by Laura Scott
“Where do you want your art supplies?”
“Anywhere is fine.” He shrugged out of his backpack and carefully set it on the bed. She could tell that he valued his prosthesis as much if not more than the paint and canvasses he’d recently purchased.
She decided to set the bag on the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. It was caramel in color and looked nice against the yellow walls. The green room was great, but she found she liked the cheerfulness of the yellow.
She glanced toward the door. “If you’re set, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait.”
His deep and husky tone sent goose bumps rippling over her skin. She met his gaze and knew he wanted to kiss her again.
If she were smart, she’d leave. Kissing Jonas would only get her in trouble. It would make her heart ache with longing for something she’d never have.
But her feet stayed stubbornly rooted to the floor.
Jonas picked up his crutches and came toward her. When he was close enough to touch, she came forward, eliminating the gap between them.
“Izabella.” Hearing her full name only shot her pulse higher into the stratosphere. He pulled her close and lowered his mouth, capturing hers in a sweet, then increasingly passionate kiss.
She clung to his shoulders, reveling in being held against him. Desire sparked, then flamed, making her dizzy.
The butt of the gun digging in to her side brought reality crashing down.
He was a wounded soldier looking for solace. As soon as he was moving independently, he’d go on his way.
Leaving her heart broken in tiny bits behind.
“I have to go.” Bella stumbled as she hurried toward the door. Before Jonas could say a word, she slipped out and closed the door behind her.
Once she was in her room, she collapsed on the side of the bed, shaking her head at her foolishness. She had no willpower when it came to resisting Jonas. He was everything she liked in a man. And he could kiss better than anyone she’d ever been with.
Even Greg. She squelched the flash of guilt. Greg was gone, and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t want her pining over him forever.
But Jonas McNally? She sighed. Loving a man like him was a sure path to heartbreak.
Time for her to move on.
10
By some miracle Jonas managed not to fall flat on his face when Bella abruptly walked away. He wasn’t sure what had caused her to end the kiss, and he was tempted to go to her room and demand an explanation.
But his therapy session caught up to him, exhaustion rolling over him in waves. With a muffled groan, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t come easy, thanks to the impact of Bella’s kiss, but he finally drifted off.
When he awoke the next morning, it was already eight o’clock. His entire body felt achy and sore, but he was determined to keep moving forward with his plan of practicing twice a day to learn how to walk without any assistive devices.
He couldn’t wait to get rid the despised crutches. And in his mind, canes weren’t any better. His personal, and admittedly aggressive, goal was to be able to walk down the aisle at Jazz’s wedding on his own two feet.
After a quick shower, Jonas made his way down to the dining room. He’d hoped to find Bella there, but there was no sign of her. Instead, he found two couples he’d never seen before sitting at tables overlooking Lake Michigan. He’d almost forgotten that Jazz and Jemma had guests for the weekend.
Was Bella taking advantage of sleeping in? She certainly deserved it after everything that had happened, but he’d hoped to share breakfast with her again. Eating alone reminded him of the long days he’d spent in the hospital.
His stomach rumbled as Jazz came over with a pot of coffee. “Morning, Jonas. I heard you came in late last night.”
Her cheeky grin made him inwardly groan. His sister was already matchmaking. If Jazz acted this way in front of Bella, she was sure to run for cover.
“I’ll have the French toast.” As much as he didn’t want to broach the subject, he found himself asking, “Has Bella been down yet?”
“Yes. She’s already up in the garage apartment, applying a second coat of paint to Jemma’s room.” Jazz filled his mug with coffee. “She sure is dedicated to helping us while she’s on vacation.”
“Yeah.” He wanted to believe Bella’s interest in helping was partially because of him, but he wasn’t sure that was true. Bella’s nature was to be a giver. He wondered if he should help paint after breakfast? They’d done well working together the day before.
Yet, it might be better to use the time while everyone else was busy to practice walking on his prosthesis.
“French toast coming up.” Jazz winked at him. “You’re gonna love it. Jemma’s French toast is a big favorite. Most of the reviews on our website specifically mention it as a reason they’d come back to visit.”
“Sounds great.” He sipped his coffee, listening as the couple closest to him made plans to rent a sailboat for the day. A bittersweet reminder of what he was no longer capable of doing.
At least, not yet. Maybe someday.
He had to learn to walk first.
Jazz returned with cinnamon rolls that melted on his tongue. He hoped Garth knew how lucky he was to have Jemma and that he appreciated his sister’s talent in the kitchen.
He stopped at one cinnamon roll because gaining too much weight might throw off the fit of his new prosthesis.
The French toast more than lived up to Jazz’s praise. He was proud of his twin sisters for the new business they’d started. It would clearly be a huge success.
When he finished his meal, he took his time sipping one last cup of coffee, thinking about where he could practice walking. He needed an open space with a smooth surface. Eventually he’d need to learn how to walk on uneven surfaces, he’d noticed there were brochures in the waiting room that had shown men with one leg climbing mountains for Pete’s sake, but for now, he thought it best to heed his therapists advice by taking things one step at a time.
