Falling for the Cop

by Dana Nussio

“He’s fighting it every step of the way, but all of us at the Brighton Post have divided him up like a pizza,” Kelly explained. “Everybody wants to help out. Since we have three shifts, our slices are pretty thin.”

  Wow, that many coworkers wanted to help Shane? Sure, Natalie and her mother had received some help following the accident, but no one had reached out to them like that. Of course, they hadn’t required much assistance, since Natalie had taken on the whole job herself.

  “They all just want to take turns bugging me,” Shane said with a frown. “They barely leave anything for the visiting nurse or the aide to do.”

  “Except help with showers,” Kelly said, grimacing. “Nobody volunteers for that.”

  A flash of steamy water pouring over that broad chest and those rounded biceps took Natalie by surprise. But the way Shane shifted in his chair, as if uncomfortable with anyone knowing he needed bathing assistance, threw ice on her off-limits reverie. Good thing Shane wasn’t watching her now, since he would have read her as easily as he would a street sign.

  Kelly continued, “Now let’s get going before my lunchtime is up. I’m lucky Vinnie let me take a turn at all.” She turned back to Natalie. “Sergeant Leonetti has got it in his head that he should do all the helping.”

  “Overachiever,” Shane said in a tight voice.

  There had to be a story behind that one. Again, Natalie was curious, but she wouldn’t ask. She glanced at her watch instead.

  “Well, I have another client in ten minutes, so I’d better get ready.”

  She met Shane’s gaze as Kelly helped him put on his coat. “Remember what I told you. If you want to get stronger, you need to follow your home exercise program every day.”

  “I remember everything you said.”

  His steady gaze held her captive. Her pulse pounded, and her lips were suddenly dry. Good thing he looked away because she couldn’t have done it. Oh, she’d bet he remembered what she’d said, even the parts of their conversation she wished he’d forgotten. How was she supposed to work with him three times a week now that she’d hinted about her personal bias toward police? She needed to show that she could do her job without letting her baggage—or her hormones—interfere.

  She slanted a glance to the uniformed officer, who was handing Shane his hat. If Kelly had noticed anything unusual about Shane’s comment, she wasn’t giving anything away.

  “See you Friday,” she said.

  “I’ll be here,” he promised.

  Natalie signaled at the desk for the buzzer and pulled open the door. She glanced back one last time, only to catch sight of Kelly grabbing the push handles on Shane’s chair. Something vaguely uncomfortable washed over her. Was she jealous that he’d allowed the officer to push his chair when he wouldn’t let her do it? Or, worse yet, was she just jealous of the woman going with him through that door?

  She turned away from the man and those thoughts and rushed into the shelter of the clinic. But her memories of Shane Warner refused to be dismissed without a fight, the colors still bright, that baritone voice too rich and appealing for anyone’s good. Particularly hers.

  What was she doing? First, she’d all but told a shooting victim that it was his fault for getting shot, and now she was daydreaming about him. Fantasizing over any client would be bad enough, but a cop? That was it. She had to get her head together. She had other clients to see and a boss who was probably watching her more closely today. Not to mention a couple of front-office workers with outlandishly good hearing.

  At least she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to find something that would straighten her out. Her big dose of reality, her reminder of how much could be lost through a combination of flashing lights and a sense of invincibility, would be waiting for her at home tonight.

  * * *

  HOME SWEET HOME. Shane’s house blinked in and out of focus with each swipe of the patrol car’s windshield wipers. Fat snowflakes peppered the glass with every pause. The three-bedroom ranch stood out in bleak inferiority to its neighboring colonials, but even with its drafty windows and a roof that was one good downpour away from its first leak, at least the place was his. Well, the bank’s, but they let him live there as long as he kept the checks coming.

  His house looked especially dreary today, snow-covered flower beds providing none of their usual pops of color against the ordinary white siding and charcoal-colored shutters. Would Natalie be surprised to know that he’d planted all of those perennials himself?

  Shane blinked, the mechanical hum of the wipers suddenly too loud. Why was he thinking of her now? Were his hormones really so out of whack that he couldn’t get one pretty woman off his mind when he used to juggle several with ease? No, that couldn’t be it. Sure, he was still annoyed that she’d prejudged him for being a cop, but could it have been more than that? His thoughts shifted to that moment in the waiting room when he’d glimpsed something raw in her eyes. It was only an instant, like one of those silly snapshots that kids send to each other, and she’d shuttered it as quickly as it had appeared, but he’d sensed a connection. As if he wasn’t the only one who carried at least some of his scars on the inside. And he couldn’t help wondering if hers were as deep as his.

  You’ll be back to playing cops and robbers in no time.

