by Robin Gianna
“I think you mean my new normal—for now. Painful and immobile.”
“Yeah.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t reach out and tuck those wisps of hair behind her ears, as he would have before. “You feel like eating something now? I can get some soup from the deli? Or does something else sound good?”
“Something light, like soup and crackers, sounds perfect.”
“You got it.”
It would be good to have something to do besides talk with her and look at her. From the first moment he’d seen her in the occupational therapy room two years ago, he felt like he’d been smacked in the head by some unexplainable force. She’d stood up from the table, her athletic runner’s body in a slim-fitting dress, and her laughter at something her patient had said slipped into his chest. When her beautiful gray-green eyes had lifted to meet his he could have sworn his heart completely stopped.
Looking down at her now, he felt waves of tenderness mingle with memories of that day. He wished that he could take away the pain he knew she’d be in as soon as the brachial plexus block wore off. Felt the desire to pull her close, to take care of her, to make all that pain go away.
“I’ll be right back.”
He made himself turn away before he reached for her, and then left for the deli. He chose two kinds of the soup he knew she liked, and a bagful of crackers. When he came back and opened the door to her apartment he stopped abruptly when he saw she wasn’t on the sofa, and neither one of the dogs were in sight, either.
No way would she have decided to venture out while still half drugged up. Would she?
A panicked sensation rose in his chest and he strode to the galley kitchen, shoved the food onto the counter, then moved to her bedroom. “Jill? Jilly?”
One of the dogs whined before she answered. “In here. The bathroom. I... Go ahead and come in.”
He pushed open the door. Was stunned to see both dogs and Jillian sitting on the floor of the tiny room. Her sweatpants were twisted around her thighs and her good hand was held to her forehead.
He dropped to his knees. “What the hell happened? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Kind of. I’m so stupid. I had to go to the bathroom, and while I was sitting here I dropped the new roll of toilet paper. I leaned over to get it. Forgot all about my arm. It flung forward and dragged me off the toilet. I landed right on my cast and hit my head on the wall. Kind of funny, really.”
She sent him an adorable crooked smile and his heart squeezed even tighter. He grasped her wrist to lift her palm from her forehead. “Let me see.”
“Just a bump. Not a big deal.”
“Maybe not compared to your broken wrist, but it still hurts, I bet.” He wanted to lean down and kiss the offending red lump, and drew in a deep breath to quell the urge. “Let’s get some ice on it.”
He wrapped his arm around her back to help her up, and realized she was having trouble standing.
“You hurt your leg, too?”
“No. I just... I couldn’t get my stupid pants pulled up using only one hand while sitting on the floor.”
He lifted her to her feet. “Hang on to the sink while I finish pulling them up so you can walk.”
“This is ridiculously embarrassing,” she said, her face now stained pink and no longer smiling. “My ex-husband having to pull up my pants.”
“Just think of me as your doctor. Not a big deal.”
Logically, it shouldn’t be. But the truth...? The sight of the smooth skin of her thighs, of her round rear peeking out from beneath her panties and all the memories it conjured, made him want to tug those pants down, not up, and touch her and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.
He gritted his teeth and pulled up the sweatpants as fast as possible, before lifting her into his arms to move them toward the sofa. The scent of her wafted to his nose and he breathed her in. Who’d have thought the woman could smell so good after being in surgery and then Recovery half the day? But it wasn’t perfume, it was simply her, and he remembered it so well it seemed they’d been holding one another just yesterday.
Damn it.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Yes, but this is easier and faster, and there’s no risk of additional injury.” He sat her on the sofa again. “I’ll get some ice for your head, then you can have some soup.”
“I don’t need ice. It’s just a little lump.”
“Trust the doctor. You need to ice it.”
“I see Dr. Bossy is alive and well.”
Her pretty lips tipped into a smile as she rolled her eyes and the tightness in his chest loosened. He had to grin, remembering all the times she’d given him that look.
“I consider the nickname Dr. Bossy to be a compliment. Where are your plastic bags?”
“In the second drawer, next to the refrigerator.”
Once a bag was filled with ice and wrapped in a towel he sat close beside her. Slipped strands of hair away from the bruise before he placed the bag on it. Their eyes met and he nearly forgot to place the bag on her injury, wanting so much to kiss her instead.
“That’s cold!”
Thank God for that distraction.
“Ice generally is cold. It’ll help with the swelling and make it feel better.”
“Yeah, well, right now my forehead hurts way more from the ice than the bruise.”
“Once your skin is numb it won’t hurt anymore.”
“Says the surgeon who lies to his patients about pain every day.”
“Lies to my patients? I never lie. I may downplay what they’re going to experience so they don’t freak out, but I never lie.”
“You forget I’ve heard you talk to patients when they’re in occupational therapy.” Her voice went into a bass tone. “Well, sir, your bones are healing nicely and the ligaments are stretching out well. In no time your fingers are going to be playing the piano again. You don’t play piano? Well, because of my magical surgical skills now you will.”
