Debbie Hunt rushed through the door of the chiropractor's office. The receptionist nodded toward the exam room. "Dr. Smith is waiting for you. He needs to leave the office at six o'clock exactly."

"I know I'm a few minutes late. I was with a client and couldn't get away." Debbie stepped into the exam room and sat on a small stool. "You have to do something," she told the doctor. "This headache is awful."

Her head felt as if it were clamped in a vise. Pain bored into her skull like a knife. Dr. Smith, his smock wrinkled, wiped his hands on a paper towel. He ran his hands down her neck and shoulders to examine them. "You're really tense and you've got a severe muscle spasm. I can fix you up with a simple manipulation, but it might be a little uncomfortable."

"Just do it and get it over with." She felt totally stressed, but along with the stress came the exhilaration of the business success that led to the tension.

She felt her head being jerked to one side and then the other. Suddenly her world turned upside down. She couldn't be suspended from the ceiling with her head hanging down into the exam room, could she? "Something's wrong. Help me!" Why didn't Dr. Smith do something? Why didn't he answer her? Heat encompassed her body, but at the same time she felt chilled and shivering.

"Let's get you over on the table." The doctor's voice didn't reflect any panic or even concern.

"We have to do more than that! Something's terribly wrong!" Severe vomiting stopped Debbie from saying anything else.

As she tried to stand to take the small step from the stool to the table, she fell face forward onto the table. "I'm upside down. Please help me get right side up. My body's heavy." Well, of course, her body was heavy. Maybe not fat, but definitely overweight. But it had never felt so weighted down, a heavy pressure holding her body, face down on the table. "I can't move it," she cried.

Dr. Smith didn't seem to hear her. He held a basin for her and placed cold towels on the back of her neck. "I released some toxins into your system when I released the muscle spasm," he explained. "You'll be fine in a few minutes."

"I'm not going to be fine. I think I'm dying!"

Dr. Smith continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I think you have the flu. You should go home and get a good night's sleep."

She begged him to help her, but he ignored her pleas and left the room. Soon, she heard him in the next room.

"This is Dr. Smith. Are you Miss Hunt's secretary?" He must be on the phone, she thought. "She has the flu, and she's dizzy," he continued. "Can someone take her home so she doesn't have to drive?

Couldn't the man see she couldn't move, much less drive? Why didn't he do something to help her?

It seemed like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, before two people hurried into the doctor's office. Debbie couldn't focus her eyes to see who it was, but she recognized the voices of Tammy, her administrative assistant, and Bob, who ran the installation department of her interior design company. She tried to talk to them, but they, too, ignored her. She couldn't sit up or do anything to get their attention.

She was distantly aware of her employees holding a hasty, whispered conference at the door to the treatment room. Bob said, "I don't buy this guy's theory that the flu's affected the balance in her ear. Look at her. Any fool can see that something's seriously wrong. She can't talk-she can't sit up-all she can do is throw up. I'm calling an ambulance."

The next few hours blurred in Debbie's mind. She felt herself being loaded on a stretcher and carried to an ambulance. Panic overwhelmed her. Where were they taking her? What was wrong with her?

"Please tell me what's going on," she pleaded. After the paramedic put an oxygen mask over her face, he hooked up monitors of some kind. The wail of a siren and blips and beeps of equipment created a background for her jumbled thoughts. As lights flashed around and above her, she felt the ambulance lurch forward.

Eventually, she couldn't begin to guess whether it was minutes or hours later, the vehicle screeched to an abrupt stop. Someone jerked the doors open and pulled the stretcher toward the rear of the ambulance. A bounce onto the ground, then a rush into a building. Voices, footsteps, machines. She couldn't see what was happening around her. Being flat on her back and unable to raise herself up had something to do with the problem, but what she could see above her was distorted and unfocused.

"Where am I? What's going on?" No one responded. Either she was in a Twilight Zone with the rudest people in creation or no one could hear the words she formed in her mind. Finally, she was wheeled into a cubicle and hooked up to machines. People swarmed around her bed, doing mysterious things to her body and the equipment attached to it.

"Open your mouth. We've got to give you something to reduce your blood pressure." The voice came from a weird white figure leaning over her. This Twilight Zone must have a hall of mirrors. The jerky image of the nurse or whoever was talking was repeated four or five times.

She must have opened her mouth; she couldn't seem to feel anything. However, she did taste the bitterness when something was squirted under her tongue.

During the lifetime she spent in that emergency room, she endured a multitude of X-rays. For every examination, she was lifted from the stretcher by what seemed to be hordes of white figures and placed into position on the table. Through the long hours she recognized a blood pressure cuff on her arm inflating and deflating over and over again.

Most of all, she experienced overwhelming panic. No one answered when she tried to ask what was happening. In fact, it seemed Debbie-the person-was totally ignored while a body that didn't seem to belong to her was aggressively treated.

One word jumped out from the swirling conversations above her and imprinted itself on her brain-stroke. She couldn't have had a stroke. She was only twenty-eight. Maybe she was a little overweight, but that didn't mean she wasn't in good health. The only problem she had ever had was a migraine headache from time to time. A migraine like the one that started all this. An excruciating headache, yes. But a stroke? No way.

After six years, her business was finally doing well. She'd developed a solid reputation as a commercial interior designer, and she was a popular speaker on business topics in the local Chamber of Commerce. All her hard work was starting to pay off, but she couldn't afford to take any time off. She had to be in the office tomorrow morning. She had too much to do to lie around in the emergency room of the hospital. She'd wasted most of the night with no improvement. Somebody better do something soon so she could get back to work in the morning.

Debbie Hunt lay in her bed in the San Antonio Rehabilitation Center. She struggled to conquer self-pity. Her recovery from the stroke depended on it. Her spirits brightened when she looked around the room to see all the flowers, plants, cookie bouquets, and other gifts she'd received from her family, friends and employees. Then she brightened even more when she heard her roommate's voice at the door.

"I'm so glad you're back from dinner," Molly Dover said as she rolled her wheelchair into the room. A huge smile lit her face as she continued. "My nephew Jake Dover will be here any minute to see me. He just got out of the Army. I'm so excited. It's been two years since his last visit to San Antonio."

"Don't you want me to leave so you can have a private visit?"

"Of course not. He's home for good now, so we'll have plenty of time to visit. I want you to meet him." Molly's eyes twinkled. "He's thirty, close to your age, and single like you."

Debbie decided she should sit up and make herself presentable for Molly's company. She enjoyed visiting with Molly's family since her own family couldn't visit her in the rehabilitation center. Besides, she wanted to see this man. Molly's husband and all his relatives who'd visited were attractive, both in appearance and personality.

She rang for an aide to help her out of bed and into her wheelchair. In the bathroom, she brushed her short brown hair. She gave no thought to a fashionable hairstyle or clothes and certainly none to makeup. I look like a pirate, she thought, as she glanced in the mirror and saw the black patch over her right eye. Her eyes wouldn't focus, so she wore the patch to see a single image instead of two, three, or four.

What had she been thinking? What difference did it make what Molly's nephew looked like? He wouldn't be interested in her the way she looked now.

When Debbie rolled her wheelchair back into the bedroom, she found Molly's nephew already there. Although he had the pleasant smile characteristic of the Dovers, he didn't have their athletic build. In fact, he was so short he looked like a teenager waiting for his big growth spurt.

Before Molly could make the introductions, he stepped forward with his right hand outstretched. "Hi, I'm Jake. You must be Debbie, Molly's favorite roommate."

"Since I'm her only roommate, I'm glad to hear I'm her favorite," Debbie said as she smiled back.

The mischief in Jake's hazel eyes and the unruliness of his blond hair added to the boyish look. Debbie liked his outgoing and friendly personality, which reminded her of Molly.

Debbie hesitated to take his hand-the devastating stroke she'd suffered two weeks before had left her with limited use of her right side. Her hesitancy didn't deter Jake. He lifted her hand from the arm of the wheelchair, took it in his right hand, and covered it with his left. He held it briefly before gently laying it back on the arm of the chair. She couldn't move her hand, but she could feel the warmth of Jake's touch. If she'd felt like a whole woman, the touch would have excited her.

Jake sat in a chair between the two women in wheelchairs. He turned to Molly and said, "It's great to be home."

"It's wonderful to have you here. What are you going to do now that your military days are over?"

"My priority is a little R & R. That's rest and relaxation, for you civilians. It's time I got reacquainted with my family and San Antonio again. I haven't been home for more than a few days at a time for the last eight years."

"Well, I certainly hope you plan to spend some of that time with me. I didn't even get to see you the last time you were here." Molly pointed her finger at Jake's chest, and the strength in her voice made the statement sound more like an order than a hope. "But what are your long term plans?"

"I haven't made any yet. I'm not ready even to think about the future right now." He changed the subject. "Tell me about your treatment."

Debbie started to back away to give Jake and Molly privacy, but Molly stopped her. "Don't leave unless you're bored. You can help me convince Jake we're tortured here."

Jake's bushy blond eyebrows knitted together in a question.

"It seems that way sometimes," Debbie agreed. "But if that's what it takes to get back to normal, that's what I'll do."

"Me too," Molly agreed. "We jokingly call it torture, but we've both come a long way already. Tell him what we go through, Debbie."

"We're in physical and occupational therapy six hours a day. Some recreational therapy is thrown in occasionally for fun. We're lucky we don't need speech therapy."

"I can't imagine Aunt Molly having any trouble talking," Jake said.

Debbie smiled. "She never had a speech problem, and my speech problem cleared up in just a few days without therapy. I'm thankful neither of us had any damage to our memories and thinking abilities."

"Amen to that," added Molly.

"Does that happen often with strokes?" asked Jake, his face filled with concern. "I knew a stroke caused paralysis, but I didn't know it could affect memory or thinking."

Molly answered, "A stroke is technically called a cerebrovascular accident. That's why we're in the CVA Unit. We've had a cerebrovascular accident-some accident!"

"I didn't think you did this on purpose." Jake grinned at his aunt. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. Go ahead."

Molly ignored her nephew's comment. "The damage depends on which area of the brain has the blood supply cut off. My stroke paralyzed my left side, but Debbie had more damage. She . . . "

"I'm sure Jake would rather talk about you," Debbie interrupted. "And I'm really tired. If you don't mind, I'll leave you two to visit, and I'll go on to bed."

"We'd love for you to stay, but if you're tired, we won't keep you. I'll look forward to seeing you again on my next visit," Jake said. Then he smiled and took her hand again.

Debbie murmured, "Good night," as she wheeled across the room. When she reached her bed, she pushed the call button for assistance. A few minutes later, an aide helped her change into her nightgown in the bathroom. Then she closed the curtain separating the two halves of the room and helped Debbie into bed.

She lay in the darkness, listening to the conversation and thinking about Jake. She would have enjoyed being a part of his conversation with his aunt if only Molly hadn't insisted on discussing Debbie's condition. She didn't want Jake to know how incapacitated she was. Even though he looked like a kid, she was sure he was far too much of a man to be interested in a woman as handicapped as she was.

Thank goodness she was less disabled now than she had been two weeks before. She remembered waking in the hospital after a fitful and fear-filled night to see a man in a white coat standing at the foot of her bed. He had introduced himself as Dr. Anderson, her neurologist.

Debbie remembered the wave of devastation that had overcome her at Dr. Anderson's prognosis. "The first three days are critical. The improvement you make in those three days will determine your ultimate recovery. Significant improvement will indicate a partial recovery, perhaps even a complete, recovery."

Debbie shivered as she recalled Dr. Anderson's dire prediction. "If you don't improve significantly in three days, you may permanently remain as you are now."

Debbie's memories were interrupted by the conversation going on behind the curtain. Molly and her nephew spoke softly, but Debbie could still hear every word.

"No, Aunt Molly, I didn't make any plans before I left the Army. I thought about re-enlisting since I didn't have anything better to do."

When Debbie heard footsteps, she thought Jake was leaving. Instead of moving toward the door, however, the footsteps just paced back and forth across the small space by Molly's bed.

Molly asked, "You've done so well in the service. Why didn't you stay in?"

"I'd almost decided to do just that. I was bored, but there's nothing else I can see myself doing the rest of my life." There was a long pause before Jake continued. "But when Mom told me about your stroke, I realized I wanted to be back home with my family. I would have gone back overseas if I'd re-upped, and I missed . . . "

There was a small laugh, and the voice lost its wistful quality. "You know what they say, 'you can take the boy out of Texas, but you can't take the Texas out of the boy.' So I decided to come home instead of re-enlisting."

Debbie understood the desire to be near family. She hadn't seen her elderly parents since her stroke-their poor health confined them to a nursing home. Debbie's sister, Beth, lived in Germany where her husband was stationed with the military. Beth had come to San Antonio to be with Debbie in those first critical days. However, she'd returned to her family when Debbie entered the San Antonio Rehabilitation Center for therapy.

Jake said good night to Molly. A small smile came across Debbie's lips as she heard Jake say, "I'll be back to see you tomorrow evening. Maybe Debbie will feel like a longer visit then. Mom told me she's almost become a part of the family in the week you've been roommates."

"It's a joy having her as a roommate. There are a lot of whiners and complainers here. She has more cause to complain than just about any of us. She's so young, and she was really a victim of that quack. But she has a great attitude and doesn't let it get her down."

During the coming days, Debbie concentrated on succeeding in her rehabilitation program. Therapy was, by far, the most difficult job she'd ever attempted. When she began, she couldn't move any part of her right side; she had no feeling on her left side; and she couldn't focus her eyes. Each small milestone in her recovery took hours and days of excruciating effort. Finally, she could sit upright, maneuver her own wheelchair, and even walk with assistance.

After each difficult day, Debbie looked forward to the evening visiting hours when Molly's family included her in their conversations. Jake visited frequently and always brought laughter and cheer with him. One day he came in while Debbie was laboriously pouring water from a plastic glass into a bright spring bouquet, one of the colorful flower arrangements and green plants that covered every available surface in the room. He walked over to the window to open the curtain.

Pointing to a small puddle of water Debbie had spilled, he said, "It looks like you've got a good crop already, but if you want to grow more of those pretty flowers, you need sunshine along with the water."

Debbie smiled at Jake's joke before he turned the conversation to the subject of the progress made by Molly and Debbie.

"It's incredible that I've forgotten how to walk," Debbie explained. "I'm having to relearn when to move each foot, and my feet just won't cooperate. My toes want to point to the outside instead of forward."

"I guess it must be like a baby learning to walk for the first time," mused Jake.

Molly joined the conversation. "Actually, the therapists say it's much harder for an adult to relearn all the things a baby learns naturally. A baby is operating on instinct, but when an adult suffers brain damage, all that instinct is lost."

Jake shook his head. "It must be both frustrating and frightening."

"It's not nearly as frightening as the first few hours when I thought I would either die or be a total vegetable," Debbie answered.

"It must have been terrifying. How long did that last?"

"Let's not talk about that." Debbie didn't want Jake to know how incapacitated and petrified she'd been. "Everything is much better now, but I do get frustrated. My poor balance makes my gait unsteady and irregular. My therapist Randy often counts out a cadence so I know when to take the next step."

"Don't remind me of counting cadence and marching," teased Jake. "I'm out of the Army now, remember?"

"What did you say you did in the Army, besides marching, that is?" asked Debbie.

"I was a stereoscopic map compiler. That's a fancy name for using film taken from satellites and observation aircraft to draw contour maps."

"It involves operating some complex equipment," Molly interjected proudly, "and Jake got several commendations for doing an outstanding job. I don't know why he didn't keep doing it."

Jake shrugged. "You know me, Aunt Molly. I get bored easily. Hey, I did this for eight years. That's a record for me."

"Well, you could have done it for twenty and then been ready to retire." Molly looked at Jake. "Don't glare at me, young man. You know you did a good job. Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten all those commendations."

"That's impressive, Jake." Debbie had wondered about Jake's seeming lack of ambition. Knowing he'd done a good job in the Army helped her to see him in a more favorable light.

"Well, I didn't want to stay in the Army, and there's not much demand for map compilers in civilian life. Besides, a few commendations aren't as impressive as what you and Molly are doing."

What's impressive about trying to become normal again? Thought Debbie. Who could be impressed with an adult learning to walk? She wished she could do something that would really impress Jake. He made such a strong impression on her when he walked through the door that she could hardly breathe.

"There's been a lot of progress in rehabilitation medicine," Molly said. "If this had happened to us not too many years ago, Debbie and I could very easily have become complete invalids."

"I can tell it still takes plenty of hard work and determination, in spite of all the treatment and equipment," Jake observed.

Jake was right. Every small improvement took hours and hours of intense effort. But Debbie felt a compulsive determination to improve. She was on time to every therapy session, did every exercise without complaint, and ate everything on her prescribed diet, well, almost everything, she admitted to herself. She hadn't been able to eat the beef stew last week. Since beef stew was the last meal she'd eaten before her stroke, it brought back too many painful memories of hours and hours of nausea and vomiting.

Debbie's entire life had become a massive effort to relearn how to function. From wake-up and dressing at six o'clock in the morning through dinner at six o'clock in the evening, every activity was a carefully programmed part of her therapy. Between breakfast and her first therapy session, Dr. Anderson visited Debbie to check on her progress. He frequently brought along colleagues to observe.

Debbie felt like a bug under a microscope when Dr. Anderson brought in a group of medical students and rehabilitation staff for a lecture.

"This is a textbook example of the rare Wallenberg syndrome stroke," Dr. Anderson explained. "Because the stroke took place in the brain stem, one side of her body is paralyzed, while the other side lost sensation. In more common types of strokes, only one side of the body is affected. Her balance center was also badly damaged, causing dizziness, nausea and vomiting as well as poor balance. Another characteristic of the Wallenberg syndrome is nystagmus."

At this point, he shined a light into her eyes. "Her eyes don't focus because of damage to the third motor nerve. Watch the movement-she can't track the light," he said as he moved the light from side to side or up and down. The observers were fascinated with the erratic movement of her eyes.

"Strokes usually result from a problem in one of the carotid arteries located on the sides of the neck. The Wallenberg syndrome is caused by a problem in one of the vertebral arteries that run through the bony section of the spine. Hypertension and a build up of plaque in the arteries are common causes of CVA. Debbie's stroke was caused by an external factor-an injury from a neck manipulation. We've done all the tests-CAT scan, MRI, and Doppler imaging. Nothing revealed any predisposing factors to stroke."

Dr. Anderson continued his lecture. "There could have been two causes of the stroke. Either the chiropractor twisted her neck too far, reducing the blood supply to her brain for a brief time, or his manipulation was too rough and caused a tearing of the artery. The only way to tell for sure is with an angiogram and that could possibly cause another stroke."

"Thank you for not doing that," interjected Debbie.

"In any event," continued Dr. Anderson, "the treatment is the same, so we're going to concentrate on the treatment and not worry about the cause."

The treatment is enough to worry about, thought Debbie. She didn't have the time or energy to think about anything else. Well, she did think of Jake, but that didn't count, did it?

Debbie's eagerness for Jake's visits at the end of each day of therapy surprised her. From time to time she wondered why Jake, Molly's husband's nephew, visited daily, when Molly's children alternated visits. Each of the four children visited every fourth day. Whatever the reason for Jake's frequent visits, Debbie admitted to herself, she enjoyed them. Jake made her laugh even in the midst of all her troubles. The laughter came with Jake's gentle teasing, his good-natured anecdotes, and his jokes and one-liners.

One night he said, "Mom and Dad got a wedding invitation from their neighbor, David Hamm. He's marrying Melissa Burger." Jake paused and chuckled. "Mom asked me if I was going to the Hamm-Burger wedding with them. I told her I'd skip the wedding, but I wouldn't mind a hamburger."

Debbie and Molly smiled at Jake's play on words, but Jake himself laughed heartily.

"Speaking of weddings," said Molly, "remember when your mother and I decided to make some extra money baking wedding cakes?"

"How could I forget?" Jake turned to Debbie. "They promised my cousin Paul and me we would share in the riches. They'd baked a cake for my cousin's wedding. A guest who was planning her own wedding liked it so much she wanted to use the same bakery."

"That shows what good taste she had. Of course, my sister-in-law Katherine and I responded to this public demand for our services and went into the wedding cake business." Molly smiled at the memory. "We didn't exactly get rich, but we earned some extra money and had a lot of fun. We paid Paul and Jake to make the deliveries, but I think they enjoyed the privilege of driving the car more than the money they made."

"We were seventeen years old. Driving around town in Uncle John's car delivering wedding cakes gave us the chance to do the two most important things in a teenage boy's life: drive a great car and impress girls. We loved it."

"And they did a pretty good job, too," said Molly, "at least most of the time. I'll never forget the tire incident."

Jake laughed. "None of us will. Paul and I were getting ready to deliver a huge double-ring cake. There was a whole group of girls next door. Aunt Molly's neighbor had a sixteen-year-old daughter, and she had a bunch of friends over. They came out in the yard to ooh and ah over the cake, so Paul and I were showing off.

"We forgot to take the spare tire out of the trunk, and the cake wouldn't fit. So we set the cake on the sidewalk, and I took out the tire. Of course, with an admiring female audience, I couldn't just take the tire out of the trunk and lay it on the ground. I had to bounce it a couple of times for effect. Unfortunately, the effect I created wasn't what I wanted."

He shook his head. "I don't know how it happened, but the tire rolled away from me and kept on bouncing. Suddenly-flop-it landed right in the middle of the cake!"

"Oh no," exclaimed Debbie. "Was it ruined?"

"It sure looked like it. But Mom and Aunt Molly saved it. They fixed it up so no one could tell anything had happened. We even made the delivery on time."

Molly explained. "We kept extra cake in the freezer, and we had plenty of frosting and decorations on hand. We just cut out the damaged part, pieced in more cake, iced and decorated it. The frozen cake thawed before the reception, and no one ever knew the difference. In fact, we got compliments and even a couple of new orders from it." She looked at Debbie as she concluded. "You and I are going to be fixed up just as good as that wedding cake was."

"I hope so," said Debbie. "I certainly hope so."

Debbie's only free time came in the two or three hours between dinner and bedtime. Jake visited Molly every night, and Debbie liked talking with him about his experiences during his Army career.

"There were only four places I could have been stationed as a map compiler, and I was stationed in all of them. I trained in Virginia for about a year. My first assignment after that was Tokyo. After a couple of years in Tokyo, I was transferred to The Presidio of San Francisco in California and then to Heidelberg, Germany."

"That sounds exciting," Debbie said. "I've never been out of the country, except a couple of short trips just across the Mexican border."

"While I was in Germany, a buddy and I took a tour of Europe. We saved up our leave and spent two months traveling across Europe by Eurail. It was great."

Debbie sighed. "You're so lucky. That must have been the trip of a lifetime. You must have saved a lot of money, as well as leave, to be able to afford it."

"Not really. Traveling by rail in Europe is very cheap, and we stayed in inexpensive hotels. Sometimes we'd just buy a loaf of bread for our breakfast. It was pretty Spartan traveling but a lot of fun."

Jake seemed genuinely interested in hearing about Debbie's small daily triumphs in therapy. Such simple things as being able to sit up alone, taking a few assisted steps, or walking up two stairs holding onto the rails became major achievements. Those small accomplishments in rehabilitation were more difficult and more significant to Debbie than any of her previous attainments. She loved sharing these milestones with Molly and her family, especially Jake.

Late one evening, Debbie glanced at the clock and saw that visiting hours would be ending soon. "I guess Jake isn't going to make it today." She hoped she kept the disappointment out of her voice.

"He and his parents have spent the day as tourists, so he may be late. But he'll definitely be here. He wouldn't miss seeing you."

The words were hardly out of Molly's mouth when the door opened, and Jake's voice called out, "It's not too late to visit my two favorite ladies, is it?"

"Come in and tell us all about your sightseeing. Your mother said you were playing tourist today," answered Molly.

"Would you believe we even went to the Alamo?" Jake pulled up his favorite chair. "I must have been there a dozen times as a kid, but I haven't been back there in years. We went to Rivercenter Mall and saw the Imax film Alamo . . . The Price of Freedom. That made the visit to the Alamo even more exciting."

"What other touristy things did you do?" Molly asked.

"We strolled down the Riverwalk. It's so beautiful. Of course, we ate lunch on the River."

"Let me guess," teased Debbie. "Molly's told me about your love of enchiladas and tacos. You didn't have Mexican food, by any chance, did you?"

"Of course. What else? Then we went to La Villita and Market Square. We had fun playing tourist, but I'm glad I'm home in San Antonio for good."

Jake seemed as pleased as Debbie was with her progress. His boyish looks, his charm, and ready smile in the evenings made the problems she faced during the days easier to handle.

Every part of Debbie's body seemed to be affected by the stroke in some way. Dr. Rosow visited her in her room and explained, "Hello, Debbie. I'm an internist. You've been referred to me because of some complications from your stroke. You now have hypertension, and you've been tentatively diagnosed as diabetic. We'll be testing your blood sugar several times a day. When you first arrived, it was elevated enough for a diagnosis of diabetes, and since then it's been very erratic."

Debbie frowned. "I never had trouble with my blood pressure or my blood sugar."

"Your body's gone through a tremendous shock. Remember; you were referred to a gynecologist for a cervical biopsy. The abnormal bleeding you're having turned out to be another result of the stroke, but we had to rule out any other problem."

"Is that all?" asked Debbie.

"It's enough, isn't it? I've prescribed medication for the hypertension, but we're not prescribing anything for the erratic blood sugar. Hopefully we can control it with a strict diet. You'll be limited in salt, fat, sugar, and calories. I've already given the dietitian instructions." He smiled. "Basically, if it tastes good, you can't eat it."

