On His Bended Knee

by Shanae Johnson

  This would be no different. She didn't need love, just a place to belong for as long as she could.

  A sound at the front door, had her tossing on her robe. It didn't sound like a knock, but there was definitely someone out there. The dogs trailed her out of the bedroom. Maggie looked through the peephole and only saw someone retreating. It was her landlord. She opened the door when the coast was clear. But the storm had landed on her door and left its destruction.

  An eviction notice hung from her door knocker. Well, that was that. She really had no choice. But she did have options.

  She pulled out a suitcase and began to pack. She'd take Dylan up on his offer of thirty days. She'd try and see if she could fit into his life. She'd make herself useful, make herself scarce, and maybe he'd let her stay forever.

  Chapter Nine

  Dylan tossed and turned in his bed. His leg tangled in the sheets. He'd been dreaming of soft curves, hair like falling, brown leaves in autumn, intelligent eyes that shied away from a direct gaze, and the subtle scent of roses mixed with a hint of something that reminded him of the bear-skinned rug in his father's hunting cabin.

  He couldn't get the thought of Maggie Shaw out of his mind.

  He'd asked her to marry him. He thought he'd never utter those words to another woman in his life. But the words had come unbidden from his lips, and he'd meant them.

  Oh, he didn't imagine himself in love or anything foolish like that. To him, Maggie and her dogs were another set of beings he could rescue. There was a sadness, an apartness about her that was familiar to him. He knew, without a doubt, that the Purple Heart Ranch would heal her internal wounds just like they were healing his external ones.

  That was the only reason he'd offered to help her. And if she said yes, he'd be certain to make that clear. Unlike what Dr. Patel thought, Dylan's heart was not a part of the equation.

  Dylan pushed himself up to a sitting position. With the covers turned around his good leg, his stump was on clear display. He looked down at the hunk of meat that was all that was left of his leg. He'd been having a fevered dream about a brown-eyed girl, but looking down at his reality was better than a cold shower.

  He went through his morning ritual of cleaning the stump. Infection was always a concern for an amputee. He rolled on the liner over his stump. His first prosthetic had been a newer model with a silicone liner, but it never felt quite right to him. A bad fitting prosthetic did more harm than good. So, Dylan kept it old school.

  Over the liner, he slid a prosthetic sock to hold the limb in place. And finally, he slipped his stump into the prosthetic limb. Standing, he pressed his body weight down until he heard the telltale audible signal of the pin clicking and locking into place.

  Over his leg, he pulled on long cargo pants that hid both his legs. Though his natural leg was whole, it had not escaped unscathed. He had many scars on his shins and thighs from the explosion that had hit his entire unit.

  Dylan never showed his leg to anyone but his physical therapist, Mark. Not since his family and his ex-fiancée had seen his stump and turned their backs on him. He would never go through that again.

  So, what made him think he was marriage material now? Maggie had left shortly after his botched business proposal. Women wanted love and romance, not facts and logic. He doubted he'd ever see her again.

  So imagine his surprise when he walked out of his cottage to see her beat up truck pulling up to his drive.

  "So," she said out of the window. "Would I get my own room?"

  "Of course." Dylan kept his hands behind his back, certain that if they were loose he'd reach out to her and pull her into a hug of gratitude.

  "The dogs sleep inside," she stated in a tone that was non-negotiable.

  "Absolutely."

  "You expect me to cook and clean up I suppose." The wince that appeared on her rounded face could only be described as adorable.

  "I expect us both to cook and do household chores," he said. "You're not a domestic worker, Maggie. We'll be partners."

  That got a surprise rise of her eyebrows. She was looking at Dylan head on. No more shy side gaze. In that unguarded moment, Dylan saw her clearly. And he liked what he saw.

  "Thirty days?" she asked.

  "Thirty days," he confirmed. "And then we decide."

  Maggie bit her lip. Dylan had to look away. He was dying to know what her bottom lip tasted like. With this arrangement, it wasn't like he'd ever get a sample of that delicacy.

