TWO
IT HAD BEEN a hell of a day, Hal reflected, positioning his wheelchair in front of the bathroom mirror in order to brush his teeth. Although it was practically unheard of for him to turn in before midnight, since returning home from the hospital he’d cultivated the habit of retiring early in the hope of getting some longed-for rest. The irony was, no matter how early he went to bed, his sleep was unfailingly broken. First by episodes of agonising pain in his leg that meant he had to rise in order to take some pain relief and then by the inevitable visits to the bathroom—which was no easy feat when he had to hoist himself into his wheelchair to get there.
The one light on the horizon was he’d been advised that from tomorrow he could start using crutches. But he knew it would still be a fiasco, endeavouring to do all the commonplace things that he’d been used to taking for granted. Rubbing a hand round his dark stubbled jaw, then peering closer to examine the shocking bruised shadows beneath his eyes, he felt frustration and fury bite into him with all the force of a serrated steel clamp. Was it usual to feel this fatigued after an accident? And was it normal that his emotions should be so tightly wound that he could scarcely contain them?
His highly esteemed surgeon had assured him that it was...except the confirmation didn’t help him to accept the fact. Thank God Sam had persuaded him to hire some practical help and companionship, with the aim of alleviating some of the frustration he felt round his compromised mobility and also to counter the boredom of being forced to spend so much time on his own.
If Sam hadn’t been the manager of a busy psychology practice she would have willingly been there for Hal night and day if necessary. But she also had a husband with a demanding job, and Greg was surely entitled to spend his precious free time with his wife. As for Hal’s so-called ‘friends’...they were busy with their own demanding careers and pleasurable pursuits—and anyway none of them were the type to give up their time willingly for an invalid.
Appalled that he had begun to think of himself in such a scornful way, he quickly brushed his teeth, turned off the light, then returned to his bedroom grimly to face another disagreeable and painful night with nothing but his steadily worsening thoughts to keep him company.
As he lifted his hard-muscled frame out of the wheelchair and manoeuvred himself onto the bed he found himself fervently hoping that the feisty Kit Blessington’s presence would at least be bearable. Perish the thought that she might be the type of woman who chattered incessantly about inconsequential things and would very quickly get on his nerves, making him bitterly regret hiring her—even if her practical skills should prove to be as competent as she’d indicated.
* * *
Hal was having an early-morning cup of coffee with his sister when, true to her word, Kit Blessington arrived at the agreed time. Sam had dropped in on her way to work, determined to meet Hal’s new hired help as soon as possible, so she’d told him, her cat-like green eyes formidably serious. He knew it mattered to her a great deal that the woman passed muster because she adored her ‘little’ brother. He might resent her acting like his mother from time to time, but he didn’t deny it felt good to have her unstinting regard and concern. Especially when the only communication he’d had from his father since the accident was a curt e-mail that had included the line, ‘Didn’t I always tell you that pride comes before a fall?’
Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you? Hal had thought bitterly.
Tall and slender, with a gamine short hairstyle, his sister Sam looked as chic and sophisticated as always that morning in an elegant trouser suit. When Kit arrived the younger woman’s bohemian, far more relaxed mode of dress couldn’t have been more of a contrast. When he opened the door to let her in he saw that today her glorious red hair was precariously arranged up in a loose topknot that suggested it might easily topple at any moment, such must be the weight of the waving strands. Wearing a mint-green baggy knitted sweater beneath a man’s battered tan flying jacket, along with a pair of slim-fitting caramel cords, she was transporting what looked to be a fairly hefty brown suitcase.
Hal immediately told her to put it down before she dislocated her shoulder, adding, ‘What have you got in there? The kitchen sink?’
Flushing, she retorted, ‘You did say that this was a live-in position? All I’ve brought with me are the strictest essentials, Mr Treverne.’
‘Well, clearly they must indeed be essential if you’re trying to lug that beast around,’ he commented dryly.
Sam stepped up beside him and once Kit had sensibly lowered her suitcase down onto the parquet floor she leaned towards the younger woman to shake her hand.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms Blessington. You’ve arrived just in the nick of time. Henry’s got to get to grips with using his crutches today, so your presence will undoubtedly be appreciated. I’m Samantha Whyte, by the way—Henry’s sister.’
‘Hello. It’s nice to meet you too, Ms Whyte. It’s good to know that your brother has a close relative living nearby. It must be very reassuring for him in light of what he’s coping with.’
‘I don’t live that near, but I’m close enough to call in whenever I can to check that he’s okay. I have to warn you—Hal doesn’t take to being confined very easily. Hal is what family and friends call him, by the way. He’s apt to be like a bear with a sore head most days.’
‘Do you two mind not talking about me as if I wasn’t here?’ Biting back an angry expletive, Hal violently reversed his wheelchair and headed back towards the kitchen.
‘Don’t mind him,’ he heard Sam say soothingly behind him to Kit. ‘As I said, he’s a bit more irritable than usual since he broke his leg, but—’
‘Don’t you dare tell her that underneath my tetchy, disagreeable exterior I’m a veritable pussycat!’ he yelled. ‘Because I’m certainly not!’
His heart thumping hard inside his chest, Hal steered the wheelchair into the kitchen and straight away moved across to the oblong glass dining table to retrieve his rapidly cooling mug of coffee. He knew he was behaving like the worst bore in the world but he couldn’t seem to help it. Tonight, before bed, he might just have to succumb to taking those sleeping pills his doctor had prescribed. Right now he’d probably take the strongest ones he could lay his hands on if they would help him get at least an hour of unbroken sleep. ‘A bear with a sore head’ didn’t come anywhere near to describing the infuriated way he felt.
‘...and you’ll need to consult with Hal’s doctor today, when you take him to the hospital for his check-up, to get some advice on how best to help him.’ Sam’s voice carried clearly as she and Kit came down the hallway towards the kitchen. ‘His knee joint and muscles were damaged when he broke his femur, and there’s a certain process you have to know. Don’t worry—it’s not difficult. I think it’s called the RICE technique, which stands for—’
‘Rest, ice, compression and elevation,’ Kit cut in quietly. ‘I’ve been studying quite a comprehensive first-aid book since I was told that Mr Treverne had a broken femur. I’ve also spoken to one of my trainers at the centre where I took my first-aid courses.’
She’d been studying a first-aid book? Even though he was irritated at being discussed as though he were a recalcitrant schoolboy who’d complained about having to miss his school’s sports day because he’d contracted chicken pox, Hal owned to feeling mildly surprised that his temporary employee would go to such lengths even before she knew if she had the job or not.
‘I’m impressed.’ Sam’s voice contained the suggestion
