Free Whisper by Kathleen Lash Page A

getting used to.
    Someone lending a hand. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. The waist of the jeans sat at his thighs. Whisper brought him a tee-shirt.
    “Hang on,” she said before peering at his back.
    “Looks good. I’ll change the dressing later.”
    “You don’t have to.” He pulled the shirt over his head.
    “I don’t? Good, then Billy can do it.” He laughed knowing little Billy would probably puke.
    She brought the crutches over and held them for him. “Have you done this before?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The sir slipped out once before and he wondered why it embarrassed her. It complimented the sexy drawl. “You a nurse?”
    “No.” She stood close. “Up you go.” He rose, allowing the crutches and right leg to bear his weight. She pulled his pants into place, positioning them on his hips. “Shirt tucked or un-64

    Whisper

    tucked?”
    “You start tucking, and we’ll be here a while.” He kissed the top of her head and she looked up.
    She smiled and pulled the waist of the jeans together and clearly understood what he’d been talking about when she tried zipping him. Balanced on one leg, he handed the crutches back, zipped and buttoned the jeans before she pushed him onto the bed. She grabbed socks off the nightstand and knelt.
    She pushed them into place, the left just over his toes. “You cut your hair.” He ran his fingers through the silken strands. He liked long hair on a woman.
    Hers was still long, coming down past her shoulders and cut into layers. A cat they’d adopted years before felt that soft. He couldn’t keep his hands off the cat either, enjoying its squirming and purring. When stroked the right way, Whisper purred too.
    “You didn’t cut yours.” She had an uncanny way of avoiding conversations.
    “I rubber band it to keep it out of my way with a hard hat. Does the length bother you?” He only ever cut it once a year or so, and even then, he kept it ponytail length. If she liked shorter hair, he’d actually consider getting it cut.
    “I like it.”
    “Why’d you cut your hair?” When he asked, she stilled. He decided it wasn’t important.
    She stood. “Ready?”
    She tugged on his arm as he pulled himself up with the aid of crutches. Thumping across the carpet, he made it to the bathroom. “Go down. I’ll get there.”
    “Ten minutes?”
    “For what?”
    “I’m sending Mark and Nomad after you. You’re not coming down those stairs by yourself.” He stopped mid hobble and glared. “You are one 65

    Kathleen Lash

    pushy little—”
    “View the world from my vantage point for a moment, Keith. Your little brothers are all downstairs, waiting to see you. And then they will, rolling and crashing down twelve narrow and steep, uncarpeted stairs to land with a broken neck in a heap at the bottom with blood drooling from the corner of your mouth, neck all mangled sideways…”
    “For the love of God!” he said, before laughing hard. She stood there smiling. “Send them up in five minutes. I can’t imagine how they’ll help, but hey, maybe the three of us can crash land together.” The smile disappeared. “How about a pain pill?
    You look pale.”
    “Excuse me?”
    She repeated it and he loved her enunciation of the word pale. It came out more like pay-yell.
    “Sure, after breakfast. Don’t want to miss the food or feel like I dreamed it. I kept waking up thinking all the smells were a hallucination.”
    “Five minutes.” She turned and left him standing in the bathroom doorway.
    His palm rose to wipe perspiration from his forehead. The least little effort made him sweat. It probably stemmed from the damn fifty-pound cast they wrapped him in. He’d feel better once he washed up, shaved, and brushed his teeth and hair.

    ****
The looks Keith got when he made it to the landing and rounded the corner for the last few steps into the living room! Neither Mark nor Nomad said a word. They’d just stood by as he managed the steps on his ass. His ass!