by Arlene James
“We’ll have to be careful with the sprayer,” she advised. “These plaster casts are just too sensitive to water.”
“Maybe we can keep the plaster dry, but you’re gonna get wet,” he warned.
“I won’t dissolve.”
“Of course not. You’re too damned stubborn for it,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” she said lightly. “Let’s get these clothes off you. Can you manage the shirt?”
“I can, but if you think I’m going to sit around naked in front of you, think again.”
Merrily struggled with both a smile and a blush. “You can drape a towel across your lap.”
He sighed. “Yeah, okay.”
She went for a stack of towels while he struggled out of the mutilated T-shirt. When she returned, the shirt lay over the arm of the wheelchair. “If you’ll stand, I’ll wrap this bath towel around your waist and we’ll get those shorts off.” He struggled to a standing position, and she wrapped the towel around his waist. Reaching beneath the towel, he tugged and shoved the shorts down. Finally the garment dropped to the floor. While he held the bath towel in place, she spread a hand towel on the edge of the tub, instructing him to sit down upon it and use it to facilitate his slide around to the corner.
“Without losing this towel?” he said doubtfully, indicating the towel around his waist.
“Just turn it around.”
He shifted the towel and sat down. Carefully he scooted around the edge of the tub to the corner, keeping his right leg up and a hold on the towel now draped across his waist. When she saw that he was comfortable and secure in this position, she turned on the water and, while it ran, removed her shoes and rolled up her pant legs. Sitting on the outside edge of the tub, she put her feet into the water and chose a bar of soap from the stainless steel wire dish fixed to the side of the tub.
“This okay?”
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
Working quickly, she soaped a washcloth, then diverted the water flow to the built-in sprayer with its long, coiled hose. Leaning forward, she adjusted the water stream to a trickle, then she handed him the washcloth and used the sprayer to carefully wet him down. He began scrubbing everything he could reach, above and beneath the towel, while she tried to look elsewhere, anywhere but at the broad expanse of his smooth, muscular, tanned chest.
“The last time I bathed with a beautiful woman,” he commented wryly, “it was a lot more fun.”
She dropped the sprayer and water shot up in an arc, drenching her. Grabbing it, she shut if off again, her face burning, while he laughed.
“Told you that you’d get wet.”
“My fault,” she said quickly, wiping her face.
“You’ve got to stop that.”
She looked up. “What?”
“Getting flustered every time I compliment you.”
Her gaze dropped away of its own volition. “Did you compliment me?” she asked nonchalantly, trying her best not to sound as breathless as she felt.
“I did, and ignoring it won’t make it go away, you know.”
“I know. I…I mean, thank you…for the compliment.”
“You’re welcome.” He handed back the washcloth, adding tiredly, “I think that’s the best I can do for now.”
She started soaping the cloth again. “I’ll take care of your leg.”
“Just rinse me off,” he ordered, obviously too tired to manage it himself.
“If you say so.” She rinsed the cloth, dampened it with fresh water and rose to her feet, stepping closer to him in order to remove the soap from his right side. He’d been careful not to touch the cast on his shoulder, and she was just as careful. Finding it difficult to reach the back of his shoulder, she shifted to one side. Her foot slipped slightly on the bottom of the tub.
“You’re going to fall,” he warned, lifting his left hand to her waist. She gulped as the damp heat of his hand pervaded the fabric of her shirt.
“So long as I don’t fall on you,” she muttered.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think I might enjoy it,” he teased, voice husky.
Gulping, she ignored that and turned to retrieve the sprayer, he kept his hand on her so that it rode across her abdomen and back again as she faced him once more. For the life of her, she could not breathe. It was as if he’d poured scalding heat into her lower body and it now rose up into her chest. She fumbled with the sprayer, adjusting the output, as she leaned forward so she could rinse his back. Straightening again, she began rinsing the soap from his torso. Her gaze strayed down to the now tented towel across his lap, and she dropped the sprayer, yelping as water hit her in the chin.
“Get out of the tub before you break your neck!” he barked, releasing her in order to grab the sprayer.
She didn’t have to be told twice, scrambling out of the tub while he angrily rinsed beneath the towel. With trembling fingers, she dried off as best she could and released the drain in the tub. Royce shut off the sprayer and thrust it at her. She hung it up and turned off the water supply.
“Towel,” he ordered, holding out his hand, and she passed him a fresh, dry bath towel. He rubbed at his face and hair while she used a hand towel to dab at water spots on the plastic shielding his cast and stabilizer.
“I’ll get you another pair of shorts. Don’t you move until I get back.”
“Fine.”
She returned a few moments later to find that he had exchanged the wet towel across his lap for the dry one. They performed the procedure that had moved him into the corner of the tub in reverse. As he rose from the outside edge of the tub, balancing his weight with his good hand on her shoulder, she reached around him to secure the towel at his waist and preserve his modesty. He suggested that she slide the opening of the towel around to the side so he could get a hand on it himself, and she complied, but as he grappled with the towel, awareness sharpened and the room heated. Finally he got a hold, and she straightened, her arm about his waist to steady him.
