cabinet.”
“Well,” Meg said, “there are no guns here—”
She glanced at Cole for confirmation.
“No guns,” he said.
“And we don’t need them,” Meg said. “Because Uncle Cole wants to get better and because of that he’s going to do what we say.”
“I don’t think—” Cole began.
“If he cheats, I’ll arrest him,” Charlie announced, his expression stern. “Cuz I want him to take me fishing. I don’t know about skiing. I never been.”
“You’ll like it,” Cole said. “I’ll take you when my knee is healed.”
“I want Aunt Meg to come, too.” Charlie reached out and took her hand, the gesture warming her heart.
“Then I’d better start getting in shape,” Cole drawled.
“I can help with that,” Meg said.
“I see that look in your eyes,” Cole said. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Meg?”
“Your CPM machine,” she said, not at all affected by his easy smile. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” Cole gestured toward the hall with his head.
In Meg’s experience, a continuous-passive-motion machine was often prescribed for use during the first two weeks after an ACL reconstruction.
“Have you used it today?” she asked.
“I was busy.” His tone held a defensive edge. “Getting things ready for you and Charlie.”
Meg wasn’t sure that Cole was physically capable of doing much to ready the house for their arrival, but she let the topic drop.
“What degree of extension does the doctor want you to achieve before you discontinue the use of the CPM?” Meg kept her tone professional and her comment to the point.
“Ninety-five,” he said.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“I’m almost at ninety-five,” he called to her retreating back.
Meg kept walking. The awkwardness of his gait told her he still had a way to go. Only when she reached his bedroom door did indecision strike. She really should have secured his permission before entering his personal space.
Of course, since he wasn’t yelling for her to return or telling her to stay out, apparently he was okay with her retrieving the equipment. Right?
Pushing open the bedroom door, her breath caught in her throat. Bedroom? More like a suite. A sizable sitting area done in burgundy and grays held a love seat, an easy chair and an end table. A flat-screen television was mounted on one wall. The step up to the king-size bed was aesthetically pleasing but probably a hassle to Cole in his current condition. She took note of the CPM machine next to the bed but passed by it, not ready to stop exploring.
Off to the right was a bathroom with a glassed-in shower and a separate alcove with a tub the size of a Jacuzzi.
Cole’s razor and shaving cream were on the bathroom counter between double sinks. A burgundy towel hung drying on a silver towel bar.
A manly mixture of cologne and soap and shaving cream lingered in the air. Meg could see Cole standing in front of the mirror clad in nothing but a towel, beads of moisture clinging to his muscular chest.
For a second she was back in his old Chevy, tentatively sliding her hands up under his shirt, exploring those muscles with the pads of her fingers.
An unexpected ache of longing washed over her, shocking her with its intensity. The intimacy they’d shared in the vehicle’s backseat had been her first, and if his awkwardness had been an indication, his, as well. It made no sense that the long-ago encounter that night had become the gold standard.
Though Meg hadn’t had many lovers since, she’d had a couple. Both were experienced men. Neither one had sent fire rushing through her veins with a single touch. Or brought her to completion that left her breathless and longing for more.
Meg took a deep breath, banished the memory to the past where it belonged and turned back to the bedroom area, to the equipment propped up beside the headboard. She gathered it in her arms, finding the item more unwieldy than heavy.
When she reached the living room Charlie was
“Well,” Meg said, “there are no guns here—”
She glanced at Cole for confirmation.
“No guns,” he said.
“And we don’t need them,” Meg said. “Because Uncle Cole wants to get better and because of that he’s going to do what we say.”
“I don’t think—” Cole began.
“If he cheats, I’ll arrest him,” Charlie announced, his expression stern. “Cuz I want him to take me fishing. I don’t know about skiing. I never been.”
“You’ll like it,” Cole said. “I’ll take you when my knee is healed.”
“I want Aunt Meg to come, too.” Charlie reached out and took her hand, the gesture warming her heart.
“Then I’d better start getting in shape,” Cole drawled.
“I can help with that,” Meg said.
“I see that look in your eyes,” Cole said. “What do you have in mind, Aunt Meg?”
“Your CPM machine,” she said, not at all affected by his easy smile. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” Cole gestured toward the hall with his head.
In Meg’s experience, a continuous-passive-motion machine was often prescribed for use during the first two weeks after an ACL reconstruction.
“Have you used it today?” she asked.
“I was busy.” His tone held a defensive edge. “Getting things ready for you and Charlie.”
Meg wasn’t sure that Cole was physically capable of doing much to ready the house for their arrival, but she let the topic drop.
“What degree of extension does the doctor want you to achieve before you discontinue the use of the CPM?” Meg kept her tone professional and her comment to the point.
“Ninety-five,” he said.
“I’ll get it for you.”
“I’m almost at ninety-five,” he called to her retreating back.
Meg kept walking. The awkwardness of his gait told her he still had a way to go. Only when she reached his bedroom door did indecision strike. She really should have secured his permission before entering his personal space.
Of course, since he wasn’t yelling for her to return or telling her to stay out, apparently he was okay with her retrieving the equipment. Right?
Pushing open the bedroom door, her breath caught in her throat. Bedroom? More like a suite. A sizable sitting area done in burgundy and grays held a love seat, an easy chair and an end table. A flat-screen television was mounted on one wall. The step up to the king-size bed was aesthetically pleasing but probably a hassle to Cole in his current condition. She took note of the CPM machine next to the bed but passed by it, not ready to stop exploring.
Off to the right was a bathroom with a glassed-in shower and a separate alcove with a tub the size of a Jacuzzi.
Cole’s razor and shaving cream were on the bathroom counter between double sinks. A burgundy towel hung drying on a silver towel bar.
A manly mixture of cologne and soap and shaving cream lingered in the air. Meg could see Cole standing in front of the mirror clad in nothing but a towel, beads of moisture clinging to his muscular chest.
For a second she was back in his old Chevy, tentatively sliding her hands up under his shirt, exploring those muscles with the pads of her fingers.
An unexpected ache of longing washed over her, shocking her with its intensity. The intimacy they’d shared in the vehicle’s backseat had been her first, and if his awkwardness had been an indication, his, as well. It made no sense that the long-ago encounter that night had become the gold standard.
Though Meg hadn’t had many lovers since, she’d had a couple. Both were experienced men. Neither one had sent fire rushing through her veins with a single touch. Or brought her to completion that left her breathless and longing for more.
Meg took a deep breath, banished the memory to the past where it belonged and turned back to the bedroom area, to the equipment propped up beside the headboard. She gathered it in her arms, finding the item more unwieldy than heavy.
When she reached the living room Charlie was
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