nodded, smiling. “Don’t worry. Vinnie will be over in about an hour.” And someone else a few hours after that. As much as he appreciated the help, he craved a few moments alone.
Because she probably would keep stalling, Shane rolled closer to the door. She took the hint and followed.
But just as her hand closed over the door handle, Kelly turned back to him. “Your new physical therapist seemed...nice.”
“She’s all right.”
“Pretty, too.”
“Didn’t really notice.” But dark, shiny hair and lips that just had to be pillow soft slipped into his thoughts before he could bar them. He cleared his throat. “Seems pretty good at her job. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Then why all the...tension in the waiting room?”
He was shaking his head before he met the other officer’s gaze. “What do you mean, tension? I was just exhausted after that first session. Still am.”
“Oh. That’s good, then. Isn’t your commendation ceremony coming up? Yours and Vinnie’s?”
“About a month.”
Twenty-eight days, but who was counting? Neither mentioned that the event had already been rescheduled once so he could be further along in his recovery.
With a wave, Kelly let herself out of the house. Visible through the sideline window, she tromped down the ramp to her car. And to think that Natalie had obviously assumed he was involved with Kelly. Him and Kelly? As if that ever would have happened, even if she’d been up for it. Even if it wasn’t a complete pain—and a cause for a potential transfer—to become involved with a fellow officer.
So other than that obvious reason, why not someone like Kelly? He considered that as he backed away from the window and wheeled past his tiny living room toward the narrow kitchen. She was gorgeous. And built. Like so many of the women he’d dated...when it used to be easy. Too easy.
But nothing about Kelly piqued his interest the way that Natalie Keaton did with her barely concealed disdain and exotic good looks. What did it say about him that he was only attracted to unattainable women? Like that waitress at Casey’s Diner who never gave him the time of day. Was that what made Natalie so appealing? That she clearly didn’t like cops and wanted nothing to do with him? Did he just love the chase, or was it something more troubling than that?
Stop. He rolled to the refrigerator when he would have preferred to stomp. The last thing he had time for right now was self-psychoanalysis over events that were best left in the past. He balanced a container of leftovers on his lap, somehow reaching the microwave without dumping the whole thing on the floor. Using his grabber tool, he moved the hot dish to the table and filled a plastic cup with water. He rolled his chair as far as he could beneath the table.
The moment the zesty pasta sauce hit his taste buds, his thoughts returned to the equally spicy brunette. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? If she appeared on his doorstep right now, wearing a trench coat and nothing else, he wasn’t positive he would be able to accept her offer with more virility than a polite thank-you. Sure, the doctors had said that everything down there appeared to be in working order, but then, they’d also said Shane should be walking by now, and look how well that was working out.
He pushed his plate away without eating another bite. He couldn’t worry about his other problems right now. His focus needed to be on walking again. That focus also depended upon him not wasting more energy on pointless fantasies about a member of his health care team.
In four weeks, he had to cross that stage to accept his commendation certificate. If he hoped to return to full-time patrol and not waste away behind a desk, he needed to accept that award under his own power. Which meant the next time he met with Natalie Keaton, he would pay attention only to her instructions. Not the curve of her collarbones as they peeked out from the neckline of her scrubs. Not that fine line in the center of her plump lower lip—the lip that just begged to be nipped and then traced with a line of kisses. None of those things.
He would focus only on the exercises and then the first step that absolutely needed to be followed by hundreds more if he planned to walk across that stage. And if he hoped to do it while Kent was still around to see it.
He had twenty-eight days. He was running out of time.
NATALIE SLID THE key into the lock and turned the knob in painstaking increments. Still, the click of it was as loud as a gunshot. Just a few more seconds. She just needed a minute to herself. Sometimes she felt like the oldest twenty-eight-year-old in the world.
“Is that you, Natalie?” her mother called out from the other room, asking the same question she asked every day.
Expecting anyone else? But, like always, Natalie didn’t respond that way. They both knew the answer, anyway.
“Yes, Mom. I’ll be right there.” With her back to the door, she lifted one foot and pulled off her boot and then repeated the process on the other side. She carefully set both on the mat.
“Make sure your boots don’t drip all over the floor,” came the voice from the other room.
Natalie’s jaw tightened. “I’ll be careful.” She would clean it up if she did make a mess, anyway.
She hung her coat in the closet, pausing to rub her fingertips over her temples and close her eyes. But she couldn’t stall any longer. Lifting her lids, she padded across the freezing tile in her socks.
“You’re home late,” Elaine Keaton said the moment her daughter came into view in the family room doorway.
“There was traffic.”
And medical records to update. And one client in particular who had her feeling off-kilter.
Elaine nodded, accepting the excuse, and turned back to the television, where an ’80s sitcom was streaming. She’d probably been watching for hours, unless her daytime caregiver had insisted that they play cards today or work on a crossword puzzle. Her electric wheelchair was parked in the middle of the room, and the lamps on the end tables that bookended the sofa provided little more than shadows on the wall.
“Hi, Mom.”
Natalie crossed the room and dropped a kiss on her head and then adjusted the wedding-ring quilt Elaine had once hand stitched herself. Before. In what seemed like another lifetime. Because it was Wednesday, Elaine’s hair looked clean from her shower day, but the straw-colored strands stood at odd angles. Natalie could only hope that the caregiver had been more insistent with Elaine’s toothbrush than she’d been with the hairbrush.
“Laura left forty-five minutes ago.”
Her mother didn’t say it, but her message couldn’t have been clearer: You weren’t here.
“Sorry.” Natalie busied herself by replacing the sweater that had fallen from her mother’s shoulders. “I should have asked Laura to wait for me. Can I get you something? Are you warm enough? Do you need to go to the restroom?”
“No.
