by Toni Blake
Turned out it was too soon, though. She knew it only another few months later, when she found herself beginning to wonder what lay over the next horizon, when she found herself noticing the new ranch hand, when she began to enjoy the company of Hannah Jasper, the lady ranch owner, more than that of her new husband.
“There are moments when I’m afraid I’ve made a very big mistake,” she confided in Hannah one day as they sat upon a split-rail fence, side by side, watching an untamed mustang buck and snort his way around a corral.
“I feared as much,” her older, wiser friend said on a sigh. “Some people do well marrying young—I thought maybe you needed that sense of security, the safety of having a partner in life. But others are just like that bronc out there.” She pointed to the glossy black horse who clearly felt trapped, frightened. “You have a bigger spirit than you even know, Dahlia. I think you’ve spent the time since you got here feeling your way through all the new possibilities you’ve given yourself. I think you have a thirst for adventure. And I think you’re gonna want more and more of it.”
“Without Pete, you mean?” she asked to clarify.
“You’re the one who called it a mistake.”
Dahlia nodded. She’d thought she was in love with him—but she’d been in love with...his eyes, and sex, and the ability to make her own decisions. And he was a good man. Not even just a boy anymore—he was becoming a man before her eyes, same as she was becoming a woman, and his only mistake had been devoting himself to a girl who’d acted impetuously at the first taste of freedom she’d ever known. “What should I do?” she asked Hannah.
“The only thing a free spirit can. Follow your heart.”
CHAPTER NINE
AFTER PUSHING AND prodding Zack through more physical therapy, Suzanne doubled the number of reps for all his exercises. He responded pretty much as she expected.
“Are you trying to kill me, woman?”
“No, I’m trying to help you heal,” she informed him, pushing his knee to his chest.
“I thought you said you had no idea if this would fix anything,” he groused.
“I don’t. But if you lie here like a blob, I can guarantee nothing will get fixed. That’s fine, though,” she told him, backing off, releasing his leg. “If you want to lie here like a blob, and if you want to ensure that your whole life will be about lying here like a blob, you can. I’ll just make your meals and be your maid until Dahlia gets back. Is that what you want?”
He blew out a grumpy breath. “Knock it off with your reverse psychology, Suzie Q. You know that’s not what I want.”
“Then you have to put in the effort,” she said, hands on her hips. “That simple.”
“Simple to you,” he mumbled.
“It’s not simple to me at all. I’m the one who has to put up with you.” And the one who has to keep...touching you. And feeling all tingly and nervous every time. She kept thinking that would fade. So far it hadn’t. She only prayed she was doing an adequate job of hiding it. She didn’t even know what it meant. She was a nurse—this should not affect her. That was what she kept coming back to over and over again. And the last thing she needed was for Zack Sheppard to think she was...attracted to him. Even if they almost got along now, the two of them had been at odds so long that it would be mortifying if he thought...
Oh. Wait. Was she?
Attracted? Like...physically?
To Zack?
With Beck Grainger, it had made sense. He was a gentleman. Kind. Polite. Helpful. Classically handsome and then some. With a substantial career and a lovely home. What red-blooded American woman wouldn’t be attracted to Beck Grainger?
But Zack was...surly. Distant. Selfish. And the career he’d cultivated was pretty much in the toilet now. Because he might never walk again.
So surely...surely...there was some other explanation for the way her heart raced and her chest tightened when she touched him. Some other explanation for the skitter of nervousness that zigzagged through her when she looked directly into his eyes. Some other explanation for the tingly sensation that rippled through her when she caught a hint of his masculine scent.
“Okay, I think we’re done here,” she told him, rising up off the bed without warning.
“Suzanne—wait, damn it. I’ll do the exercises already.”
He looked almost alarmed, and at the very least, distressed. Which threw her—because she was just trying to get away right now. Because she was realizing the unthinkable and needed space. It had nothing to do with his grumpiness and everything to do with her body, mind, heart.
“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. “We’ve done enough for today.”
She started to walk away—when he reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Her heart lurched to her throat and she looked down—at his hand where it held her. His firm grip echoed all the way up her arm and into her breasts.
“I’m sorry,” he said. His tone was slightly grudging—like he just didn’t know quite how to apologize, but he was trying. “I don’t mean to be an ass. I’ll do better.”
Good Lord. What was happening? Zack Sheppard was being sincere and humble—at the moment when she could least appreciate it, because she needed to escape before she dissolved into a heap of molten shock over what she suddenly knew she felt. “It’s okay,” she insisted. “It’s fine. I know you’re working at this. I just...need a minute.”
Pulling her arm free, she made a beeline for the bathroom. She shut the door, lowered the lid on the toilet, and sat down, almost sorry she’d escaped because she missed the touch. The revelation hit her like a slap in the face. She just hadn’t seen it. Perhaps she’d chosen not to see it. But now she felt thickheaded not to have understood. That she liked touching him. It made her nervous as hell, but she liked it. And right now it was hard to unravel the whole roiling, messy, confusing knot of nervousness and awkwardness and pleasure and desire, but no matter how she sliced it, there was suddenly no denying it: she was attracted to Zack.
