Friday,” she said.
“I’ll be here,” he promised.
Natalie signaled at the desk for the buzzer and pulled open the door. She glanced back one last time, only to catch sight of Kelly grabbing the push handles on Shane’s chair. Something vaguely uncomfortable washed over her. Was she jealous that he’d allowed the officer to push his chair when he wouldn’t let her do it? Or, worse yet, was she just jealous of the woman going with him through that door?
She turned away from the man and those thoughts and rushed into the shelter of the clinic. But her memories of Shane Warner refused to be dismissed without a fight, the colors still bright, that baritone voice too rich and appealing for anyone’s good. Particularly hers.
What was she doing? First, she’d all but told a shooting victim that it was his fault for getting shot, and now she was daydreaming about him. Fantasizing over any client would be bad enough, but a cop? That was it. She had to get her head together. She had other clients to see and a boss who was probably watching her more closely today. Not to mention a couple of front-office workers with outlandishly good hearing.
At least she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to find something that would straighten her out. Her big dose of reality, her reminder of how much could be lost through a combination of flashing lights and a sense of invincibility, would be waiting for her at home tonight.
* * *
HOME SWEET HOME. Shane’s house blinked in and out of focus with each swipe of the patrol car’s windshield wipers. Fat snowflakes peppered the glass with every pause. The three-bedroom ranch stood out in bleak inferiority to its neighboring colonials, but even with its drafty windows and a roof that was one good downpour away from its first leak, at least the place was his. Well, the bank’s, but they let him live there as long as he kept the checks coming.
His house looked especially dreary today, snow-covered flower beds providing none of their usual pops of color against the ordinary white siding and charcoal-colored shutters. Would Natalie be surprised to know that he’d planted all of those perennials himself?
Shane blinked, the mechanical hum of the wipers suddenly too loud. Why was he thinking of her now? Were his hormones really so out of whack that he couldn’t get one pretty woman off his mind when he used to juggle several with ease? No, that couldn’t be it. Sure, he was still annoyed that she’d prejudged him for being a cop, but could it have been more than that? His thoughts shifted to that moment in the waiting room when he’d glimpsed something raw in her eyes. It was only an instant, like one of those silly snapshots that kids send to each other, and she’d shuttered it as quickly as it had appeared, but he’d sensed a connection. As if he wasn’t the only one who carried at least some of his scars on the inside. And he couldn’t help wondering if hers were as deep as his.
You’ll be back to playing cops and robbers in no time.
Even now those words had him gripping his gloved hands in his lap. Whether she’d seemed vulnerable for a moment or not, nothing gave her the right to say something like that. He didn’t care that she’d offered some lame apology. Who was she to presume to know anything about why he wore the uniform? She hadn’t seen Kent’s proud face at Shane’s graduation from trooper recruit school. Or the pride in his parents’ faces, for that matter—something he’d never expected to see again.
Just then the car door flew open, filling the interior with light and a handful of flurries. Shane jerked more obviously than a suspect hiding drug contraband.
What was wrong with him? He’d met many people who hated cops, but he wasn’t sitting in a patrol car trying to give them excuses for the things they said. He’d probably invented his connection with Natalie, too, since it was easier than admitting that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or forget those soft feminine curves that even her boxy scrubs couldn’t hide.
“Jumpy, aren’t we?” Kelly said, pushing his wheelchair into the space by the open door and locking its wheels. “I thought I was getting faster at this, but I guess I was wrong. You forgot I was even out here.”
She couldn’t know how close she’d come to the truth. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d opened the trunk to pull out his chair.
“You are getting faster. Sorry you’ve had so much practice.”
He hated that all of his coworkers had been forced to step up so that he could leave the hospital’s rehab center sooner. Hated being in debt to his friends, but he guessed he should have been used to it by now. Even his Christmas lights would still be hanging as a sad reminder of a holiday he could barely recall if his pals hadn’t boxed them up and put them in his attic.
“I really do appreciate everything you guys have done for me.”
Kelly prattled on as if his gratitude made her uncomfortable. “The first time I tried, I couldn’t even unfold the chair. Now it’s no trouble at all.”
If only he didn’t still require her help. If only he could be back at the post, doing his job. But because the situation was what it was, he unbuckled his seat belt, accepted the transfer board she handed him and removed the chair’s side panel to shift himself from the car to the chair.
“All set?” she asked after he slid the side panel back into place.
“Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”
She pushed him over the gravel and then up the wheelchair ramp that had magically appeared just as he was released from the hospital.
He turned the key in the lock, pushed open the front door and allowed Kelly to push him inside. She stepped past him into the dark family room, flipping on power switches and lamps as she went. Light, but never enough of it, flooded the dark-paneled room, with the overstuffed sofa and recliner he no longer sat on, the television that finally bored him now and the stacks of books that had saved his sanity over the past month.
With a glance toward the TV tray where Shane took most of his meals, Kelly turned back to him. “Want me to get you something to eat?”
“No. I’m good. I still have leftovers from last night.” And from Saturday and two nights before that, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Whose turn was it?”
“Ben and Delia.”
“Then I bet it was something good.” She took his hat and gloves and then helped him with his coat.
“If you guys keep feeding me like this, I’ll have to diet for weeks before I can pass my physical.”
Yet he was already salivating at the thought of the mostaccioli Lieutenant Ben Peterson and Trooper Delia Morgan Peterson had brought over. Judging by the dishes the newlyweds had delivered so far, he had to wonder if they’d spent their first year of marriage in cooking classes together.
“You have to keep up your strength until you get there.”
Until. They all used that word, but how many of them still believed it? If one of his fellow officers had been shot instead of him, would he still believe after so many weeks?
Kelly helped him into the zippered sweatshirt he wore around the house and handed him a loose-knit throw for his lap.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”
“No.
