say that a patient who was a winner in life before his injury would be a winner afterward. Despite his initial surliness, she could tell that Frank Chambers was a winner. She just had to remind him of that. She had to get him past his anger and fears and on to more practical things that could speed his recovery. Sooner or later his intelligence would kick in, and he’d realize that his attitude was only hurting.
Fortunately Jenny was by nature a fighter. She’d fought her own personal demons in this very hospital, and she’d learned from the humbling experience. Sometimes that enabled her to reach patients other therapists wanted to abandon as lost causes. Knowing how easy it was to slip into despair strengthened both her compassion and her determination to keep that self-defeating slide from happening.
Yesterday, by threatening to force Frank into a wheelchair, by hinting he was worse off than he was and allowing him the victory of proving her wrong, she had won the first round. Yet it was a shaky, inconclusive victory. Today was likely to be more difficult. He was going to be expecting miracles, and if he hadn’t improved overnight, he’d consider the therapy a failure and her an unwelcome intruder.
She considered sending the massive, intimidating Otis after him, but decided it would be the cowardly way out. She did take along the wheelchair though, just in case Frank needed a little extra persuasion.
Jenny breezed into the room just in time to see his breakfast tray hit the floor. She grabbed an unopened carton of milk in midair and guessed the rest. He’d gotten frustrated over his inability to cope with the milk and the utensils.
“Hey, I’ve heard hospital food is lousy, but that’s no reason to dump it onto the floor,” she said, keeping her expression neutral as he made his way from the bed to the window.
“I wouldn’t know,” he muttered, his rigid back to her as he stared outside. His black hair was becomingly tousled from sleep and his inability to tame it with a comb. She was touched by the sexy disarray and poked her hands in her pockets to avoid the temptation to brush an errant strand from his forehead. The shadow of dark stubble on his cheeks was equally tempting, adding to a masculine appeal she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore.
“You could have asked for help,” she said mildly.
“Dammit, woman, I am not a baby. I don’t need to be fed.”
“You may not be a baby, but at the moment you’re acting like one. You’ve been burned, not incapacitated for life. There’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help until you can manage on your own.”
He whirled on her. “And when in hell will that be? I’ve been doing your damned exercises.”
“Since yesterday,” she reminded him.
He ignored her reasonable response, clearly determined to sulk. “Nothing’s changed. I still can’t even open a damned carton of milk.”
She regarded him with undisguised curiosity. “Do you actually like lukewarm milk?”
“No,” he admitted. “I hate the stuff.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
He scowled, but she could see a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes before he carefully banked it and returned to his study of the foggy day outside. “It’s the principle.”
“Pretty stupid principle, if you ask me.”
“Who asked you?”
“Call me generous. I like to share my opinions.”
“Share them somewhere else where they’re appreciated. I’m sure there are a dozen places on this corridor alone where Saint Jennifer’s views would be welcomed.”
The barb struck home. It wasn’t the first time she’d been accused of being a Pollyanna, of nagging where she wasn’t wanted. It came with the job. Even so, she had to swallow the urge to lash back. Forcing a breezy note into her voice, she said, “You probably wouldn’t be nearly this cranky if you’d had your breakfast. Come on. If you don’t squeal on me, I’ll treat you to a couple of doughnuts and a cup of coffee in the therapy room. I guarantee there won’t be anything you have to open. And the doughnuts are fresh. I stopped at the bakery on the way in.”
He turned finally and regarded her warily. “Are you trying to bribe me into coming back to therapy?”
“I’m trying to improve your temper for the benefit of the entire staff on this floor. Now come along.”
Blue eyes, which had been bleak with exhaustion and defeat, sparked briefly with sheer devilment. “Do I have a choice?” he inquired, his voice suddenly filled with a lazy challenge.
“You do, but just so you know, the wheelchair’s right outside.”
“And Otis?”
“He’s within shouting distance, but I didn’t think I’d need him today.” Her gaze held a challenge of its own. She could practically see the emotions warring inside him as he considered his options. She pressed a little harder. “So, are you coming or not? I have jelly doughnuts. Or chocolate. There’s even one that’s apple-filled.”
Temptation won out over stubbornness. She could see it in the suddenly resigned set of his shoulders. Apparently she’d hit on a weakness with those doughnuts.
“You are a bully,” he accused, but he followed her from the room.
“Takes one to know one. What’s it going to be jelly, chocolate or apple?”
“Jelly, of course. You could probably see my mouth watering the minute you mentioned them.”
“I did sense I had your attention.”
“Why do you do this?” he asked as they walked down the hall.
“Buy doughnuts?”
The evasion earned a look of disgust. “You know what I meant.”
“They pay me to do it.”
“So you’ve said. I’m more interested in why someone would choose a profession that requires them to put up with nasty-tempered patients like me.”
“Maybe I’m a masochist.”
“I don’t think so. What’s the truth, Jenny Michaels?”
There was a genuine curiosity in his eyes that demanded an honest response. “Sometimes,” she said softly, “sometimes I can make a difference.”
He nodded at once with obvious understanding. “Quite a high, huh?”
She grinned at the way he mirrored her thoughts. “Quite a high.”
He glanced sideways at her. “I’d guess the lows are pretty bad, though.”
Jenny sobered at once, thinking of the patients who struggled and lost against insurmountable odds. “Bad enough.”
Inside the sunshine-bright therapy room, she put two jelly doughnuts on a plate and poured a cup of coffee for Frank as he nudged a chair up to the table with some deft footwork. She sat beside him and encouraged him to talk about himself. As he did, almost without him realizing, she broke off bits of the doughnuts and fed them to him. More than once her fingers skimmed his lips, sending a jolt of electricity clear through her. He seemed entirely unaware of it, thank goodness.
“So you worked odd jobs from the time you were a kid and helped your mother raise all of those handsome characters I’ve met,” she said.
“You think they’re handsome?” he asked, watching her suspiciously. “All of them?”
She nodded, playing on the surprising hint of vulnerability she detected. “One of them is a real charmer, too. What’s his name? Tim?”
“He’s a little young for you, isn’t he?” he inquired, his gaze narrowed, his expression sour.
Jenny chuckled at his obviously suspicious response to her teasing.