by Dale Mayer
Cole laughed. “You noticed, did you?” He kept his voice light and carefree. Inside, he was beaming because he was on crutches. He hadn’t gone very far yet, but it made such a difference to be fully vertical and mobile. Besides, when he’d seen her walk past, he’d made a special effort to reach her, just so she would see him. So silly. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her. She most likely didn’t even notice him most days. He’d been a problem for her in the beginning, and now he was sure she was keeping her distance. She maintained a professional eye on him, but that was it.
The last couple weeks he had developed an interest in Sandra, but he knew that was foolish. Still, something about Brock and Sidney’s relationship made Cole realize his physical form wouldn’t necessarily stop him from finding somebody he liked. Only one person in this entire place made his heart race and his gaze stare at the doorway every time he heard footsteps in the hall. She came into his room two to three times a day, and although these were professional visits, he couldn’t help but wish they were something more.
Immediately she frowned. “Are you sure you’re not doing things too fast? I know you think you’re getting that much better, faster …”
“I am getting better, faster. And yes, I do have permission to be on crutches. Although I can’t go very far. This is my first run. I don’t want to screw anything up and overstress other parts.” He grinned at her. “But it’s absolutely awesome to be on my feet again.”
She beamed at him. “It’s a huge mental shift that we see a lot here. I’m so happy you’ve reached that point.”
He grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips. “So am I.”
Sandra’s expression was stunned, and a knot formed in Cole’s stomach. Play it off, dude.
He winked at her and turned, then said, “Race you to the other end of the hall.”
He had no idea what made him say that. He knew she stared after him with that surprised look. Escape was the only option. But when hobbling around on crutches for the first time, he wouldn’t likely escape quickly. Maybe his challenge would give her an excuse to run away. Hell, that was what he wanted to do.
“Hold up,” she called out. “No running.”
He tossed her a disbelieving look, and the twist of his torso was just enough to throw his weight off-balance. He quickly stuck out one crutch to catch himself before he went down. At least he was still standing. But his back was screaming.
She gasped and raced to his side. “Are you okay?”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I’m fine. Just doing too much.” Then he heard the same damned echo in his head, all over again—going too fast, going too far, going too soon. Jesus, when would he ever learn? In his own embarrassment, he’d “run away,” and he had done more damage than if he’d just casually walked off.
He gave her an embarrassed smile and took ownership. “That’ll teach me.” He nodded at his room one doorway down. “Good thing I’m almost there.” He left her and made his way to his room where he sat on the bed and laid his crutches across the end. Using his arms, he shuffled up the bed and collapsed. He knew he hadn’t hurt himself badly. But at the same time, it had been a jolt to his senses. A fall might’ve been good. It might’ve stopped him from trying something like that again. “What the hell was I even thinking?” he muttered.
He could sense her in the doorway. He willed her to disappear. The last thing he wanted was her pity, her sympathy or even her amusement, although that would be a hell of a lot better than the other two.
“I’m fine,” he said, waving an arm at her to go away. “You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m not worried. I’m just a little concerned.”
“There’s hardly a difference.” He rolled over to face the window. “I always like to make a fool of myself. It’s a great way to meet girls.” Only the words came out more sarcastic than he’d intended. He shook his head, but he didn’t hear any retreating footsteps. Instead, she laughed.
Then he heard her soft voice from the doorway. “There are lots of ways to meet girls. Please don’t hurt yourself as one of them. If you want coffee sometime, I’m certainly up for that.”
Then all he heard was her footsteps, almost racing down the hall. He lay there on the bed with a slow, wide grin growing on his face. Hell, he’d fall to the floor anytime if it meant getting that response.
Chapter 7
What had possessed her to do something so foolish? Sandra raced to her office. She glanced at her watch, now a bit behind in her rounds. Seeing Isaac off had put her behind schedule, but that moment with Cole had set her back even further. On the other hand, she’d also seen something that tickled her pink. She had deliberately held back from getting too close to any of the patients over the years, but she could blame Dani for any shift in that now. Dani and Sidney. They both had relationships with men who they had met here.
That was both good and bad. Good in the sense that she was delighted for them, but bad as it also highlighted what those without a relationship were missing. She’d liked Cole right from the beginning, but when his condition had declined and he’d gone back to the hospital, she’d been so worried about his health that she’d pulled back, not wanting to hinder him in any way. Sure, he was back again and doing very well, but from what she could see, he still appeared to be headstrong and driven to do too much.
It wasn’t that those were bad traits, but they had to be held in check. That he liked her was obvious, and it made her feel good because she really liked him too. However, she wasn’t sure she could live with his headstrong-and-driven personality. She was slow and cautious. She was a taking-safe-steps-forward type of person, whereas he appeared to dive in and damn the consequences.
Maybe that was his military training. She imagined it took serious guts to throw himself out of planes and to scuba dive in rough waters and all the other activities she’d heard the men did. Her world was built on routine, on a strict regimen. It was built on safety. She helped people get better. Any mistake on her part—well, it could kill a patient. Of course, any mistake on his part could also kill him. She shook her head at the contrast … and the similarities.
