When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,39

this woman who had rescued him. Was it more than her help he was grateful for?

“It’s not easy, but you’ll get the knack of it.”

Her voice distracted his wonderings and it took him a few seconds to realize she was talking about the crutches. “Is that your professional speech?” He arched his eyebrows. “Or is that from experience?”

“Both.”

She grinned at him, and he felt as if the sun had suddenly come out on a cloudy day. His irritation slid away. He leaned back against the cupboard and stretched his legs out in front of him. With an audible sigh, he let the tension slip away. This was ridiculous. Here he was sitting on his kitchen floor like a beached whale having a conversation with a gorgeous woman and it seemed the most natural thing in his world. “So, Molly,” he said, grinning back, “when did you get to experience walking on crutches?”

“The first time?”

“Have you needed them often?”

Molly put her hand against the doorframe and stretched out one shapely leg.

“Nice leg.”

“Thank you.”

She laughed, and returning her leg to the floor, she shook her head and grinned at him.

“Well, this leg has a bum ankle. I was in track and field as a kid, sprained it several times, and had to be on crutches.” She tipped her head to one side. “Sometimes I think I just liked the attention.”

“The attention?”

“Yes. Do you know how much sympathy a kid gets when they’re on crutches?”

Pearce laughed. “I would never have thought about that. Do you think I might be able to play on your sympathy?”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “That depends.”

What was it about the way she said ‘depends’ that sent his senses reeling? He couldn’t help his teasing tone or the wink her gave her. “Depends on what?” He was pleased to see the flush darkening her peaches and cream complexion.

“We’ll have to work out the terms.”

“Well, maybe I should swallow my pride, avoid my crab walk, and let you retrieve my crutch.” He pointed to where it lay several inches beyond his reach. “That is, if you have any sympathy you could muster for an old guy like me.”

“Do you want me to get the wheelchair?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “If you could just help me get upright again.”

As she bent to retrieve the crutch, Pearce couldn’t keep his eyes off the shapely length of her legs. She wasn’t model material. No, this woman had too many curves for that, and all of them in the right places. A treat to the eyes, and he’d definitely enjoy having her around for a while.

Pearce braced himself, hesitated, then held out his hand. “Mind giving me a leg up?”

Molly crossed the room and gripped his hand. Hers felt so soft and delicate in his rough one—its softness, a soothing salve against the anticipated pain.

Did she have the strength to get him off the floor? She looked like a porcelain doll, too fragile to be able to propel a lug like himself back on his feet. Yet she was bending over him, slipping behind him, sliding her arms around him. Her eyes questioned his readiness.

With a nod, Pearce leaned forward, took a deep breath, and bent his good leg under him. Her arm tightened around his waist, and he arched toward her. With a measured heave, Molly hoisted him upward until both feet were beneath him and the crutch again in place.

Pain shot down his leg, then radiated from his toes back up to his thigh. He gripped the crutch until his knuckles turned white. Closing his eyes, he waited for the spasm to pass. Her arm tightened around him. Despite his pain, he felt the heat of her body seep through his cotton shirt. Like a moth drawn to a flame, he leaned into her.

“Should I get the wheelchair?”

“Just give me a minute.”

When he tried to move, another shaft of pain shot down his leg. He grabbed for her arm. Pain and nausea overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes and fought the dizziness threatening to send him to his knees.

That was all he needed. It was bad enough that this woman had to see him dealing with weakness, pain, and infirmity, without the ultimate disgrace of passing out on her. He slumped against the counter.

He felt as if every vestige of color had left his face. His shoulders slumped and his knees felt like overstretched rubber bands. Molly was grasping a kitchen chair and shoving it beside him. Reaching her arm across