Baby, I'm Back (a Southern Roads short story) (2 page)

Of course he would have matured into a gorgeous man, his sandy hair still sun-kissed, his blue eyes even more arresting, his chiseled jaw even more…
chiseled
, darn it. She hated how she could look into his eyes and revert back to her fifteen-year-old self, clumsy and tongue-tied. She’d heard through the grapevine that Barry had joined the military, which the Naval insignia on the sweatshirt he’d lent her seemed to bear out.

She released her ponytail and walked to the window while she towel-dried her hair. Barry had parked his Jeep and emerged, taking her advice, she presumed, to walk to the construction office. It came as no surprise that he was tall and wide-shouldered, but she was shocked to see him using a cane and favoring his left leg. As she watched his awkward gait, she zoned in on the injured leg with a practiced eye. The top part of his jeans leg was filled out with a powerful thigh, but the bottom part of his pants billowed loosely around a stiff core. Lora covered her mouth with stunning realization.

Barry Ballantine was walking on a prosthetic lower leg.

Chapter Three

LORA COULDN’T get her mind off Barry Ballantine, not even after she started her afternoon shift at the Sweetness Family Medical Center. When Dr. Nikki Salinger had brought her on board as a physical therapist, she’d had her doubts that a town the size of Sweetness—even if it was growing every day—would offer enough patients to keep her busy. But with the army of men and women the Armstrongs had employed to build the town, there was always a back, neck, limb, or joint that needed to be rehabilitated. Today between Mr. Tyler’s trick knee and Ms. Jacoby’s carpel tunnel, she found her mind going back to Barry again and again. She felt horrible for being so short with him—it wasn’t as if he’d splashed her on purpose. And it seemed petty to hold him accountable for all the unkind teasing that had come her way in high school. That was, after all, more than a decade ago.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for the man simply because he’d lost part of his leg—amputees were not to be pitied. But she was sensitive to the fact that it was likely he’d lost it defending his country, and to the fact that his life would always be harder than a person who had two healthy legs.

By mid-afternoon, the man had worn a rut in her mind. So when she walked a patient to the lobby and she spotted Barry coming into the clinic, she thought she’d conjured him up. She watched him move, took note of his alignment and how it threw off his gait. He stopped in front of the receptionist’s desk and spoke briefly. When the woman gestured toward the waiting area, he headed toward a row of chairs. Before he could sit, he noticed her and stopped.

Lora felt obliged to move toward him. Her pulse clicked higher with every step. “Hello,” she said simply.

He straightened and subtly moved the cane behind him. “You again.” He tried to smile, but she noticed the pinched look around his mouth.

“Me again.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m a physical therapist.”

His eyes clouded. “I’ve seen my share of those.”

She inclined her head. “How long have you had the prosthesis?”

Surprise flickered over his face. “About three months.”

“Is it t
rans-tibial?”

“Yeah, I got to keep my knee, thank goodness.”

She nodded. “Do you mind if I ask what brings you in to the clinic?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I need a prescription.”

“For painkillers?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she added, “I can tell you’re in pain.”

“Damn foot still thinks it’s down there.”

“Have you tried massage?”

His mouth tightened. “No offense, but the pain meds work for me.”

She kept her tone light. “No offense, but I can get you off that cane.”

Anger flashed in his eyes. He brought the cane around front and leaned harder. “I’m okay with the cane—I think it adds character.”

Lora inclined her head as she backed away. “Sorry to intrude. I’m sure Dr. Salinger will get you what you need.”

*****

“I think you need more physical therapy,” Dr. Salinger said.

From the exam table where Barry sat, he tamped down his irritation. “I’ve had six months of physical therapy.” He thumped the exposed metal prosthesis, then rolled down his jeans leg. “I’ve gotten as good with this thing as I’m going to get.”

The doctor gave him a little smile. “Maybe.”

“I’m not addicted to the painkillers,” Barry said. “I take them only when I really need them.”

She nodded. “I believe you. I completed my residency at a veterans’ hospital, so unfortunately, I’ve treated many amputees. I think the right physical therapist would not only increase your mobility, but also decrease your pain. I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay in Sweetness, but we have an excellent therapist here at the clinic.”

Barry set his jaw. Having one of the male physical therapists at Bethesda Naval Hospital work on his stump was one thing, but having Lora Jansen’s hands on him and letting her see him stumble and fall around—no thanks. “I’m only going to be here for a few days.”

Dr. Salinger studied him until he averted his gaze. When he looked back, she angled her head. “I’ll make you a deal, Seaman Ballantine—I’ll write you the script for the pain meds,
if
you agree to a one-hour session with our physical therapist before you leave today.”

Barry pushed his tongue into his cheek—he didn’t like being blackmailed. But he’d been trained to handle torture at the hand of the enemy…he could handle Lora Jansen for one measly hour.

*****

“Again,” Lora said.

Frustration ballooned in Barry’s chest and he made a face.

She arched an eyebrow. “You have a problem with walking?”

“No,” he said more vehemently than the situation warranted. “But I’ve walked across the room and back a dozen times.” And he hated that each time she’d studied him as if he were a newly discovered species of animal.

She lifted a camera. “This time I’m going to record you.”

“This isn’t like any PT I’ve had,” he grumbled as he once again traversed the floor of the long, narrow room furnished with equipment, sets of stairs, walking corrals, and massage tables.

“And now back, please.”

He retraced his steps, feeling irritable and self-conscious. And the more self-conscious he felt, the more he leaned on the cane. “Do you get paid to watch people walk?”