At her desk, she updated her computer records. Her tablet would sync automatically. Then she set out the medications to dispense.
One of the biggest problems in her professional interactions with the male patients at Hathaway House was the fact they often viewed the relationship between the people who they worked with and themselves in an unhealthy light. They put too much emphasis on the gratitude, or whatever you wanted to call it, that they felt toward the people who worked with them every day. Like they latched on to that person and didn’t see them in a real light. She’d seen that happen a lot. Take Kenneth for example. Some patients—and staff—found it hard to separate a healthy relationship from that type of dependent relationship here. Being a friendly and helpful caregiver should never be taken as something else. Which was Kenneth’s biggest flaw. She didn’t see that same problem in Cole.
Yet, Sidney and Dani were lucky to have healthy relationships with Brock and Aaron, who were both stable and solid. The two couples seemed very much in love.
Sandra would like to find a healthy relationship like that for herself.
For the first time, she felt Cole may feel the same way. But what exactly? It wasn’t something she was prepared to push. She was all about moving forward slowly and carefully. Whereas, she could already see he was the guy who jumped into things—maybe relationships too. She wouldn’t go there too quickly.
Still, the look of embarrassment on his face when he’d almost fallen and his comment when he lay in bed—well, she’d seen a side to him she hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t sure that was a good thing because it endeared him to her that much more.
She quickly finished selecting her medications, picked up the tray and made her rounds. She went from patient to patient, dispensing pills. When she came to Cole’s room, she knocked on the door. He was still lying down
, facing the window.
“Cole?” she said. “It’s me again.”
He rolled to his back, looked at her and smiled. “I figured I’d chased you away.”
She grinned. “I don’t chase away that easy.”
“Glad to hear it.” He propped himself up on the bed, motioned her over, accepted his medication and reaching for his water bottle, threw the whole lot down at once. He handed her the empty paper cup and said, “I’ll be happy when I’m off these.”
She nodded. “You and many other people.” As she went toward the door, she glanced back and said, “No ill effects from the crutches?”
He laughed. “No idea. I haven’t gotten up again.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’m going for coffee in about ten minutes, if you want to meet me in the dining room. I like to sit out on the deck where the sun is. If you make it, great. If not”—she shrugged—“no problem.”
“If I make it, great. If not, no problem,” he repeated. Like hell. This was his first chance to cement a small step here—so very necessary for the rest to follow. Sure, he was tired. But he wasn’t completely done. He looked at the crutches, then at the wheelchair, and realized he might be better off in the wheelchair. Proving it was one thing—stupidity was another. He slowly lowered himself into the wheelchair and laid the crutches across the bed one at a time.
Settling himself into a better position, he placed his hands on the wheels and headed out the door. The hallway was empty, which was a good thing as his control of the wheelchair left a lot to be desired. He’d seen some guys do amazing things in theirs from climbing stairs to any number of other feats. They were all way beyond him. The trouble was, he also didn’t want to be very good at maneuvering a wheelchair. This wasn’t his life or permanent base.
This was his life for now. He felt better, more like his old self on the crutches, but he had to admit it was easier on his body to sit in the wheelchair.
It was early afternoon, which meant the dining area was quiet. He was thankful for that. It made it so much easier to get around when he didn’t have to dodge people, even though there was plenty of room between the tables.
He was a little on the hungry side. He rolled up to the coffee bar and filled a cup. He studied the treats on offer and decided on a cinnamon bun, so famously delightful here. They appeared to be warm. He put one on a tray, along with his coffee, then picked up the tray and gingerly placed it in his lap. He reached over and grabbed a handful of paper napkins in case of accidental spills, then slowly turned the wheelchair and headed at what he would call a relaxed pace out to a table in the sunshine. To his surprise and satisfaction, he arrived without spilling anything. He grinned. Success was nice.
“That’s a pretty happy smile on your face there, champ,” Sandra said, coming around the table. She held a cup of coffee in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other. She laughed. “Great minds think alike, huh?”
Still worried about dumping the coffee, Cole carefully transferred the tray to the table. Sandra moved a chair out of the way so he had room to wheel up against the table. He relaxed back in his chair.
“The whole way here, all I could think about was that damned cup. I was so sure I’d end up wearing it.”
She grinned. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
He nodded. “That doesn’t mean I want to be the last either.”
“Latest,” she corrected with a smile. “There will be many more. But take the successes as they come.”
He removed the coffee cup and the cinnamon bun from the tray and set it off to one side. Something about trays made him think of hospitals. He hated them. He sat back and studied Sandra as she tucked into the pastry. She didn’t take little delicate bites, but she ripped off part of the big coil in her fingers, and then she sat back and moaned. The joy on her face made him smile in anticipation, which had nothing to do with the cinnamon bun but more about the tightening in his groin, wanting to put that kind of smile on her face himself.
