Читать книгу Falling For The Cop - Dana Nussio - Страница 14

CHAPTER FOUR

“SO WE MEET AGAIN.”

A startled sound escaped Natalie’s throat as she froze in front of the closed curtain. She didn’t need to see the spoked wheel and the running shoes beneath to identify the voice that filtered out like a sneaky caress from the base of her neck to her tailbone, but she peeked anyway.

Shane.

Her mouth was suddenly dry. Of course, his name was on the appointment schedule. She’d set those appointments herself. And two days had seemed like plenty of time to prepare herself to have to work with him again. Apparently it wasn’t long enough.

How had he known she would be the one passing by his exam room right then, anyway, and not one of the other PTs or the office staff? In her navy scrubs and basic white tennis shoes, she could have been any one of them. Was there something unique about her shoes or the way she walked? And had he been watching her closely enough to notice? But then her gaze caught on the narrow opening where the two curtains met. He grinned out at her.

She schooled her surprise into a frown, but she couldn’t stop the sudden rush of her pulse or the dampness on her palms. Proving what a coward she was, she opened the chart in her arms and studied it as if she hadn’t just reviewed it with her last client. She hoped he wouldn’t notice it wasn’t his.

“What are you already doing in here?” She stepped to the counter outside his visual range and switched charts. Once she opened his, she pulled the curtain wide.

“That young receptionist helped me out since you were running late.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the front desk. “She was very helpful.”

“I bet,” she said under her breath and then grimaced, hoping he hadn’t heard. But he was reading an exercise chart on the wall, the one designed for clients with knee injuries. She would speak to Anne-Marie about her helpfulness later, though she wasn’t sure what she would say beyond hands off the clients. She could have used that reminder herself the other day.

“My last appointment ran over. Sorry.” She stepped to the sink and washed her hands, even though she’d just done so prior to switching clients. She spoke over her shoulder as she dried them. “Did one of your chauffeurs have to get back on patrol?”

“Four-car pileup on Interstate 96. Trooper Cole took the call. Priorities.”

“Trooper Cole?” She pursed her lips, trying to recall the name of the attractive woman she’d met the other day. “So it wasn’t...either of the officers from last time?”

His smile was slow, knowing and so sensual that it was all she could do not to fan her face with the chart. Heat rose up her chest and neck. If only she’d worn a turtleneck under her scrub top. She didn’t even want to think about any of the other places she felt warm.

She wished he would look away, and at the same time, she dreaded the moment he would. What the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stop asking dumb questions? She shouldn’t even be thinking the things she had been. She was acting as if he was the first guy she’d ever met. Well, he wasn’t, and she refused to get all flustered by this guy, who had probably turned that sexy smile on every woman in the office by now, including dowdy Beverly Wilson.

She cleared her throat, banishing thoughts that could only get her into trouble. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“I was supposed to do them at home?”

“Are you—” But she stopped herself before adding “kidding” as Shane’s grin spread wide.

“Gotcha.”

Natalie rolled her eyes and looked at the chart. She couldn’t just keep staring at him.

“You’re not the first of my clients to say something like that on a return visit,” she said without looking up.

“I’m not like your other clients.”

He had that right in more ways than he could know. “How do you know you’re different?”

“Because I did my homework. Five times a day.”

She set his chart aside, stood and opened the curtain. “You put in the work. Probably more than you should have. Let’s see how much improvement you’ve made.”

Deftly maneuvering his chair out of the tight space, he followed her into the hall.

“You’re about to be impressed. Which of the exercises do you want me to demonstrate first? I’m an expert at each.”

“None of them.”

When the grind of his rotating wheels stopped behind her, she turned to find him watching her.

“What do you mean?”

She started forward again, hoping he would follow. He did. Continuing into the activity room, she led him past some of the machines they’d used the first time to a low-tech area filled with gym mats. She stopped in front of a pair of parallel bars on a wooden platform.

“I thought we’d give these a try.”

He just stared at the contraption. “Already?”

“Why not already?”

But he was still looking at those parallel bars the way some people gawked at a line of fire trucks and ambulances racing toward someone else’s tragedy.

“I just thought we’d build up to that,” he said finally. “You know...try some other things first.”

He still wasn’t looking at her when he said it, but she couldn’t stop watching him. This didn’t fit. For the first time since he’d appeared in the clinic, Shane exuded something less than unshakable confidence. His face looked downright ashen.

