The Long Road Home

by Cheyenne Meadows

  She felt his mood change, from optimism to self-criticism in the short period of time. Hastily, she maneuvered to end the downward movement and bring his spirits back up once again.

  "Logan, don't be so hard on yourself. It's only the first day, and you've been through a lot."

  "Still…"

  "Still nothing. You've worked as hard as anyone else, probably harder. You'll be a flying success with just a bit of time and patience." She furrowed her brow. "I'm already dang proud of you. And will only be prouder when you graduate from rehab at the top of your class."

  He stared at her for a long moment as if searching for sincerity and truth. "You have so much faith in me."

  "Of course I do." She smiled softly. "I happen to know something about you that tilts the scales in your favor."

  "What's that?"

  "You're stubborn as a mule."

  He snorted. "Maybe."

  "Oh, I know so. Otherwise, we'd never have made it through learning the silly waltz in dance class."

  "You did just fine in that class."

  She stood up on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his. "Because I had the best partner in the world."

  "Flattery will get you everywhere."

  "Uh huh. I'll remember that." Grabbing his hand, she gave him a gentle tug. "Come on, sexy hunk, dinner's ready."

  He followed along.

  Glancing back, she spied a small grin on his face and felt a sense of victory.

  Tyler could put him through his paces through the day and work him back into shape. She'd take the evening shift, bolstering his spirits and tickling his sense of humor. Together, they'd get him back on track for a promising future full of possibilities.

  Chapter 22

  This is fucking useless. I'll never get back to the level I was at. Frustration and defeat ate at his gut, stirring his anger, and firming his belief that all this work was for naught. Face the facts, soldier. You're through. He wanted to punch someone, or better yet, find the miserable bastard who detonated the bomb and fillet him.

  With jerky strides, Logan strode in the front door, tossed his backpack on the floor, and headed straight for the couch, still frowning after his depressing day.

  Tyler had set up his workout regimen the day before; today, he felt the full brunt of the physical therapy prescription. Sara, one of the physical therapists, worked with him pretty much one-on-one. Pleasant and cute, she smiled cheerfully as he struggled to do things that would have been a cinch four months ago. Sweat poured from his body as he walked on the treadmill with strict orders not to run. The weights sucked his energy and turned his arms into trembling garden hoses. Exhausted, he hadn't been able to wait for the session to end, something he'd never wished for in Ranger training. Well, most of the time. The part with lack of rations in the mountain training couldn't have ended fast enough. He'd been damn hungry.

  Gwen walked into the living room, took one look at him, and her brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." He spit the word out, hoping she'd take the hint.

  "Logan. I can tell something is bothering you. So fess up. Are you hurting? Do you need a pain pill?"

  He shook his head. His muscles ached, yeah, but nothing that warranted prescription pain medications. Hearing the concern in her voice, he wrapped her essence around him like a cozy blanket against the night chill. Gritting his teeth, he fought for control over his surly mood. This wasn't Gwen's fault, and she didn't need to receive a tongue lashing because he couldn't run on a fucking treadmill.

  She plopped down beside him, took his hand in hers. "It's okay. I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. Yell, scream, cuss. Whatever you need to do, I'll listen."

  As much as he wanted to swat her away like a pesky fly, he simply couldn't. She'd been there for him, showed him how much she cared, and didn't deserve to be the recipient of his anger. Taking a deep breath, he quelled his potential volatile outburst, clinging to the truth spoken in flat tones. "It's just… I've lost so much strength. Hell, I'm downright weak." He sighed and gazed down at his lap. "How am I ever going to get back on track when I can't even do the basics?" There's no way he could pass the Ranger fitness test. Not like this. The weight of the realization pushed his shoulders down farther.

