Oh, hell.
He just needed to get this over with. He stripped, pulled himself atop the bed, jerked a blanket over his midsection and gathered the courage to call her into his room. He’d left his legs exposed, but the thought of her touching them...well, thank goodness he’d pulled the blanket over his middle.
“Okay.”
His voice sounded hoarse, his heart thudded in his chest, and his whole body was tense as he waited for her to enter. When he felt himself clutch at the brown bedspread, he told himself to relax.
“Hey.”
She peeked around the door, her long black hair hanging over her shoulders, a smile on her face. The sun had slipped below the horizon, shrouding his room in darkness, a single lamp by his bed casting light over his form. He’d wanted it that way.
He watched her straighten, and he almost clenched the bedspread again as she came into the room and her blue eyes swept over his form.
I am crippled. She doesn’t find me attractive. No woman will ever find me attractive again.
“Oh!”
Her gasp was so soft, yet so sudden he knew she’d seen.
“Oh, Trent.”
Scars crisscrossed his legs, the marks looking like sleep wrinkles in some places, deep gouges in others. Across his right thigh was the worst one. A long, angry red spot where they’d had to perform a skin graft to plug the hole the passenger door had left behind.
“I don’t feel them. The scars, I mean. It’s all numb from the thighs on down.”
He could tell she worked hard to put her professional mask back on, though surely she’d seen worse in her career as a therapist.
“Let me feel your muscle tone.”
He tensed. She sat down on the bed next to him. That wasn’t the worst of it. Oh, no. She would touch him. He didn’t want her to touch him. The reason why became instantly apparent when he saw her reach for his leg.
Anticipation shot straight to his groin.
He nearly groaned. The one spot that still worked perfectly— it came to life. He tried to focus on other things, on the unique color of her hair. On the way that hair fell across her shoulder. Or how it hugged her face—
He moaned.
“I haven’t even touched you yet.”
His eyes snapped open. When had he closed them?
“I have another cramp,” he lied.
“Where?”
“Right below my hip, but it’s okay now.”
She nodded. Her fingers skated over his naked flesh, not that he felt anything. Still, watching her do that...
“I’m going to press on you.” She met his gaze briefly. “Tell me what you feel.”
Nothing.
He just imagined the soft drag of her fingers. Fantasized that his lower leg tingled from her touch. Suddenly he wished with every fiber of his being that she was touching him for a different reason. Her hand moved slowly up his leg, paused for a moment where he’d been rubbing his knee earlier, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything.
“Lots of scar tissue.” She leaned back. “Let me take a look at the other one.”
He watched her lean forward again, watched her fingers skim and then press against his thigh, rubbing gently, then moving downward, pressing harder and harder—
“That’s enough.” His voice sounded gritty even to his own ears.
“Do you feel something?” she asked, her eyes snapping to his.
“No,” he all but shouted. “I don’t.” He tried to throw the covers over his limbs.
She wouldn’t let him. “I’m not through yet.”
“You saw what you came to see.”
“No, actually. I want to do an assessment. Move your legs around a bit.”
“Forget it.” He pushed himself up against the headboard. “You don’t need to look at my legs in order to see how messed up they are.”
“You’re not messed up.” She touched his calf, not that he could feel it. “You still have muscle tone.”
He huffed. “You call that muscle?”
“Compared to what you had, sure, it’s not much, but the fact is, Trent, there’s very little atrophy.”
He’d heard that before, and he knew where she was going with it. “That’s because of the therapy.”
Her eyes were amazing to look at, even in the dusky half-light. So blue, yet with a ring of green around them.
“Then obviously that therapy is working.”
He pushed himself up against his headboard. “You call this working?” He motioned to his legs. “Not being able to move them. Not being able to feel. Not being able to do anything but roll myself around in a stupid wheelchair.”
She drew back a bit, her whole face softening. “I know it’s not much.” She shook her head a bit. “I’m so sorry, Trent. This whole thing has obviously been tough on you.”
No. Not pity. He could take anything from her but pity. “If you’ve seen what you wanted to see, you can go now.” He was still hard, though, damn it. Didn’t his body know that she would never find a broken-up old cowboy attractive?
“Were you conscious after the wreck?”
It was as if she’d smacked him. As if each word stabbed at his heart.
POW!
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
An explosion, that was what it’d sounded like when their car had been struck head-on. A grenade going off right in his face. One minute driving. The next...not. Dustin’s cries. His own moans of agony. His legs. God, he’d thought he’d lost his legs, and in a way, he had.
“But we should talk about it.”
“I’m tired now. Need rest.”
“How long were you there waiting for help to come?”
Why would she not leave him alone? Nobody had dared to ask him such questions before. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Five minutes? Ten? Twenty?”
“Stop.” She’d completely killed the buzz of attraction he’d felt earlier. He should be grateful for that, he told himself, and yet, how long had it been since he’d felt something, anything other than lingering physical pain?
