Dan recalled a number of nighttime conversations out on the beach as they barbecued hamburgers after surfing all day. Cait had asked him if he’d ever been in love. What was it like? Dan had scoffed and told her he wasn’t interested in love. Only sex with a willing woman. She’d rolled her eyes, snorted and shaken her head, giving him a disappointed glance. Ben had sided enthusiastically with him.
It was just one of the spirited conversations the three of them had gotten into about love versus sex. Ben and he had contended you didn’t need to love a woman to bed her. Cait had argued most woman needed an emotional relationship before they would commit to going as far as having sex with a man.
“You just used the L word, Taylor.”
He heard the teasing in her low voice as she watched him intently.
“I did, didn’t I?” He rubbed his jaw and gave her a lazy smile. “Maybe I’ve changed, Cait. I’m older. Maybe a little wiser?”
“You know how to shock me, Dan.” She stuffed the wrappers from the sandwiches into the paper sack.
“A good kind of shock, I hope?” he inquired, feigning innocence. He’d damn well used the right word. And Cait was confused, staring at him, bewildered by a seeming monumental change in how he saw women, sex and relationships.
“I—really don’t know, Dan. You’ve been very clear about women in the past.”
“Guilty,” he muttered. “But five weeks in that damned bed have had me reviewing my life. I’m not eighteen anymore, Cait. I’m twenty-nine.”
Her eyes darkened and she licked her lower lip, sending his lower body into instant spasms. She had no idea how much she turned him on.
“Your priorities are shifting?”
“Some are, for sure.” He stared pointedly in her direction. How badly he just wanted to come out with it. But she was laboring from the shock of losing Ben. Dan couldn’t selfishly lay what he wanted at her feet right now.
“Oh...I see...”
“I don’t think you do.”
She lifted her chin, holding his stare. “What does that mean, Dan?”
He dragged in a deep breath. “Help me get this knee bent and working again, okay? I need to start walking on my own, and stop being pushed around in this wheelchair.” He saw her full lips curve faintly.
“Maybe it’s your Texas-sized personality, Taylor, but you aren’t asking for much, are you?”
An unwilling grin tugged at his mouth. “We have a saying in Texas, sweetheart—Go Big Or Go Home.”
Sweetheart. Cait’s heart spun with sudden joy. Dan had never called her by an endearment. Not ever. She dug into his narrowed gray eyes, which held so many unspoken secrets. Her fingers suddenly became cold and she looked away, trying to understand what was happening between them. Because something was happening. She felt as if Dan were tiptoeing around something important. Something life changing, but he wasn’t ready to divulge it to her yet.
“I like that saying. That’s what every guy I work with has to do: give 110 percent effort every day. Day in and day out.”
“Yeah,” he chortled, relaxing a little, “I hear they call you a slave driver down there in the PT department. That you’re really tough on them. The five guys in the ward come back every afternoon bitching about how hard you are on them.”
“That’s true,” Cait admitted ruefully, pushing her damp palms against her thighs. “It’s because I care, Dan. Just like I’ll care about you when you start down there.” Her voice was firm. Passionate. Stubborn.
“Well, then,” he drawled, “I’m just going to have to find some special way to reward you for all your hard work when this is over.”
Suddenly Cait remembered kissing him all those weeks ago. The look in Dan’s face was unreadable but she wondered for a split second if he remembered her kissing him goodbye that day. Oh, God... What if he did? Panic thrummed deep within her and her mind spun with anxiety. Except for a sisterly peck on his cheek, she had never kissed Dan. And he was holding secrets—she could feel it. But wasn’t she holding secrets, too?
* * *
With a hissed curse beneath his breath, Dan tensed as Cait slowly bent his knee. He had endured four weeks of physiotherapy, it was late February and still the damned joint acted as if it was encased in concrete. He sat in a gym chair as she knelt down on one knee, one hand beneath his calf, the other around his large foot. Sweat was running off his temples, his breathing fast and shallow as she continued to slowly apply more pressure.
