Welcome Home (4 page)

Everyone stood frozen for a minute. Then,
from the back of the bar, Christi heard someone clapping, then
several someones clapping, and suddenly the entire bar was filled
with applause. Doug’s face turned beet red, and Deputy Baxter and
the bartender looked at one another as round after round of cheers
echoed through the place. As one, the bar patrons stood at
attention, and from the back a voice called, “Here’s to you,
Tommy!”

The enthusiastic accolade finally died down,
and Denton turned to Doug and the bartender. He spoke softly and
said, “I’ll arrest him if you want, but you two are going to come
off the bad guys.”

The bartender shrugged. “He can pay for the
table and we’ll call it even.”

Doug glared at Tommy. “Never the hell mind,”
he said. “You always had to be the fucking hero, didn’t you,
Reece?” Then he slammed out of the bar.

“Okay, folks, show’s over,” Rory said. “You
can go back to your evening.” He turned to the bartender. “About
the table—”

“Is on me.” A man, Joe Bob Cleburne, pushed
through the crowd and handed the bartender his credit card. “Best
entertainment I’ve had in a long time.” He turned to Tommy and held
out his hand. “Welcome home, Tommy Joe. Good to have you back.”

Tommy turned red and stammered his thanks. He
endured a few more minutes of handshakes and greetings from the
other bar patrons before he sent a silent signal to Christi, who
swooped in for the rescue.

“Gosh, just look at the time,” she said.
“Tommy, we really do have to get up early tomorrow morning. I guess
we better go.”

Tommy nodded, and they wished everyone a good
evening.

Rory followed them outside to the van and
waited until Tommy was inside. “Tommy Joe, are you going to be all
right?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy mumbled. “Sorry I ruined
your engagement party.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. It’ll be a great
story to tell the grandkids. It’s just…that wasn’t like you, Tommy.
Even provoked like you were, you wouldn’t have handled it like that
before.”

Tommy shrugged, and Rory and Christi
exchanged a worried glance over the hood of the van. Rory went back
inside, shaking his head. Suddenly exhausted, Christi climbed in
the van and laid hers on the wheel.

“Christi, I—”

“Shut up, Tommy Joe.” She could feel Tommy
flinch at the harshness in her voice.

“Christi—”

“I said shut up. I’m not having this
conversation with you in the parking lot of a bar.”

She slammed the van in gear and roared down
the highway back to the ranch. Parking in front of the house, she
got out the chair for Tommy then walked away and waited for him on
the front porch. He wheeled up the ramp, pulled the wheelchair in
beside her rocking chair, and they sat for a few minutes.

“Okay, can I talk now?” Tommy asked
quietly.

Christi turned and stared at him. “What the
hell got into you tonight?”

“He was manhandling you, and I stopped him,”
Tommy said.

“Tommy, manhandling me or no, you have never
in your life punched out anybody, even a drunk ass-hat like Doug,”
Christi said. “You could have grabbed his other arm and jerked him
off me or just waited for Rory and Hutch to take care of him.
Tommy, there was a lot more going on tonight than just Doug pulling
me out of that chair, and you know it.”

“You’re damned right there was more going on
than that!” Tommy snarled. He turned the wheelchair to face her,
and Christi was horrified at the tears pouring down his face. “You
want to know the truth? Everything that happened in that bar
tonight punched my buttons. In fact, everything that’s happened
since I got home has punched my buttons.”

He stopped and took a moment to wipe the
tears off his cheeks. When he finished, he added, “Damn it, I was
so happy to be getting out of that effing hospital. I thought that
maybe, just maybe, I could come home and everything would be all
right. Then we got here and I couldn’t even open the damned gate
for you.”

“Gate? You’re upset about the
gate?”

“Silly, huh? But that’s when it really hit me
just how little I can do anymore. I can’t drive my truck, I can’t
ride Muffin, I can’t chase down a loose calf or fix a fence or do
jack shit around this place.”

“But there’s lot you can do,” Christi
protested.