“You were conscious, weren’t you?”
“I don’t remember!”
He hadn’t meant to yell, felt bad afterward. She had leaned away from him again, peering down at him from the edge of the bed. And all of a sudden she looked sad.
“I wasn’t in the wreck that killed Kim and Braden.” She blinked a few times, her lips pressing together for a moment as she thought back to the day that was her own personal cross to bear. “I’d stayed home to look after the ranch. Cabe, though...” She shook her head, met his gaze again. “Cabe saw the whole thing. He was following behind in his truck, towing the horses home. The air-conditioning was out in the truck, and Kim couldn’t stand the heat, so she and Rana rode with Braden. Cabe said one minute the car was on the road and the next it wasn’t. It happened that fast.” She snapped her fingers. “By the time he got the rig stopped, he was already past them, so he ran back, but when he caught sight of the car, and then heard Rana’s screams—”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence.
He knew. He’d been there.
He’d known Dustin was dead when the moans of pain had stopped. Hours. That’s how long it felt, but it hadn’t been hours. Someone had tried opening his door almost right away, but it’d been wedged shut. Wedged? Hell. Crumpled. Crushed. Like his legs. Like Dustin against the steering wheel. Punctured lung. Internal bleeding. It had killed him almost instantly, they’d said, but not instantly. He’d had to sit there, listening as his best friend’s cries of pain had slowly...
“He said he knew Braden and Kim were dead because he couldn’t hear them, and that hearing Rana’s cries, realizing she was trapped and
that he couldn’t get her, was the worst feeling of his life.” She shook her head again, the rims of her eyes turning red with unshed tears. “I can only imagine what he saw when they started tearing the car apart. He’s never told me, and I’ve never asked, but the point is, Trent, he does talk about it. It’s important that you do, too. You can’t bottle it up inside. It’s not good for you. It can lead to other...problems.”
He didn’t bottle it up. He couldn’t. Oh, no. His subconscious made him remember. At least once a week he relived the moment of turning to his left, of seeing Dustin there, eyes glazed with pain, trapped as he was, moaning, and then those eyes closing and he knew, he’d just known—
“Please leave.”
Tears had started to fall. He didn’t want her seeing them.
“Not before I finish what I have to say.” She fumbled, and then found his hand, clutching it. Her flesh was warm, her fingers soft. “The police labeled it distracted driving, and I know that’s what it was because I had sent Braden a text. Right after they left the rodeo grounds. That’s when it happened. So it was my fault.” She squeezed his hand harder, wiped at her own eyes with her other hand. “Cabe says it’s not, but I wanted Braden to hurry home, so I told him that in a text, only he never made it back to the ranch because when he glanced to read what I had written...”
He’d wrecked.
Trent felt the power of her words right in his gut. He knew exactly how she felt. He’d been in such a hurry to leave the rodeo grounds, but if they’d just waited five more minutes...
“So I know a little something about survivor’s guilt.” She wiped at her eyes with both hands this time. “I know how it can weigh on you. The effects it can have on your mind. But you can’t let it ruin your life, Trent. Your doctors all say you should have the ability to walk—”
“No—”
“Shh.” She lifted a hand. “Don’t say anything. I want you to think about this. I want you to understand that your problem is probably up here.” She tapped her head. “And we’re going to fix it.”
He didn’t say anything.
She stood up then, stared down at him. “You just need to believe.”
“You’ll never be able to fix me. I can’t be fixed.” But was he talking about his spinal injury, or something else? Shit, he didn’t know.
“We’ll see about that.”
Chapter Eleven
“What are you doing?”
Alana turned away from the truck she’d just finished stocking with snacks and drinks. It’d been a long night, one where she’d done a lot of thinking. When the day had dawned beautiful and bright, she took it as a sign to go through with the plan she’d hatched last evening, one that had involved making a few phone calls.
“I’m going on a road trip.” She turned to find Cabe on the front porch, a look of curiosity mixed with surprise on his face.
“By yourself?” He slowly descended the porch, the spurs he wore tapping the wood and punctuating each step with a ching-ching-ching.
“No.” She smiled, glanced up at the blue sky above them. It had truly dawned a glorious day, warm, the scent of wild daisies in the air. “With Trent.”
Beneath his cowboy hat, Cabe’s brows shot up. “Does Trent know this?”
Alana’s determination faded a bit. She’d left him alone all morning. “No. Not yet.”
Cabe’s soft laugh rang out. He stopped in front of her, flat cowboy hat tipped low, denim shirt darker than the sky. “Why am I not surprised?”
She didn’t answer, just closed the back door of the crew cab. Though it was early afternoon and still cool outside, she’d started to sweat.
Maybe you’re sweating at the thought of being cooped up in a car with Trent for two hours?
And maybe she was, but, damn it, she needed to do something to get through to him. So she’d come up with a plan. More of an idea, really. If she couldn’t talk some sense into him, maybe someone else could.
