and driven. But she could sense that he was growing more impatient as time went on. She could feel the lava starting to boil beneath the surface.
One day she came in and found him staring at the small bit of rubber that he squeezed to strengthen his grip.
Looking up as if she’d startled him, Nathan managed a small and sheepish smile. “I’m beginning to hate the sight of red rubber,” he confided.
She raised one brow and smiled back. “I could get you blue.”
He stood then, forcing her to look up at him. With one finger he reached out and touched her still smiling mouth. A small feather of skin against skin, but Faith’s lips burned as though he’d stroked her with flame.
“Don’t bother,” he said, withdrawing his hand with a small frown. “I’ll survive. You look—you look different today. Happier. Are things...all right at home?”
It was the first time he’d referred to the conversation they’d had about Cory. And Faith didn’t fail to notice that his question was rather nonspecific.
“Fine,” she said with a nod. “I see your grip’s improving a bit,” she added, nodding toward his hand, moving the conversation onto safer ground.
They were back to their professional relationship. It was as if they’d never smiled, as if Nathan’s touch had gone unnoticed.
Faith should have been glad. She was the one who had made the choice to ignore his concern, his contact, and keep things businesslike. But as the evening passed, she found herself wishing she could make him smile again, a real smile this time, full-lipped and devastating. Dangerous.
There was a good reason for wanting his smiles, she told herself, a very good reason. Recovery involved more than muscles and bone. It was as much psychological as physical. And she’d been cheating Nathan so far, trying to protect herself at his expense. She’d try to remember that in the future.
But the future came sooner than she expected. She was reminded again of just how all-encompassing a therapist’s job was a few days later when a hospital staff meeting threw Faith’s schedule out of whack. Having rearranged her own patients, she arrived at Nathan’s house early to find Hannah, Nathan’s new housekeeper, still there.
“Just leaving,” she said. “I’m out tonight,” the woman boomed at her. Hannah had a body like a semi and a voice to match. “Got a family dinner, but don’t worry. I’ve got Mr. Nathan all set up. The food’s all set to go. I’ll be back in the morning bright and early.”
“But where’s Nathan?” Faith asked, looking around.
“Oh, he’s about. In the shower,” Hannah said, cocking her head.
“Nathan? In the shower? Alone?” Faith asked.
“Alone? Well, I should think so,” Hannah told her with a bewildered look. “Might as well sit down. I ran out of liquid soap and he wouldn’t let me buy anymore. Wants to stop babying himself, he says, even though managing a bar of soap’s a little rough. It takes him a bit of time to get anywhere near clean. But he’s a very independent man. All male, you know. Doesn’t like having anyone make things easier for him. Likes to manage alone.”
Faith certainly did know. She remembered her first glimpse of the kitchen. Before Hannah had come. That’s how well he had managed alone.
So as Hannah bustled out to her car, Faith wondered just how Nathan was faring. He’d been so tense lately. He needed successes, not the frustration of handling a slippery bar of soap. She wanted his attempts at doing things for himself to offer encouragement and to give him a sense of accomplishment. The prospect of Nathan forcing himself to wrestle a slippery piece of soap across his body wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
Faith knew then that she had been lax, that she should have discussed such things with him and made sure that he didn’t need help beyond what Hannah could give him.
What kind of a therapist was she, she asked herself. The answer came back, fast and hard.
One day she came in and found him staring at the small bit of rubber that he squeezed to strengthen his grip.
Looking up as if she’d startled him, Nathan managed a small and sheepish smile. “I’m beginning to hate the sight of red rubber,” he confided.
She raised one brow and smiled back. “I could get you blue.”
He stood then, forcing her to look up at him. With one finger he reached out and touched her still smiling mouth. A small feather of skin against skin, but Faith’s lips burned as though he’d stroked her with flame.
“Don’t bother,” he said, withdrawing his hand with a small frown. “I’ll survive. You look—you look different today. Happier. Are things...all right at home?”
It was the first time he’d referred to the conversation they’d had about Cory. And Faith didn’t fail to notice that his question was rather nonspecific.
“Fine,” she said with a nod. “I see your grip’s improving a bit,” she added, nodding toward his hand, moving the conversation onto safer ground.
They were back to their professional relationship. It was as if they’d never smiled, as if Nathan’s touch had gone unnoticed.
Faith should have been glad. She was the one who had made the choice to ignore his concern, his contact, and keep things businesslike. But as the evening passed, she found herself wishing she could make him smile again, a real smile this time, full-lipped and devastating. Dangerous.
There was a good reason for wanting his smiles, she told herself, a very good reason. Recovery involved more than muscles and bone. It was as much psychological as physical. And she’d been cheating Nathan so far, trying to protect herself at his expense. She’d try to remember that in the future.
But the future came sooner than she expected. She was reminded again of just how all-encompassing a therapist’s job was a few days later when a hospital staff meeting threw Faith’s schedule out of whack. Having rearranged her own patients, she arrived at Nathan’s house early to find Hannah, Nathan’s new housekeeper, still there.
“Just leaving,” she said. “I’m out tonight,” the woman boomed at her. Hannah had a body like a semi and a voice to match. “Got a family dinner, but don’t worry. I’ve got Mr. Nathan all set up. The food’s all set to go. I’ll be back in the morning bright and early.”
“But where’s Nathan?” Faith asked, looking around.
“Oh, he’s about. In the shower,” Hannah said, cocking her head.
“Nathan? In the shower? Alone?” Faith asked.
“Alone? Well, I should think so,” Hannah told her with a bewildered look. “Might as well sit down. I ran out of liquid soap and he wouldn’t let me buy anymore. Wants to stop babying himself, he says, even though managing a bar of soap’s a little rough. It takes him a bit of time to get anywhere near clean. But he’s a very independent man. All male, you know. Doesn’t like having anyone make things easier for him. Likes to manage alone.”
Faith certainly did know. She remembered her first glimpse of the kitchen. Before Hannah had come. That’s how well he had managed alone.
So as Hannah bustled out to her car, Faith wondered just how Nathan was faring. He’d been so tense lately. He needed successes, not the frustration of handling a slippery bar of soap. She wanted his attempts at doing things for himself to offer encouragement and to give him a sense of accomplishment. The prospect of Nathan forcing himself to wrestle a slippery piece of soap across his body wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
Faith knew then that she had been lax, that she should have discussed such things with him and made sure that he didn’t need help beyond what Hannah could give him.
What kind of a therapist was she, she asked herself. The answer came back, fast and hard.
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