by Laura Scott
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
Jonas’s abrupt question caught her off guard. “Ask? About what?”
“My leg.”
She held his challenging gaze, sensing this was some sort of odd test. “I assume you hurt it playing sports.”
“Aren’t you a pretty little liar.” The words were spoken in a harsh guttural voice.
She reared back as if he’d slapped her. “Hey! There’s no reason to be a slime-bucket.”
“Slime-bucket?” he repeated. “Is that the best you can do?”
“What is your problem?” She was fast losing her patience with the guy. She hadn’t paid any attention to why Jonas was on crutches, and she didn’t really care. His injury, from whatever it was that he’d suffered, was none of her business. Thankfully, he wasn’t her patient.
“Look at it,” he commanded.
“Why?” She refused to bend to his will. “As a nurse, I’m no stranger to injuries. I can guarantee I’ve seen worse than whatever scar you’re so anxious to show off.”
“I doubt it,” he said in a low tone. “I can only hope and pray you’ve never been exposed to the things I’ve seen.”
It took a minute to realize what he meant. He was speaking as if he’d survived a war, and maybe he had. Jonas suddenly reminded her of the men she’d cared for at the VA hospital in Battle Creek.
But she knew better than to show him any sympathy. “Army? Navy? Air Force? Or Marines?”
“Army. Special forces.”
She nodded, keeping her gaze on his face. It all made sense now. She didn’t have to see his leg for herself to understand what must have happened. She knew, firsthand, how so many soldiers returned from being deployed missing one limb or more thanks to the plethora of hidden bombs the locals used to attack or defend themselves.
“Glad to see you made it out of there, alive.”
Again, his gaze registered surprise. As if he’d expected something different. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Bella hesitated, then said, “Ryan didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“Make it back. Ryan was my brother. He died in Afghanistan six months ago.” She turned away. “See you later, Jonas.”
She felt his gaze boring into her back but forced herself to ignore it.
Jonas had issues, so what? Didn’t everyone? She had her own baggage. Her career was in shambles, which meant she might have to start over, somewhere. Doing what kind of nursing? She had no clue.
Regardless, the last thing she wanted to do was to become emotionally involved with a wounded soldier. Her brother wasn’t the only one who didn’t make it back home.
The man she’d hoped to marry hadn’t returned either. The only thing she had left of Greg Wallace were photos and love letters.
Jonas McNally had no clue how fortunate he was.
2
She’d never once looked at his amputated leg.
Jonas stared after the pretty brunette trying to understand what had just happened. Other than the fact that he’d been a jerk and owed her an apology. Yet the way she’d snapped back had surprised him. He could believe she had a brother considering she’d refused to give an inch. It was sad to hear her brother had died overseas.
Most of the women he’d met since suffering his injury, okay sure, they were all nurses and physical therapists, had been kind and sympathetic, catering to his needs to the point he couldn’t stand it.
But not Bella Collins. Oh, no. She acted as if she couldn’t have cared less about what had happened to him. Not only did she refuse to give an ounce of sympathy, she’d gone on to remind him he was alive when her brother wasn’t.
No one had dared talk to him like she did. Oddly enough, he found Bella’s frank attitude refreshing. Slime-bucket? Hearing her call him that had nearly made him smile.
Something he hadn’t done in the nearly two months since his injury.
He shook his head and used his crutches to navigate the grand staircase heading up to the second floor where the bedrooms were located.
The yellow room was awash with light, and the brightness was almost too much to bear. He found himself wishing he’d stayed in a motel rather than coming here to the family B&B. Too late to change his plans now, the twins would go crazy asking endless questions and poking their noses into his personal life.
Jazz’s wedding couldn’t come soon enough.
He glanced around the room, belatedly realizing he’d left his duffel bag in the sedan. Calling himself every kind of idiot, he clumped back down the stairs.
After weeks of being cooped up indoors, it felt good to be outside. Maybe he could hang out in the gazebo for a while and listen to the waves rolling across the lake. He crutched to his car, popped the trunk, and pulled out his large army issue duffel. After propping it against the vehicle, he slammed the trunk lid shut.
“Need a hand?”
Balancing on his crutches, he glanced over his shoulder to see Dalton crossing the parking lot toward him. “No thanks. I got it.”
Dalton nodded. “Okay. If you feel up to it and have time to spare, we could use some help on the garage apartment.”
Jonas narrowed his gaze, wondering if his future brother-in-law was joking. It was one thing to focus on being independent, but performing construction work on one leg? That was impossible. “Doubt I’ll be much help.”
“We need help screwing Sheetrock in place.” Dalton lifted a brow. “Looks to me like you can still wield a power drill.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to lash out at the guy, but he managed to refrain. Bad enough that he’d taken his temper out on Jemma’s guest. Bella had left the house and had driven away, heading toward town. He knew her abrupt departure was his fault.
He forced himself to consider the option—or challenge—Dalton had thrown at him. Helping to hang drywall was better than sitting around and feeling sorry for himself.
“Why not? Give me a minute to get my stuff inside and I’ll see what I can do to help.” Jonas hefted the duffel over his shoulder and then used his crutches to return to the house. The process took much longer than it should have because the duffel was heavy and shifted his balance.