She lifted her head from the camera. “Sort of. Okay, you can have a seat.” She nodded toward a chair, then hooked up the camera to a television monitor in front of the chair where he sat. The video of him walking came on the screen. She stilled the picture, then picked up an erasable marker, drawing lines and circles on the screen as she talked. “Your alignment is off here and here. See how your hips are tilted?”

He scowled and rubbed his aching left knee. “Yeah, it’s called walking on an artificial leg.”

“You’re actually relying way too much on your prosthesis,” she offered. “If you improved your posture and balance with Pilates and weight belts, you could shift your center of gravity back to where it used to be.”

He chewed on his tongue as anger churned in his stomach…anger at a violent world, anger at the randomness of life. If only he’d stepped right instead of left that day, he’d still be with his unit in Afghanistan, instead of sitting here in la-la land with a slip of a girl who wanted to fix him with yoga. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing to his feet. “I think the requisite hour is up.”

She glanced at her watch and nodded, then used a dry eraser to remove the marks she’d drawn over his figure. She walked to the door with him, then stuck out her hand. “It was nice to see you again, Barry. Good luck.”

He shook her hand, startled at the bolt of awareness that traveled up his arm at the softness of her fingers wrapped in his. She smiled, flashing those dimples he’d suspected lay in hiding, then extracted her velvety hand. As she walked away from him toward the video equipment, remorse bled through him. Lora Jansen was a sweet woman who, despite having past and present reasons to dislike him, had only offered to help. It wasn’t her fault he was angry at the world, or embarrassed for her to see him like this.

“Lora.”

She turned back, her eyebrows raised in question. She was lovely, he thought, naturally pretty with fine-boned features and luminous eyes. Her shapeless white lab coat hid her figure, but after seeing her earlier in wet running clothes, her slender curves were emblazoned on his mind. His pulse pounded as he suddenly realized he was very much looking forward to spending more time with her—that is, if he hadn’t blown it…again.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll be in Sweetness for a few days. If you can work me into your schedule, I might as well try some of the things you suggested.” He shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

She gave him a curt nod, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or another. “Be here tomorrow morning at ten.”

Chapter Four

“FIFTY MORE, and more slowly please,” Lora said to Barry, who lay on the floor of the PT room doing jackknife sit-ups.

He fell back on the floor with a noisy exhale. “What is this, boot camp?” He reached down to massage his left knee, exposed in the gym shorts he wore. His metal prosthesis began just below his knee and ended in a lifelike foot wearing an athletic shoe.

The pain pinching his face tugged at her heart. “May I?” she offered, gesturing to his knee.

He looked wary, but nodded.

As a professional, she was trained to mentally remove herself from the intimate act of touching another person, but with Barry, it took all her concentration. The man was a beautiful specimen of male strength, with long, lean limbs, and a well-muscled torso. Steeling herself against his powerful appeal, Lora knelt to lever her weight over his knee and massaged the flesh with firm, deep pressure. He grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Are the phantom pains bad?”

“Better than they were in the beginning,” he said through gritted teeth.

She cast about for conversation to take his mind—and hers—off his magnificent body. “Do you mind telling me how it happened?” She held her breath because she knew she could be treading on a touchy subject.

He was quiet for a while, wincing as she coaxed the muscles in his thigh to relax and the nerve endings to stop sending sensations to an absent limb. “Common story,” he finally said with a shrug. “I was on reconnaissance patrol, an IED went off.”

“That must have been horrifying.”

He only grunted.

“Were there other injuries in your unit?”

She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but after a long silence, he said, “Yeah,” but in a way that let her know the topic was closed.

She released him and sat back. “Okay, break’s over. Fifty more sit-ups, please. Try to raise both feet at the same time and to the same level.”

She put him through several series of exercises nonstop. He wasn’t happy about some of the Pilates poses, especially when she made him lean on her to balance, but at the end of the session, he was sweating and tired, and she was satisfied with his effort, if not his progress.

“Good session today,” she said. “Do you know yet how long you’ll be in Sweetness?” She told herself it had everything to do with wanting to make the most of his PT and nothing to do with the fact that she was enjoying their time together.

“I’ll know soon. Probably a week or so, then I have to get back to my life.”

“Where is that?”

“Not here,” he said with a bite to his voice. “Hopefully somewhere exotic and exciting.”

He couldn’t have made it more clear that nothing of interest was happening in Sweetness. “You said something about being in town to do a favor for a friend?”

“That’s right.” But he averted his glance and didn’t offer details.

“Where are you staying?”

“Porter was good enough to let me stay in the bunkhouse with the workers while I’m here.”

She nodded, recalling that all the Armstrong brothers had military backgrounds…of course they would extend themselves to a fellow soldier.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, already heading toward the door.

Lora was accustomed to her patients being happy to see an end their PT appointments, but a small part of her was disappointed that Barry seemed so eager to be out of her company. “Yes, same time tomorrow,” she said.

But he was already gone.

*****

As he closed the door behind him, Barry sagged with fatigue. Frustration crowded his chest—he didn’t like appearing weak in front of Lora and he
really
didn’t like the push-pull of attraction he was starting to feel for her in such a short time. He attributed it to the undercurrent of tension he felt concerning the way he and his friends had treated her when they were younger. There was so much in the news lately about peer pressure and bullying; he’d listened to the reports with a sanctimonious attitude, wondering how kids could be so thoughtless, with zero recollection that he’d done the same thing, and to someone who’d probably grown up to do better things with her life than most of the people who’d teased her.

She was obviously well thought of in town—that evening he spotted her running down the same road he’d driven in on and everyone she passed waved and honked. And the next morning when he arrived for his appointment, she was in the lobby giving parting instructions to another patient who hung on her every word.