A Cowboy's Pride. Pamela Britton
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really. Just wheel yourself close to the rope and pull yourself up.”
He eyed the rope in question. The thing dangled down from the branch above him, one with a canopy of leaves so thick you couldn’t even see through it. Why did he have a feeling this wouldn’t be as simple as she made it sound?
“You sure it will hold my weight?”
She smirked. “Positive.”
Okay, so he was stalling, but he was really sore. All he wanted to do was sit in the damn chair.
He reached for the thick hemp, the fibers biting into his palms. It was as wide as a candlestick and easy to handle. He didn’t have any problem lifting himself up, either, but the minute he’d pulled himself out of his chair, she jerked the thing out from under him.
“Hey!”
“Won’t do you any good if you sit back down.”
He dangled there like a stupid monkey and all she did was smile. “What am I supposed to do? Hang here?”
“No. I want you to straighten up. Use your legs to stand, then try walking.”
“I can’t walk. I’ll fall on my ass.”
“No, you won’t. Just use the rope for balance.”
He took a deep breath, let go with one hand and slapped a palm farther up the rope. His legs dangled uselessly beneath him.
“Stupid.” He didn’t mean to say the word out loud, but it slipped from between his lips before he could stop it.
“There’s nothing stupid about this. I’ve seen your file. I looked at your scans. There’s no reason why you can’t regain the use of your legs. You just need to learn to trust them.”
His arms had begun to shake. He pulled himself up another notch.
“There,” she said. “Now get your legs beneath you.”
“Can’t.”
“Do it.”
He tried moving them, but as always, all he could do was swing them a little. He had no control. Just useless lumps of meat.
She leaned closer to him. “Move them.”
His heart pounded. His arms had started to hurt.
“No.”
He fell. She caught him, somehow supporting his weight, though how she did it he had no idea.
She smelled good.
“Do it again.”
“No.”
She started to let him go. He flailed his arms for the rope. Once again he found himself dangling there.
“Now move.”
“I can’t, damn it.”
His arms started to hurt all over again.
“Just try.”
“I am.”
How long he hung there, he didn’t know, but he’d be damned if he let go again. Alas, his body had other ideas. His grip began to loosen. He froze.
And fell once again into her arms.
“That’s it.” He huffed. “I’m done. Get my chair.”
Lord, she smelled good.
“I can’t reach it and still hold on to you.” She strained beneath his weight, he could tell. “Grab the rope.”
“I don’t have the strength to lift myself up.”
“Yes, you do.”
He tried moving his limbs. Surprisingly, they worked, so much so that when they kicked into action, his legs shot them both backward. Somehow, she managed to swing his body around, his butt landing heavily in his wheelchair.
“See. I told you. I can’t do it!”
“You can,” she said, stepping back and sounding as out of breath as he felt. “All you need is practice. Come on. Let’s do it again.”
“No.”
She cocked her head sideways. “No?”
He tried to keep his voice level. “It’s no use. I tried the same sort of exercises before coming here, not this one exactly, but close. Nothing’s helped. You’re wasting your time.”
She stared down at him. He wondered if she’d push the issue. She didn’t.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” She bent and picked up the picnic basket. “But I won’t work with someone if they refuse to help themselves.” She slung the thing over her arm. “You have a choice to make, Mr. Anderson. Either you do the exercises I prescribe, or you go home.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t like wasting my time with half-ass efforts.”
“Half-ass?”
“So if you decide to stay, you will do exactly as I tell you to do. If you don’t, have a nice life.”
She turned away.
“Wait. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me here?”
“You know the way back to your cabin.”
She spun around and walked backward. “If you decide to stay, be at the barn tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock.”
“And if I don’t?”
She smirked again. “Like I said. Have a nice life.”
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