Season of Redemption. Jenna Mindel

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      This time he shifted in his seat, looking wary. Nervous even. “Okay, what’s your first question?”

      “Your general health appears good. Are you currently taking any prescription meds?”

      “No.”

      “Have you ever been prescribed medications for pain?”

      “Yes.”

      Kellie narrowed her gaze. “When and what were they?”

      “I had my wisdom teeth pulled a month ago—they were impacted pretty bad. I still have the bottle of Percocet.”

      “Did you take them?”

      “I took one.”

      “Why only one?”

      Ryan shrugged. “I didn’t like how it made me feel.”

      “And how did it make you feel?”

      “Sort of loopy.” He sat forward with an annoyed look on his face and his dark brows furrowed. The thundercloud was back. “Look, Ms. Cavanaugh. I don’t do drugs. I never have. And I don’t normally drink much.”

      How many times had she heard her brother deny his addiction? How many times had her parents believed him? They refused to see what his substance abuse did to their family.

      What it did to her.

      She cleared the painful memories inching into her brain. Ryan Marsh was convincing. He believed he was okay, and part of her wanted to believe that, too. He wasn’t like her brother. For one thing, Ryan looked a person in the eye.

      “Except for that party?”

      He sat back and blew out his breath in frustration. “Yeah, except for that party.”

      She’d hit a nerve but had to dig deeper. “Why?”

      Now he looked angry. “What do you mean, why?”

      “Why did you have a few beers too many?”

      He looked away then and shrugged. Now he was lying. By refusing to admit his reason, he wasn’t being true to himself or to her. Ryan Marsh had a definite purpose in drinking that night, she was certain. He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy to do anything by accident.

      She waited, feeling the struggle going on inside him. “Ryan?”

      He looked up.

      In his eyes she read stark pain so acute, her heart flinched. It felt like she’d run into a jagged piece of glass that cut quick and deep. “Alcohol won’t make it go away.”

      “It did for a while.”

      Her stomach tipped over and fell, feeling like it had dropped to the soles of her feet. Ryan Marsh hurt, and he hurt badly. People hurting that bad often tried to medicate their sorrow to make it go away instead of dealing with it. Is that what he was doing? Was this the first stepping stone to a bigger issue?

      Please, God, no...

      The prayer whispered from her soul. She often prayed for clients, especially the teens in her group. She cared, but this was different. This bordered on something else. A connection between them where she felt his pain and wanted to take it away. But she couldn’t do that. Things didn’t work that way.

      Straightening her paperwork, Kellie regrouped. This man wasn’t her client nor would he be. She was only filling in for Ginny. Ryan Marsh would become an agency client if recommended for counseling. She needed to remain impartial, objective and, above all else, emotionally removed.

      But those eyes of his were killers, sucking her into a vortex of feelings she shouldn’t have. Settling the list of standard questions on the desk in front of her like a shield, she continued her line of questioning and note-taking.

      His employment, his education, his family life—everything checked out. He was a regular guy with a normal life. From what he’d told her, a very stable life. Ryan was the middle child of three. He grew up on his family-owned cherry orchard, but he worked as a farm manager for a nearby horticultural research station. He’d worked there since graduating from college five years ago. The guy had no prior arrests, not even one speeding ticket according to the court records.

      Yet, he was here.

      She looked at him. “So, you’ve never been in trouble with the police before.”

      He fidgeted in the chair and his boot hit the front of her desk when he tried to cross his legs. “Sorry.”

      Again she’d hit a nerve. Had he been in trouble before? She smiled and waited for him to answer.

      “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

      She rephrased. “Have you ever been in trouble with the police before? Maybe not arrested, but warned? Or questioned?

      The color drained from his face. “Questioned.”

      “Why?” She held her breath.

      “My fiancée was killed in a tractor rollover. My brother and I were there when it happened.” A brief glimpse of that tragedy shone from his eyes, but then he shuttered it off as easily as she might pull the shades on a window.

      “When was this?”

      “A little over three years ago.” He looked down at his feet. With his elbows balanced on his knees, Ryan clasped his hands so tight his knuckles had turned white.

      She watched him closely. It was eating him up inside. Was he an alcoholic without knowing it or headed there because of his grief? It wasn’t uncommon for someone who’d never showed signs of substance abuse to slide down that slippery slope as a way to cope.

      “I’m sorry for your loss.”

      “Yeah, me, too.” He struggled for control.

      Part of her wanted to dig deeper, get him to talk about what had happened that day, but she stopped herself from asking the question poised on her lips. She wasn’t his counselor.

      Kellie quickly gathered her papers and stood. “I think I have everything I need for now. You signed a permission waiver for us to check with your family, so I’ll complete those interviews later today.”

      He stood as well. “Why do you have to talk to them? I told you everything you asked.”

      Kellie wouldn’t sugarcoat the reason. “We need to establish your credibility.”

      He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Okay, fine. Then what?”

      “Then I’ll review what we discussed along with the questionnaire you completed and make my recommendation to my boss and mentor counselor. Once they’ve reviewed the paperwork, we’ll forward their findings to the court. You’ll get copies of everything.”

      Ryan looked worried. “When will I hear something?”

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