Mary’s smile widened. “Thank you, Bert. Really.”
“What about the furniture you need to buy?”
“I’ll go tomorrow to the store in town. Maybe they can arrange delivery on Saturday.”
“Do you want company for that?”
She smiled, holding his gaze. “If you’re offering to help me pick out furniture, then yes.”
“Well, my expertise is more with weapons and tactical equipment, but I can sit on a sofa and give you my opinion on its comfort.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed. And as always, the sound hit him squarely in the chest.
“Then it’s a date,” he proclaimed, then blinked in panic, and quickly added, “Um… a date… um… to find furniture.”
Her smile still wide, she rolled to her van, and Bert waited until she’d pulled out of the parking lot before heading to his SUV. As he drove back toward the compound, the evening sky had him worried about her driving so late.
But she was moving closer. She’d be fifteen minutes away instead of an hour. He saw her at work every day, and now she’d be nearby on weekends too. This growing attachment was dangerous, but Bert found he didn’t care.
But as Bert drove back toward the compound through the gathering darkness, watching Mary’s taillights ahead of him to make sure she made it safely, he knew he was already too far gone to turn back now. He loved her. Had probably loved her since the day she’d rolled up to the compound with that determined expression and refused to let anyone help her.
The only question was whether he’d find the courage to tell her before fear won out. Before he talked himself out of taking the risk. Before he convinced himself that staying silent was the safer choice, even though it meant never knowing what they could have been together.
For now, he’d settle for this… driving behind her in the darkness, making sure she got home safely, being the quiet protector she might not even know she had.
7
Six months later
“I’m really sorry you had to bring me today,” Mary said for the third time as Bert pulled into the parking lot of the Montana Rehabilitation Center. “I could have changed the appointment.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Bert replied, putting the SUV in park. “I want to. I can wait in the car if you’d prefer.”
Mary hesitated, her hands resting on her lap. The truth was, she’d never brought anyone to one of these appointments before, other than her parents, and lately, she’d come by herself, wanting to hold on to every ounce of independence she could grasp. The quarterly checkups she had with her doctor and physical therapist were intimate in a way that had everything to do with the vulnerability of her body that no longer worked the way it should.
“You can come in,” Mary said finally. “But fair warning: these appointments are long and probably boring for anyone not directly involved.”
“I brought a book,” Bert said, patting his jacket pocket with a small smile.
The rehabilitation center was familiar territory for Mary. She’d been coming here every three months since she’d moved back to Montana, seeing Dr. Marla Casteel, a physiatrist who specialized in spinal cord injuries. The staff knew her by name, and the receptionist waved them through with a warm greeting.
“You can wait here,” Mary said, gesturing to the comfortable waiting area with its magazines and large windows overlooking the mountains. “I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“Take your time,” Bert said, already settling into a chair and pulling out his book.
Mary rolled toward the examination rooms, checking in with the nurse who took her vitals and updated her chart. Within minutes, she was moving from her wheelchair to the examination table with the assistance of the nurse and a transfer board.
Dr. Casteel arrived moments later, her warm smile and competent manner immediately putting Mary at ease. “Mary, good to see you. How have you been feeling?”
“Pretty good, actually,” Mary said. “No major issues since the last visit.”
“Excellent. Let’s start with the basics, and then we’ll get into specifics.”
They went through the clinical questions… the unglamorous realities of living with an incomplete spinal cord injury. Bladder function, bowel routines, skin integrity, muscle tone, and spasticity management. Mary answered each question matter-of-factly, long past the embarrassment she’d felt in those early months after the accident.
“I’m going to check your hip flexors and see how your muscle tone is doing,” Dr. Casteel said, moving to examine Mary’s legs. She lifted Mary’s right leg, bending it at the knee and hip to test the range of motion and muscle resistance. “Any increase in spasticity?”
“Some,” Mary admitted. “Mostly at night. My legs will sometimes spasm when I’m trying to sleep.”