I handed him the paper. “I had asked the person who wrote this to write down Three-three-three Berkley Road. If that person is an adult around the age of twenty-two and struggled to write this much, what do you think that means? Why would she write that? And why would it be so difficult and send her into a panic?”

The doctor frowned down at the paper. “Twenty-two, you say?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Are you asking me for you or for her? Surely a twenty-two-year-old who suffers this severely has already been diagnosed in school or as a child and knows what her problem is.”

He knew what the problem was. My heart sped up. “No, she doesn’t know. She couldn’t finish high school. She can’t pass tests. She’s been told she’s . . . stupid. But she’s not. Not at all.”

The doctor muttered a curse and sat back down in his chair, looking at the paper I’d given him. “I thought that by this day and age, our public school systems were more adept at labeling and dealing with learning disabilities. Especially one as common as dyslexia. Tell me, does she read?”

Dyslexia. Fuck me.

I’d known someone with dyslexia in school. He had special classes and a tutor who helped him every day. He ended up graduating with honors. No one had helped Reese, and it had been this simple. A lump formed in my throat, and I pressed my fist into my thighs. Anger, relief, and frustration all coursed through me at once.

“No, she can’t read,” I replied. “She tries, but she struggles. I need to get her help. Someone who can help her read and write. She struggles daily with things that are so simple to everyone else, and she thinks it’s because her brain isn’t all there. I will pay whatever price.” Fuck, I wanted to roar in protest. It was pure injustice. And neglect.

“I know a professor in Panama City. He is younger, but this is a condition that is near and dear to his heart. His father suffered from the same thing and didn’t learn to read or write until he was fifty years old. Astor Munroe has had several adult cases that have ended successfully. He even works at a school for dyslexia in a less fortunate neighborhood pro bono, several afternoons a week. I will give him a call and have him contact you as soon as possible.”

A man. Reese didn’t do well around men. “Is there a female who can do the same thing? Men make her nervous.”

Henry frowned. “I don’t know offhand of a woman in that area who can help with someone who suffers as severely or has been as neglected as your friend. But I assure you, Dr. Munroe is a nice man. He’ll set her at ease.”

Maybe she would let Jimmy go with her. She trusted him. Fuck, I needed to stay. But I couldn’t. My life and responsibilities were back in Texas. I had done this much. Now it was up to Reese to take the next step. I couldn’t force her.

“OK,” I said. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me.”

He nodded, no longer looking as annoyed as he had when I arrived. “She’ll need testing to confirm my diagnosis, but from what you’ve told me and what this says”—he held up the paper I’d given him—“it’s dyslexia.” He reached for a pad and a pen and slid them to me. “Give me her info and yours. I’ll have Dr. Munroe contact you either later today or tomorrow, depending on his schedule.”

Reese was going to have a chance. I was going to give her one.

I waited to call Reese until I had heard from Astor Munroe. Twice I had caught myself about to text her when I realized she wouldn’t be able to read a text or text me back, so I stopped myself. Instead, I spent the rest of my day and evening with Harlow, Grant, and Lila Kate at the beach, then went back to Nan’s to pack my things. I needed to leave as soon as I got the call from the professor.

Before ten the next morning, Astor Munroe called me and said he was very interested in helping Reese. He even sounded excited and intrigued by her situation. His price wasn’t cheap, but he explained that he was fitting her into a very tight schedule. He asked me questions that I didn’t know the answers to. She had shared very little of her past with me. I gave him her contact information and told him I would be going to talk to her today. I hoped she would call the professor on her own after I left, but if he didn’t hear from her in two days’ time, he assured me, he would give her a call.

Reese was home when I called her to ask if I could stop by to talk. Now here I was, back at her apartment door, hoping she would take this chance and use it. I couldn’t do any more than this. Even if I wanted to stay and hold her hand, that wasn’t possible. I had horses and a ranch to get back home to.

Reese opened the door on the first knock and smiled shyly at me before stepping back to let me in. Her hair was down today. Long, dark, silky layers hung halfway down her back in soft waves. It had curl. Damn, that was better than I’d imagined. I had to clear my throat to calm my instant lust.

“I like your hair down,” I blurted out, before I could stop myself.

Reese’s cheeks turned pink, and a pleased smile touched her lips. Someone had to have told her that before. “Thank you,” she replied softly.

I stepped inside and tore my gaze off her long legs, on complete display in those shorts. Even the brightly striped socks that came halfway up her calves didn’t detract from those legs of hers.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Her voice wavered like she was nervous.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” I replied, knowing that I didn’t have time to drink anything. I needed to give her the details and get to the airport.