Falling For The Cop

“About time! All right, let’s do this,” he said with another of those grins.

She couldn’t agree more. She might not have this police officer running marathons overnight, but she would work tirelessly to help the man to walk again. Then she could get the guy who reminded her of everything she’d lost out of the clinic and out of her thoughts for good.

* * *

SHANE FOLLOWED NATALIE’S movements as she closed the evaluation-area curtain, moved to the tiny desk to grab a clipboard and then crouched near the foot plate of his wheelchair. She moved one of the feet he should have been able to at least lift for himself, pushed the foot plate to the side and rested his shoe on the ground. Afterward, she repeated the whole process on his other foot.

It was bad enough having to accept help from people, but what bothered him most this afternoon was that the therapist he was counting on to help him get out of this damn chair seemed to want nothing to do with him. He’d picked up on it the moment they’d met. Sure, she was doing her job in a distant, clinical fashion, but he was trained to pick out liars.

He was looking at one of those right now.

Unfortunately for him, Natalie Keaton also happened to be an exotic beauty with the kind of willowy body that could tempt a guy to tell a few lies of his own. Her café au lait skin, with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, made him think of Spanish coffee with whipped cream and nutmeg sprinkles. And those eyes, wide-set and nearly black, challenged him to take a deeper look.

One look too many, he guessed, from her frown when she glanced up from the floor and caught him watching her. Her loose bun was doing its job of keeping her mass of black-brown hair out of the way, but she shoved a loose tress behind her ear, anyway, as if she needed something to do with her hands. Oh, he could think of a few things... Clearly, they weren’t on the same page, he decided, as she lowered her gaze again to his feet.

Shane closed his eyes and opened them again. Why was he looking at his physical therapist like some item on the menu? What did chasing after a beautiful woman have to do with him learning to walk again? No. Run. He needed to be able to sprint if he ever hoped to be approved for patrol. Besides, there wasn’t a chance that a woman like Natalie Keaton would actually look back at him now. What did he plan to do, sweep her off her feet with his wheelchair?

“Today, in addition to looking at range of motion and doing a manual-muscle test, we’re going to check sensation, coordination and balance,” she said without looking up from the form on her clipboard. “Regarding balance, we’ll look at seated and standing balance and static and dynamic.”

“Thanks for not making me change into one of those cute little hospital gowns,” he said instead of asking for more details. “Quick costume changes don’t work well for me lately.”

“Both for here and for the home exercise program I’ll be giving you today, the sweat suit you’re wearing is fine.”

“And a whole lot less breezy.”

He grinned, but she didn’t look up to see it. Her jaw tightened, the same way it had when he and Jamie were joking in the waiting room. Those full, kissable lips curled in to form a grim line above her chin. She obviously didn’t appreciate his brand of humor. Or much else about him.

Well, why the hell not? He’d never done anything to her. Was it because he was a police officer? He would never understand why some people hated the cops without any good reason. But then, not everybody owed as much to heroes in blue as he did. Not everyone knew without a doubt that the police—or one officer in particular—had saved his life. Even if Shane would never understand why the guy had gone to so much trouble.

Without responding to his joke that even he no longer found funny, Natalie lifted his right leg and extended it from the knee until it was nearly straight. He couldn’t help but smile at the amount of effort it took for her to hold the weight of his leg. Maybe the muscle loss from inactivity wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but it would only be a matter of time until his leg was as skinny as one of her arms.

“That’s pretty good, really,” she said as she rested his foot back on the floor.

“Flexibility is not my problem. Walking is the problem.”

“I know. But we have to start somewhere.” She lifted the other leg, extended it and then set it down again.

But did she know? Did she understand that he probably needed a shrink now more than a PT, since his continued paralysis might be in his head? Even his doctors had hinted at it. Did she have any idea how critical it was for him to get back on the job and at least work toward restitution over a debt he might never be able to fully repay?

