by Tami Hoag
“Turk,” Dominique said, tapping the man on the shoulder. “I’m ready for you.”
Mr. Peppy’s eyebrows waggled lasciviously while Turk’s gaze wandered the room innocently. “And I’m ready for you, long tall lady.” The sock winked at Jace. “Catch you later, Super Cooper.”
Dropping Mr. Peppy to his side, Turk turned and fell into step beside the therapist. Dominique gave a little jump and leveled a no-nonsense look at the man. “Mr. Peppy had better watch his mouth, or he’s going to need darning.”
Turk merely shrugged one shoulder and wiggled his mustache.
“Friend of yours?” Jace asked Rebecca.
“Teammate of yours,” she said with a malicious smile. “I’m hoping he’ll be your roommate on the road.”
“Geez, Becca, you’ve developed a real sadistic streak,” he said, craning his neck so he could see Turk Lacey. Dominique was frowning prettily as she examined the man’s left shoulder in a way that indicated he had a rotator cuff injury. “He plays for the Mavericks?”
“He’s their ace relief pitcher.”
“That explains a lot.” He looked up at her. “Becca, the man talks through a hand puppet.”
“Oh, you noticed that, did you?”
Bob Wilkes rolled up beside Jace’s table in his wheelchair. “The guy’s got a slider that’ll blow your kneecaps off.”
Jace cringed at the reference.
“Oh, hey, sorry, Jace,” Wilkes said. He glanced up at Rebecca, then shook his head. “She really doesn’t date patients, but every guy in the place will wish you luck if you want to take a shot.”
“Bob,” Rebecca said through her teeth, “shouldn’t you be in the whirlpool—headfirst?”
He wheeled back out of her reach and winked at Jace. “She’s a tigress. See ya ’round, Acer.”
Jace managed to contain his mirth to a tight smile as Rebecca shot him a look. His eyes gleamed. “He’s got you pegged, Becca.”
“I’m amazed you didn’t bet him you could get me to go out with you,” she said dryly. “The odds should be irresistible to you.”
“I don’t gamble anymore.”
Rebecca stared at him in disbelief. “Let me get this straight. You’ve quit smoking, you’ve quit gambling. Does the sun still rise in the east, or have I missed that monumental change too?”
“The sun still rises in the east,” he said, his gaze as level as his voice. “You can be as sure of that as you can be of me getting a date with you.”
“Then we’d better alert the scientific community, because I’m not going to start seeing you again, Jace.” She dismissed the topic as if it didn’t make her pulse jump erratically and turned her attention back to his knee. “Try to raise your leg off the table against the pressure of my hand.”
Jace worked diligently through a series of exercises. Rebecca recited to him the names of the seven ligaments of the knee. She explained that he had anterior cruciate ligament damage and a torn meniscus, and outlined the kind of rehabilitation program she thought would work best to get his knee in maximum working order as quickly as was medically prudent.
The odd thing about the conversation was that Jace actually listened. He didn’t seem bored in the least by all her technical talk. Rebecca remembered trying to explain his shoulder separation to him. The only thing he’d been interested in was brushing his arm against her breast as she’d tested the joint for range of motion. Now he listened attentively and even interrupted her to ask questions about the amount and kind of exercise he should give the knee outside of the therapy room. He nodded as she explained the program of additional isometric exercises and light weight training he would be starting on.
Maybe, Rebecca mused, he had grown up after all.
“And how long are you going to keep feeling up my thigh?” Jace asked.
Rebecca looked down at his leg. Lord, she was doing it again! Her fingers had crawled up from his knee and were rhythmically kneading the sculpted muscle high on his thigh. Her face flushed fire engine red as she jerked back. Primly she said, “I was merely testing the tone of your quadriceps.”
“Hmmm…do you want to test the tone of any other parts of me?” he asked just loud enough for her to hear. “I could suggest one appendage in particular that seems to be developing excellent tone.”
