House Calls Read online

  Beyond the dense treeline and thick underbrush he caught occasional glimpses of a house here and there and flashes of shimmering blue water beyond. The scent of clean lake air washed over him. He used to love the water. It should have been soothing, yet it only reminded him of waterskiing and windsurfing and all the other things he could no longer do.

  She followed the road about a half mile around the lake, then pulled onto a long dirt driveway. Weeping willow branches brushed the top of the SUV and dappled sunlight dotted the windshield. The trees opened up to deep-blue water—miles of it—and an endless stretch of clean white sand. The cottage was small and quaint and meticulously kept. The entire setting was picturesque—like a scene from On Golden Pond.

  So why did a hollow, relentless ache settle deep in his chest?

  Maybe because he’d just realized what he’d agreed to—an entire summer of torture. A summer to contemplate all he would never do again. And he couldn’t back out. Not now. He was stuck here.

  Wonderful.

  “Home sweet home.” Maggie pulled up in front of the cottage and cut the engine.

  Pete opened the door and eased himself down. She’d insisted on leaving his chair back at his parents’ house, so negotiating the uneven ground to get to the door was going to be tricky. He was still having a hell of a time putting any real weight on his leg.

  “Stay right there,” Maggie said, “I have something for you.”

  She walked around back, opened the hatch and fished something out, then continued around to his side. When he saw what she was holding he shook his head.

  “No way. I refuse to use a cane.”

  “It’s temporary. You need something to get you through the first couple of weeks, until we get that leg stretched out.”

  “I told you before, I am not going to limp around on a cane.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Have it your way. When I’m in town I’ll stop by the medical supply and get you a walker.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s a joke, right?”

  She shrugged again. “It’s this or a walker, take your pick.”

  Oh, she was evil.

  He looked down at the cane she was grasping. To her credit, it wasn’t the silver, geriatric variety he often saw his older patients using. It was crafted from deeply stained cherry, with a gold band and a flat, ornately carved handle that showed a fair amount of wear.

  “It was my grandfather’s,” she said, gazing at it with affection. “He used it for a couple years, before he needed a wheelchair, so it has sentimental value.”

  She was even more evil and scheming than he’d imagined. If he said no now, it would be some slight against this grandparent who she obviously held dear to her heart.

  “He was your height, so it should be just about the right size,” she coaxed, waving it in front of him.

  Pure evil.

  “Two weeks,” he told her. “Two weeks and this thing goes in the closet.”

  “Whatever you say, doc,” she agreed, handing it to him.

  Tentatively, he reached out and took it from her.

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  He gave her an exasperated look.

  “Save the sarcasm. It actually takes a fair amount of coordination. Particularly since you’ll be using your left hand. You have to keep your steps in sync with the cane. To your benefit you have exceptional upper-body strength. You try it out while I take the bags inside.”

  Maggie disappeared behind the SUV and Pete gripped the cane in his left hand. It was comfortable, but strange and unfamiliar at the same time. He looked over to be sure Maggie wasn’t watching—the last thing he needed right now was an audience—then took a few tentative steps, stumbling on the rocky ground. Damned if she wasn’t right, it was difficult to coordinate his movements. His left hand wanted to swing forward with his right leg, but that meant his left leg bore the brunt of his weight. That was bad.

  He tried again, slower this time, resting his weight on the cane as he stepped with his right leg, then, centering his weight on his right leg, he stepped with his left. He managed two successful steps before he nearly fell flat on his face.

  Rather than let himself get discouraged, he took a deep breath and tried again. The afternoon sun beat down hard on his back, and sweat beaded his brow, but he was determined to get this right. If he could cross-country ski, he could do this, damn it.

  Maggie watched Pete through the car window as she unloaded the bags. She knew if she could only get the cane in his hand, get him to try it, he would learn to use it. He was too proud not to. She also knew he wouldn’t want her standing and watching, telling him what to do. He would want to figure it out for himself—which was both good and bad. And though he’d had a rough start and a bit of stumbling, already his steps were more in sync. What the cane would do, even more than aid his walking, was build his confidence. He would be able to move faster and worry less about stumbling or falling.

  She watched the muscle in his bare left arm flex and contract as he moved slowly forward. His brow was knitted deeply in concentration and sweat had begun to soak through his shirt. He stumbled again, this time nearly taking a nose dive into the dirt, and she cringed. She wanted to run to his aid, but knew he’d only brush off her help. He needed to do this on his own. Stubborn bastard.

  And she admired the hell out of him for it.

  He stopped for a moment, both hands braced on the cane, and she wondered if that was it, if he’d had enough. He took a couple of deep breaths, straightened up and started over again. Then she had no doubt that he wouldn’t stop until he’d perfected his technique. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief, hefted the last of the bags from the back and carried them to the door.

  The truth was, it made her ache to see this once larger than life man so beaten down—and by his own pride. She would use whatever means were necessary, no matter how unconventional, to rehabilitate Pete, and when she’d taken him as far physically as she could, she was determined to make him see that living with a disability wouldn’t make him less of a man.