The muscles in his thigh had atrophied and now were being asked to stretch so that his knee could bend. He was gripping the seat where he sat, his knuckles white as she began the painful process once more. Every day, he did this. Every day it was a painful hell. His knee was so damned locked up.
“Good,” Cait soothed, holding his limb, not allowing him to relax it. “This is good. It’s moved another inch, Dan.”
“Like I can tell,” he grunted, pushing back against the chair, his teeth clenched, eyes closed. He’d given up pretending to be a tough guy four weeks ago. All around him physical therapists and nurses were helping men like himself. Some were walking. Some were exercising. Others were grunting and groaning just like him. The bright morning sunlight filtered through the large windows into the gymnasium-like area. There was all kinds of weight-lifting equipment and an Olympic-sized pool where he tried to swim and move that wounded leg of his.
He felt his leg burning as though a raging fire was built within it as Cait gently eased his knee a little more.
“Son of a bitch!” he exploded, rearing back, the sizzling pain like a knife being jammed violently up into his thigh. Dan wore loose gray gym pants and a dark green Army T-shirt. It was darkened by sweat in patches down the center and beneath his armpits. His back stuck to the plastic of the chair.
“Okay,” Cait soothed, easing his limb and allowing it to rest. She placed his foot on the floor. She smiled up at him. “Good progress, Taylor. Not bad.” She remained where she was, watching the pain swirl in his gray eyes, his face glistening with sweat. He was breathing hard, a sign of how much he was enduring to get that knee to work once more. Cait wanted to hold him but resisted, as always. To coddle Dan at this stage would set him back in his progress.
“Damn,” he hissed, sitting up, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm. “This is hurting more and more.”
“Yes, as we ask the muscles in your thigh to start rebuilding muscle, the slow pumping action that I’m doing with your leg is actually sending more blood into the area. More blood means more oxygen and the muscles start rebuilding. Repetition does it.”
He lifted his upper lip. “I know, I know...don’t tell me the rest. I can quote you verbatim. More blood flow into the muscles helps rebuild the muscle.”
She picked up a bottle of water nearby, handing it to him. Their fingers met and Cait secretly reveled in his contact. As Dan drank deeply, she began to gently move her fingers just above his knee, massaging those tight, screaming muscles, trying to get them to relax. Her touch was light, not heavy. There was always pleasure in touching Dan, and Cait was glad her job gave her leeway in doing just that.
“God, that feels so good,” he grunted, capping the emptied water bottle, tipping his head back against the chair.
She smiled a little as her hands drifted beneath his knee, engaging those taut ligaments. “Every day, an inch of progress,” she praised.
“It’s hell,” Dan muttered darkly. His whole body was arching and enjoying her soft touch, making the pain ease considerably. “I didn’t feel this much pain after I got shot. Seems unfair that I have to go through it twice and the second time around is a hundred times worse than the first time.”
“You can’t come over and see my home until we can bend this knee a little more,” she teased, resting her hand on his large calf. Cait knew the amount of pain Dan was in. She wouldn’t pamper him or give him an excuse to feel sorry for himself. So many men, when the pain was constant, day in and day out, wanted to give up. He hadn’t.
It seemed like the more his knee refused to work for him, the more concentrated and stubborn he became about forcing it to work, or else. She was proud of his work ethic. Dan had taken her words to heart about just looking at the day in front of him. Nothing more, nothing less and it was helping him make good progress whether he believed her or not.
“Tell you what,” she said lightly, giving him a warm look. She moved her hand across his resting knee. “You’re this close,” and she held up her thumb and index finger about one inch apart, “to getting your knee bent enough so you can to get into my Prius. What I want you to do when I begin to flex your knee again is visualize being at my place. You know what the kitchen and living room look like. See yourself at my bamboo table eating a stir-fry dinner I’ll prepare for us. Are you game?”
