Free After the Fall by L.A. Witt Page B

right. Let’s get you downstairs.” He paused. “Hmm. So we’re down a leg and two arms between us.” He smirked. “This could get interesting.”
    “Yeah. Something like that.” I thought for a moment. “Okay. I think I know how we can do this.”
    “I’m all ears.”
    “If I put my left arm around your shoulders, then I can grab the railing with my other.”
    “And if we lose our balance . . .?”
    “Fuck.”
    Through a fair amount of trial and error, not to mention alternately swearing in frustration and laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, we got our respective limbs in order, and by the grace of God, we made it to the ground floor without incident. There was a bench right outside, and Owen guided me to it and helped me sit.
    “You know,” I said as I struggled to catch my breath, “one of the reasons I rented this place was I figured going up and down the stairs would keep me from getting lazy. Didn’t that come back and bite me in the ass?”
    He laughed. “The universe has a hell of a sense of humor sometimes.”
    “Yeah, it does.”
    “So are you going to tell me what happened, or what?”
    I told him the story. When I’d finished, he whistled. “Wow. Sounds like you got lucky.”
    I laughed dryly. “I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use, but yeah, it could’ve been worse.”
    “A lot worse.” He pulled out his keys and gestured at his car. “As long as I’m here, do you need a lift?”
    I shook my head. “My left leg’s the one that’s jacked up, so I can still drive.”
    “Nathan.” Owen rolled his eyes. “You know you’re talking to someone who hates when people assume he needs help or can’t do something just because of”—he gestured with his stump—“but if you push yourself too hard, you’re going to take longer to heal.”
    “Driving isn’t pushing myself too hard.”
    “No, but you might find at the end of the day that you’re hurting enough that you don’t want to, or you’ll be too exhausted to drive safely.”
    Every bit of my trademark stubbornness wanted to scream that he was wrong, but . . . I definitely wasn’t back to a hundred percent yet. If the stairs could kick my ass like this, then an eight-hour day in the clinic would probably have me whimpering and begging for mercy well before I clocked out.
    I blew out a breath. “You really don’t mind?”
    “Of course not.” He smiled. “Come on, cripple. Let’s go.”
    He helped me up, and we got into his car. On the way into town, he said, “What about tonight? Do you want me to have Nick pick you up on his way home?”
    I waved my hand. “No, that’s okay. I’m supposed to be meeting up with someone after work, so I’ll get a lift from him.”
    “Meeting someone?” Owen glanced at me and grinned. “Didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
    “I’m not seeing anyone. I’m teaching him to ride, and he’s keeping my horse exercised while I’m . . .” I gestured at my useless limbs.
    “I hope you’re not teaching by example,” he said.
    “Oh, shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m damned good at riding when the horse actually, you know, stays on her feet.”
    Owen winced. “Minor detail, right?”
    “Very. Because they usually do stay on their feet.” I fidgeted a bit, trying to get comfortable. “But for the moment, I’m out of commission, and Ryan volunteered to keep Tsarina exercised in exchange for some lessons.”
    Owen eyed me. “And you’re not seeing him.”
    “No. What makes you think I am?”
    “Nothing.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing at all.”
    “Bullshit.”
    Chuckling, he glanced at me. “Okay, besides the fact that as soon as you mentioned him, you got that ridiculous grin on your face.”
    I was grinning, wasn’t I? What the hell? I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Well. He’s cute, but he’s leaving the area in a few months anyway, so there isn’t much point in getting involved with him.”
    Owen shrugged again. “Just means