"Gee, thanks. What about the terrible coughing spells I get? It's scary. It feels like I'm going to choke to death, and I feel this horrible wave of faintness come over me."

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that," answered Dr. Rosow. "It will probably get better with time, but it may never go away completely. You need to keep water handy and sip it whenever you start coughing."

Near the end of one of Debbie's occupational therapy sessions, Susan, her therapist, said, "It's time to take a look at how your life skills are progressing. How are you doing in feeding, dressing, and bathing yourself?"

"Actually, I'm doing fine in feeding myself if you don't count the mess I make on the towels they give us for bibs. Sometimes I get more on the outside than the inside. As for dressing, I think at times the aides get irritated with me because I won't let them help me."

Susan raised her eyebrows. "How do you manage?"

"I get my clothes ready every night while I'm still in the wheelchair. I put them on the table where I can reach them from the bed. It's going much faster since my sister bought me bras that hook in the front. I had a real problem with back hooks. Now my dressing time is down from about forty-five minutes to about fifteen minutes."

"Good." Susan nodded.

"My main problem is bathing. If someone helps me into the bath chair, I can wash whatever I can reach. But it's so frustrating to have to ask the aide to wash my feet and back-I can't reach them. And the other thing that really bugs me is I can't even pick up a tissue I drop on the floor. I just can't bend over far enough to reach the floor from the wheelchair. It's a real nuisance not to be able to get to something on the bedside table too. But I guess that'll just take time."

Susan laughed and exclaimed, "You're so easy. No problems at all."

Easy for you to say, thought Debbie. You can pick up your own tissue. But she didn't speak as Susan continued.

"Come with me, and we'll solve your problems right away."

Debbie wheeled out of the therapy gym and down a long green hall to a section of the hospital she'd never seen before. They entered a door labeled "Central Supply." In no time at all, it seemed, Susan handed her a sponge with a long handle-long enough to reach her back and her feet. Now she could bathe herself completely. Next came a strange looking light metal object with a claw-like device on the end.

"It's a reacher," explained Susan as she demonstrated. "It can be unfolded and positioned in several different configurations to pick up objects from either the right or the left."

What a treat. Debbie found herself dropping tissues in the hall on the way back to the gym, just for the fun of picking them up without help. Now she was even more independent. She insisted on displaying her new skill to Molly and Jake that evening.

"Jake!" Molly remonstrated. "Debbie's trying to show off, and you won't let her."

"I'm just being a gentleman," he answered innocently, as he bent to pick up the tissue Debbie had dropped.

"Quit teasing her, Jake. Let her demonstrate."

"I can't resist a little teasing." He turned to Debbie and continued more seriously. "I am excited about your new gadget. But I'd tease you about a new toy you got under other circumstances, so can't we have fun even in the hospital?"

Debbie smiled her affirmative answer.

Day by day her physical condition improved. She required less assistance and supervision. In nice weather, she even took some of her therapy sessions on an outdoor paved pathway.

"It really doesn't take much to make me happy," she told Jake. "Give me a sponge, a reacher, and a trip outside, and I'm as excited as a kid with a new toy."

"You might as well have a little fun along with your hard work. Right, Molly?" He turned to his aunt. "I wonder if it was more than coincidence that brought you two together as roommates. You must be the two most positive patients in the unit. I can't help but believe your positive attitudes have a lot to do with your great progress."

Debbie's improvement and her ability to deal with her handicaps pleased her. Perhaps because she'd always been a person who met challenges head-on, she found herself making adaptations without consciously realizing it.

She smiled to herself as she thought about the thank-you notes. The paralysis on her right side had improved enough so she could write legibly, although it was difficult and painfully slow. Debbie wanted to send handwritten thank-you notes to the friends and clients who'd sent flowers and other gifts. When it took her over an hour to write the first note, she counted the gifts she needed to acknowledge-fifty-three. She could never write fifty-three notes.

She decided to tackle the situation as if it were a business problem. What would she do if she had to send out fifty-three business letters? She quickly considered and eliminated several options. She didn't have a computer or a typewriter. Besides, she wanted the notes to be handwritten. Debbie regularly used office technology in her business. In fact, she had a copy machine that made such high quality copies she remembered trying to decide which was the original and which was the copy. Of course. That was the answer. She'd use the copy machine to create originals.

So she handwrote her own form letter. On a plain sheet of white paper, she started with "Dear..." and continued with "Thank you very much for the lovely..."Then she wrote a couple of sentences about her progress to let everyone know she really was going to be all right. It took many hours, much correction fluid, and many attempts over several days, but finally the form was perfect. She gave the form letter to her assistant, Tammy, on one of her visits. Tammy returned a few days later with a supply of copies. Debbie then individually filled in the person's name and the item for which she was thanking them.

Dr. Anderson came in one morning as Debbie was filling in the blanks on a thank-you note. "What are you doing?" he asked. When she explained, Dr. Anderson remarked to his assistant, "We don't need to teach coping skills to Debbie. It looks like she's already learned everything we could teach her."

Debbie felt a thrill when her friends called her to express amazement that she had written them such a long letter. None of them realized the entire letter wasn't handwritten personally for them. Jake's reaction pleased her even more.

"Molly tells me you've figured out a clever way to write thank-you notes. How about showing me what you did?"

Debbie showed him the form letter and demonstrated filling in the blanks.

"That's amazing, Debbie," Jake said, his smile even wider than usual. "I can't tell the difference between the black ink and the copy. It looks like you wrote the whole letter by hand."

"I messed up a lot of them," Debbie admitted. "The trash can was overflowing with rejects the other day. The maid asked me what on earth I was doing to create so much trash."

"So what? It must have taken a lot of determination to write them all, especially if it sometimes took several tries to get one right."

Debbie personified determination. The medical and therapy staff met each week to discuss the progress and plans for each patient. The reports she received from these staffings were encouraging and positive. However, the therapists and nurses always laughingly informed her they had never before heard words like "determined" and "stubborn" as often they were used in Debbie's staffings.

Yes, she was making incredible strides in coping with her handicaps, but she was beginning to worry about life after the rehab center. She would be on her own, and Jake would no longer be a daily visitor.

Dr. Anderson and her therapists all reminded her she wouldn't be able to live on her own for months. As wonderful as her progress had been, her balance was still too precarious for her to be safe without someone around at all times.

What would she do? She'd lived alone since she left home to go to college. Although she had many good friends, most were married or apartment sharing. She couldn't ask any of them to move in with her. But she couldn't live alone. So how could she go home-soon?

Dr. Anderson suggested she hire someone to live in to help her. "You don't need skilled nursing. A sitter or an aide would be enough."

"Money's a problem," Debbie admitted. "I don't know how much a sitter costs, but my income's suffering right now. I own an interior design business. My staff's doing a great job on projects we already had started, but we don't have anything new coming in. My income's taken a nosedive, and it'll take awhile to build it back up. The sooner I get back to work, the better."

And she certainly couldn't work from the rehab center. Therapy occupied all her time now.

"You can go back to work on a very limited basis, if you continue therapy three times a week as an outpatient. It's really too early to return to work." Dr. Anderson smiled. "However, after the last few weeks, I know you well enough to recognize it will be better for you to be occupied and productive. But you have to have someone with you at all times."

Debbie knew that meant someone to drive her and help her with her samples on the job, as well as to live with her and cook. How would she find someone dependable and trustworthy for the meager wage she could offer? How could she spend not only her days, but also her nights, with a stranger on whom she was dependent?

Molly came into the room as Dr. Anderson concluded his conversation with Debbie. She didn't want anyone to know how alone she was, and she didn't want to be dependent on anyone.

But Molly had heard enough of the conversation to recognize the problem. "Debbie, I've got the perfect solution. You know Jake's between jobs now. He says he's trying to decide what he wants to be when he grows up." Molly laughed. "It'd be good for him to have something to do. Maybe it'll give him enough time to decide on a permanent job. He could help you out until you're ready to be on your own again."

"Molly, Jake's looking forward to a vacation before he takes a job. I don't think he'd be interested."

Molly sat as tall in the chair as her short stature allowed. "He'll be interested if he knows what's good for him. The boy's gone through his whole life skipping from one thing to the next. He can just skip through this little job."

Debbie knew Jake would make a great companion. They laughed together at things no one else seemed to find as amusing as they did. She probably couldn't find anybody better suited to her needs. But it didn't matter if he would be good at the job, because he certainly wouldn't want it.

Living together-with him as a driver-cook-assistant-seemed so intimate. She realized she would be close to anyone she hired, but she might not take it personally with a stranger. On the other hand, could she entrust herself into the hands of a stranger? Although she didn't consider herself helpless, she had to acknowledge that she wasn't in a position to defend herself physically in an emergency. What if she hired a maniac?

"Molly, it's generous of you to volunteer Jake. But pushing a wheelchair and opening doors and cooking won't be a fun job. He'd be bored to tears in a week," Debbie responded.

"Phooey. To hear him tell it, he's always bored. He might as well be bored doing something worthwhile."

"I'm not sure that's your decision to make, Molly."

"His mother will agree with me. Katherine's worried about him lying around doing nothing. She'll be glad he's got something to do." Molly wheeled toward her side of the room. "Jake's had plenty of time to find something on his own. Since he didn't, I'll do it for him."

"Molly, I can't afford to pay much at all, probably minimum wage. He could flip hamburgers and make more than I can pay. And Dr. Anderson says I can't be alone for any length of time at all right now. There won't be any chance for Jake to go out for weeks and maybe months. I know he wants to make friends and renew old acquaintances now that he's back in town. He couldn't do that working for me."

Molly turned back to face Debbie. "Don't you want Jake to take care of you, Debbie? I thought you liked my nephew." A frown marred the usually smiling face.

"Of course I want Jake to take care of me, but-"

"No buts about it. It's settled. We'll tell Jake when he comes in tonight." Molly beamed her radiant smile. "I'm so excited. Now I know we'll see each other after we leave this place."

"Of course, we will," Debbie answered. "I'd want to see you again anyway."

"Shoot, you think so now, but you'd get back to your normal life and get busy and forget all about this place."

Debbie rolled closer to Molly. "I hope I can forget all about this place, but I won't forget you." Her voice quavered. "You're the best roommate anyone could ask for."

That evening, Jake knocked lightly on the door before he pushed it open. He looked forward to the visits with his aunt and Debbie. When he'd learned of Molly's stroke, he wondered if he'd feel awkward around her. But Molly was the same as she'd always been, and after the first few minutes, he'd almost forgotten about the wheelchair.

His earliest memories included his aunt, and he'd always adored her. However, he was surprised to find how much he enjoyed her roommate. He felt a twinge of guilt when he realized he'd never thought that a person in a wheelchair could be so much fun. Debbie's smile brightened his day whenever he walked into the room, and she laughed at his silly jokes when others groaned.

Tonight her eye without the patch sparkled brightly, and she looked like she would burst up out of the chair any minute.

He walked to his aunt to kiss her cheek, and then he turned to Debbie. "You look excited. What's happening?"

"I'm going home!" She practically shouted. "I'm going home!"

"That's great, Debbie. I'm happy for you."

She giggled like a little girl. "I'm glad you're happy, because you made it possible."

He sat in the chair between the two wheelchairs. "How did I make it possible?"

"Uh, well . . . "

"Well what?"

Debbie's smile wavered, and she took a deep breath.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Molly said. "If you won't tell him, I will."

"Tell me what?" He felt a pang of apprehension. They acted as if they were hiding something, but what could Debbie's going home have to do with him?

Molly squared her shoulders. "You're going to work for Debbie so she can go home."

"What?" He felt more confused than ever.

Debbie's lips trembled as she spoke in a shaky voice. "I told you he wouldn't want to do it."

"I don't know whether I want to do it or not. I don't know what it is." He hoped he didn't sound as frustrated as he felt.

He listened in amazement as Molly explained that she had volunteered him to work for Debbie. He liked Debbie, but he couldn't see himself pushing her around, cooking for her, and cleaning her house. Not only did he not like to clean his own house, but also he wasn't desperate enough to take a job taking care of a cripple for minimum wage.

"Molly, didn't you think about asking me before you so generously volunteered me?" His aunt seldom angered him, but she'd done it now. She had no right to get him into this mess.

"Phooey, Jake, I knew you'd do it." Molly caught and held his gaze. "You don't have anything else to do."

He opened his mouth to remind her he didn't want anything else to do. However, one glance at Debbie shut his mouth again. Her excitement drained away as he watched. The sparkle in her eye dulled, and she slumped down into the chair. Did it mean so much to her for him to take this job?

"Let's go for a walk." He stepped behind Molly to take the handles of her wheelchair. "See you in a few minutes, Debbie."

When they reached the lounge at the end of the hall, he parked Molly's chair beside the chair he chose for himself. "Okay, why did you decide I needed this job? Don't you think I can get a decent job? If you're going to get me a job, why not one that requires a brain-even a small one? Maybe even one that offers a living wage?"

"Jake, honey, I know you can get a much better job. And I know you needed a vacation before you started work again. I'm not interfering in your life."

Molly looked so self-righteous, he almost laughed. "Oh, pardon me. I thought you found me a job. I can't imagine where I got such a ridiculous idea."

"It's Debbie's life I'm interfering in." Molly sighed loudly. "Do you know she doesn't have a soul to take care of her? Just think what would happen if something like this happened to you."

Jake could see himself being smothered by all the care and attention from his large family. "I forgot Debbie doesn't have any family to help her. But she could hire somebody."

"Do you really think she can get reliable help who can do everything she needs for minimum wage?" Molly locked her eyes on his again. "Could you let her go home with a stranger whose only reason for taking care of her is a few dollars?"

"So it makes it okay for me to do it because I'm not a stranger?" Jake shook his head at Molly's convoluted logic.

"No, what makes it okay is that you're not doing it for a few dollars. Don't you like Debbie?" She didn't give him time to answer. "Even if you don't like Debbie, I'm asking you to do it for me. She's my friend."

Jake could almost feel the pain of his twisted arm. He couldn't say "no" to this beloved aunt who had brought him such joy in childhood. "Okay, you twisted my arm far enough. I'll do it."

Molly's grin brought an answering smile to his face. "I knew you would. Let's go tell Debbie."

When they returned to the room, Debbie's plump body looked lost in her chair, and she seemed to have lost her animation. He knew he wouldn't regret helping her if could see her restored to her normal optimistic, smiling self.

He parked his aunt's chair and turned to Debbie. "So, Debbie, when do I start work?"

"You're going to take the job?" She looked doubtful, but the sparkle tried to return to her eyes.

"Sure I am. How can I turn down a temporary job that'll give me a place to live and a little spending money for the next few months?" He found his smile returning as hers transformed her plain face into a pretty sight.

"I think we should set a time for this temporary job. How about three months?"

"We don't need to be so formal. I'll just stay 'til you're ready to be on your own. It probably won't take that long." He didn't want to be pinned down to a schedule.

"Maybe not, but let's say we'll reconsider after three months. You can leave sooner if I don't need you, but if I still need you at the end of three months, we'll reevaluate the situation." Her voice that had been so weak a few minutes before now sounded strong and forceful.

"Sure, we can do that." He felt better He hadn't committed to anything except to reconsider the situation after three months, so he wouldn't be tied down.

Dr. Anderson had said she could go home in another week if she made suitable arrangements. Debbie thought about how much she had to do between now and then, and she still had therapy all day, every day. She'd call Tammy in the morning. She'd be late for therapy for the first time, but she had to speak to Tammy first thing.

Tammy could contact the cleaning service to have the house ready. Bob and the installation crew from her design company could make some minor modifications in the house so it would be accessible for her wheelchair. Thank goodness, her house didn't have stairs, and she had a van to carry her samples. There'd be plenty of room for the wheelchair.

Oh, she felt so excited. At the back of her mind, a little voice asked if she wouldn't regret being so close to Jake on a daily basis. She liked him far too much already. She had to remember she was crippled and not the independent, self-reliant woman she'd always been in the past. Jake's only interest in her was her recovery. Obviously he couldn't find her awkward and dysfunctional body attractive.

Debbie had always been heavier than she liked, and even the strict diet she'd been on since entering the hospital had done nothing for her weight. She'd never been glamorous, and she told herself she looked even less attractive now-sitting in a wheelchair much of the time and staggering like a drunken sailor when she did walk. And a black eye patch didn't exactly make a fashion statement.

She had to keep reminding herself of all this because she didn't feel plain when Jake smiled. His radiant grin lit up not only his face but also the entire room. If she was strong enough to handle this stroke and make the kind of recovery she wanted, she was surely strong enough to resist Jake Dover. She would resist, even if his grin and good humor enticed her more than the hunkiest guy she's ever met, Debbie told herself sternly. And she would just keep telling herself that, no matter how many times it took to make herself believe it.

That night as they both lay in bed, Debbie spoke to Molly. "It will be great for me to have Jake's help, but I'm worried about him. He's just come home. He'll probably want to go out with friends. He's sure to want to start dating. Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No one special," Molly answered. "Shoot, Jake's always liked women, and he's had a lot of casual girlfriends through the years. But he's never had anyone special. His cousins have always teased him that a runt who looks like a teenybopper couldn't hold a woman. I'm sure there's been months at a time when he was at a new military assignment that he didn't have a girl. I don't think a few months without a date will do any permanent damage."

After a brief pause, Debbie raised another question. "Isn't he eager to get started in a new career?"

"He's serious when he says he doesn't know what he wants to do. Ben and Katherine were hoping he'd make a career of the Army. He's never had much ambition, and they were thrilled he did so well in the military. But he's decided the Army isn't the career for him. I just wish he'd figure out what is."

Debbie fell asleep with Jake's smiling image in her mind. She'd always been so ambitious; she found it difficult to imagine a thirty-year-old man not knowing what he wanted to do. Jake didn't need ambition-he probably got what he wanted with his charm. She had to work hard for everything she achieved.

Debbie spent a hectic week getting ready to go home. When she called Tammy to make arrangements for the cleaning service and the modifications to the house, Tammy volunteered to contact the landscape service as well.

In the midst of her excitement over her own discharge, Debbie had to say goodbye to Molly when she was released. "I'm going to miss you, Molly. But I'm so happy for you. Stay in touch."

"Of course, we'll stay in touch," John Dover answered for his wife. "You make sure that nephew of mine calls us often. And when you're up to it, make him bring you for a visit. Molly and I are glad he's going to be helping you out. You couldn't get better help. And besides, we're depending on you to make him call and visit."

Debbie didn't think she could make Jake do anything, but she hoped they maintained contact with Molly. Their shared struggles had forged a strong bond between them.

"You've been a wonderful roommate," Molly said. "I'm glad you're getting to go home soon yourself. We're both going to get better. I know we are."

Debbie and Molly were misty-eyed as they hugged each other tightly before John wheeled Molly down the hall, toward the exit and home.

Dr. Anderson insisted that Jake spend one day with Debbie in therapy to ensure that he knew how to assist her. He also needed to be aware of her capabilities and limitations. Then came a trial one-day visit home. Under close observation by her physical therapist Randy, Jake picked Debbie up at the hospital in the morning.

"That was a good transfer from the wheelchair to the car," Randy commented as he walked to the back of the van with Jake.

"Be sure you position the wheelchair just like that for every transfer. And make certain Debbie remembers to grasp the arms of the chair before sitting. That applies to any chair, not just the wheelchair. Don't let her try to sit in a chair without arms."

"Randy, you already went over all this with me a zillion times just two days ago when I spent the entire day here. I promise I'll take good care of her. You're like a mother hen," Jake teased.

The prospect of going home, even for only one day, filled Debbie with excitement. This was her first trip off hospital grounds in over a month, and being with Jake made it even more exciting. Of course, Jake was her assistant, she reminded herself, no different from Randy, her therapist. Debbie's head may have believed that, but her heart didn't seem to understand. Jake had already become very special to her, and they hadn't even started to spend all their time together. How would she feel when he left after months of continuous contact?

Maybe she'd feel differently about him by then, she rationalized. After all, she'd only seen him at his best. He was bound to be less attractive when he wasn't on good behavior for his aunt, and he probably had bad habits that would annoy her over time. Besides, she was excited to be going home, and Jake was just part of that excitement, wasn't he? She was making too much of the situation. Jake was just a part of an exciting event; that's all.

"Excited to be going home?" Debbie's thoughts were echoed by Jake's familiar voice as he got in the driver's seat.

"Oh yes!" She quickly changed the subject. "Do you need directions to my house?" she asked as Jake drove out of the parking lot.

"I've been over there a couple of times this week to check on everything. Bob and his crew have everything in place, and we moved a couple of pieces of furniture around. The house is set up so you can use the wheelchair if you want to; but if you'd rather walk, there's furniture or doors you can hold onto for support. The house is clean-the yard's been taken care of-and I did the laundry."

Debbie looked at him in surprise, but he didn't give her a chance to respond.

"I didn't do much grocery shopping because I thought we should discuss what you like to eat, but the dietitian gave me a copy of your diet. I did buy a few basics, and I've got lunch planned for today. I'll do the rest of the shopping before you come home for good."

"You've done all that? I didn't give you any money for shopping, and I didn't expect you to do the laundry. When did you have time to do all this?"

Jake stopped at a traffic signal and turned to look at her. The set of his jaw clearly showed his determination. "Debbie, from now for as long as you need me, my time is yours. Taking care of you is my job now, and that includes laundry and groceries," explained Jake.

"But I didn't intend for you to start work until I was home. I mean, we need to do some paperwork for me to hire you. I need to talk to my accountant. The business can pay part of your salary since you'll be helping me during the day, but I'll have to pay you personally for the work you do at home." Debbie tried to control her voice, but it came out in a squeak. "I'm not even sure about the legalities of all this. I didn't mean for you to start already."

"Number one, I haven't begun work yet. I just wanted to get a head start, so everything will go smoothly when I do officially begin. All I've done so far has been for my aunt Molly's friend. Okay?"

He waited for her nod before continuing. "Number two, I've got a simple solution to the pay situation. I'll go to work for Debbie's Designs full-time at minimum wage. Then you and I will share your home. You'll provide the house and pay the expenses, and I'll do the physical work and help you when you need assistance. That seems like a fair trade to me."

The light turned green, and Jake drove through the intersection. He didn't give her a chance to voice her protest. "With you providing room and board, minimum wage for a full-time job is all I need. I just bought a complete civilian wardrobe, and I have a little money in the bank for emergencies. So, what's the problem?" he concluded.

When Debbie made no response, Jake glanced over to the passenger seat.

"Debbie, what's wrong? You look terrible. And you're trembling."

"I'm so dizzy. I haven't been this dizzy since right after the stroke. It's awful," moaned Debbie.

Debbie was surprised to hear Jake let out what sounded to be a sigh of relief. "Is that all?" he asked. "Dr. Anderson warned me that riding in a car might make you dizzy. He didn't want to mention it to you because it doesn't always happen. Since there's nothing that can be done about it, there was no use worrying in advance. Do you want me to pull over for a few minutes?"

"No, I'm okay, but I'll be better when we get home," she answered.

There was no more conversation during the rest of the trip. Debbie found if she closed her eyes, the dizziness abated, so she didn't know they had arrived home until the van slowed to a stop. When she opened her eyes and saw her own house, she had to take a deep breath to avoid being overcome with tears. It was a modest house, but all hers. Well, hers and the bank's, but that was a minor point. It was her retreat from the world, her private place for her private self. And now she would be sharing that retreat with Jake.

His voice interrupted her thoughts. "How's the dizziness?"

"It went away as soon as we stopped."

Jake continued, "Do you want to walk, or do you want to use the wheelchair? I'll help you if you want to walk."

She wanted to see her home from an upright position as she had seen it at the end of every day for the two years she'd lived here. "No wheelchair, Jake. I want to walk."

Debbie took the arm Jake extended and levered to an upright position. When she tucked her arm through Jake's elbow, she realized she and Jake were the same height. She'd known he was short, but just how short hadn't been as obvious when she looked up to him from the wheelchair. Now, side-by-side, they slowly walked up the sidewalk. The first thing she noticed was the ramp at one side of the step. The next thing she noticed was a large sign, reading "Welcome Home, Debbie" on the front door. The words "Welcome home, Debbie" echoed softly in her ear.

Jake helped Debbie into the living room and seated her on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She looked at him in apparent surprise as he struck a match to the stacked logs. "I know it's not really cold enough for a fire, but it is cool. I thought a warm fire would be part of a warm welcome home."

"How did you know I love a fire? That was thoughtful of you."

Jake had tried to create a welcoming atmosphere for Debbie. He might not want to be here, but he'd accepted the job, and he'd decided to put forth his best effort. None of his many employers ever had any complaints about his work. He did a good job until boredom caused him to move on to something else.

He might even be doing more than his usual good job now, since he felt occasional twinges of conscience. Because he didn't want to do this, he'd go overboard to do a better job than anyone could expect. Everyone always accused Aunt Molly of having convoluted logic, but maybe his own thinking wasn't so logical.

Jake watched Debbie as she looked around. Fresh flowers decorated the coffee table. He didn't think the house looked like it had been empty for over a month. Through the door into the adjoining den, an afghan covered the back of the platform rocker. A paperback book lay facedown on the table beside the chair. He hoped Debbie found her home as inviting as he'd tried to make it. She smiled, and he wondered if she smelled the bread.

"Lunch will be ready in about an hour, if that's okay," he said. "Let me know when you feel like looking around the house and yard, and I'll help you. I'm sure you're eager to see everything."

"I'd like to go outside now."

She sank into a green and white striped lawn chair on the deck. Her yard was small and compact, but she usually brightened it with a small garden every spring and summer. Well, the garden would be neglected this year, but at least the grass, shrubs, and trees were green and healthy. Someone had filled her bird feeder, and chirping birds surrounded it.

