by Raina Lynn
The day’s stress tally came due and, to her horror, tears streamed over her lower lids. She whirled around to the sink, and picked tiny shards of glass from her favorite kitchen towel. Tears dripped onto her hands as she worked, while Garrett’s stunned gaze burned a hole in her back.
He moved his wheelchair alongside her and gently turned her to face him. “Babe? What is it? We’ve had some knock down, drag-outs over the years, but falling apart isn’t like you.”
Other than standing there trembling, she couldn’t seem to move. His tenderness only made it worse. She desperately needed his strength but pride wouldn’t let her cross enemy lines.
“Babe?” He took her hand and squeezed.
The skin-to-skin contact turned her heart over, and without conscious intent, Maggie folded into his lap. He wrapped her into a tight embrace, and she buried her face into the warmth of his neck. “I’m sorry I made such a big deal out of a stupid towel.”
“I wasn’t being any great prize either.” He kissed her hair. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She sniffed loudly, then told him about her day. “The family is threatening to sue. My bosses may get them to calm down, but I doubt it.”
“Then I hit you with being an ingrate,” he muttered.
“Not your fault. I can’t seem to stop making the same mistakes I warn other people about.”
He stroked her shoulder-length tresses, then held her from him and wiped away her tears. She felt the barriers between them slip away, and her heart trembled in her chest as if afraid to beat for fear it would destroy the moment.
The sensation of his fingers against her face sent pleasurable tingles throughout her body. His breath fanned her cheek as he drew her close for a kiss. His lips were warm, firm, commanding, and they both drank deeply of their love. He made forays across her jaw and throat, and she rolled her head back to give him greater access, and her heart thundered.
This is really dumb, Hughes, her common sense groaned. Sex never solves anything. But I need him.
His lips trailed feather-soft kisses along her cheek, slowly working back toward her lips. She remembered the games he played to heighten their pleasure, knew what was to come, and that knowledge alone set her body on fire. Garrett had always set the pace, always been the one in command, not out of arrogance, but as a habit started when they were young. Truthfully, she hadn’t given the poor man any choice. In her innocence, she’d handed him her body on a plate every time he’d turned around, and only his honor had held him in check. But this was now. She claimed his lips. A startled, but approving groan rumbled from his chest, and he locked her into a tight one-armed embrace while he caressed her back.
When they came up for air, they were both slightly breathless. Surely tonight would be the night that ended four-and-a-half years of sexual frustration. She communicated that hope in the seductive smile she gave him, but the sudden reserve in Garrett’s eyes sent a chill through her.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked intensely uncomfortable, and she felt him mentally retreat until an icy chasm yawned between them.
“This wasn’t a good idea,” he muttered.
“Why not?” she rasped. The sting of rejection hurt all the more for the expectations of a moment ago. “Rick’s working on his car at John’s house tonight. He won’t be home for hours yet.”
She could have sworn fury and hurt flared in his eyes, but he masked his emotions so quickly, she couldn’t be certain. Why would Rick fixing his car upset him? Or was it something else? With the fire raging in her veins, she couldn’t think.
Garrett shifted in the chair, a silent request for her to get off his lap. Stunned, she complied, staring at him in disbelief. The muscles along his jaw were flexed hard. “Maggie, this really wasn’t a good idea. I’m sorry I started it.”
Her breath let out in a pain-filled rush. “You haven’t apologized for ‘starting it’ since I was a teenager. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he spit out. Then he fixed her with a frozen stare. “Do you want help with dinner, or do you want takeout?”
Furious, she turned her back on him and yanked groceries from the bags. “Go ahead. Shut me out. See if I care.” Wow, Hughes, that was really constructive. Inwardly, she cringed, but pride refused to let her apologize. Besides, he owed her an explanation.
Garrett was never without a suitable retort, and she expected him to pick up his end of the renewed quarrel. Instead, he merely left the room.