Cait knew the value of placing something her patient wanted just out of their reach to give them the impetus to go for it because it was important to them. They’d just talked last night over a game of Monopoly in his ward about her cooking skills. She was a darned good cook and took pride in it. Dan admitted he had dreamed about eating chicken and vegetables straight from her wok. He was a big vegetable eater, so she’d use that carrot and dangle it before him. Cait knew how badly he wanted to see her small home. She wanted him out of this hospital complex and anywhere else that would help him relax. He was beginning to hate being in the hospital and she didn’t blame him.
“You’re serious, right? If I can get that knee bent a little more, you’ll take me to your house for dinner tonight?”
Her lips lifted and she drowned in the flaring desire she saw in Dan’s eyes. She could feel the shock rolling through him at her offer, but it was a good kind of shock. “I’m a woman of my word, Taylor.” She luxuriated in his gaze, feeling his need for her. Cait had slowly begun to realize that Dan liked her on more than just a casual friendship level. Oh, it was subtle, but it was there. All the time.
He grinned wickedly and set the plastic bottle on the floor. “Okay, let’s go for it.”
Nodding she positioned herself once more, lifting his leg and slowly asking his knee to bend. “Just remember the wok-seared chicken and veggies I’ll make for us,” she murmured, watching him begin to tense as she brought the knee to the angle where it was still frozen. “Close your eyes. See your knee relaxing. See those muscles in your thigh stretching.” Because visual pictures did, indeed, help the physical body respond. She saw him grip the edges of the chair he sat on, his mouth tightening. “Smell the scents coming from the kitchen,” she said, moving the knee slowly, holding the pressure so that his muscles would begin to relax and loosen. “The scent of ginger and nutmeg in the air...”
Cait felt his whole body stiffen with pain as she pushed gently, asking that knee to flex a bit more. He was grunting with pain, explosions of air tearing out of his twisted mouth, his powerful back arched against the chair. Beads of sweat gathered in his deeply furrowed brow, his eyes scrunched shut, lips lifting away from clenched teeth. He was a black ops soldier. He knew the value of controlling his body, demanding more of it when necessary. And Cait could feel him struggling to force his wounded body to do exactly that. As she applied gentle, constant pressure to that knee, she felt him force himself to relax. His knee moved another inch.
“Great,” she praised. “Keep it up! Keep allowing that leg to relax. Right now the pain is stopping you from reaching that final inch I need your knee to bend, Dan. Give it to me?”
It took five more minutes, but Dan did it. Cait praised him in a husky voice, holding his knee in that needed and necessary position. He was sweating heavily, breathing hard as if running a marathon, when in reality, he was trying to control the pain enough to allow his body to relax as best he could. Cait knew the pain these vets went through, and she felt pride for his monumental efforts. “Good job!” she called, smiling up into his barely open eyes. His face glistened with sweat, his gray eyes slits of agony. “You did it, Dan. You did it!”
Chest heaving with exertion, he groaned as she gently eased his knee outward, relieving the pressure. Dan was barely aware of anything for the next few minutes, his right leg feeling as if it was being scalded by a stream of hot water continuously poured into it. His muscles were learning to stretch all over again. Releasing his fists from around the edges of the metal chair, sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. With a couple of swipes of his hands, he focused back on Cait.
She was crouched at his feet, the biggest, proudest smile on that luscious mouth of hers. He’d give anything to kiss her. To tell her in some damn way, that he was interested in her as a woman.
“Nice work,” Cait praised, placing her hand on his good knee, squeezing it gently.
“Damn, my leg is killing me,” he muttered while trying to soothe it by rubbing the scarred, puckered flesh up and down its length.
“Here...let me.” And Cait rose. She went to the rear of the room and brought back a huge white towel. “This should help,” she said, easing his leg into an L shape and gently laying the wet, warm towel across it.
Groaning, Dan collapsed against the chair, eyes closed, head back, feeling the instant relief of heat on the screamingly taut muscles in that thigh. “God,” he rasped, “you can do that any time you want.”
“A warm, moist towel will do it every time. You need to remember that when you’re not here anymore, Dan. It’s always going to stiffen up on you, and a quick way to relax it is either a hot shower, a bath or a towel like this across the area.”