  "Losing strength is normal. After all, you've been injured, went through a couple of surgeries, and have been off the obstacle course for a while. Same with anyone who works out regularly, then lays off for a week or so. Even the top Olympic athletes. Besides, I read something about a single leg amputee has to use thirty percent more oxygen than an average person. That sure makes a difference even if you were in tip-top shape." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Logan, I know it's hard, going to be hard, but you've met every challenge so far. Heck, not every guy gets into the Rangers. Not by a long shot."

  "True." He looked up and read her face, finding only concern.

  "You've always had your physical strength to depend on. I remember that way back when. But you still had to work hard and study in order to get through, right?"

  "Yeah." He had made good grades in college, but had to work harder in some classes more than others. History and English in particular.

  "This is the same. A different kind of challenge. An easy rehab is worthless for you. Besides, didn't you tell me yesterday that one of the therapists said that you're way ahead of most of the guys that come in?"

  "She said most go home and sit on their rear, do nothing for a while, then come in pretty weak."

  "She?" Her voice raised an octave.

  His lips twitched as he caught the near jealousy in her voice along with her raised eyebrows. She headed toward the overdramatic to get a laugh out of him now and again. He always appreciated her efforts and couldn't resist yanking her chain just a bit in return.

  "Yeah, one of my therapists is a woman. Love when she bends over to pick up weights for me."

  Gwen rolled her eyes. "Always a playboy."

  He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a butt man." Already, he felt a smidgen better. She bolstered his spirits and made bantering and teasing all the more fun. His anger cooled and receded for the moment. He knew from experience it would return with a vengeance. Perhaps he'd have a chance at the punching bag tomorrow in order to let his emotions free.

  "Uh huh."

  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Nuzzling her ear, he whispered, "Didn't I ever tell you why I chose you for a dance partner?"

  "No."

  "Because you had the most perfect ass I'd ever seen."

  She giggled and lightly smacked at his arm. "Had?"

  He pressed feather-light kisses along her cheek, to her nose. "Have, baby. Still have." His lips meshed with hers in a soft exploration that soon caught fire into a deeper passion.

  By the time they broke apart, he'd temporarily forgotten his rough day. She had his mind focused below the belt, wondering what she'd look like spread-eagled on his bed, begging for him to take her, reaching for his cock and stroking him to near completion. He bit back a groan of need.

  She gave him a big hug and stood back up. "Do you want to eat first or soak in a hot bath?"

  "Let's go with eating. I might spend some time in the tub. As it is, I'll be pretty stiff and sore tomorrow." After the workout he had had, he'd be lucky if he could climb out of bed. He'd been there before in his military career. Probably would again.

  "I'll give you a massage when you're ready for bed. That might help relax some of the kinks out." Gwen grinned at him and ruffled his hair. Would have if he had more than tall blond spikes from his last buzz cut.

  He grinned at her playfulness and uttered the question on the top of his mind. "Why?"

  "Why what?" Bewilderment crossed her face.

  "Why are you with me instead of out there searching for Prince Charming?" For the life of him, he couldn't understand why she stuck with him. Her bubbly personality combined with physical beauty would net her any man she chose. He didn't match up with her prospects. No
t in the least.

  "Because I don't want anyone else."

  He read the truth in her eyes, yet needed to be fair, make her see the reality of his world. "I'm a cripple. Have no job prospects. I'm not even sure what tomorrow will bring, let alone weeks in the future. You deserve better."

  She shook her head. "Look at yourself through my eyes for once, Logan. You're good, strong, courageous, and determined. Any woman would love to have you."

  "I sincerely doubt it." He frowned as a sudden thought struck. "You're living in the past, Gwen. Seeing me as I was back in college. I'm not the same man that I was then."

  "Of course you're not." She rubbed his shoulder. "You're still the same man in a lot of ways, but you've also changed. We all have. More mature, having learned from our personal experiences and carrying more baggage than before. It's part of life, it's normal. For your information, I see you as you are now. Battle tested, yet still striving to overcome the odds. Working hard to make yourself better while in limbo about what to do next." She took a deep breath and met his gaze. "Don't label me blind, because I'm not. I see your goodness, your tenacity and kindness, and know you have so much to offer any woman you choose to be with."