  Maggie opened the door. Before she could step down, Dylan was at her side, offering his hand. She took it and climbed down.

  He didn't immediately let go of her hand once she was securely on the ground. He wasn't sure why? The pads of her fingers were rough, not soft. She was a hard-worker. He knew that by her profession. He also knew that she'd seen death. Likely not of a human being, but watching helpless animals die had to take a toll.

  Dylan rubbed his thumb over her finger pads. She looked at him uncertainly. The sound of barking broke their study of each other. One by one, they unloaded the animals. Spin bounced excitedly on his front paws when Dylan handed him down from his crate and Maggie attached his apparatus.

  "Come on," he said. "Let me show you all around the ranch."

  The dogs nipped at their heels as they began their tour. He'd had to let Maggie's hand go as they took the dogs down. Maggie led the partially blind Rottweiler around on a leash with one hand. She carried the Chihuahua with the missing paw around in her other arm.

  He wasn't sure what to say to her. They kept looking over at each other and then immediately looking away. It was worse than the first day of middle school.

  But the silence wasn't uncomfortable. And the dogs occupied most of their attention. The pack of animals was excited to be in new surroundings and sniffed at every leaf and bush they came into contact with.

  "There you are, Dylan."

  Dylan looked up to see his trainer, Mark. Mark was a good ten years older than Dylan, but the man didn't look it. He was tall and well built. When the few women that came by the ranch stopped by, their gazes always found and lingered on Mark.

  Dylan turned to Maggie. Her gaze wasn't on Mark. It was on the horse he led.

  Dylan couldn't blame Maggie for that. Bailey was a beautiful specimen of horseflesh. She was a gentle creature and well trained. So, she didn't spook when the small animals came near.

  "Hey, Bailey," said Dylan as he reached out to the horse. "You're looking good today."

  The horse bowed her head and gave a soft whinny.

  "And who do we have here?" Mark prompted, eyes on Maggie.

  "This is Maggie. She's …" Dylan looked at Maggie. Should he call her his fiancée? She hadn't exactly accepted his proposal. They were just trying things out for a while. So what did that make her? She's my girlfriend."

  Maggie's eyes did that wide thing again that allowed Dylan to see into the depths of her being. It was surprise and something else. Dylan decided he liked it. He'd have to find other ways to get that rise out of her.

  He realized he also liked that title on her. Girlfriend. Soon fiancée. Maybe one day, wife.

  Chapter Ten

  Maggie shook the hand of the trainer—what was his name again? Oh, yeah; Martin? No, Mark. Something that began with M. She had no idea. No other words registered after Dylan said that single word.

  Girlfriend.

  Dylan had called her his girlfriend. She'd never been anyone's girlfriend before. She'd only been on a handful of dates in her entire life. But now she was someone's girlfriend.

  Logically, she understood why he'd decided on that title. She'd seen the decision making in his blue eyes. He couldn't call her his fiancée. She hadn't entirely agreed to that.

  But they were dating in a sense. They were taking time to get to know each other. Time to see if they would suit as a couple. That qualified her as his girlfriend.

  Maggie's chest puffed up at the new title she now carried. Her head swam high enough to reach
a cloud with this new role. She had a boyfriend. And one that was not too shabby if she did say so herself.

  Dylan hadn't balked when she insisted her dogs stay inside. He'd even divvied up the domestic chores. What man does that?

  What man, indeed? Maybe he was gay? Maybe he was using her as his beard to hide that fact.

  But no. Pastor Patel was his psychologist, surely he'd know if Dylan wasn't truly interested in Maggie. There was also the way he'd looked at her when she'd pulled up in his drive that morning.

  There had been relief in his raised brow. But there had been something else at the corner of his eyes. Just a flash, but she'd seen it. It looked to her like interest. It was possible that he had more than a business interest in her.

  Maggie was definitely interested. Dylan was handsome, thoughtful, and kind. Where was a pen? She was ready to sign on the dotted line to make this man hers for a lifetime.

