Falling For The Cop. Dana Nussio

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      It was bad enough having to accept help from people, but what bothered him most this afternoon was that the therapist he was counting on to help him get out of this damn chair seemed to want nothing to do with him. He’d picked up on it the moment they’d met. Sure, she was doing her job in a distant, clinical fashion, but he was trained to pick out liars.

      He was looking at one of those right now.

      Unfortunately for him, Natalie Keaton also happened to be an exotic beauty with the kind of willowy body that could tempt a guy to tell a few lies of his own. Her café au lait skin, with a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, made him think of Spanish coffee with whipped cream and nutmeg sprinkles. And those eyes, wide-set and nearly black, challenged him to take a deeper look.

      One look too many, he guessed, from her frown when she glanced up from the floor and caught him watching her. Her loose bun was doing its job of keeping her mass of black-brown hair out of the way, but she shoved a loose tress behind her ear, anyway, as if she needed something to do with her hands. Oh, he could think of a few things... Clearly, they weren’t on the same page, he decided, as she lowered her gaze again to his feet.

      Shane closed his eyes and opened them again. Why was he looking at his physical therapist like some item on the menu? What did chasing after a beautiful woman have to do with him learning to walk again? No. Run. He needed to be able to sprint if he ever hoped to be approved for patrol. Besides, there wasn’t a chance that a woman like Natalie Keaton would actually look back at him now. What did he plan to do, sweep her off her feet with his wheelchair?

      “Today, in addition to looking at range of motion and doing a manual-muscle test, we’re going to check sensation, coordination and balance,” she said without looking up from the form on her clipboard. “Regarding balance, we’ll look at seated and standing balance and static and dynamic.”

      “Thanks for not making me change into one of those cute little hospital gowns,” he said instead of asking for more details. “Quick costume changes don’t work well for me lately.”

      “Both for here and for the home exercise program I’ll be giving you today, the sweat suit you’re wearing is fine.”

      “And a whole lot less breezy.”

      He grinned, but she didn’t look up to see it. Her jaw tightened, the same way it had when he and Jamie were joking in the waiting room. Those full, kissable lips curled in to form a grim line above her chin. She obviously didn’t appreciate his brand of humor. Or much else about him.

      Well, why the hell not? He’d never done anything to her. Was it because he was a police officer? He would never understand why some people hated the cops without any good reason. But then, not everybody owed as much to heroes in blue as he did. Not everyone knew without a doubt that the police—or one officer in particular—had saved his life. Even if Shane would never understand why the guy had gone to so much trouble.

      Without responding to his joke that even he no longer found funny, Natalie lifted his right leg and extended it from the knee until it was nearly straight. He couldn’t help but smile at the amount of effort it took for her to hold the weight of his leg. Maybe the muscle loss from inactivity wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but it would only be a matter of time until his leg was as skinny as one of her arms.

      “That’s pretty good, really,” she said as she rested his foot back on the floor.

      “Flexibility is not my problem. Walking is the problem.”

      “I know. But we have to start somewhere.” She lifted the other leg, extended it and then set it down again.

      But did she know? Did she understand that he probably needed a shrink now more than a PT, since his continued paralysis might be in his head? Even his doctors had hinted at it. Did she have any idea how critical it was for him to get back on the job and at least work toward restitution over a debt he might never be able to fully repay?

      Kent Sawyer’s silly grin slipped into his thoughts then, as it often did when he was feeling sorry for himself. Kent had always been the first to tell him to buck up, but his argument was even stronger now that he gave it from his hospital bed, where Kent was giving cancer the battle of his life and losing a little more every day.

      Where would he be now if the police officer hadn’t stuck his neck out for him with the courts and refused to give up on a juvenile delinquent like everyone else had? He’d deserved to be forgotten after he’d been responsible for another kid’s death, whether he could be held legally accountable or not.

      Natalie cleared her throat, his silence clearly making her uncomfortable.

      “Why don’t we back up for a minute?” She did just that, backing away from him and then reaching for the rolling chair behind her. Once she was seated, she grabbed his file and flipped it open. “Let’s talk a little about your injury.”

      “Okay.”

      “How long has it been since the accident?”

      His gaze lowered to the file that probably contained all the information she could have asked for, but he decided to humor her...to a point. “It wasn’t exactly an accident. That gun didn’t go off by itself.”

      “Of course. I mean the incident. So how long?”

      “Over three months.” The longest thirteen weeks of his life.

      “Three months,” she repeated as she wrote something on the paper. “According to your file, you sustained an incomplete spinal cord injury between L5 and S1, and the surgeon was successful in removing the bullet.” She looked up from the file. “You were lucky it was so low in your spinal cord.”

      “Yeah, the doctors also said if it had been a complete spinal cord injury, I would have permanently lost all movement and sensation beneath the point of injury.” He used air quotes to indicate he was repeating the doctor’s clinical explanation.

      She nodded. “And were you wearing a Kevlar vest when it happened?”

      Shane blinked, the off-topic question hitting him fast and low. He was the one gritting his teeth now, but she didn’t notice. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked that, but her question sounded more like an accusation. Was she suggesting that getting shot was somehow his fault?

      “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

      She lifted her head and blinked several times. “Forget I asked that. I was just curious.”

      He studied her, noting again her light brown skin. Could she possibly be biracial? If so, she would have a better reason than most to resent those few bad apples in law enforcement who’d committed wrongs against the African-American community. But, again, that had nothing to do with him. The least she could do was get to know him before she hated his guts.

      She fidgeted under his scrutiny. “I said forget I asked.”

      “Then to ease your curiosity, yes, I was wearing a vest. Funny thing about so-called bulletproof vests. They’re really only bullet resistant.”

      “Oh.”

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