. Читать онлайн книгу.
But his estrangement from his former wife and the son of that marriage was almost as well-known as his car ads.
“I don’t know that Luke would agree to that,” she said slowly. “He and his father—well, they’ve never seen much of each other.”
“That’s hardly our concern.” Dickson’s voice sharpened. “Our focus must be on what’s best for the patient, not on the source of our payment.”
He was only too pleased at the prospect of collecting from both the army contract and Phillip Marino. She closed her lips firmly. It was not her place to criticize his decisions. At least this meant that she had a job to do and a chance to prove herself.
Dickson rose, signaling the end of the conversation. “Meet with the senior therapist and draw up a treatment program and a list of the necessary equipment. You have my authorization to put in whatever extra hours are needed. All right?”
She stood, as well. “Of course.”
What else could she say? But she was uneasily aware that she was being manipulated from both sides.
Dickson thought he could use her to collect from both the army and Luke’s father. And Luke thought he could use her to skate through the mandated therapy with as little effort as possible.
She wasn’t sure which she disliked more.
“That’s as far as it will go.” Luke managed the words through gritted teeth, trying not to sound like a wimp.
Mary Kate, kneeling on the living-room floor next to his mat, just shook her head and continued to press his leg up with both hands. Those small hands of hers were a lot stronger than he’d have expected. The dead weight of his leg had to be a strain, but she hadn’t lost that serene expression throughout the whole torturous hour.
He clenched his fists against the mat. “I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can.” Her tone was as gentle and reassuring as if he were a preschooler learning how to tie his shoes. “Just try a little more. We have to do better than yesterday.”
“We?” He grunted the word. “I’m the one doing all the work.”
That wasn’t true. He knew it, but he wasn’t about to admit that she’d been struggling as hard as he was to shove him through the exercises, with him arguing all the way.
Well, he had a right to complain. He hadn’t asked for this. He didn’t want it. Mary Kate would have to accept the bad temper that went with forcing a man to do something he didn’t want to do.
Something that hurt. His leg, protesting, stretched a bit farther and he couldn’t control the groan that escaped.
“Very good.” Mary Kate eased off immediately, bringing his leg back down and massaging it with long, smooth strokes that soothed away the pain. “You went a good half inch farther today than yesterday.”
He lay back on the mat Mary Kate had brought with her. Three times they’d done this, and three times she’d pushed him more than he’d have thought possible. Maybe he’d been wrong about Mary Kate being easier to manipulate than the staff at the army hospital. She was quieter, but there was iron beneath her soft exterior. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of a grown-up Mary Kate, but she certainly wasn’t the gentle girl she’d been.
He turned his head far enough to look at the waiting wheelchair. It might as well be forty feet high, for the effort it would take to get back into it.
“Quite a climb,” she said, guessing his thoughts with uncanny accuracy.
He grunted in agreement. “Hard to believe I used to climb mountains for fun.”
He’d loved the adrenaline rush of pushing his body to the utmost as he scaled a sheer rock face, the euphoria of reaching the top and knowing he’d conquered it. Now he couldn’t even get himself into a chair.
“Just rest a few minutes.” Mary Kate sat back on her heels as if she could use the rest, too. Her hair clung in damp ringlets to her neck, and while he watched she stretched her arms overhead as if trying to relieve taut muscles.
Her willingness to wait for him made him perversely eager to get back into the chair. “Let’s do it.” He shoved himself up onto his elbows. “No sense in wasting the day lying around.”
“Eager to get back to daytime television?” She maneuvered the chair into position and locked the brake before squatting down next to him.
“Not much else to do.” He’d been mildly embarrassed when she’d come in and found him watching reruns of sixties comedies.
“Let your friends come by and see you,” she said promptly. “Check some books out of the library. Take up a hobby.”
“Stamp collecting?” He let her pull his arm across her shoulders. Once he’d have enjoyed being that close to her. Now it just reminded him of his own helplessness.
“You still have a woodworking shop in the room behind the kitchen. I notice your mother never cleared that out.”
“No, thanks.”
It had been his father’s shop originally, not his. He’d hung around, watching, until his father finally saw his interest and showed him how to cut a curve and sand down an edge. After his dad left, he’d kept up with it for a while, maybe out of some stupid belief that his dad would come back and be proud of what he’d made. He’d learned, eventually. He hadn’t bothered with it in years.
Mary Kate double-checked the chair’s position, and he felt her muscles tighten. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Together they managed to haul his useless body into the chair, but by the time he was settled they were both breathless.
“Good work,” she said.
He shoved her hands away, hating that he had to rely on her strength instead of his own. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not one of your kids.”
A flicker of anger touched her eyes and was gone. “I don’t patronize my kids.”
So he could hurt her. Disgust filled him. What kind of a man was he? He didn’t want her pity, but he also didn’t like feeling that she was unaffected. So he sniped at her. Not very pretty, was it?
Mary Kate straightened, seeming to throw off her reactions. “Let’s talk about where we’re going to put all the equipment that’s coming on Saturday.”
He shrugged. “I don’t care. You decide.”
She walked through the archway to the dining room. “I was thinking we might use this room. All we’d have to move out are the chairs and table. The sideboard wouldn’t be in the way.”
He wheeled after her into the room, his attention caught in spite of himself. “I guess that would work. I’m not likely to be hosting any dinners for eight.”
“Or even one, judging by the condition of your refrigerator.”
“Just stay out of my refrigerator,” he said, knowing she was right. He was subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, for the most part.
“Where do you plan to put the table and chairs?” He wouldn’t sell the dining-room furniture his mother had kept polished and shining.
Mary Kate touched the smooth surface. “I think it’ll be okay in the garage.”
“How do you plan to get it there?” He slapped the arms of the wheelchair. “I’m not exactly in shape to move furniture.”
“My brothers offered to—”
“No.” He cut her off before she could finish the offer of charity. “Hire someone to do it. I’ll pay.”
He felt her gaze on him, but refused to return it. He wasn’t going to have guys he’d played football and basketball with coming