foam rubber. That also explained his physique, so
impressive for a man with such limited mobility. “You should stick with it.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve gotten all the good I can
out of that stuff. Months of it, and I still can’t get by without that thing.”
He gestured to the cane next to him.
Harley approached the edge of the pool. He looked different,
but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just an illusion created by
the shimmering light reflected from the pool onto his face. “Hand me that
towel?” He did, and she draped it over her shoulders, which made her feel less
vulnerable under his scrutiny. “Was it painful, the weight work? I mean,
considering the extent of your injuries…”
He tensed, and that provided her answer. “It wasn’t the pain,”
he said finally. “It was the lack of results.”
“You might get better results with swimming,” she said. “And I’ll
bet it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Harley, listen, I don’t want to insult you or anything, but
you really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know a little,” she said. “I was on the swim team as an
undergrad, and my coach was this woman named Eve Markham. She was from Palm
Beach, your kind of people— old money. She swam in two Olympics—’64 and ‘68—and
then she did swim therapy with Vietnam vets. They were amputees and guys with
paralyzed limbs—major injuries. Then, during the time she was coaching my team,
she also worked with physically challenged kids, and I used to help her out.
She taught me a lot. Sometimes we’d go out for pizza afterward. Eventually she’d
always get to talking about the wounded vets. She said the hard part wasn’t
knowing what kind of stroke or how many laps they should be doing, that was
common sense. The hard part was motivating them, making them want to do it.
Once they started swimming, really putting their hearts into it, they made
terrific progress. Almost all the guys she worked with far exceeded what the
doctors said was possible. She was famous for her results.”
“That’s real inspiring.” he said dryly. “The key, of course,
is the motivation part, making them want to do it. Apparently she was pretty
good at it, and apparently you’re not. Too bad she never shared her secret with
you.”
“She did.” Harley said, and instantly regretted it. Quickly
she added, “But it’s… not something I would do.” Her face felt warm. Rather
than let him see her blush, she popped up onto the deck, stood, and pulled the
towel over her head to dry her hair off.
She could hear Tucker struggling to his feet. “What did she
do, hold a gun to their heads?”
“No. It doesn’t matter, I just wouldn’t do it her way. It’s
not my style, I couldn’t pull it off.” She tossed the towel aside and, wet and
chilly, looked around for her robe. Tucker had it. He was behind her, holding
it open for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves,
and he closed and tied it for her, from behind.
“Double knot, right?” he asked.
“I’ll do it.”
But he did it himself. Even through the thick terry cloth,
she felt his warmth. Her wet hair had gotten caught under the collar of the
robe, and he pulled it out, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck. Her
heart was racing and she felt a little breathless.
“Wow, you’re tense,” he said quietly. He worked his fingers
gently along the muscles of her neck. “You just swam, you should be loose.”
With one hand against her sternum to hold her still, he kneaded her neck and shoulders with his long fingers. His
hands felt very strong, and they seemed to know just where and how to rub.
“You’re good at that,” she murmured.
“I learned how in the hospital. Massage is the only good part
of physical therapy.”
As he worked, Harley felt a band of tension loosen, and her
eyes closed. She decided it was dumb not to tell him. “What Eve did, to get
them motivated, she told them that she was
impressive for a man with such limited mobility. “You should stick with it.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve gotten all the good I can
out of that stuff. Months of it, and I still can’t get by without that thing.”
He gestured to the cane next to him.
Harley approached the edge of the pool. He looked different,
but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was just an illusion created by
the shimmering light reflected from the pool onto his face. “Hand me that
towel?” He did, and she draped it over her shoulders, which made her feel less
vulnerable under his scrutiny. “Was it painful, the weight work? I mean,
considering the extent of your injuries…”
He tensed, and that provided her answer. “It wasn’t the pain,”
he said finally. “It was the lack of results.”
“You might get better results with swimming,” she said. “And I’ll
bet it wouldn’t hurt as much.”
“Harley, listen, I don’t want to insult you or anything, but
you really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know a little,” she said. “I was on the swim team as an
undergrad, and my coach was this woman named Eve Markham. She was from Palm
Beach, your kind of people— old money. She swam in two Olympics—’64 and ‘68—and
then she did swim therapy with Vietnam vets. They were amputees and guys with
paralyzed limbs—major injuries. Then, during the time she was coaching my team,
she also worked with physically challenged kids, and I used to help her out.
She taught me a lot. Sometimes we’d go out for pizza afterward. Eventually she’d
always get to talking about the wounded vets. She said the hard part wasn’t
knowing what kind of stroke or how many laps they should be doing, that was
common sense. The hard part was motivating them, making them want to do it.
Once they started swimming, really putting their hearts into it, they made
terrific progress. Almost all the guys she worked with far exceeded what the
doctors said was possible. She was famous for her results.”
“That’s real inspiring.” he said dryly. “The key, of course,
is the motivation part, making them want to do it. Apparently she was pretty
good at it, and apparently you’re not. Too bad she never shared her secret with
you.”
“She did.” Harley said, and instantly regretted it. Quickly
she added, “But it’s… not something I would do.” Her face felt warm. Rather
than let him see her blush, she popped up onto the deck, stood, and pulled the
towel over her head to dry her hair off.
She could hear Tucker struggling to his feet. “What did she
do, hold a gun to their heads?”
“No. It doesn’t matter, I just wouldn’t do it her way. It’s
not my style, I couldn’t pull it off.” She tossed the towel aside and, wet and
chilly, looked around for her robe. Tucker had it. He was behind her, holding
it open for her. She slid her arms into the sleeves,
and he closed and tied it for her, from behind.
“Double knot, right?” he asked.
“I’ll do it.”
But he did it himself. Even through the thick terry cloth,
she felt his warmth. Her wet hair had gotten caught under the collar of the
robe, and he pulled it out, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck. Her
heart was racing and she felt a little breathless.
“Wow, you’re tense,” he said quietly. He worked his fingers
gently along the muscles of her neck. “You just swam, you should be loose.”
With one hand against her sternum to hold her still, he kneaded her neck and shoulders with his long fingers. His
hands felt very strong, and they seemed to know just where and how to rub.
“You’re good at that,” she murmured.
“I learned how in the hospital. Massage is the only good part
of physical therapy.”
As he worked, Harley felt a band of tension loosen, and her
eyes closed. She decided it was dumb not to tell him. “What Eve did, to get
them motivated, she told them that she was
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