by Dianne Drake
“Non-engagement,” she said, crossing the threshold into her bedroom. Then she slammed the door.
“You were proud of her today, weren’t you?” Izzy asked, scooting into the truck next to her son.
“Just a lapse in sanity,” Mitch muttered. “Won’t happen again.” A big lapse he couldn’t let happen again. First mistake was going to the hospital. He should have refused when Frank called. But he didn’t because when he’d heard what had been happening all he’d been able to think about had been getting to Anna. She’d needed him…or maybe he’d wanted her to need him. Whatever the case, that seven-minute drive from the police station to the hospital had turned into the longest drive of his life.
Then when he’d first seen her sitting there in that parking space, so lost, it had damn near broken his heart. She’d finally faced it…faced it all. Alone. That dreaded moment when the loss had finally and totally sunk in was the reason he’d left rehab medicine. He hated it! Hated it for all his patients. Hated it especially for Anna. Second mistake—he hated himself for not being there for her at that moment, but he didn’t know if he could have faced it with her and given her what she’d needed. And, God help him, part of him was glad he hadn’t been there. Sure, that made him a coward. Made him a failure, too. But he was a coward and failure. The two went hand in hand—in his hands. Hands that couldn’t take her where she wanted to go, and it was tearing him up.
“You should have told her you were proud of her, honey.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how? Like you’re falling in love with her, that kind of complicated?”
He clenched the steering wheel and made a sharp turn onto Izzy’s street, making the tires squeal. “She’s a favor I owe someone. That’s it, so don’t read anything else into it, because there’s nothing there. OK?”
“Tell you what. You go home and convince yourself nothing else is going on, and when you can do it to the point you’re absolutely sure, let me know. Tell it to my face and let me look into your eyes, and then I’ll tell you if I believe you, because right now I sure don’t. Oh, and, Mitch, honey. She’s a great gal. It’s OK to be in love with her.”
He laughed bitterly. “You’re giving me permission?”
“Yep, since you’re not ready to do that yet. But when you do, it won’t be so complicated. I promise you. So next time you see her tell her you were proud of her this evening. Because you were, and anyone who knows you could tell it from the look in your eyes. That, and the fact you’re crazy about her.”
Crazy about her. Those words buzzed around him like an angry mosquito all the way home, then on into the middle of the night. Crazy about her was one thing. Scared was another. How could he spend a lifetime looking at the woman he loved as his patient? If he let himself love her, that was. Would he always see her as someone who had to be cured or fixed? As ugly as it felt to him, it did get back to her disability—a bottom line in everything he was feeling. It was a fact of life he couldn’t ignore, one he didn’t know if he could, or wanted to, deal with other than in the professional sense.
Well, he certainly hadn’t planned this. There were some feelings developing, though. His for Anna anyway—he wasn’t sure about hers for him. And Izzy’s permission to go for it didn’t make things any better.
His brain was telling him one thing, his heart another—and the desire of his heart was far scarier than his mom hooking up with Anna’s dad. And that was pretty damned scary!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I WOULD have been fine home alone,” Anna said, grabbing her duffle bag off the floor of the truck. Mitch had taken her by the Anna memorial this morning. No one had been parked on it. Maintenance hadn’t painted over it either, but a couple of people had simply been standing staring at it. ANNA WELLS IS STILL HERE! It was going to be a tough fight day to day. But this morning she felt like maybe a part of the old her was still there.
“Maybe you would, but I’m glad you changed your mind about spending the day out here,” Mitch said, lifting Anna from his truck cab. “I thought we’d have a swim then a picnic in the woods.” He turned in a circle to show her the expanse of his property. “Two hundred acres. Pick a tree and that’s where we’ll dine.”
They were getting good at this, she thought. Her hands automatically snaked around his neck when he picked her up, and her face pressed into his chest like that was where it belonged. The feel of him was becoming very familiar, and she liked it. It was the natural reaction coming out in her. Too bad those hormones hadn’t been destroyed along with her legs, because they were of no use to her now. Even though she was in his arms, he would never be in her reach, and that was something she was going to have to get used to. Maybe spray paint it somewhere as a reminder. Anna can’t have him.
“You don’t always have to be there for me, Mitch,” she said, struggling to keep any hint of glumness out of her voice, even though everything in her felt glum right now. Men like Mitch didn’t want women like her, and she’d keep repeating that until it finally sank in. He’d do the honorable thing by her, help her, come to her rescue, take care of her and even be her friend. But men like Mitch didn’t want women like her. End of story. “I know how I am and, believe me, I’m not easy to be around. But you don’t always have to come to my rescue.”
“Like last night? Anna versus the monster truck.”
“More like Anna versus herself. The face-off with the truck was a whole lot easier than being shoved aside by that resident, being told that I wasn’t needed. That was the real monster truck.”
“What if I like coming to your rescue, Anna?”
She didn’t have an answer for him because no matter how much he liked coming to her rescue, or thought he liked it, there wasn’t an answer to his question except, perhaps, telling him that men like him didn’t want women like her.