“You were already using the parallel bars at the intermediate treatment center, weren’t you?”

“Just once.” He paused and licked his lips. “It was too soon.”

“But you’re stronger now.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t sound convinced. Which didn’t make sense. He’d been so determined to get back to work. And he’d worked so hard in the clinic and at home. So why was he reluctant to even try the most important step? Why was he stalling? Was he afraid of trying to walk again...or terrified he never would?

Natalie turned her head toward the wall of windows as if she could find answers in that angry sheet of gray. She shouldn’t become personally involved. Her only job was to use her skills to help an injured client become stronger. If he chose not to—or was too scared to—improve the quality of his life, that was none of her business.

It couldn’t matter that his reticence reminded her of her mother’s choice not to reclaim her life. She couldn’t go there. Shane and her mother might both be in wheelchairs, but they couldn’t have been more different. One knew the risks when he’d put on that uniform. The other had just been living her life until she became collateral damage in a public-sanctioned joy ride.

She shouldn’t allow herself to be drawn in by someone who represented all her family had lost. She shouldn’t wonder if he was hurting in a way that had nothing to do with the bullet-size scar on his back. She shouldn’t stick her nose into other people’s problems when she had enough of her own. But something was keeping Shane from walking when he should have been, and now that something was keeping him from even taking the critical first steps. And, God help her, she had to find out what it was.

* * *

SHANE STARED UP at the pair of parallel bars and then lowered his gaze to his gripped hands, his nail beds turning white halfway down from his tight squeeze. He could feel the sweat building just under his hairline, but there was no way he would reach up to swipe his forehead. Not with Natalie already watching him closely enough that she had to know what he was feeling, and it wasn’t confidence. Chicken, maybe? He hated like hell that he couldn’t shake off all those feathers.

Of course his PT would expect him to stand up from that chair eventually. Had he expected to walk again from a seated position? Maybe he should have tried it while lying flat on his back.

No, he hadn’t expected either of those things, but like he’d told her, maybe it still was too soon. It probably didn’t say anywhere in his file that he’d had a bad fall the first time the hospital PT staff had used that sling thing to lift him out of his bed and that half of his sutures had to be sewn again. If he’d believed that just by changing his treatment location he could exorcise his fear of falling again, he was dead wrong.

Was this why his recovery had stalled?

He glanced at the bars again, and a seed of panic embedded itself in his gut.

“Okay. Have it your way. For today, anyway.”

Natalie had closed the file now, her steady gaze seeming to judge him a coward.

“You know, the sooner we get you up on your feet—”

“I know. I know. It’s just...” He shook his head, the truth too embarrassing to share. He was like a toddler who’d fallen once and decided to settle in as a permanent crawler.

“I guess we can continue a few more days with your first group of home exercises. But by the end of next week—”

“Yes. Next week,” he said to cut her off. The sooner they stopped talking about it, the sooner he could stop sweating like a marathon runner hitting a wall near the twenty-two-mile marker.

“Well, let’s get started.”

She flipped open his file again to the sheet of exercise instructions she’d given him on Wednesday. He didn’t need to see it to begin the stretches he’d already memorized. Filling the role his coworkers had taken during his home sessions the past few days, Natalie lifted his leg, straightening and bending it several times before lowering it to the ground.

“I’m getting an idea why the muscles in your upper body haven’t atrophied as much as we would have expected by now,” she said as she lifted the other leg. “You’ve only been working out from the waist up.”

He couldn’t help grinning at that. “So you noticed my upper body?”

She frowned up at him, the color in her cheeks deepening.

“It’s my job to pay attention to such details about my clients.” Without looking at him again, she repeated the stretch on his other leg. “Besides, who could avoid noticing when someone looked like a cartoon character?”

“I guess there are worse things to be compared to than a cartoon hero.” He’d take her words as a compliment, even if she hadn’t intended them that way.

“Whoever said hero?”

“It was one of the few things I could still do in bed.”

Her lids fluttered, her blush deepening over his comment about his activities in bed.

“What was?” she managed.

There were so many things he could say, but he gave her a break this time. “Low-weight strength training. Sometimes I couldn’t watch another minute of TV, and my eyes were strained from reading. So I had a friend bring over her hand weights. I started with the five-pound ones.”

