Eye of the Storm (Hudson 3)

"Warm up and then some stretching," I said. "Terrific. Maybe you should be the therapist.'" "Believe me," I said. "I wish I could," His smile widened and he stepped toward me.

With tentative hands, waiting for my cooperation, he

urged me to lift myself from the wheelchair. I knew

he was waiting to see just what I could do with my

right leg. I started and he came around behind me and

put his hands on my hips.

"Don't worry," he said. "I have you." His face was so close to my hair. I could feel

his breath on my neck. I put all my weight on my

right lea and started up. Then he took over and with

ease gently lowered me to the mat. He had me lay flat

and then he hovered over me a moment,

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes." I closed my eyes and pressed my lips

together and kept myself from screaming. I opened

them and looked up. He was on his knees beside me. "We're going to rotate every joint

in your body

and what you can't do yourself. I'll help you do," he

said.

"Why am I doing this?" I muttered to myself. He smiled down at me, those beautiful eyes full

of laughter. "So I can have work, why else?" he said. Even if I wanted to. I couldn't stop a smile from

settling on my face.

"Oh, one other thing," he said rising and going

to his Gym bag. He unzipped it and took out a small

tape recorder. "I like to work with music. Is that

okay?"

"Yes," I said. He turned it on.

I was expecting elevator music, soothing, soft

melodic tones like they had at the hospital.

Instead, there was a wham and a barn and the

rock music began.