Huge house, Anna observed. Two of hers could fit into it. And she really liked the nice homey feel of it. Open and timber-framed, the downstairs area was essentially one large room with a huge fireplace made from stones. Had he gathered them himself? she wondered. Mitch was the kind of meticulous man who would do that. Go out to the field, collect them then bring them home and put the fireplace together piece by piece—the way he was putting her together, piece by piece.
Several of his bowls sat on the mantle…exquisite bowls. Each different, and each a work of art. She longed to hold one, to run her fingers over the smooth contours. So much of Mitch was in those bowls and, like his fireplace stones, they were meticulous.
Such insight into the man from the simple things in his life. Simple things, uncluttered things—the way she wanted her life to be.
An efficient, uncluttered kitchen blended into its surroundings, and Anna especially liked the bay window overlooking a great expanse of his property. She pictured herself curled up there on a rainy day, all cozy in a fleecy blanket, reading a book.
Way too cozy, and she stopped herself before that comfortable little picture took firm hold. Turning her attention to the open loft, she figured his bed was up there. How many women had climbed those stairs to his bed? she wondered. There had been women, she was sure. Men like Mitch had their pick. And maybe he’d carried them upstairs in the urgency of passion. But that was their choice, not their destiny.
Being carried was her destiny. She would never have the choice.
Anna couldn’t look at the stairs anymore, couldn’t speculate. So she turned her attention to the walls, simply staring, trying not to imagine herself in his home or his life any-more than she already was. A tough thing to do, since she wanted to be there in so many ways…ways that she never could be.
“Here’s your chair,” Mitch called, breaking into her melancholy mood as he delivered it to the side of the couch. “And that damned dog of yours is soaked,” he added, making a hasty retreat out the back door. “He found the duck pond.”
By the time Anna had transferred to her wheelchair and reached the utility room adjacent to the back d
oor, Ralphie had managed to soak up, then shake off, half of Mitch’s pond, drowning everything in the room, including Mitch.
“Sorry about that.” She laughed.
“Liar,” Mitch shot back, making a lunge for the slippery beast. Ralphie eluded him, heading straight for Anna in his typical in-the-lap greeting.
“No,” she squealed, much too late. He was already halfway into her lap, draping himself over her before the words were out. “Get him off me,” she pleaded, trying to push him away. But the more she pushed, the more Ralphie pushed back, happy to share with her every bit of pond water and mud he’d sopped up.
Mitch cocked his head, laughing. “No way. You brought the pooch and he’s all yours to deal with. And I’m going swimming. Without Ralphie.”
Anna drew her lips into a mock pout, hanging her head and rolling her eyes up at him. “You’re leaving me here all alone? To fend for myself against this savage beast?”
“With Ralphie, you’re never alone, but if you really want me to rescue you from him…Swimsuit or skinny dip?” he asked. “Your choice.” He smiled, and it was so beguiling and mischievous—a delight to her eyes and her mood, and something that cured any leftover grumpies that might be lurking deep down, ready to pop out.
“Skinny dip,” she replied.
“Really?” he sputtered. “You want to…”
“Oh, I thought you meant I get to choose for you.” Anna laughed. “I am a nurse, Mitch. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’ve seen it all.”
“The day you can swim the width of the pool for me is the day I skinny dip for you, and not a moment sooner.”
“OK, how do I do this?” Anna asked, gritting her teeth.
“An inch at a time. Slide yourself forward then, when you’re about to fall in, lower yourself. Simple as that.” Mitch moved a few feet away from the edge of the pool to allow Anna sufficient room to slide in, but not far enough that he couldn’t reach out and grab her if something happened. “Or you could fold over and just fall in head first.”
“Yeah, right. And sink to the bottom like a lead weight and drown. I think I’ll inch, if that’s OK with you.” Her lap throw was still on as she scooted forward, and she hung on to it even as her feet dangled into the water. Even then, as she slid the throw upwards, it stopped at her knees, leaving covered everything from knee to waist. “Don’t let me keep you from doing a few laps,” she said, twisting nervously at the chenille fabric. “I’ll just sit here a while and let myself acclimatize to the water while you—”
“Why don’t you come in while I do some laps?” he asked. “Acclimatize your whole body instead of just your toes?” His pool wasn’t deep, just long. A lap pool, and Anna would be safe clinging to the side while he warmed up. Plus, that would give her the chance to get used to the feel of the water. But as he held out his hand to her, she jerked back.
“I can’t do it,” she replied tentatively, tucking in the corners of the throw over her legs. “You need legs to swim, which, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have, at least not in the functional sense.”
“Look, Anna, your legs will never make it to the functional sense if you don’t force the issue.” She was so rigid, so angry. Probably scared, too, he decided. Too scared to move forward, too scared to stay where she was. And embarrassed. He hadn’t seen her scars yet, but he knew they were there, even knew what they looked like. Scars were scars. He’d seen good, he’d seen bad. Not a big deal either way.
In a way, though, Anna’s little bit of vanity was a good sign. It showed she cared about herself. Which was what made the next thing he was going to do to her so difficult. But it was for her own good. Yeah, Anna. Another choice I’m taking away from you. But soon you’ll be making all the choices.
