“And I don’t know you.”
“Touché. I’m asking you to share, but not reciprocating?”
“I’m not complaining. You’re not really my business, are you?” she challenged.
“Maybe not, but I’m asking a lot of you. So, what do you want to know about me?”
“Why did you fight to get Able House into the neighborhood? Why does it even matter to you?”
Patrick stopped walking. “Partly selfish reasons. My life has been taken up with my sporting goods business and my sisters, and when Lane—who is eighteen and heading off to college—was in a serious accident and we didn’t know what condition she would be in six months down the road, I had to wonder what her life would be like if I weren’t a rich man or if I weren’t around. How would the world treat her? What opportunities would she have? Who would she become? Would the world even realize what a gift she was? And, when I mentioned my concerns to a physician friend and heard that there had been interest in starting something like Able House for several years, it was an easy choice to donate the land and the money. But, I would never have thought of getting involved at all if my sister hadn’t had the misfortune to have a skiing accident.” He shrugged.
But Darcy wasn’t about to let that pass. “Lots of good things wouldn’t happen without a catalyst or a defining, life-changing moment. I haven’t run into her, but I assume she recovered.”
“Completely.”
“I’m glad.” Without thinking she reached out and touched his hand. Instantly awareness of him as a man kicked back in full force. Warmth, pulsing energy, a frisson of excitement ran through her. Was she insane? She’d barely been able to sit still when he’d been holding her hand earlier. Now, she had initiated contact? The instinct to jerk away was strong, but she couldn’t let him know that one totally innocent brush of her fingertips against his skin had affected her this much.
“Almost to Able House,” she managed to say. As if he didn’t know that.
“Lead on. You’re the expert here.” His low voice resonated through her body. Darcy kept moving, hoping none of her friends would notice how flustered she was.
“Hey, Darce, why are you back so soon?” someone called out as she rolled within view of the center. “Aren’t you working?”
“Detour of duties today. We have a visitor,” she said, happy that her voice sounded reasonably normal. As they neared the building, which was surrounded by deep green lawns, winding walkways, fountains, flowers and sculpture, more people appeared. All were in wheelchairs.
“Is that Mr. Judson?” one older man whispered to the man next to him, loud enough to be heard.
The other man smiled. “Sure is,” he said. “You’ve seen his pictures in the paper and he’s been here before.”
“But he’s with Darcy,” the man said.
“Edward, you know I work for Mr. Judson,” Darcy said, raising her voice a bit because Edward’s hearing was less than perfect.
Still, everyone looked a bit perplexed and concerned. “I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t mouth off and get fired. He isn’t here to return me for a better product.”
Patrick chuckled and everyone turned to look at him.
“She’s an excellent product,” he said to Edward. “Not the type to be returned as unacceptable. A great cook. Have you eaten her chocolate mousse?”
“Oh, chocolate,” Maria said, her voice worshipful. “I love that stuff. But ask her to make you a lemon meringue pie next. It’s better than sex.”
Instantly Darcy felt uncomfortable—and hot. She was afraid to look at Patrick but she did it, anyway.
“Better than sex? Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that.” he said with that lazy tone that made Darcy feel shivery. For some reason the fact that she even felt that way when he talked made her angry.
“People think that a person stops thinking about sex when they have a spinal cord injury, but we don’t,” she said defiantly.
“Why should you?” Patrick asked. “Sex is complicated. It involves the mind, not just one or two body parts.”
Darcy noticed that Maria was looking at Patrick with lust in her eyes. In fact, she was looking very much like a woman on the verge of propositioning the man, and Maria was a beautiful redhead, an intelligent and capable woman.
“Now that we’re all settled in, Mr. Judson is here to learn the ins and outs of Able House. He wants to make sure we’re well established when he goes overseas soon, and he might be expecting us to go out in public and do some promotion,” Darcy said, a bit too primly.
“Hey, okay by me. Whatever Mr. Judson wants,” Maria agreed.
Patrick looked a bit uncomfortable. “For starters, I hope you’ll all call me Patrick,” he said as Darcy made the introductions and Patrick shook hands all around. Later, when they were alone and back at the house, Darcy repeated the details he wanted.
“Edward is an electrical engineer. Maria is a computer programmer. Cerise was an Olympic swimmer who now teaches and coaches at a local fitness center. Laura is a fashion designer. Aaron is a dentist. If this weren’t the weekend, most of them wouldn’t be here. They have jobs.” Her tone was a bit defensive, she realized.
“I’m not the enemy, Darcy,” Patrick said, sliding to the floor beside her wheelchair.
“I know you’re not the enemy,” she said. “But I—I feel as if you want something from me that I’m not sure I can give and I don’t even know what you want from me yet. Do you?”
“Not exactly. I want to know that you’re fine.”
“I am. It’s been rough those first two years, but I’ve learned so much.”
“Like what?”
She got a sly look on her face. “Well…I can pop a wheelie.” She did so with ease. “And I can move from my chair to a standard chair in record time.” She pointed to a chair normally used by one of the staff and transferred herself back and forth quickly from one chair to the other and back again. “If I have to, I can get this puppy up a step if it’s not too high,” she said, patting the bicycle tires she favored on her chair. “In short, I can be a real person, Mr. Judson, and get along without help. I’m fine.”
But his green eyes were stubborn. “I want better than fine. Don’t get me wrong. I’m awed by the fact that you can manage in ways most people couldn’t, but those reluctant, inconsiderate neighbors of ours…”
“They want celebrity,” she said. “Ceremony. Pretty wrapping paper with all the trimmings. If I were a rock star who just happened to be in a wheelchair, they’d welcome me.”
He didn’t look away from her direct gaze. “You’re right and I’m not about to apologize for them. They’re wrong.”
“But you still want me to…to what?”
“I