He was sweating by the time he’d returned to the main level. Gritting his teeth against a sense of helplessness, there was nothing worse than feeling weak, he pushed himself to continue, crutching to the garage.
The staircase leading up to the second story looked sturdy enough. He clumped up the stairs using the crutches, one at a time; the sounds of hammering, drilling, and the twang of country music grew louder as he reached the top.
The space was bigger than he’d imagined, and they’d gotten pretty far along. The setup was basic but nice. There was an open-concept kitchen and living space along with two bedrooms with a bathroom tucked in between. The plumbing had already been done, as well as the electric. He could see just where the kitchen sink and the fridge would go.
“This place is really coming along,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
“Yeah, it’s getting there.” Jazz set down her drill and swiped her brow with her forearm. “Once we finish the drywall in the living and kitchen areas, we’ll be on the homeward stretch.”
Jonas nodded. “I can help.”
“Great!” Jazz looked relieved. “That frees up Dalton to put in the toilet and sink in the bathroom.”
He tried not to dwell on the simple things he couldn’t do, like putting in a sink or a toilet, but it wasn’t easy. Maybe once he’d received his prosthesis things would be different. He had an appointment to return to the rehab doc at the Battle Creek VA in a couple of days. He hoped the prosthesis would be ready by then.
He crossed over to where his younger sister waited. “How do you want to get this done? And why are we listening to this crap? What’s wrong with good old-fashioned rock and roll?”
“Finally, a reason to shut this stuff off,” Jazz said, crossing over to the radio. She played with the dials unt
il she found something he recognized. “Is this better?”
“Much.”
“I heard that,” Dalton called from the bathroom. “This counts against you, Jazz.”
“No, it doesn’t. I still get my two hours,” she tossed back. She was smiling, so he understood this was an ongoing joke between them. “Ready? I’m going to lift the drywall into place, and you’re going to help drive the screws in.” As she spoke, Jazz reached down to pull up one end of a large sheet of drywall.
He propped one crutch up against the wall, then used his free arm to help her lift. The sucker was heavy, and he couldn’t help being impressed by Jazz’s strength. A thin layer of white drywall dust covered her dark hair that was pulled away from her face in a ponytail.
The twins were close but complete opposites. Jemma was girlie and learned to cook from their grandmother while Jazz was the tomboy who had preferred following their grandfather around, helping him do home repair work. Together, they made the perfect team to run a B&B.
Sweat beaded on his brow, but he ignored it as he helped wrestle the Sheetrock into place. Jazz held it with two hands, leaving him to screw it in place with the power drill.
It was slow and awkward, but they managed to secure that sheet before moving on to the next. After the first two, they found a decent rhythm as they worked their way down the long living room wall.
“Hey! Dinner will be ready in ninety minutes,” Jemma’s voice carried loudly up the stairs. “That gives you an hour to work and thirty minutes to clean up.”
“Got it,” Jazz called.
Jonas paused and swiped his face with the hem of his T-shirt. “Think we can finish it by then?”
“Hope so.” Jazz bent over and pulled a saw over. “Take a quick break, I need to cut this last piece to make it fit.”
Something else he couldn’t do. Swallowing his ire, he rested against the wall, not willing to admit how much this small bit of physical labor had taken out of him. Yeah, he’d only just gotten out of the hospital today, but the last few weeks had been spent on a rehab unit, in which he’d done therapy for at least four hours a day.
Construction work was very different from the exercises his therapists had thrown at him.
Jazz measured, then set up the drywall along the saw. The blade whined loudly as it cut through the Sheetrock, throwing more dust into her face and hair. She wore goggles over her eyes, and he was impressed at how easily she accomplished the task.
Nothing like being shown up by your kid sister, he thought sourly.
“Okay, ready?” Jazz lifted the newly shaved section of drywall, and he pushed away from the wall, bending over to lend a hand.
When they had the board in place, he pulled up the drill and began anchoring the screws to keep it in place. He worked his way all along the top edges, then handed the drill to Jazz so she could do the lower section.
He shifted out of the way but misjudged the distance. Or maybe he was just tired, because he caught the edge of the saw with his crutch. Knocked off balance, he tried to keep himself upright but couldn’t.
To his horror, he fell down hard, catching the edge of the saw blade. Pain lanced his side, but the burn of humiliation was much, much worse.
“Jonas! Are you okay?”
“Leave me alone.” His tone was sharper than he intended, but he managed to push himself upright, bracing himself on his knees. The lower part of his left leg throbbed worse than his side from where he landed on the saw. Mortified, he glanced up at his sister. “Hand me my crutches.”
Jazz looked as if she might cry as she scrambled to grab them. When he had them both, he braced his weight on his left knee, ignoring the pain, and managed to get his right foot beneath him. It wasn’t pretty, but he finally levered himself upright.
“Jonas, you’re hurt.” Jazz reached out a hand, but he instinctively shunned away.
“I’m fine.” He wanted nothing more than to get out of there, to hide in a corner to lick his wounds. It’s exactly what had happened the day the bomb went off, and he abruptly realized his wounded animal instincts were here to stay.
