edge and, as he gripped her hand and tugged, the demands of gravity helped her bring her legs up and then roll her against him. It made her smile, and then feel other, deeper things, because he was ready, curling a possessive arm around her to bring her right up against him. It seemed natural to drape over him, her leg over his uninjured one, her arm across his chest, hand cupped over his shoulder.
He’d said she could kiss him anytime, and she thought that also applied to her touch on his upper body. So she flattened her palm over his heart, moving her fingers in slow strokes over his warm flesh, down to his nipple and combing through the chest hair. He brushed his lips over her temple as she explored, nuzzled her, teased her, moving down her cheekbone as she lifted her face to his. His hand slid over her chin and throat, thumb tracing her collar bone. Her whole body wanted to melt against the strength of his, her thigh tightening over him. When his arm around her shifted, his palm cupping her buttock, squeezing, she pressed closer.
He broke the kiss after a lingering moment, but kept his hand where it was, making slow circles, caresses, that had tingles shooting through her thighs and up between them, all the way up to her throat and mouth. How his eyes lingered on her lips enhanced the feeling. Exacerbated it. New word.
“I don’t need to do schoolwork,” she said. “I finished most of it last night.”
His lips curved. “Then what’s in the bag?”
“My notebook, and a book from the library. It’s one that Dr. Taylor recommended to me, about Irish immigrant children who were transported out west in the late 1800s and early 1900s.” When she’d started reading it last night, she knew why Dr. Taylor had recommended Orphan Train to her. The life of the orphans, their feelings about how unpredictable life was, how they could never plan or count on anything, was familiar. As was their inability to trust, even when it seemed life had stabilized, improved. And they’d been real people, struggling with some of the same things Daralyn was, only about a hundred years ago.
“Dr. Taylor seems like good people. I met with her today.” Rory’s gaze held hers. “She said you were okay with that.”
“Yes.” Talking about it more than that would make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want this moment to be about Dr. Taylor, or anything but how wonderful and anxious in the right kind of way it felt to be lying in the hammock with him.
She glanced over her shoulder at his chair, positioned on the other side of the hammock. Getting into the hammock couldn’t have been an easy feat. “You never seem to worry about falling.”
He shrugged. “You get past it. You have to. The first time I fell and figured out how to get myself back into the chair on my own, without it taking days, I honest-to-God felt like I’d won the winning touchdown for a state championship.”
They lay in silence a few moments, the hammock swaying slightly from their combined weights and the fall breeze. The tree canopies above them were starting to turn yellow. In full fall plumage, they would look like the sun in leaf form.
She remembered when he was on the football team. She’d never been to one of his games—far too noisy, too much activity. But she’d heard the recap when his family came home afterward, when she saw the light in his eyes, the flush of victory and excitement.
It made her think of earlier today, that startling, heartbreaking moment when he’d touched her ankle.
You can feel this, right? I sure wish I could.
“Do you miss it a lot, playing football?” she asked softly. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
He brushed his lips over her forehead again. “You can ask me whatever you want, remember? Quid pro quo. And it’s okay. I'm okay with what my life is now. I miss it sometimes, but mostly I miss being able to move like that. I wouldn't have done anything with football after high school, because being great there doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll be picked up by a college team. And now, I'm glad it wasn't going in that direction. Because to lose that, in addition to the ability to walk…not sure if I could have handled that.”
He grimaced. “But knowing that I can still have ninety percent of