No passion this time, he reminded himself. He entered the house and bumped that door closed, as well. Then he set Josie down into her wheelchair. He was startled to feel her stiffen as he put her into the seat. Instantly he dropped to one knee beside her.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”
She shook her head without speaking, turning her head from him. But not before he caught the gleam of tears in her eyes. Josie? Crying?
“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. He could tell from the slump of her shoulders and the way she kept swallowing as if fighting back sobs.
She reached down for the wheels of the chair, as if to move away from him. He put his hand on the frame to stop her.
“Tell me what the hell is going on,” he insisted.
She whipped her head back to stare at him. He’d been right. Actual tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked and one slipped down her cheek. He reached up and caught it on the tip of his index finger. Del felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut.
“I can’t do this,” she said, then sniffed. “I just can’t be in a wheelchair. It’s too horrible.”
He felt instantly helpless. He could try to imagine what Josie was going through, but he couldn’t do more than empathize.
“It’s only for a few weeks,” he told her, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it gently. Her fingers felt warm and familiar. He ignored the image of them touching him and instead focused on the in-progress conversation. “Your body needs time to heal. With rest and physical therapy, you’ll be up and around in no time. While you’re healing, you have the run of this place. I’ve taken up all the rugs, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting around. Just don’t try any wheelies in the hallway, okay?”
His attempt at humor fell flat. She didn’t even crack a smile. Instead she glared at him as if he had the intelligence of an amoeba.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so incredibly stupid about this,” she said, practically sputtering with frustration. “I don’t care about being back in a wheelchair, I care about being in a wheelchair in front of you.”
With that she jerked hard on the wheels and spun away from him. She started across the living room, moving faster than he would have thought possible for someone in her weakened condition.
Slowly he rose to his feet and stared after her. His mind took off in multiple directions. Even as her confession shocked him and her pain touched him, he couldn’t help noticing how well she handled the chair. Obviously, she’d spent enough time in it to become an expert. It was more proof of all she’d been through.
He swore under his breath and took off after her, grabbing her chair just before she entered the hall.
“Wait,” he insisted. “We have to talk.”
“Actually, we don’t.”
“Josie, please. It’s important.”
He released her and waited. Slowly, almost painfully, she turned until she faced him. She had to look up to meet his gaze. Instinctively he dropped to his knees so they were on the same level.
“I don’t care that you’re in a wheelchair,” he told her.
“Bull. I know what happens. I’ve lived through it before. You’re not even going to see me as a person anymore. I hate that. And I hate the control you have over me. You can grab me and turn me, taking me in any direction you want. I can’t do anything but hang on for the ride.”
What she was really saying was she hated the loss of control of her life.
“You’re wrong,” he said gently. “You being in a wheelchair means I finally get to see you as a person rather than a force of nature or a hellcat on wheels.” He paused. “Although I guess technically you’re more on wheels now than you were before.”
Surprisingly, one corner of her mouth turned up. “Very funny,” she said in a tone that indicated it was anything but.
“Oh, come on. You wanted to laugh or, at the very least, chuckle.” He lightly touched the back of her hand. “You’re just Josie to me. I’m still getting used to all the differences. Not just the wheelchair but the way you look, the long hair, the dresses. No one thing is that much better or worse than the other.”
“It is for me.”
“Okay. I accept that. But don’t assume what I’m thinking, okay? Let me screw up before you yell at me.”
“That won’t take very long,” she grumbled. “You’re bound to mess up sometime in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Ladies first,” he quipped, then stood. “Come on. Let me show you around. I’ve made a few changes in the house since you were here last.”
He started toward the kitchen, not sure she would follow. But eventually he heard the soft sound of rubber wheels on the hardwood floor. He stepped into the three-sided room. Where the fourth wall had been stood a center island. The old, dark cabinets had been replaced with pine. Several of the doors were etched glass instead of wood. Light granite countertops matched the color of the tile floor.
Josie wheeled her way around the area, coming to a stop in front of the six-burner stove. She raised her eyebrows as she touched the knobs.
“Either you ordered the wrong thing or you’ve taken up cooking in a big way.”
He grinned. “Neither. A customer ordered it, then changed her mind. I needed a stove and decided to keep it for myself.”
She nodded, then glanced around, taking in the recessed refrigerator and sliding cabinets concealing the small appliances.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“I figure it will help if I ever sell the place.”
She looked at him. “All this and you really don’t cook?”
“I heat microwave meals.”
He took a breath to continue speaking, then clamped his mouth shut. Telling Josie that his various girlfriends had, from time to time, prepared meals in the gourmet kitchen probably wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t something she would want to hear, and he found himself not wanting to tell her.
Which led his brain down another path. Did Josie have someone special in her life? Someone who took care of her and worried about her? He leaned back against the island and realized it wasn’t likely. At least not right now. No way would some guy let her come up here on her own.
