Katie’s Hero (10 page)

Hammond leaped to the terrace to help move Michael, bumping the chair down the shallow steps that led down to the front drive.

Michael hauled himself up out of the wheelchair and across into the front seat of the car, easing himself in behind the steering wheel. He pressed the starter and the engine fluttered and died.

“Katie, this is where you come in. Come here and sit on my knee.”

“Sir! I shall do no such thing! That would be most improper!”

“Well sit next to me then, there’s almost room for two. I need you to help me drive the car.”

Katie was horrified.

“It’s an order, Katie. I have urgent supplies to collect in the village.”

She shook her head. “If it’s all that urgent, send Hammond.”

“I have never let Hammond drive this car and I don’t intend to start now.”

“I’m only allowed the old Austin, Miss,” Hammond chipped in, jovially. “That and the tractor, coz it only does about five mile an hour. His lordship don’t trust me with the MG.”

“Having experienced your driving once, Mr. Hammond, I can see why.”

“Katie! Stop gossiping with Hammond and come here, would you!”

She must have put too much brandy in the sauce that they’d had with their pudding, because she did exactly as he asked. She went over to the driver’s door and squeezed herself into the seat beside him.

“I hope I didn’t tread on your feet,” she said, acutely aware of being squashed against Michael. The fabric of his gray tweed suit felt slightly rough against her bare legs, and she smelled a subtle masculine fragrance — some expensive type of aftershave, perhaps.

“I don’t suppose I’d feel it you did,” he said, and she caught the echo of regret in his voice.

It was certainly a tight fit with both of them in the driver’s seat, but he didn’t seem to mind. He put his arm around her and tested to see if he could still reach the steering wheel. He waggled it from side to side and seemed satisfied. He was smiling again now. Settled this close, Katie noticed a hint of fair stubble along his jaw-line where he had shaved a little unevenly.

“Now I’m going to press the starter button, and when I do, I want you to put your foot on the accelerator and give it a nice little squeeze.”

Katie shrugged. “I can’t drive.”

“I’m driving. You are providing the impetus, that’s all.”

“The what?”

“The impetus.”

Katie laughed. “What the … ”

“Don’t argue. Just squeeze the pedal when I say so.”

His slim, elegant fingers were on the starter button and she did what he told her to do. The car rumbled into life, and Michael gave an excited cheer. Even Hammond looked rather pleased. “She’s humming like a bird, sir!”

“She is indeed.”

Alfie was hopping up and down on the terrace. “Are you going to drive her, for real?”

“We certainly are! Tell the others we’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Half an hour!” Katie exclaimed. “Where are you taking me?”

“I told you: urgent supplies.”

Katie was laughing now, happy and elated.

“Keep squeezing,” Michael instructed.

This time, to her surprise, the car hopped into life.

“Sorry,” he said. “I slipped her into gear while you weren’t looking. Have another go, gently this time or we’ll go straight through the front hedge.”

Before long they had the rhythm worked out. He steered and she pushed the accelerator as the car rumbled down the drive and out through the front gates.

“Freedom!” he cried as they hit the open road, still urging her to keep up the acceleration. She screamed as they took a bend in the road a little faster than she was expecting. She felt her whole body thrown against Michael’s as they rounded the curve.

It was exhilarating. It was magic. He kept yelling at her to press harder. She screamed with laughter as he steered the car in a slalom pattern along the middle of the road.

“You’ll get us killed!” she said.

“No, I won’t.”

She couldn’t help it; she surrendered to the delirious feeling of excitement, to the pleasure of this reckless ride. Perhaps it wasn’t as dangerous as it looked, she reasoned. There wasn’t any traffic on the road.

“Yes!” Michael cried. He sailed through the village, yelling like a young hooligan, to the astonishment of various villagers quietly going about their business. They hardly expected to see “his lordship, poor man” whizzing along in his red car, with a girl at his side on this fine April Saturday.

Katie gasped as Michael wheeled the car around and pulled into the forecourt at the Dog and Whistle. The pub was thronging with people.

“Brakes!” he demanded, and she stabbed at them sharply.