“Like what? I’m useless and you know it! But
you want to know what really set me off tonight? Every God-damned
man at the table, Rory and Hutch and that asshole Doug, were
sitting there gloating over their hot monkey-sex lives, bragging
about all the horny women they’ve screwed and the horizontal
marathons they’re having. And so were the women. Everybody was but
me and you. How do you think I felt when Rory talked about the
‘angel in his bed’? I have an angel in my bed, too, and I don’t
know if I can even get it up for her! Hell, I can’t even take you
out on the dance floor!” Tommy’s massive chest shook with a sob.
“Damn it, Christi, how the hell can I ever be the husband you
deserve? How can I give you what you need, in bed or out? How can I
take care of you and this ranch? How can I do any of it from a
God-damned wheelchair?”

“Oh, Tommy,” Christi breathed. She slipped
from the rocking chair and into his lap. She put her arms around
him and held him tightly as huge sobs wracked his body. Tears
poured down her face as she cradled the heartbroken man she loved
so much and let him pour out his anguish, and for long minutes she
just held him and let him cry.

When the storm had mostly passed, she cradled
his head against her chest. “Feel any better?” she asked.

Tommy sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I don’t
feel like hitting anybody anymore, but I hardly feel like dancing.
Not that I could anyway.”

“I’ve seen other paraplegics dancing with
their ladies on their laps,” Christi suggested quietly. “The girls
seemed to like it.”

Tommy shrugged. “Bet they weren’t doing the
two-step.”

“It was a waltz.” Christi sat up but didn’t
move off his lap. “Tommy, not one thing you’ve said to me tonight
is a surprise. I figured you were worried about these things; you
would have to be. But in all honesty, Tommy, has either one of us
done a damn thing to address any of these concerns of yours? Has
either of us looked for any solutions?”

“How the hell are we supposed to ‘address my
concerns’?” Tommy asked almost angrily. “How are we supposed to
come up with solutions for
any
of it? It
didn’t sound like that support group was doing a very good job
handling their problems, and they’ve at it longer than I have.”

“One problem at a time. We look at each
concern and see what can be done about it. Then, for each issue, we
do something—whatever it takes, whatever we can—to make things
right…or at least better. And we do this over and over until all
our issues are dealt with. It may take us the better part of a
lifetime, Tommy, but nothing’s going to get resolved until we at
least start trying. Sound like a plan?”

“If you say so,” Tommy grunted.

“Okay, let’s start with the biggest elephant
on the couch. You got pissed tonight when all your blowhard friends
were bragging about their sexual escapades. You’re afraid you can’t
do it anymore. So, why don’t we know the answer to that by now?
You’ve been home almost a month. Why haven’t we gotten in that bed
together and found out?”

Tommy didn’t speak for a moment. “Because
we’re both scared of the answer. I don’t want to find out my
equipment doesn’t work, and you don’t want to have to cope with the
fallout if it doesn’t.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Christi
said. “But you’re right that we’ve both been afraid. Tommy, what
did the doctors tell you when they talked to you about your sex
life?”

“That I most likely could but they weren’t
sure. They’re never sure until the guy gets in bed and tries. Is
that what you want to do tonight? I mean, I guess we could…we
can…oh, hell, Christi, what if we try and it doesn’t happen? What
if I have trouble? What will we do then?”

Christi eyed him with a mixture of love and
exasperation. “Then we find some pills and toys and we try again.”
She leaned down and placed her lips gently against his, pulling his
T-shirt loose from his pants and sliding her fingers up his chest,
tangling them in the thick thatch of dark red chest hair that had
always turned her on. “Besides, cowboy, the last time I checked,
those creative fingers and incredible lips and intensely talented
tongue of yours were working just fine. You can use those until we
get the other worked out. Or are they paralyzed too these
days?”

Tommy choked on a bark of laughter. “I guess
those are working fine. So, you mean it? You really want to give it
a whirl and see what happens?”

Christi held his face between her hands and
kissed him deeply. “Yes, I ‘want to give it a whirl and see what
happens.’”

She yelped as he suddenly jerked her blouse
over her head and popped off her bra, baring her breasts to his
gaze.

“Tommy, what are you doing?”

“I’m using those lips and those fingers like
you told me to do,” he said, snaking his tongue out and finding her
breast. Christi gasped as he took the nipple full into his mouth
and suckled gently, turning it into a hard pebble of desire.