Dangerous thoughts, especially here. He gave his head a shake and reached for his treat. She seemed to make it clear he was a patient and nothing more. And it was best things stayed that way. Right?
Pushing away those thoughts, he took his first bite of the cinnamon bun. “Wow, this is really good.”
She nodded, her mouth too full to reply.
He grinned as he watched her slowly uncoil the entire cinnamon bun and eat it bite by bite while he took a chunk from the side like some wild animal. “I wonder if they’ve ever done any research on the way people eat cinnamon buns.”
She glanced up, took one look at the way he ate his and said, “Yep, and you’re eating it wrong.” She flashed that grin at him again and peeled off another piece.
“I never really thought about it. I pick it up and bite.”
“It’s best if you unwrap it first. My favorite part is the very center.”
“Right.” His throat suddenly clogged as his thoughts became wayward once more, focusing on the best parts of her being in her center. He swallowed hard and turned to stare at the fields around them. “It’s truly beautiful here.”
“It’s also incredibly rare. This is a green oasis in Texas.”
He grinned and nodded. “Where are the dust bowls and the tumbleweeds?”
“Not for a few miles around here, that’s for sure.”
“Dani and her father could sell this property for millions.”
Sandra shook her head. “Hopefully they won’t. The center is doing a tremendous job helping people.”
Keeping the conversation light and neutral, he asked her about her work. “How long have you been here?”
“Five years. And with any luck, I’ll stay for another ten to fifteen at least.”
“What about marriage and family?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. But one doesn’t preclude the other. I’d love to stay here, working, even if it’s only part-time. I’ve seen a lot of my friends lose track of their careers and become very isolated once they have children, especially if they stop working full-time. It’s hard at first, but once you get that work-life balance, it’s nice to have an adult life and not days full of baby talk. Even if it’s only for one or two days a week. We’re close enough to Dallas that a lot of people here commute daily.”
“Don’t they all?” He glanced around and added, “It never occurred to me that staff quarters were available here.”
She laughed. “They are, indeed. Not terribly luxurious but comfortable, and you get the advantages of the pool on the grounds and the food.” She held up the last bite of cinnamon bun to emphasize her point. “There are an awful lot of pros and not too many cons about being here.”
“I hadn’t thought of it, but it’s a great idea.”
“A lot of the staff are married and have houses between here and Dallas. We also have a number of specialists who regularly make the trip from the big city too.” She smiled. “I remember when a spinal surgeon from Dallas came to visit a friend of his, who’d opted to spend his recovery time here. The surgeon was dubious in the beginning, but he is a convert now. He sends us a lot of people. He also stops by to check on some of his patients occasionally. It’s close enough for him to come in whenever he’s a little worried.”
Cole sat back. “That says an awful lot about the job that’s being done here.”
“Exactly.” She glanced up and smiled. “Speaking of which, hello, Major.”
The Major stepped around the table into Cole’s view and held out his hand. “I’m Don Hathaway—or the Major as a lot of people call me—and of course, I’m Dani’s father.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cole reached out and shook the man’s hand, studying the cross between Santa Claus and Rip Van Winkle. Don wasn’t quite as large as Santa, and Don didn’t have the super long Rip Van Winkle beard, but the Major’s contagious smile matched both images. “This is a hell of a place you’ve developed here.”
“Thank you.” The Major nodded, and Cole realized Don carri
ed a small dog.
Sandra reached out and said, “Hello, Chickie.”
There was the tiniest of yelps as the animal shifted in the Major’s arms. Cole stared at the little critter, fascinated. “Is that a dog? Or maybe a rat? I’m not sure.”
Chapter 8
Sandra grinned. Chickie was unique.
The Major laughed—big belly laughs that rolled across the open porch. “This is Chickie. He’s a four-year-old Chihuahua cross. He has stunted growth, and he’s physically deformed. But he’s extremely well-loved by everyone. Here.” With a sudden move, the Major handed Chickie to Cole.
Sandra watched as Cole held out his hands but had no idea what to do with the dog. He lifted him to eye level, clearly studying the huge brown eyes that stuck out of a very small head. Chickie’s eyes held so much trust. Intelligence. And hope.
As if unable to resist, with a reaction she’d seen time and time again, Cole bent and nuzzled the little dog’s head with his cheek. Chickie’s little yip, yip was audible from where she sat. Cole cuddled the dog close against his chest. Chickie laid his jaw against Cole’s shoulder and snuggled in.
“Chickie is a special family member here,” Sandra said, her heart melting to see this guy take to Chickie—and Chickie take to him—so easily. “He’s well-loved, and although he has lots of his own physical problems, he is a mascot of hope for everyone here.”
Cole nodded, and Sandra could see the faintest shimmer of wetness in his eyes.
“We always make a point of introducing him to everybody, and we let everybody know he’s on a special diet and can’t be fed anything off the table,” the Major said. “The last time that happened, he ended up with a bowel blockage, and he had surgery to help him with that.”
Cole looked at Chickie and shook his head. “I promise I will not feed him.”
