He saw her startle at his tone, but she said nothing, only raising her eyebrows as she replied, “Are you sure you’re ready.”
“I need to get moving. Doctor Graham said I could start walking on crutches soon. I want to do it now.”
“I’ll get you in the wheelchair. Then we can walk in the hallway.”
“No. I’m tired of that damned thing. I want to walk now.”
“Do you think you’re up to it?”
He grinned sheepishly. “No time like the present to find out. I’d like to surprise Gracie.”
Molly grabbed the pair of crutches leaning against the wall. Pearce rotated the wheelchair and took one crutch from her. Molly leaned over him, sliding an arm around him. The scent of her cologne made his senses reel, and he had to balance himself as she assisted him to a standing position. His head towered above hers.
Holding onto the crutch on one side and Molly on the other, Pearce took slow, testing steps. They were as far as the sliding patio door when he winced in pain. He felt the muscles of his face tightening, as if the pain sucked in the hollows of his cheeks. Even in the meager reflection of the glass door, he could see his sudden paleness, and he white-knuckled the crutch. He felt her arm tightening around him.
“Should we stop for a bit?” Molly asked.
“Sounds like a good idea.” His voice sounded labored, and his chest heaved with each breath. From the concerned look on Molly’s face, Pearce knew she was feeling his pain, and he knew she didn’t want to push him. He tried to ignore the discomfort, but he needed exercise to regain muscle tone he’d lost since the accident.
“Do you want something for the pain?” Molly asked.
“No!”
His voice was short, and sharp as a dagger. He saw her face tighten, and his voice softened. He leaned on one crutch and reached a hand to cover hers.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be doped up on painkillers any more.”
“I know. But you still need them. You don’t want to be in so much pain you can’t do your physiotherapy.”
“They make me drowsy. I can’t think straight. I don’t want to get addicted to them.”
“We can cut down on them, but don’t let the pain get so bad it won’t work.”
Pearce loosened his grip on the crutch. He felt stronger, and the pain faded. “Can we try again?” Molly nodded and he took another step on the crutches. “I’ll let you know when I need something.”
Molly muttered, “Martyr.”
“I heard that.” His face relaxed into a grin. “I’m no martyr, believe me.”
He grinned at her. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and something else. It was the something else that made his heart beat at such a break-neck speed that he felt suddenly dizzy and had to clench onto the crutch. Molly looked away, as if trying to hide the blush flooding her cheeks. She tightened her hand on his elbow.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Molly asked.
He hoped he was ready and they wouldn’t both end up on the ground. Her closeness was doing crazy things to his mind, not to mention what it was doing to his body. He was relieved they didn’t have far to go because his legs felt as unsteady as brittle twigs. By the time they reached the patio, they were both breathing heavily. Molly settled him on one of the lounge chairs and flopped down beside him.
“Am I too much for you, Molly?”
Instead of words, Molly shook her head and smiled. He raised a questioning eyebrow, but Molly was saved from answering his question by the arrival of a laughing child and a barking dog.
Pearce caught on quickly to walking on crutches, and Molly was relieved when she could let him maneuver on his own. The closeness of helping him practice using the crutches had taken a toll on her senses. His body had been tense and stiff. Was he feeling the same attraction to her as she was to him? Was he trying to fight it too? Or was he just glad not to have to be dependent on her anymore?
But the effort exhausted him, and he rested frequently. He was sitting at his desk after a particularly strenuous session.
“I can’t believe how much this accident has taken out of me. Sometimes I feel as weak as a newborn kitten.”
“Give yourself time,” Molly said.
“I’ll be okay soon, and able to manage on my own.”
“You’ll have that cast on for another several weeks, and you can’t put any weight on it for a while. You’re going to need someone to help you.”
“I’ll manage.”
“What about clothes?” She pointed at the split she’d made in his jogging pants so he could pull them over his cast.
“My legs aren’t as attractive as yours.” Pearce shrugged. “But I could wear shorts.”
“They are hairier.” Molly laughed. “But what about Gracie? How are you going to get her dressed? You can’t manage all those stairs to the second floor.”
Molly saw Pearce’s shoulders slump and knew he felt defeated. The bed he’d had moved into his office worked for him, but he couldn’t move Gracie’s bed and all her things downstairs.
“Maybe Gracie could sleep in the family room. You could bring anything she’d need down before you left,” Pearce said.
“It sounds feasible, but I don’t know how it would work in reality. What if she, or you, needed something else?”