So engrossed had she been in the yard and the birds, Debbie hadn't even realized Jake had gone back inside the house until he returned with a cup of herbal tea. "I hope this is what you wanted to drink. Since you had so much in the cabinet, I figured it must be your favorite. Is it okay?" Jake set the tea on the redwood table in front of her.

"It's perfect, Jake. Thank you. Did you fill the bird feeder? I was surprised to see so many birds."

Jake smiled and shrugged. "I found the bird seed while I was checking out the grocery supplies. Do you mind?"

"Oh, I'm glad. You've really made this a wonderful homecoming. Are you responsible for the flowers inside too?"

"Guilty as charged," admitted Jake with his trademark grin. "I just wanted this to be a real homecoming for you. You've been through so much lately-it's time for you to enjoy a few pleasures. I had fun doing it, so don't say I shouldn't have."

"Then all I'll say is thank you very much. It's a wonderful day so far, and it's just started. We do need to talk about your job. Sorry I got sidetracked on the way over here, but the dizziness got to me for a while. We need to get this straightened out. I didn't intend for you to take care of me for free. I'm not rich, but I can afford to pay for what I need." She thrust her jaw stubbornly.

Jake sat beside her on the matching lawn chair. "Of course, you can. That has nothing to do with it. But if we were friends sharing the house, I'd have to pay half of the mortgage, the utilities, and the groceries. If you paid someone to cook for you, do the laundry and the shopping, and help you when needed, it would probably still be less than it would cost me to house-share. So it seems to me I'm getting the best end of the deal."

How could he make it sound so logical when she knew it was unreasonable?

"We'll be friends sharing a house. We are friends, aren't we? Just say 'yes,' Debbie. I promise you won't regret it," pleaded Jake.

Although she felt she should protest, Debbie found it too much to her liking to disagree. "Okay,"

"Good. Now, how about lunch?" asked Jake.

"Just one more thing. I need to give you some money for groceries and whatever else you've spent or will spend before I get home," Debbie insisted.

"Tammy's already given me money from your business. She's keeping a good record of it, and we can settle all that when you're home for good. Now, no more delays. It's lunchtime."

He helped her back into the house and into the small dining alcove off the kitchen. Her favorite blue pottery dishes and a centerpiece of fresh flowers adorned the table. Jake helped her sit at the table and said, "I'll be right back with lunch."

Debbie's eyes widened when she saw the fresh bread Jake carried to the table along with the baked chicken and steamed vegetables. She looked pointedly at the bread and said, "I thought I smelled bread baking but decided it must be my imagination. I never considered you might have actually made bread."

"Just enjoy it," Jake said as he measured out the portions specified on her diet.

He must have studied and learned the requirements because he wasn't reading anything as he measured. First he gave her the medication scheduled for noon, and then he handed her the plate of food. The yellow and green vegetable medley surrounded golden brown chicken decorated with a sprig of parsley. The aroma tempted her taste buds, which were satisfied with the first bite.

Jake entertained Debbie with anecdotes from his Army days, and she found herself smiling and laughing throughout the meal.

"You should have seen Jim." Jake laughed at his own story about an Army buddy who drunkenly stumbled onto a construction site one night. "He was covered with paint from head to toe, and he tried to convince the sergeant he was staggering and slurring his speech because of the paint fumes. He swore he hadn't had a drop to drink."

Debbie enjoyed the story but found Jake's hilarious laughter more entertaining than the tale itself. "You never have to worry if anybody is going to laugh at your jokes, do you? You laugh so much yourself it doesn't matter if anybody else does or not."

Jake pretended to look hurt. "Well, when you're an only child, you learn to be self-sufficient." His infectious laughter rumbled through the small room and caressed Debbie's ears.

As soon as she finished her dessert of fresh strawberries and bananas, Jake helped her into the bedroom for a nap while he cleaned up the kitchen. Although she was accustomed to a full day of therapy, the physical trauma and the emotional excitement of the day had exhausted her, so she welcomed the nap. She felt rested and refreshed when she woke a couple of hours later.

"Do you mind if I go ahead and move in?" Jake asked as they toured the rest of the house. They were standing in the doorway to the guestroom, soon to become Jake's room. "I could get unpacked and settled in during the next couple of days, and I need to do some more shopping before you come home. Tammy gave me a key to the house to let in all the workers who've been here this week. Do you want me to get a copy made and return the key to her, or do you have another spare?"

After life in slow motion for weeks, everything seemed to be moving too fast. Jake, living in her house, before she came home, with his own key? Well, why not? He'd be living here when she came home, and he certainly had to have a key.

"That's fine," mumbled Debbie.

"What's fine, Debbie? You didn't answer my question. Do you want me to make a copy and give the key back to Tammy, or do you want me to keep the one I have?"

"You'd better make a copy. I only had one spare at the office. Now, I think you'd better be getting me back to the rehab center. Dr. Anderson was adamant I had to be in my room before five o'clock. And I sure don't want to do anything to keep him from discharging me on Friday."

The drive back to the center was quiet. Debbie again suffered dizziness and kept her eyes closed. When they arrived, Jake got the wheelchair for her and pushed her through the door and down the hall to her room.

"I won't be back to see you until I come to pick you up on Friday afternoon," he said. "I'll be busy getting things ready for you to come home."

Jake headed toward the door as he finished speaking. "Dr. Anderson told me they would do the discharge paperwork right after lunch on Friday, so I'll be here to pick you up about two o'clock. Then, Debbie, we're going home."

As Jake left, Debbie realized this would be the first time in the last four weeks she'd go for more than twenty-four hours without seeing Jake. But then, she consoled herself; she'd be with him all day, every day.

Time stood still for the next two days. Would Friday ever arrive? She couldn't wait to see Jake again-rather, to get out of the rehab center. Seeing Jake would just be part of going home. That's what she was excited about-going home.

Friday arrived at last. Debbie hurried through lunch and was back in her room with everything packed long before Jake was due to arrive. She really liked the staff at the rehab center and felt profound gratitude for all their efforts that resulted in her being able to leave. But now she just wanted them to hurry up and finish the discharge procedures so she could be on her way.

And where was Jake? He should be here by now. As this thought crossed her mind, Debbie heard his familiar voice, followed by a burst of laughter, down the hall. He was at the nurses' station, bringing laughter to the staff as he brought smiles and laughter everywhere he went.

"It looks like you're really reluctant to leave here," he teased as he came through the door to see everything piled up ready to go. "Where are all your flowers and balloons?"

"I sent them to the trauma unit. I'll take only the living plants and permanent gifts home. The nurses already distributed everything else to patients who didn't have anything. All I want is to go. I thought you'd never get here."

Jake laughed. "You sound just like a little kid. I checked in at the nurses' station. All your paperwork is done. You just have to sign a couple of forms as we go out, and then we're on our way home."

The formalities finished, Jake, accompanied by the discharging nurse, pushed Debbie out the front door for the last time. The van displaying the Debbie's Designs logo was parked in front. Jake helped Debbie into the van and loaded the wheelchair in the back while the nurse loaded Debbie's belongings through the side door.

The ride home filled Debbie with the same excitement as the trip earlier in the week. She again closed her eyes to ease the dizziness, but nothing lessened the excitement she felt at finally going home. Six weeks of hospitalization had seemed like forever. She knew she had a long way to go to recovery, but how wonderful it would be to be in her own house, to sleep in her own bed. How she had missed her home. How she'd missed seeing Jake these past two days. She found it hard to believe she'd only known him a month. He seemed to have been a part of her life forever.

His voice interrupted her musings. "I think everything's ready for you. Tammy, Bob, and the rest of the staff wanted to come by this afternoon after work to welcome you home. But I talked to Dr. Anderson, and he didn't think it was a good idea. So I told Tammy to put it off a few days."

Debbie started to speak, but Jake continued.

"Dr. Anderson wants you to stay home for a full week before you start going back to the center for therapy. I'll call the outpatient department the middle of next week, and they'll give me the schedule. After we get your therapy schedule, we'll figure out your work schedule. We have everything at home we'll need for the next week, so we'll just have some quiet time before you try anything else."

Now that she was headed home, Debbie had thought she would be in control of her own life again. Had she given up the discipline of the rehab center only to have all her decisions made by Jake?

"Do I have any say in all this?" Debbie snapped. "It seems like you have everything planned for me. Maybe I wanted everybody to come over tonight. Maybe I don't want a quiet week at home next week. Did you ever think of asking?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Debbie regretted her outburst. They weren't even home yet, for heaven's sake, and already she'd lost her temper. And they had never had a cross word before. She should be grateful for Jake's consideration, but she was determined to be a fully functional human being. She didn't like having all her decisions made for her. Of course, all her decisions had been made for her in the hospital, but that was different. Now she was going home. She was her own boss in her own home.

Jake took a long time to answer. "Gosh, I'm sorry, Debbie. I thought my job was to take care of you. I spent time earlier in the week meeting with Dr. Anderson and your therapists. The only reason they discharged you now is that I promised I would see you followed their instructions."

Although Jake looked straight ahead as he drove, Debbie felt the impact of his words as if he were piercing her skin with needles. "I know you want to be independent, and you will be soon. But the fact is you aren't ready for that yet. You're making a remarkable recovery, but you still have a long way to go. It's important that you don't overdo. You've been in a very structured environment for the last six weeks." His voice rose to a near shout. "Don't you realize there has to be a transition back into the real world?"

Reluctantly, Debbie mumbled, "Uh-huh."

"You just can't forge full steam ahead. I didn't make any decisions on a whim. All I'm doing is following Dr. Anderson's instructions. Asking you what you want is not part of the plan, at least not when it comes to asking you if you want a bunch of people to visit you the minute you're home from the hospital."

"You're right, Jake, as much as I hate to admit it. I don't really feel like a welcome home party, but it's frustrating to be treated like a child."

"Deb, the last thing I want to do is treat you like a child. Don't you know how much I admire your strength? You've suffered a terrible tragedy, and your attitude is wonderful. I know you're going to overcome this. I just want to take care of you, never treat you like a child. Now open your eyes and see where we are," he said. "We're home."

Home, thought Debbie. He says that just like it's his home, too. Well, he does live here now, even if it's temporary. So, home it is.

Without asking if she wanted the wheelchair, Jake opened Debbie's door and held out his arm to her. Together they walked the few steps to the front door. The "Welcome Home, Debbie" sign still hung above the door, and again she heard Jake's soft whisper "Welcome home, Debbie" as they entered the house.

Today Debbie wasn't surprised to smell bread baking or to see fresh flowers on the coffee table.

"Do you want to sit here, or do you want to go in the bedroom while I unpack?" Jake asked.

"I'll go with you to the bedroom."

She sat in her comfortable armchair while Jake carried in her bags. The bedroom suddenly seemed smaller with him in it. She'd never had a man in her bedroom before. Of course, Jake wasn't in the room as a man, merely as her assistant. Debbie blushed when she realized he was holding up a handful of underwear.

"Where do these go?"

She told him what each dresser drawer held, and he quickly put away her few clothes. Then he carried her toilet articles into the bathroom. The bathroom. Why hadn't she thought of that? How was she going to take a shower? She couldn't stand.

"Deb, if you feel up to coming in here with me, I'll show you what Bob and I did." Jake suddenly appeared in front of her and held out his hand.

She took his hand and, with his help, walked into the small bathroom. It had been transformed. On her previous visit, she had noticed the rails that had been installed beside the toilet, but she hadn't even thought about the shower. Now she saw a plastic shower bench with rubber tipped legs in the center of the stall. Rails had been installed to help her get into and out of the shower. Her stationary showerhead had been replaced with a portable showerhead on a long extension. She could let it hang free so she could reach it from a sitting position. There was even a chair just outside the shower so she could sit to dress.

"I asked the therapy staff what you needed, and this is what they suggested. The one change you can't see is we installed a small water heater for the bathroom only, with the temperature set low so you can't be badly burned. Since you don't have any feeling on your left side, you could easily burn yourself without knowing it."

"I didn't have a problem in the hospital."

"That's because you always had an aide with you in the bathroom, and they checked the water temperature. Obviously, I can't be with you all the time, so Bob and I made it possible for you to be in the bathroom alone."

Pointing to a button on the wall, he continued, "Here's a doorbell. You can reach it from inside the shower, in case you have a problem. Of course, I'll be close by, and you'll have to leave the door unlocked. If you need help, just ring the bell and I'll be right here."

Debbie shook her head in amazement. "I never even thought about all that. I guess I was so used to everything in the hospital I forgot how different the real world is. You've done so much to have everything ready for me to come home. I never realized how much was involved."

"The staff at the rehab center was super. They told me everything you needed. I didn't even realize you still don't have any feeling on your left side until they warned me you could get burned. They also told me you need to watch closely for cuts. You could easily develop an infection since you wouldn't feel the original injury. I've tried to do everything to make this house both safe and comfortable for you. Will you tell me if there's anything else you need?"

"I can't imagine what it would be. I wouldn't have thought of half of this."

"How about a short rest while I finish putting things away and start dinner? I know you were dizzy coming home even if you didn't say anything. I saw you had your eyes closed. This has been an eventful day, and you should lie down for an hour or so."

Debbie agreed. She was tired, she thought as she sat on the side of the bed and took off her shoes. She didn't expect to fall asleep, but the next thing she knew, Jake was leaning over her bed and saying softly, "Wake up, sleepyhead. Dinner's ready."

Jake felt proud of the dinner he prepared. It conformed exactly to her strict diet, but he'd taken extra care to present it attractively. He'd held several jobs as a cook, and they'd been among his favorites. Although the specific jobs had palled, he'd never become bored with cooking. He'd enjoy at least one part of this job.

When Debbie complimented him on the delicious meal, he said, "Cooking's a hobby of mine. And it's a challenge to create good tasting and filling meals for a low fat, low salt, diabetic diet. I promise I'll do a better job cooking for your diet than I did cooking for my mother's diet."

He laughed as he recalled the story. "I was in high school and just learning to cook. Mom decided to go on a diet. She put me in charge of the cooking so she wouldn't be tempted to nibble while she fixed dinner. Being a typical teenager, of course, I knew it all."

"I remember those days. Beth and I often comment it's amazing how smart our parents got from the time we were in our teens until we were in our early twenties," Debbie said.

Jake smiled. "My parents still hadn't got smart at this point. So I ignored the diet instructions Mom gave me and came up with own meal plan. I'd heard it takes more calories to chew celery than it contains, so I made a complete meal of celery."

"Yuck. I don't object to celery in its place, but a whole meal might be a little much." Well, maybe there were two things he liked about this job. Debbie's smile had to count as a definite benefit.

"Especially when the main course is French fried celery, and dessert is celery cream pie."

When her smile turned to laughter over a story his family groaned about, Jake decided Aunt Molly's interference wasn't so bad, after all.

After an enjoyable meal, Debbie sat at the kitchen table while Jake cleaned the kitchen. As he started to load the dishwasher, he asked, "How did you get interested in interior design?"

"It started with a project I did for my homemaking class in high school. I decided to redecorate my room. It wasn't because I had any real interest in design. I was just tired of my little girl ruffles."

"So what did you do?" He paused with a load of dishes.

"I painted the walls and made curtains and a bedspread. The sewing was pretty amateurish. Actually, so was the painting," she admitted with a smile. "But it was fun and I was as proud of myself as if it were professionally done."

He carried the last of the dishes to the dishwasher. "Where did you go from there?"

"Beth asked me to help her redo her room. It turned out better than mine, and I liked doing it. So my mother let me do some more decorating around the house. Before you know it, I had a career plan."

"If you started out in your family home, what made you decide to go into commercial design? It seems like residential work would have been the logical choice."

"I took a course in commercial design in college and was hooked from the beginning. Good design can do so much to help a company succeed. Image, employee morale, and efficiency are all affected by design." When Debbie realized she was lecturing, she smiled. "And maybe my big ego had something to do with it. When I decorate people's houses, only they and their family and friends would see the result. But imagine how many people see the offices and public spaces I decorate."

"I see your point." Jake looked intently into her eyes. "But I don't think you have a big ego-just a healthy pride in what you do. How did you end up in business for yourself?"

"When I graduated, the Texas economy wasn't very good. I couldn't find a job, so I started doing some freelance work. I enjoyed being independent so much that I gave up looking for a job."

Jake started the dishwasher, then joined her at the table. "You're a long way from being a freelancer now. Didn't you tell Molly you had seven employees?"

Debbie nodded, and Jake continued, "How did that happen?"

"It just seemed to happen. As I got more business, I had to hire people to help me. By the time I had a couple of employees, I decided I'd better learn something about business, so I took some business classes at the University of Texas at San Antonio."

"I really admire that, Debbie. I can't imagine knowing what you want to do and making it happen. I still don't know." His voice drifted off, and he seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he said briskly, "This is a fascinating conversation, but it's getting late. Are you ready to take your shower now?"

She nodded as she rose from her chair to follow Jake down the hall. When they reached the bedroom, he asked, "First, see if you have everything you need."

She felt strangely self-conscious as she took a nightgown from the dresser drawer and slowly shuffled into the bathroom. Soap and shampoo were in the shower and fresh towels hung on the towel rack. Her toothbrush and toothpaste were right where they belonged.

"Thanks, Jake," she called over her shoulder. "I'm fine. Everything's here. Don't worry if I take a long time. I'm just slow."

"Okay, but let me go in the den and turn on the television. Then try the bell just to make sure I can hear it over the TV."

Debbie waited until she heard the television and then pushed the button. Jake came back into the bedroom, saying, "I can hear that fine. Let me just test this one by your bed. Both bells ring in the den, the kitchen, and my room."

As he spoke, he reached her bedside and pushed the button there. "Fine," he continued as the bell sounded loud and clear. "Don't lock the door, and call me if you need anything."

"Okay." Debbie certainly didn't intend to call for Jake's help. She'd just have to be extremely careful not to fall. As awkward and clumsy as her body was, she didn't like him to see her fully clothed. No way was she going to let him see her in the nude.

She did take a long time to shower and dress in her nightgown. Since her stroke, she'd never done so without assistance, but the convenient arrangement of the bathroom enabled her to be independent. She appreciated Jake's consideration as she stepped out of the shower and sat in the nearby chair to dress.

When she opened the bathroom door, Jake appeared in her bedroom. Obviously, he'd been waiting for her since the water stopped running in the shower. "Do you want to come in the den and watch TV with me or would you rather get in bed and listen to your audio book?" he asked.

Debbie wanted to sit in the den just to be with him, but she wouldn't bore him with her company. "I'll get in bed and listen to a tape for a while."

Jake left the room and hurried back with the tape recorder. He glanced at her as he set the recorder within reach on her night table. "You're not wearing your patch," he exclaimed.

"I don't wear it at night. After all I'm not looking at anything, so I don't see it double," she responded with a laugh.

Jake took the insulated water container she always carried to fill it with fresh water. He turned down the bed and turned on the lamp. "What else do you need?" he asked.

"Not a thing," she answered. "I'll listen to the tape for a while and probably go to sleep early. I'm used to a hospital bedtime of eight-thirty or nine."

"Fine," said Jake. "You need your rest. Remember, call me if you want anything-more water, another tape, anything at all."

"Thanks, Jake, I will. But I doubt I'll need anything."

Debbie was touched to find Jake at her bedroom door several times during the evening just to check on her. Although she didn't need anything, she appreciated having him keep watch over her. When she finally clicked off the tape recorder to go to sleep, she had a smile on her face.

The next morning, the sun streaming in through the open drapes of the east window gently teased Debbie awake. How surprising that she had slept all night. For the past several weeks, she'd been awakened throughout the night by all the sounds and activities of the hospital.

Friday night at midnight was weighing time, Debbie remembered ruefully. Since she wasn't mobile enough at first to stand on a scale, she'd been hoisted in a sling and weighed in a bed scale. When she asked why patients had to be wakened in the middle of the night to be weighed, the nurse explained the other shifts were busy with daily activities. She never did understand why it was necessary to weigh every patient, every week. Well, she didn't have to worry about that any more. She could sleep all night without a nurse coming in to weigh her or take her vital signs.

She'd obviously enjoyed a good night's sleep in her own bed. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table to see the time was already seven-thirty. Another surprise-she'd always been awakened at six o'clock at the rehab center. She'd dressed and breakfasted by seven-thirty. Sleeping late was a special treat, since Debbie had never been a morning person. She carefully raised herself into a sitting position. When she slid her legs off the bed, her feet had barely touched the floor when Jake rushed into the bedroom.

"Good morning, Deb." Jake's smile shone as bright as the sun. "How do you feel this morning? You obviously slept well. You never stirred when I came in to check on you."

"You didn't need to check on me," Debbie protested. "I guess you wanted to be sure I was okay before you went to bed. What time was it?"

"I went to bed about eleven, but I checked on you every hour throughout the night. I wasn't taking any chances on your first night home. You were sleeping like a log every time I came in, so I'll make my checks less often now.

"Go on in the bathroom and wash your face or whatever you have to do. But don't take time to get dressed. Breakfast's almost ready."

Debbie slipped into her robe and slippers and plodded to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and brushed her hair. Thank goodness, she wore it short and straight. Her hairstyle didn't look glamorous, but it didn't suffer too much from the lack of attention caused by her limited mobility. Next came the eye patch. Not that she'd mind seeing two Jakes, she thought. But she'd wear the patch so the one Jake she saw wasn't blurred.

As she made her way down the hall to the kitchen, she breathed in the fragrant aroma of fresh coffee. Breakfast was on the table. Jake poured her a cup of steaming hot coffee; then he served her a colorful concoction of crunchy cereal mixed with yogurt and fresh fruit. A poached egg, the yolk a miniature sun, completed the meal.

Jake ignored his own breakfast to watch Debbie. He saw her wrinkle her forehead when she looked at the plate. He'd stirred the cereal and fruit into the yogurt because he didn't like yogurt. He'd decided he had to eat the same food he fixed for her, so he hoped she liked the same things he did. He'd make sure her meals were tasty even if he ate something different. But he knew the food would taste good if he had to eat it too. Even though he didn't really want to be here, he wouldn't let himself take the easy way out. He'd take care of Debbie. He wouldn't let Aunt Molly down. Besides Debbie deserved to be pampered.

Debbie asked, "Wouldn't you rather have eggs and bacon and toast? You certainly don't have to limit yourself to what I can eat. I don't mind if you fix yourself something more substantial."

"This is fine. I guarantee I'll eat more than you're allowed, but what you eat's fine." He held up a spoonful of his yogurt crunch. "Besides, won't you trust me to feed you better if I'm eating the same thing myself?"

Debbie smiled. "That makes sense."

"Just because your diet's restricted doesn't mean it can't taste good. I told you before-cooking's a hobby of mine. And I'm good at it." Maybe he sounded cocky, but there weren't many things he liked to do that he did well.

"I've already found that out."

"My mother worked as a secretary when I was in high school, and it was my job to have dinner ready when she and Dad got home. I even had a couple of stints as a short order cook."

Debbie "Obviously, you decided against a career as a cook."

"I got bored cooking the same things all the time. It's a challenge to cook for you. I'll stick to the restrictions the dietitian gave me, but I don't ever want you to feel deprived."

"Well, your meals are better than hospital food."

"That's not saying much." He grimaced.

Her laughter caught him by surprise. "Actually, it is saying a lot. Believe it or not, the food was good at the rehab center. So that was a compliment."

"Good, because I expect you to brag about how well you eat. I won't be satisfied until you tell everybody what a great cook I am." He knew she'd smile just like she did. He enjoyed teasing and joking with anyone, but he found that he especially wanted to give Debbie reason to smile and laugh.

They chatted lightly through breakfast and lingered over second cups of coffee. During lulls in the conversation, they could hear the chatter of birds congregating around the feeder in the backyard. As she watched the birds through the window, he saw her gaze drift further back into the yard to a bare section that had obviously been the garden she'd described to Aunt Molly and him.

He'd bet money she was wishing she could get her garden going again. "You know, Debbie, I've been thinking about the garden. I could bring in some railroad ties and soil to raise beds so they'd be at wheelchair height. Then you and I could work in the garden together. I could work the ground beds, and you could work the raised beds. What do you think?"

"Oh, Jake, how did you know how much I miss my garden? I'd love it." The smile faded and she shook her head. "But that's so much work for you. You have enough to do already. You don't need to add gardening to everything else."

"I'd enjoy it, Deb." He felt surprised to realize he meant it. "I never had a place where I could get my hands dirty while I was in the service. I missed it because I loved playing in the dirt when I was a kid. Don't you remember Aunt Molly telling you about my love affair with dirt? She used to say I could get dirtier than any two of her kids."

"Yeah, I do. How did you turn into Mr. Clean? Or is this immaculate house a one-time thing?"

"No, it'll stay clean. Military barracks inspections reformed me-on the surface, anyway. I'm looking forward to getting my hands dirty again."

"Me, too. I love to garden." Debbie picked up her spoon and pointed out the window. "I always plant my garden in that corner. There's my compost heap."

"I have a lot to learn, but I'm willing to try if you are." He'd made the offer on an impulse, maybe his conscience nagging him again. His guilt over not wanting to be here would probably lead to him doing a much better job than he would have if he'd come of his own free will. He shook his head at the absurdity of the whole situation.

"You don't want to do it." Debbie's dejected voice drew his attention. "You're shaking your head."

"No, I wasn't." He saw her doubtful look. "Well, maybe I was shaking my head, but not at that. I just thought of something else for a minute. Let's do the garden. I think it'll be fun."

"That's wonderful," exclaimed Debbie. "I'll go get dressed, and we can start planning it today."