Had there been someone before? A boyfriend or lover? He found himself torn between not liking the idea of another man with his ex-wife, which was crazy, and hoping that she hadn’t had to go through her recovery alone. He knew that if he and Josie had still been together when she’d been hit by the truck, he would have been with her every moment of every day. Oddly enough, he thought she would have done the same for him.
Josie tilted her head and pointed at the upper row of cupboards. “If the dishes and glasses are up there, you’re going to have to move them. I can’t reach anything higher than the counter.”
He hadn’t thought about that. “No problem. I’ll move some stuff around this afternoon and show you where I put it all later.”
“Sounds good. So what other changes have there been?”
He led her around the center island to the family room, where a big-screen television took up the place of honor on the far wall.
“There’s surround sound, too,” he said proudly.
She laughed. “A man and his toys.”
“Hey, watch it. Have you seen a movie on DVD? The difference from video is amazing. I switched a couple of years ago and don’t ever want to go back. You wait. You’ll get hooked, too.”
She rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. Instead she followed him past the living room and down the main hall. He’d been fine with Josie sharing the house with him. At least in theory. But now, heading toward the guest room, awkwardness descended. She’d been his wife. She’d shared his bed, his life and his heart. Was she really going to sleep in the guest room, as if they’d never been more than casual friends?
“You redid the front bath,” she commented.
> He turned and saw she’d paused at the entrance to the small bathroom.
“It’s nice,” she said. “I like the tile.”
He’d used a blue-and-white floral print. Not his first choice, but a bunch of it had been left over from a job. He’d gotten it at cost, so it made sense to use it.
“I, ah, I thought you’d be comfortable in the rear guest room,” he said, pointing down the hall. “It’s big and the bathroom has more room.”
“That’s fine.”
She smiled but seemed to be avoiding his gaze.
Silently they moved down the hall. Del entered the guest room first. The regular bed had been stored in the garage. In its place was a rented hospital bed and a rolling table. The doctor had given him a list of supplies to have on hand. Del surveyed the walker, the television sitting on a wall shelf so it was easily visible from the bed and the floor lamp, positioned to provide nighttime reading light.
“If I forgot anything,” he said turning to face her, “just let me know. I can…”
His voice trailed off as he took in the look of horror on Josie’s face. Horror turned to sadness, followed by such painful resignation that Del found it hard to breathe. He couldn’t remember another time when he’d known so clearly what Josie was thinking. Her pain became his pain. He wanted to scream out against the fates, protesting that it wasn’t fair. That she deserved better. He wanted—
He forced himself to breathe slowly. Whatever he wanted, he couldn’t do a damn thing to change her circumstances.
Josie waved at all the furniture. “You went to a lot of trouble. I appreciate that. I’ll reimburse you for everything, of course.”
“I don’t need the money.”
“Yes, well, it’s the right thing to do. And you went to a lot of trouble,” she repeated awkwardly. She rolled over to the walker and touched the metal frame. “At least I’m allowed to use this a few times a day. You don’t need to be responsible for helping me in and out of the shower.”
He had an instant image of her, wet and naked. Hardly hazardous duty. Hot desire threatened, but he pushed it away. He had no business thinking of her like that. She was his guest. She was here to heal, not provide nighttime entertainment. But he couldn’t help remembering how attracted he’d been to Rose—make that Josie when she’d been pretending to be Rose.
Del shifted uneasily, unable to separate the stranger who had intrigued him from the wife he’d known before. Regardless, something about Rose/Josie had turned him on. He’d liked her feminine appearance, her smile, her body.
Apparently unaware of his inappropriate thoughts, Josie wheeled over to the suitcases he’d set by the bed.
“You packed for me,” she said.
“I doubted you could manage it for yourself. Do you want me to unpack for you as well?”
“No. I can do it. If you would please put the suitcases on the bed, I’ll take care of the rest. Or at least most of it. I’ll need you to hang a few things for me. After I get unpacked, I think I’ll take a nap. I’m pretty tired.”
He hurried to do as she requested, laying her suitcases next to each other on the hospital bed mattress. It felt odd to be doing things for Josie. She never wanted help from anyone. She was always independent.
But as he watched her maneuver the wheelchair, he had to admit that nothing would ever be the same for her again. And Annie May had been right. The past year had been a trial by fire for Josie. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been before.
He had a sudden burning desire to get to know the new Josie Scott. What parts of his wife remained and what parts were different? Would she be the same when she was angry, refusing to talk and wanting to walk out? Would she make love with the same abandon and aggression or would she—
His gaze settled on her long, blond hair, then moved to her legs. She wouldn’t be the same, he realized. Her physical capabilities had been diminished. He ached for her, knowing that must be the worst of it for her. Not being able to move with the freedom she’d always known. Making love would be different, but it might be better. For once he might be able to hold her as long as he wanted without her bounding away. What was it he’d said to Rose? That Josie preferred the physical to the emotional?
