Page 6 of Trussed In Hope
Mindlessly, I followed his lead. I entered the house, and he closed the door behind me. His scent seemed to cover the entire space. It reminded me of the ocean–a soft and gentle breeze followed by waves pushing up to shore.
He took my bags and showed me the room he’d set up for me. As I followed him, I saw a scar just behind his ear. It was thicker than the one on his face but just as beautiful. I also noticed that he had a bit of a limp, too.
I wonder if he got them while serving.
He’d given me the main bedroom, and it was exquisite. Sheer white curtains draped around the bed, canopying it like a bed of clouds. The chests were made of mahogany and added depth to the room. White tall curtains lined the windows from ceiling to floor, giving me a picture-perfect view of nature–the trees, pastures, and the sky.
“How did you get so lucky to have this place?” I asked, turning in circles. There was a futon in front of the window, where I sat comfortably.
“A friend of mine owns the land. He recently came across a deal he couldn’t pass up. A ranch is closing up shop because it owes the bank. They sold everything they had in order to keep it. The land has been in their family for generations, and keeping the ranch was more important than being able to wrangle the animals. My best friend–Hardison–knows that I have experience with horses and cows and his foreman could use the help in exchange for having this place.” He rolled my luggage into the expansive walk-in closet.
“That’s damn impressive. I hope it all works out.” I paused and rubbed my hands on my knees to make the jitters go away before I dared speak to tell him about my having to leave.
“I–ah–need to get back to my call. Welcome to Cadell’s Fields. If you can give me ten minutes, I promise that I’ll be a better host.”
I nodded, lost for what to say. He was having a miserable time with whatever was happening, making me feel even more guilty about leaving.
When he didn’t return after twenty minutes, I stood and walked out into the living room to see him sitting on the couch with clasped hands.
“Everything okay?” I asked, though it clearly wasn’t.
“If I were smart, I’d lie to you. Tell you I have my shit together, but I guess I don’t.” Honest eyes looked up at me for a second before his gaze dropped back to his large hands.
They fit his body structure. He was easily 6’4”, making me feel petite at my 6’0” height. He was stocky, though toned. Instead of sitting, he had folded in on himself.
“Then tell me how you don’t have it together.” I sat next to him. “I can handle the truth. Respect it even more.” Lord, I sure knew I couldn’t judge.
“My physical therapists who showed up today were a bust. I don’t know what those young girls were expecting when they arrived, but I know they didn’t do any work. I need daily workouts to keep my leg strong. It relieves the aches that like to settle in.”
“I kind of overheard when I arrived. Are they going to do something about it?”
“No, they said they don’t have anybody that can come and see me for another few days. They were excited to chat about their sex lives, though. They were so busy talking and were in a rush to leave that she left her binder and stuff here.”
“Where?” I searched the living room with my eyes but came up short.
“Kitchen table.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
“No.” He leaned back onto the couch, silently pouting his man pout.
I found the binder and looked inside for a quick summary of his case—shrapnel injury. There was a list of exercises for her to perform on him and some practice ones that he’d do alone.
I brought the file over to where he sat. “These look easy enough. If you’re willing to try them out, we can do it right here on the floor.”
I disappeared into the hall closet across from the bathroom, guessing I’d find linen in there. I found a thick duvet for him to lie on. Then I returned, moved the table over, and spread it for him. “Want to?”
He stared at me for a minute, like I had three heads before he agreed. He stood up, and I helped him into the flat position on the floor. I made sure that he was comfortable and then checked the book for directions.
“Says you should stretch first.” I showed him the paper and how we would stretch his legs. “I’ll support your leg. You’ll lift your hips.”
“Okay.” A firm nod confirmed he was ready.
He lifted his hips, thrusting his pelvis upward.
Sheesh.I guess I now knew he could f–
He relaxed, counted to five, and did it again. Yup, he was gifted in that department. His hips worked just fine. I tried to focus on what we were doing to keep my mind out of the gutter, but it was difficult. Hardison was fine. Sinful even.
