Surrender: A Bitter Creek Novel

by Joan Johnston

  What Brian couldn’t see was the delight on her face as she hurried into her bedroom and slammed the door. She hadn’t purposely dressed for sexcess, but Brian had certainly noticed her as a woman. She was afraid to get her hopes up that she and Brian might have a future together, but they were sky-high nonetheless.

  Taylor couldn’t wait for the day when he was able to chase her down. And for what was sure to happen when she let him catch her.

  BRIAN WAS IN agony. He’d pushed too hard in rehab today, and his right leg was cramping. He was into his second week of living with Tag, and he just wanted to be off these damned crutches, so he didn’t seem like such a cripple around her. The physical therapist kept saying he was well enough to walk with a cane, but he wasn’t so sure. What if he tried and failed? Better not to attempt it until he was absolutely sure he would succeed. As for walking on his own two feet, that day seemed far in the future.

  Or maybe impossible?

  Tears of pain—and despair—squeezed from his eyes. He’d come home from rehab, plopped into Tag’s chair in a T-shirt and thigh-length athletic shorts, and put his feet up on the ottoman, too tired even to get a shower. When he’d felt the first spasm, he’d done his best to point his toes toward his body to relax his calf muscle. The cramp had suddenly gone from a 4 to a 15. He’d bitten his lower lip until he tasted blood, to keep from shrieking.

  “Brian?”

  He uttered a tortured cry and gripped his right thigh so tightly with both hands he knew he was making bruises. But the muscles in his leg were strung as tight as barbed wire ready to snap, and he didn’t know how else to counter the excruciating pain.

  He heard several things land and roll on the wooden floor and then the sound of Tag running to the kitchen.

  He arched his head back and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want her to see him like this, but he didn’t have the right to send her away. This was her home.

  But he said it anyway. “Go away. Leave me be.”

  The next thing he knew, she was kneeling beside him, shifting a dish towel from hand to hand. “This might hurt.”

  When she slipped the towel around his calf and wrapped it tight, he realized why she’d been treating it like a hot potato. He hissed in a breath and yelped, “That’s boiling hot!”

  “It was the only thing I could think of to loosen your constricted muscles.”

  He realized she’d wet the towel from the dispenser at the sink that provided instant boiling water. “I’m going to end up with third degree burns on what flesh I have left,” he muttered.

  “Shut up and think of butterflies.”

  “What the hell do butterflies have to do with anything?”

  She patted his hand where it gripped his thigh, then wrapped the towel more tightly around his leg. “Just think of something besides your leg and let this heat work.”

  Thirty seconds later he said, “It isn’t working.”

  “The heat?”

  “The physical therapy.”

  “Looks to me like you’re doing too much too soon. Again.”

  “I want to walk with a cane. Is that asking so much?”

  “It is if you end up torturing yourself with cramps.”

  “I’m afraid.” He wanted to say more, but the words were caught in his throat. Did he dare tell her how scared he was that he’d never walk again without some sort of aid? That he didn’t think his leg would ever be strong enough for him to go back to work as a firefighter? That he had no idea what he would do if he couldn’t fight fires.

  She met his gaze. “You’re the bravest man I know, Brian. You can do this.”

  “I can’t.” He felt another spasm take hold and bit back a scream.

  It took him a moment to realize she was gripping his injured calf—his ugly, deformed mess of an injured calf—in both hands as hard as she could. And it was easing the spasm.

  “Oh, God, Tag. Hold on. Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s helping.”

  It took another thirty seconds—a lifetime—for the spasm to pass. He clenched his teeth and held his breath the whole time. It took him a moment to realize the pain was gone. He soughed out the breath of air he’d been holding and collapsed back against the chair.

  He lowered his gaze to his hands, which were now knotted into helpless fists in his lap. “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to leave the towel wrapped around your calf.”

  She stood and headed toward the garage door.

  “What did you drop?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

  “The groceries.” She gathered up a cucumber and a couple of apples that had rolled on the floor and set them on the kitchen counter.

  “Come here, Tag.”

  She hurried toward him, and he knew she thought the cramps were back. When she reached him, he toppled her sideways into his lap.

  “Brian! Your leg!”

  “My leg is fine. But there are other body parts that need a little TLC.” He nuzzled her neck and felt her stiffen in his arms, but only for a moment. Her body relaxed against his as her arms slid around his neck, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “This is nice,” he said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  She gasped when he nibbled her earlobe and put a hand to his lips to stop him. “We have to be careful, Brian.”

  “Careful? I told you my leg is fine.”

  She sat up and looked him in the eye. “You said you loved me when we were lost in the forest. Then you kicked me out of your room at the hospital. Which Brian is holding me in his arms now?”

  “Neither one of those idiots.”

  She laughed. “Were you an idiot for telling me you loved me? Or for kicking me out of your room?”

  “I’m smart enough to know that when you have a beautiful woman in your arms the last thing you should do is talk.”