  Failure wasn’t even an option.

  Pete stretched and opened his eyes, disoriented at first by his unfamiliar surroundings. The cottage.

  Dark paneled walls came into focus, lined with row upon row of framed family portraits. Red-checked curtains hung in wood-paned windows and a rickety wooden storm door led out to a screened-in side porch that overlooked Turtle Lake. The air was musty with a vague hint of some kind of flowery potpourri. It was all so…quaint. A pleasant change from his parents’ mausoleum of a house.

  On the rare occasion his parents had taken him along for family holidays, they’d stayed in five-star resorts and hotels. He tried to imagine his mother in a place like this, with no one to wait on her hand and foot. With no silk sheets, fine china or gourmet cuisine.

  It was enough to make him grin.

  He pushed himself to a sitting position on the threadbare old couch—which was a lot more comfortable than it looked—and glanced at his watch. He’d wandered around outside for a good hour after Maggie had left to get groceries, investigating his surroundings, practicing his new walk, until his arm trembled from the physical exertion. He hadn’t meant to doze off, only to relax for a few minutes. But he felt surprisingly well-rested for having slept only an hour and a half. He was a little sore, but he felt, well, good. As if he’d actually accomplished something today. Something important.

  The storm door squeaked on its hinges as Maggie stepped inside from the back porch. When she saw him sitting there, she smiled a bright, happy-to-see-you smile that instantly lifted his spirits. The body-hugging, low-cut tank top and short-shorts didn’t hurt either. Her figure was above average with modest clothing on. Like this, she was…wow. On a scale of one to ten, she ranked right up there in the low twenties. Her breasts were full and round, and he’d bet his medical license they would feel fantastic pressed against his chest—or other places.

  And if he didn’t alter the dir
ection of his thoughts, her body was going to raise more than his spirits.

  “Well, look who’s up,” she said. “Have a good nap?”

  He yawned and stretched. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to doze off.”

  She gestured to the small kitchen at back of the cottage. “I got a bunch of deli meat and cheese and some whole grain bread if you’re hungry.”

  “Maybe later,” he said, looking for his cane, finding it just where he’d left it, on the floor beside the couch.

  “In that case, would you like to join me for a swim?”

  She didn’t tack on the “it would be good for your leg” line, even though he knew she was thinking it. And knowing she was thinking it dashed his enthusiasm. Maybe he just didn’t like someone telling him what to do. Or maybe it was because lately everything seemed to revolve around his disability. For once he would like to do something for the sake of doing it, not because it would be good for him. But he was stuck here, so he might as well make the best of it. The sooner he got on with the rehabilitation, the sooner he got on with his life.

  Besides, a swim sounded pretty good.

  “Yeah, I’ll come with you,” he said, using the cane to hoist himself up off the couch. “I just need a minute to find my swim trunks.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you outside.”

  She disappeared into her room, and he hobbled into the adjacent bedroom and closed the door. It was on the small side and had the same dark paneling as the rest of the cabin. The full-size bed was made up with flowered sheets and a colorful hand-stitched quilt, and in the middle of it sat his bags.

  He unzipped the one with his clothes and fished around for his swim trunks. He was tempted to take a moment to unpack and organize—a practice that had been hammered into him in boarding school. Instead he changed and grabbed a beach towel from the closet Maggie had pointed out to him earlier, then slowly navigated his way out the door to meet her on the beach. He’d pretty much mastered regular walking, but the wood steps from the porch proved to be another new challenge, as did walking on the beach. When he put weight on it, his cane sank deep in the sand, throwing him off balance.

  Pete was so focused on not tipping over, he didn’t notice Maggie standing knee-deep in the water. And when he did look up and see her, he was so stunned, he nearly fell flat on his face. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when she suggested they go swimming, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

  She was wearing a bikini. And to call it brief would be a gross understatement. It was practically nonexistent. She might as well have gone out naked considering how little the four small, neon-yellow triangles covered. On a scale of one to ten, she’d just been bumped up to a solid thirty-five. Her breasts were perfect, her stomach smooth and flat, her arms and legs toned to perfection. She packed one hell of a body into that frame, even though in his opinion she was bordering on too thin. And though he was her patient, he was still a man.

  He glanced up and down the beach, wondering who else might be enjoying the view. The only people he saw were too far away to get a good look. With the exception of a few boats slicing across the water, and a couple of swimmers here and there, the lake was practically deserted. He was guessing the area activities wouldn’t really pick up until after the fourth of July—which was a mere week away. For now, the solitude would be nice.

  Maggie turned her back to him and bent over, dipping her hands in the water, her bikini bottoms creeping further up her perfectly rounded backside. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to prove dressing that way, or if she was trying to prove anything. Maybe it was a tactic she used for motivating her difficult patients—a definition he most definitely fell under. It would explain her impressive success rate. He’d done his homework, calling the hospital and inquiring about her reputation, and was told that indeed she was the best money could buy. Not that he’d expected any less from his parents.