He had to laugh at her words and her cutely ridiculous expression. “I don’t believe I’ve ever said that to a patient.”
“No? I do sometimes. It’s an occupational therapy joke that most people enjoy.”
“And that’s one of the many reasons why your patients think you’re wonderful.”
He knew they did. Her numerous thank-you notes and high patient satisfaction scores proved that. He’d always thought she was pretty wonderful, too, even though she hadn’t believed it.
“Feeling any less painful?”
“Um...yes, actually.”
He watched her lids slide closed and held himself very still so he wouldn’t stroke her soft cheek or lean in to kiss her, which he suddenly wanted to do more than he wanted to breathe.
“Thank you. I’ll take over holding it now.” Her hand covered his on the ice before he slid his away.
“I’ll warm your soup. Which do you want—chicken noodle or tomato basil?”
“I love both—as you know.” She opened her eyes and turned to him, her expression serious. “I appreciate all this. I do. It’s... awkward me being here with you, and I know it’s awkward for you, too. I’m sorry about that. But I realize you were right. You bringing me home was lots better than trying to have my neighbor do it. She wouldn’t have been able to steady me the way you did. Or pick me up off the floor and bring me food, and walk the dogs and all. So thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I...we might not be together anymore, but I’ll always care about you.”
And the truth of that made his throat close and sent him to the kitchen to busy himself and get her some food before he showed her exactly how much he still cared.
He helped her move to one of the two chairs at the tiny table placed at one end of the living room. “You comfortable enough to eat here? Or do you want to sit i
n your armchair and drink the soup from a mug?”
“This is okay. Smells wonderful.”
“I’ll take the dogs out again while you eat. Don’t try to get up until I get back, promise? We won’t be gone long.”
She nodded, and he escaped with an urge to kiss the top of her head before he went, as he often had when he’d left for work or meetings in the past.
The dogs were excited to be outside again, and he wondered how often Jill had to walk them. Did she take them on her runs sometimes? Probably only Hudson would be up for that. Yorkie might have a big attitude, but there was no way his short little legs could handle the miles Jill logged.
Probably he should keep the dogs out longer, but he felt an uncomfortable niggle, worrying about Jill and how she was doing all alone, and hurried back after only about twenty minutes.
Seeing her still sitting at the table when he nudged open the door had him smiling in relief.
“I see you’re being a good patient.”
“Did you doubt me?”
The smile she sent back held a hint of the mischievous Jill he’d adored.
“I’m limiting myself to one event per day of finding myself on the floor.”
“How about trying for zero events? The first one about gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m still sitting here, aren’t I? By the way, Kandie called and she said she can stop by after work tonight to check on me, see if I need anything. How would you feel about taking the dogs to your place until Briana gets here? I mean, I know you’re super-busy, but you can hire a dog walker to take them out while you’re at work. It...it wouldn’t be for long.”
How much he didn’t want to leave her or the dogs shocked him, and his feet seemed rooted to the floor even as he’d been thinking about how difficult it was to be here with her.
“Is Kandie spending the night?”
“No, of course not. She has a young son, and there’s no reason for her to do that.”
“Post-op orders are for you not to be alone tonight.”
“I feel okay. Barely woozy from the pain meds now. I’ll be fine.”
“Is the woman who just fell in the bathroom actually saying this?” He stared at her. “You’ll need to take meds when you go to bed, to help with the pain when the block wears off. And what if you fall again with nobody here?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“It did happen—and, since you’re a smart woman, you know that’s not something you can assume.”
He folded his arms across his chest, ignoring her mulish expression. Two could play at the stubborn game, and he had no intention of losing because the thought of her lying hurt and alone chilled his blood.
He realized there was only one solution that would solve the problem, difficult though it might be.
“You and the dogs are coming home with me, and staying there until your sister comes.”
CHAPTER THREE
JILL’S HEART BUMPED hard against her ribs, then seemed to stop for a moment before revving up again. Stay at Conor’s place? Be close to him for hours on end, reminded of all the good and bad parts of their marriage and why it had fallen apart?
“No.” A feeling of panic filled her chest. “I’m not doing that. Period.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I live just a couple blocks from HOAC. Tomorrow morning you’ll get your cast off and have a splint made, then you’ll be able to easily go back to my apartment and get some rest.”
“No. There’s no way—”
“Listen to me.”
He pulled the other chair close to her and leaned forward. His expression was earnest and determined, and she’d learned from the past that trying to fight him when he’d made up his mind would be like beating her head against a brick wall, bringing another bruise. But that kind of bruise wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as the one on her heart.
“I get that you want to limit how much time we spend together—I do, too, to be honest. But remember my work hours that you hated so much? I’ll hardly be around—just enough to make sure you’re okay overnight. To walk with you to your appointment tomorrow morning. I’ll find someone who wants to make some extra cash by checking on you when I’m not there and walking the dogs. It’ll work out until your sister gets here. By then you’ll be off the pain meds and able to stay alone.”