Suddenly she was looking up into his much too handsome face. His blue eyes held hers for a moment, then dropped to her mouth. For an eternity she held her breath, every other concern suspended as she waited expectantly for his mouth to cover hers. Then he sucked in a deep breath, and sanity rushed back, bringing embarrassment. Realizing that he was trembling, she quickly eased him into the wheelchair.
“You can put these on later,” she said, striving for her best nurse’s voice as she swept up the shorts and dropped them into his lap. “Let’s just get you into the bedroom.”
“Fine by me,” he gasped as she released the band around the thigh of his injured leg and began unwrapping the plastic.
“I’ll straighten up here after I’ve gotten you into bed,” she told him, tossing aside the big ball of crumpled plastic food wrap and moving around to the back of his chair.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said wearily. “Mercedes comes tomorrow to clean the house.”
“She won’t be cleaning up after me,” Merrily told him, pushing the chair into the bedroom. He didn’t argue with her.
“I don’t even want to think about what I’m going to smell like when this cast comes off,” he grumbled.
“I’ll put a clothespin on your nose and stand by with a spray can of deodorant,” she teased.
He chuckled tiredly. “Ever ready with the ingenious solution.”
“Part of the job.”
“No, that’s just you,” he said lightly.
She parked the chair next to the bed and set the brake. Then she folded back the covers, swept the bed with her hand and straightened the sheets. He handed her the shorts, saying, “Let’s just leave these close by where I can reach them later. I think for now I’ll just slide over into the bed and trust you not to peek beneath the sheets.” The shorts slid right out of her hands and landed on his right foot. He just shook his head. “It was a joke.”
“I know,” Merrily replied lightly, bending to snatch up the shorts. As she tossed them onto the bedside ta
ble, she hoped he wouldn’t notice the color burning in her cheeks.
Sitting forward on the edge of the chair, his good hand clasping the towel at his waist, he said almost apologetically, “I’m going to need your help for this.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” Bending, she placed both arms around him. He pushed up, and she helped him turn his back to the bed and sit down. She stooped to lift his injured leg as he lay back then folded the covers up over him. “Okay?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve been a bear today, and you’ve been the soul of patience.”
“That sometimes happens when you don’t feel well.”
“It’s more than that.”
“I understand,” she said. “You’re worried about your children.”
“Very much,” he confirmed, but then he reached up with his left hand and captured her ponytail, pulling her closer. His blue eyes were clouded with pain and exhaustion, but beneath that burned something more. “The more immediate problem, however, is you, sweet nurse,” he told her softly. “You’re a huge temptation. You know that don’t you?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “T-temptation?”
“A huge temptation,” he reiterated. “We’re both lucky I’m too incapacitated to do anything about it.” Releasing her, he rubbed his thumb lightly across her lips before abruptly dropping his hand. “How about some of that tea of yours?” he asked, shifting his gaze. “I could use a little extra relaxation at the moment.”
“I…yes.” She leaped to her feet and whirled away, her heart tripping like a jackhammer—and almost went sprawling over the wheelchair. She heard a choking sound, knew that he was trying not to laugh at her clumsiness and fled, barely keeping herself from breaking into a run. When she returned several minutes later, he was sound asleep. She drank the tea herself in her own room and tried not to think what it might be like if her too handsome patient should one day yield to temptation.
Her patient was finally on the mend, which meant that Merrily had to find new ways to entertain him. Card games quickly palled, so they worked several crosswords together and even played a board game fetched from his daughter’s room.
Part pink confection and part teenybopper, that room spoke volumes to her about the daughter he so obviously loved. Comic books shared shelf space with coloring books, dolls with stereo equipment and the latest “boy group” CDs. The few articles of clothing that hung in the closet ranged from designer label blue jeans to pajamas bearing the likenesses of cartoon characters. A little girl poised on the edge of adolescence, Tammy Lawler seemed caught in that awkward space between child and preteen, torn between two selves. How much of it was the natural result of growing up and how much had to do with the divorce of her parents? Merrily wondered if Tammy knew how much her father fretted over not being able to see her. Surely if she did, she would come to him. Poor kid, and poor Royce. He obviously agonized over the distance between them, though that was no reason to try to take the children from the mother—unless, of course, all that Dale had said was true.
After the board game, which he won, they watched a movie on cable, one Royce had seen and thought she would enjoy, which she did. They were still sitting in the den when Dale showed up with some books and another package of herbal tea. He stacked the books on the end table near the spot where Merrily sat on the couch. The packet of tea he tossed into Royce’s lap with a mock scowl.
“Traitor.”
Royce grinned. “Hey, I’m just a poor, helpless soul weakened by suffering.”
“Yeah, right. About as helpless as a snake without rattlers.” The rangy lawyer turned a woebegone look on Merrily, saying, “Don’t let him charm you, kid. He’s still got his fangs.”