  He considered her words for a long moment, let them sink into his wounded soul, and felt the healing caress deep inside. "How did I get so lucky to run into you again?"

  She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled wide enough to outshine the sun. "Do you believe in fate?"

  Logan shrugged. "You think we were fated to bump into one another again?"

  "Maybe. Does the reason really matter when we're already here?"

  "Not really." He puffed out a breath. "I haven't said thank you enough for all that you've done."

  She shushed him with a finger across his lips. "I wanted to. Besides, you're a perfect roommate. Tidy, clean, funny, helpful, excellent eye candy."

  His eyebrow shot up. "Eye candy?"

  "Uh huh. Definitely in the yummy category." A flush appeared on her cheeks.

  Excitement, arousal, or embarrassment, he couldn't tell which. No matter, he'd take her sensual teasing and up the ante. "Keep talking like that, honey, and I'll let you strip me down and commence rubbing right here."

  Her eyes twinkled as her gaze fell to his groin.

  A tightening and throbbing began at her appreciative appraisal. With just a few words and a look, she had him fully erect and as horny as a buck deer in rut. Yet she continued to play the coy female. For whatever reason, she danced out of reach each time.

  Gwen licked her lips nervously. "Dinner should be ready."

  He opened his mouth to tell her dinner could wait but bit his tongue at the tension that crossed her face along with a twinge of worry. She shifted her weight restlessly and glanced back toward the kitchen. Her body language screamed indecision. No way in the world would he rush her into intimacy, not when she still carried concerns and doubts. Let her test the boundaries, become used to the idea of them together; all the better for him in the long run. An impatient hunter never came home with food for the table.

  "Dinner works."

  Bide your time. She'll come around. Maybe soon. But not before he figured out how in the hell he was supposed to have sex with only one leg. No way would he jump into bed until he knew he could please her as she deserved.

  * * * *

  Placing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, Gwen turned to find Logan mulling at the table, a look of deep concentration pasted on his face. He'd been pensively quiet through the whole meal, absorbed in his own thoughts. Her heart went out to him, knowing he still struggled to accept his new limitations.

  He had come home down and out, worried about his ability to bounce back after a rough day in rehab. As much as she strived to bolster his spirits, she knew deep down he had to weather the rough spots in order to find success once more. He'd get stronger, more confident, everything just took time, especially when he started at a lower level than he'd probably ever begun before.

  Already, she missed the lopsided grin on his face, the spark in his eyes, the glow of amusement that turned his handsome features into a living Adonis. Their fun bantering seemed to put his concerns on the back burner for a while, until she called a halt due to cold feet. She didn't miss the flash of disappointment or the tightening of his lips when she backpedaled out of the corner she'd painted herself into.

  In truth, she carried a healthy dose of attraction for the former Army Ranger. Wanted him like she wanted no other man in her life. Yet she bided her time. He'd only moved in forty-eight hours prior and just began his intensive rehab. He had enough obstacles with adjusting to his prosthesis and the changes in life forced upon him by the roadside bomb. She needed to be sure they were on the same page, instead of pushing ahead, perhaps too fast. The last thing she wanted was for Logan to think she'd jumped into bed with him out of pity because he had a bad day, a bad month. Heck, a bad year.

  As far as she was concerned, they were in this for the long haul, not a mere space in time only to go their different directions like they did once before. Surely, they hadn't been thrown together at an airport in the middle of an ice storm for nothing.

  She had spent a few hours on the computer, already preparing and learning about amputations, prosthetic devices, and the psychological impact of losing a limb during wartime. The more she read, the more she searched online for further information, even stumbling across a very interesting article about sex with an amputation. The down to earth recommendations she filed away for later use. They'd get there. In due time. When they were both ready.

  "I'm going to shower."