Garrett went into the backyard, shaking from the devastation to his ego. He hadn’t been able to get it up. Not even a twinge of a response. What was going on? He hadn’t had any trouble for weeks.
Hairy bounded toward him, Frisbee firmly between his teeth. The neighbors must have thrown the toy back over the fence. Today’s emotional roller coaster was too much, and Garrett couldn’t face another failure. Hairy was just going to have to settle for a scratch behind the ears. The disappointment on the dog’s face lasted only a moment before he leaned into Garrett’s hand and groaned with unabashed pleasure.
“Well, at least you don’t care that I’m less than human. I can’t handle a simple jar of mustard, and I can’t make love to my wife.” Ex-wife, he amended silently. There’s nothing tying her to me. After a moment’s thought he added, Thank Cod The sooner I can get out of her life, the better off she’ll be.
Self-pity disgusted him, but as he found himself on a downhill slide toward bitterness, he didn’t have the faintest clue how to find his center of gravity.
Nearby, the squeak and thunk of a rusted car door slamming shut sounded. It was just the sound he’d expect from Rick’s car. That suspicion was confirmed a moment later when the teenager opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the ramp.
Your timing’s off for once, Garrett observed darkly. You’re about five minutes too late to interrupt us.
“Mom said you were outside.”
It sounded accusatory, but Garrett didn’t dare call him on it. There was too great a danger that he’d overreact. He still hadn’t worked through his hurt and irritation that his only son preferred a stranger to teach him how to rebuild that carburetor.
“I thought you were working on your car tonight.”
“John’s dad had to work late. He’ll help me with it this weekend.” Rick fidgeted. Garrett recognized the agitation as part of the kid’s bulldog puppy stance. “Dad, how come you’re in the back?”
“I was cooped up a long time. Fresh air beats the alternative.” He pivoted around to face his son. “Why don’t you go ahead and buy that carburetor kit. We’ll put it in tomorrow.”
“I told you. John’s dad is helping me with that.”
Jealousy, not common sense opened Garrett’s mouth. “I don’t think so. As soon as we’re finished with dinner, you’re going to the parts house and pick it up.”
Rick’s jaw worked as his agitation increased. “But I—”
“Argue with me some more, Richard, and you’ll find yourself grounded for a week.”
Rick stared, dumbfounded, and Garrett braced himself for open rebellion. The boy turned away, but not before Garrett saw the twinkle of contentment in his eyes.
“If that’s what you want, Dad. Okay.”
As he went back into the house, Garrett sat, shocked and trying to evaluate what had happened. When it hit him, he had to laugh. Without thinking first, they’d fallen into the familiar role of parent and child. With luck, one day, it might even be comfortable. But in the meantime, he didn’t delude himself that he wouldn’t stumble onto another can of worms before it was through.
Once they got the meal finished and the kitchen cleaned, Maggie turned to Garrett, grim. “Time for the night shift.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned.
“From the way you’re moving, you overdid today, and if I don’t give you a thorough rubdown, those muscles will be locked up tight tomorrow.”
After his failure earlier, the idea of her putting her h
ands all over his body appalled him. His blood heated at the prospect of her touch, and he doubted his self esteem could handle another blow. “Maggie, that isn’t a good idea—for several reasons.”
“Name one,” she retorted indignant.
“You put in a full day today. You need to relax.”
She snorted. “And you need those muscles worked.”
“No.” It was flat, unequivocal.
She frowned in confusion. “What do you mean, no?”
Rick seemed to materialize from nowhere, barely restrained panic in his eyes. Garrett gave him a calm-down gesture and kept his attention on Maggie. “It’s not a tough concept, babe. You’re not going to destroy yourself taking care of me. You’re tired. Your workday’s over. Period.”
He turned to wheel himself into the living room, but she grabbed the chair’s back to stop him. Garrett bristled. Having his wheelchair held on to was like being on a leash. He opened his mouth to remind her whose body it was and exactly how things were going to work from now on, but Rick cut him off.
