A Little Bit Pregnant. Susan Mallery

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      “But you’d be walking.”

      Her smile was patient. “The two-legged thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Believe me, I’ve tried it.” She released his hand and tapped his knee. “Walking is what you know and I appreciate that you want that kind of freedom for me. But shuffling along in braces is slow and awkward.”

      Al didn’t look convinced. “There are medical advances every day.”

      “I agree and I have a doctor who keeps on top of that sort of thing. I trust her completely, but despite miracles, some things can’t be healed. I learned that when I broke my legs.” She smiled ruefully. “The left one was so bad, even one of the ski patrol rescue guys passed out when he saw the bones sticking out. There was no way the bones could heal correctly. Walking was still a possibility because my right leg would be okay.”

      She paused. Zane knew the story, knew how she’d struggled all those years ago. She’d been fourteen when her world had crashed in on her.

      “Then I got a bone infection,” she continued. “It took months to heal and when it did, the bones in my right leg had been weakened to the point where they could never support my weight.”

      “With physical therapy—” Al started.

      Nicki cut him off. “With physical therapy I can use braces. I can be upright and so what? It’s hard work, not to mention painful. In my chair, I’m completely mobile.”

      “She’s hell on wheels,” Zane told Al. “Trust me—I’ve been run over.”

      She smiled at him. “Only when you’re getting on my nerves.” She turned back to Al. “I can walk with braces and a walker, I choose not to. A wheelchair beats the step-drag thing in my book.”

      Al didn’t look convinced but he nodded. “If I can change your mind,” he said.

      “You can’t.”

      She changed the subject to how his oldest daughter was doing at college. When Al was called away to look after his other guests, Zane touched her arm.

      “Are you okay with him interfering?”

      “Sure. He’s doing it because he cares about me.” She smiled. “I like that in a man.”

      Zane had always admired Nicki’s courage and temperament. He found himself wanting to say that he cared, too.

      “If he brings it up again, I’ll go into more detail,” she said. “Al sees me now, years after the accident. But if he’d been around when it happened, he would understand how far I’ve come.”

      She sipped her champagne. “Back then I would have agreed with him. I was determined to walk again, no matter how difficult it was or how much it hurt. When my parents bought me my first wheelchair, I saw it as a defeat. No way I was going to give in. Then one day I sat in it and I was amazed at how lightweight it was and how easily I could move around. Once I figured out I could outrun anyone and be involved in sports, I never looked back.”

      Typical, he thought proudly. Nicki wasn’t a quitter. “Do you still have braces?”

      “Sure, but I rarely use them. A friend from college got married and I was a bridesmaid. I used the braces so I could stand up with the rest of the wedding party, but I didn’t try walking down the aisle in them. Back in high school and college I would take them to dances so I could shuffle around the floor with my date.” She grinned. “Sometimes I let the guys take them off. That always got them really excited.”

      Young men unbuckling cool metal from her smooth, warm thighs? He could understand the attraction.

      He pretended shock. “You let them feel you up?”

      “Of course.”

      “Did your mother know?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Someone with your dating history is in no position to be judgmental. Besides, my prom date didn’t get much more than a quick feel. I’m guessing your prom date offered you a chance to score.”

      He shook his head. “I didn’t go to my prom. I was in a high school boot camp, paying my debt to society.”

      “You’re kidding? What had you done?”

      He shrugged. “Got caught in stolen truck with a few dozen TVs that didn’t belong to me.”

      “No way.”

      “I was a wild kid.”

      She leaned close. “Okay, start at the beginning and talk slowly. I want details.”

      “No way.” He held up his glass. “I’d have to be a whole lot more drunk than this to spill that story.”

      She raised her arm to flag a waiter. He caught her hand and pulled it down.

      “I’m driving, Nicki. One’s my limit.”

      “How annoying. I’m going to have to lure you to my place then, with plans to get you drunk and worm the truth out of you.”

      He considered all the possibilities that went along with that and knew he should back off. Nicki was a friend—he didn’t want that to change. Still he found himself agreeing to her plan, and anticipating the event.

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