Sandra Steffen - Gift Wrapped Dad

Will did as she instructed, lying back and grasping the handrails to maneuver himself up to the top of the table. Krista started with his right leg, lifting it, rotating it, bending his knee and pushing toward his body. Her touch was firm yet gentle, and he tried to imagine that his muscles were moving on their own.

“I know this is uncomfortable,” she said. “Tell me if it becomes unbearable.”

He watched her intently as he said, “Three months ago I couldn’t feel anything from my waist down. Believe me, a little discomfort isn’t a bad thing.”

She continued to work on him, pulling gently, then twisting and pushing. At one point, she tucked his ankle under her arm, the side of her breast cushioning his lower leg like a feather pillow. Using her body for leverage, she leaned forward, bending his knee, then straightening his leg.

“How does that feel?” she asked, repeating the exercise.

His gaze skimmed her breasts before settling on her face. “That feels great.”

She nodded and continued with his therapy.

“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice catching on the last word as she pressed his bent knee toward his body.

“All right. Let’s start by establishing those ground rules I mentioned earlier.”

“Ground rules, huh? I suppose I can assume that asking about your sex life is off limits?”

Her eyes narrowed speculatively. “I’ve already told you I’ve sworn off men. Even if I hadn’t, that particular topic would definitely be off limits.”

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing underneath that cute little uniform?”

He winced as she twisted his leg, and even though her attention appeared to be completely trained on his knee, Will caught her little smile. After a long pause, he finally said, “Then tell me about your son.”

That brought a bigger smile to her lips. “Tommy’s a great kid,” she said, moving to the other side of the table, where she began to repeat the entire procedure with his left leg. “Like I said, he’s six going on thirty. We live in Coopersburg, a small town about twelve miles from here.”

“You said he’s gifted. That must make your family happy.”

Her touch remained gentle while she worked his left leg, but her voice contained a strange edge of irony as she said, “Actually, they don’t approve of the way I’m raising him.”

“What’s not to approve of? He looks pretty happy to me. He knows baseball and he looks just like you.”

“That was the first thing I did wrong,” she answered. “I gave him my genes.”

“Those are some genes, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Instead of smiling the way he’d expected, she remained completely serious. “I’m sure they would have preferred it if he’d been tall and blond and straitlaced like they are.”

He scowled to himself. Krista’s family probably didn’t approve of the fact that Tommy liked baseball, either. Her sisters sounded just as huffy and highfalutin as they always had. It didn’t sound as if Katrina, Kimberly or Kendra had changed over the past eight years.

“Tommy looks like a well-adjusted, impish little kid. I’d say you should be proud.”

Krista heard the depth of sincerity in Will’s voice. Looking from his legs straight into his eyes, she lowered herself to the table next to him, lowering her eyes at the same time. “Do you know what makes me the most proud?”

“What?” he asked softly.

“The fact that he’s having a normal childhood.” She glanced at him to see if he understood and found him watching her closely. “I mean, I know he’s exceptionally bright. After all, he’s only six years old and he’s already in the second grade. But he likes baseball and soccer as well as playing the violin. He has a new little friend. Her name is Stephanie, and even though most boys his age have other boys for their best friend—”

“You said he was smart,” Will cut in.

Krista rolled her eyes and began kneading the muscles in his calf, slowly working her way up his leg. “I never know what to expect from that boy. Even though his reasoning skills are amazing, he still believes in Santa Claus.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

Krista felt a smile steal through her, thinking it was ironic that she’d told Will that Tommy was six going on thirty, when Will was thirty going on six.

She heard Will clear his throat and call her name. For a moment she wondered why his voice had gone so low, so husky, so deep.

“Uh, Krista?” he said, finally breaking into her reverie. “You’re getting awfully close to a particularly sensitive part of my anatomy.”

She came back from her musings with a start. He was right. Her hands had wandered awfully close to...a place that was definitely off limits. “Sorry about that,” she whispered.

“Believe me, I don’t mind,” he answered. “It’s just that if you keep it up, I’m going to pull you on top of me and finish what you started.”

“Is that what you did with Miss July?” she asked, mentally kicking herself for letting her curiosity show.

He took his time tucking his hands underneath his head. His eyes had darkened, taking on an intense expression, as he said, “Now you’ve stumbled onto a topic that’s off limits.”

She turned from her task and laughed unexpectedly, a spontaneous, deep, pleasant laugh that was the essence of the woman herself, a laugh that made a man think of other activities even more spontaneous, even more pleasant. Will was aware that other people in the room had turned when they’d heard Krista’s laughter. More than anything, he was aware of the way the throaty sound had sneaked inside his body, and the way the touch of her hands had sneaked up his thigh. Both felt good.

Lowering his leg to the table, she said, “I know you still have some time left for therapy today, but I think we’ve just about covered everything for the first session. Come on. I’ll push you back to the room where we started. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

Without saying a word, he sat up and maneuvered himself back into the wheelchair. She’d said that tomorrow they’d pick up where they left off. Will was pretty sure she hadn’t meant where they’d left off eight years ago.

For the millionth time these past three months he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t gotten behind the wheel of that rental car last July. What if he’d seen the out-of-control truck sooner? What if he never regained all his movement? What if this was as good as he’d ever be?

No. Will wouldn’t concentrate on what if. He’d survived the car accident. He’d gotten his feeling back, and bit by bit he’d regain his strength. He knew he should count his blessings in another area, too. His sex drive was intact. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so aware of his raging hormones. Maybe it was because of Krista.

There was one what if he didn’t mind thinking about. Krista undoubtedly had good reasons for swearing off all men. What if he was the one man who could change her mind?

* * *

Every few seconds, Will punched another channel on the TV’s remote control. Situation comedies didn’t appeal to him tonight. Neither did rescue or cop shows. An action movie caught his attention briefly, but after only minutes he flipped to the next station. In a moment of undiluted annoyance, he punched the Off button and jumped to his feet. At least that’s what his brain told his body to do. Swearing under his breath, he reached for his crutches and pulled himself up to a standing position.

A primitive panic wrapped its fingers around his throat and threatened to cut off his breathing. Damn. He hated this god-awful inability to move on his own. Tiny rooms didn’t faze him, and small spaces had always made him feel cozy. But this was different. This paralysis closed in on him like moving walls in horror movies.