"Okay." Jake couldn't help but share her excitement. He'd heard about contagious enthusiasm, but he'd never seen it in action until he met Debbie. "You're like a little kid again. You get so excited over the simplest things. I'll clean up the breakfast dishes while you get dressed, and then we can go sit on the deck and plan our garden."

Debbie went back to her bedroom and started getting her clothes together to dress. Only her excitement at being home again surpassed her frustration.

She normally didn't wear bright colors, but she'd asked Beth to shop for her. Debbie needed soft, stretchy, loose fitting clothes so she could dress herself. She'd still been too sick to pay much attention when Beth returned with an assortment of jogging suits in a variety of colors. Her sister had long since returned to Germany when Debbie realized how colorful the outfits were.

Debbie tended to wear dark colors, thinking they made her look thinner. But there wasn't one dark jogging suit in the bunch. The colors ranged from purple to hot pink to bright green to multicolored bright florals. Reluctantly she chose the purple outfit.

She sat on the edge of the bed to put on the pants and top, then she lay back on the bed to stretch out her legs to put on and tie her shoes. At least her tennis shoes and socks were white. Imagine if Beth had bought those in colors too.

Debbie was tying the last shoelace when Jake entered the room. He eyed her appreciatively and surprised her by saying, "That purple outfit looks great. Bright colors suit you. Now let's go think up some bright colors for the garden."

She followed him to the deck. He showed her several seed catalogs that had arrived in the mail recently, and they cheerfully debated the pros and cons of various crops and gardening methods.

"I've always had okra in my garden, but I guess we'll skip it this year."

"Why?" asked Jake.

"Why have I always had it or why skip it?"

"Both, I guess."

"I've always had it because I love it," answered Debbie. "But I guess we'll skip it because the only way I love it is fried, and I doubt that my cook would fry okra for me. Would you?"

"Sorry. Doctor's orders-no fried foods." He wrinkled his nose as if smelling a bad odor. "That's the only way I like okra myself. My mother used to boil it." He shuddered. "You're right. We don't want any of that slimy stuff."

They finally decided Debbie would plant and tend two raised beds of flowers. One bed would be in the back of the sunny garden, and the other would be in the shade of the large oak tree, so they could have a variety of both sun-loving and shade-loving annuals. Jake would build up the beds with railroad ties and make wide gravel paths along both the front and back of each bed so Debbie would have access from her wheelchair.

"We've agreed on tomatoes, spinach, squash, and carrots for vegetables then. It's nice we have the same favorites," said Jake. "I don't know enough about flowers to agree or disagree, so you choose them."

Debbie enjoyed the morning. The beautiful day combined with Jake's delightful personality made planning the garden entertaining. He had a quick wit and a ready smile that Debbie admired more and more.

She jumped when Jake suddenly looked at his watch and vaulted out of the chair. "Deb, I've got to fix lunch. It's after one o'clock, and I'm supposed to be keeping you on a regular meal schedule. You should've had lunch an hour ago. Sorry, the time got away from me."

"Me, too."

"Fortunately, I made a tuna salad before breakfast, so it won't take any time to get it on the table." He'd already reached the door, but he turned back toward her. "Do you want to stay out here or do you need to wash up? We can eat inside if you prefer, or I'll bring lunch out here on the deck."

"I need to wash up, but then I'd like to come back out here. It seems like I've been cooped up in a hospital forever. It's great to be outside."

When Debbie returned to the deck, Jake had already set the table with plates of tuna salad, crisp toasted bread, and raw carrots. Golden peaches molded in lime diet gelatin made up dessert. Jake must have been up early to have all this ready. The thorough and seemingly effortless way he did everything impressed Debbie. How could a guy with little or no ambition do so much so well?

As they eagerly continued their conversation about the garden, Debbie suddenly lost control of her right hand. She dropped her fork and sprayed tuna salad all over the deck.

"I'm sorry, Jake," she said. Her face burned with embarrassment. "I don't know how one forkful could spread so far. It's a mess for you to clean up."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Deb?" Jake teased. "I've been meaning to hose down the deck. Is this a less than subtle hint for me to get on with it? Or does it mean my tuna salad is so bad you have to feed it to the birds?"

Debbie smiled and shook her head.

"Please tell me it's just a minor setback in muscle control. Dr. Anderson said you'll probably have some setbacks on the road to recovery." He gave her an exaggerated look of pleading, and he spoke in a melodramatic voice. "Please tell me that's what happened. My deck-keeping and my cooking can't be that bad, can they?"

Although Debbie had been embarrassed by her awkwardness, she couldn't help but laugh at Jake's foolishness. "I'll be a little more subtle than that if I have any complaints, okay?" she said with a smile.

Then, more seriously, she continued, "In fact, Jake, I'm amazed at what a wonderful job you're doing. You're a much better cook than I am, and you've done so much more than I expected. I can't help but feel I'm taking advantage of you."

"If anything, Deb, it's the other way around," said Jake, just as seriously. "You're saving me money on rent and groceries, and I'm going to learn to garden." Changing the subject, he continued, "Now, don't you think it's time for you to lie down awhile? Do you want to nap or listen to your book?"

Relieved in a way, but paradoxically also somewhat disappointed that the more personal conversation had ended, Debbie answered, "I think I'd like to listen to my book for a while, but I might take a nap later."

She excused herself and slowly made her way to her bedroom. She'd just taken off her shoes when Jake came in with her water. He went through the ritual of turning down the bed and positioning her tape recorder and water jug within easy reach.

"Anything else?"

"Nothing, thanks. You really spoil me. I'll see you in a couple of hours," she told him, as she turned on the tape recorder. She listened for only a few minutes before the voice started to lull her to sleep. She turned off the tape recorder and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew, a familiar voice whispered softly above her, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You've been asleep for hours. Beth's on the phone from Germany. She told me not to wake you, but I knew you'd want to talk to her." Jake handed her the phone from her night table.

"Beth. It's wonderful to hear from you," exclaimed Debbie into the phone. "I'm home. It's wonderful."

"You're home? What a surprise! I did call your home phone number, you know," Beth quipped. "Jake's been telling me all about it. Where in the world did you find him? He sounds like a real treasure."

Debbie opened her mouth to respond, but Beth didn't pause. "He called you Deb. You never let anyone call you Deb. That's a sure sign he's somebody special. How long have you two been together? You never told me you had someone special in your life," accused Beth.

"Beth, Jake is an employee. He's my driver and assistant. He's staying in the guestroom because the doctor wouldn't release me from the rehab center unless I had live-in help. He just takes his job seriously. Enough about me. Now, tell me about Jim and the kids," commanded Debbie.

Beth, a devoted and proud wife and mother, launched into a lengthy monologue about her family. A discussion of their parents in the nursing home followed. All too soon, Beth realized she was running up a large long distance phone bill and ended the call with a promise to call again in a week.

Jake had disappeared immediately after handing the receiver to Debbie, but as soon as she hung up, he was back, asking her what she wanted to do next.

"I'll just sit in the den awhile. Go ahead with whatever you were doing."

Jake helped her into the den, and said, "I wasn't doing anything important. Let me turn this thing off," he said, as he moved toward the television.

"Don't do that. Go ahead and watch it."

"Deb, I'm not going to sit here and watch TV when you can't see it. It was just a basketball game, nothing important."

"Don't worry about me. I don't like sports anyway, so it won't bother me not to be able to see it. I'll just sit here and watch the birds in the yard."

She wasn't enthusiastic about sitting idle. But she'd been in bed long enough, and she had nothing else to do. She and Jake had talked all morning. She wouldn't monopolize any more of his time, especially since he seemed to be enjoying the game. Just then he looked over and noticed her inactivity. Without saying a word, he went into her bedroom and came back with the tape recorder and headphones. He set the recorder on the table by her chair, handed her the headphones, and started the tape.

Debbie had been surprised at how much she enjoyed listening to books on tape. Having always been an enthusiastic reader, she'd expected listening to tapes to be "second best," but she found the audio books highly entertaining. Too bad she had only a few tapes left. Beth, who shared Debbie's tastes in books, had bought the tapes for her during her visit. Debbie would have to venture out on a shopping trip soon if she wanted to continue this enjoyable pastime, but she wasn't quite ready for that yet.

When the basketball game was over, Jake went into the kitchen to start dinner. For a few minutes, Debbie stayed in the den listening to her book. But soon she felt pulled toward the kitchen.

"Do you mind if I sit here at the table while you cook?" she asked as she entered the kitchen.

He immediately launched into an entertaining conversation. He always had an amusing anecdote ready.

"Did I tell you about my Alamodome experience?"

"No, you didn't. I guess that means you're going to tell me now," Debbie answered.

Jake smiled. "I'm impressed San Antonio has a domed stadium, and overall, it seems to be a success."

"There have been lots of sell-out events there," Debbie commented.

"Well, off season exhibition football apparently isn't so popular. Dad and I thought about going to a game while you and Molly were still in the hospital." He grinned.

"And . . ."

"I called the stadium box office and asked what time the game started." Jake chuckled. "The guy on the phone said, 'What time can you get here?'"

Debbie laughed along with Jake. "Did you go?"

"No. We decided to go to Fiesta Texas instead. I'd never been."

"It's wonderful, isn't it? Calling it an amusement park is an understatement. I love the fantastic music and dancing."

"What about the rides? I loved the Rattler. Do you know it's one of the world's tallest and fastest wooden roller coasters?"

"I know that, but I wasn't brave enough to try it before I had the stroke. I'm certainly not going to try it now. You know how dizzy I get just riding in a car."

Jake white teeth sparkled as he grinned. "Of course, you're not ready for it yet. Just let me know when you think your dizziness is cured. We'll take a ride on the Rattler. That'll be the acid test."

Perhaps what Debbie enjoyed the most was Jake's tendency to laugh heartily at his own jokes, whether or not anyone else did. Debbie found herself laughing and talking happily as she watched Jake prepare another healthy and delicious dinner. She felt so comfortable, so natural, enjoying this evening ritual with Jake in the cozy kitchen.

"If anyone had told me two months ago I'd sit here in my own kitchen and watch someone I depended on to take care of my needs prepare my meal, I wouldn't have believed them. But if I could have ever believed that, I'd never have believed I could be laughing and enjoying myself," mused Debbie.

"You're a strong person who makes the best of any situation," responded Jake, startling Debbie, who didn't realize she'd spoken her thoughts aloud. "You think about what you have, not what you've lost. And even if you're dependent on me or somebody else, you're still the same person you always were, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I admire you, Deb, and it makes me happy to see you enjoying yourself."

Debbie didn't know how to respond to his words. Even though the effusive praise embarrassed her, she recognized Jake's obvious sincerity. "Thank you, Jake. I'm lucky to have found you."

"I read somewhere: 'Happiness is what happens when you're too busy to be miserable.' You're definitely too busy to be miserable. I hope you're happy, Deb."

"You know something, Jake. I am happy," Debbie answered with surprise.

That night, Debbie woke up with a severe coughing spell. As she sat up and reached for her water, Jake appeared as if by magic. He helped her sit up on the edge of the bed and encouraged her to continue to drink water. Drinking water usually controlled the coughing, but this severe spell made her feel as if she were choking and about to faint. The feeling terrified her, and Jake seemed to understand her terror. He sat beside her on the bed with his arms around her shoulders. He talked to her softly and gently as she tried to control the coughing and choking. The spell seemed to last forever, but finally the coughing subsided. Jake gently helped her lie down again and continued to sit on the side of the bed until she returned to sleep.

Jake made soothing sounds and comforting noises. But Debbie thought she heard him say, "Don't be afraid, Deb. I'll take care of you."

But for how long, she wondered.

When Debbie awoke on Sunday morning, she lay in bed savoring the memory of the day and a half since she'd come home. Everything was so different from her expectations, or maybe she hadn't known what to expect. She'd lived in this house for two years, but she'd always been both alone and independent before. Now she shared the house with a warm, vital man, but she was dependent on him for her basic needs. She couldn't even fix her own meals or do her own laundry, for heaven's sake.

Laundry. She hadn't thought of that. Jake had done laundry before she came home, but it was only sheets and towels. Her personal items had all been sent to a laundry from the rehab center. The thought of Jake washing her clothes seemed too personal, too intimate, somehow, and the knowledge that she couldn't do her own laundry depressed her.

Debbie quickly brought her errant thoughts under control. She was not going to feel sorry for herself. After all, she'd already made remarkable progress. At least she could bathe and dress herself. She could walk in her own home even if she was still too weak and unsteady on her feet to venture out in the world. She'd return to therapy as an outpatient next week, and she would improve. She'd return to work soon too. She remembered feeling like a vegetable and the doctor's dire prediction that she could possibly be that way the rest of her life. Her self-pity dissolved. She still faced many challenges, but she'd already made great progress and she'd continue to get better.

Jake's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Good morning, Deb. It's a beautiful day."

"Good morning to you, Jake. I haven't looked outside, but I can surely tell the sun's out." She sat up and swung her feet to the floor.

Jake held out her robe and bent over to slip her house shoes on her feet. "Go wash your face and then come into the den," he commanded. "It's almost time for the service from your church on TV. I have coffee and juice in the den."

Debbie started toward the bathroom. Jake didn't give her a chance to say anything. "We'll have breakfast after church, if that's all right with you. I meant to get you up in time to have breakfast first. But you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't have the heart to wake you. Will the juice be enough to keep your blood sugar from getting too low?"

"That's fine."

Jake headed out the door to the den while she splashed cold water on her face. Molly had told him the eight o'clock service from her church was televised. Debbie had watched the service on television every Sunday in the rehabilitation center.

She walked in just as the service started. "Just in time. I hope you like the service."

He hadn't planned to watch the service. Church hadn't been listed as one of his job duties, but he couldn't leave when she looked at him with such hope. He didn't plan to participate, but he found himself joining in on the Amens.

As the service ended, Debbie headed toward the bedroom. He called her back. "Don't take time to dress now. Come on in the kitchen, and I'll have breakfast ready in no time. You should've already eaten by now. I don't want to delay it any longer."

"Really, Jake, I'm capable of deciding when to dress and when to eat. Just because my body doesn't work right doesn't mean there's anything wrong with my brain. You're supposed to be my assistant, not my boss." Her body leaned against the wall for support, but her voice held enough backbone of its own.

He gritted his teeth at her stubbornness. "Deb, will you please have breakfast before you get dressed? There's no hurry to get dressed. We're not going anywhere today, are we?"

"Okay," Debbie relented.

He didn't know why she'd been so huffy. He may have sounded bossy, but he was being paid to take care of her. He took his responsibilities seriously. Being so dependent on anyone must gall someone of her independent nature, but she had to accept her limitations.

He'd already set the table. Eggs waited to be scrambled, and bread was already in the toaster when Debbie entered the kitchen. When he saw the expression on her face, he said, "Forgive me, Deb? I really don't mean to be so bossy."

"There's nothing to forgive. You're only doing your job and doing it very well. I hope you'll forgive me for being such a poor patient. I just get so frustrated sometimes." Her voice rose on the last sentence, even though she pronounced each word carefully.

"Oh, Debbie, I know you do." He slid the eggs from the skillet onto a serving dish and carried it to the table. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd put his arm around her shoulders. "You're not a poor patient. You're doing great. You don't give in to self-pity. It's natural to get frustrated from time to time. You don't need to put on a false face around me. If you're frustrated, let it out."

Now, why had he said that? He hadn't even intended to take this job, and now he offered to take on more grief. Nothing had happened to his brain, but it sure didn't seem to be working right.

"I know I can't keep it bottled up, but I shouldn't take it out on you."

"It's okay to let me share your feelings. Think of it as part of my job. Your emotional well being is as important as your physical recovery. If you need to let off steam from time to time, I can take it."

Of course, he could take it. He just couldn't understand why he offered. There was just something about this woman trying so hard to be strong in spite of her physical condition. Maybe Aunt Molly had influenced him more than he realized.

Debbie sniffed a couple of times. "Okay."

He sat beside her at the table and served her toast and eggs. "So, can you take me being too bossy sometimes?"

Debbie smiled. "Of course I can. That's why I pay you such magnificent wages. At that pay rate, you should be the boss. Isn't everybody who works at minimum wage?" she quipped.

"Uh-huh." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Now that we've got that clear, is there anything you'd like to do today?"

She started to answer, but he decided he should lay down the ground rules first. Better to tell her no before she even asked. "I know you'd probably like to get out, but you'll still be dizzy if we drive anywhere. Anyway Dr. Anderson said you should stay home for a few days before you venture out. If you feel up to seeing your employees, they're on standby to come over this afternoon. I just have to call Tammy and let her know."

"I guess this is one of those times I have to take you being bossy." The tiny smile at the corners of her mouth relieved his anxiety. He'd half expected a battle.

"Yep. Bossy as I am, I already told her they could only come if you felt strong enough and they could only stay thirty minutes. So, what do you think?"

After a brief discussion, they decided to invite the staff over around three o'clock, so Debbie could have a nap before and after their visit. They'd sit out on the deck, so she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed by the crowd.

Debbie expected the day to pass slowly as she anticipated her afternoon visitors, but the morning passed quickly in idle conversation with Jake. After lunch, she napped for an hour or so.

Soon, Jake stood over her, softly calling her awake. "It's time to rise and shine. Why don't you change into your pink outfit? You look so pretty in it."

Surprised that Jake even knew she had a pink outfit, Debbie wondered why she should change. The answer became apparent as she glanced down at herself. Traces of lunch stained her clothes. At least Jake had been tactful and hadn't pointed out what a mess she was.

She struggled into the jogging suit, washed her face, combed her hair, and adjusted her eye patch. At least she was neat and clean. That was the best she could achieve.

When she entered the den, Jake smiled and said, "You look great, Deb. I thought you might want to take the wheelchair out on the deck, so you can move around more comfortably. I know you don't usually use the chair at home, but this is the first time you've been in a crowd and it might be a good idea."

"You're right," she agreed.

When the doorbell rang promptly at three o'clock, Debbie was sitting in the wheelchair on the deck. A pitcher of iced tea, cans of soft drinks, and a pot of coffee sat on the picnic table, along with glasses, cups, and napkins. Jake answered the door and brought the seven employees through the house and out onto the deck.

Everyone obviously knew Jake, and no one seemed surprised he acted as host. He saw to it only one person at a time approached her. The others visited among themselves and enjoyed their drinks. After a brief conversation, each person moved on and the next came over to chat. Someone had obviously planned this visit in great detail. Otherwise, they would have descended en masse-everyone talking at once and all vying for her attention. Jake had to be responsible for this quiet and orderly visit.

Tammy, Debbie's assistant, told her, "I've signed up for a computer class at San Antonio College. I just wanted something to do, and I thought the knowledge would be helpful. But I've met this really great guy in the class. Now I'll enjoy it whether or not I learn anything about computers."

The bookkeeper, Betty Sue, talked about her teenage son's efforts to choose a college, and the receptionist, Judy, described the antics of her two small children. Bob, who headed the installation crew, laughingly confessed he was on a "kitchen pass" only long enough to visit Debbie. His wife had a long list of "Honey-do" projects for him to finish when he got home. Bob's three assistants were all young, single men, and they shyly asked about Debbie's health.

At the end of the half-hour, the group said their good-byes and traipsed out the door. As much as she'd enjoyed the visit, she felt incredibly tired after such a short time. She tried to resent Jake for organizing it so thoroughly, but she knew she wouldn't have enjoyed the visit if he hadn't tamed her staff's normal impulsiveness. She was ready for bed as it was. Had she had to deal with the entire group talking at once, she knew she would've been overwhelmed.

"Are you going to tell me the secret formula for getting them to act like that?" Debbie asked Jake when he returned.

Jake shrugged his shoulders and quickly changed the subject to ask if she was ready to take a nap. Reluctantly Debbie admitted she was, and it didn't take long for her to drift off to sleep. She got up to eat dinner but went to bed again immediately afterward and slept soundly until Monday morning.

The next week seemed strange in many ways. Debbie didn't remember ever being home for an entire week with nothing to do. She expected the time to pass slowly. She'd been in intensive therapy for weeks, with hardly a moment to call her own. Her body wasn't as strong as she'd hoped. She slept more than she ever dreamed possible. Awake, she listened to a book on tape or chatted with Jake or simply watched him work. He never left the house.

"Don't you need to run some errands?"

"Dr. Anderson told me not to leave you alone, and I'm not letting you out of my sight unless I'm within the sound of your bell."

"But don't we need groceries or something?"

"I got ready for this week before you came home. We have everything we need. Besides, I'll have plenty of time to shop and run errands when you're in therapy next week."

Debbie's assistant, Tammy, called every day with a brief report on the business, but the world of business and work seemed unreal. Her conversations with Jake seemed much more real and much more important than anything happening in the outside world.

"Aunt Molly is the real character in our family. My parents are pretty staid and conservative by comparison. They're both low-key and don't get excited easily. But every once in a while . . . I remember one time when they were both really busy with their jobs." Jake flashed a smile.

"And . . ."

"I was in front of the television watching Saturday morning cartoons. I never heard my parents in their bedroom, but suddenly my father was yelling, and then Mom joined in." Jake shook his head and laughed. "At first, I thought they were having a fight.

"When I could make out the words, Dad was saying, `Look at the time. We're both late for work!' Mom was trying to tell him it was Saturday. He was so panicked; he didn't pay any attention to what she was saying. He kept telling her to hurry up and wake me up or I'd be late for school too."

Debbie smiled at Jake's obvious enjoyment as he continued.

"He was almost completely dressed before Mom finally calmed him down enough to make him understand it was Saturday. Of course, by that time, they were both wide-awake. So there went the extra sleep they'd promised themselves after a stressful week."

"It's hard to imagine you quietly watching TV while all this was going on," Debbie said.

"I wasn't. I got right in the middle of the excitement. Anyway, that was probably the most dramatic thing that happened at our house when I was growing up. I used to love to go to Aunt Molly and Uncle John's house. There was always something happening there, never a dull, or a quiet, moment."

"It was always quiet at our house," said Debbie. "I love my parents, and Beth and I were lucky they adopted us after our biological parents were killed in an accident. Not many people will take on two children at once."

"How old were you?"

"I was two and Beth was three. My folks were in their fifties, and Dad had already retired from Civil Service at Kelly Air Force Base. Mom had never worked outside the home. They're warm, loving people. Since they were both home all the time, we got a lot of attention. But there weren't any other children in our neighborhood, and it was pretty quiet most of the time."

"Too bad you didn't have a bunch of relatives like Aunt Molly and her family to add a little spice. My childhood would have been a lot lonelier if I didn't have all my cousins. At least you and Beth had each other."

Debbie and Jake spent many hours companionably sitting in the den. Since Debbie had always lived alone, the room had been designed for the comfort of only herself. Whenever she had guests, she entertained in the living room. Jake had brought in a recliner from the living room and positioned Debbie's platform rocker next to the recliner with a table between them. The chairs faced the television set, and a space was kept open on the table for Debbie's recorder.

Sometimes Jake watched television while Debbie listened to her audiotapes on her headphones. Every morning, Jake read the newspaper to Debbie since she couldn't read herself. He skimmed over news of crime and international conflicts and concentrated on human-interest stories and amusing columns.

Saturday morning's newspaper had them both in stitches. Jake looked at Debbie and smiled his killer grin. "Listen to this, Deb. There used to be only one word in the English language that had three or more double letters-bookkeeper. Then the zoo hired a new employee as a raccoonnookkeeper. Spell that."

"R-a-cc-oo-nn-oo-kk-ee-p-e-r," responded Debbie with a laugh.

"Okay, then the shipyard hired a new man. He's the flooddoorroommaster. Spell that one."

"Fl-oo-dd-oo-rr-oo-mm-aster." Debbie could hardly get the letters out of her mouth for the laughter.

"Now, this is the end-I promise," continued Jake. "This guy hired himself a part-time assistant, and he's called the flooddoorroommoonlighter. Bet you can't spell that one," Jake challenged.

Between gales of laughter, Debbie said, "Fl-oo-dd-oo-rr-oo-mm-oo-n-lighter."

"Okay, you win," smiled Jake. "It sure doesn't take much to amuse us, does it?"

Debbie smiled as Jake continued to scan the newspaper for other items of interest. Had she read the article herself, she would've found little humor in it, but sharing it with Jake and his infectious laugh made it fun.

Debbie shook her head in amazement that she could actually have so much fun when she faced so many challenges. It didn't surprise her Jake found fun in simple things, but it did surprise her he shared this fun with her with no regard for her disabilities. It reassured her to find she could enjoy herself so much in spite of her problems.

"Can't we start on the garden now?" she asked eagerly.

"Not yet. Doctor's orders were one full week with no activities. You will follow doctor's orders. But we can make a shopping list of everything we're going to need. I'll go to the nursery while you're in therapy next week."

"I want mixed wildflowers in the sun and impatiens and begonias in the shade. Put those on your list along with the vegetable seedlings."

"Okay. By the way, I talked to Dr. Anderson yesterday. He's preparing the paperwork you need to qualify for a handicapped parking permit for the van. I have to pick that up and take it to the motor vehicle office too."

She was eager to get back to work and to continue her therapy. However, Debbie also felt a sense of loss and regret when the week came to an end. Never again would she be totally free of responsibilities and never again would she and Jake have all day, every day together.

Monday morning arrived, time for Debbie to venture out into the world again. Jake reviewed the schedule with her over breakfast-therapy from ten o'clock to noon, lunch and a nap at her office, followed by a maximum of two hours of work.

She must be getting used to his bossiness. Or maybe she felt nervous about starting back to therapy and to work on the same day. She hadn't protested when he told her he'd rearranged her office to put in a single bed. "You're not going to work unless you have a place to rest. I only need one bed, so I took the other twin bed from my room to your office."

"Okay." She pushed her chair back from the table. "I'll go finish getting ready."