Kent Sawyer’s silly grin slipped into his thoughts then, as it often did when he was feeling sorry for himself. Kent had always been the first to tell him to buck up, but his argument was even stronger now that he gave it from his hospital bed, where Kent was giving cancer the battle of his life and losing a little more every day.

Where would he be now if the police officer hadn’t stuck his neck out for him with the courts and refused to give up on a juvenile delinquent like everyone else had? He’d deserved to be forgotten after he’d been responsible for another kid’s death, whether he could be held legally accountable or not.

Natalie cleared her throat, his silence clearly making her uncomfortable.

“Why don’t we back up for a minute?” She did just that, backing away from him and then reaching for the rolling chair behind her. Once she was seated, she grabbed his file and flipped it open. “Let’s talk a little about your injury.”

“Okay.”

“How long has it been since the accident?”

His gaze lowered to the file that probably contained all the information she could have asked for, but he decided to humor her...to a point. “It wasn’t exactly an accident. That gun didn’t go off by itself.”

“Of course. I mean the incident. So how long?”

“Over three months.” The longest thirteen weeks of his life.

“Three months,” she repeated as she wrote something on the paper. “According to your file, you sustained an incomplete spinal cord injury between L5 and S1, and the surgeon was successful in removing the bullet.” She looked up from the file. “You were lucky it was so low in your spinal cord.”

“Yeah, the doctors also said if it had been a complete spinal cord injury, I would have permanently lost all movement and sensation beneath the point of injury.” He used air quotes to indicate he was repeating the doctor’s clinical explanation.

She nodded. “And were you wearing a Kevlar vest when it happened?”

Shane blinked, the off-topic question hitting him fast and low. He was the one gritting his teeth now, but she didn’t notice. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked that, but her question sounded more like an accusation. Was she suggesting that getting shot was somehow his fault?

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

She lifted her head and blinked several times. “Forget I asked that. I was just curious.”

He studied her, noting again her light brown skin. Could she possibly be biracial? If so, she would have a better reason than most to resent those few bad apples in law enforcement who’d committed wrongs against the African-American community. But, again, that had nothing to do with him. The least she could do was get to know him before she hated his guts.

She fidgeted under his scrutiny. “I said forget I asked.”

“Then to ease your curiosity, yes, I was wearing a vest. Funny thing about so-called bulletproof vests. They’re really only bullet resistant.”

“Oh.”

“That was my thought.”

“Sorry...that it happened.” Natalie glanced down, becoming engrossed with the file she held. She tapped the paper with her pen. “How long were you in inpatient rehab?”

“Eight weeks. And then four weeks of in-home PT after. Yet here I am.” He gestured toward his chair. “I need to get back to the force now. No. Sooner than that.”

“You have to be patient,” she said. “Every recovery is different.”

“Well, this one is taking forever. I mean, the doctors assured me I would walk again, but...” He shrugged.

“I’m sure you’ll be back to playing cops and robbers in no time.”

She chuckled when she said it, though her eyes darted to the right, as if she was suddenly uncomfortable. But he wouldn’t let her get away with a comment like that again. Even if she had a good reason to dislike cops, she didn’t get to take it out on him.

“I’m more concerned about getting back to work so I can help people.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Sorry. Long day.”

“The day’s only half over.”

“I mean it.” She paused, looking at the floor. “That was uncalled for. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s good to hear.”

He didn’t doubt what she said was true. Natalie Keaton didn’t appear to be the kind of woman who slipped up often, so part of him liked that he’d pushed her off her game. Was it because he unnerved her? Who was he kidding? He was the only one who’d been affected in any way by their meeting. And he’d better get over it in a hurry.

This wasn’t about attraction, or lack thereof. It was about him learning to walk again. Soon. Sooner if he ever hoped to be out on patrol again instead of warehoused behind a desk or, worse, be thanked for his service and put out to law-enforcement pasture with the other officers who’d given almost all for public safety.

As his physical therapist, Natalie might be the one thing between him and that meaningless future. Well, she and whatever was messing with his head and keeping him from walking. But until he figured that out, she was all he had. So he didn’t care what problems she had with him. He intended to win her over to his side. His future depended on it.