Maybe in the garage? It was certainly big enough, and the concrete floor was smooth. The only problem was that it wasn’t very private with the family and Bella working right overhead.
He wasn’t keen on the idea of having an audience.
“More coffee?” Jazz held up the pot.
“No thanks.” But seeing her gave him an idea. “Do you have time to give me that tour of your new place? The old Stevenson house?”
Jazz glanced around the dining room, verifying the two other couples had already left. “I’d love to. Let me check on Jemma first. We’ll do the tour before I get to work on the apartment garage.”
“Thanks.” If the place was gutted, the way Jemma had indicated a few nights ago, then it might be the perfect place for him to practice without anyone watching. He only needed an hour. Remembering how difficult it had been to walk between two parallel bars, he figured using the crutches for support would be easy enough.
Jazz returned a few minutes later. “Jemma is fine. Let’s go.” Jazz’s smile and gleam in her eye gave him the impression she was eager to show the place off.
Jazz led him down the driveway, probably thinking that it was easier with his crutches than cutting across the yard. As they approached the house, it was easy to see the neglect in the peeled paint, faded and missing roof shingles, and gaping cracks around the windows. Except for the second floor, where there were brand-new windows lined with white vinyl siding.
“It’s a work in progress,” Jazz warned as she punched in a code to unlock the door. He watched over her shoulder, memorizing the number sequence.
The door swung open revealing a wide open area with an open staircase, not as grand as their grandparents’ home but very nice. He noted there wasn’t carpet or other flooring, just sheets of plywood lining the entire area.
“This is going to be the kitchen and open-concept living room,” Jazz was saying. “A powder room will be along the back side
of the staircase, and there are four bedrooms upstairs.”
“Looks like a similar layout to Grandma and Grandpa’s place,” he noted.
“Kind of.” She waved a hand. “Only flip-flopped. We wanted the seating area to look out over the lake. So guests will walk into the kitchen here, and then follow it through to the living area. Our goal was to maximize the view.”
“Perfect,” he agreed.
“Dalton designed it. He’s an architect by background, but these days he prefers to renovate houses.”
Remembering how they’d worked together in the garage apartment, he nodded. “You two make a great team.”
Jazz gave him an impulsive hug, nearly knocking him off balance. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I love him so much. I’m thrilled you’ve come for our wedding.”
He patted her back. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
She broke away and glanced at the staircase. “The master suite is finished if you’d like to take a look.”
“Sure.” He laboriously followed her up the stairs, going much slower since he could only do one step at a time, but when he entered the master suite, a huge room with a four-poster king-sized bed done in blues and greens, he let out a whistle of appreciation. “This is incredible!”
“Thanks. Our hard work paid off.” Jazz opened the door to the bathroom, revealing a space that was almost as big as the yellow room he was currently staying in. There was a claw bathtub and shower stall with gleaming tile and glass walls. The green and blue color theme was in here, too, in muted tones.
“Impressive. You and Dalton did all the work yourself?”
“Yep.” She opened the glass shower door, waving a hand at the interior of the shower. “And this is what makes me the queen of tile. Okay, Dalton helped at first, but I’m a quick learner and finished this up all by myself.”
He chuckled remembering the good-natured ribbing she and Dalton had exchanged the day before. “You obviously deserve to wear the crown.”
That made her laugh. She led the way back to the lower level, picking up stray nails from the floor as she waited for him.
“I, uh, have some exercises to do.” He felt awkward asking but didn’t want to use the space without her permission. “Would you mind if I used this area for a couple hours per day? I won’t get in your way.”
“Of course not!” She rattled off the code he’d already memorized. “Help yourself. We’ve been spending a lot of time in the garage apartment because Jemma and Trey deserve to have their own space. We won’t do any more work in here until that project is done.”
He understood her rationale and followed her back outside. “Thanks.”
Thirty minutes later, Jonas let himself back into Jazz and Dalton’s house with his backpack. He looked around for something to sit on, realizing he hadn’t thought it through. A place to sit so he could put his prosthesis on would be nice, but he decided to make the best of it.
Ten minutes later, he was standing on both legs. So far, so good. He wanted to walk without the crutches but forced himself to walk with them, remembering Allan’s coaching as he went. Surprisingly, using the crutches was easier than the bars, probably because he was used to them. He did a second pass, then carefully turned and propped them against the wall.
Time to try on his own. Taking a deep breath in, he stepped forward with his fake leg. He held his arms out at his sides, like a tightrope walker in the circus. He brought his good leg forward and managed to stay upright.
Buoyed by his success, he did it again, only this time when he put his weight on his fake leg, he lurched to the left and fell hard onto the plywood. Splinters of wood poked into his skin and pain rippled up his leg. He clenched his jaw against the wave of agony and stared morosely up at the ceiling.
Feeling like a complete and utter failure.
Bella was surprised Jonas hadn’t come to the garage apartment to help paint but resisted asking Jazz or Dalton where he was.
