Chapter 4
four
Sierra
A lthough he has a small plastic box filled with lotions and creams, as I expected, he doesn’t have the most advanced care formulas. But what he does have is acceptable and I’ll make do. He gives off the vibes of someone who just got the basic information about his device and ongoing therapies then disappeared into the Alaskan wilderness. One of my company’s goals is to make sure every prosthetic wearer has the most recent medical and therapeutic information available so they can live their healthiest life, so part of my job is to keep up with the trends and new developments.
Burns normally take a long time to heal. With the pressure and rubbing of the prosthetic’s socket against his damaged skin, Luke must be miserable. Living alone in a wilderness area probably doesn’t leave much time available for him to go without his device. Depends on what he does for a living, too. I’ll see what I can do, what suggestions I might come up with, before I have to leave.
The thought of leaving makes me sad. Interesting. Despite Luke’s grouchy acceptance of my presence in his house, I kind of think, kind of hope he wants me here, too. The feeling, deep in my chest, tells me we were destined to meet. I bite back a chuckle. If that is the case, destiny has a good sense of humor.
No matter what happens tonight, or tomorrow, or even half an hour from now, I’m going to help him find physical comfort in his own body. Gathering what I’ve chosen from the cabinet into a bundle in a large, nearly worn out towel, I join Luke on the couch.
He moved my harness to rest by the door and is pressed against the armrest as far as he can get from where I sit on the middle of the three cushions and arrange the bottles and jars on the coffee table. “Relax, Luke.”
“I am relaxed.”
“As relaxed as an overly twisted rubber band. Take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
He gives me a dirty look but takes the breath. Without prompting he takes another. “Now what.”
“Give me your arm.” I’ll wait as long as it takes. He surprises me by only taking a few seconds before stretching his arm toward me. “Thank you. I know that was difficult.”
He gives a soft grunt then watches intently as I roll back his shirt sleeve then carefully slip off the cotton covering. I’m not sure I’m successful at keeping my reaction to the condition of his arm contained and my expression neutral. His poor skin is a mess. He’s done a fairly good job with the basic care, but beyond that? Not so much.
“For now, I’m simply going to softly massage areas and you can let me know how sensitive or desensitized that spot is. We’ll go from there. Okay?”
There’s a hint of trust behind the secrets hidden in his sky-blue eyes. If I can get him talking maybe we can create a better balance for him. Except the questions I want to ask are not going to be conducive for his comfort. Might as well start with the big one. “Will you tell me how you lost your hand?”
His sigh holds a wealth of pain and sorrow. “I was a firefighter. Wanted to be one ever since I was a kid. I worked hard, got hired on right out of college.”
With his arm cradled in my lap, I carefully slide my lotion covered fingertips over the curve at the end of his stump. “What did you study in college?”
He hisses when I touch a tender spot where a bit of skin has pulled back from a burn but allows me to continue. “Business. It seemed like an easy degree and something practical to satisfy my sister. She pretty much raised me after our folks were killed.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Auto accident. I’d thought about becoming a paramedic after that and did do some training after I signed onto the department in my home town.”
“But fighting fires was your calling.”
“Yes.”
We fall silent. The only sound is the patter of rain and our breathing. It’s a comfortable silence. After a life of foster homes and institutions, accepting the quiet is a rare occurrence for me. That, if nothing else, holds meaning and possibilities. Longing settles low in my body and my massaging strokes become softer, more languid. Luke has rested his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closed. Now he finally looks relaxed.
Until I notice his clenched fist resting on his thigh. And the tight fullness behind the zipper of his jeans. Grinning, I wonder what might happen if I moved my massage to another needy part of his body. I rest his arm on my lap. Now is not the time for sex. I don’t want him to be just a momentary pleasure. There’s something about this man that makes me want… more.
Clearing my throat makes him turn his face toward me. “Were you happy being a firefighter?”
“Yes. I felt it was my purpose. My reason. I poured my life into my work and the station.”
“Then what happened?”
He shifts and stares at the blunt, rounded end of his arm. “The flames of an apartment fire went rogue. I was trying to…” Emotional pain fills his face. “A beam collapsed, crushing and partially severing my hand.” His gaze returns to me. “There wasn’t enough to reconstruct to try and save. Thank you, that does feel better.”
Without another word, he eases to his feet, tugs his shirt sleeve down to hide his stump and moves toward the kitchen. “I was planning on biscuits with venison sausage gravy for supper. That okay with you?”