CHAPTER TWO

“IT’S ABOUT TIME.”

Shane’s words as they reached the reception area were the same ones he’d said before, and, again, Natalie couldn’t have agreed more. The appointment had to have lasted longer than just an hour, at least if physical and mental exertion counted as minutes. For him and her. Even though Shane had worked harder than her last three clients combined, she still was relieved the appointment was over.

The woman seated in the chair across from them looked just the way Natalie would have predicted. Blonde. Flawless. A perfect match for someone who looked like Shane Warner. Now the police uniform the woman wore, Natalie hadn’t expected that. Was this the Kelly he’d mentioned earlier?

The officer, who’d been engrossed in the screen of her smartphone, startled as if caught doing something she shouldn’t have been and leaped to her feet. She frowned as her phone clattered to the floor.

“Now see what you made me do. If it’s broken, you’re a dead man.” She crouched and grabbed the phone from beneath the chair and examined it as she stood. Finally, she looked up at them. “Anyway, I’m here. Right on time.”

“You’re usually late, so thanks for the special effort.”

“You’re welcome.” She grabbed her hat from the seat next to her and crossed to him, bending to give him a quick hug.

Natalie could only look back and forth between them. At first, their conversation had sounded like flirting, but it seemed no different from the way he’d spoken with the other trooper earlier. Minus the hug. Still, it sounded like workplace banter. Or a really dull relationship.

“Oh, Natalie Keaton.” Shane gestured toward her then indicated the officer. “Meet Trooper Kelly Roberts, my second chauffeur of the day.”

Chauffeur? No one could call someone he was involved with that...and live. But the question of the day was why Natalie cared who that woman was or what she meant to her client. She refused to call the feeling welling inside her relief. Whatever it was, there was no excuse for it. Hadn’t her curiosity about Shane’s injury already gotten her into enough trouble today without her heading in some other unacceptable direction?

Kelly smiled her way. “I drew the short straw today.”

“Today?” She shouldn’t have been asking. It was none of her business.

“He’s fighting it every step of the way, but all of us at the Brighton Post have divided him up like a pizza,” Kelly explained. “Everybody wants to help out. Since we have three shifts, our slices are pretty thin.”

Wow, that many coworkers wanted to help Shane? Sure, Natalie and her mother had received some help following the accident, but no one had reached out to them like that. Of course, they hadn’t required much assistance, since Natalie had taken on the whole job herself.

“They all just want to take turns bugging me,” Shane said with a frown. “They barely leave anything for the visiting nurse or the aide to do.”

“Except help with showers,” Kelly said, grimacing. “Nobody volunteers for that.”

A flash of steamy water pouring over that broad chest and those rounded biceps took Natalie by surprise. But the way Shane shifted in his chair, as if uncomfortable with anyone knowing he needed bathing assistance, threw ice on her off-limits reverie. Good thing Shane wasn’t watching her now, since he would have read her as easily as he would a street sign.

Kelly continued, “Now let’s get going before my lunchtime is up. I’m lucky Vinnie let me take a turn at all.” She turned back to Natalie. “Sergeant Leonetti has got it in his head that he should do all the helping.”

“Overachiever,” Shane said in a tight voice.

There had to be a story behind that one. Again, Natalie was curious, but she wouldn’t ask. She glanced at her watch instead.

“Well, I have another client in ten minutes, so I’d better get ready.”

She met Shane’s gaze as Kelly helped him put on his coat. “Remember what I told you. If you want to get stronger, you need to follow your home exercise program every day.”

“I remember everything you said.”

His steady gaze held her captive. Her pulse pounded, and her lips were suddenly dry. Good thing he looked away because she couldn’t have done it. Oh, she’d bet he remembered what she’d said, even the parts of their conversation she wished he’d forgotten. How was she supposed to work with him three times a week now that she’d hinted about her personal bias toward police? She needed to show that she could do her job without letting her baggage—or her hormones—interfere.