Reaching out, Mitch yanked the throw off her lap and threw it far enough away that she couldn’t scramble to get it back. “Your scars—they’re not so bad,” he said casually. And they weren’t. “Healing nicely. Doesn’t seem to be too much scar tissue—good stitch line. In another few months the colors will fade to almost normal skin tone.” The first incision line he saw was near her left hip and peeking out only a bit under her swimsuit. The second was down her thigh. A third, and the only other one he could see, ran below her hip line on her right side.
“That’s what every girl wants to hear about her legs,” she snapped. “Good stitch line.”
“Hey, just admiring the work. I’ve seen a lot worse.” Pulling himself up out of the water, Mitch sat on the pool edge next to Anna. “A whole lot worse,” he added, reaching over and probing her thigh. His fingers explored deep into the muscle first, then moved down to her knee. Eventually his hand followed the contours of her calf until he stopped at her ankle. “Nice,” he murmured, and realized it sounded more seductive than professional. He cleared his throat. “Nice muscle tone still in there from what I can tell.”
Anna sat frozen in place. Didn’t say a word, didn’t flinch. But he knew if she could have hauled off and kicked him, she would have. “Nice shape to your leg,” he said. And that wasn’t a doctor’s opinion he was expressing. She did have great legs. Legs he would love wrapped around him. “A little thin, but we’ll take care of that in no time.” Legs he would kiss from the tips of her toes all the way to her… “Muscle’s not too well defined, but it’s still there.”
Switching sides, he started near her hip, examining her all the way down again. “Good,” he murmured. Legs he wanted to feel entwined with his legs. “How much of that do you feel?” he asked, grazing his fingers over the back of her knee.
“Enough,” she said, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Light sensation?”
She nodded, shutting her eyes. “Some.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I think it’s coming back, but sometimes it’s so hard to tell. And…”
“And you don’t want to get your hopes up. Right?”
Opening her eyes, Anna stared at him. “I’m a realist. I know how these things can turn out. You can spend a lifetime chasing the what-ifs, and too many times they never happen. So I exercise caution in my hopes.”
“But you want to walk again, don’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. Do you want to walk again?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then get yourself in the pool.” With that, he dove back in and swam to the middle, then turned around to watch her.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” she yelled at him. And she did. Actually, it was more like slithering down the side—ungracefully—fighting to hold on to the cement siding. Twisting to the right, she grabbed the pool edge with both hands and lowered herself in, her back to Mitch, her belly slithering against the side as her legs submerged. Finally, when she was right in the pool, Anna laid her head against the edge, simply breathing in the pure victory. Such a little thing, getting herself into the water, and such a very big thing.
Five minutes later, still submerged in the pool, Anna held onto the side and finally let her legs float freely. She liked the feeling, liked seeing her legs move, though they did so only because of the mild ripples from Mitch swimming laps back and forth.
She watched him for a few minutes—navigating the length of the pool, slowly at first, his arms stroking the water’s surface in a precise cadence, never breaking rhythm even as he reached the end and turned. Long, sinewy legs…strong. Nice body. And so disciplined, so measured and exact. His trunks were a bright Hawaiian print, long and baggy. He’d look good in something tight, skimpy…black, she decided. Something to show off that nice body a little more than he is. A lot more than he is!
She wanted desperately to swim a lap with him—feel the gentle sway of the same water carrying both their bodies, share the same space with no barriers between them. Of course, that was a big, fat futile dream when her own former fiancé wouldn’t even do that with her.
“So, can you wiggle your hips?” Mitch asked, stopping at the pool edge in front of Anna, shaking the wate
r out of his hair.
“A little, I think.” Still holding on to the edge, she swayed her hips gracefully in the water. Most of the movement originated above her waist, and she sustained it for a good three minutes, forcing him to watch it, and as she finally stopped he was fighting back an inward groan of pure, male arousal. Nothing doctorly about that and he didn’t think he could survive another wiggle, even if she could give it, considering the way her lethally gorgeous derrière looked in a swimsuit.
“There.” Anna turned to Mitch, beaming. “Not too bad, was it, Mitch?”
She was concentrating on the work, becoming part of the process and, thankfully, not noticing the state he was working himself into. “Not bad at all.” And he didn’t mean just her hip movement. “Now, do it again.” Mitch tried keeping his eyes locked on Anna’s face, but they instinctively trailed downward until they found what he didn’t want to be looking at. Concentrate on her training, he warned himself. Not her body. “Good,” he forced, letting out a frustrated sigh when her second attempt succeeded. Training! “I’m going to hold you up in the water, and I want you to wiggle your hips like you’re swimming. But don’t worry, I won’t let go.” Hell, he was fighting the urge to hold on tighter. “Just grab the side of the pool and let your legs float out behind you.” So I can have a better look at your beautiful butt. Despite the coolness of the water, Mitch’s face was flushed from the outright sexual heat he was generating both below, and above, the water’s surface.
Damn, Mitch. Just get over it!
Anna closed her eyes and let herself float. He could tell she was enjoying the light feeling of her body by the look on her face—no worries there, no fear of the future, no frustration, and most of all no anger. She was merely existing in the moment, letting this moment dictate the next. And totally at peace.