  Oh, if his parents could see her now…

  Maybe this was normal for her. Maybe she was a nudist, and for her this was modest.

  Either way, at this rate, it was going to be a really long summer.

  Five

  “The water’s a little chilly,” Maggie called out.

  Oh good, Pete thought, peeling his eyes from her rear end. That would save him the hassle of a cold shower.

  Although now that he thought about it, he hadn’t considered how he would get into the lake. He didn’t want to use the cane in the water and without it his leg hurt like hell, thanks to the vigorous workout earlier that afternoon.

  “Come on,” she called, waving him toward her.

  “I better not,” he called back. “I don’t want to ruin your grandfather’s cane.”

  “Here, let me help.” Maggie waded toward him, her breasts swaying with every exaggerated step. “You can lean on me.”

  Oh yeah, Maggie’s near-naked body pressed up against him. Don’t think so. He took a retreating step. “If it’s that cold, I think I’ll skip it.”

  “Oh, don’t be a wuss. It’s not that cold.”

  Considering the tightly peaked nipples clearly visible through her bikini top, he would beg to differ.

  She stepped up beside him and took his arm, wrapping it around her shoulders. Her other arm went around his back and her hand came to rest on his waist. The sexual urges that had lain dormant inside him for so long roared to life with a vengeance.

  He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t touch her this way if they planned to keep the relationship professional.

  “I really think I’d rather not,” Pete said, attempting to lift his arm from her shoulder, trying to put a little space between them. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” she insisted, gripping his wrist and molding herself up against him. “I’m a lot stronger than I look.”

  Aw hell, he could feel himself getting aroused, and with only swim trunks on, it was going to be real obvious in about thirty seconds if he didn’t either get back into the cottage, or waist-deep in the water. And since the water was right there in front of him, that seemed the way to go.

  “We’ll take it slow,” she said, easing forward, her grip on his waist tightening as he leaned his weight into her.

  His right foot hit the water and he sucked in a breath. He usually only trekked into water this cold wearing a wet suit. “You call that a little chilly? It’s freezing!”

  “If you take it slow, you’ll adjust.” She took another step, urging him forward, then another, until the water reached his calves. She smelled exotic, like pure sex, and her right breast was cozied up against his side, which made concentrating on his steps more than a little difficult. Kind of like impossible. Which would explain why he stumbled, losing his balance, and though Maggie was strong, he outweighed her by at least half. Once they started to go down she was helpless to stop it. And because their arms were wrapped around each other, they plunged face first in the water.

  Frantically untangling themselves from one another, they both sat up, gasping at the shock of the extreme cold. It was like being tossed headfirst into a tub of ice. On the bright side, any concern Pete had of a conspicuous erection was doused by the frigid water.

  This was a hell of a lot more effective than a cold shower.

  “Or, we could just dive right in,” Maggie wheezed, shaking the water from her hair. Holy cow, that was cold.

  Pete slicked his hair back from his face. “I guess you’re not as strong as you thought, huh?”

  “I am so sorry.” She put her hand on his bad leg. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nope. Just cold and wet.”

  “This is my fault,” Maggie said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to do something you weren’t ready for.”

  “It’s okay. No harm done.”

  She still felt guilty. She didn’t know what had happened exactly. She should have been able to hold Pete upright. But when he had started to lean forward, her equilibrium had been thrown completely out of whack and she’d lost her balance. He co
uld have been hurt.

  But boy, did he look good sitting there, chest glistening in the sunlight. Even if he did have the pallor of the undead. The guy could really benefit from a couple of hours in the sun. Despite that, when they’d stood so close a minute ago, arms around each other, she’d felt the patient/physician line growing fuzzy. It must have been residual feelings from her former crush, when Pete hadn’t even known she was alive.

  Considering the looks he kept sneaking in the direction of her breasts, he noticed her now. Now that it was too late. Now that an intimate relationship would be immoral. Besides, she was sure he was only staring at her breasts because they were convenient, and he probably hadn’t seen any for a while, locked up in the house the way he’d been. So in other words, he’d have been happy looking at any old pair of boobs, not necessarily hers.

  Which made her feel worse instead of better.

  What on earth was wrong with her? Physical contact was an integral part of therapy and it had never bothered her before. Not that she was bothered per se, just a little more aware than usual.

  “You know what’s really going to be fun?” he asked, goose bumps forming on his arms. “Getting me out of here.”

  “Do you think you can get up?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. But if I don’t get up soon, I’m going to turn blue.”

  She was beginning to shiver herself. “I guess it was a little bit colder than I thought. It doesn’t really warm up until mid-July.”

  “That would have been nice to know.”

  “I could get the cane.”

  He shook his head. “It’s an heirloom. I don’t want to ruin it. Why don’t you try pulling me up to my feet?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t exactly relish the idea of crawling up to the sand. In fact, I don’t even know if I can crawl.”

  Maggie pushed herself to her feet, bracing herself against a wave of dizziness. What the devil was wrong with her? It wasn’t like her to lose her balance this way. Maybe it was hormones or pheromones or something.