She slanted a glance to the uniformed officer, who was handing Shane his hat. If Kelly had noticed anything unusual about Shane’s comment, she wasn’t giving anything away.

“See you Friday,” she said.

“I’ll be here,” he promised.

Natalie signaled at the desk for the buzzer and pulled open the door. She glanced back one last time, only to catch sight of Kelly grabbing the push handles on Shane’s chair. Something vaguely uncomfortable washed over her. Was she jealous that he’d allowed the officer to push his chair when he wouldn’t let her do it? Or, worse yet, was she just jealous of the woman going with him through that door?

She turned away from the man and those thoughts and rushed into the shelter of the clinic. But her memories of Shane Warner refused to be dismissed without a fight, the colors still bright, that baritone voice too rich and appealing for anyone’s good. Particularly hers.

What was she doing? First, she’d all but told a shooting victim that it was his fault for getting shot, and now she was daydreaming about him. Fantasizing over any client would be bad enough, but a cop? That was it. She had to get her head together. She had other clients to see and a boss who was probably watching her more closely today. Not to mention a couple of front-office workers with outlandishly good hearing.

At least she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to find something that would straighten her out. Her big dose of reality, her reminder of how much could be lost through a combination of flashing lights and a sense of invincibility, would be waiting for her at home tonight.

* * *

HOME SWEET HOME. Shane’s house blinked in and out of focus with each swipe of the patrol car’s windshield wipers. Fat snowflakes peppered the glass with every pause. The three-bedroom ranch stood out in bleak inferiority to its neighboring colonials, but even with its drafty windows and a roof that was one good downpour away from its first leak, at least the place was his. Well, the bank’s, but they let him live there as long as he kept the checks coming.

His house looked especially dreary today, snow-covered flower beds providing none of their usual pops of color against the ordinary white siding and charcoal-colored shutters. Would Natalie be surprised to know that he’d planted all of those perennials himself?

Shane blinked, the mechanical hum of the wipers suddenly too loud. Why was he thinking of her now? Were his hormones really so out of whack that he couldn’t get one pretty woman off his mind when he used to juggle several with ease? No, that couldn’t be it. Sure, he was still annoyed that she’d prejudged him for being a cop, but could it have been more than that? His thoughts shifted to that moment in the waiting room when he’d glimpsed something raw in her eyes. It was only an instant, like one of those silly snapshots that kids send to each other, and she’d shuttered it as quickly as it had appeared, but he’d sensed a connection. As if he wasn’t the only one who carried at least some of his scars on the inside. And he couldn’t help wondering if hers were as deep as his.

You’ll be back to playing cops and robbers in no time.

Even now those words had him gripping his gloved hands in his lap. Whether she’d seemed vulnerable for a moment or not, nothing gave her the right to say something like that. He didn’t care that she’d offered some lame apology. Who was she to presume to know anything about why he wore the uniform? She hadn’t seen Kent’s proud face at Shane’s graduation from trooper recruit school. Or the pride in his parents’ faces, for that matter—something he’d never expected to see again.

Just then the car door flew open, filling the interior with light and a handful of flurries. Shane jerked more obviously than a suspect hiding drug contraband.

What was wrong with him? He’d met many people who hated cops, but he wasn’t sitting in a patrol car trying to give them excuses for the things they said. He’d probably invented his connection with Natalie, too, since it was easier than admitting that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Or forget those soft feminine curves that even her boxy scrubs couldn’t hide.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?” Kelly said, pushing his wheelchair into the space by the open door and locking its wheels. “I thought I was getting faster at this, but I guess I was wrong. You forgot I was even out here.”

She couldn’t know how close she’d come to the truth. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d opened the trunk to pull out his chair.

“You are getting faster. Sorry you’ve had so much practice.”

He hated that all of his coworkers had been forced to step up so that he could leave the hospital’s rehab center sooner. Hated being in debt to his friends, but he guessed he should have been used to it by now. Even his Christmas lights would still be hanging as a sad reminder of a holiday he could barely recall if his pals hadn’t boxed them up and put them in his attic.