The roadster squealed to a halt, and Michael beeped the horn in a very high-handed fashion.

“Come out, Mr. Roebuck, and take our orders!”

Katie slapped Michael’s arm, playfully. “Don’t order him around as if you owned the place.

“But I do. Own the place, that is.”

“You’re kidding. The Dog and Whistle?”

“That’s right. He pays rent on it, most of the time.”

The landlord appeared at the door and Michael called out for the best bitter and a glass of lemonade. There was no question of going inside with the wheelchair abandoned on the drive back at Farrenden Manor.

“I suppose these are your urgent supplies?” Katie asked.

“They are.”

Michael smiled at her, eyes twinkling. He sipped his beer with a look of triumph on his face.

Sunday morning Katie heard Michael’s bell jangle twice while she was hurrying to prepare a breakfast tray. She popped a fresh napkin beside his butter knife, lifted the tray, and hurried down the corridor in the direction of his room.

He was sitting up on his four-poster bed, wearing only his pajama trousers. His feet were bare. Even his feet were long, slim and elegant. He was reading something, studying the pages with interest.

Katie found the sight of his bare arms rather distracting, too — they were curved and well-muscled from transferring himself in and out of the chair all the time.

“Come and look at this,” he said eagerly.

“What about your breakfast, sir?”

To her dismay, Michael dismissed the breakfast tray with a wave of his hand. Katie moved a few things to make room on his dressing table and noticed for the first time a photograph of Michael with a young woman. A posed photo, but a happy one, taken to mark a special occasion. Michael was looking very dashing in his uniform and the young lady at his side was a radiant blonde with a perfect coiffure and a wide, triumphant smile.

“Who’s this?” Katie asked and picked it up.

Michael’s face showed barely a flicker of emotion. “Oh, that’s Connie. Ancient history. Stick it in my sock drawer if you like. I want you to take a look at this!”

“What happened to her, sir, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She ditched me, Katie. After my accident. I don’t want to talk about it. Least said, soonest mended.”

Oh yes, Katie knew all about not talking about the past.

She left the photograph and came over to stand beside the bed. Michael held out a pamphlet he’d been reading about back injuries that claimed that with regular exercise, a man could relearn the art of walking after a serious injury.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Katie gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps it’s aimed at people convalescing from less drastic injuries than your own.”

He ignored her completely. “I think it’s advice worth taking. I’ve got crutches — they’re in the wardrobe.”

“You’ve got crutches, sir?” She was surprised, for though his upper body was strong and powerful, his legs looked much too frail to manage on a pair of crutches. “Did the hospital give them to you?”

“No. I ordered them myself. Dr. Larchwood from the village authorized it.”

“Did Dr. Larchwood think it was safe for you to use them?”

“He wasn’t wildly optimistic. Doctors never are, especially stuck-in-the-mud, pedestrian, village doctors like him. But I wanted them, and he agreed that it would be a good idea to have them for when the time was right. I’d like to try them out.”

“Do you want me to ask Dr. Larchwood to come and see you? Just to make sure that the time
is
right?”

“No. Of course not. I’ll be the judge of that. Today I feel like I could do it. Open the wardrobe door and get the crutches.”

She sighed and went over to the enormous piece of furniture made of polished walnut, with a pair of doors that looked like the entrance to a barn. She opened the right hand door and moved some of his clothes aside looking for the crutches, breathing in the slightly masculine scent that lingered among his garments. The crutches were standing at the back, along with Michael’s cricket pads and an old tennis racket.

He heaved himself across the bed and moved his legs across with his hands, arranging them so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Through the thin fabric of his trousers, his legs looked like giraffe legs, long and spindly, and Katie felt sure they couldn’t possibly support him. But she forced herself to remain silent.

“Hand me my crutches. I need to know the worst.”

“Not today!” she blurted out. “It’s too soon, sir. I could put these in a safe place, and you could try another day.”
Not today. Don’t let him try today.
She didn’t want to see him fail.

“Do as I ask.”