“Turn it the other way around, genius,” Royce rebutted dryly. “It’s the snake who gets charmed.”
“Ah, well, that explains it, then.” Dale wagged his finger at Merrily, who found that she enjoyed their banter immensely. “No fair, Nurse Merrily. You have beguiled the snake into drinking your nefarious brew. I’m thinking of crying foul.”
“Cry duck,” Royce advised dryly, “pressed duck.”
Merrily laughed, but Dale made a face. “Ha-ha. Our bet doesn’t concern you, and the payoff doesn’t, either.”
“Doesn’t concern me?” Royce scoffed. “You know, if the horse wins the race he at least gets his oats.”
“Fine. I’ll send you a box of oatmeal. Merrily can have pressed duck at Chung Pao’s Garden with me.”
Royce’s face immediately darkened, and Merrily knew what he must be thinking. Who would care for him if she went out? He was helpless alone. Tilting her head at Dale she reminded him, “The bet was carryout against home cooking, I believe.”
“So I’m offering a free upgrade.”
“And what about me?” Royce grumbled, confirming her assumption. “What’re you going to do, lock me in a closet? Or maybe you were thinking of pushing me down the stairs yourself this time and finishing me for good?”
Merrily gasped, her pleasure evaporating. “You were pushed!”
Dale and Royce exchanged wary glances. Royce cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“It was a joke,” Royce offered weakly.
Merrily stared at him, trying to imagine that anyone could hate him enough to push him down a flight of stairs. “What happened?”
“I-I’m not sure.” His gaze shifted away. “I don’t really remember.”
“Do you know who it was?”
“Like I said, I don’t remember very much.”
“Oh, please,” Dale said with blatant disgust. “We both know it was Pamela.”
“That’s your theory,” Royce retorted. “Don’t you think that if I knew for sure what happened that night I’d do something about it?”
“Not if it meant Tammy having to testify against her own mother,” Dale stated softly.
Royce looked away. Merrily’s heart squeezed. That poor child. Had she actually seen her mother push her father down those stairs? If so, then Royce was protecting her by keeping quiet about what happened. Dale evidently thought that was the case.
“What about that therapist I asked you to find for her?” Royce asked.
Dale sighed. “Her pediatrician agreed to the recommendation, but Pamela’s refusing to cooperate. We’ll have to take it to the judge.”
“And in the meantime, Tammy suffers,” Royce said bitterly. He shoved his hand through his hair. “If I could just talk to her myself, I might be able to help.”
“I know,” Dale said, “but Pamela’s keeping her under wraps. I called and went by there today, but first the housekeeper said they were all out buying school clothes, and later Pamela herself claimed Tammy was taking a nap.”
Royce snorted. “As if. Tammy last took a nap when she was about sixteen months old. How am I going to get her over here, Dale?”
“Wait until they miss the next scheduled visitation, then petition the court to enforce its order,” Dale said offhandedly.
“But they’ve already missed visitation.”
Dale spread his hands. “You were in the hospital. Pamela can say it was too traumatic for them or you or whomever. Just give it through the weekend.”
“And then wait for the court to act,” Royce added bitterly. “I know how the farce plays out. Pam will stall for weeks while the paperwork wends its way through the courts, then at the last moment she’ll comply, and her attorney will point out how cooperative she’s been, making me out to be unreasonable and demanding.”
“Okay, we have one other option, then, but you’re not going to like it,” Dale said. “I can petition the court on a hardship claim, maybe gain us a little sympathy, say that in your weakened state you need the solace of your children and plead for immediate compliance.”
Royce made a face. “Oh, that’s classy, a grown man using his children like that.”
“You aren’t using your children,” Dale pointed out calmly. “You would never use yo
ur children. You love them. That’s allowed by the courts, you know, even preferred.”
Royce sighed tiredly. “Whatever works quickest,” he conceded.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dale said. Turning to Merrily, he smiled and pointed his finger. “You and I, Nurse Merrily, will talk later about pressed duck.”
“You,” Royce said forcefully, “will leave my nurse alone. Now get out of here, you ambulance chaser, and let me get some rest.”
“Is he always this sweet?” Dale asked Merrily gaily.
“Oh, sweeter,” Merrily said with a smile.
Dale parked his hands at his hips and slid a look at Royce. “I’ll bet.”
Royce looked at Merrily and commented dryly, “Slow learner.”
“Oh, really?” Dale countered. “I’m the one having dinner with our Merrily.”
“Why don’t you take a little fall,” Royce suggested. “If you break enough bones, maybe you can have several meals with her.”
“That’s your thing, pal of mine. I’ve never stolen pages from your book before, so don’t look for me to start now.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Always.” Dale turned to Merrily with a wink. “Until later, dear nurse. Call if you need me.”
Royce snorted, and Merrily laughed. “I will. Good night.”
“I’d say the same to you, but you’re stuck here with him,” Dale quipped, “so I’ll just say, ‘later.’” With that he started for the door.
“Not later enough,” Royce called, but he was smiling ruefully.