The Long Road Home (13 page)

He considered her words for a long moment, let them sink into his wounded soul, and felt the healing caress deep inside. "How did I get so lucky to run into you again?"

She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled wide enough to outshine the sun. "Do you believe in fate?"

Logan shrugged. "You think we were fated to bump into one another again?"

"Maybe. Does the reason really matter when we're already here?"

"Not really." He puffed out a breath. "I haven't said thank you enough for all that you've done."

She shushed him with a finger across his lips. "I wanted to. Besides, you're a perfect roommate. Tidy, clean, funny, helpful, excellent eye candy."

His eyebrow shot up. "Eye candy?"

"Uh huh. Definitely in the yummy category." A flush appeared on her cheeks.

Excitement, arousal, or embarrassment, he couldn't tell which. No matter, he'd take her sensual teasing and up the ante. "Keep talking like that, honey, and I'll let you strip me down and commence rubbing right here."

Her eyes twinkled as her gaze fell to his groin.

A tightening and throbbing began at her appreciative appraisal. With just a few words and a look, she had him fully erect and as horny as a buck deer in rut. Yet she continued to play the coy female. For whatever reason, she danced out of reach each time.

Gwen licked her lips nervously. "Dinner should be ready."

He opened his mouth to tell her dinner could wait but bit his tongue at the tension that crossed her face along with a twinge of worry. She shifted her weight restlessly and glanced back toward the kitchen. Her body language screamed indecision. No way in the world would he rush her into intimacy, not when she still carried concerns and doubts. Let her test the boundaries, become used to the idea of them together; all the better for him in the long run. An impatient hunter never came home with food for the table.

"Dinner works."

Bide your time. She'll come around. Maybe soon. But not before he figured out how in the hell he was supposed to have sex with only one leg. No way would he jump into bed until he knew he could please her as she deserved.

* * * *

Placing the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, Gwen turned to find Logan mulling at the table, a look of deep concentration pasted on his face. He'd been pensively quiet through the whole meal, absorbed in his own thoughts. Her heart went out to him, knowing he still struggled to accept his new limitations.

He had come home down and out, worried about his ability to bounce back after a rough day in rehab. As much as she strived to bolster his spirits, she knew deep down he had to weather the rough spots in order to find success once more. He'd get stronger, more confident, everything just took time, especially when he started at a lower level than he'd probably ever begun before.

Already, she missed the lopsided grin on his face, the spark in his eyes, the glow of amusement that turned his handsome features into a living Adonis. Their fun bantering seemed to put his concerns on the back burner for a while, until she called a halt due to cold feet. She didn't miss the flash of disappointment or the tightening of his lips when she backpedaled out of the corner she'd painted herself into.

In truth, she carried a healthy dose of attraction for the former Army Ranger. Wanted him like she wanted no other man in her life. Yet she bided her time. He'd only moved in forty-eight hours prior and just began his intensive rehab. He had enough obstacles with adjusting to his prosthesis and the changes in life forced upon him by the roadside bomb. She needed to be sure they were on the same page, instead of pushing ahead, perhaps too fast. The last thing she wanted was for Logan to think she'd jumped into bed with him out of pity because he had a bad day, a bad month. Heck, a bad year.

As far as she was concerned, they were in this for the long haul, not a mere space in time only to go their different directions like they did once before. Surely, they hadn't been thrown together at an airport in the middle of an ice storm for nothing.

She had spent a few hours on the computer, already preparing and learning about amputations, prosthetic devices, and the psychological impact of losing a limb during wartime. The more she read, the more she searched online for further information, even stumbling across a very interesting article about sex with an amputation. The down to earth recommendations she filed away for later use. They'd get there. In due time. When they were both ready.

"I'm going to shower."

"Okay." She watched him stand and slowly walk from the kitchen, his bare artificial foot thunking against the floor with each uneven step.

Just as he pulled abreast of the couch, he tripped and flailed in an attempt to regain his balance, then fell face-first toward the floor. At the last moment, he was able to catch himself with his arms, preventing his face from smashing against the unforgiving surface.

Gwen hurried over but stopped before touching him, recalling his sensitivity to others giving assistance when he needed to do things for himself. "Are you okay?"

"Shit." He cussed fluently and banged his fist on the floor. "Why? Why did I have to sacrifice my leg, my career for such a godforsaken place?" His voice broke. "Why me? All I ever wanted to do was be a Ranger. Now I can't be anything. Not a Ranger, not anything. Not even a fucking clown. Absolutely useless."

She bit her lip as a tear coursed down his cheek. The outburst only surprised her in the fact he had managed to keep all those emotions bottled up for the days they'd spent together. Maybe even longer. But he needed to air his anger, release the negativity eating at his very soul. Holding in something so big and ugly would only delay his healing and form a foulness, which would eventually work its way to the surface after poisoning his sanity and spirit along the way. Her gut told her to let him vent, wait for the fireworks to cease, then provide comfort.

Logan wiped at his face angrily, then smacked the floor with his open palm. "How will I ever be a man again?"

Lowering herself to the floor, Gwen sat beside him and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.

"Such a fitting end to one fucking day." He puffed out a breath and seemed to deflate before her eyes.

Gingerly, she touched his shoulder, lightly tracing her fingers over the balled up muscle.

"I don't know why I'm bothering with all this therapy, anyway. What good will it do me?"

As much as she warned herself to leave the rhetorical question alone, words poured from her mouth. "Therapy will help you regain your strength, teach you to work with your prosthesis instead of struggling with it."

He said nothing.

"Logan, one thing I know for sure about you is you're not a quitter. Never have been, never will be. Vent, yell, hit things if you need to. It's all part of the healing process. Just don't give up on therapy so soon." Lightly, she rubbed his back, waiting until he angled his upper body to meet her gaze.