“You should have been exercising under a medical professional’s care. It might have caused more damage—”

“More damage than a bullet?”

She shrugged. “Well, not that much.”

“Anyway, there was hardly any moment when at least one medical professional wasn’t watching me or telling me what to do.”

“We tend to do that.”

Shane smiled at that. At least some of the tension between them had dissipated. He just hoped she didn’t ask him now why he was putting up roadblocks in the path of his recovery—because that would only multiply the stress again.

If he knew the answer to that question, he would be pushing the obstacles out of the way as fast as his arms could move them. It wasn’t that he was afraid of walking again—he couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted more.

But what if it just wasn’t in the cards? What if he got up there on the parallel bars and nothing moved, ever, except his arms as they dragged his legs behind him? How could he repay his debt to society then? He had to make some progress, had to have some good news to share with Kent. Especially now, since his mentor’s cancer had failed to respond to the most recent round of chemo.

But he couldn’t tell Natalie that. It probably wouldn’t come off as such a great story, since Natalie definitely had something against police officers. He’d been wondering what it could be for the past few days, but had told himself he would only be opening a can of worms if he asked. But suddenly he had an irrepressible urge to pop open that can’s lid.

“So, what do you have against cops, anyway?”

She dropped the file and had to pick it up again before she could look at him. “I don’t have anything against cops. Why would you ask something like that?”

“That’s the story you’re sticking to after the other day with the cops and robbers comment and the question about whether or not I bothered to wear a vest?”

“It was just a bad—”

“A bad day. So you’ve said. But most of us have our bad days without offending an entire profession.”

Instead of answering, she shrugged.

“Is it about the problems law enforcement has had with the African-American community?”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

He cleared his throat, his face suddenly hot. “I mean...well... I thought that maybe you might be...”

“Biracial?”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just—” He cut off his words, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from gliding over the smooth-looking skin of her neck before returning to her gleaming eyes. “Again...sorry.”

But the side of her mouth lifted. “Usually I pass.”

“For white?” Immediately, he wanted to know why she would want to pass for anything other than the amazing beauty that she was.

Her chuckle surprised him.

“It’s only fair since my main exposure to the African-American side of my heritage is the two boxes I check on applications.” She glanced at the exercise list, not meeting his gaze. “But race issues aren’t the only reason I’m not a fan of cops.”

“Then why not?”

“People become police officers for the excitement of shooting suspects or driving fast cars to chase down criminals,” she said and then pulled her sweater tighter over her shoulders.

He lifted a brow. “That’s it. Really? Even after the number of high-profile police shootings involving unarmed young black men, that’s your reason?”

“I said those weren’t the only reasons.”

“Did you know that the majority of police officers work a full career without ever having to discharge their weapons, except in training? And in some cities, they don’t drive fast cars or motorcycles at all. Some are on horseback. Or even riding bicycles in crowded areas.”

She sighed as if she realized he wouldn’t give up the point—she was right about that.

“I just hate...hate when they act like cowboys, racing around like no one else matters.”

For several seconds he could only watch her. What wasn’t she telling him?

“Present company excluded, right?” he asked when she didn’t say more. “Lately, I don’t drive anything fast or get to race around anywhere.”

She shrugged. “Forget it. Let’s get back to work.” She stared pointedly at him. “And you’d better keep up your upper-body regimen, because you’ll need those arms to support you on the bars next week.”

“Guess so.”

He shifted again, as she’d probably guessed he would. She was deflecting, and that told him that she was hiding something. Had something happened between her and a police officer? Had she dated a cop who turned out to be a creep? Just the thought of that had him strangely unsettled. He knew plenty of guys who wore the uniform and were jerks in the dating department. Some women he’d flipped through in his continual rounds of speed dating might include him in that category. But what bothered him more? That some cop might have burned her or that another officer might have dated her?

Too many questions, and he shouldn’t have been wondering about any of them, let alone asking them. He had enough of his own problems right now. Natalie didn’t appear to be in the mood to answer his questions, anyway. She’d suddenly become engrossed in his file, though nothing inside it had changed in the two days since his last appointment.

As Shane waited for her to finally look his way again, his gaze shifted around the room. The same machines and mats and gadgets that had been there during his last appointment had been left idle, waiting for PTs to begin torturing their patients. An open doorway led to another activity room with a miniature set of mats and equipment for children. Shrill laughter filtered from the room as if to clarify the space’s purpose. A couple of glass-walled offices lined the opposite side of the room, their blinds tightly closed, rendering the open layout moot.