Rebecca glared at him. So much for Jace’s maturing. So much for their truce. True to form, he had made a promise, then broken it at the first opportunity. She straightened up and stepped back from him. “I think this session is about over.”
Jace shrugged. “If you say so. What about that dinner date?”
“What about our truce?”
“I don’t consider asking for a date subversive behavior.”
She relaxed a little, more out of resignation than anything. He hadn’t changed, he never would. “Fifteen minutes in the whirlpool, then you can leave.”
“How about a massage?” he asked hopefully.
“Not today,” Rebecca said, turning away from him, unwilling to admit she was disappointed their truce hadn’t worked out the way she had hoped. It was best for her to remember he wasn’t trustworthy, she told herself.
“Shirking your responsibilities, Ms. Therapist?” he teased, hoping to goad her into touching him again. She may have pretended she wanted nothing to do with him, but her fingers told their own version of the story when they made contact with his body.
Rebecca wheeled on him, unable to hold her anger completely in check. “No. That was always your department,” she said cuttingly. Impatiently her gaze scanned the room. “If you really want a massage, I believe Max is free.”
Jace gulped at the sight of Max, a blond behemoth who made King Kong look like a chimpanzee. “Is he any relation to the Incredible Hulk?”
“Yes,” Rebecca gave him a nasty smile. “Max is his meaner brother.”
“Maybe I’ll pass on that massage after all. I have to get home so I can help Muriel wash windows.”
“Your choice,” she said, walking away.
Jace watched her go, admiring the subtle sway of her hips as she glided toward her office. He had his work cut out for him trying to win her back, but he was discovering that the new Jace Cooper found the taste of challenge sweet.
He jumped as Mr. Peppy, the animated sweat sock, made another unexpected appearance directly under his nose.
“What’s the matter, Super Cooper? Did you strike out?”
Jace scowled at the hand puppet. “How would you like to get unraveled?”
5
Rebecca sat bolt upright in bed as the strains of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” blasted in through her open window. The organist built to an earsplitting crescendo, then stumbled through an off-key segue into “Lady of Spain.” It was quite plain the organist possessed more enthusiasm than talent. It was also quite plain the organist was nearby. Every dog in the neighborhood had begun to howl.
Struggling to get her arms into the sleeves of her robe, Rebecca shuffled across the room, bent over, and peered out the window. She combed her hair back out of her eyes. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun was shining. Puffy white clouds dotted the blue sky like marshmallows. No doubt the birds had been singing until the attack of the Wurlitzer. The air was pure and sweet, and Jace Cooper was making his way across her lawn with a smile on his face.
He moved carefully, leashing the athletic grace that came to him so naturally. In jeans and a knit shirt, he was the very image of maleness. The Lenox-Hill brace was strapped firmly to his knee, as it would be for some time, but his crutches were gone.
Rebecca froze like a deer in headlights as Jace locked his gaze on her. Two weeks of dealing with him as a patient had done nothing to lessen her awareness of him as a man. If anything, she was even more aware of his body. She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the way his muscles flexed and strained beneath her hands, or the warm, smooth texture of his skin.
Nor could she stop thinking about the amount of determination he’d shown.
Not once had Jace uttered a complaint about the work she’d put him through. He had even asked for her permission to make use of the weights in the PT room to keep his upper body in shape. When she’d questioned him about what had happened to all the expensive fitness equipment he had owned, he’d merely shrugged and told her he didn’t have it anymore.
She wondered at her own motives for letting him hang around her department longer than was strictly necessary. At first she had told herself it was to show him how unaffected she was by his presence. That was a bad strategy. She was all thumbs and left feet when Jace was around, bumping into, tripping over, and dropping things. It was a wonder she hadn’t ended up in the hospital herself. And it seemed she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He was like forbidden fruit—handsome, tempting, dangerously alluring.