“Did you get a look at his legs last night?”
She tucked her hands in her pocket. “I did. And they were fine. I honestly think his problem is up here.” She tapped her head. “I tried to talk to him about it, but I couldn’t get him to open up about the accident at all. He shut down.”
“So where are you taking him?”
“It’s a surprise.”
This time Cabe’s brows nearly touched the brim of his hat. “Where?” he repeated.
“I’d rather not say because if I tell you, you’d probably try and talk me out of it.”
He laughed again. “The poor guy has no idea how determined you can be.”
“I know.” She glanced at her watch. “We need to get going if we’re going to make it on time.”
She left him standing by the road, her stomach rolling as she headed toward Trent’s cabin. Of course, this late in the day, he could be anywhere. Maybe strolling around in his wheelchair. Or petting horses somewhere on the property, but she suspected he wasn’t. She suspected he’d holed himself up in his residence like a wounded bear.
And he had.
“What?” was the greeting she received when she knocked on the door.
“Thought you might like to get out for a bit.” She could smell the lingering remains of bacon and eggs, though he hadn’t opened the door. “Trent?”
Silence.
She tried the handle, gently, so he wouldn’t hear. Locked. Damn it.
She knocked again, her knuckles stinging she tapped so hard. “Come on, Trent. Open up.”
No answer. Well, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Though she knew he wouldn’t like it, she still went to the rock near the edge of the front walkway, lifted it and removed a key from beneath it.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she told herself as she straightened. Before she could think better of it, she slid the key home, turned the knob. The door opened with barely a whisper.
“What the—”
He sat in the middle of the hall, out of range of the front window, near the entrance to his bedroom. And thank goodness he was dressed, though the black shirt he wore made him appear menacing. Or maybe it was the daggers he tossed at her with his eyes.
“Thought you’d like to go for a ride.”
She motioned behind her, to the truck parked in front of his place, sunlight arcing across its black surface and turning it silver in places.
“No.” He rolled his chair back, toward his bedroom. She moved quickly, blocking him. Man, their heart-to-heart last evening must have really hit a nerve.
“Let me rephrase that.” She smiled down at him, a part of her grateful he wore his jeans, too, because touching him last night had been an exercise in self-control. If he only knew how hard it’d been to keep her fingers from lingering on his legs. How ridiculously bizarre her thoughts had been—like what he might do if she bent down and kissed—
“We’re going on a field trip,” she announced brightly, determined to keep her mind on business. Sheesh, she was his therapist after all.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m your therapist. You have to listen to me.” She hastily tacked on, “Your mother told you so.”
He glared. She knew she fought a losing battle, so she tried a different tactic. “Come on.” She gave him a grin meant to match the sunshine outside. “Don’t you want to get out of here for a little bit? It’s such a nice day.”
He didn’t answer.
She took a step closer to him. “I promise not to talk to you about the wreck, if that’s what’s holding you back. Or your injuries. Or anything else that might make you uncomfortable.” She pleaded with her eyes. “Please?”
He wanted to say no, she could tell.
“With sugar on top,” she added.
His lips unfurled from their frown. “Wher
e did you want to go?”
“It’s a surprise,” she said brightly.
“I hate surprises.”
Her smiled slipped a notch. She could almost guarantee he wouldn’t like this one, either.
“Come on. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Okay, so that was a small lie, but she knew he wouldn’t agree if she told him the truth, so she fudged it a bit.
“Please,” she said again.
He caught her eye. In that instant she got a glimpse of the man she’d seen out at the arena. The one who’d helped Rana. The one who didn’t like to disappoint people. She liked that man.
“When will we be back?”
“Late afternoon.” As in, really late afternoon. Okay, maybe even this evening, but she couldn’t tell him that because then he’d know. Heck, he might even put it together before they reached their destination.
“I don’t really want to go anywhere.”
“Okay. No problem. I’ll just call your mom and tell her you’re refusing to cooperate again.”
“No.” He frowned. “Fine. I’ll go.”
She almost jumped in glee even as the guilt made it hard to look him in the eye. She wouldn’t have called his mother. “Great.”
She didn’t ask if she could help him into her truck. Frankly, she had no idea if he could manage it on his own, but he did, opening the door then using his arms to hoist himself up...and using his legs, too, to prop himself up. He might not have noticed it himself, but she caught the way he momentarily leaned on them. Uh-huh, just as she thought. He really could use them...if he wanted.
Once he was inside, she stashed his chair in the crew cab of the truck and they were off, Cabe and Rena waving from the front porch as they drove by, Alana smiling back. Trent didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Now that he’d agreed to go, she wondered if he regretted his decision.
“I’m really glad you agreed to go,” she said after reaching the end of the long driveway with still no words being exchanged. “You’ll see, it’s a really pretty drive.”
He nodded once. As a response, she supposed it would do, but to fill the silence, she turned on the radio. The familiar sound of “Life is a Highway” rang through the cab.
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