  "Okay." She watched him stand and slowly walk from the kitchen, his bare artificial foot thunking against the floor with each uneven step.

  Just as he pulled abreast of the couch, he tripped and flailed in an attempt to regain his balance, then fell face-first toward the floor. At the last moment, he was able to catch himself with his arms, preventing his face from smashing against the unforgiving surface.

  Gwen hurried over but stopped before touching him, recalling his sensitivity to others giving assistance when he needed to do things for himself. "Are you okay?"

  "Shit." He cussed fluently and banged his fist on the floor. "Why? Why did I have to sacrifice my leg, my career for such a godforsaken place?" His voice broke. "Why me? All I ever wanted to do was be a Ranger. Now I can't be anything. Not a Ranger, not anything. Not even a fucking clown. Absolutely useless."

  She bit her lip as a tear coursed down his cheek. The outburst only surprised her in the fact he had managed to keep all those emotions bottled up for the days they'd spent together. Maybe even longer. But he needed to air his anger, release the negativity eating at his very soul. Holding in something so big and ugly would only delay his healing and form a foulness, which would eventually work its way to the surface after poisoning his sanity and spirit along the way. Her gut told her to let him vent, wait for the fireworks to cease, then provide comfort.

  Logan wiped at his face angrily, then smacked the floor with his open palm. "How will I ever be a man again?"

  Lowering herself to the floor, Gwen sat beside him and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

  "Such a fitting end to one fucking day." He puffed out a breath and seemed to deflate before her eyes.

  Gingerly, she touched his shoulder, lightly tracing her fingers over the balled up muscle.

  "I don't know why I'm bothering with all this therapy, anyway. What good will it do me?"

  As much as she warned herself to leave the rhetorical question alone, words poured from her mouth. "Therapy will help you regain your strength, teach you to work with your prosthesis instead of struggling with it."

  He said nothing.

  "Logan, one thing I know for sure about you is you're not a quitter. Never have been, never will be. Vent, yell, hit things if you need to. It's all part of the healing process. Just don't give up on therapy so soon." Lightly, she rubbed his back, waiting unti
l he angled his upper body to meet her gaze.

  "I'm a piss poor excuse for a man."

  She shook her head and cupped his cheek. "No. You're wrong. You're an exceptional man, kind, caring, brave, smart." She trailed her fingers over his cheek. "We can't forget sexy, too."

  A myriad of emotions crossed his face before he sighed wearily. "I don't feel very sexy lying on this damn floor."

  "That's because you're looking at it from the wrong perspective. Turn over." Bafflement covered his face, but he did her bidding.

  As soon as he flipped, she straddled his body, lining up her hips with his, and rested her upper body on his broad chest. Leaning in, she brushed a kiss across his nose. "See. Very sexy and comfortable."

  His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her in place, as he stared up at her. Slowly, curiosity replaced rage across his face. "You think so?"

  She nodded. "Oh, yeah. Having the man of my dreams under me is the stuff of fantasies."

  "I'm not much of a Prince Charming," he grumbled but met her lowering lips.

  After a brief, chaste kiss, she lifted her head enough to answer. "That's all right. Who needs a man in tights and slippers when I can have a warrior instead?" She rubbed her nose against his. "Besides, I'm fresh out of glass slippers."

  The tension left his body as he cupped the back of her head and pulled her down until their lips meshed and locked.

  They didn't get up off the floor until a long time later.

  Chapter 23

  "Come on in, Logan. Take a seat wherever you'd like." A shorter man with a stout build and receding hairline ushered him in. In dress pants and an Oxford shirt, he resembled any business man, although his name tag declared him Dr Field, one of the psychiatrists at Walter Reed.

  Logan glanced around the room, noted the typical lying couch, the brunt of so many jokes, and moved on. A regular sofa and a couple of overstuffed chairs completed the room. A wall of shelves sat to one side, full of books while a large window allowed light to pour in, illuminating the room without need for artificial lighting even at this time of the morning.