"Hang on just a minute." He intended to finish this while she was still in such agreeable mood. "I seriously thought about taking you home after therapy and then going into the office later in the day. That way you could nap here.

"But since the office is halfway between the therapy center and the house, I decided to try everything in one trip. If you can't rest well enough at the office, though, we'll come home first next time. Agreed?"

"You mean I have a choice?" She looked up at him with a look of challenge in her eyes.

Now, that sounded more like Debbie. He should have liked her early agreeableness-it made his job easier. But for some reason he couldn't figure out, he found himself fighting a smile at her challenge.

"Only the choice of doing what I say or finding somebody else to take care of you." He'd meant it as a joke, but the look on Debbie's face told him this was one time she didn't appreciate his humor.

"Are you trying to get fired?" she asked in a low voice.

If he hadn't seen the stricken look on her face, he would have considered losing his job a benefit. He just couldn't bring himself to abandon her. He knew she'd go back to the hospital before she accepted his charity or pity.

"Fired? I'll have you know I've never been fired in my life. I pride myself on being irresponsible enough to quit a job long before anybody gets around to firing me." He grinned, hoping to inspire an answering smile. "Besides, I've never been the boss before. You don't think I'd let somebody take that away from me, do you?"

Even though her smile appeared weak, he felt a tightness in his chest to see it.

"Well, will you give me at least two hours notice if you decide to quit?" Her brave smile touched him in a way he didn't expect and didn't understand.

He wrinkled his face in pretended concentration. "Heck, I'll do better than that. I'll give you four hours notice."

With a smile and a nod, she turned toward the hall.

After he finished in the kitchen, Jake loaded the van while Debbie sat quietly in the den. She didn't know why she was so nervous about returning to work. After all, she'd been successful in her business for six years. Her employees were friends, as well as competent workers. Tammy had given her daily reports, so she was up to date on major projects.

She knew her cognitive skills weren't affected by the stroke, so there shouldn't be any problem operating her business. But she feared the effect of her physical limitations. What if she couldn't write or type well enough to communicate with her staff or clients? How would clients react to a designer in a wheelchair? How much had her business suffered from her absence of almost two months?

She hadn't even realized Jake had come back into the den. He bent down and gently caressed her furrowed forehead. "Don't worry, Deb," he said softly. "Everything will be fine." He stood and quickly changed the subject. "Everything's in the van except you. We'd better get going. You don't want to be late for your first session."

She suffered the usual dizziness while riding, so she was glad he didn't attempt conversation on the trip. When they arrived at the rehab hospital, Jake unloaded the wheelchair, helped Debbie into it, and pushed her down the long hallway to the therapy gym. Since the outpatient staff was different from the one providing inpatient therapy, Debbie had to meet her new physical and occupational therapists.

Today's session consisted primarily of evaluation. She underwent a series of tests and exercises to decide her present abilities and deficits. She'd gone through a similar evaluation just a little over a week ago before discharge. Next she was asked to set goals for her outpatient therapy.

She thought back seven weeks to the beginning of her treatment. Her goal then had been to become functional enough to return home. She'd met that goal-now she determined she would learn to become independent again. She'd build up her stamina and balance in physical therapy so she could safely be left alone for several hours. She'd develop her typing skills in occupational therapy so she could use her word processor for written communication. Before the stroke, she could type around a hundred words a minute, and now just finding the right keys was difficult.

Debbie looked around the therapy gym and saw patients in all stages of rehabilitation. She realized how much she'd improved. Watching a game of balloon volleyball, she recalled how hard it had been to hit the balloon. What an accomplishment it had been to keep the balloon in play for several minutes.

Someone was in a box-like structure with three solid sides and a door at the back. A therapist helped the patient into the box and secured the door, so the patient was supported on all sides. A shelf in the front of the box provided a workspace for therapy, such as putting pegs into holes or exercising the hands with something like modeling clay. Standing upright strengthened leg muscles and helped regain balance. Debbie said a silent prayer of thanks that she could now stand without support.

Therapy also included many games. One game entailed stacking small wooden blocks into a tower without knocking the tower over. It was fun for children and adults alike, but it became serious business when played by a patient with limited use of her hands.

Debbie realized that people who hadn't participated in therapy themselves could never begin to understand how incredibly difficult these activities were. The therapists did everything possible to make the therapy fun-even playing cards and handcrafts were used. But fun or not, therapy meant hard work. And Debbie knew she still had much work ahead of her.

An hour of occupational therapy followed an hour of physical therapy. From walking in the parallel bars, she moved to fitting small pegs into holes on a board.

When Jake arrived at noon, Debbie exclaimed, "Am I glad to see you. And I'm especially glad to see you with the wheelchair. I have no energy left."

When they were both in the van, Jake said, "There was no time to shop for the garden. I had to wait for the paperwork from Dr. Anderson, and then I spent the rest of the time at the motor vehicle office getting the handicapped permit."

Debbie only half-listened to Jake's words. He didn't seem to notice that she didn't respond.

"We'll need the permit anywhere we go, so that had my first task this week. I'll get everything we need for the garden when you're in therapy on Wednesday. Now we're going to the office," he concluded as he drove off.

Debbie started to remind him she was still the boss and she'd decide where they were going. Exhaustion won out over indignation, and she said nothing.

When they arrived at the office, Jake parked in a parking space newly marked "Handicapped Parking." He pushed her wheelchair up the new ramp to the side door and used a key to enter through the employee lounge.

When Debbie arched her brows in a question, he said, "I got this key from Tammy because I don't think you should see everyone at once. You're tired after therapy. If you come in the front door, you'll be mobbed."

"I used to come in this way all the time." In the past, however, she'd come in under her own steam, not being pushed up the ramp in a wheelchair.

"The employees have scheduled their lunch either at eleven-thirty or one-thirty. We have about an hour for you to eat uninterrupted," Jake explained. He pushed the wheelchair to the table before he opened plastic containers from an ice chest and put them in the microwave.

Debbie was too tired to do more than mumble, "Okay," and meekly eat lunch.

After dessert, Jake pushed her down the hall to her office. The furniture had been moved, so the desk and two credenzas formed a U with her computer terminal, phone, and copy machine all within immediate reach. There was a clear pathway for the wheelchair from the door to the opening of the U. On the other side of the room, the twin bed from her guestroom was attractively made up as a day bed. Bolsters and a tailored cover transformed it into a settee appropriate for an office environment.

Jake went over to the bed, removed the bolsters, and turned down the cover. He pulled out a pillow, which had been stored in a plastic case under the bed.

"Okay, Deb," he said. "Take off your shoes and get in bed."

He moved the phone, which had an extra long cord, to the small table beside the bed. He was being bossy again, but this time Debbie was just too tired to complain or even care.

She slid under the covers with a sigh. Jake turned off the light with a promise to wake her in a couple of hours if she didn't wake on her own. Debbie noticed a small night light on the plug by the door as she drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, she woke with a cough. Frantically, she looked for her water. She had to have water-

Before she could even complete the thought, the door opened just enough for Jake to slip into the room. He walked over to the table and picked up her water bottle, which sat beside the phone, and silently handed it to her. Fortunately, this spell was a short one and a few sips of water took care of the problem.

"How did you know I was coughing and how did you get here so fast?" Debbie asked. She could just make out Jake's shape in the dim light shining through the barely open door.

"I'm just outside the door," Jake answered. "You can't be left alone yet. You didn't think I was too far away to hear you, did you? Don't ever worry about that, Deb. I'll either be close enough to hear you, or you'll have a bell to call me. You're not alone. I'm right here with you."

She shook her head at her own wishful thinking. Jake's voice sounded so tender. "You'll be bored to tears just sitting in the hall. Besides, it can't be very comfortable. Why don't you go up front in the reception area with Judy? I can call you on the intercom if I need you."

"You were so tired you didn't notice everything we've done," Jake said with a smile. "We've made a nice little cubbyhole for me. I've got a comfortable chair and a table with a reading lamp."

"I didn't know there was enough room for that."

"There's a nice little corner. Tammy's given me a wonderful supply of reading material. I'm learning as much as I can about your industry and your business. It's really fascinating. There'd be too many distractions up front. Go back to sleep. Don't worry about me."

She slept peacefully for the rest of her nap. Jake called her softly awake and helped her with her shoes and eye patch. As she got into the wheelchair and wheeled to the desk, Jake made the bed and returned the bolsters and cover.

"Before you see everybody, do you want to go make a trip to the restroom? You have a hairbrush as well as a toothbrush and toothpaste in there."

"Is that a subtle way of saying I need to freshen up?" asked Debbie, halfway insulted.

"No," answered Jake. "I was trying to be diplomatic and not ask you if you had to go to the bathroom. Would you rather I asked if you needed to go to the potty?"

Debbie felt her face and neck flush with embarrassment. "You're right. I liked your first suggestion better. But the answer is yes."

He wheeled her down the hall to the restroom, which, like most of her surroundings, had been modified for her convenience. Safety rails and a wider door to accommodate the wheelchair had been installed. The paper towel holder had been lowered, and a medicine cabinet with Debbie's personal items had been moved within reach. Again the careful planning and attention to details impressed her. Jake had obviously done a lot of research to be aware of all these accessibility considerations.

He stood just outside the door when she came out. "Ready for a tour?" he asked as he headed toward the reception area. Fortunately, the hallway was already wide enough to move draperies, carpet, and tools of the trade. Considering the expense, Debbie was relieved to see the door between the reception area and the hall had simply been removed to allow room for the wheelchair. Judy jumped up from the reception desk and came over to give Debbie a welcome hug. Jake didn't allow any time for a chat. He made their excuses and went along to say hello to others of the staff.

After greeting the bookkeeper, Betty Sue, in her office, he skipped Tammy's office, next to Debbie's, and went out to the workroom, where Bob and his crew added their welcome. As they passed Tammy's office on the way back to Debbie's, Jake slowed enough to ask Tammy to join them in Debbie's office.

Tammy gave a brief verbal report similar to the daily phone reports she had given for the past week. When Debbie asked to see the financial statements from the previous month, Jake intervened. "Tammy and I don't want you to overdo on your first day back. You've already accomplished everything on today's agenda, and you're tired. It's time to head for home.

"Tammy's doing a super job of running things. There'll be plenty of time to catch up on details later. Let's hit the road."

Debbie hardly noticed Tammy quietly leave the room as soon as Jake said it was time to go. She saw red-Jake was doing it again. What gave him the right to tell her what to do?

"Jake, I'm not helpless. Can't you let me make up my own mind when we go home? You're supposed to be my assistant, not my boss." Her voice rose and her hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles were white.

There was a long pause before he responded, and when he did, he spoke slowly and deliberately. "Deb, I thought we were past that. Did you or did you not agree to follow the doctor's instructions?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"Do you or do you not recall that the doctor wouldn't release you from the hospital unless you had someone to make sure you followed instructions? Am I or am I not that person? Are you going to tell me you're not tired?"

He pointed to her face. "I saw your right eye without the patch. It's drooping more than usual. It's almost closed, for heaven's sake. That's a sure sign you're tired. And look at your hand and foot. You're losing control on your right side. You're tired, damn it, and you're going home whether you like it or not." There was no mistaking Jake's anger even though he had not raised his voice.

"You're right, Jake. I'm sorry," said Debbie fighting the tears that threatened. "It's just so frustrating. I haven't accomplished anything today, and I'd really looked forward to getting back to work." She pushed herself away from the desk. "Okay, let's go home. I'm not doing any good here, anyway."

She wheeled toward the door, but Jake put his hand on the wheelchair to stop her.

"Oh, Deb, you have done something today. It's your first day back, for heaven's sake. I think the doctors and therapists would agree it's remarkable even to be able to come into the office seven weeks after a major stroke."

He leaned down and put his arm around her shoulders. "You're doing great. Don't think otherwise. I'm proud of you. Do you think I like to be the bad guy to tell you to go home?

"I'd love to let you do whatever you want. But it's my job to take care of you, and that means I have to say 'no' sometimes. I'll tell you 'go' whenever I can. Forgive me?" he asked with his innocent little boy's expression.

Why was it so hard for her to admit her limitations and her frustrations even to herself?

Though the words almost choked her, Debbie said, "Nothing to forgive, Jake. You're right. You're just doing your job. Let's go. Just forget my little temper tantrum, will you?"

His job, Debbie thought glumly as they exited through the employee lounge. If only he told her "no" because he cared about her. She already cared too much for him, and he'd only been taking care of her for a little over a week. What would happen a month or two or three from now?

Debbie listlessly agreed when Jake suggested she head for bed as soon as they arrived home. She thought back to the days before her stroke. She'd frequently worked twelve or fourteen hours a day and hadn't been nearly this tired at the end of the day.

Relations between Debbie and Jake remained somewhat stilted the rest of the day and evening. She spent the evening in her room listening to her tapes, rather than sitting in the den as she had been. She still felt guilty about her outburst.

When she thought back on it, she was relieved to recall Tammy had left the room as soon as Jake suggested they come home. She would've been even more embarrassed if any of her staff had witnessed her outburst. Her employees depended on her for their livelihood-she had to keep their confidence and respect.

She felt unaccountably shy about seeing Jake the next morning. Maybe he regretted his insistence at taking this job. He'd seen her at her worst yesterday, and she certainly hadn't been the ideal patient. She wouldn't blame him if he opted out of their arrangement, and then what would she do? She was worrying so much as she lay in bed Tuesday morning she didn't even realize Jake had come into the room.

He smiled, and the whole room lit up. "I was trying to decide whether to wake you up or let you sleep, but it looks like you're already awake," he said softly. "No therapy today, so we can do whatever you want. I promise to try my best to curb my bossiness." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"At least for today, you're the boss. Your wish is my command. Do you want to get up or would you rather stay in bed awhile?"

She wondered what he would say if she told him that she wanted him to join her in bed. Her face heated at her thoughts. She didn't know where that thought had come from, but she hoped no other strange ideas would escape.

"My wish is that you forget my awful tantrum yesterday. You were right. I was very tired. Will you accept that as an excuse for my inexcusable behavior?" Debbie asked.

"I couldn't be upset with you for asserting your independence, Deb. That's an essential part of who you are. It must be hard to take orders from anybody, especially a minimum wage employee."

"It doesn't have anything to do with your being an employee. It's just hard to lose control of my life." She'd always been in complete control, and now she had no control.

"Trust me that any orders I give aren't really coming from me. They're doctor's orders. I'm just passing them on because the doctor's not there. So don't shoot the messenger, okay?"

She smiled. "I don't think you have to worry about my shooting you. I don't have enough control of my hand for that."

He stepped over to the window and opened the vertical blinds. Golden sunlight warmed Debbie's skin.

Jake said, "It's a beautiful day. How about breakfast on the deck?"

"Sounds great. Do I have time to take a shower? I was just too tired last night-more proof you were right," said Debbie, flushing and ducking her head in embarrassment.

"Sure. Take all the time you want. We're having a cold breakfast, so it won't matter. Just come on out when you're ready."

After her shower, Debbie looked at her dwindling supply of clean jogging suits. She chose an outfit in a floral design of oranges and greens and yellows. She'd left this suit at the bottom of the drawer because it seemed too garish. They weren't going anywhere today, so it didn't seem to matter. Jake had certainly seen her at her worst.

As she stood in the patio door watching Jake fuss over the table settings, it struck Debbie how much trouble he went to with every meal. Of course she'd recognized his cooking skills; he turned out gourmet meals that satisfied her appetite within the stringent restrictions of her diet. But now she noticed the crisp freshness of the tablecloth and the fancy fold of the napkins. The blue and earthen glazes of dishes from her pottery collection blended with the multicolored napkins. Jake had created a lovely effect with attention to details.

He looked up as Debbie stepped out on the deck. "That's an outfit I've never seen before," he commented. "Perfect colors for those bold flowers. It won't be long before our garden is just as pretty."

Debbie's cheeks flushed a bright pink, and warmth spread through her face and neck.

"Why do you always blush when I compliment you, Deb? Don't you know how attractive you are with your gorgeous smile? Bright colors and bold designs suit you. You're a designer. You should know that."

He suspected her self-image had been damaged by the stroke just as her physical abilities had. If he'd thought about it, he probably would've expected to be turned off by the sight of a woman in a wheelchair. Now that he knew Debbie, though, the chair didn't seem to detract from her appearance. He'd make it a point to let her know she was still an attractive woman.

"I feel too conspicuous in bright colors, Jake. I've been told all my life to wear solid dark colors to make me look slimmer. I wouldn't even own anything like this, except Beth bought it for me when she was here, and I can't shop myself."

"Debbie, you and bright colors are made for each other. It's true you don't look like a model. You may be larger than the accepted standard of our society. However, I happen to like women to look like women, not like match sticks."

"No one would ever accuse me of looking like a match stick. A tree stump, maybe, but never a match stick."

He wasn't sure how serious she was, but he decided to treat her comment as a joke. He looked at her as if seriously considering. "No, not a tree stump. Not a matchstick. Not a branch. Not a twig. I've got it! You're a perfect limb, and you've got a couple of perfect limbs of your own." He looked down at her legs. He was sure she had nice legs hidden under those pants.

Debbie blushed again. She said nothing, but she smiled.

"Besides, your smile, especially with those soft brown eyes, is so gorgeous it's overwhelming." He pointed his finger as if lecturing her. "Don't ever wear dark colors again. You're too bright to wear drab clothes. Now eat this wonderful breakfast and tell me what you want to do today."

"I don't want to do anything special. As much as I hate to admit it, I really do need to rest today before going to therapy again tomorrow." She paused and looked down at her plate before she said, "I'm running out of clean clothes. The number for the laundry I use is in the small book by the phone in the kitchen. They'll pick up if you just call them."

"Nonsense. I already planned to do the laundry while you're resting today."

Debbie looked like she was ready to argue, but he didn't give her a chance. "And you do have more clean clothes. I did one load of laundry last night, but I didn't want to go into your bedroom while you were asleep to put the clothes away. They're folded in the laundry room. I'll put them away later today. Now listen to this."

He repeated a story from the newspaper. "The small town of Linton has celebrated Founders' Day to commemorate the anniversary of the signing of the city charter on March 17th for as long as anyone can remember. Since this year was the one hundredth anniversary, the mayor decided to have copies of the original charter made up and handed out at the celebration."

He started laughing, and it took him a few seconds to compose himself enough to finish the story. "When they took the charter out of its cabinet in the library, they discovered it was signed on May 17th. They'd been celebrating the wrong day for one hundred years."

Debbie smiled, then laughed. Before long, she was laughing so much tears ran down her face.

That afternoon Debbie sighed in disappointment when she came to the end of her audio book. It was the last she had. She didn't know when she'd be able to get out to replenish her supply. She enjoyed talking to Jake, but she couldn't monopolize his time with conversation, and with her limitations, there wasn't much else she could do.

Jake sat next to her, reading. He looked up when he heard her sigh and saw the book had ended. "Do you want me to find you another tape?" he asked.

"This is the last," Debbie answered. "I've listened to all the others. When I'm strong enough to go shopping, I want a bookstore to be the first stop."

"I'm sorry, Deb," responded Jake. "I'll get you some more, but you'll have to decide whether the books or the plants and supplies for the garden are the top priority. I'll only have time for one while you're at therapy tomorrow. The other will have to wait until Friday."

Debbie hesitated. She really wanted a book first because she found listening to a book at bedtime helped her to relax. The garden could easily wait until Friday. Judging by her energy level today, she probably wouldn't be able to do much before then anyway. But she didn't want to send Jake to shop for a book for her. Her favorite reading material was romance, and a strong, virile man might consider the thought of romance for a woman in her condition ridiculous.

"Earth to Debbie. Earth to Debbie." Jake snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Are you still with me? I didn't realize it was that hard a decision. Garden stuff or books, which shall it be?"

Embarrassed, Debbie responded, "Sorry. It's too hard to pick out books for someone else, and the tapes are too expensive for mistakes. It can wait until I can go with you."

"Don't be silly. We don't have to buy them. The public library has a small selection of tapes. I know from these bookshelves right beside me you like mysteries and romances, especially romantic suspense. Am I right?"

"It's pretty obvious, I guess," she answered.

"I'll make a list of the tapes you already have, and then pick out several different ones from the library. If you've already read the book or if you don't like it, no big deal. If I get several, there's bound to be something you like."

"I'm sure I'll like them all."

"I'm sure you'll go through the library's limited selection pretty fast. Then you'll have to start buying them, but the library can get you started. So, is the library my assignment for tomorrow?"

If Jake had any negative feelings about her choice of reading material, he certainly didn't let them show. "Okay, the library it is. I didn't even know they had audio books. That'll definitely save some money. Thanks, Jake."

A few minutes later, at the sound of the buzzer from the dryer, he left the room. He returned with a laundry basket of clean clothes. "Do you want to fold some of these?" he asked Debbie. "These things won't matter if they're not perfect," he said as he poured underwear out of the basket onto her lap.

Debbie appreciated his sensitivity in giving her the lingerie to fold. He seemed to realize she'd have been embarrassed to see him handling her intimate apparel although he seemed perfectly at ease. And it was a balm to her battered ego to feel useful again even if it was something as simple as folding laundry. It also gave her something to do besides sit idle while Jake worked.

After dinner that evening, Jake selected music and put it on the stereo. "You don't have to entertain me," said Debbie. "You usually read or watch television in the evening. Just because I don't have a tape to listen to doesn't mean you have to do something different."

"I happen to like this music. Do you mind if we listen to it together? If you don't want to hear it, I'll put on the headphones, but since these are your records, I assume you like the music too. Am I wrong?"

"No, Jake, you're right as usual. I'd love to listen to music with you. Thanks." She knew he chose the music for her, and his thoughtfulness warmed her heart.

Debbie thought she'd been tired after Monday's therapy, but Wednesday's session proved to be even more difficult. All the evaluation and testing done on Monday had significantly reduced the amount of therapy time. She felt so exhausted she didn't show any enthusiasm for the books Jake brought from the library.

"I think we'd better get you home," Jake ordered. "We'll go back to the shop later, if you're up to it. All you're up to now is a nap."

Debbie's didn't even argue. In fact, she fell asleep in the car on the way home, exhaustion overcoming the dizziness that usually distracted her from anything else.

When they arrived home, Jake led her directly to the kitchen. He popped plastic dishes into the microwave and set the table without his usual attention to detail. Debbie sat at the table, barely holding her eyes open for the few minutes of preparation.

"I think I'll go to bed first and eat later," she mumbled.

"You can't go that long without eating, Deb. Your blood sugar will be way too low. Here, lunch is ready now. Eat it and then you can go to bed for the rest of the day."

Debbie had no intention of staying in bed for the rest of the day. However, she didn't wake until late afternoon. As usual, Jake appeared at her side within seconds of her opening her eyes.

"Why did you let me sleep so long?" she demanded. "We were going to the shop today, and now it's too late. How can I run my business if I sleep the day away?"

"Calm down. It's okay." He turned to open the curtains. "I called Tammy and told her you'd be there tomorrow instead of today. Getting your strength back is more important than keeping to an arbitrary schedule."

Debbie sat on the edge of the bed. "How do you think I can run a business without keeping to a schedule?"

Jake stalked over to the bed. "Will you take a little responsibility for yourself? Why do I have to be the bad guy and tell you to rest? It's your body. You know you needed to be in bed instead of at the office, so why do I have to make that decision? You're an adult, not a child."

Although he started speaking calmly and rationally, his voice rose until he ended in a shout.

Only Debbie's fierce pride kept her from bursting into tears. She wouldn't cry-she wouldn't. Tears would just prove Jake right-she'd be acting like a child.

"Physically, I can't even do what most children can do. I feel as helpless as a child. It's important to me to show I can do something. Jake, I appreciate everything you do for me, but it's galling not to be able to do these things for myself."

"Deb-"

"I've been on my own since I got out of high school. I worked my way through college, got my degree in interior design with honors, and started my own business. I was a one-person operation for nearly two years, but now my company is one of the largest design firms in San Antonio and one of the largest woman- owned businesses here."

Anger strengthened her voice. "I've been an independent, successful person. Now, I don't even have the strength to go to my office for an hour or two. I've got people depending on me. Seven families besides me are dependent on my business for income. What if I fail? What if I have to close the business? I don't have any other source of income. What happens to my employees? Sure they're good. They'll find other jobs. But in this economy, how long will it take? They'll suffer in the meantime.

"And I've made commitments to customers. I know my clients. I know what they want, what they need. It's taken a long time to learn all that. Why should they have to start all over again with another designer?

"And what will I do for the rest of my life? I'm twenty-eight years old. Can I sit around listening to tapes for thirty or forty or fifty years? You say I'm an adult. I wish I could be sure of that. My body's betrayed me. It's no longer the body of an adult. It's the body of a cripple."

When Debbie finally reached the end of her tirade by the simple expedient of using up all her energy, she was shocked to realize Jake was sitting on the bed beside her. He held her in his arms and murmured soothing sounds. He ran his hand up and her spine in a gentle caress. As Jake slowly released her, she felt the brush of his lips on the top of her head. Her scalp tingled with warmth.

She didn't remember how she had come to be in Jake's arms. She didn't even remember how the whole tirade started. She just knew weeks of fear and frustration had all come pouring out. Embarrassment prevailed over her exasperation when she realized Jake had been the target for all her anger.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I don't know what got into me," Debbie mumbled. She looked down at her lap. He'd put his arms around her because he didn't know anything else to do to calm her down. Now he felt her fear, frustration, and worry. She always seemed so strong, so in-control. Her vulnerability brought out protective instincts he didn't realize were hidden within him.