The agonizing scalding sensation eased and the agony dissolved within five minutes. Dan opened his eyes and sat up. Cait stood there, hands on hips, watching him critically. Her green eyes held an emotion he couldn’t translate. Desire? For him? Dan had seen her work with a number of guys from his ward, but she never looked at them like she was looking at him right now. Dammit, he had to find out if there was anything between them. Or if it was his “head over heels in love with her” imagination wishing it was so.
Chapter 6
Dan was the last patient of Cait’s day. The gym was empty. He knew that she was staying late to work him into her schedule so she could continue to get that knee of his to bend. Last week, she’d been true to her word—she’d driven him to her house and made him dinner.
He hadn’t gotten up the courage to ask her how she felt toward him. In the end, Dan felt like the world’s biggest coward. He could face a Taliban firefight, but he couldn’t face her. He was afraid of what Cait’s answer might be and it stopped him cold. He’d had all week to feel his way through his fear. He’d never let it stop him before and he’d finally, grimly, made the decision he was going to do something to show her exactly how he felt about her. It was time.
As Cait helped him stand, placing his left arm around her shoulders, he hobbled badly, leaning heavily on her to get to the torture chair, as he called it. Once there, he released her and slowly sank down into it. There was a thick blue plastic pad all around the chair. He’d fallen out of it once already. Others did, too, when stubborn joints were asked to flex more than they wanted to. Maybe the damned chair should have a seat belt on it, Dan thought with wry humor.
He watched as Cait came around to his right thigh. This was a favorite part for him, her hands on that angry-looking scar across his thigh. It was red and purple, the leather-like skin stretched and shiny. A thing of beauty it wasn’t, but he relaxed, allowing his arms to hang at his sides. She crouched down, her small, cool hands lightly positioned at the top of his thigh, above the surgery scar. He wore loose, almost knee-length swim trunks and just her touching him like she was doing right now aroused him.
“Mmm, this is not feeling as tight,” she murmured, pleased as she gently slid her hands on either side of the scar. “Does it feel a little more relaxed to you, Dan?”
“Hmm?”
Her hands halted on his thigh and she gave him a flat look. “Don’t drift off.”
“How can I help it?” he teased. “You touch me and I think I’m in
heaven, Cait.”
“Well,” she grumbled good-naturedly, “in a minute you’re going to feel like you’re in hell.”
He managed a crooked grin, holding her shining green gaze. Today, her hair was in a long ponytail down between her shoulder blades. Those blue scrubs she was required to wear hid her assets from his eyes, unfortunately. “I always feel better when you’re touching me, sweetheart.” He’d decided to keep calling her that when it felt right, get her used to his personal attention.
Cait colored, feeling heat rush to her cheeks as she continued to assess the muscles of his thigh around the wound site. “You never called me that before you got wounded,” she challenged, holding his amused gaze.
“I told you—I’ve changed, Cait.”
Mouth quirking, she frowned and kept focused on feeling those muscles. It wasn’t lost on her that he was aroused beneath the dark green swim trunks he wore. And it happened every time she worked with him. Cait had worked on many soldiers over the years, but never had this happened as consistently as it did between her and Dan. Sometimes, when he didn’t seem to realize she was watching, Cait would catch a wistful look in his gray eyes. And she’d sense a yearning, so deep and so secret she was never able to penetrate or interpret it.
Rising to her feet, she met his eyes, which danced with humor. Dan always teased her. She used to think it was just that, but now she wasn’t so sure. How to ask him? Cait felt awkward about approaching him directly about what she felt burning between them. Could there really be something there? Dan kept saying he’d changed. What did that really mean? Frustration thrummed through her, and she got down to the business of getting that knee of his to give a little more. She’d like to have him over for dinner again. That one night had helped him so much. And it had made her happy, too. Cait wanted him with her again, alone in a personal, relaxed atmosphere.
Course of Action: Crossfire Page 7