Page 7

I pat my son’s good leg, proud of the progress he’s been making with his other leg—the one that ends just above his knee. We’ve gone through four prosthetics, and none of them were quite right until we sat down to design one together.

It probably shouldn’t have been fun, but it was because Junior and I were doing it together.

He slides it off and hands it to me. “Still has a little too much spring. I’m not running marathons over here.”

I adjust the socket and the foot attachment in micromovements and hand it back. “You could though, and that’s the point.”

Junior laughs, always good-natured, easygoing. Even after he lost his leg to a roadside bomb. He made jokes in his hospital bed as his mother sobbed. He shouldn’t have had to ease her pain like that, but he did.

“Yeah. Maybe next year. My buds over at the support group are setting up a basketball league. I might give that a try, but I feel bad for having the advantage over the guys in the wheelchairs.” His grin is jovial.

“Could play in one with them so you don’t flaunt your ability to walk.” I might not have wanted my son to join the Marines, but I can’t begrudge him his dedication, his pride, all of his bravery and hard work.

He’s the reason I treat disabled veterans now, and we have a nice influx of them in the center. I take them on pro bono. It’s the least I could do for the men and women who made sure my son came home to me.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that. When are you coming back to the VA?”

“This weekend. I’ve got a small group with back injuries. Spinal surgery recovery.”

Junior grimaces. “Those are rough. No prosthetics for your spine. At least, not yet.”

“No. Not yet. But thankfully, we can work on reducing their pain and giving them some of their mobility back.”

An uncommon flash of darkness falls over my son. When he shuts down, I never really know what dark path he’s traveling. Remembering his own personal trauma? He still hasn’t given me the details.

I give him a beat before I pat his knee, distracting him with the present. “Let’s give it another try.”

He straps it on and pushes to his feet. Junior goes through the parallel bars first before taking a stroll around the room.

As he returns, I catch a glimpse of long red hair in my peripheral vision. Olivia, my new thesis student, walks by and makes me pause. She looks a little lost. I’m up and walking toward her before I consciously decide to.

“Olivia?”

She spins, eyes wide and cheeks flush, to face me. “Dr. Wright.”

“Need some help?”

Her smile is small but warm and genuine. “Yes, please. I was looking for the supply room. Needles, tubes, et cetera?”

Funny how the nurses haven’t helped her, but it’s easy enough, and I’m already here.

“This way.” I gesture for her to follow me down the hall. There’s a supply closet near the end where a few small private work rooms are located. “How is your search for test subjects coming along?”

“Good. I have twelve, and all of them are coming in this week to take their baseline labs. Hence the need for supplies. I might be jumping the gun, but I prefer to be prepared.” Her skin turns a slightly deeper pink.

“It’s good to be prepared.” The door is locked, so I pull out my key and open the door for her.

People shuffle behind us. The hallway seems to narrow as a plethora of nurses and aids crowd in. The commotion shoves me into Olivia, pressing us into the small closet. I hear her hit the shelf behind her, the contents rattling, and I put up a hand to brace it from falling.

My other hand comes up to the back of her head. Did she hit it? “You okay?”

She nods, almost against my chest as we’re squeezed together. Her breath fans across my throat.

Suddenly, I’m aware of how much the front of her is smashed against the front of me. And she’s soft. A tantalizing kind of soft that fits into the nooks and grooves of my hard body.

I’m surprised by how good it feels. How much better it feels to have a woman like Olivia against me than the woman I usually have this close. How would it feel to have her under me?

All of that softness.

Would it feel just as good to dig my fingers into the meat of her hips and waist? To have those soft thighs around me?

Why have I never entertained the idea of having a woman with curves before? What have I been missing?

Why is it all so alluring?

Her mouth is parted, startled and panting a little.

Temptation washes over me, but as quickly as it started, the commotion calms, and I pull back an inch, just in time to keep evidence of my spike of attraction from being noticed; I rub at the back of her head where I suspect a lump might be forming from being knocked the way she was.

It wasn’t excessively hard, but it doesn’t take as much as people think to cause a concussion.

Her brow furrows.

“You sure, you’re alright? I thought I heard you knock your head.” My hand is wafting her citrus scent up at me.

Olivia reaches up to pull my hand from her hair. “Yeah. It wasn’t hard. What was that?”

My gaze focuses on how her teeth scrape her bottom lip before I meet her bright green eyes. I’d noticed them before, but they didn’t catch me quite like this last time.

“We don’t often have emergencies, but sometimes…the growth gets tough and people lash out. They push too hard and pass out. Things happen.”

She nods again, eyes still a little wide and startled.

“Think you can find your way back?” I lift a teasing brow at her. Am I flirting?

She laughs, it’s full and delightful and reaches down through my ribs into my gut without my permission. “Yes. Thank you.”

Still, I linger for a moment. Curious about the way I’m reacting to her. How much I want to see her smile.

“How is the rest of your research going?” I cringe inside. I don’t want her to think I’m going to micromanage her, but my reputation for being tough precedes me. This doesn’t seem too far off base.

She straightens from searching through the equipment, eyes round and a box of tubes in her hands. “Off to a good start. I’ve got an excellent group to work with. Professor Salazar has offered to help me with the routines I’ve built.”

That pangs in a new, unfamiliar way. Am I jealous?

“Good. Let me know if you need anything. We should schedule a sit-down after your first session with them.”

Her expression turns softer, and she blinks at me sweetly. “I meet with them on Friday. Would Monday work?”

“Yes. I have the morning open…”

“Ten okay?” Is that crinkle around her eyes amusement?

“Perfect.” My pause amps up the tension. “I wouldn’t mind if you brought another box of treats with you either.”

This time her small, knowing smile rips straight through me. I bet she didn’t think I tried one of those cannoli.

I did. It was one of the best treats I’ve ever tasted.

“Can do. My brother is a hell of a chef, isn’t he?”

Her brother. He must be close if he put the effort into making cannoli from scratch just to get her on my good side. It worked.

This time, I back away, and she goes back to digging through the equipment. I try not to ogle her round ass as I retreat.

I return to my son, slow, thoughtful.

Junior’s eyes are twinkling when he looks up at me. “So, who’s that?”

“A graduate student.”

“Your student?”

“Yes. I’m heading her thesis project.” Something that should be a deal breaker. That should keep these new thoughts from sweeping unbidden into my mind.

“Hmm. Too bad. She’s pretty.”

Yes. She is pretty.

Prettier than I noticed the first time we met.

All I saw then was her roundness, the extra meat on her body, and the chip that sometimes comes with that. It’s the basis for her thesis after all.

And now … now, I see more.

I redirect. “Mmm. Don’t forget to stop in and see your sister when you’re done here. She misses you.”

Junior’s smile says he’s not buying it. “Sure thing, Dad.”