“Jonas, wait.” Jazz hurried after him, but he didn’t stop. “You’re bleeding!”
He didn’t care about the wound in his side, his left leg hurt far worse.
The sooner he was out of there, the better.
Bella parked her car in front of The McNallys’ B&B and slid out from behind the wheel. She felt refreshed after spending the past two hours exploring the town. Being on the lake was wonderful, the gently lapping waves against the rocky shore soothed away her annoyance with the crabby Jonas.
As she dug in her purse for her key, the guy she’d tried to pry out of her mind came hobbling out from the garage. His face was pulled into a grimace, his skin red and smeared with a mixture of sweat and dirt. She paused, sensing his distress.
“What happened?” She moved toward him, noticing the blood staining the left side of his torso.
“Nothing.” His curt tone did not invite conversation. He continued his path toward the house.
She suppressed a sigh. Why was it that men had to be so difficult? “Jemma will be mad if you leave a trail of blood through your grandparents’ great room.”
That made him pause. Bella found it interesting that he cared about his sister’s reaction more so than his own injury.
“Let me take a look.” She approached cautiously, half expecting him to bolt. “I’m sure I can patch you up enough that you won’t bleed all over the place.”
He dropped his head as if unable to stand looking at her. She wondered if he had a personal issue with her, or just with nurses in general? She suspected he’d recently been released from a rehab facility and took note that he wasn’t using a prosthesis yet.
“Do you have a first aid kit?” The words were forced through his clenched teeth.
“Do I have a first aid kit?” She scoffed at his foolishness. “What self-respecting nurse doesn’t have a first aid kit? Mine is so big it doesn’t fit in my glove box.”
She thought the corner of his mouth quirked again, but it could have been her imagination. Whatever. He was a tough nut to crack.
And why she was tempted to waste time cracking that outer shell of his, she had no clue. He wasn’t the first injured vet she’d cared for and wouldn’t be the last.
Well, maybe he was the last, depending on what happened with the hospital’s investigation into the medication error.
She went to her car, unlatched the trunk, and found the twelve-by-twelve-inch plastic box that she used to carry her first aid supplies. She opened it up and rummaged through the items to find what she needed. “Why don’t you come over here to sit on the bumper?”
Jonas hesitated for so long she thought he’d changed his mind, but he eventually made his way to her car. He sat on the edge of the trunk, then put both crutches off to one side. “I’m fine. Just slap a dressing over it so I don’t track blood inside.”
It was the longest sentence he’d uttered, and she was touched by the fact that he cared about his sister’s feelings. A tough nut with a gooey nugget buried inside.
“Depends on how bad it is.” Up close, heat emanated from his skin, and the mixture of dust and sweat was far more appealing than it should be. The flash of attraction was annoying and unwelcome. She was only here for ten days. Once she knew what her future held, she’d either head back to her job in Battle Creek or move on to some other place.
When he lifted the edge of his T-shirt, she was surprised to find two puncture wounds still oozing blood amidst the scrapes and bruising. “What, did you fall on a couple of ice picks?”
Again with the slight quirk of his mouth. “Saw blade.”
“I hope your tetanus shots are up to date.” Since he’d been in the Army and had been hospitalized recently, she had to assume they were. Bella moistened a gauze with a small bottle of saline and began cleaning the wound. Jonas never flinched, but she sensed he was in pain. “Did you hurt anything else on
the way down? Have any other injuries I need to look at?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Sure he was. She mentally rolled her eyes. Heaven forbid he actually be honest with her. She didn’t glance down at his injured left leg but logically deduced since he’d fallen on his left side, the leg must have gotten banged around. The skin covering an amputation site was fragile and tender—to the point that patients often felt as if the missing part of the limb was still there. The doctors described it as phantom pain. In this instance, if he’d injured the freshly healed wound, it likely hurt like a son of a gun.
She wanted to ask if he was planning to use a prosthetic device but knew he didn’t particularly like talking about his injury.
He’d rather use it as a shield to prevent anyone from getting close.
When the area was cleaned up, she could see the two puncture sites weren’t as deep as she’d originally thought. Which was a good thing. Doing her best to ignore Jonas’s rock-hard abs and lean muscular build, she put a small pressure dressing over the sites and then applied a thick white adhesive bandage over it to keep it in place.
Jonas glanced down at her handiwork. “I told you to slap something over it. That dressing won’t survive a shower.”
“Lucky for you, I have more supplies.” She closed the lid of the box with a snap. “I can reapply a fresh dressing when you’ve finished with your shower.”
“I can do it.” He still didn’t meet her gaze. “No reason to bother you.”
He bothered her just by being contrary, but she didn’t tell him that. What was it about Jonas that tempted her to push his buttons?
“Yeah, because slapping a dressing over a wound is a real bother.” She picked up the first aid kit and thrust it at him. “Give it back to me when you’re finished.”
He grabbed the box, then glanced at his crutches. No way could he carry the first aid kit while using the crutches. She sighed and tugged it back. “I’ll carry it.”
His jaw flexed, and she sensed he wanted to snap at her again.