How utterly unnerving. Then again, being attracted to a man is always unnerving for you. She’d barely been able to look at Beck—before and after she’d recognized her attraction to him. She’d been nervous when she’d first started feeling that way about Cal, too. You’re just a basket case around men, that’s all. Think you’d be used to it by now.
This seemed harder, though, than the other two. Zack was her patient. Zack was her best friend’s ex. Zack was, until very recently, practically her sworn enemy. And to top it all off, Zack was emotionally inept. Not a gentleman. Not polite. Not any of the things she was normally drawn to.
She blew out a breath. Okay, make a plan.
In the short term, you have to go back out there and act normal. Like you are totally not attracted to him. For all the reasons it makes no sense to be.
In the long term...well, it was hard to think long term at the moment. Suddenly the idea of sharing a home with him for the coming months felt even more difficult than it had last week.
But you need to focus. On just...acting cool. Like nothing has changed.
Of course, PT was going to be even harder now. But don’t think about that. Just don’t...think. About anything.
She stood up, turned on the faucet, splashed some water on her face. Then looked at herself in the mirror. You’re a nurse, a caregiver, that’s all. Just get through this, one day at a time, and before you know it, it’ll be over. For now, do your job. Take care of him, help him exercise, be a pleasant companion—and nothing more. Think of him the way you did a few days ago. Even if you were just as drawn to him then and unwilling to admit it to yourself. Think about how you’d feel if that wasn’t true. Fake it ’til you make it.
Yes, that seemed like a good plan. Remembering her role here was the only way to keep herself from going down a dark road that could only hurt her.
Because for one thing, he was
indeed Meg’s ex. You didn’t mess with your bestie’s ex—you just didn’t.
And for another—if she ever again let herself care for a man, he would have to be stable, kind, emotionally intact. One emotional basket case in a relationship was ample—she knew herself well enough to realize she needed someone who had their act together, to balance out her own unevenness.
And for a third—Zack was...Zack. He would never be attracted to her. She wasn’t his type. His type was traditionally pretty, calm, steady, smooth-as-silk Meg. Probably because he needed a together person to balance out his issues, too. But whatever the reason, she was a far cry from Meg. And she’d be mortified if he ever knew how she felt.
Blotting the cool water from her face, she took a deep breath, let it back out, and opened the bathroom door—ready to be her best caregiving, unemotional self.
“Listen, Suzie Q,” he started the second she emerged back into the room, “I really do appreciate all you’re doing for me. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said. Wishing he’d knock off the sudden niceness. Seriously—for all the times for him to go nice, it had to be now? She let out a quiet sigh, knowing that if she were to fool both of them into thinking nothing funny was going on here, she had to follow her instincts. “Are you ready to do the rest of your exercises then?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She walked across the room and picked up the small free weights. “Do your arm curls, adding one rep of ten to each. And then we’ll add two sets of ten leg rotations.”
His eyebrows lifted, and he looked almost ready to complain.
“We can make it three sets if you want to argue about it.”
At this, he stayed quiet, pressing his mouth together in a thin, straight line. Feeling like a drill sergeant, she gave a succinct nod to let him know she meant business, then passed him the weights.
* * *
SUZANNE SAT CURLED in her easy chair near the fire, reading a book, or attempting to—the act required tuning out what they now referred to as “Zack’s talk shows.” That had become a large part of her existence these days: tuning certain things out.
When her phone notified her of a message, Zack’s buzzed next to him on the sofa bed, too. A glance down revealed that Dahlia had sent them a group text to ask, How are you two getting along?
Suzanne thought back to the morning’s therapy session—she’d hid her attraction, he’d complained. Business as usual. She typed into the phone: He’s as difficult a patient as he is a human being.
Another text followed, from Zack. She’s a regular Nurse Ratchet.
Suzanne lifted her gaze from the phone screen to the man across the room. “Ratched.”
“What?” he asked, appearing confused.
“Ratched,” she said. “You mean Nurse Ratched. From One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
“I mean Nurse Ratchet,” he insisted.
She just looked at him. “From...?” she inquired arrogantly.
“I don’t know—I just figured she was named after, you know, a ratchet. Which I wouldn’t want to be caught in.”
Suzanne just shook her head and sighed. “You don’t remember Nurse Ratched from the movie?”
“What movie?”
She rolled her eyes. Then enunciated as if he were hard of hearing. “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
“Never saw it.”
She let her eyes open wider. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. What’s the big deal? A person can’t see every damn movie ever made.”
“I’m going to trust that you haven’t read the book, either.”
He just gave her a look that said, You know damn well I haven’t.
“You really should see the movie,” she insisted.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a classic.”
“I’ve lived without classics this long.”
“And...actually,” she said, thinking out loud, “maybe it would make you feel better about your situation.”