“He’s right, Mom,” he said softly. “You look dead. Why don’t you change into your sweats, and I’ll make some popcorn?”
Rick had sided with him! They were working together. Garret didn’t even try to keep the smile off his face.
The boy shrugged at his mother. “You’ve been sort of outvoted, Mom.”
At first, she scowled as if wanting to forcibly remove their heads, but Garrett sensed the moment she drew the same conclusion about the situation as he had.
“Sweat suit it is,” she conceded, then shot a look over her shoulder as she left the room. “But, Garrett, if you need help getting out of bed tomorrow, don’t blame me.”
Maggie knew Garrett would rather cut out his tongue than admit she’d been right about his muscles locking up, but she could see his pain in the overly cautious way he moved.
At water therapy, she drank in the sight of his magnificent body, naked except for swim trunks. He had regained much of the lost muscle mass, and she ached for him. How many years had it been since she’d played with the light dusting of dark hair across his chest? Far too long if the clawing need radiating from the pit of her stomach was any indication.
With an almost imperceptible grimace, Garrett began the stretching exercises.
Testosterone, she muttered silently.
“I don’t want to hear it, babe.” He glowered at her.
Despite herself, she laughed. “Mind reading again, are we?”
“Wasn’t hard. It was written all over your face.”
She chuckled under her breath, but he ignored her. From all appearances, he was sexually oblivious to her as he worked. Then the time came that she dreaded and longed for, the part of the routine that he lay flat in her arms while he worked his legs.
In the cool water, his skin burned hot against her forearms, and she fought down a shudder of pure physical need. He stared in the general direction of the rafters, his expression betraying nothing other than absolute concentration on the task at hand. Slowly, he brought his left leg out straight.
“Your mobility is coming up,” she said, sparing a quick glance at his swim trunks and wishing something else was coming up, too. What’s wrong? Don’t you want me anymore?
“The water does most of it,” he grumbled. “Could be better.”
No kidding. Maggie gritted her teeth.
Garrett swore nothing could have been worse than water therapy that morning, but as Maggie gave him a rubdown that night—a thorough rubdown—he knew he’d been wrong. Her strong fingers kneaded deep into his flesh, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Was she made of stone? Couldn’t she tell what this did to him? From her look of total concentration, she was totally aware of his body, yet knew nothing at all. He shuddered.
She jerked her hands back. “Did I hurt you?”
Not more than a lot, babe. “I’m fine.” It came out harsher than intended. “I think we’ve done enough today.”
“But I’m not finished,” she protested. “Those lower back muscles are still too tight. They’ll hurt even worse tomorrow.”
I’ll live with it! “Let’s call it a night.” He pointedly rolled over and sat up on the bed. “By the way, where’s Rick?”
From the glare she gave him, she knew full well he’d ended the subject and she wasn’t at all happy about it. “He’s upstairs trying to give us some privacy. His version of matchmaking.” She reached toward him to wipe off the oil from his skin.
Too quickly, he grabbed her wrist and took the towel. “I’ll do that.” If she touched him again, he’d go out of his mind.
Disappointment? Was that what flashed through her emerald eyes? Or had it been relief?
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged.
Definitely relief, he decided. Despite the way she’d occasionally responded to him, he still believed his condition repelled her. Even if he got an erection, what good would it do? He could barely move. Worse, making love would bind her more closely to him, the last thing he wanted for her.
Saturday showed him a new set of pitfalls that drove his confidence deeper into the ground. None of his clothes fit anymore, and he was tired of the baggy look. Fixing it meant a trip to the mail—the outside world.
On the way, they didn’t speak much. That was for the best. Even casual subjects ended up with him biting her head off.
She pulled into the massive parking lot and slipped into a handicapped-only space. Before the accident, he’d often driven past those spaces, half-ashamed of the twinge of temptation to pull into one. Now that he was entitled, he loathed the idea.
She reached in the glove box, then hung a handicapped parking permit from the rearview mirror.
