Snowstorm Confessions. Rachel Lee
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her legs.
The knock on the door surprised her. She wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour, but there was Jack, safety bar and tool kit in hand.
“That was quick,” she said.
He shrugged and gave her a shy smile. “I heard about the guy. Didn’t figure it could wait long.”
“I really appreciate this,” she assured him as she let him in.
“Why do you have to take care of him?” Jack asked as he headed down the hallway to the bathroom. She wasn’t surprised he knew where it was since he’d replaced the tile for her last year.
“Do you see a convalescent home within a few hundred miles? He can’t be moved yet.”
“So how’d you get to be it?”
Good question, she thought. “Because I’m a sucker?”
He astonished her by turning sharply, looking angry. “Don’t say things like that about yourself. You’re a nice lady.”
His vehemence surprised her so much that she nearly stepped back. Jack usually seemed so calm and pleasant. But then his face smoothed and he shifted the bar so he could enter the bathroom.
“I used to know Luke,” she said finally. “It seemed like the right thing to do for a friend.”
“Like I said, you’re a nice lady. Where you want this bar? By the commode or in the shower?”
“He won’t be taking showers while he’s here. Just by the commode. To help him move in and out of the wheelchair.”
“He’s pretty messed up?”
“Seriously messed up.”
“Too bad. This won’t take long.”
She was glad, actually glad, to head back to Luke. Something about Jack disturbed her this morning. He didn’t seem quite like himself. But then everything in her life felt strange right now, so why should Jack be any different?
Luke had finished the iced coffee and asked for more when she got back. At the moment she was glad just to be busy. Everything was off-kilter, and ordinary tasks suddenly felt like a lifeline to sanity.
Luke was back in her life, however temporarily; Jack seemed weird; and God knew she didn’t feel at all like herself.
Jack finished up in about twenty minutes. He had her test the bar to her own satisfaction, leaning her full weight on it.
“Great job,” she told him.
He smiled shyly. “It’s easy.”
“Maybe for you.”
That made him beam. “You got a vacuum? I’ll get up the dust.”
“I can take care of it. The store must need you back.” And she needed him out of here, though she wasn’t sure why. Ordinarily she didn’t mind having Jack around when he was doing a job for her, but today...today something was different.
He looked surprised but finished packing his tools and headed out. She’d get a bill from the store at the end of the month, so he didn’t have to even pause for payment. She was relieved to close the door behind him.
“What was that?” Luke asked.
“My handyman, Jack. I had him put a safety bar in the bathroom for you.”
“Sorry. Sorry for imposing. Causing trouble.”
“It’s not your fault.” She could say that much with truth. And at least he seemed to be growing steadily more coherent. Maybe there wouldn’t be any long-term effects from the concussion. God, she hoped not. Mild concussions had been known to mess people up for years or longer.
Then a thought occurred to her. “Luke? Have you worked with Mike Hanson for long?”
“Five, six years. Why?”
“I just wondered.” Because he’d been the only other person out there when Luke fell, and Luke had initially claimed he’d been pushed. “Do you remember any more about what happened?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s common enough, to forget what happened right before.”
“I hear. I guess I stirred up a mess of trouble, saying I was pushed. Wonder where that came from.”
“The concussion,” she said with more surety than she felt. “People can say and do a lot of crazy things.”
“How do you know what’s real?”
She managed a smile for him. “By what doesn’t change.”
“Not true,” he said, his face drooping. “Life changes. All the time.”
“You’re right. It does.” And sometimes that was its saddest part.
* * *
Changing the sheets and sponging him down didn’t prove that difficult physically, but for her it was sheer hell psychologically. She lowered his leg so she could roll him onto his side and sponge his back. She didn’t care if the sheets got damp, but beneath them was a foam pad, what they sometimes called an egg crate, to help prevent pressure sores. That definitely couldn’t get wet.
So she pulled out a rubber sheet, and once she had carefully rolled him to the side, she tucked it beneath him to catch any water. It was then she saw all the bruises that covered his back. She couldn’t withhold a sound of distress.
“What’s wrong?” He was starting to sound pretty groggy from the pain pill.
“Your back is a mess. You must have rolled when you tumbled. Just bruises. Let me know if I hurt you.”
“You already did that,” he muttered.
She had to resist an urge to snap at him, especially since she was sure he wouldn’t have said it at all if he weren’t full of drugs and concussed. Luke had never been a man to show weakness of any kind. Initially she had admired that in him. Now she wondered.
Wringing out a cloth, she began to wash him from his neck down, baring only small parts of his body to prevent him from growing chilled.
“Feels good,” he mumbled.
“As long as the water stays warm,” she answered. Maybe she should have gotten a heating pad to put beneath the bowl. Or she could just hurry.
She had to be gentle, not wanting to hurt him, but she hoped the rubbing of the terry cloth would stimulate circulation. And instead of going fast, she lingered. It had been years since she had run her hands over this muscled back, but time hadn’t diminished the impact anyway. He was a beautifully built man, sculpted by years of physical labor, without a spare ounce of flesh on him. She knew she wasn’t maintaining proper clinical detachment, but she figured that was a lost cause under the circumstances.
“Feels good,” he mumbled again, drowsily.
To her, too. She worked her way down slowly, relearning every line of him, lingering more than she should have. Her breath quickened, and she felt stupid for it. This man hadn’t wanted her, and anyway, even if he had he was out of action.
When she reached his buttocks, she felt him quiver, and a similar quiver ran through her. It did not help to realize that that hadn’t died with their marriage. Biting her lip, she forced herself to a quicker pace, then covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t get chilled.
“You feeling all right?” she asked as she rounded the bed.
“Great.”
“I need to get more warm water, then I’m going to turn you again.”
He didn’t answer and she hoped he had dozed off again. This was getting too intimate when it should have been purely clinical. Damn him.
When she returned, she rolled