  But right now she was his girlfriend. She let the word wash over her again. She remembered the feel of his fingers rubbing her thumb as though he could take off the rough calluses and smooth things over. She had a feeling he could.

  Those fingers now rubbed Spin's head. The mutt looked at her smugly. That was fine. Spin might be in the running for this particular man's best friend. But Maggie was currently his girlfriend.

  A girlfriend got handholding. She got long walks. She got taken to dinner.

  Hmmm? These were all benefits a pet enjoyed from their humans. But, so what. Maggie would take it.

  Maggie chanced a glance up at her new boyfriend. He worried his lip, as though he were insecure about the title he'd just given her. Maggie smiled brightly at him, trying to communicate her acceptance of the role. Then she decided to use her words.

  "Hi." She stuck out her hand to the trainer. Mark—that was his name. "I'm Maggie, Dylan's girlfriend."

  "So I've heard." Mark smiled and gave Maggie's hand a polite shake.

  As Mark released her hand the horse scooted over to the fence and rubbed itself against the wooden planks. Maggie's eyes zeroed in on the horse's rear. She noted that there was a patch of inflamed skin there.

  "Is she suffering from Sweet Itch?" Maggie asked.

  "Yeah," said Mark. "I just sprayed her down with repellent but those midges seem to like the way she tastes."

  "Have you put a fan in her stables in the evening? Midges and gnats like to come out in the evening and find damp places or areas where there's stagnant water."

  "You know," Mark scratched at his chin, "that's a good idea. I didn't know you were dating a vet, Banks."

  Maggie opened her mouth to correct the trainer, but Dylan beat her to it.

  "She's a vet tech," he said. "She's very dedicated to animals."

  Dylan smiled down at her. His brow raised again, lifting with what looked like relief, stretching wide with what looked like interest. Maggie needed a fan under his gaze. She felt suddenly hot and damp all over.

  "She's going to help out around here," Dylan continued.

  "There are also some foods I can recommend," Maggie said. "Sweet Itch is often a sign of a compromised immune system. I could write up a list."

  "Why don't we chat about it on the way to the stables?" said Mark. "It's time for Dylan's training session."

  "That would be great," Maggie beamed.

  "No."

  Both Maggie and Mark turned to stare at Dylan. His single word had been forcefully said. His eyes, wide and open only a moment ago, were now narrowed and hooded.

  Dylan cleared his throat, but the tension was still there in his clenched jaw. "I mean, you should go and get settled in, Maggie."

  He didn't look directly at her. Instead, his gaze was on her ear. Maggie resisted the urge to tug at her ear. Just as she knew what interest looked like, she was more familiar with what disinterest looked like. Dylan was not interested in her coming along to his training sessions.

  As further proof of her assumption, he handed Spin to her. When his forearms and hands brushed hers, there was no spark. Instead, a shiver went through her body.

  Dylan's gaze flicked to hers for just a brief second, and then he looked away again. "I'll see you when I get home this evening."

  And with that, he turned to Mark and walked away. Mark gave her an apologetic shrug, then he and the horse turned to follow Dylan.

  Dylan walked away stiffly. He took with him all the closeness they'd built. Once again Maggie was left standing alone and shut out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dylan was sore after his session, but not just physically. Something ached inside him. Something he couldn't yet work out. The whole ride he couldn't get the look on Maggie's face out of his mind.

  They had had a great time in the span of walking from his house to the training grounds. When he'd called her his girlfriend, he'd initially tripped over the word. But it hadn't felt like a lie. It felt like a newly discovered truth.

  Until he’d went and ruined it.

  But he couldn't let her see him train. His leg was awkward and stiff as he mounted the horse. He couldn't cast it over the horse's back. He needed a hand. He used his own hand, refusing to allow Mark or the others to assist him.

  Beyond that, his sessions were often brutal, mainly because he pushed himself. Dylan was a true believer in the adage No Pain, No Gain. If it didn't hurt him a little, he was certain he wasn't working hard enough.