Rebecca had thought perhaps Jace meant to hound her during his extra time in the exercise room. He hadn’t given up on asking her out, constantly coaxing and teasing her during their therapy sessions. But he did indeed spend his extra time working or offering encouragement to other patients, and it was quite clear to Rebecca that he was doing neither to score points with her. More than once he had looked up and been genuinely surprised to see her watching him. His surprise had quickly turned to a warm, playful smile, not unlike the one he was sending her now as he made his way carefully across her lawn.
“I fixed Muriel’s organ,” he said proudly, stopping at the window of her first-floor room.
“So I hear.” Rebecca grimaced as Muriel mistook a sharp for a flat in the Mexican hat dance song. “I wouldn’t do much bragging about that around the neighborhood if I were you. You’re not likely to endear yourself to many people.”
Jace leaned closer to the window and gave her a look that combined seduction and sincerity in a way that made Rebecca’s knees quiver. “I’m only interested in endearing myself to you.”
“Then go throw a wrench into that thing,” she said. “Saturday is my morning to sleep in.”
As if she’d gotten a moment’s sleep since Jace had moved back into her life, she thought, rubbing at eyes that felt fur-covered from lack of rest.
Jace shook his head, his silvery hair fluttering in the breeze. “No can do, honey. Muriel needs to practice.”
“No kidding,” she said on a groan. “Bach must be rolling over in his grave.”
“I’ll admit she’s a little rusty, but she’ll improve.” His optimism was lost on Rebecca. “I got her the job as organist at the ballpark for all the Mavericks’ home games. She’s thrilled.”
Rebecca stared at him, stunned. “You got Muriel to take a job? She’s hardly left that house since Winston died. She sends out for her groceries, and you got her to take a job?”
“She needs to get out,” he said simply. “People need involvement and human contact.”
And Jace had cared enough to help Muriel find it. Not quite knowing what to say, Rebecca let her gaze wander across the alley to the ugly old house with the peeling brown paint. Freshly planted marigolds brightened the edge of the cracked sidewalk. Half a dozen cats sunned themselves on the back porch. Ancient brocade drapes stirred in the morning breeze. Her eyes rounded in wonder.
“She’s opened the windows,” she said, amazed. “She hasn’t opened those windows since she accidentally set the kitchen on fire last year.”
Jace met her stunned look with a sheepish one, then glanced down and started picking cat hair off his violet polo shirt. “I told her I’d read somewhere that houses should be aired regularly to prevent a buildup of radon gas.”
Rebecca laughed. “I’d say the end justifies the means in this case. Having been in Muriel’s house, I have to say those curtains blowing in the breeze are a lovely sight.”
Jace’s dark brows lifted as his gaze strayed down from her face. “The view over here isn’t too bad either.”
Rebecca glanced down at herself. Her robe hung open and her cotton nightgown was gaping away from her chest as she bent over, giving Jace an unobstructed view of her breasts. Gasping, she clutched the fabric to her throat in a white-knuckled fist, stood up—and smacked her head sharply on the raised window.
“Ouch! Damn you, Jace Cooper!” she said, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain. “You’re going to be the death of me!”
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay,” she said irritably, rubbing a hand through her disheveled hair to find the sore spot on her head.
“Should I come in and kiss it?” he asked in his most seductive voice.
Rebecca scowled at him. “I’ll tell you what you can kiss, you obnoxious pain in—”
“Now, honey,” Jace said in a warning tone. “Not in front of the children.”
She glanced around as Justin shuffled up behind her, the feet of his astronaut pajamas scuffing along on the blue carpet. He had obviously just rolled out of bed. Ink-black hair hung down in front of sleepy blue eyes. He clutched a ragged stuffed dog to one shoulder.
“Hi, Mom. Did you hit your head again?”
Rebecca gritted her teeth at his excellent memory but knelt down to hug him just the same. He really was the sweetest thing on two legs, and she loved him to distraction. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. “Yes, sweetheart, I hit my head,” she said pleasantly. “It’s all Mr. Cooper’s fault.”