Reluctantly she placed a crutch on either side of him, and he struggled to position them under his arms. He made a feeble attempt to hoist himself up, but he was nervous and wary.

“Please,” he said, looking up at her with vulnerable, blue eyes. “Can you help me?”

“Of course,” she said. She’d never had such a terrible sense of foreboding. She took away one of the crutches, ducked under his arm, and prepared to take the weight of his whole body.

“Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” she answered. “One, two, three!”

He gave a cry of pain as they rose unsteadily to their feet. Katie struggled to keep him upright.

She glanced up and gave him a desperate smile of encouragement. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. His face was as white as the bed sheets.

He clutched her shoulder with the tightness of desperation. “It’s nice to stand beside you,” he said, but his face showed terrible strain.

She knew exactly the moment when he gave up the impossible struggle. His legs crumpled up awkwardly beneath him, the useless crutch splayed out across the bedroom floor, and they both crashed to the floor. Katie was flung against the edge of the bed, and Michael cried out in pain and frustration.

She thought her heart would break in two at that sound.

Katie’s wrist was sore and she had ruined her stockings. Michael flung away the wooden crutch in anger and frustration, hearing it crash against the dressing table legs. His head went down in despair.

“Michael, don’t!” She didn’t think she could bear to see him cry. She moved nearer, and tried to touch his arm.

She wanted to touch the nape of his neck where his honey colored hair had been cut short. She wanted to do something,
anything
, before he let vent to his grief. Determined to console him, Katie impulsively tilted his face to hers, and kissed him hard. Her mouth locked onto his with a desperate, crazy yearning not to see him vanquished. Her hands cupped his face as she continued to press her mouth on his, ignoring any signs of surprise.

She felt a ripple of movement and a response — a passionate, masculine response. She felt the pressure of his lips on hers, and his tongue searching and finding hers. His kiss was wild and desperate, and it was everything she’d secretly imagined. She gave a soft moan and let a powerful wave of sensation wash over her.

He seemed encouraged by that sound and he kissed her again and again, one kiss melting into another. Soon she realized that his arms were around her, and his fingers were tangled in her hair.

“Katie,” he said, and opened his blue eyes to look at her. His face was a portrait of astonished rapture.

Consumed with regret and embarrassment, Katie put her hands up to her face. “Forgive me, sir, forgive me!”

“It’s all right,” he said, and his blue eyes spoke of a new understanding between them.

“It isn’t! It was a dreadful liberty I took. Please sir, I only meant to take your mind off what happened.”

“You did,” he said, and he smiled at her. He put a finger to his own mouth, just where her lips had been, and then he reached out and touched her lips with his fingertips. He seemed to be in a state of dazed amazement.

“I didn’t stop to think,” Katie said, in a scared whisper. “I only did it so you wouldn’t be so sad!”

“It’s all right, Katie. Really. You meant to be kind — and it was extraordinary.” He struggled to reposition himself, dragging at his useless legs with his left hand. “Help me up, now, my love. I should like to get up off the floor.”

“Of course, of course!” She flustered around him, getting him onto the edge of the bed. The “my love” slip filled her with guilt.

“You must be cold, sir,” she said to cover her flailing emotions. She could hardly look him in the eye, but she found his pajama top and began doing the buttons up for him, as if he was one of the children. He placed a hand over hers.

“It was a good kiss,” he said, and gave her a direct, penetrating look. “We’ll share another one some time, won’t we?”

She couldn’t answer him. He looked so hopeful, just as he had desperately hoped for a full recovery, and she felt like such a fraud. She would have to tell him that it was all a terrible mistake. She pulled her hand away from his and stood up.

“Please, sir. You must ask Mrs. Jessop to come back and help you. I’ll apologize to her myself if you want. Or you could hire a proper nurse. I’m so sorry!”

Michael almost laughed at her. “Katie. I don’t want a bloody nurse, and I don’t want Jessop. I want you.”

Katie shook her head, baffled by her own emotions, confused by the strength of her feelings for him. “Things were bad enough before, sir, when it was all inside me. Now it’s a thousand times worse.”

Then she turned and fled from the room.