  Even now those words had him gripping his gloved hands in his lap. Whether she’d seemed vulnerable for a moment or not, nothing gave her the right to say something like that. He didn’t care that she’d offered some lame apology. Who was she to presume to know anything about why he wore the uniform? She hadn’t seen Kent’s proud face at Shane’s graduation from trooper recruit school. Or the pride in his parents’ faces, for that matter—something he’d never expected to see again.

  Just then the car door flew open, filling the interior with light and a handful of flurries. Shane jerked more obviously than a suspect hiding drug contraband.

  What was wrong with him? He’d met many people who hated cops, but he wasn’t sitting in a patrol car trying to give them excuses for the things they said. He’d probably invented his connection with Natalie, too, since it was easier than admitting that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or forget those soft feminine curves that even her boxy scrubs couldn’t hide.

  “Jumpy, aren’t we?” Kelly said, pushing his wheelchair into the space by the open door and locking its wheels. “I thought I was getting faster at this, but I guess I was wrong. You forgot I was even out here.”

  She couldn’t know how close she’d come to the truth. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d opened the trunk to pull out his chair.

  “You are getting faster. Sorry you’ve had so much practice.”

  He hated that all of his coworkers had been forced to step up so that he could leave the hospital’s rehab center sooner. Hated being in debt to his friends, but he guessed he should have been used to it by now. Even his Christmas lights would still be hanging as a sad reminder of a holiday he could barely recall if his pals hadn’t boxed them up and put them in his attic.

  “I really do appreciate everything you guys have done for me.”

  Kelly prattled on as if his gratitude made her uncomfortable. “The first time I tried, I couldn’t even unfold the chair. Now it’s no trouble at all.”

  If only he didn’t still require her help. If only he could be back at the post, doing his job. But because the situation was what it was, he unbuckled his seat belt, accepted the transfer board she handed him and removed the chair’s side panel to shift himself from the car to the chair.

  “All set?” she asked after he slid the side panel back into place.

  “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

  She pushed him over the gravel and then up the wheelchair ramp that had magically appeared just as he was released from the hospital.

  He turned the key in the lock, pushed ope
n the front door and allowed Kelly to push him inside. She stepped past him into the dark family room, flipping on power switches and lamps as she went. Light, but never enough of it, flooded the dark-paneled room, with the overstuffed sofa and recliner he no longer sat on, the television that finally bored him now and the stacks of books that had saved his sanity over the past month.

  With a glance toward the TV tray where Shane took most of his meals, Kelly turned back to him. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

  “No. I’m good. I still have leftovers from last night.” And from Saturday and two nights before that, but he didn’t elaborate.

  “Whose turn was it?”

  “Ben and Delia.”

  “Then I bet it was something good.” She took his hat and gloves and then helped him with his coat.

  “If you guys keep feeding me like this, I’ll have to diet for weeks before I can pass my physical.”

  Yet he was already salivating at the thought of the mostaccioli Lieutenant Ben Peterson and Trooper Delia Morgan Peterson had brought over. Judging by the dishes the newlyweds had delivered so far, he had to wonder if they’d spent their first year of marriage in cooking classes together.

  “You have to keep up your strength until you get there.”

  Until. They all used that word, but how many of them still believed it? If one of his fellow officers had been shot instead of him, would he still believe after so many weeks?

  Kelly helped him into the zippered sweatshirt he wore around the house and handed him a loose-knit throw for his lap.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He 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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  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. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  Of course she was. Her passive-aggressive antics just didn’t work as well without an audience. Without a daughter to send on yet another guilt trip when she already had a passport filled with destination stamps.

  Natalie swallowed. She really was a rotten daughter. Her mom might not be a grateful patient, but she deserved her daughter’s respect and the best care she could give her. It was the least she could do.

  “What have you been watching today?” Natalie indicated the TV with a wave of her hand.

  Elaine barely looked back from it to answer. “Season three.”

  “How many seasons are there?”

  “Ten.”

  “Then you’ll be binge watching 24/7 through next Wednesday.”

  “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

  “Maybe you could cook dinner, then. Since you have so much free time and all.” Natalie forced a smile.

  “And maybe you could try it from a chair like mine.”

  Natalie swallowed. Was a flippant reaction better than none at all? She didn’t know why she was so determined to spark her mother into action—any type of action—when Elaine appeared determined to set a record for how long someone could bask in self-pity.

  Would it be easier if she finally gave up hope that Elaine would one day return to that funny, interesting mom she used to be instead of the shell that remained after the accident? It was as if her mother blamed the world for her unlucky lot in life. Or was it only Natalie she blamed?