He put his finger under her chin and gently turned her face so she was looking at him. "Don't be sorry, Deb. You have every right to rail against the injustice of what's happened to you. Every once in a while we all have to get things off our chests. I'm glad I was here with you." He thought he was telling a lie. He didn't want to be here, now or any other time. Then why did he feel such a strong urge to try to bring a smile back to her face?

He drew his finger gently down her cheek, then placed his hands on her shoulder. "But I want you to know you're not going to lose your business. You've done so much already. Keeping your business going will be a piece of cake compared to learning to walk again."

A single tear escaped Debbie's tightly closed eyes as he continued. "Remember, you could still be a vegetable. It's been hard, and it's going to stay hard for quite a while. I wish it weren't, but we both know it will. I promise I'll do everything I can to help you." He squeezed her shoulder. "I know sometimes it seems like I'm making it harder instead of easier. But, I'm going to do what the doctor says to help you recover."

He drew her to him and kissed her lips. Debbie started to return the kiss; then she jerked away.

"Jake, I hate to take out all my frustration on you. But I can't let my employees see my fears. They're worried about their own futures, and I'm supposed to be the one in charge." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "My parents' health is too poor for me to worry them, and a fifteen minute phone conversation once a week isn't enough to share much with Beth. Even though I'm younger, I've always been the strong one. You're the only person who knows how weak I really am."

Shaking his head, Jake answered, "You're incredibly strong, Deb. You're making remarkable progress. I don't see you as the least bit weak."

Debbie didn't respond, but she took a deep breath and flashed him a weak smile.

"Now, are you ready to get up and see the wonderful audio books I brought you? I did a super job of picking them out if I do say so myself."

He removed tapes from the bag and held them up for her approval. "Which one do you want to hear first?" he asked.

When she made a selection, he loaded the tape into the recorder and carried it into the den. He came back to get her water bottle and to help her down the hall.

"I've got a surprise," he said after he seated her in her favorite platform rocker. "Since you were so tired at lunch, I saved a bread allowance, and now I'm going to serve popcorn and diet soda to accompany your new book. I got myself some books at the library too, so we can really indulge ourselves with popcorn and literature." He hoped the small treat would help to brighten her mood.

By the time Jake returned from the kitchen with the popcorn and drinks, Debbie had overcome enough of her embarrassment to ask him what books he chose for himself. He told her he chose two mystery books in common with her, and he started reading the same book she'd chosen. They enjoyed a lively conversation about the book over dinner. Debbie couldn't remember having so much fun over a book, but then it seemed everything was fun when shared with Jake.

She felt much stronger, physically and emotionally, on Thursday. Jake drove her to her business midmorning, and she spent a little more time with each employee. Betty Sue, the bookkeeper, read the latest financial statements to her. In the past, Betty Sue would have reviewed the statements, but Debbie would have been reading them with her. She found it frustrating not to be able to do her everyday job duties because she couldn't see well enough.

At least the financial statements were more encouraging than she'd expected. Income was down significantly since there were no new projects coming on-line, but the situation wasn't as dire as she'd feared. She felt even better when Tammy reviewed current and upcoming projects with her. The staff had finished almost all the projects that were underway when Debbie became ill. Tammy had managed to handle some small projects, but several major projects needed Debbie's attention. Her first inclination was to tell Tammy to schedule appointments for the following week, but she decided to consult with Jake.

"I'll be back in a day or two, Tammy, and tell you what to do then. In the meantime, if you need me, call me at home any time. You won't disturb me. Jake'll take a message if I'm resting."

After therapy on Friday, Debbie spent a few hours at the office. She selected the most urgent project and asked Tammy to schedule an appointment. On Jake's recommendation, she decided to schedule business appointments for the mornings she didn't have therapy.

Debbie felt both excited and nervous about making client contacts. On one hand, she was eager to return to productive activity. She missed her work, and the company needed the income. On the other hand, she fretted about the clients' reactions to seeing her in a wheelchair. She worried about her ability to perform her job as she had in the past.

She was always quiet while riding in the car, but today she was quiet even after they arrived home. As usual, Jake seemed to know what she was thinking. "Don't worry, Deb," he said gently. "You'll do fine. I'll be right there with you, and I've got lots of faith in you."

"Thanks, Jake," Debbie responded. "I appreciate your confidence. But what if the clients don't share it? I'm not sure being pushed in a wheelchair is exactly the way to win friends and influence people, much less inspire confidence in a designer."

"Don't worry about it, Deb. There's nothing we can do about it now. I bought all the stuff for the garden today, so we can start tomorrow. In the meantime, it's naptime for you. Off to bed you go."

Even though she'd already napped after lunch in her office, Debbie slept for over an hour. She'd never spent so much time in bed in her life. Too bad it had to be alone and asleep.

When Jake softly called her for dinner, she said, "Jake, I dreamed about going to meet with a client next week. What am I going to wear? I won't present a very professional image in my jogging suits, but I don't think I can manage to get into anything else."

She grimaced. "And I'll need to start wearing makeup and get something done with my hair. Why didn't I think of all this before I told Tammy to make an appointment?"

"Come and eat dinner before it gets cold. We can think this out while we eat."

Before Jake even finished serving the food, Debbie renewed her litany of worries about her professional image, or lack of it. "I'm in the image business, Jake. How can people have any confidence in my ability to create a beautiful design if I look like something the cat dragged in?"

"You could never look like something the cat dragged in, Debbie. I admit I'm no fashion consultant, but I think you look just fine."

His bright smile caused her heart to do flip-flops even as she reminded herself he was just being nice. He wasn't interested in her. She watched him look at her and wished . . . stop that, she told herself. You can't waste time on silly romantic notions. No romance for you till you can be independent again. You won't be a burden to anyone. Quit dreaming, she scolded herself silently and forced her attention back to Jake's words.

"However, your jogging suits are a little casual. We should be able to find something a little dressier but just as easy to put on. If you want to get your hair cut, I'll take you to the beauty shop."

She frowned. "I guess I need to schedule a shopping trip and a trip to the salon. But that doesn't solve the makeup problem."

"Why do you need makeup? I'm sure you could manage it if you had to, but I don't think you need it. The clients you'll be meeting know you've been ill. I doubt they'll expect you to look like a high fashion model," Jake reasonably pointed out.

Debbie knew she'd never looked like a fashion model and never would, but she'd always taken pride in presenting a professional, if not glamorous, appearance. Although she hated to admit it, her clients knew she'd been ill and would understand if she looked less than her best. A small part of Debbie wished Jake thought she looked a little more like a model than she did.

Then her heart lurched in her chest as Jake continued, "Besides you've got beautiful skin. Why hide it under makeup anyway?"

They made plans to shop at a small boutique Debbie liked. She wouldn't have to brave crowds at the mall, and she could call ahead to have the boutique owner select several outfits for her to try. Debbie called the hair stylist she'd used for the last ten years. When she reached Kathie at home, Kathie volunteered to go to Debbie's house to save her the stress of a trip to the salon.

As Debbie awoke Saturday morning, she felt a tremor of excitement. "This is the day," she thought. "It's time to start the garden." A glance out the window assured her it was a perfect day, sunny and bright.

For the first time, Debbie, fully dressed, reached the kitchen before Jake called her to breakfast. He looked up in surprise and told her it would be a few minutes before breakfast was ready.

"Did you know I was fixing something special for breakfast, or are you just hungry?" he asked. "Or could it have something to do with a certain garden being started today?"

"Garden? Is there a garden being started today?" She laughed. "Didn't you know I'm just an early bird at heart-always up at the crack of dawn?"

"Yeah, sure. That's why I always have to call you at least three times to get up on therapy days. We're having pancakes and sausage. Of course, they're both low fat and low calorie, but I think you'll like them. And then it's time to garden."

As Jake pushed Debbie's wheelchair across the deck, she noticed the seedlings and gardening tools on the deck and the railroad ties and soil on the ground nearby.

He pushed the wheelchair up to the table and handed her a library book. "We want to build up the soil high enough for you to reach from the wheelchair and keep it in place with a retaining wall of these railroad ties. The instructions on how to do that are in chapter eleven of the book. I need you to look through that chapter and be sure I'm doing it right."

He bounded down the steps two at a time. "I've read it several times already, but you're going to have to prompt me as I go along because I don't remember all the steps. So for this project-and this one only, I might add-you're the boss," Jake said with a grin.

Debbie thought Jake gave her the job to make feel better. He seemed to do everything so well and so effortlessly; he probably didn't need her help. But she appreciated his pretending he did. He knew how much she needed to feel productive again.

Debbie soon realized Jake really needed her help. Several times she had to refer to the book and explain what he should do next.

She talked him through the fitting together of the first row of timbers. "I didn't know this was so complicated. Have you ever done anything like it before?"

Jake looked up and grinned. "Nothing even close. Can't you tell it's all new to me?"

"Well, I think you're doing a great job. It looks just like the pictures."

Debbie was touched he had made such an effort to please her. Although she would've missed her gardening, she had no expectation of doing it. She wouldn't even have known of the possibility of a wheelchair garden if Jake hadn't volunteered.

In spite of the coolness of the day, Jake really worked up a sweat. His tee shirt stuck to his chest in wet patches, mixed with streaks of dirt. By midmorning, he looked like he really needed a rest and a cool drink. Since she'd been home, Debbie had been in the kitchen only to eat or chat with Jake, but she decided she would get that cool drink for him. She called out to let him know she had to go in the house for a minute. Let him think she was going to the bathroom.

She slowly made her way to the kitchen and looked into the refrigerator. How convenient. Jake had made lemonade in a small plastic pitcher. Debbie didn't trust herself with glass or anything too heavy, but this was ideal. She took plastic tumblers from the bottom shelf of the cabinet and set them on the counter. She added ice without mishap.

Now, how could she get the drinks to the deck? She couldn't carry the pitcher. With her poor balance, she wouldn't get out of the kitchen without an accident. The serving cart in the corner-perfect. There were only a few small, lightweight items on it. Debbie carefully rolled the cart next to the counter, transferred the small items from the cart to the counter, and set the glasses of ice and the pitcher of lemonade on the cart.

Extremely pleased with herself, she slowly and cautiously pushed the serving cart through the house to the patio door and out onto the deck.

"How about some lemonade?" she called cheerfully.

Without looking up, Jake responded, "As soon as I get this tie secured, I'll get it."

Jake strolled across the yard and bounded up onto the deck. At the sight of the serving cart and lemonade, he stopped short with a look of surprise on his face.

"You did this?" he asked. At her nod he leaned over and kissed her. He tasted like earth and sunshine and smelled like hardworking man.

Before she had time to react, he continued, "That's great. I'm proud of you. Didn't spill a drop all the way out here. All I have to do is sit and enjoy it. After I wash my hands, that is," he added ruefully, as he held his grubby hands out for her inspection.

When Jake returned, he asked, "Do you need your water bottle filled? We don't want you to run out and risk a coughing spell."

"Thanks, but I filled it myself when I got the lemonade."

"I'd better watch out," Jake teased. "You won't need me any longer."

Although Jake made the comment jokingly, the thought of losing him terrified Debbie. Poor choice of words, she thought. She couldn't "lose" Jake because she never had him. It's just that she wasn't ready to be on her own. She needed somebody, not necessarily Jake.

"Earth to Debbie. Earth to Debbie." Jake waved his hand in front of her face. "Hey, I was just joking. Don't look so serious. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I just have to tease you a little. I'm proud of you. Every little step is an important one."

Debbie nodded. The lump in her throat made words difficult.

Jake continued, "Now that I've got this flower bed raising business under control, you've got another assignment. Sort out these seedlings. Since you know more about gardening than I do, why don't you arrange the seedlings here on the table the way you want them planted?" He grinned impishly. "Don't think I'm going to do all the work."

Jake gulped the rest of his second glass of lemonade and vaulted down the steps to finish his project.

There wasn't enough room on the picnic table, as large as it was, to set up the garden in the pattern she wanted. So, after setting the vegetables in the arrangement she planned, she rolled the serving cart back into the kitchen. She put the pitcher back in the refrigerator and the tumblers in the sink and covered the top of the cart with an old dishtowel.

After wheeling the cart back to the deck, she laid out the seedlings for the sunny flower garden. The shady garden would have to wait. She worked at a slow, but steady, pace, and she spent the rest of the morning arranging everything just the way she wanted.

Excitement had kept her going, but suddenly tiredness overwhelmed her. Just as she opened her mouth to tell Jake she needed to take a break, he announced it was time for lunch. By the time Debbie had finished washing, Jake had already showered and returned to the kitchen with damp tendrils of blond hair curling around his face and nape. Soon he had a cold lunch on the table. Obviously he'd prepared it well in advance and simply had to remove it from the refrigerator and set it on the table.

"Nap time," Jake insisted after lunch.

Debbie wanted to argue with him for the sake of maintaining her independence, but she was too tired to complain. Besides, she consoled herself; Jake needed to rest too. Although he hid it well, she knew today's manual labor must have been exhausting. He wouldn't rest on his own account, but Debbie knew he wouldn't go back outside as long as she was asleep or even just lying down. She heard the muffled sound of the television as she drifted off to sleep.

Debbie had fully expected to finish planting the garden today, but she was secretly relieved Jake still had some more work to complete before she was ready to plant. She watched from the deck as he finally finished in the late afternoon.

"Tomorrow, we plant," Jake said as they entered the house.

After breakfast and church, via television, on Sunday, Jake pushed Debbie down the ramp from the deck into the garden. She felt a thrill when the raised bed at the back proved to be the perfect height for the wheelchair.

Jake carried the trays of plants for the sunny flowerbed and set them on the bed. He handed Debbie a trowel, and she started to dig. At last, she really had her hands in the dirt. She'd have a garden, after all. Digging in the dirt, planting flowers, on a beautiful sunny day felt exhilarating.

So what if she did it from a wheelchair? Not so very long ago, she'd thought she might never be able to do this again. Thanks to Jake, she could.

At that thought, she wheeled over to where Jake was digging holes to plant the vegetable seedlings. "Thank you, Jake. You don't know how much this means to me. I can't begin to thank you enough."

"No thanks needed, Deb," he responded. "I enjoy this as much as you do. And we'll both enjoy the results equally. It'll be great to see your flowers out the window when we're eating fresh vegetables from our own garden. Thank you for letting me share it with you."

Since Debbie was actively working today, Jake served cold drinks mid morning. Again, he had a cold lunch ready, and again Debbie didn't balk at napping after lunch. Although she was excited and eager to return to the garden, her body refused to exhibit the same enthusiasm.

Debbie had enjoyed working only a few feet from Jake as they both labored in the sunny garden in the morning. But she found it equally delightful to work in the shade of the oak tree and watch him as he worked in the sun. He had taken off his shirt and his bronzed chest was a sight to behold. Jake might be short and boyish looking in clothes, but without a shirt, he had more muscles than she expected. Those muscles were really performing today. Once he glanced up and saw her watching him. He didn't say anything, just smiled and returned to work.

Although the vegetable garden was much larger than the flower garden, Jake worked at a much faster pace and finished before Debbie did.

"Want some help?" he offered.

"No, thanks. The flower garden is my project." She was adamant.

Jake put away the materials and tools, except for Debbie's trowel, and collected all the trash. Debbie was still planting, so he sat on the deck and to watch her. She'd enjoyed watching him work but found it disconcerting for him to watch her.

"Why don't you go on in, Jake?" Debbie asked. "I just have a few more seedlings to plant, and I'll be fine out here. You don't have to stay with me every minute."

"That's where you're wrong, Deb," responded Jake. "I'm staying with you every minute you're out of reach of one of your doorbells. I'm sure you'll be fine, but I'll just stay here and make sure." He paused for a moment, grinned a flirty grin, and said, "Besides, I like watching you."

Conceding defeat, Debbie nodded. If only he really meant it. How great it would be if he liked watching her as much as she liked watching him. She'd been doing a credible job of planting until now, but suddenly she was all thumbs. The only consolation was Jake wouldn't know his close observation was making her nervous. Hopefully he would assume her awkwardness resulted from the stroke. For the first time, Debbie realized the stroke could be an excuse for plain old klutziness.

When she finally finished, Jake put away the trowel and pushed her back up the ramp. Since she was so grimy, Debbie decided to take her shower before dinner. "Go ahead and put on your gown and robe," called Jake from down the hall. "It's silly to get dressed for just a few hours."

Debbie hesitated but did as he suggested because it just made sense. It was a challenge for her every time she changed clothes, and she was perfectly respectable and fully covered in her gown and long robe. But the intimate feeling it gave her to sit at the dinner table in her nightgown and chat with Jake warmed her skin and teased her nerve endings.

After dinner, she started to go into the bedroom and listen to her audio book there, but Jake insisted she join him in the den as usual. Debbie couldn't help but think how domestic it felt for Jake and her to sit in the den together after dinner. She sat in her gown and robe, listening to a tape, while Jake sat in his jeans and tee shirt, reading a book. One or the other tossed out an occasional comment about everyday activities, such as Jake's mention of his phone conversation with his mother.

"My cousin and her husband took their kids to visit Aunt Molly and Uncle John the other day. Their six-year-old daughter saw Aunt Molly in the wheelchair and asked how old she had to be before she got to ride instead of walk. She thought it was very unfair that she didn't have a rolling chair, too."

Debbie realized it would be very easy to get used to this. She had to remind herself Jake would leave in a few months and she'd return to her solitary lifestyle. Solitary? She'd never considered her life solitary before. She enjoyed her privacy and considered her home a retreat, but she realized it would be difficult to banish memories of Jake from the house long after Jake himself left.

Jake drove Debbie to Carol's Boutique Monday afternoon. As Carol had promised in an early morning phone call, she had a selection of clothes ready for Debbie's approval.

Carol held up various items and pointed out their virtues. "See, the pants have elasticized waists and the fabrics are soft and flowing. This loosely constructed hip length jacket camouflages the elastic waist of the pants. If you button the jacket, you don't need to wear a blouse. With shoulder pads and these decorative front buttons, these outfits are dressy enough for professional appointments."

"I shouldn't have any problems dressing myself, and they look comfortable."

Since the same style came in a wide range of colors and fabrics, Debbie tried on only one outfit to ensure the fit. She'd planned to try it on in the dressing room and get Carol's opinion. But Jake insisted she come out into the store to let him see it too.

"It looks great, Deb. These are my favorite." He pointed to a small stack of garments he'd set aside.

"He's right," said Carol. "I've been telling you for years you should wear brighter colors and larger patterns. Jake has good taste. He's picked out exactly the ones I'd recommend myself."

"But they're all so bright. Do you really think I should draw attention to myself like that? Don't they look out of place in a wheelchair?"

"Don't be silly, Deb," Jake said. "What difference does it make if you're in a wheelchair? You should wear what looks good on you and what you like." He squatted down beside her chair. "Besides, you draw attention to yourself just by being you. You've got a spark about you that isn't dimmed by a wheelchair. You should be proud of that and dress with the same spark."

"He's right, you know," added Carol. "You've got presence. You always have, and you always will. Haven't I been trying to sell you brighter colors for years? I'm glad you'll listen to him if you won't listen to me. Hand over the credit card, and let's get this show on the road."

"Looks like I'm outnumbered," mumbled Debbie. "There are six outfits here. I don't think I should spend so much money. Maybe I should only take a couple of them."

"I, for one, don't plan on another shopping expedition any time soon." Jake stood to place his hands on his hips. "You can't get by on a couple of outfits for long. Who knows if you'll find such a good selection next time? So now's the time to do it."

Debbie fumbled in her purse for her credit card. "I don't know."

Jake arched his eyebrows. "Will this amount put you over

the limit on your credit card?"

"No, nothing like that," answered Debbie. "Actually, I don't owe anything right now, and I have a pretty substantial credit limit." She rolled toward the cash register. "It's just that I don't know what my financial situation's going to be for a while. I don't know how business will go. I just want to be prepared."

Jake and Carol both assured her she wasn't being extravagant.

"Actually, a professional image is probably more important than ever. The wheelchair's already one strike against me. I guess I'd better do everything I can to offset that."

Jake shook his finger as if lecturing her. "I think you're worrying entirely too much about being in the wheelchair. But you're lucky to find so many clothes that look good and will be easy for you to get into. You'd better take advantage."

Realizing Jake was right, she decided to take all six outfits.

After Debbie relented on the clothes, Carol said, "Jake, there's a shoe store down the street. I'm sure Debbie needs shoes, too."

"What about it, Deb?"

Debbie glanced down at the sneakers she had been wearing with her jogging suits. "These sure don't work with my new clothes, and I'm not ready for the heels in my closet."

At the shoe store, she found two pairs of flats with rubber soles that were appropriate with her new clothes. She bought a pair in black and one in taupe.

After she selected her shoes, Jake showed her a large black tote bag with wide handles. "Look, Debbie," he exclaimed. "This will fit on the back of the wheelchair. It's black like the chair, and it'll hold a lot of stuff. You can carry everything you need with you. How about it?"

Jake's thoughtfulness continued to amaze Debbie. Even if she'd seen the bag before Jake did, she wouldn't have thought of attaching it to the chair. "Perfect," she told him.

As soon as they returned from shopping, Debbie went to sleep while Jake put everything away. She didn't wake until he leaned over the bed and gently called her.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it's time to wake up. Kathie's going to be here after dinner to cut your hair."

She yawned and stretched. "I know. I have to wash my hair so I won't look like the ugly step sister."

Jake grinned. "I think you're mixing your fairy tales, but you've got the right idea."

Although Debbie had eaten dinner and spent the evening in her gown and robe with Jake before, she dressed again after her shower. She would've had no qualms about wearing her gown while Kathie cut her hair. Somehow she didn't feel comfortable doing so with Jake present.

He'd just finished loading the dishwasher, and Debbie was sitting at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang. Kathie responded to Jake with a big smile just as Carol and everyone else had. People, both male and female, just seemed to smile when they met Jake. There was an element of flirtation in the feminine smiles, but there didn't seem to be any competitiveness with the men.

Jake asked, "Kathie, where do you want to set up?

"Right there at the table where Debbie's sitting is fine."

Jake offered to go in the den to be out of the way, but Kathie assured him he should stay and visit. Debbie had never known anyone who seemed to be as well liked as Jake. Small and boyish he may be, but he oozed charm. He chatted with Kathie as if he'd known her forever. However, he continued to be attentive to Debbie and included her in the conversation.

"Aunt Molly and Uncle John were always on a tight budget. The only income they had was Uncle John's pay from his job as an appliance salesman in a retail store, and sometimes his commissions weren't all he would've liked. They had four children, and Aunt Molly always stayed home with the kids."

"Raising four kids is definitely a more than full-time job. I have two kids of my own," Kathie said.

"Aunt Molly's four probably equaled eight normal kids." Jake laughed. "Anyway, Aunt Molly decided to bleach her hair. She'd always had dark brown hair but decided blondes have more fun."

"I don't think hair color would make much difference in raising four children." Kathie looked at Debbie. "Do you?"

Debbie shook her head. "But I know Molly, so I have no trouble imagining her doing this. What happened, Jake?"

"She decided to do it herself at home instead of spending money at a salon."

"Let me guess. Did she turn her hair green?" Kathie asked.

"How did you know? It took ages for her color to return to normal. Aunt Molly's never colored her hair again. Or permed it, or anything else except cut it and blow it dry. She learned her lesson."

After Kathie left, Jake watched the expression on Debbie's face for a few minutes. Then he said, "Deb, don't worry about your appointment tomorrow. You look great. I love your new clothes and your hairdo."

"I know it's silly to be so scared to do something I've done for years. But it's all so different now."

"Tammy has everything ready for us at the shop. We'll go by in the morning and pick up the samples and anything else you need. You're only going to see John Stone tomorrow. Tammy says you've worked with him many times. It'll be a piece of cake. Now I want to see your lovely smile before I send you off to bed," he said, his own face alight with a smile.

When she didn't respond immediately, Jake put his hands on her face and gently turned up the ends of her lips into a smile. The smile remained when he removed his hands. "That's better. Now off to bed with you," he said as he gave her a gentle push down the hall.

Debbie slept better than she expected, but she woke to a stomach filled with butterflies about her appointment with John Stone of Anson Enterprises. She'd worked with John several times in the past, and their experiences had always been pleasant and smooth.

But how would he react to seeing her in a wheelchair with a patch over her eye? Would he think her professional skills had diminished along with her physical abilities? Was he only using her on this project out of sympathy? What if she couldn't perform? What if John, or worse, his bosses, hated her design? What if . . .

"Enough of your worrying, Deb. It's time to get ready to wow ole John," a soft voice whispered in her ear. Jake stood beside the bed, smiling at her with his lips, his eyes, and his whole face.

"How did you know I was worried? How did you know I was even awake?" she asked.

"It's easy to tell when you're worried, Deb. You get all these lines on your forehead. If you don't watch out, you'll get wrinkles." He smoothed the lines with his fingertips as he spoke. "You don't have anything to worry about. Now I have your prettiest new outfit laid out for you. While you shower and dress, I'll finish breakfast."

Debbie noticed Jake was wearing a "Debbie's Designs" uniform. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Tammy ordered me uniforms a couple of weeks ago. Don't you think it's best for me to be in uniform when I'm with you? It looks more professional than jeans and tee-shirts, and I don't think a business suit is the proper attire for a mere assistant."

"Jake, you're not a mere assistant. I couldn't even get to the appointment without you. I'm totally dependent on my mere assistant," she wailed.

Jake leaned down and took both her hands between his. "Deb, calm down. We're a team. You may need me to help you with your chair and your samples, but you're the one who'll do the real work." His hazel eyes captured and held her brown ones. "So, you need some help with logistics. So what? You're still the best interior designer in San Antonio."

"How would you know that? You don't know anything about interior design, and you don't know anything about my business or me.