  He captured her mouth and tasted the honey inside. For a moment she was enthusiastically kissing him back. She suddenly withdrew and tucked her head under his chin, where he couldn’t reach her mouth.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, Brian.”

  “I know. I know. What happened out there changed you. It changed me, too. I want to grab hold of everything good that comes my way and never let go.” His arms tightened around her.

  “Brian, I’m—”

  He put two fingertips to her lips. “Shh. Don’t say anything. Just sit here and let me hold you.” He wasn’t sure whether he was embracing her more to thank her or to comfort himself. Living with her was making him want a home of his own. Living with her was making him realize he’d never really gotten over her. That what he’d pronounced as love when he’d thought he was dying might turn out to be the real thing, now that death no longer loomed.

  He understood why she was afraid of letting him get close. For the past two weeks, she’d been giving him conflicting signals, inviting him in, then backing off. She was ambivalent. Uncertain. Like tonight. Right there to help when he needed it but unwilling to accept the hug he’d wanted to give her as thanks.

  “I think you need to give rehab more of a chance,” she said.

  “Even if it isn’t working?”

  “Do you want to walk with a cane? Or not?”

  “I want to walk on my own two feet without help from anything or anyone.”

  He felt her hand on his cheek. “Then I think that’s what you should do.”

  “But—”

  She put two fingertips to his lips, then raised her head and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “That was for encouragement. So is this.” She kissed him more deeply.

  When they came up for air, she said, “Go back to rehab tomorrow and work hard, but know when it’s time to rest, so you can be stronger the day after tomorrow.”

  “Will you be waiting here for me when I get back?”r />
  “If boiling towels are your thing, I’m game.”

  He laughed. “I’ll settle for a hug and a few lazy kisses.”

  She freed herself from his embrace and got to her feet. Her eyes looked troubled.

  “What’s wrong? I can tell there’s something bothering you, Tag. Let me help.”

  “There’s nothing you can do right now. It’s something I have to deal with on my own.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. You’ve got enough on your plate. I can handle this.”

  It dawned on him that he wanted to take care of her, to take her burdens on his shoulders. The problem was that he could barely take care of himself. She was wrong about taking the time to rest. He needed to work even harder to get well. If he had to suffer a few cramps now and then, it would be worth the pain to get back on his feet.

  He didn’t want to come wooing on crutches.

  KNEELING ON THE hard stone floor of her bathroom, her head perched over the toilet bowl, her stomach revolting against the piece of dry toast she’d dared to eat for breakfast, Taylor had time to contemplate what she’d done—or rather, had not done—last night.

  The words “I’m pregnant” had been on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t spoken them. She would never find a more propitious moment to break the news to Brian that he was going to become a father. But she’d chickened out.

  The sharp knock on the door made her jerk fully upright, which unsettled her stomach, so she threw up again. Except she was vomiting with a completely empty stomach. Her eyes squeezed closed as she retched, then spit, then rinsed her mouth with water from the plastic cup sitting on the stone floor beside her and spit into the toilet, and finally, wiped her mouth with the hand towel in her lap.

  She had the whole thing down to a handy system.

  The door flew open and Brian was standing there, his brow furrowed, a look of worry in his eyes.

  She stared at him with trepidation, certain he was going to figure out—jump to the conclusion—she had morning sickness. After all, as he’d pointed out himself, there had been no package of pills in her pocket, and they’d enjoyed plenty of sex in the wilderness.

  He merely said, “I was headed to your room to ask you a question and heard you being sick. What’s wrong?”

  There it was staring her in the face. Another perfect opportunity to tell him about the whole pregnancy thing. She chickened out again.

  “I think it must have been something I ate. You need to leave, or you’ll be late for rehab.”

  Instead of making an about-face, he asked, “Have you taken anything for the nausea?”

  As long as she kept her stomach full—which sometimes meant eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in midmorning, or having a bowl of soup an hour before having a late dinner with Brian—she was spared the indignity of actually throwing up. Not eating overnight was usually the problem. “I’ll be fine. You need to leave.” She wanted him gone before he was treated to the sight of her with her head over the toilet again. Except, it was already too late.

  She lowered her head over the bowl and retched again.

  “You poor thing.” She heard his crutches clatter to the floor as he dropped to one knee beside her and held her hair out of the way.

  When she finished, she grabbed for the cup of water with her eyes still squeezed closed and ran into Brian’s hand.

  “Here. Is this what you want?” He pressed the cup into her hand.

  She gratefully took it and rinsed and spit. Before she could set it down, he’d taken it from her and handed her the towel from her lap. If he wondered why, when she was sick without warning, she still had a cup of water to rinse her mouth and a towel to dry it, he didn’t say anything.

  She sank back and heaved a tremulous sigh.

  “All done?” he asked.

  She nodded, eyes closed. Just leave. Please. I can handle this better if you’ll just leave.

  “I want you to notice I dropped to one knee, without the aid of my crutches, and didn’t fall flat on my face.”