“Tell you what,” he added as he gave his
wheelchair a powerful shove toward the front door. “I’m going to
carry my lady off to bed tonight and use everything I have,
whatever that turns out to be, to make her happy.” He looked into
Christi’s eyes then and promised, “I love you, Christi. And I’m
going to try like hell tonight to show you just how much.”

Tommy Joe shut
his eyes to the morning sun peeking through the window shades and
tried to convince himself to go back to sleep, but the brightness
and angle of the light told him the sun was up and had been for a
while. It was time to get up and face the music, as it were. Still,
he lay frozen for a few minutes and let himself relive the
lovemaking he and Christi shared the night before.

What would be Christi’s take on it? As
promised, he’d kissed and touched and caressed her as he knew she
loved to be touched. She’d flown apart in his arms, whimpering deep
in her throat as he made damn sure she enjoyed climax after climax.
But that had only been half the story. It was the other half that
had Tommy Joe worried.

Well, there was no way around it. Regardless
of his hopes, his lovemaking wasn’t what it used to be. Yes, he
could still function some, and the sensible part of him was damn
grateful for that, but he was far from the horny, insatiable cowboy
she’d fallen in love with. That stung, especially after hearing
Doug’s words last night. He and Christi would have to talk about
going forward, and he was afraid what she would have to say to him
at the end. Yes, she’d promised to try to work through everything,
but was what he could offer her these days enough, or would she
want to find another man, one who could make love to her like a
woman like she deserved?

Where was she? He would give anything not to
talk about it this morning, but she’d been right last night. They
had to start tackling all of their concerns head-on, starting with
this. If she decided he wasn’t man enough for her, he would just
have to understand. He loved her enough to do whatever she
needed.

He sat up and pulled himself to the edge of
the bed then did a double-take at the time on the alarm clock. Good
grief, he’d slept away half the morning! Christi had probably been
up for hours.

Cursing a little at the time it took to
dress, Tommy pulled on jeans and a disreputable old T-shirt before
adding a threadbare western shirt to ward off the mild morning
chill. He moved toward his usual spot in front of the window, but
he stopped dead as he spotted Christi waving him to from outside.
Intrigued, he wheeled himself out to the barn where Christi was
struggling to lift a heavy hay bale into Muffin’s feeder. Some
calves were watching, waiting for their hay.

“Here, you’re stronger than me,” she called.
“You finish feeding these darlings while I go make coffee.”

An enigmatic expression on her face, she
leaned down and gave him a hard, swift kiss. Tommy fought back
surprise as she dropped a pair of work gloves and wire cutters in
his lap, and before he could protest she hot-footed it out of the
barn and up the front porch stairs into the house.

What the hell? How was he supposed to carry a
bunch of hay bales to the feed troughs? Tommy Joe started to follow
her to the house to protest, but he was waylaid by the sound of
Muffin chuffing at him from her stall and looking hungrily at the
pile of hay bales in the corner. “Okay, girl,” he muttered, seeing
her hopeful stare. “If Christi won’t feed you this morning, I guess
it’s up to me.”

He pulled on the work gloves and wheeled over
to the pile of hay bales in the corner. Dragging one off the stack,
he was surprised by how easy it was to lift. But, he suddenly
realized, why
wouldn’t
it be easy to lift?
If he could lift his almost two hundred pounds with his arm and
shoulder muscles, why would a bale of hay be too heavy?

He hoisted the bale onto his lap and wheeled
it across the barn, where he flipped it into Muffin’s feed trough
then cut and removed the wires holding the bale together. He moved
another hay bale into Beauregard’s trough then checked the feeders
outside. Yep, they were empty too. It took several trips into and
out of the pen, but soon the three very pregnant heifers there were
also fed.

As he returned to the house, Tommy detoured
by his pickup truck and looked speculatively at the bed and the
tailgate. If Christi backed the truck up to the front porch, he
would be able to lift himself from the wheelchair to the back of
the truck and, maybe, just maybe, with some kind of back support
system, he could sit back there and toss the hay bales out into the
pasture for her when she put out feed. That would cut feeding time
in half, and she wouldn’t have to struggle to lift the heavy
things.