"You're just trying to calm me down," muttered Debbie. She took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm calm now. You can go get breakfast," she said with a small catch in her voice.

"I am not just saying it to calm you down. I am trying to calm you down, but I don't need to lie. Maybe I don't know much about interior design, but I've learned as much as I can, and I do know you. I've probably spent more time with you than I have with any other woman except my mother in my entire life. I've also seen your portfolio and the awards you've won. Your employees have told me how good you are. I've read the letters from satisfied clients."

He reached down for her hands and pulled her up. "So will you please just get dressed so we can get to work and you can remind yourself how good you are?"

"Thanks, Jake." She headed toward the bathroom.

Responding to her nervousness, as usual, Jake kept up a running commentary of small talk and amusing anecdotes throughout breakfast and then drive to her office.

"My cousin Paul had a mongrel dog when we were kids. I never had a dog, and when Paul signed up for Little League, I volunteered to take care of Lassie for him."

"Was the dog's name really Lassie?"

"Yeah. Even though it was a male, Paul was determined to have a Lassie. Anyway, I decided to give the dog a bath one day when I was at their house. I couldn't read very well at the time, but I went into Aunt Molly's laundry room and got a box of what I thought was soap. Paul wasn't very happy when he came home and saw Lassie. What I thought was soap turned out to be dye. Lassie had streaks of pink in his hair for ages."

They were both laughing when they arrived at the office. Debbie waited in the van while Tammy helped Jake load catalogues and sample books. Tammy and the entire staff stood at the door waving and calling "Good luck" as they drove away.

How strange this felt. An initial appointment with a client would have been taken for granted just a couple of months ago. Most of the staff probably wouldn't even have known that Debbie had the appointment. Those who knew would have considered it an everyday occurrence, as indeed it had been. Now it was a major event. Amazing.

Jake resumed his chatter, but this time his topic was Anson Enterprises and John Stone. Obviously, Jake had either spent a lot of time reviewing the files or someone, probably Tammy, had versed him well. He reminded Debbie of the previous projects Debbie's Designs had successfully completed for Anson Enterprises.

"I happen to know John Stone has referred several new clients who admired the work you did for him."

"Jake," Debbie said softly. "I realize and appreciate what you're doing. It's working. I'm still nervous, but I feel a lot better than I did earlier. You always know just what to say."

"No, Debbie, I don't. All I know is I have faith in you and so do a lot of other people. Just remember that and have faith in yourself," Jake responded. "Here we are-Anson Enterprises."

He drove through the main parking lot to the back of the building. "We'll be entering the building from the back. That's where the handicapped parking and ramp are. Tammy got all the info when she scheduled the appointment. We'll end up in the main reception area, so don't pay any attention to the unfamiliar territory. Tammy said you haven't done much work in this particular building, so you probably won't recognize where we're going."

Debbie appreciated Jake's thoughtfulness in finding out about handicapped access and explaining it to her. It seemed silly, but the different parking lot and entry contributed to the strangeness of this situation. Why did it seem so different to do something she had done a thousand times before?

Jake unloaded the wheelchair from the van, wheeled it to the passenger door, and helped Debbie into it. Then he attached the large tote bag containing Debbie's water bottle, phone, portfolio, and notebook on the handles of the chair.

"I'll come back for the sample books unless you want to hold them on your lap," he said.

"Put them in my lap. No need to make two trips."

He loaded the heavy books onto her lap. She placed a business card on top of the sample books so it would be readily available. He pushed her through the rear door and down a long hall to reception.

Debbie had told him she'd do the talking, but when they reached the reception area, the receptionist sat behind a high counter. Jake realized Debbie and the woman behind the counter couldn't see each other. He pushed Debbie close to the counter. He discreetly patted her hand when he picked up the business card from atop the samples in her lap.

Then he stepped up to the counter, held out Debbie's card, and said, "Hi. Debbie Hunt of Debbie's Designs is here to see John Stone. She has a ten o'clock appointment."

As the receptionist called John to announce Debbie's arrival, Jake pushed her chair a few feet away and sat in an adjoining chair. He laid his hand atop hers, telling himself he was holding the sample books on her lap. The fact that he'd felt a tremor in her hands when he'd picked up the business cards had nothing to do with it. He didn't want any of the books to slide off onto the floor.

He didn't understand why he willed strength to flow from his hand to hers. Although he looked toward the reception counter, he could see Debbie from the corner of his eye. She straightened in the chair and squared her shoulders.

"Debbie, it's wonderful to see you." The tall man entering the room seemed to mean the words he said. "I'm so glad to see you're out and about again. How do you feel?"

"I'm doing great, John. I'm thrilled to be working again, and it's especially great to be working with you. After all, you were one of my first clients six years ago. And now this will be my first project since coming back to work. I hope-"

Jake didn't know what she intended to say, but he wouldn't let her even hint at any of her self-doubts. "John, I'm Jake Dover, Debbie's assistant." He held out his hand.

Shaking Jake's outstretched hand, John said, "Let's go back to my office, shall we, and get started."

Jake watched Debbie while John outlined the project. Anson planned to establish a new division of the company in an area that had previously been warehouse space. This entire building would be converted to offices. Debbie's eyes lit up as she and John bandied ideas back and forth.

Jake unloaded Debbie's catalogues and sample books onto the small conference table in John's office. Then John led them on a tour of the construction area. Debbie became so involved in the discussion that she didn't seem to realize how many obstacles they encountered. Ladders, cords, tools and debris cluttered the area. Jake mentally patted himself on the back that he maneuvered around the obstructions without jarring Debbie. He hadn't realized how complicated performing her job from a wheelchair would be. He wondered if he would have the courage and the determination that Debbie did.

When they returned to John's office, they discussed space usage and color schemes for nearly an hour. Jake noticed as soon as Debbie started to lose her animation. She slurred a couple of words in one sentence, and her right hand hung limply. She'd never admit it, but she couldn't hold up much longer. He decided to do his job and get her out of here. He'd face the consequences later. She wouldn't appreciate his interference, but he'd do his job, whether she liked it or not.

"Debbie, I hate to interrupt, but shouldn't we be leaving soon for your next appointment? Perhaps we can schedule a follow-up meeting with John for later in the week if you don't have all the information you need to get started."

"I think I have enough ideas for a start. Is there anything else you think I need to know right now, John?" When he shook his head, she continued, "I'll call you next week to get together with some preliminary ideas. Okay?"

"Sounds great, Debbie. I'll look forward to it. Nice meeting you, Jake."

He rose and they started down the hall. The two men made small talk as John, bypassing reception, guided them down another hall directly to the rear entrance.

After helping Debbie into the van, Jake loaded the wheelchair and sample books. He got into the driver's seat, and, without starting the engine, turned to face Debbie.

"Go ahead," he said. "I know you're going to tell me I had no business cutting the meeting short with a trumped up appointment." He motioned with his fist for emphasis. "But you're tired. Your right arm's dragging, and your speech has slowed. You do have an appointment-with your bed for a nap. You're doing your job. Let me do mine."

Debbie would have answered, but he didn't pause. "So get it off your chest. I know you're not going to take it passively, but you will take it." He punched the car seat with his fist. "As long as it's my job to take care of you, I'm going to do it in spite of you."

"Jake, I'm not going to say a word except thank you for rescuing me. I am tired. I do need to take a nap. Actually it was a logical time to end the meeting anyway. Before, I would have brought it to a natural conclusion. I guess I just hated to admit I couldn't handle any more even if there really wasn't any more to do. So thanks for ending it and saving face for me too."

She continued to surprise him. He'd been primed for her anger, and she thanked him. He'd never figure her out. He shrugged his shoulders, and drove away. By the time they arrived home, Debbie was asleep.

"Wake up, Sleepyhead." Jake's voice sounded in the silence. "This is like the hospital. I've got to wake you up to put you to sleep. Just wake up enough to transfer to the wheelchair and I'll wheel you to bed."

Debbie was barely aware of transferring to the wheelchair and being pushed into the house and down the hall to her bedroom. She jerked into sudden awareness, though, as she realized Jake was unbuttoning her blouse.

"Deb, this is your prettiest new outfit. You don't want to sleep in it, do you? Help me a little bit and we'll get you out of it."

It wasn't until Jake woke her for lunch that Debbie realized she was sleeping in her underwear. Jake wordlessly handed her a jogging suit; then he turned around and left the room. Even though she was embarrassed, Jake said nothing about her state of undress. All during lunch, he talked about the success of this morning's appointment.

"I called Tammy to tell her about the meeting. As soon she heard it was good news, she called everyone into her office and put me on the speakerphone. Then she made me go over every detail. Your entire staff is thrilled the workload will be increasing."

Debbie realized they all must have been worried about their jobs, just as she had worried about them. She had to manage her business again. She couldn't let down all those families who depended on her company for their livelihoods.

"I want to start work on the design for Anson Enterprises right away. Let's go to the shop this afternoon."

"It was a pretty stressful morning. Maybe you should wait until tomorrow to start."

She'd let him get by with ending her meeting with John. In fact, she'd been glad Jake had stepped in. But that didn't mean she'd let him take control of her whole life. "I'm too eager to wait. Let's go."

She soon lost some of her enthusiasm when faced with the reality of working on the design. Her limited vision proved to be more of a handicap than she expected. Tammy tried her best to help Debbie by looking up information and reading to her, but her inability to perform normally frustrated Debbie. Both her vision and the lack of control of her right hand made writing difficult and drawing impossible.

What was she going to do now? She was a designer who couldn't design, but she had a project commissioned and a business to operate. She became more and more frustrated. Tammy suggested they call it a day and try again tomorrow. Though Debbie hated to give up, she agreed because she was accomplishing nothing.

She didn't know whether to vent her frustration in angry rage or tearful grief, so she simply sat in silent dejection while Jake drove her home. He was as quiet as she was, but she couldn't fathom why.

When he finally spoke, he asked her to describe her vision problem. "I know you have double vision without the patch, but what's the problem with reading besides the double vision?"

"Well, both my eyes jump around. The right one is much worse, so that's why I wear the patch on it. But I still can't focus well with the left eye. Normal size print is just too small for me to decipher when it's not in focus."

"Do you feel up to making a stop on the way home?" he asked, in a seeming change of subject. "It shouldn't take long."

Wondering at the unusual request, Debbie agreed. Jake always ran errands when she was in therapy and went out of his way to avoid unnecessary trips for her. She'd prefer to go straight home, but she didn't want to inconvenience him.

Since she still closed her eyes to avoid dizziness while traveling, she had no idea where they were going until she opened her eyes when the van came to a stop. She was mystified when she saw the sign for a jewelers' supply house.

"Do you make jewelry?" she asked Jake.

"Just sit tight for a minute," he answered, "and we'll see if this is an exercise in futility or a good idea. I'll be back in a few minutes."

True to his word, Jake returned shortly, with a magazine in one hand and two strange looking contraptions in the other. "These are jewelers' loupes," he explained.

"I've seen jewelers wear them, but I never knew what they were for."

"They're strong magnifying glasses mounted in visors so you don't have to hold them. These are two different strengths of magnification." Opening the magazine, he said, "Try to read this page with each of them. What do you see?"

He helped her adjust the visor and position the magnifiers as she tried first one, then the other, then the first again.

"Well, say something," exclaimed Jake. "Do they help?"

Debbie looked up with a smile. "This is great, Jake. I can actually read with both of them, but this one is better. How in the world did you come up with this?"

Jake explained he'd been considering her dilemma as he drove. "When I saw this street, I remembered seeing this store. I've seen jewelers using loupes, and I just guessed a jeweler's supply house would sell them."

"Logical guess," Debbie said.

"I didn't know they came attached to visors. That makes them easier to use. The ones I've seen before fit in the eye socket or are held in the hand. I wasn't quite sure how you could hold the loupe and draw. But this'll work fine."

"It's a great idea. I never would have thought of it."

He asked her to sign a check; then he took both loupes back into the store and purchased the most powerful one.

Debbie's mood went from dejection to enthusiasm, and she was eager to get to work with her new tool. But Jake insisted it was time to go home. Tomorrow would be soon enough to try it out on the job. She wouldn't let him know, but her exhaustion would probably have quickly dulled her enthusiasm.

Debbie could hardly wait to get through Wednesday's therapy and lunch, so she could go to the office and begin serious work on the Anson project. When she took out the jeweler's loupe, everyone in the office had to take a look before she and Tammy actually got down to work. Although cumbersome and tedious, the loupe gave her the ability to develop her design. The awkwardness of her right hand slowed her, but she could write legibly, if not neatly, now that she could see.

Fortunately, most of her clients, Anson Enterprises included, didn't require design plans. She usually marked furniture placement on the floor plans for her own use, but these drawings could be crude, and no one else had to see them. Debbie was ecstatic-she was actually doing her job now, though slowly and with less finesse than before.

She spent several hours at the office on Thursday and again after therapy on Friday. She napped or rested when she became overtired, and Jake stayed within earshot and checked on her regularly. She had no idea how he kept himself busy during the times she worked in her office. She realized with a pang of jealousy that she frequently heard his mellow laughter blending with the laughter and giggles of her staff.

Debbie sat in her office and listened to the voices coming from the front office. Jake was telling another story about Aunt Molly.

"She'd driven in downtown San Antonio for years, but she wasn't prepared for the changes from that big construction project a couple of years ago. Houston Street had been two-way for as long as she could remember, and Aunt Molly didn't even notice it'd become a one-way street. She just went the way she always went. A policeman stopped her, and after checking her license, he said, 'Mrs. Dover, we seem to have a problem here.' Molly looked at him indignantly. 'We certainly do,' she said. 'Somebody stole my half of the street.'"

Jake always brought out smiles and laughter in others, but she never heard his voice raised or even stern with anyone else but her. Of course, it was his job to see she did whatever was required for her recovery, but sometimes it seemed like he was the boss and she was the employee. He was always telling her what to do.

On the other hand, he made her laugh too, and he always encouraged her. Debbie's feared being a burden because she couldn't function independently. Jake never showed any signs that he considered her a burden; but he was being paid-little as it was. Of course he wouldn't do anything to make her feel like the burden she must be. Even if it was his job to take care of her, he did it well and made it look effortless and natural. She could almost believe taking care of her was what he wanted to do above all other things.

Stop daydreaming, Debbie told herself sternly. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement for Jake to care for you now while he's getting settled in San Antonio. This is strictly temporary, and don't you forget it. In three months, Jake'll go on to bigger and better things, and hopefully you'll be on your own by then. If not, you'll just have to hire someone else. Maybe they won't do all the things he does to make you feel special, but you're lucky to have him for three months. Be thankful for what you have, and don't think about what you won't have three months from now.

Debbie found herself in the kitchen every evening while Jake prepared dinner. Chatting with him as he cooked seemed so natural. On Friday evening, she smiled when he handed her a head of lettuce and said casually, "Why don't you tear the lettuce for the salad?"

They continued their comfortable conversation while Debbie sat at the table tearing greens and Jake cut up the tomatoes and other vegetables. He seemed to understand how important it was to her to feel productive.

The knowledge Jake had acquired about her business in the last few weeks amazed Debbie. He was interested in design, but he was even more fascinated with the intricacies of running the business.

"As a kid, I wasn't very focused. Dad and Mom were always trying to instill some ambition in me, but I didn't take an education or career seriously. I was too busy having fun. Basically I just bummed around after high school." He shook his head. "Now I regret that I never thought about the future. Just look at the difference between us. You've got a successful, well-established business and, at thirty years old, I still don't even know what I want to be when I grow up."

"Don't put yourself down, Jake. According to Molly, you spent eight successful years in the Army. Did you ever think of making it a career?"

"Actually I ended up in the Army on a dare. A bunch of us guys were out cruising one night and passed a recruiting office. One of my buddies pointed to it and dared the rest of us to join. I really don't why I did it, but the next day I found myself back there signing up. My family was thrilled I'd finally done something positive. I never told them about the dare." He shook his head again. "Actually I never told anybody about it before."

"Regardless of the why it came about, you obviously made a success in the Army. How come you didn't stay in?" asked Debbie.

"The Army was a great experience for me. I grew up a lot, and I'm proud of the job I did. But I just can't see myself in the Army, or even doing map work, for the rest of my life. I've just been marking time."

He took the bowl of greens from her and added the chopped vegetables before continuing. "The only career decision I've ever made that was a conscious choice was to leave the Army. And I only decided that I didn't want to make the Army my career-I still haven't decided what I want to do."

He casually turned the conversation back to Debbie's Designs. "I hope you don't mind all my questions about your business. It's fascinating, and I want to learn all I can."

"The only problem you'll have discussing my business with me is getting me to shut up before I bore you," she answered with a smile.

Debbie was flattered he was impressed enough with her operation to feel he could learn from her, and she never tired of discussing this baby of hers. She'd given birth to the business and nurtured it all these years. She loved to talk about her business as much as any mother loved to talk about her child.

As Debbie and Jake worked in the garden over the weekend, Debbie shook her head in amazement at how much she was enjoying herself. Although she worked from a wheelchair and had so many deficits, as the medical profession called her limitations, she could still find joy and pleasure in everyday activities. She smiled as she admitted to herself that Jake had a lot to do with her enjoyment.

He picked that moment to look up at her and comment, "It's good to see you happy, Debbie. I love seeing you smile. So many people wouldn't have your attitude if they went through what you have. You're doing so much more than many people would, and I admire you for it. I'm glad to be a small part of it."

"You're a very big part of it, Jake. I don't know how I would manage without you."

"You could have found anyone to drive, cook, and clean," he said.

Debbie shook her head. "That's not what I'm talking about. I mean the support and encouragement you give me. I've always been a positive and a determined person, but you make it much easier for me to stay positive now. It's really hard for me to let anyone see my fears and frustrations. I want to be a strong person, but . . . "Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head.

Jake stepped closer. "You are strong, Deb. But you're also a person with human weaknesses and fears. It's perfectly normal to have those feelings, and you have to share them sometimes. I'm glad you can share them with me."

"I'm glad, too, Jake. I consider myself extremely fortunate to have you working for me. You're much more than an employee. I consider you a real friend."

"Of course, we're friends, Deb," Jake said. "And if I'm good for you, you're equally good for me. You've become very special to me. I never thought I could be friends with someone so much smarter and more focused than I am. But you never make me feel like the bum I really am."

"You're no bum, Jake. You're smart and a hard worker. You'll make a success of whatever you decide to do."

"If I ever decide what that is, maybe so."

Debbie worked on the Anson project all week, but Jake could see that she was disappointed in her progress.

"It's so frustrating," she complained over dinner. "I didn't accomplish anything all afternoon. How can I ever get anything done if I'm so slow? I wish I could work here at home. I did that, you know, when my business started."

"Why can't you?" Much to his surprise, he enjoyed discussing Debbie's business with her.

Debbie looked at him as if trying to see if his question was serious. "That's pretty obvious, isn't it? It so happens that everything I need to do my job is at the office."

"Why can't we set you up an office here at the house?" he asked. His job would be simpler if he didn't have to take her to the office, but hers would be too. "You could eliminate travel time, and you'd definitely have fewer interruptions. I couldn't help but notice everybody on your staff was in and out of your office half a dozen times this afternoon, and it's been that way all week."

Debbie nodded in agreement. "I'd have a lot more flexibility too. If I didn't have to spend a half hour to get to the office, I could work a few minutes at a time and just leave my projects out on the desk while I rested."

"That's a great idea." She wouldn't have to put away her work, and he wouldn't have to make up the day bed after her nap. "What would we have to do to make it work?"

"We could bring the drafting table from my office. I'd probably need another desk because I need to keep an office at the shop for meetings and working directly with employees." The sparkle returned to her eyes.

"Okay. Move the drafting table from the office and get another desk. What else?"

"I could bring the computer terminal home. I wouldn't need to work on the computer when I'm in the shop, if I can do it at home."

"Can you work on the computer from home?"

"I'd have to buy a modem. Actually two, one for the shop and one for the house. And I need a FAX machine. A desk chair and a file cabinet would be the only other furniture I'd need."

That all sounded feasible. "Is that all?"

"Well, I guess I need a phone line for the FAX and the modem." He felt a jolt to realize that the excitement lighting her face changed an ordinary face into a pretty one. "Jake, could you and Tammy check on prices for me?"

"We'll do it tomorrow."

The more Debbie talked about the idea, the more excited she got. "I just don't work well in a crowd. My employees are great, but they don't give me much space. A home office would be wonderful, but where could we put it?"

For once, he was ahead of her in his thoughts. "How about putting it in the living room? It's the only room we don't use all the time. The den's too crowded."

She wrinkled her forehead. "The living room's probably best. An office will detract from the look, but I won't be entertaining any time soon, so I guess it doesn't matter."

"You're a great designer. I bet you can design some kind of divider that would hide all the office stuff from the main living room area."

He could almost see the ideas threatening to burst out of Debbie's mind. "The living room's already a little bare since you moved the recliner to the den. If we move one more chair and that small table into your room, there'll be room for a small office. And I know exactly what to use for a room divider."

A smile tugged at his lips. She was so cute when she got all excited like this. "I thought you'd come up with something."

"The last time I went to market I fell in love with a folding screen. It had an abstract design, and the pastel colors are perfect for the living room. Best of all, it wasn't nearly as expensive as it looks." She picked up her fork but didn't use it. "In fact, I was disappointed that I couldn't find a need for it."

He pointed to her fork and the plate and motioned for her to eat. "Now you can."

She continued to describe her ideas. She finally ate most of her dinner, although she seemed more interested in their conversation than in the food.

They decided to bring the desk and credenza, as well as the drafting table, from her office. She could use an old desk stored in the warehouse for her temporary desk at the office. The credenza would provide both workspace and file storage for her home office. All she needed besides the equipment was a good chair.

"Oh, and a small copy machine, Jake. I can't function without a copy machine. Get prices for the copier, FAX, two modems, and a chair. Also what it will cost for an added phone line."

He pulled a pad from his shirt pocket and made notes. "I love to see you excited like this. You're like a kid with a new toy."

Debbie ignored the comment and gestured broadly with her fork. "And see about moving the terminal and setting it up with the modem. Tammy can give you the name of the computer consultant we use. That should be everything I need." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I hope I can afford it. This is the perfect solution."

The next day, he and Tammy gathered the information. When Debbie woke from her nap, he told her what it would cost to set up an office in her home. He watched the enthusiasm drain from her face as she transferred from the bed to the wheelchair. The cost seemed reasonable to him, especially if the home office made her much more productive. Heck, he had more than enough money in the bank to pay for everything she needed. However, even before Debbie said anything, he knew she couldn't afford it.

"I can tell from your disappointed look the cost is too much, isn't it?"

Debbie rolled over to the desk. "We've lost income since I've been sick, and it'll take months to make up for the loss. Maybe even longer, at the rate I'm going." She shrugged her shoulders as if it didn't matter, but her expression showed it did matter-a lot. "A home office seemed like the perfect solution. But it's just not feasible."

He'd done his job-getting the information for her. He wasn't under any obligation to do any more. There was no reason for him to feel her disappointment so strongly. So what if he still had to make up the daybed and chauffeur her back and forth to the office. He shouldn't care if she worked at home or at her office. Maybe he shouldn't care, but for some reason, he did. Watching her try to hide her disappointment made him want to turn that disappointment into happiness.

He stood in front of the desk and watched her. He thought about offering to pay for the office, but he knew she'd never accept charity. "Did you remember my dad works for an office equipment company? That's who I talked to about the FAX machine and copier."

She shuffled papers on the desk and avoided his gaze. "I'd forgotten that, but I'd heard that he sold office equipment."

"He does more than sell it. He's the manager of the company." He stuck his hands in his pockets to cross his fingers as he told a fib. "They've been planning to do some redecorating in their showroom, and they might be willing to work a trade with you."

"What do you mean?"

He wondered what he meant. This idea had just come to him out of the blue. "When I was in the warehouse the other day, Bob told me you had some wallpaper and carpet remnants. Dad's showroom is small. I'll bet some of the remnants would be big enough for what they want. How about it?"

"Uh . . . I'm not sure . . ."

"Mom and Dad want us to meet them for lunch next week at a small restaurant near the showroom. Then we can go take a look and see what you think. I hope you don't mind. I already told them we would." At least, he'd already told them they'd meet for lunch. The idea of redecorating the showroom would be as big a surprise to his father as it had been to him when the idea popped into his head.

Debbie's soft brown eyes were wide when she looked at Jake. "Did the invitation really include me?"

"Yes. They're anxious to see you." He was glad his family had liked Debbie and wanted to see her again. Otherwise they would have included her anyway. They knew he couldn't get away to visit them any time soon.

"It'll be nice to see them again. I enjoyed visiting with them at the rehab center."

"And I had to promise to take you to see Aunt Molly and Uncle John, too. The whole family loved having you as Molly's roommate, and they all want to see you again soon. You're not angry at me for saying yes without talking to you, are you?"

"No, I'm not angry. I'm eager to see your folks again. But are you sure your father's really interested in this? And what about his boss? I don't want him to get into trouble for helping me."

"He's the manager of the store, and the absentee owner gives him free rein. He really wants to do some redecorating-nothing major, but maybe some wallpaper and carpet. Just talk to him, okay?"

Of course, Jake would have to talk to his father first, but he knew Dad would agree. He was a sucker for anyone in need, and he liked Debbie. Jake knew Ben Dover would figure out a way to help Debbie and his employer at the same time. That showroom really did look tacky.

During the rest of the week, Debbie spent as much time as she could physically tolerate working on the designs for Anson Enterprises. Between therapy sessions, naps, and meals, there didn't seem to be much productive time. Several evenings after dinner, she realized she would have enjoyed working for a half-hour or an hour if she had the facilities to do so. She was sure she would have been productive. An office at home was important, not just a whimsical idea, and she'd have to find some way to do it.