After breaking away from their heated kiss the night before, she wasn’t so sure Jonas was in the mood to talk to her anyway. Running away like a schoolgirl had been foolish, yet she knew remaining in Jonas’s embrace was asking for trouble.
She hadn’t slept well, her thoughts whirling around the strange incident at her apartment and the devastating impact of Jonas’s kiss. Her emotions were already far too tangled up with him, and she knew that the more time they spent together, the harder it would be to get over him when it was time to move on.
There was no doubt in her mind that she’d have to relocate in order to get a new job. In fact, she needed to interview now, before the Battle Creek VA took any action against her. For all she knew, they’d report her to the Michigan State Board of Nursing for negligence.
She tightened her grip on the paintbrush, fighting off a wave of panic. Fighting the state board would take time and money. She wasn’t destitute, but moving to a new location would take a large chunk out of her savings. And who knew how long it would take to get through the human resources red tape of interviewing and starting a new job? In her experience, the process could easily take a month, maybe longer.
Pushing the worrisome thoughts away with an effort, she concentrated on painting. Doing the work alone wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been yesterday, sharing the task with Jonas. It was humbling to realize that her desire to be near Jonas was the main reason she’d agreed to help out in the first place. How selfish was that?
After she finished one entire wall, she took a quick break, walking into the open kitchen living area to find Dalton mounting the beautiful white kitchen cabinets. Easy to see the place was going to look spectacular when they were finished.
“Have you seen Jonas?”
“Nope.” Dalton finished drilling the cabinet into place before glancing over at her. “I’ve been working since seven thirty the minute both sets of guests came down for breakfast. Jazz was helping Jemma; she may have seen him.”
Bella felt her face flush. “Oh, it’s no big deal, I was just curious. Seems the work is taking much longer without his help.”
Dalton cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t have to help at all, Bella. After all, you’re on vacation, right?”
She nodded and looked away from his curious gaze. She didn’t want to explain why she was on a paid leave of absence from the hospital. Jonas knew, but she didn’t want the rest of the McNally clan to look at her differently after hearing about the medication error that caused a patient in her care to die. It pained her to know that even though she hadn’t made the error, she was still involved just by being part of the operating room team. “I am on vacation but didn’t have any specific plans. I don’t mind lending a hand.”
Without giving Dalton a chance to say anything more, she returned to the bedroom to resume painting. Once she’d finished the second coat, she could always excuse herself from the project. No reason to keep sticking around McNally Bay. She could easily head southwest to find a new place to live and work. It was probably a better use of her time off anyway.
Then again, her insurance company hadn’t responded to her request for a rental car. Another expense to erode her savings account. There was nothing she could do about it now, and she decided to ask Jonas for a ride to a rental car agency after lunch.
She had only gotten halfway through the next wall when Jazz came to find her. “Hey, will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” Bella set her paint roller down. “What do you need?”
Jazz grimaced. “Jonas is doing some sort of therapy in our place, and I’m worried because he’s been in there for a while now. Would you mind checking on him?”
Bella hesitated, not sure Jonas would like the intrusion. Knowing it was better for her to do it than his sisters, she nodded. “Sure thing. I was going to take a bathroom break anyway.”
“Here’s the code.” Jazz rattled off four numbers. “Thanks, Bella.”
She repeated the number sequence in her mind as she descended the stairs to ground level. After a qu
ick bathroom stop, she walked over to the rather run-down looking house.
After punching in the four numbers, she opened the door, peering through the narrow opening. “Jonas? You in here?”
There was a loud thumping sound. Pushing through the doorway, she raked her gaze over the area, finding Jonas lying on the plywood floor. He had his prosthesis on, but it was clear that he’d tried and failed to walk without any assistive devices.
Her instincts were to rush to his side to check for injuries, but she held herself back with an effort. “Need a hand?”
“No. And I don’t need an audience either.” His tone was sharp, his face pulled together in a grimace of anger mixed with frustration.
“How many times have you fallen?” She kept her tone matter-of-fact.
“Three. Not that I’m counting.” He ignored her and half-crawled over to the wall where he’d left his crutches.
The open space wasn’t set up like a therapy gym, and she knew Jonas shouldn’t be doing this alone. At the very least, someone should be there to hand him his crutches and to make sure he didn’t break any bones.
Without saying anything, she crossed over to grab the crutches. She handed one of them to him, waiting for him to use it as a prop to rise back up to his feet.
Sweat had dampened the sides of his face, mixing with sawdust to create streaks of dirt. He ground his teeth together as he leaned heavily on the crutch to lever himself upright.
“You could use a spotter.” She kept her tone mild. “It’s not smart to do a workout on your own.”
“I already told you, I don’t want or need an audience.”
“A spotter is someone who helps keep you on track. Someone who can prevent you from doing more harm than good. You’ve already fallen three times. Do you really want to add a fourth?”
Jonas avoided her gaze as he shakily stood. “I’ll fall as many times as I have to in order to walk again.”
Her heart squeezed at the desperate determination in his tone. She wanted to hug him but knew he’d only rebuff any display of sympathy.