“Let me help you onto this chair,” Scarlett said briskly, shoving away memories of her parents and thoughts of her psycho stalker.
“I can do it,” Mal grumbled, maneuvering himself to hover over the chair. He still had the crutches under his arms and he couldn’t quite figure out how to lower himself. Mostly because the muscles in his quad were still asleep and he wasn’t going to have any control over them yet. The nerve block he’d been given was a good one, that’s for sure. He was still feeling the remnants of it two days after surgery.
Scarlett stood with arms crossed and waited for reality to settle in. Mal only frowned harder as he shifted his weight to the right leg. Then he dropped the crutches and grasped the chair arms with strong hands. Scarlett’s heart lodged in her throat the second he dropped the crutches, but he didn’t have any trouble holding himself up on those arms.
Arms that strained and popped with hard muscle. He had a tattoo on one. An eagle in black and white that held a flag. There were other parts to it as well, but that was what she could see beneath the hem of his sleeve.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto the chair. Scarlett helped move his leg until it was in front of him, then stood back with hands on hips as he settled in and grinned up at her.
He had a disarming grin. A dimple in one cheek made him seem almost boyish, though he was anything but a boy.
“Told you,” he said smugly.
“Yeah, yeah, you told me. But I had to help move your leg.”
“Not for long if I’ve got anything to say about it.”
“You probably do,” she said with a smile. “The patient’s willingness to do the work goes a long way in recovery. But don’t push it too hard or you’ll find yourself three steps backwards from where you started, okay?”
“Pushing hard is what I do. Can’t survive otherwise.”
“I know, but this isn’t battle, okay? Trust me. Do what I tell you and you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“You like being bossy, don’t you?”
He said it with a grin, so she didn’t take offense. “It’s one of the perks of the job.” She reached for the stretchy cloth bandage wrapped around his thigh and knee. “I’m going to take this off now. Let’s see what’s going on under there.”
She knew what was going on. He’d taken a bullet through his left thigh, right above the knee, and it’d damaged tendons on its way through. He also had a bone injury, though fortunately not a bad one. Still, bones were painful when they were hacked into.
“Guess I won’t be dancing at Buddy’s next week,” he said when she finished unwrapping the leg. A long incision ran down the front of his thigh. He stared at it with a frown.
“No, probably not,” she said, feeling badly for him. He looked a bit stunned at the extent of the damage, and then he looked determined.
“I’m not letting this stop me,” he said with a hard note in his voice.
“I hope you let it stop you from dancing next week,” she said lightly, trying to bring some humor into the situation. “You don’t want to look like a dork on the dance floor, right?”
His eyes met hers. Her heart skipped a tiny beat. What the hell?
“Dork? What are you, six?” He didn’t say it angrily though. That was good.
“What would you call it then?”
“Maybe I’d look like that Dancing with the Stars guy. Derek Hough, right? You ever think of that?”
Scarlett couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Derek Hough? Not even with a perfectly healthy leg, mister.”
He shook his head as if sorely disappointed in her. “Man, not even five minutes in your company, and you’re dissing me hardcore. I need a new therapist. Stat.”
Scarlett wrapped up the bandage and tossed it onto a counter. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me. We drew straws over who had to take you. I lost.”
His eyes widened.
“Kidding, Mal. We don’t draw straws and I’m thrilled to work with you. Why don’t you show me how far you can lift your leg.”
She could see him concentrating. The leg didn’t move. He kept trying, then huffed out a breath and glared at nothing in particular. “That’s not what I expected.”
“I know, but we need a benchmark. You’ll get there, I promise.” She gripped his leg carefully. “Now let’s start with some simple mobility exercises. After that, we’ll do ice and stim—that’s like a tens unit where I’ll apply electrical stimulation to the muscles. I’ll have you back to your room in no time so you can watch Dancing with the Stars on repeat all day.”
He groaned. “Geez, Scarlett. Way to hit a guy when he’s down.”
She helped him extend the leg as much as possible, then helped him lower it again. “I get the feeling nothing keeps you down for long.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“You’ll be pleased to know you’re in control on this one, then. You’ve had damage, and the muscles will take time to heal, but there’s no reason you can’t expect a full recovery.”
He grimaced as she moved his leg. “I’m not going to be real patient with this process. Just thought you should know.”
“Trust me, I know. I’ve been doing this long enough.”
He watched her manipulate his leg. “How long?”
“I graduated with my PTA degree six years ago, and I’ve been working in the field since.” She felt that little pang of regret she always felt that she hadn’t been able to go to school for longer and become a physical therapist instead of an assistant, but the work was rewarding and she enjoyed it.
“How long did that take?”
“It’s a community college degree. I’m a therapy assistant, and I work under the supervision of a physical therapist to provide care.”
“The PT is the guy who came to see me earlier, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He’ll work with you too, but most of the exercising and measuring will be me. He’ll evaluate your progress and make changes though.”
“Huh. Well, don’t tell him, but I’m glad I got you instead of him.”
Scarlett blinked. “Really? Why?”
“You’re prettier to look at.”
She could feel the heat in her cheeks. And the pounding of her heart as she thought of how things had begun with Josh. A little banter, a little flattery. She’d enjoyed the attention at first. Was this guy flirting with her too? And what was she going to do about it?
“Shit,” he said a moment later. “That was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”
“Um. Yeah, maybe a little. But thank you. For saying I’m pretty and for apologizing for it.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean anything by it. Believe me, I’m not trying to pick you up or anything.”
“It’s okay,” she said, though now she was getting hung up on the fact he so vehemently said he wasn’t trying to pick her up. Like maybe she was pretty, but not pretty enough?
Ugh, stop that. You don’t want him to flirt. You don’t want to flirt back. You don’t want another special ops guy. You don’t want another guy at all. Not for a long, long time.