“I know it’s crazy.” Pearce shrugged. “But you can’t stay forever.”
“Do you have anyone at all that can help you?”
He turned to look out the window, then back at her. His shoulders had slumped another notch and his lips formed a pencil thin line. “I had Bridget Flynn, a woman from town, coming in four days a week to look after Gracie and clean the house, but her mother broke her hip and she went to take care of her. I’ve worked from home since then. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
“I could stay for a bit.”
“Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?”
“Well,” Molly paused, “I can delay my leaving for a while.”
“You would do that for us?”
She shrugged. “You need help. I can put my plans on hold till you can manage, or until your Mrs. Flynn is back.”
The smile she gave him lit up her green eyes. “If it’s not too long.”
“You are an angel.”
“I’m not an angel, but thanks.”
“Well, Molly, you are my angel. I couldn’t manage without you.”
“I’m doing it for Gracie.”
Pearce tipped his head and grinned. “Don’t I count in there, even a little bit?” He chuckled when he saw the blush rise in her cheeks. Reaching out, he closed his hand around hers. Her hand was warm and soft and he didn’t want to let go, but he forced himself to give it a quick squeeze and then released it. “Don’t worry, Molly, I’m not going to take advantage of the situation.” He winked. “Not that I wouldn’t want to.”
When she grinned back, a grin that set her emerald green eyes twinkling, she reminded him more of a mischievous elf than an angel. He didn’t want to add how difficult a task not taking advantage of her might be.
He needed to change the direction his mind was traveling before he couldn’t hide the evidence of his raised testosterone levels. “You want some coffee?” he asked. “I think I could manage to make some.”
The crutches made a hollow clip clop on the ceramic tile as Pearce made his way to the kitchen. He could do this. He was capable of making coffee, and a simple lunch.
He leaned his crutches against the counter and started opening cupboards. He pulled down the coffee and a couple of plates. After setting the coffee going, he slid a crutch under one arm, grabbed the plates, and turned to put them on the table. The rubber tip of the crutch caught on the floor, then the plates were slipping out of his sweat-covered palm. The crash of the plates shattering into a hundred jagged pieces almost covered the sound of his cursing.
He slumped against the counter and used the crutch in an attempt to gather the broken pieces into a pile. The crutch flew out of his grasp, went spiraling across the floor, then he was following. Another loud crash as he hit the floor, another curse, then came the sounds of running footsteps.
He had to get up. His leg hurt, his butt hurt, and worse than both, his pride hurt. Was he not even capable of making a simple lunch? He looked around. Where was that cursed crutch? It lay on the floor several feet away. Could he shuffle across the floor on his butt and get it? Could he reach it and be back on his feet before Molly found him and his pride suffered even more? He bent his good knee and did a clumsy shuffle across the floor.
But Molly was at the doorway, her face etched with concern. “Are you okay?”
He glared at her. “I’m fine. I like pretending I’m a crab.”
“Do you want help?”
“No!”
Pearce glared at her. But she must have dealt with worse patients than him, for she just stood at the doorway, unfazed. He could see the grin she tried unsuccessfully to control. He must look quite the sight, but he wasn’t in the mood to laugh at the situation—feeling helpless was definitely not something he enjoyed.
“Just leave me alone.”
He saw her grin fade and the hurt look in her eyes. He even saw the tear that threatened. Pearce shook his head. How could he be so cruel? She didn’t deserve his outburst. She’d done so much for him, and none of this was her fault.
“I’ve got to learn to do this myself.” He could feel his facial muscles tighten.
“You do.” She nodded. “But you don’t have to learn it all today. I can see you’re not used to needing, or accepting, help.”
“What was your first clue?”
Molly shrugged her shoulders and tipped her head to one side. Her green eyes twinkled, and her laugh was like the tinkle of fine crystal. “It might have been the string of foul language, or the thunderous look on your face, or the pleasant tone of your voice.”
He sighed and looked up at her. “I guess you’re right. Anything else you’ve learned about me?”
“You’re determined, stubborn.”
She opened her mouth as if to say more. Pearce wondered if she had more attributes to disclose and whether they would be positive or negative. But she must have thought better of getting too personal as she changed the subject.
“I told you I could stay until you get on your feet and learn to manage better on crutches.”
“I’m stubborn. I’m grumpy. And I’m determined to beat this.” He waved at his cast and the abandoned crutch. “I’ll learn.” He smiled up at her. “But I am grateful you’re staying on.”