“I really do appreciate everything you guys have done for me.”

Kelly prattled on as if his gratitude made her uncomfortable. “The first time I tried, I couldn’t even unfold the chair. Now it’s no trouble at all.”

If only he didn’t still require her help. If only he could be back at the post, doing his job. But because the situation was what it was, he unbuckled his seat belt, accepted the transfer board she handed him and removed the chair’s side panel to shift himself from the car to the chair.

“All set?” she asked after he slid the side panel back into place.

“Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

She pushed him over the gravel and then up the wheelchair ramp that had magically appeared just as he was released from the hospital.

He turned the key in the lock, pushed open the front door and allowed Kelly to push him inside. She stepped past him into the dark family room, flipping on power switches and lamps as she went. Light, but never enough of it, flooded the dark-paneled room, with the overstuffed sofa and recliner he no longer sat on, the television that finally bored him now and the stacks of books that had saved his sanity over the past month.

With a glance toward the TV tray where Shane took most of his meals, Kelly turned back to him. “Want me to get you something to eat?”

“No. I’m good. I still have leftovers from last night.” And from Saturday and two nights before that, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Whose turn was it?”

“Ben and Delia.”

“Then I bet it was something good.” She took his hat and gloves and then helped him with his coat.

“If you guys keep feeding me like this, I’ll have to diet for weeks before I can pass my physical.”

Yet he was already salivating at the thought of the mostaccioli Lieutenant Ben Peterson and Trooper Delia Morgan Peterson had brought over. Judging by the dishes the newlyweds had delivered so far, he had to wonder if they’d spent their first year of marriage in cooking classes together.

“You have to keep up your strength until you get there.”

Until. They all used that word, but how many of them still believed it? If one of his fellow officers had been shot instead of him, would he still believe after so many weeks?

Kelly helped him into the zippered sweatshirt he wore around the house and handed him a loose-knit throw for his lap.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded, smiling. “Don’t worry. Vinnie will be over in about an hour.” And someone else a few hours after that. As much as he appreciated the help, he craved a few moments alone.

Because she probably would keep stalling, Shane rolled closer to the door. She took the hint and followed.

But just as her hand closed over the door handle, Kelly turned back to him. “Your new physical therapist seemed...nice.”

“She’s all right.”

“Pretty, too.”

“Didn’t really notice.” But dark, shiny hair and lips that just had to be pillow soft slipped into his thoughts before he could bar them. He cleared his throat. “Seems pretty good at her job. That’s all that matters to me.”

“Then why all the...tension in the waiting room?”

He was shaking his head before he met the other officer’s gaze. “What do you mean, tension? I was just exhausted after that first session. Still am.”

“Oh. That’s good, then. Isn’t your commendation ceremony coming up? Yours and Vinnie’s?”

“About a month.”

Twenty-eight days, but who was counting? Neither mentioned that the event had already been rescheduled once so he could be further along in his recovery.

With a wave, Kelly let herself out of the house. Visible through the sideline window, she tromped down the ramp to her car. And to think that Natalie had obviously assumed he was involved with Kelly. Him and Kelly? As if that ever would have happened, even if she’d been up for it. Even if it wasn’t a complete pain—and a cause for a potential transfer—to become involved with a fellow officer.

So other than that obvious reason, why not someone like Kelly? He considered that as he backed away from the window and wheeled past his tiny living room toward the narrow kitchen. She was gorgeous. And built. Like so many of the women he’d dated...when it used to be easy. Too easy.

But nothing about Kelly piqued his interest the way that Natalie Keaton did with her barely concealed disdain and exotic good looks. What did it say about him that he was only attracted to unattainable women? Like that waitress at Casey’s Diner who never gave him the time of day. Was that what made Natalie so appealing? That she clearly didn’t like cops and wanted nothing to do with him? Did he just love the chase, or was it something more troubling than that?