anyone who underestimated her because of that would be making a huge mistake. “He’s not just some guy. He’s Will Bryan, who’s appeared on lots of talk shows because of his book on PTSD. I’ve seen him on TV, but somehow I missed the fact that he’s from Dallas.”

“So he’s famous? Then I’ll bet he’s booked solid.” That should take care of that.

Melanie spoke up. “If he’s booked solid, he would have said so instead of handing over his card. Anyway, that cowboy seems to be his good friend, and he suggested you contact this Will guy. If you mention to Will that you were the tall redhead he met outside the Golden Spurs and Stetsons, I’m sure he’ll work you in.”

“Yeah, and charge me a million bucks now that he’s so well-known.” Another excellent reason why she wouldn’t be calling him.

Astrid’s jaw firmed. “Being prominent doesn’t necessarily mean he charges more than anyone else. And if his fee is really high, then I’ll—”

“No, you won’t, Astrid Lindberg. I’ve never taken money from you, and I won’t start now.” Val, Astrid, and Melanie had been sorority sisters. Fortunately Astrid’s wealthy background hadn’t been a barrier to their friendship, even though Melanie and Val had scraped through school with scholarships and student loans and Astrid had sailed along on her parents’ considerable money.

“You can pay me back later.”

“No.” Val shook her head. “Look, I don’t need a celebrity therapist.”

“Maybe not, but you need a therapist, and you’re making no progress toward getting one.” Astrid pulled the card out of her pocket. “It’s been months since the concert hall fire, and you’re not getting better on your own. This guy showing up right when you had a meltdown seems like it was meant to be.”

Val’s stomach churned. Until that awful night of the fire and the stampede, she’d prided herself on her self-sufficiency and emotional stability. Now she freaked at every little thing. She hated feeling so out of control these days, but the idea of allowing some stranger to probe into her vulnerability made her break out in a cold sweat. “I just need time.”

“No, you don’t.” Melanie put her arm around Val’s shoulders again, and her grip was tighter than before. Melanie’s curves made her look soft, but she had a backbone of steel. “You’ve had time, and nothing’s changed. This is a fabulous opportunity, and you’re going to see this therapist . . . even if we have to hog-tie you and haul you there ourselves.”

Astrid sighed in obvious relief. “Well said, Melanie. So here’s the deal, Val. We’re your best friends, and we can’t stand by and watch this train wreck any longer. You’ve stopped dating. You’ve turned down a promotion at