  He wouldn't have minded her watching him ride. Even when he pushed himself, he felt powerful in the mount, riding high on the horse. But then there was the dismounting, which was even trickier than the mounting after he'd pushed his muscles so hard.

  No. He didn't want Maggie to see that; weak and vulnerable. The last time he'd allowed anyone to see his weakness it had crushed his spirit.

  Dylan had liked the way Maggie had looked at him today. She'd looked up to him like he was capable, like he was her savior. Better that she look disappointed for a short time, rather than look down with pity on him for the rest of their lives.

  He had to remind himself, and her, that this wouldn't be some great love affair. This was a practical arrangement. They could be friendly. They might even become friends. But love wasn't in the cards for someone like him. Someone who didn't have their whole selves to offer.

  He knew a woman like Maggie deserved more. But as much as he was doing this for the soldiers in need of this ranch, he was also doing it for himself. It felt good to have a woman near. To have a woman on his arm. To have a woman gaze upon him like he was a full and complete man.

  So, even though he was more sore than he'd been in months after a training session, Dylan set a quick pace back to his house. When he came upon the small cottage, the lights were on in the kitchen. He saw movement through the window. He heard the excited barking of dogs, more like begging whimpers.

  Dylan opened the back door to the smell of … something burning.

  His training immediately set in. He took a quick glance around the room to assess the danger. There was one pan on fire. A pot of boiling water spilled over onto the stovetop. And smoke plumed out of the oven.

  Maggie looked up at him. Her hair was frazzled. There was a smear of something—grease? food?—on her cheek. A mix of panic, defeat, and shame dimmed her usually expressive eyes. "I'm sorry."

  Dylan rushed into action, stepping over and around barking, yipping dogs as he did so. He put the burning pan into the sink. He shut off all the burners. Then he opened the oven door to allow the smoke to make a full escape.

  "I'm sorry," Maggie repeated again. "I was trying to make grown-up food."

  Dylan pulled out a charred steak from the oven. The dogs all took steps back and moaned at the travesty. Dylan recognized potatoes in the pot of water, but they knocked audibly against the bottom of the pan as though the boiling water hadn't affected the spuds at all. He wasn't sure what had been in the pan? Maybe greens? But they were now brown.

  "I've only ever cooked for kids and animals," Maggie said. "I'm great with hot dogs and c
hicken nuggets and fries."

  "I like hot dogs, nuggets, and fries." He offered her a smile, but she was too busy scrubbing at the mess on his stove to notice.

  "Really?" she asked as she mopped up the spilled water. "I took you for a fine dining kind of guy."

  "What gave you that impression?" Dylan pulled out the frozen fare from the freezer.

  "Pictures of your family." She turned and faced him, eyes wide with guilt. "I wasn't snooping. They were on the mantel. You were all at some fancy place."

  Dylan nodded. "My father won't eat out unless a place has a Michelin star, and my mother won't eat food portions bigger than her thumb."

  "But not you?"

  "Not me."

  Maggie chuckled at his words, the tension visibly seeping from her shoulders.

  Dylan's palms felt warm even though he held frozen foods in his hands. He pulled out a pan from the cupboard, sprayed, and laid out the food. "What about you?"

  "Me?" The tension crept back into her shoulders, and she looked away from him. She sat down in one of the chairs and lifted Soldier into her arms. The Chihuahua licked at whatever was on her chin. Dylan felt a hint of jealousy towards the little dog.

  "I don't have family," Maggie said. "My parents abandoned me at a young age. I was in an orphanage until I was a teenager. I assumed I'd be there until I turned eighteen. I got fostered. But that family just wanted me as an unpaid nanny to their younger kids."

  She said all of this while caressing and cuddling Soldier in one hand. With the other, she reached down and scratched Stevie behind the ear. Dylan had the strongest urge to take her into his arms and hug her. Instead, he poured her a glass of juice and placed it in front of her.

  Maggie accepted his offering. She was starting to make sense to him. A woman who'd been abandoned as a child, who'd dedicated her life to saving wounded animals. A woman who hadn't known parental love now trying to find a way to fit in and make herself useful.