Wife in Disguise

He jerked his head toward the two steps leading up to the front door. “I don’t have a ramp, and you can’t maneuver over those. I’ll carry you.”

Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms. When she was secure, he turned, bumping the door closed with his hip and heading for the house.

He told himself he was simply being expedient, that holding Josie like this didn’t mean anything. But he couldn’t help remembering all the other times he’d swept her up in his arms. His intent had usually been to get her somewhere private so they could make love. Now he was being a friend. Nothing more. Except he noticed all kinds of details. Like the fact that she felt different in his arms. Soft, rounder. She was a little heavier, though nothing he couldn’t handle. But the scent of her was the same. The sweet fragrance of her skin and her hair. Her arm around his neck felt the same, too. All that was missing was her mouth pressing against his as they stumbled toward their passionate release.

No passion this time, he reminded himself. He entered the house and bumped that door closed, as well. Then he set Josie down into her wheelchair. He was startled to feel her stiffen as he put her into the seat. Instantly he dropped to one knee beside her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head without speaking, turning her head from him. But not before he caught the gleam of tears in her eyes. Josie? Crying?

“What is it?” he asked. “Tell me.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. He could tell from the slump of her shoulders and the way she kept swallowing as if fighting back sobs.

She reached down for the wheels of the chair, as if to move away from him. He put his hand on the frame to stop her.

“Tell me what the hell is going on,” he insisted.

She whipped her head back to stare at him. He’d been right. Actual tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked and one slipped down her cheek. He reached up and caught it on the tip of his index finger. Del felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

“I can’t do this,” she said, then sniffed. “I just can’t be in a wheelchair. It’s too horrible.”

He felt instantly helpless. He could try to imagine what Josie was going through, but he couldn’t do more than empathize.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” he told her, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing it gently. Her fingers felt warm and familiar. He ignored the image of them touching him and instead focused on the in-progress conversation. “Your body needs time to heal. With rest and physical therapy, you’ll be up and around in no time. While you’re healing, you have the run of this place. I’ve taken up all the rugs, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting around. Just don’t try any wheelies in the hallway, okay?”

His attempt at humor fell flat. She didn’t even crack a smile. Instead she glared at him as if he had the intelligence of an amoeba.

“I don’t understand why you’re being so incredibly stupid about this,” she said, practically sputtering with frustration. “I don’t care about being back in a wheelchair, I care about being in a wheelchair in front of you.”

With that she jerked hard on the wheels and spun away from him. She started across the living room, moving faster than he would have thought possible for someone in her weakened condition.

Slowly he rose to his feet and stared after her. His mind took off in multiple directions. Even as her confession shocked him and her pain touched him, he couldn’t help noticing how well she handled the chair. Obviously, she’d spent enough time in it to become an expert. It was more proof of all she’d been through.

He swore under his breath and took off after her, grabbing her chair just before she entered the hall.

“Wait,” he insisted. “We have to talk.”

“Actually, we don’t.”

“Josie, please. It’s important.”

He released her and waited. Slowly, almost painfully, she turned until she faced him. She had to look up to meet his gaze. Instinctively he dropped to his knees so they were on the same level.

“I don’t care that you’re in a wheelchair,” he told her.

“Bull. I know what happens. I’ve lived through it before. You’re not even going to see me as a person anymore. I hate that. And I hate the control you have over me. You can grab me and turn me, taking me in any direction you want. I can’t do anything but hang on for the ride.”

What she was really saying was she hated the loss of control of her life.

“You’re wrong,” he said gently. “You being in a wheelchair means I finally get to see you as a person rather than a force of nature or a hellcat on wheels.” He paused. “Although I guess technically you’re more on wheels now than you were before.”

Surprisingly, one corner of her mouth turned up. “Very funny,” she said in a tone that indicated it was anything but.

“Oh, come on. You wanted to laugh or, at the very least, chuckle.” He lightly touched the back of her hand. “You’re just Josie to me. I’m still getting used to all the differences. Not just the wheelchair but the way you look, the long hair, the dresses. No one thing is that much better or worse than the other.”

“It is for me.”

“Okay. I accept that. But don’t assume what I’m thinking, okay? Let me screw up before you yell at me.”

“That won’t take very long,” she grumbled. “You’re bound to mess up sometime in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Ladies first,” he quipped, then stood. “Come on. Let me show you around. I’ve made a few changes in the house since you were here last.”

He started toward the kitchen, not sure she would follow. But eventually he heard the soft sound of rubber wheels on the hardwood floor. He stepped into the three-sided room. Where the fourth wall had been stood a center island. The old, dark cabinets had been replaced with pine. Several of the doors were etched glass instead of wood. Light granite countertops matched the color of the tile floor.

Josie wheeled her way around the area, coming to a stop in front of the six-burner stove. She raised her eyebrows as she touched the knobs.

“Either you ordered the wrong thing or you’ve taken up cooking in a big way.”

He grinned. “Neither. A customer ordered it, then changed her mind. I needed a stove and decided to keep it for myself.”

She nodded, then glanced around, taking in the recessed refrigerator and sliding cabinets concealing the small appliances.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“I figure it will help if I ever sell the place.”

She looked at him. “All this and you really don’t cook?”

“I heat microwave meals.”

He took a breath to continue speaking, then clamped his mouth shut. Telling Josie that his various girlfriends had, from time to time, prepared meals in the gourmet kitchen probably wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t something she would want to hear, and he found himself not wanting to tell her.

Which led his brain down another path. Did Josie have someone special in her life? Someone who took care of her and worried about her? He leaned back against the island and realized it wasn’t likely. At least not right now. No way would some guy let her come up here on her own.

Had there been someone before? A boyfriend or lover? He found himself torn between not liking the idea of another man with his ex-wife, which was crazy, and hoping that she hadn’t had to go through her recovery alone. He knew that if he and Josie had still been together when she’d been hit by the truck, he would have been with her every moment of every day. Oddly enough, he thought she would have done the same for him.

Josie tilted her head and pointed at the upper row of cupboards. “If the dishes and glasses are up there, you’re going to have to move them. I can’t reach anything higher than the counter.”

He hadn’t thought about that. “No problem. I’ll move some stuff around this afternoon and show you where I put it all later.”

“Sounds good. So what other changes have there been?”