Justin peered out at Jace, curiosity waking him up even more than Muriel Marquardt’s horrible organ playing. “Hi, Uncle Jace. Are you a window peeker?”
“No.” Jace chuckled, wishing he could scoop the boy up and hug him. He had become very attached to Justin in the short time they’d been neighbors. The kid was a real charmer, and he looked so like Rebecca—except for his blue eyes. “Your mom and I were just having a conversation.”
“If we had a dog, it would chase window peekers away, wouldn’t it?”
Jace grinned and nodded. “I suppose so.”
Rebecca sighed defeatedly and brushed at an errant strand of hair that had fallen across Justin’s forehead. “Justin, honey, for the millionth time, we can’t get a dog. If we got a dog, it would have to stay in the house, and I’d break out in a terrible rash and my face would puff up and my nose would stuff up and my eyes would water and I’d be miserable. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
The boy stood considering for a moment, his black brows pulled low over his eyes and a frown tugging down the freckles on his cheeks. He hugged his toy a little harder and looked down at the floor. “I guess not,” he mumbled dejectedly.
Justin had loved dogs since he’d been a toddler. It just about broke Rebecca’s heart to deny him. One of his first words had been “puppy.” She tried to remind herself that an allergy didn’t make her a terrible mother. The thought evoked another memory: one of her sister bitterly telling her she would be a perfect mother, since she was perfect at everything else. She bit her lip at the sharp pain of remembrance.
“Justin,” Jace said, his gaze on Rebecca’s suddenly strained expression. She was as white as the painted woodwork of her room. “Go see if Grandpa has the pancakes started, okay?”
When the boy was out of the room, Jace leaned his forearms against the screen. “Becca?” he asked softly. He wished he were inside so he could scoop her up and hug her. She looked as if she needed someone to lean on. He was determined to be that someone. He was really going to have to do something about this living-in-the-wrong-house business—the sooner the better. “Honey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Rebecca said around the knot in her throat.
“When did you take up lying?”
When you came back, she thought. His reappearance in her life had forced her to take up a host of vices: Lying, denying needs, denying emotions. She wondered if he had any idea of the Pandora’s box he’d opened up inside her.
“You’re terrible at it,” Jace said with affection rather than censure.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Once again his voice took on that s
oothing quality that made Rebecca want to wrap herself in it. “Becca, it’s me, remember? Nobody knows you the way I do. You can tell me anything.”
And then you’ll walk away and break my heart, she thought. Misery throbbed inside her. “Can I tell you to leave?”
“Sure,” he said affably, “but I won’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you.”
Her heart gave a great thud at his admission. She had to lean against the windowsill as a combination of weakness and dizziness swirled through her.
“Besides,” Jace said, pushing himself back from the window, “your dad invited me to breakfast.”
Rebecca gaped at him as he limped toward the back door. How could he just say something like that and then calmly walk away? Wasn’t that just like him, she thought, suddenly furious. He’d probably said it only for shock value.
As if he’d read her mind, Jace turned at the door. “I mean it, Becca,” he said, dead serious. “Straight from the heart.”
He punched a couple of buttons on the control panel of Hugh’s security system and let himself into the house.
Hugh and Jace were discussing electronics when Rebecca finally made it into the kitchen. As she put on a pair of casual slacks and a loose cotton top, combed her hair and fussed with a tube of mascara, she told herself she was stalling in the hope that Jace would leave—and not primping so he would think she looked nice.
His profession of love had rattled her to the core. Every time she turned around, it seemed he was saying something else to rock the foundation of her opinion of him. Now this. How was she supposed to react? At another time, in a place in her past, she would have been overjoyed to hear those words from him. She had been overjoyed. She had accepted his love with a wonderful, youthful enthusiasm and given her own love freely in return. But it had also been Jace who had taught her how shallow love could be, how quickly other things could turn its head, how deeply it could hurt.