"I'm a piss poor excuse for a man."

She shook her head and cupped his cheek. "No. You're wrong. You're an exceptional man, kind, caring, brave, smart." She trailed her fingers over his cheek. "We can't forget sexy, too."

A myriad of emotions crossed his face before he sighed wearily. "I don't feel very sexy lying on this damn floor."

"That's because you're looking at it from the wrong perspective. Turn over." Bafflement covered his face, but he did her bidding.

As soon as he flipped, she straddled his body, lining up her hips with his, and rested her upper body on his broad chest. Leaning in, she brushed a kiss across his nose. "See. Very sexy and comfortable."

His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her in place, as he stared up at her. Slowly, curiosity replaced rage across his face. "You think so?"

She nodded. "Oh, yeah. Having the man of my dreams under me is the stuff of fantasies."

"I'm not much of a Prince Charming," he grumbled but met her lowering lips.

After a brief, chaste kiss, she lifted her head enough to answer. "That's all right. Who needs a man in tights and slippers when I can have a warrior instead?" She rubbed her nose against his. "Besides, I'm fresh out of glass slippers."

The tension left his body as he cupped the back of her head and pulled her down until their lips meshed and locked.

They didn't get up off the floor until a long time later.

Chapter 23

"Come on in, Logan. Take a seat wherever you'd like." A shorter man with a stout build and receding hairline ushered him in. In dress pants and an Oxford shirt, he resembled any business man, although his name tag declared him Dr Field, one of the psychiatrists at Walter Reed.

Logan glanced around the room, noted the typical lying couch, the brunt of so many jokes, and moved on. A regular sofa and a couple of overstuffed chairs completed the room. A wall of shelves sat to one side, full of books while a large window allowed light to pour in, illuminating the room without need for artificial lighting even at this time of the morning.

Striding over, Logan chose one of the chairs, plopped down, and watched the middle-aged man with only mild interest. Honestly, he had never felt comfortable talking to the psychiatrist, not the one in Germany, and certainly not Dr Field. Sure, they were there to help, but he always felt on edge, as if they were writing notes on him that were less than flattering. The visit wouldn't be nearly as important except that headquarters looked at psych recommendations seriously, thus these visits could prove life altering.

As opposed to what? Losing a leg? Logan snorted to himself.

"Thank you for coming today, Logan." Dr Field chose to sit on the couch facing him, sinking into the leather sofa with familiarity. A pen and legal pad soon rested on his lap as he studied Logan.

Logan nodded slightly, barely resisting the urge to tap his fingers. He'd never suffered from nervousness, not in battle, not in life, but this office proved to be different.

"First of all, I wanted to let you know this is just a routine visit. Every veteran is scheduled to see a psychiatrist during their rehab. Standard procedure." He clicked his pen and crossed his legs. "How are you doing?"

"Good as can be expected, I guess."

"What would you expect?"

Logan wanted to groan with the first questions. Instead, he blew out a breath and went for honesty. "I guess I expected flashbacks, nightmares, and a lack of understanding."

"Has that been the case?" Dr Field looked up at him.

"No flashbacks. A few nightmares." Oddly, none since he had moved in with Gwen, but it'd only been a few days. "So far, people at Walter Reed have been courteous and easy to get along with. No complaints there."

"Tell me about your nightmares."

As much as he hated to relive the terror, Logan refused to shrink away. "It's about the event where I lost my leg." The psychiatrist started writing. Taking that for a cue to continue, Logan rambled on. "My unit was assigned to clear a stretch of a commonly used road in Afghanistan. There was a single large hill with a building on top. We were told it used to be a school, but now harbored Al Qaeda. Orders were to claim the hill and thus prevent more ambushes and loss of life." He looked down at the floor and pictured the scene. "We came under heavy fire. I was the gunner in the third vehicle back. I shot so many rounds the heat off the gun would have melted steel. Yet they kept coming. Hours went by. Still they kept coming from all sides. We were pinned down with only our vehicles for protection. A sniper started firing from one direction, groups of tangos from another. First sergeant called in air support as we were short on ammo. By the time the choppers arrived, we were down to dust and totally defenseless. They saved our asses, found out we weren't dealing with one hundred tangos as originally thought, but more like one thousand."

He rested his head in his hands. "The next day was a repeat of the first. A chopper dropped off more ammo, but we were still in the thick of things. I can't remember how many rounds we went through, but I can still feel the heat coming off the gun and see the tangos dropping only to be replaced by others. Endless numbers of tangos. They never stopped coming. Then bullets started incoming from the east, leaving us surrounded on three sides, bullets falling like rain and pelting our armored vehicles like heavy hail. First sergeant called for us to change positions, in order to provide better cover. My driver backed up. I remember seeing a movement in the rocks ahead. A man, barely recognizable in the shelter of the rocks. No gun, just a tango cradling something in his hand. Just as I aimed for him, an explosion rocked the vehicle."

Logan paused to scrub his face, sweat breaking out on his lower back, as he felt the familiar racing heartbeat and escalated breathing as if he were back in battle.

"What happened then?"

"I don't remember much. The guys were yelling at me, pulled me from the vehicle. I recall they were working on my leg. My head rang so badly from the explosion, I couldn't hear, but I could read the concern on their faces. Within minutes, a chopper arrived. They hauled me off, straight to the field hospital."

"When did you realize the extent of your injury?" Dr Field asked quietly.

"I guess at the regular medical base. The surgeon spoke to me about my leg, explained the lower section was gone. I remember being too stunned and overwhelmed to really say much at the time." He sighed. "They shipped me to Germany pretty quickly. There, I spent hours looking at the stump, cussing my bad luck, and thinking my life was virtually over."