Not far from the intimidating parallel bars, a collection of framed certificates and photographs lined one of the walls. He’d noticed it the first time, but he’d been too busy checking out his therapist to take a closer look. Now that he had some free time while she pretended to study his file, Shane rolled closer to the display.

The certification documents were what he’d expected—one for Natalie Ann Keaton and a few for some other physical therapists. The other documents were thank-you letters and such from pleased clients, but the photos were what interested him most. They were of youth sports teams.

He blinked as he paused on the three wheelchair basketball team photos. In all three photos was none other than Natalie Keaton, wearing a bigger smile than she’d ever given him. He suddenly wondered what it would feel like to have her smile at him that way, but he tucked away the thought where it belonged.

“You’ve found out all of my secrets.”

He started at the sound of her voice, surprised that he hadn’t heard her approach. He’d been off the job too long if his senses were that dull. If nothing else, he should have felt this particular woman’s nearness from the electric jolt she usually gave him.

“You mean that you smile really big when you’re not on the job?” He immediately regretted his words. Now she knew that he’d only been looking at her when he should have at least feigned interest in the other subjects of the photo.

At her frown, he grinned. “Oh, you mean that you coach.”

“Guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher her comment. “Why shouldn’t it surprise me that you coach wheelchair basketball?”

“Oh... I mean...you know...that I played.”

“How would I know that you played?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She shrugged, but he could have sworn that she scrunched her shoulders more than she had been already. She couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if she’d been standing there beautifully nude instead of wearing those curve-masking scrubs. Then he would have been the uncomfortable one. At least he hoped his body would respond that way to seeing a sexy woman in the altogether. But he couldn’t worry about that now, not when her discomfort over their conversation was still so obvious.

Was this about her height? Sure, she was tall. Her willowy frame had been one of the first things he’d noticed about her. Well, not the first, but close to it. Would it surprise her that she wouldn’t look so tall if he were standing next to her instead of sitting?

“What position did you play?” He didn’t know why he asked. He might understand the intricacies of the two-point conversion or a hook-and-ladder play, but he had no clue what happened on a basketball court. Still, it was easier than asking why she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. How could she not know how beautiful she was?

Instead of relaxing over his inane question, she winced.

“Center.”

She watched him as if that admission should mean something.

“Were you good at it?”

She squinted at him as though he’d missed something, but she answered anyway. “High-school good. No D-1 colleges were chasing me, if that’s what you’re asking. Especially when I spent all of my time at practice.”

He lifted a brow. “Why do you say that? Most of my coaches were all about putting in the work.”

“Not that kind of practice. Five hours a day of piano practice.”

“Piano?” He watched her for several seconds, trying to picture her playing. Strange, though—he could just as easily imagine her long and elegant fingers skimming over his skin as floating over ebony and ivory keys.

“But that was a long time ago.”

She turned to study another therapist and his patient as if to signal that the subject was closed.

“Anyway, the Livingston Community Center was trying to build a youth wheelchair basketball team to compete with teams from surrounding counties, and someone suggested that I should coach. Probably because of my game experience and my medical background.” She shrugged. “Anyway, the kids are great, and they work so hard. We have a game tonight.”

“I bet you’re a really good coach.”

He didn’t know why he’d said it, and he had no proof to back up his belief, but the way she smiled at the young faces in those photos told him he was right.

“Well, I’m not being a good PT right now, standing around talking about myself.” She returned to the file in her arms. “We have work to do, so stop wasting time by asking me questions. I’m on to your game.”

He was stalling today for more than one reason, so he appreciated that she didn’t mention the other. Though he allowed her to direct him through the series of exercises, his thoughts were far from the strengthening of weakened muscles. He had so many questions about the woman instructing him that he kept losing count of his repetitions.

He’d planned to keep his distance from Natalie, to see her as his physical therapist and nothing more. But each little thing he learned about her only made him more curious. An athlete who played piano off the court. A tall, beautiful woman who was uncomfortable with her amazing body. A biracial woman who knew precious little about the African-American experience. Her contradictions drew him in as effectively as her beauty had. Possibly more.

Though she’d joked that he’d discovered all of her secrets, he really knew only a few. And he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know them all.