  She opened her eyes. He was down on his left knee with his right leg bent at a ninety-degree angle. “Yeah. Yeah. But can you get back up?”

  He laughed and shrugged. “If not, we can have a party here on the bathroom floor.”

  She couldn’t believe he could make her laugh when she felt so awful. “Go away, Brian, and let me be sick.”

  “I thought you were all done.”

  It took her a moment to realize that her stomach, at long last, had settled down. “I am.”

  “Then let’s get you into bed.” He used the nearby bathroom counter to brace himself so he could get up and reached for one of his crutches to stabilize himself. “It’s my turn to take care of you, young lady.” He lowered the lid and flushed the toilet. Then he set the cup on the counter, threw the towel in the sink, and grasped her arm to pull her to her feet.

  Once she was upright, she said, “I want to brush my teeth before I go back to bed.”

  He pulled her toothbrush out of the holder and opened the vanity drawer to find toothpaste, and handed both to her, then pulled the towel out of the sink. “Go for it.”

  Taylor was wearing a filmy nightgown, but she didn’t think it was going to have much effect on Brian under the circumstances. Except, when she bent over the sink to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, she was treated to a bird’s-eye view of the bulge behind the placket of his Levi’s.

  Brian handed her the towel as she rose, and she met his heavy-lidded gaze as she wiped her mouth.

  “You look surprised to see me in this condition,” he said.

  “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty nerdy to have the hots for a sick woman.”

  A grin spread across his face, showing off his perfect teeth. “What can I say? I’m the kind of guy who can fall for a woman in a cave full of bat guano and bear scat.”

  She laughed. She’d imagined a morning like this—without the morning sickness, of course—where the two of them would laugh together as they started their day. He’d been tender and kind and thoughtful. And funny. That was quite a combination in a man.

  She opened her mouth to tell him he was going to be a father. And shut it again.

  I’ll tell him when he’s off those crutches.

  “Brian, you need to go to rehab.”

  “I’ll call and change my appointment for later in the day. Let’s get you into bed. I’ll see if I can whip up some chicken soup to make you feel better.”

  “You don’t know how to cook.”

  “Maybe not. But I’m pretty good with a delivery menu.”

  The only thing that would have made the morning more perfect was if Brian had been well enough to sweep her into his arms and carry her back to bed. She was happy enough to have him thump his way into her bedroom on his crutches and pull the covers up to tuck them under her chin. He finished by kissing her on the brow.

  “Just in case you have a virus and not food poisoning.”

  She wanted to tell him she felt just fine, that she wouldn’t mind if he joined her in bed. But she had to continue the charade until he knew the secret she was keeping from him.

  “I’m okay now, Brian. Really. You should go to therapy.”

  He sat down beside her on the bed. “I don’t know what I would have done last night if you hadn’t shown up to help, Tag.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me return the favor.”

  “All right.”

  Tag had never had a man wait on her hand and foot for an entire day. Especially one with only one good leg. She fell asleep early in the afternoon, around the time Brian was headed to therapy. She’d been taking a nap every day when he was gone and wouldn’t notice. When she woke up, he was sitting on the opposite side of the bed with his back against a pillow and his l
egs outstretched on the covers.

  She yawned, then said, “I must have fallen asleep right in the middle of whatever you were saying before you left.”

  “You did.”

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “You obviously needed the rest. Are you feeling better?”

  Taylor sat up and waited for the nausea to rise. When it didn’t, she smiled and said, “I’m good. Thanks for all the TLC, Brian. I think I feel well enough to get up and make us some dinner.”

  “So, not a virus?”

  She shook her head. “I feel fine.”

  “Good. Then I can do this.”

  He put his hands on her waist and lifted her across the bed until she was seated facing him, her legs straddling his hips.

  His hand caught her nape and drew her close for a gentle kiss.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

  “But refrained, so you wouldn’t catch whatever I had?” she asked with an arched brow.

  “I didn’t because you looked pale and wan.”

  “And I don’t now?”

  He shook his head. “You look good enough to eat.”

  She laughed. “You’re just hungry. You’ve been slurping up chicken soup with me instead of consuming the beef and potatoes you need to get strong.”

  “I’m plenty strong. In fact, watch this.” He shifted her off his lap onto the bed, then dropped his legs off the side. She looked for his crutches but didn’t see them. Instead, he reached for something on the floor.

  It was a cane.

  He shot her a look of triumph as he rose from the bed and stood using only a slender black cane. “Ta da!”

  She scrambled off the bed and nearly knocked him over when she wrapped her arms around his waist to hug him.

  “Whoa, there! I’m pretty new at this.”

  She stepped back but kept her hands on his chest. “How is this possible? Just yesterday you were still on crutches. What happened?”

  He shot her a sheepish look. “The therapist’s been telling me for a while that I should trust my leg to hold me. I was afraid to let go of my crutches for fear he was wrong. After last night, I was determined to give it a try.”