Read Online Come Lie With Me by Linda Howard - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Linda Howard
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to grit her teeth and use all her considerable determination to make herself touch him, but after a few minutes she had realized that a man who needed therapy obviously wasnât in any shape to be attacking her. Men were human beings who needed help, just like everyone else.
She preferred working with children, though. They loved so freely, so wholeheartedly. A childâs touch was the one touch she could tolerate; she had learned to enjoy the feel of little arms going about her neck in a joyous hug. If there was one regret that sometimes refused to go away, it was the regret that she would never have children of her own. She controlled it by channeling extra devotion into her efforts for the children she worked with, but deep inside her was the need to have someone of her own, someone who belonged to her and who she belonged to, a part of herself.
Suddenly a muffled sound caught her attention, and she lifted her head from the pillow, waiting to see if it was repeated. Blake? Had he called out?
There was nothing but silence now, but she couldnât rest until she had made certain that he was all right. Getting out of bed, she slipped on her robe and walked silently to the room next door. Opening the door enough to look inside, she saw him lying in the same position heâd been in before. She was about to leave when he tried to roll onto his side, and when his legs didnât cooperate, he made the same sound sheâd heard before, a half sigh, half grunt.
Did no one ever think to help him change his position? she wondered, gliding silently into the room on her bare feet. If heâd been lying on his back for twoyears, no wonder he had the temperament of a water buffalo.
She didnât know if he were awake or not; she didnât think so. Probably he was just trying to change positions as people do naturally during sleep. The light in the hallway wasnât on now, since everyone was in bed, and in the dim starlight coming through the glass doors she couldnât see well enough to decide. Perhaps, if he were still asleep, she could gently adjust his position without his ever waking up. It was something she did for most of her patients, a gesture of concern that they usually never realized.
First she touched his shoulder lightly, just placing her hand on him and letting his subconscious become accustomed to the touch. After a moment she applied a little pressure and he obeyed it, trying to roll to his right side, facing her. Gently, slowly, she helped him, moving his legs so they didnât hold him back. With a soft sigh he burrowed his face into the pillow, his breathing becoming deeper as he relaxed.
Smiling, she pulled the sheet up over his shoulder and returned to her room.
Blake wasnât like her other patients. Still lying awake over an hour later, she tried to decide why she was so determined to make him walk again. It wasnât just her normal devotion to a patient; in some way she didnât yet understand, it was important to her personally that he once again become the man he had been. He had been such a strong man, a man so vibrantly alive that he was the center of attention wherever he went. She knew that. She had to restore him to that.
He was so near to death. Richard had been correct in saying that he wouldnât live another year the way he was. Blake had been willing himself to die. She hadgotten his attention that morning with her shock tactics, but she had to keep it until he could actually see himself progressing, until he realized that he could recover. She would never be able to forgive herself if she failed him.
She finally slept for about two hours, rising before dawn with a restless anticipation driving her. She would have loved to run on the beach, but Phoenix didnât have a beach, and she didnât know the grounds well enough to go trotting around them in the dark. For all she knew Blake had attack dogs patrolling at night. But despite her lack of sleep
She preferred working with children, though. They loved so freely, so wholeheartedly. A childâs touch was the one touch she could tolerate; she had learned to enjoy the feel of little arms going about her neck in a joyous hug. If there was one regret that sometimes refused to go away, it was the regret that she would never have children of her own. She controlled it by channeling extra devotion into her efforts for the children she worked with, but deep inside her was the need to have someone of her own, someone who belonged to her and who she belonged to, a part of herself.
Suddenly a muffled sound caught her attention, and she lifted her head from the pillow, waiting to see if it was repeated. Blake? Had he called out?
There was nothing but silence now, but she couldnât rest until she had made certain that he was all right. Getting out of bed, she slipped on her robe and walked silently to the room next door. Opening the door enough to look inside, she saw him lying in the same position heâd been in before. She was about to leave when he tried to roll onto his side, and when his legs didnât cooperate, he made the same sound sheâd heard before, a half sigh, half grunt.
Did no one ever think to help him change his position? she wondered, gliding silently into the room on her bare feet. If heâd been lying on his back for twoyears, no wonder he had the temperament of a water buffalo.
She didnât know if he were awake or not; she didnât think so. Probably he was just trying to change positions as people do naturally during sleep. The light in the hallway wasnât on now, since everyone was in bed, and in the dim starlight coming through the glass doors she couldnât see well enough to decide. Perhaps, if he were still asleep, she could gently adjust his position without his ever waking up. It was something she did for most of her patients, a gesture of concern that they usually never realized.
First she touched his shoulder lightly, just placing her hand on him and letting his subconscious become accustomed to the touch. After a moment she applied a little pressure and he obeyed it, trying to roll to his right side, facing her. Gently, slowly, she helped him, moving his legs so they didnât hold him back. With a soft sigh he burrowed his face into the pillow, his breathing becoming deeper as he relaxed.
Smiling, she pulled the sheet up over his shoulder and returned to her room.
Blake wasnât like her other patients. Still lying awake over an hour later, she tried to decide why she was so determined to make him walk again. It wasnât just her normal devotion to a patient; in some way she didnât yet understand, it was important to her personally that he once again become the man he had been. He had been such a strong man, a man so vibrantly alive that he was the center of attention wherever he went. She knew that. She had to restore him to that.
He was so near to death. Richard had been correct in saying that he wouldnât live another year the way he was. Blake had been willing himself to die. She hadgotten his attention that morning with her shock tactics, but she had to keep it until he could actually see himself progressing, until he realized that he could recover. She would never be able to forgive herself if she failed him.
She finally slept for about two hours, rising before dawn with a restless anticipation driving her. She would have loved to run on the beach, but Phoenix didnât have a beach, and she didnât know the grounds well enough to go trotting around them in the dark. For all she knew Blake had attack dogs patrolling at night. But despite her lack of sleep
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