To Garrett, the blue and white sign with the handicapped symbol screamed Fragile. Non Person. Handle with Care! He sat on the explosion in his gut.
Maggie made no attempt to help him into his wheelchair and walked beside him as he made his way toward the sidewalk. Halfway through the traffic lane, the front wheels dropped into cracks in a fractured patch of asphalt, jerking him to a stop. Maggie reached toward him to help but retreated at his hard look.
Garrett shoved on the hand rims, but the chair didn’t budge. A car pulled up, needing to drive past, but the driver waited patiently, politely trying not to watch. A swell of degradation washed over him. Open staring would have been kinder.
“Maybe you can back out,” Maggie suggested softly.
“It wasn’t my brain that was paralyzed in the accident, Maggie Jean. Give me some credit. I can get a couple of six-inch wheels out of a damned hole.”
Resentment flared in her eyes, but she stepped back. “Go to it, then.”
“Thank you,” he gritted between his teeth.
By now, cars had stopped in both directions, forming lines in front of the busy shopping center, and lengthening by the moment. Garrett swore, loudly, with feeling. Every muscle in his body knotted with frustration and humiliated rage.
Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Would you help me—please?” Each syllable came out with a clipped edge.
“Certainly.” Her reply was equally terse. She moved behind the chair and tipped it back. No more than an inch, by his estimation, but it was enough to free him. He looked straight ahead as he rolled forward, daring the traffic to exist. He concentrated so hard on putting distance between him and the witnesses to his failure that he hit the sidewalk’s wheelchair ramp at too sharp an angle, nearly dumping over. It made for a jarring and conspicuous. ordeal.
He caught sight of Maggie’s reflection in the smoked-glass doors of the mall’s main entrance. Her features were pinched, her mouth pursed in a thin, pale line. It renewed his sanity as nothing else could have.
Other shoppers went around them, but he paid no attention to the fact he sat blocking pedestrian traffic as he turned to face her. “I’m always apologizing to you, babe. Today, I’ve given you every reason to mop the sidewalk with me, but you haven’t.”
He
r body became even more rigid, if that were possible. Actually, he decided that helped. Instant forgiveness would have made him feel like a bigger louse than he already did.
“I really am sorry.” He wanted to reach to her, but he didn’t dare.
She hesitated so long, he was afraid she wouldn’t accept his apology at all. He hated the sadness in her eyes, hated knowing he’d caused it.
“You’re a real mess, aren’t you?”
He didn’t realize he’d groaned out loud until she laughed. “Babe, I’m trying not to be. It’s all so...so—”
“Disabling?” she offered wickedly.
He grimaced. “You’ve been around Sapperstein too long.”
“Tell me about it.”
They then turned to face the doors. Rather than the nice convenient automatic ones, these were the swinging type with half-inch, raised metal sill plates. A normal person wouldn’t notice the narrow edging, but getting a wheelchair over it while manhandling a heavy door was beyond him.
Maggie watched him assess the situation. “Do you want to tackle this yourself?”
“No, my self-esteem has taken enough of a beating for one day. ”
She didn’t answer but held open the door while he lined up the wheels to take the maddening doorsill head-on.
“It’s the little victories, right?” he muttered.
She laughed. “Onward, Sir Galahad.”
In the men’s department, shirts weren’t a problem. He just picked out one size smaller than he usually wore. Jeans, however, were another story, and he ended up in the fitting room with two different sizes to try. Wrestling with clothing at home when he had the bed to lie back on was a whole different animal than attempting the same feat in a wheelchair in a fitting room.
Maggie waited for what seemed like hours. More than once, she was tempted to go in and check on him or send in an employee. But his explosive protests would probably raise the roof. So, she waited, checked her watch far too often, and tried to think like a therapist rather than a wife. That’s still how you see yourself, Hughes. Married to a man whose livelihood scared you to death, one who now has absolutely no idea how to pick up the pieces. What are you going to do if he leaves? Or stays, for that matter?