He looked unconvinced as he replied, “Well, let me just dash right on down to a non-existent video store and pick it up on my non-working legs.”
“Correction. Only one of them isn’t working. And I can probably find it streaming somewhere.”
“Lucky me.”
“I think you’ll actually like it. It stars Jack Nicholson when he was young.”
That did seem to catch his attention. She’d noticed he seemed stuck in a time warp, drawn to things from before he was even born. “Oh. Well...then maybe.”
When the phones beeped and buzzed again at the break in conversation, they both looked down to see a barrage of texts from Dahlia, which they’d apparently talked through without noticing.
Zack, Suzanne is only trying to help you—listen to her and do what she says.
Be nice to one another.
Are either of you there?
Are you killing each other?
Is this thing on? Tap, tap, tap.
Suzanne couldn’t help being amused. She typed: He’s lying in a puddle of blood at my feet. Then hit Send.
She slyly glanced at Zack from the corner of her eye, saw him smile slightly. Then he sent a text, as well. I just flung my crutches at her from my puddle.
Suzanne chuckled softly.
But Dahlia replied: That’s not funny, you two.
Across the room, Zack typed an answer, and a moment later it arrived. I’m making jokes, so it might not be funny exactly, but it’s good in a way, right?
Suzanne’s heart expanded in her chest. He was right. He’d come a long way in a short time, probably longer than she’d given him credit for. She subtly lifted her gaze to study him—and found him staring back.
As usual for her, that was hard—holding a man’s gaze, holding his gaze. Fortunately, just as she drew her eyes downward, another text arrived from Dahlia. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes! That’s so very good, nephew! I’m proud of you.
More typing from Zack produced another text to both women. That doesn’t mean she’s not a Nurse Ratchet, though.
You mean Ratched, Dahlia answered.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, WHILE Suzanne popped popcorn in the kitchen, Zack maneuvered himself into one of the two easy chairs facing the TV.
“What to drink?” she called.
“Beer?” he suggested.
“With popcorn?” she questioned.
“Yeah.” Like that was normal. Maybe for him, it was.
“Well, I don’t have any. There’s some wine in the fridge, though.” She sometimes drank a glass before bed. Or she had back before her houseguest’s arrival had thrown her every routine out the window.
“That’ll do,” he said.
And so with a big bowl of popcorn on an end table between them, and two glasses of Chardonnay, they watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
At first, Suzanne had trouble paying attention. Her focus stuck on the middle-school-worthy concern of whether their hands touched when they reached for popcorn at the same time. Each such occurrence sent an unwanted ripple up her arm, down through her body. Pretty soon she just quit eating popcorn—but she did pour them both a second glass of wine, glad she’d brought the freshly uncorked bottle with her, and Zack kept topping them off because, as luck would have it, it was one of those extra big bottles.
Once she forgot about touching and popcorn, though, she got drawn into the movie. And when it ended and Zack stayed quiet, her mind raced. Was the whole vibe too heavy for a man in his situation? It had seemed like a good idea, but maybe not.
“That was dark,” he finally said.
“Too dark?” she asked cautiously. “Because maybe I forgot how dark it actually was.”
A light chuckle left him. “I’ve been some dark places, Suzie Q, so it takes more than a movie
to bother me.”
The words left her curious. What dark places? Or maybe she didn’t want to know, shouldn’t want to know. She was his nurse, after all, nothing more. Keep telling yourself that and it’ll become true—it has to.
“Then...did it make you feel better? I mean, in comparison, about where you are?”
He grinned, and when she dared meet his eyes, she suspected the alcohol had him a little loopy. “Makes me glad you don’t have some sort of shock therapy machine to hook me up to.”
And an unwitting trill of laughter escaped her. From the wine. And the grin. Ignore that part. But the wine made that more difficult.
Zack reached for his crutches and started to pull himself up onto them—but quickly lost his balance and plopped back down onto his chair. He tossed her a sideways glance. “Bad news, Susie Q. Think I’m a little drunk.”
“Uh-oh. Drunk and crutches don’t go together. Let me help,” she said, rising to her feet—albeit not steadily.
“I think you’re a little drunk, too,” he announced, pointing at her.
She couldn’t deny the accusation. She’d felt fine sitting down, but getting up had been a different matter. “Well, two drunk people with a set of crutches is better than one.”
Though as the struggle for him to stand commenced, she realized he was going to need more than a steadying hand to get him to the bed, and suggested, “Let’s get rid of this one,” taking one crutch away, “and I’ll be the crutch.” Her work in the nursing home had taught her a lot about moving people.
As she got him to his feet, sliding one arm around his waist as he draped his own around her shoulder, she said, “About the movie, I guess my point is—life can be a lot about perspective.” Her current perspective was that his body was crushed tight against hers and she felt it from head to toe, most notably between her legs. But ignore, ignore, ignore. Keep talking, like this is totally normal, like he’s just an old man in a nursing home. “And even though your situation sucks, it could be worse.”