There’s so much more I want to know, questions begging to be asked, but not now. If I try any tactics to get him to talk when he doesn’t want to, he’ll probably shove me out the door without so much as a ‘have a nice day’. Truthfully, I wouldn’t blame him. There are parts of my past I’m not so willing to bring to light either.
“I don’t know as I’ve ever had deer sausage before. Sounds good. What can I do to help?”
He looks confused for a moment then mumbles under his breath so softly I can’t figure out what he’s said. With a shake of his head, he says louder, “I’m not used to anyone being around. I do everything myself…”
I join him at the island. “I’ve been told I make a mean biscuit. How about I make those while you stir up the gravy.”
A true smile relaxes his face. “Sounds good. I haven’t gotten the hang of fluffy biscuits. Mine turn out more like that old hardtack you hear about pioneers eating.”
“Well,” I laugh, “At least you provide gravy to soften them up a bit.”
After a second he joins my laughter then directs me around the neat kitchen. The biscuits turn out great and his savory gravy is some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Like I usually do when I bake, I make a mess and get flour everywhere so I volunteer to do the cleanup. Then we settle again on the couch—each at our own distant end.
“My turn to ask a question,” Luke says, breaking the silence.
“Fair enough. Shoot.”
“You said you grew up in foster homes?”
Curling my legs up onto the cushion, I nod. This is easy to talk about. I’ve never hidden my background. What I’ve been through is what makes me who I am. And I like me.
“I was orphaned at seven. Even then I had a mind of my own which unfortunately didn’t work to my advantage in the system. I was shuttled from one foster family to another, my few belongings packed into a black plastic garbage bag.”
His eyes go wide. “That’s horrible.”
“Yes, it is. Unfortunately it’s still what a lot of kids in the system face. Whenever I can I donate backpacks and small suitcases so the kids can have something nice that might give them the feeling of some sort of permanency, even as they’re being moved from place to place.
“Anyway, by the time I was in middle school, I knew how to take care of myself. I had a tendency to run away when a living situation got rough. Which it always did because I was the bad seed.”
“Something changed.”
Restless, I stand and pace around the room as I talk. “Yeah. My junior year in high school. Before my mom died she instilled in me the importance of education so no matter what else was going on, I never skipped school. One day there was an assembly where different professions came and talked. You know, one of those ‘choose this job’ kind of things.” I chuckle when he rolls his eyes.
“There was one guy. An engineer. Talked about robotics and helping people. I was fascinated and decided right then that’s what I wanted to do with my life.”
“Like me when I took a ride on a firetruck in fourth grade.”
“Exactly. Some angel must have been looking out for me because somehow I ended up seated next to him during the casual question and answer time. Even when he was asked questions by other students, he spent most of the time talking to me. Told me later he recognized something in me, knew I’d do great things. Even offered me a summer job with his company.”
“Sounds like a great guy.”
Leaning my hip against the island, I stare out the window next to the fireplace. “He is. My senior year he and his wife adopted me.”
People aren’t often sure what to say when I tell them that so Luke’s silence doesn’t surprise me. Only a small percentage of kids in the system are adopted so close to adulthood.
The rain’s stopped although the late afternoon sun hasn’t made an appearance. I don’t want to leave but need time to find a relatively dry area to set up my camp. I press my hand against my belly. At least I won’t need to fix a meal tonight. With a sigh, I cross the room to take a better look outside. “I need to take off so I can find a camping spot before it gets dark.”
“It’s not done raining.”
I stare at Luke, who cocks his head to one side as though listening. “In fact, it’s probably going to rain all night. I’d feel better about it if you stayed here.”
That’s quite a statement from a man who just a few hours ago didn’t act like he wanted me around at all. I don’t want to overstay his tentative welcome. “I could set up my tent on the porch?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll stay inside where it’s dry. And safe. It’s… uh, the least I can do for…” He lifts his sock covered arm.
Since I don’t want to leave anyway, I’m not going to argue. “Thanks. I appreciate your hospitality. Are those the bedrooms upstairs? Shall I take one of those?” I ask and nod toward the open staircase.
“No.” He’s on his feet, hovering at the edge of movement as though he’s afraid I’ll charge up the stairs despite his denial. “Uh, no, sorry, there’s nowhere to sleep up there. It’s just, umm, storage.”
His explanation feels off but it’s his house. I won’t go where he doesn’t want me. “The couch then? Looks plenty comfortable to me.”
“It’ll be better than the hard, wet ground. I’ll grab blankets and stuff for you later.”
“Well, that’s settled. And really, thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to stay dry.”
Assuming he’s an early to bed, early to rise kind of guy, there’s not that much time to kill before dark. Hands on my hips, I ask, “So, what do you do around here for fun?”