Pearce knew he needed help, not only for himself but also for Gracie, yet for some reason he couldn’t understand why he was so reluctant to have Molly leave. He would like to get to know this woman who had rescued him. Was it more than her help he was grateful for?
“It’s not easy, but you’ll get the knack of it.”
Her voice distracted his wonderings and it took him a few seconds to realize she was talking about the crutches. “Is that your professional speech?” He arched his eyebrows. “Or is that from experience?”
“Both.”
She grinned at him, and he felt as if the sun had suddenly come out on a cloudy day. His irritation slid away. He leaned back against the cupboard and stretched his legs out in front of him. With an audible sigh, he let the tension slip away. This was ridiculous. Here he was sitting on his kitchen floor like a beached whale having a conversation with a gorgeous woman and it seemed the most natural thing in his world. “So, Molly,” he said, grinning back, “when did you get to experience walking on crutches?”
“The first time?”
“Have you needed them often?”
Molly put her hand against the doorframe and stretched out one shapely leg.
“Nice leg.”
“Thank you.”
She laughed, and returning her leg to the floor, she shook her head and grinned at him.
“Well, this leg has a bum ankle. I was in track and field as a kid, sprained it several times, and had to be on crutches.” She tipped her head to one side. “Sometimes I think I just liked the attention.”
“The attention?”
“Yes. Do you know how much sympathy a kid gets when they’re on crutches?”
Pearce laughed. “I would never have thought about that. Do you think I might be able to play on your sympathy?”
Molly raised her eyebrows. “That depends.”
What was it about the way she said ‘depends’ that sent his senses reeling? He couldn’t help his teasing tone or the wink her gave her. “Depends on what?” He was pleased to see the flush darkening her peaches and cream complexion.
“We’ll have to work out the terms.”
“Well, maybe I should swallow my pride, avoid my crab walk, and let you retrieve my crutch.” He pointed to where it lay several inches beyond his reach. “That is, if you have any sympathy you could muster for an old guy like me.”
“Do you want me to get the wheelchair?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “If you could just help me get upright again.”
As she bent to retrieve the crutch, Pearce couldn’t keep his eyes off the shapely length of her legs. She wasn’t model material. No, this woman had too many curves for that, and all of them in the right places. A treat to the eyes, and he’d definitely enjoy having her around for a while.
Pearce braced himself, hesitated, then held out his hand. “Mind giving me a leg up?”
Molly crossed the room and gripped his hand. Hers felt so soft and delicate in his rough one—its softness, a soothing salve against the anticipated pain.
Did she have the strength to get him off the floor? She looked like a porcelain doll, too fragile to be able to propel a lug like himself back on his feet. Yet she was bending over him, slipping behind him, sliding her arms around him. Her eyes questioned his readiness.
With a nod, Pearce leaned forward, took a deep breath, and bent his good leg under him. Her arm tightened around his waist, and he arched toward her. With a measured heave, Molly hoisted him upward until both feet were beneath him and the crutch again in place.
Pain shot down his leg, then radiated from his toes back up to his thigh. He gripped the crutch until his knuckles turned white. Closing his eyes, he waited for the spasm to pass. Her arm tightened around him. Despite his pain, he felt the heat of her body seep through his cotton shirt. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he leaned into her.
“Should I get the wheelchair?”
“Just give me a minute.”
When he tried to move, another shaft of pain shot down his leg. He grabbed for her arm. Pain and nausea overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and fought the dizziness threatening to send him to his knees.
That was all he needed. It was bad enough that this woman had to see him dealing with weakness, pain, and infirmity, without the ultimate disgrace of passing out on her. He slumped against the counter.
He felt as if every vestige of color had left his face. His shoulders slumped and his knees felt like overstretched rubber bands. Molly was grasping a kitchen chair and shoving it beside him. Reaching her arm across his back, she wedged her body against his and eased him onto the chair. Then she was bringing the wheelchair, transferring him to the chair, and then to his bed. He was in too much pain to protest.
As she laid him back in the bed, her body was soft against him, and the scent of vanilla filled his nostrils. He was tempted to keep his head against her chest, rest against the supple fullness of her breasts, to remember what it felt like to bask in the warmth of a woman’s body.
Just a few days ago, his life had been organized, predictable, conservative to the point of humdrum. Now, he felt like he’d staggered on a treadmill with no shut-off switch and definitely no speed controls. He’d never felt this powerless.