Chapter 7

The pain pills mercifully knocked John out for most of the night. But long before dawn he rolled onto his wrists and woke both the pain and himself.

John took another pill and, in a few minutes, fell asleep again. He was dreaming a beautiful dream when someone shook his body and woke him up.

He opened his eyes to find Molly staring at him with a worried expression on her face.

“For Christ’s sake, Molly! What time is it?

“It’s five in the morning,” Molly said. “I was supposed to wake you every two hours, but I fell asleep. Are you okay? Does your head hurt?”

“Yes, but only because you are shouting at me and shaking me like a martini mixer.”

He flopped back down on his pillows.

“I was worried when you wouldn’t open your eyes.”

“I was sound asleep, Molly,” John replied.

She’d slept in flannel man-style pajamas, nothing sexy or revealing.

He had his usual Morning Glory and felt embarrassed. He would have wanted to lay her down on the bed and bury himself inside her body. It shamed him to want her. Would the desire ever go away? There was an alternative method to relieve desire, but, unfortunately, he was fresh out of hands.

Perhaps a shower, preferably ice-cold, would do the trick. But even if he could manage the removal of his clothes and the mechanism on the shower, he couldn’t wash by himself.

Hell, he was lucky he didn’t have to pee, though that would not be the case forever. The enormity of what he could not do swamped him.

The distant low of a cow and the murmur of a man’s voice tugged John out of bed and to the window. Lights sprang to life in the barn, their yellow glow spreading through the windows and across the hood of Red’s truck.

John let out a sigh of relief. Help had arrived. “Would you ask Red to come here to help me with my morning routine, please?

Molly sighed and nodded. “Sure, John. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

Molly went out to greet Red and passed on his father’s request.

Half an hour later both men came down and sat at the kitchen table.

Molly tilted her head. John was wearing a new shirt and sweatpants instead of jeans. Good idea. In those, he should be able to manage personal tasks with the use of his fingertips and thumb.

They did small talk during breakfast, and then Red went out to milk the cows.

“Next time I would prefer eggs instead of cereal, Molly. Red was too polite to say something but I know he prefers bacon and eggs too.”

“Okay, no problem. I can handle scrambled eggs and bacon. It’s just there wasn’t any in the fridge.”

John’s smile charmed her. He might be grumpy and moody, but his smile could still reach into her heart and squeeze just a little.

“What?” she asked when he continued to stare at her.

“You’ll have to get the eggs.”

“Fine, I’ll get dressed and go to the store,” she said. “I’ll make a grocery list.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Eggs come from chickens.”

“I thought chickens came from eggs.”

John’s grin got wider. “The eggs are in the henhouse, look underneath the chickens.”

“Duh, right. Do chickens come with an instruction manual?” she joked.

“I can have cereal,” John offered. “I don’t mind.”

Molly was tempted, but if she let herself be intimidated by something as simple as gathering eggs, she’d never win her own personal war. “No. I like scrambled eggs too.”

“Okay, I’ll give you some pointers if you don’t mind,” John smiled at her again, and her mind went back in time to the first time they’d met.

John used to play football. He had been the quarterback, Molly, a cheerleader.

John had won the game. They’d gone to a party in the woods. Bonfires and beer cans. The laughter too loud, the population too dense. She’d only wanted to be with him. He’d held out his hand, and she’d gone into the darkness with him gladly.

They’d walked. Talked. Kissed. Sat on the hood of his truck, then crawled into the back.

To an eighteen-year-old girl, his strength, his bravery, his willingness to put himself on the line for the team had seemed epic. That night he had become her first, just as she had become his.

She had loved him, lost him and so much more. She let out a sigh as she walked to the henhouse. She couldn’t seem to stop missing what could have been.