She absorbed his words. The logic behind them. Her apartment was a good half-hour trek away from the center on the subway. When the numbness wore off and her cast was replaced by a splint she’d be in pain and still a little drugged up. Plus, she knew from talking with her patients that the challenge of trying to function with one hand wasn’t going to be easy—especially with no one around to help.
Time for her to act like the mature and reasonable woman she was trying to be. The one who was fighting her insecurities and who didn’t want or need a relationship until she’d dealt with all the baggage her marriage to Conor had proved she still carried around.
And maybe it wouldn’t be too awful. He worked so much she’d probably hardly see him. Finding someone else to help her and take care of the dogs, with him basically an overnight watchdog for the next few days, was the logical solution.
Rock versus hard place. That described the situation to a T. She couldn’t deny that trying to stay here alone, with her arm still in the nerve block, and then somehow making her way to the orthopedic center all by herself in the morning wouldn’t be easy, even if she took a taxi.
“All right.” She heaved out a resigned sigh, shoving down the dread that came along with it. “I know you’re right. I shouldn’t be alone right now. Just for a day or two, though. Then I’ll come back here, and you can keep the dogs until Briana comes.”
“Thank you.” He stood and looked down at her, his expression hard to read. “I’ll clean up the dishes while you rest.”
Hating this whole scene, she reached for her spoon but managed to knock it off the table instead. Apparently clumsiness was part of this whole experience, and she sighed as she leaned over to pick it up off the floor. As she did so, her stupid dead arm swung out.
Yorkie had been standing there, waiting to see if some treat might be offered, and her arm in its heavy cast hit the poor pup right on his little nose, knocking him sideways to the floor as he yelped.
“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry! Aw, come here, Yorkie.” She reached out her good hand and was glad he came over to let her pet him, clearly not holding a grudge.
“Damn. That thing is a lethal weapon,” Conor said as he stepped away from the sink. He reached for her numb arm, currently held in a sling, and placed it back against her stomach. “Poor dog. And poor you.”
He gathered up Yorkie, tucked him under his arm and scratched behind his ears, with an indulgent smile on his face which sent another stab to her chest.
This was the sweetness she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The thoughtful and considerate man who had treated her like a princess during that brief month they’d dated before they’d impulsively, excitingly, got married. The man who hadn’t even particularly wanted the dogs, never having had a pet, but who’d wanted her to be happy. And then had seemed to so enjoy playing with them for the few hours a week he’d been free.
A thick lock of blond hair tumbled onto his forehead as he talked to Yorkie, and remembering how they’d felt about each other not too long ago made her heart pinch. How in the world were they going to handle spending time together again?
A deep fatigue crept through her bones and she found herself folding her good arm onto the table and leaning her head on it. Tonight and the next few days couldn’t go by fast enough.
A large hand rested softly on her temple, its fingers caressing the top of her head. “You’ve had a big day. Let’s get your overnight things packed up. The sooner you can get to bed, the better.”
“All right. But yo
u don’t need to help. I can do it.”
“Three hands are better than one.” He sent her a lopsided grin. “Show me where your suitcase is and we’ll get it done.”
It seemed to take longer than it should to pack a few clothes and toiletries, but of course there were the dogs’ things to get, too. Their beds, with Hudson’s being a big armful, their food and bowls, their leashes... Finally Conor had everything stowed in the car and had come back to help her to the curb.
“You want me to water your plants before we go?”
“Water my plants?” She stared, astonished he would have thought of that. “You never even liked all the plants I brought to...to our apartment before.”
“Just wasn’t used to having living things around that needed attention.” His smile disappeared. “And that was a poor choice of words, wasn’t it?”
She knew he was referring to her. To her neediness and insecurities during their marriage. Something she wasn’t proud of. “Accurate choice. And I’m working on all that.”
“Nothing you ever needed to work on. I told you that. It was all me.”
Not true, and she knew it, but it was ancient history. “Anyway... I just watered the plants a few days ago, so they’ll be fine until I get back.”
“Let’s go, then.”
He helped her down the narrow stairwell of her apartment, then eased her into the plush front seat of his car. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze to get both dogs in the back seat, but they’ll be okay, don’t you think?”
“They haven’t been in a car since...you know. When you brought them here.” Lord, this was feeling more awkward by the moment. “But I think they’ll be fine.”
In minutes he’d returned with the dogs, who bounded into the back seat with excitement. Jillian had to laugh at how comical it was to see Hudson pretzeled in there, but his doggie grin showed he didn’t mind a bit.
“This reminds me of a clown car,” she said, glad to have the dogs to talk about. “How many Hudsons can you fit in a luxury sedan?”
“I believe the answer is one.” Conor grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat. The purr of the powerful engine competed with the sounds of the city as they drove through streets now brightly lit through the dark night sky.