He groaned out loud. Josie glanced up at him. She was in the process of draping dresses across her lap so she could carry them to the closet.
“What’s wrong?”
Del couldn’t remember being embarrassed many times in his life, but this was one of them. Unfamiliar heat seemed to fill his body—but not the good kind of heat. He swallowed and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, barely able to look at her.
She frowned. “About what?”
“Those things I said. You know.” He pulled one hand free and made a vague gesture. “When I thought you were Rose. I shouldn’t have talked about you that way.”
“Oh.” She ducked her head. “Yes, well, I asked, didn’t I?” She drew in a deep breath and looked at him. “Don’t apologize. It’s not necessary. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll spend some time coming up with burning truths about you and I’ll share them later. Then we’ll be even.”
She held out her dresses to him. “Would you please hang these for me? I won’t be able to reach the rod.”
He took her clothes and hurried to the closet. The task kept him busy for several minutes as he tried to figure out what he was supposed to say now. He’d been an idiot. Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut? But no. He had to go spouting off.
As if his own personal humiliation wasn’t enough, Annie May’s words came back to haunt him. A couple of days before, she’d accused him of only pretending to compromise so that he could be the good guy while Josie took all the blame. He still didn’t know if his friend had been right or not. But he was beginning to see the faults in their marriage might not have been as black-and-white as he would like.
Josie sat by the window and stared into the growing twilight. She knew that she couldn’t hide in her room forever, although when the alternative was to face Del, it didn’t seem like such a bad plan.
She’d managed to sleep a little after she’d unpacked. The nap had given her energy, although it had done little to brighten her spirits. She’d been prepared to have to deal with Del for a few weeks when she’d known that he’d offered to take care of her until she was walking again. She hadn’t counted on having to live and breathe within the same walls that had witnessed the disintegration of their marriage.
A whisper of music teased at her memory, and she recalled a song about ghosts in the house. Fleeting remnants of memories tangling with wishes of what could have been. That’s how she felt—surrounded by ghosts, some friendly, some not. If only…The magical phrase. If only things had been different.
A light knock on her closed door made her turn her chair. She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, then she called out for Del to enter.
He stuck his head around the door and grinned. “Dinner has arrived,” he said with a wink. “I emphasize the word arrived because I had no hand in the preparation. No. I take that back. I made the phone call. That should count for something. It’s Mexican and I ordered your favorites. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Then come on. It’s getting cold.”
She forced herself to wheel toward him. He wore jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. Nothing special. Yet he was painfully handsome, and just looking at him made her heart beat faster than was healthy.
He held the door open wide, then fell into step behind her. Self-consciousness settled on her like a cloak. She hated the feeling. She also hated that he so obviously felt sorry for her. She would rather he was angry and raging than pitying her. Everything about the circumstances that forced them back into the same house made her crazy. Worse, she couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
She went into the kitchen and found the takeout containers spread over the round pine table. A spac
e had been made for her wheelchair. She moved toward it, but even before she got there, she knew she was going to be too low.
Del stepped behind her. “I was afraid of that,” he said, then bent toward her. “If my lady would allow me?”
Before she could protest, he’d gathered her in his arms and lifted her to a regular seat.
Josie caught her breath as his strength surrounded her. He lifted her effortlessly, as if she hadn’t gained twenty pounds in the past year. As if her being an invalid didn’t matter.
She didn’t want him to let her go. She wanted to cling to him until all her doubts disappeared and she felt whole again. Which wasn’t going to happen. To cover her weakness she busied herself with her napkin.
“If you bring the walker into the kitchen before meals,” she said, studying the containers of food rather than him, “I can get into a regular chair by myself.”
He sat down across from her and winked. “But what if I like picking you up and carrying you around?”
“Like I’m the family cat?”
He tilted his head and studied her. “No. I don’t think of you as a cat.”
Before she could come up with a snappy response, he pointed to the different containers. “As promised, all your favorites. Fajitas, rice, a quesadilla and those crunchy things you like.” He opened a bag and dumped chips into a bowl. “There is both hot and regular sauce. I didn’t bother with margaritas because you’re still on antibiotics, which means you can’t drink alcohol, but I have just about everything else. What will it be? Soda, juice, water?”
“Water’s fine.”
Josie felt awkward and faintly foolish. She reached for a chip and nibbled on it. Del got her a glass of ice water and a beer for himself. When he was settled across from her again, he pushed the fajitas and the foil-wrapped tortillas toward her.
“Did you sleep?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m feeling a lot better.” She filled a warm tortilla with a grilled steak and vegetable combination, then spooned the hot salsa over the filling.
Wife in Disguise Page 13