The following week Debbie and Jake met his parents for lunch.

"Molly's doing great. She and John want you to visit them soon," Jake's mother said. She brought Debbie up to date on all the members of that close family Debbie had enjoyed so much in the rehab center.

Again Debbie thought how lucky she was to have been Molly Dover's roommate. She wouldn't have Jake if it hadn't been for Molly. Rubbish. She didn't "have Jake" now. He just worked for her. But how fortunate she was to have him working for her. He did a superb job of caring for her physical needs. He made sure she followed her diet exactly, and yet she never felt deprived. Although she'd initially arranged for the cleaning service to clean house twice a week, Jake quickly convinced her to change it to once every two weeks. He kept the house neat on a daily basis. All the cleaning service had to do was the heavier, more time-consuming work.

Jake had assured her he could do it all, but Debbie refused. "I've used this crew for two years, and I'll be using them long after you're gone. I want to keep them at least every other week. It might be hard to get them back later if I cancel now."

The housework, laundry, and grocery shopping were all done as if by magic. Jake did chores around the house while she napped or read, and he shopped and ran errands while she was in therapy. He was equally adept at handling the wheelchair and at helping Debbie when she preferred to walk short distances.

But Jake did so much more than attend to her physical care. He always seemed to know what she was thinking, and he encouraged her, motivated her, and helped her overcome her self-doubts.

She remembered the way he smoothed the way for her at Anson Enterprises when she hadn't been able to see the receptionist to announce herself. How fortunate she was to have him working for her. And how was she going to manage when he decided to move on?

Debbie suspected that Jake's father Ben offered a trade deal because Jake had convinced him Debbie couldn't afford the office equipment she needed. As soon as she saw the showroom, she realized it really did need improvement.

As they left the store, she said, "Let's go to the shop so I can see what remnants I have."

"Are you sure, Deb? I can tell you're tired."

For once, Jake didn't argue when Debbie insisted. She was too eager to start this project to postpone it.

After a short nap, Debbie and Bob checked out the supply of remnants in the warehouse. Jake watched them spread out wallpaper and carpet remnants. When Debbie chose different wallpaper for each wall, he shook his head.

"I realize there isn't enough of any one pattern to do the entire showroom, but I never realized you could combine several patterns and have it look so good." He smiled in appreciation. "No one would ever realize the design was created from remnants."

"All the wallpapers use the same teal and mauve colors. That draws the design together, and it all coordinates well with this teal carpet. It's a high quality carpet, and there's a room size remnant."

"That's fabulous, Deb," Jake exclaimed. "When we first came out here, I never would've believed there was anything that would work, and I'll bet when this is installed, the showroom will look great."

Jake's praise warmed Debbie. She was even more pleased when she added up the prices of the wallpaper and carpet, along with a reasonable charge for her design and the crew's installation labor. She discovered the total cost was more than the combined cost of the FAX and copy machines. That meant she would have some cash coming from the deal to buy the modems. That is, if Ben Dover agreed to her ideas.

After dinner that evening, Jake insisted on calling his parents at home to report on Debbie's progress on their project.

Ben Dover gave his approval to the project and asked, "Can the installation be done after business hours?"

"Of course," Debbie answered when Jake relayed the question. "Dad, Debbie says no problem with after hours installation.

You just need to figure time and a half on that labor price for overtime."

Debbie shook her head and started to protest, but Jake ended the conversation with his father before she could say anything.

Jake interrupted her protests. "Deb, Dad's a businessman. He has no problem with paying an overtime rate for overtime work."

"But it won't have to be overtime. Bob can schedule the crew so they come in later in the day and don't work longer than a normal day. After all, we're not exactly overloaded with work at the moment."

"That doesn't have anything to do with it. If this were anyone but my father, would you charge overtime if the client wanted the work done after hours?" When Debbie nodded in response, Jake continued, "You shouldn't treat this deal any different. It's already settled, anyway."

"Are you sure this is fair to your dad? I mean, he hadn't really planned to do this right now, and I don't want him to feel pressured. Maybe he won't like the wallpaper combination I came up with. Maybe I should give him a formal written proposal. Maybe-"

Jake took her hand as he answered. "Believe me, Deb, my dad is a hard-nosed businessman. He's managed the store for twelve years, and he knows exactly what he's doing. He doesn't know anything about carpet or wallpaper, though, and he'd really been dreading this project. So look at it this way. You're really doing him a favor."

"Well . . ."

"And a trade deal is good for both parties because you're selling something you already had. In your case, remnants. In Dad's case, last year's models of the copier and the FAX. Your remnants are just great for his showroom, and last year's copier and FAX models do everything you need. Since it would probably be hard to sell these items for full price, you both come out ahead. Dad's done trade deals before, and he explained to me how beneficial they are."

"You've convinced me, Jake. But what does the IRS think of trade?"

"I asked Dad about that. As far as the IRS is concerned, it's no different from cash. Be sure Betty Sue records the sale in your books as income, just as if it were cash. Of course, you can treat the expenses just like cash, too. Now, enough business. How about listening to your tape for a while?"

Debbie was so excited about work she insisted on going to the office on Saturday. Her productivity confirmed her decision to have an office at home. Without the interruptions of her staff, she made more progress than she had all week. She thought about asking Jake to take her to the office again on Sunday but knew he would tell her she needed to rest. She had to admit that he was probably right, so she agreed to his plan for a quiet day at home. They sat on the deck, admiring the garden and enjoying the chatter of the birds.

Debbie made enough progress the following week to meet with John Stone to review some preliminary ideas, which he promptly approved. What a relief to find John was just as enthusiastic about her designs as he had ever been. Maybe she hadn't lost her touch. Of course, approval of the preliminary design was a long way from completion of a finished project, but the small success significantly raised her confidence level.

Debbie was equally excited about the progress on her home office. "This is great, Jake. I can't wait to get the office finished."

The divider screen she'd ordered had already been shipped and should arrive within a week. Bob and his helpers had set up her desk, credenza, and drafting table. Jake's father had arranged for the delivery and installation of the FAX machine and copier, and the second phone line and computer would be set up in a few days.

Soon she'd have a fully functional office right in her own living room. She could hardly wait. Though she'd begun to work on the Anson Enterprises project in her home office, she wouldn't be very productive until the office was complete.

Debbie was glad when the weekend arrived. The activities of the week had drained her energy. On Saturday, it was a treat to spend time in the garden with Jake. Gardening had always been one of her favorite activities, and it thrilled her to continue her hobby even from her wheelchair. And it was more fun to share the gardening with Jake. Interested and eager to learn, he seemed to enjoy it as much as Debbie did.

"Deb, how about going to visit my Aunt Molly and Uncle John tomorrow afternoon?" he asked as they ate dinner.

"Are you sure they would want me there, Jake? It's your family. You shouldn't have to drag me along."

"They really want to see you, Deb," he answered. "They ask about you every time I talk to them, and they invited us for tomorrow. We waited to plan this visit until we were sure you and Aunt Molly are both up to it. Both of you've been doing so well, now there's no doubt you are. We won't stay long. Just say yes, Deb. You won't regret it."

Debbie never could resist Jake's pleas, so Sunday afternoon found them driving across town to the older neighborhood where Molly and John Dover had lived for the past thirty years. On the way, Jake entertained Debbie with anecdotes about his favorite aunt and uncle and his own childhood escapades.

"My mother was a little overprotective of me, probably because I was an only child. Aunt Molly, on the other hand, had a houseful of kids and was pretty casual about raising them. One time, my mother found my cousins and me jumping out of the tree in their back yard. She was terrified we were going to get hurt.

"She made me stop the game. Needless to say, I wasn't very happy about that. She took me in the house and told Aunt Molly she should watch her kids more closely-they were in danger. Aunt Molly glanced out the window, shrugged her shoulders, and said, 'God will watch over them.'"

"That sounds like Molly. What was your mother's reaction?"

Jake laughed. "She told Aunt Molly, 'Well, I'd better watch over Jake. God's too busy watching over your kids.'"

Jake enjoyed his stories as much as Debbie did, and they were both laughing when they arrived at the Dover home.

When she saw her former roommate, Debbie realized how much she'd missed Molly. Although they'd known each other only a few weeks, it had been a time of intense emotions and dramatic life changes that had forged a strong bond between them.

"Debbie, you look great," exclaimed Molly.

"So do you. It's great to see you on your feet."

John took Jake out to the garage to admire the latest addition to his workshop.

When they were alone, Molly said, "You and Jake both look great. Obviously, this arrangement is doing you both a world of good."

"It's wonderful for me, but I don't see that it's done Jake any good."

"Jake needed something to do, and he likes helping you at home and in the business better than he expected. He told his mother you were the strongest, most courageous woman he's ever known, and you're still generous and kind. He really admires and respects you."

Yeah, thought Debbie. He admired and respected her. She was glad of that, but she wished he had some more romantic feelings for her too.

"He's a big help to me," Debbie acknowledged.

"Well, I think you're just as big a help to him. Jake's always been the class clown and seems to fit in anywhere. But I've always believed that he's never felt he really belonged anywhere outside the family. The way he talks about you and your business . . . well, I think he really feels like he belongs-maybe for the first time in his life."

Debbie wanted to pursue the conversation further, but John and Jake came back into the house. Although the men continued a separate conversation, Debbie and Molly changed to a less personal subject.

They spent a very pleasant Sunday afternoon comparing notes on each other's progress and chatting about the various members of the Dover family. All too soon, it was time to leave. The visit had been kept short to avoid overtiring Molly or Debbie, but they agreed they'd get together again soon.

"Next time, you come visit us," invited Debbie. "Come for dinner. Jake's a great cook."

"Thanks for sharing your family with me, Jake," Debbie said on the drive home. "I enjoy visiting with Beth on the phone every week, but I miss seeing her in person. And she and Jim and their kids are all the family I have except for my folks in the nursing home. You're lucky to have all those aunts and uncles and cousins." She paused and smiled reflectively. "That was one of the nicest things about rooming with Molly. I was able to share her family."

"Debbie, would you like me to take you to visit your folks next week? I know you speak to them on the phone often, and I know you try to downplay your condition. They don't have any idea of how serious your stroke was, do they?"

"I just don't want to worry them. They're in such poor health themselves; they shouldn't be worrying about me. I haven't even thought about going to see them because I don't want them to see me in the wheelchair, but they must know something is pretty serious."

She shook her head, as if trying to shake off her confusion. "I've never missed seeing them at least once a week. Now it's been a couple of months, and no telling what they must be thinking. I just don't know what to do," she confessed.

"We'll go see them next weekend. And don't worry about a thing. We'll figure out something so they won't worry too much about you."

Jake reached across the seat to cover her left hand with his right hand. Debbie couldn't stop looking at their joined hands on her left thigh. Ironically, she couldn't feel anything. Her left side was numb, but she imagined a warmth coming from his hand. Too bad it's not on my right thigh, she thought. I'd surely feel something then.

Progress on her home office continued the following week. Soon the only thing lacking was a chair, so she worked from her wheelchair until they could find a suitable office chair. Her installation crew spent most of three days at her house. They set up the divider screen, arranged the furniture, and moved files into her new office. The results pleased her immensely.

"Doesn't it look great, Jake?" she exclaimed for the umpteenth time. "When you're in the living room, you can't tell there's anything there but a beautiful decorative screen, but you go behind the screen and voila, an office. And everything is just within reach. It's perfect."

Jake smiled as if humoring an exuberant child. He walked over, stepped in front of her, and placed both hands on her shoulders. "I love to see you get so excited. Anybody would think you'd just won the Texas Lottery. Your eyes light up and you get that gorgeous smile on your face. You're just like a little kid." He laughed.

Debbie realized she didn't want him to see her just like a little kid. She wanted Jake to think of her as a woman. Unfortunately, though, she was a flawed woman. Her body was awkward, and she couldn't even feel the touch of his hand on her left side at all. But she could definitely feel his touch on her right side, just as she'd imagined a few days ago in the car.

Although his touch was light, her right shoulder tingled from the sensation of his fingers. Heat seemed to flow from that spot on her shoulder throughout her body. She longed to let him know how she was beginning to feel about him but she needed him as a friend and as an assistant. She wouldn't risk losing his friendship and assistance because of her silly romantic notions.

Besides, she didn't want to be a burden to Jake. It was one thing to depend on him when she was paying him to take care of her, but she couldn't imagine having to depend on someone she loved. She would just have to face a future with no man in her life. She vowed to herself she'd never be a burden-she'd rather be alone.

Realizing she hadn't responded to Jake, she smiled and said, "I guess I'm just a little kid at heart. Call me Peter Pan. But I am excited about my new office. I just know I'm going to be so much more productive. And once again, I have you to thank. I didn't take my own idea seriously, and I certainly couldn't have done it without your help. Thanks again."

"Okay, now it's time to try it out. Ready to get to work?" he asked.

Debbie found she was, indeed, more productive working in her living room than she had been at the design studio. She could concentrate better without the many interruptions she experienced at her office. She also found she didn't become as fatigued working in several short segments throughout the day. Plans for the Anson Enterprises project were coming along so well that she told Tammy to schedule an appointment for her with another client.

The days quickly fell into a routine. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings were still taken up with therapy sessions. After therapy, she and Jake ate lunch, then she took a short nap. After her nap on therapy days, and throughout the day on Tuesday and Thursdays, Debbie worked in her home office on and off throughout the day and evening, interspersed with rest periods. Sometimes she'd take a nap. Other times she and Jake would sit in the den and listen to her audio books and read. But her favorite times were those occasions when she and Jake would sit on the deck enjoying the garden and the birds.

They never lacked for conversation. Jake was vitally interested in everything about Debbie's Designs, and Debbie found herself sharing her dreams and her vision of her business. Jake was equally willing to share his experiences, and Debbie loved listening to his anecdotes about his childhood, his military career, and his family.

He related a story about Molly's teenage granddaughter, Kara. "She was visiting Aunt Molly and Uncle John when she was about twelve. She saw something on TV that caused her to ask them a question about the birds and the bees. They were treading lightly around the subject, and Kara got impatient. She said, 'Come on, guys, let's don't tip toe around the good stuff. I know I didn't get here by FAX.'"

Jake could make even the most mundane topic sound interesting and the blandest conversation sparkle with wit and humor. Debbie loved the way he laughed at his own jokes and stories as much as she did.

In fact, Debbie told herself, she loved entirely too much about Jake. What would she do when it was time for him to leave? Although she'd known him for less than three months, she couldn't imagine her life without him. And the home that had always been her private retreat-wouldn't it be empty without Jake there to share it with her?

Thursday arrived, and with it the appointment with John Stone for the final approval of the designs for Anson Enterprises. Debbie had faxed the draft of the proposal to Tammy to type, and they had to pick up the complete proposal package from the office. As usual, Jake seemed to realize how nervous Debbie was. He kept up a light chatter throughout the trip to the design studio and the trip to John Stone's office.

"Hey, Debbie. What word becomes shorter with the addition of two letters?"

"Shorter with the addition of letters? I don't know."

Jake laughed. "Short. Add 'er' to short and it's shorter."

She groaned, but that didn't stop Jake from continuing in the same vein until they reached their destination. After helping her into the wheelchair, he loaded everything she'd need into the tote bag or her lap.

He took both of her hands in his, and his hazel eyes bored into her brown ones. "This is a fabulous design, Deb, and John will love it."

Her confidence grew as they wheeled into the reception area and went through the now familiar routine of Jake announcing her arrival.

After they declined the offer of coffee in John's office, Jake moved a chair away from the conference table and wheeled Debbie's chair into place. He unloaded the proposal and sample books from Debbie's lap and placed the proposal between Debbie and John. Jake laid out the samples she needed in the exact order across the table.

Now Debbie was in familiar territory. After some small talk at the beginning of the meeting, she made a smooth transition into the presentation of her proposal. She wondered briefly why she'd been so worried. The presentation flowed smoothly and each sample or color chip seemed to appear in front of her exactly when she needed it.

John approved each individual item in the proposal-the wall covering, the carpet, the window treatment, the color scheme, the furniture, and the floor plan. All that remained when Debbie reached the end of the presentation was approval for the cost, and that followed quickly. Suddenly, John was walking them to the back door, Debbie holding a signed contract in her hand. The conversation focused on the schedule for the upcoming work.

Jake could hardly contain his excitement until they were sitting in the van. Then he turned to Debbie with a huge grin on his face. "You were magnificent, Deb. You had him eating out of your hand. I knew you were good, but that was fantastic. What a sales technique!"

Suddenly, without conscious thought, he leaned over, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her firmly on the lips. The feeling jolted him. He was just showing excitement over Debbie's success. If it felt like passion, well . . . of course, he hadn't felt passion. Just excitement and an overactive imagination.

He didn't give her a chance to say anything as he turned away and started the engine. "The crew is going to be thrilled. This will keep them busy for a while. I knew you were a great designer. I just didn't know you were such a super salesman. What's next?"

She didn't look at him as she answered in a soft voice. "You were a big help. How did you know exactly when I needed a sample or a color chip or a picture? I was so afraid I'd fumble something with my clumsy right hand. But you put everything right in front of me when I needed it, and you did it so efficiently I don't think John even knew you were helping me. Thanks."

The warmth and tightness he felt in his chest at her words were caused by pride in a job well done. Surely he'd have felt the same way regardless of who thanked him. "We make a great team, Deb."

She looked at him and smiled. "Yes, we do."

"I wish I had the education and experience to be a real help to you." He'd never before cared that he didn't have education or skills. "It's not too easy on a guy's ego to realize his contribution to a successful business transaction is to hand you samples when you need them."

Debbie's mouth dropped open. "Jake, don't be ridiculous. Handing me the samples is the least of what you did. You gave me the encouragement and support to do this. Don't you realize how terrified I've been? I'm not sure I would've had the courage to handle this if it weren't for you."

She paused for only a moment. "And what about all the practical things you've done? You thought of them-I didn't. Without the jeweler's loupe and the home office and all the other things you've helped me with, I might not have been able to do my job again. You're more responsible for this success than I am. I certainly couldn't have done it without you."

Jake backed out of the parking space and drove out of the parking lot. He waited until they were several blocks down the road before he said anything. "Thanks for saying that, Deb, but we both know you're strong enough that you'd have done it without me. I'm just convenient, not indispensable. Now, what's next?"

For a minute, he feared she might pursue the subject. He didn't want to discuss his mixed up feelings. He was as proud of her as if he had something to do with her success, but her success made him more aware of his own lack of direction. He was relieved when she answered his question.

"We have to set up a schedule and place orders so the materials arrive when we need them. Tammy can prepare a draft of the schedule. I'll have to review it, but she can get it started. We'll make up a flow chart to know when to place the orders."

"Why not just order everything at the same time?"

"We don't want them too soon for two reasons. No sense taking up storage room for materials we can get delivered just when we need them. But more important right now is the cash flow. We can't afford to tie up money for anything that's not being used right away."

Jake glanced quickly back in her direction before returning his attention to his driving. "I've heard of cash flow, but I never realized what it means. Can you afford to buy the materials for this job?"

"It'll be tight. If this were a new client, I'd have asked for a deposit. But we've done a lot of business with John and his company through the years, and I didn't want to change the way we do business with them. It might erode some of John's confidence in us-make him wonder if we can afford to do the job."

"How soon can you get money from them?"

"We'll bill them when we start each phase and make the invoice 'due upon installation.' Since we have thirty-day accounts with our suppliers, we should get our money from Anson in time to pay our bills. It's going to be a tight squeeze, but I think we'll make it. And the profit from this job will give us the cash to do the next one. Oh, Jake, I think we're really going to make it. I was so worried," confessed Debbie.

Her careful planning impressed him, and her confession of her worry touched him. "Of course, you're going to make it. Debbie's Designs is too good a business to fold up just because you've had a personal setback. And you're sure going to make it. You're too strong a person to fold just because of something like this."

"Some people use other words besides strong, like stubborn."

He turned to smile at her. "That too. I know it's hard, Deb, but you're doing great. I'm proud of you, and I respect you very much. You know I'll do anything I can to help."

"You're a tremendous help, Jake. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She gave him credit he didn't deserve. After all, he'd taken this job under duress. He'd done the best he could, but she deserved better. "Deb, if cash flow gets really tight, you can defer my wages. You're housing me and feeding me, and I've got a little money in the bank. Right now, it's more important to conserve your cash to do this job and the others you'll be getting. So if you want to tell Betty Sue to defer my pay, please do."

"I'll do no such thing." The pitch of her voice and the thrust of her jaw emphasized her determination. "You and everybody else will get your paycheck on time. Just wait and see. It may be a tight squeeze, but not one of my employees is going to suffer. You can take that to the bank."

He should have known she was too stubborn to accept his help. But the jerk that injured her owed her. "Deb, have you thought about filing suit against the quack that did this to you? You shouldn't be suffering for his stupidity."

Debbie shook her head. "Sue? Not me. That seems to be everybody's first reaction whenever anything goes wrong. Who can I blame? Who can I sue? I think people should accept responsibility for themselves."

"What about Dr. Smith's responsibility? Shouldn't he be responsible for his actions?" Jake asked.

"I don't even want to talk about it anymore. I'm not suing, and that's final."

He would have argued with her, but from the set of her jaw and the stiffness of her spine, he could tell he'd get nowhere. He'd save his efforts for another day. She may have believed her decision was final, but that wouldn't stop him from mentioning it again and again.

The week had drained her more than Debbie realized. Mornings were always hard for her, but on Friday she was even more reluctant to get ready for therapy than usual.

"Up and at 'em," cajoled Jake. "Aren't you ready for a rousing game of balloon volleyball with Toby's therapy group? Remember Ken's going to be off today, so you'll be in the group."

"You said the magic words." She dragged herself out of bed. "Therapy is a thousand times harder than it looks, but balloon volleyball's about the closest thing there is to fun in all the hard work."

The game consisted of two groups of patients in wheelchairs batting a balloon back and forth to each other. The object was to keep the balloon in play-the purpose was to improve coordination and strengthen the upper body.

"They should call it volley balloon," Jake joked. "Why don't they use real balls?"

"Most of us can't even lift a volleyball, much less bat it back and forth." She grinned wryly. "But you've got a point about the name. I'll mention it's false advertising."

Debbie hadn't participated in a group game as an outpatient, but she'd enjoyed group activities as an inpatient. As tired as she was today, though, the work outweighed the fun. She gave a sigh of relief when the game ended.

Toby, the occupational therapist leading the group, asked, "Are you okay? I've seen you play balloon volleyball one on one with Ken, and you usually do much better than you did today."

"Just tired," answered Debbie. "I wish I didn't have an hour and a half of physical therapy left today. Here comes Josie, and she looks like she's ready to torture me."

Josie smiled at Debbie's standard accusation. It was a standing joke that physical and occupational therapists were childish sadists because they tried to turn torture into games.

"Gripe, gripe, gripe. It's all this so-called torture that has you back at work, instead of lying helpless in a bed somewhere. You better be glad there's some of us childish sadists around," Josie scolded with a chuckle.

Too tired to keep up their usual banter, Debbie gave a dismal performance on the balance board. She could barely get the board to balance on the rounded bottom and certainly couldn't keep it balanced for any length of time. When everything she tried turned out worse than usual, she almost burst into tears. Only her pride and determination kept her from venting her frustration.

Debbie's eyes were glistening and her lips were trembling. Josie looked at her and said, "Every once in a while we need to remind ourselves where we came from. Let's talk a little while you work out on the upper cycle."

Debbie walked slowly and carefully to the table, sat, and began to turn the wheels of the small machine in a cycling motion.

As she set the timer, Josie said, "How long has it been since you had your stroke?"

"Not quite three months."

"What could you do when you first came here?"

"Nothing."

"What was the first thing you did in therapy?"

"Two therapists transferred me from the bed to a wheelchair, brought me here to the gym, transferred me to a mat, and raised me to a sitting position." She cringed as she recalled how difficult that had been.

"How long did it take before you could sit up by yourself, without someone holding you?"

"Uh, I don't remember for sure. Several days, I guess."

"Could you feed yourself?"

"I tried. What didn't land on the table or the floor or my clothes made it to my mouth."

"Could you get to the bathroom by yourself? Could you bathe yourself? Could you dress yourself?"

"You know I couldn't."

"How many of those things can you do now?"

"All of them."

"Tell me what you're doing at work."

Debbie told Josie about her business, the Anson project, and her home office. The more she talked, the more enthusiastic she became.

"I really have made incredible progress," she said with a smile. "Dr. Anderson told me I could have stayed the way I was at first. Thank goodness, I didn't. I am getting better even if today's a really bad day."

Josie smiled. "Okay, then, enough of the easy stuff. Let's go walk backward."

Debbie smiled weakly as Jake approached with her wheelchair at the end of the session. As usual, he had an infectious grin and an enthusiastic greeting for everyone. He took only one look at Debbie and said, "Your whole right side is dragging. It's home and bed for you," he said.

"Maybe I want to do something else," snapped Debbie. "Don't I have the right to decide if I need to go to bed or not?"

"Yes, Deb. What would you like to do?" He spoke in the deliberate tone one used for a recalcitrant child. "Maybe you think you're ready to start on the schedule for Anson. Maybe you want to run a marathon. Maybe you think something else is more important than your health. Or maybe you want me to go jump in a lake."

Appalled, Debbie looked around the room. Fortunately, everybody was so busy coming in or going out that no one seemed to notice their raised voices. How in the world had they gotten into an argument? Why did she have to snap at Jake when he'd only pointed out the obvious? She couldn't do anything but go home and take a nap. Why did she resent his telling her so?

Darn, she was about to cry. She looked down into her lap, hoping Jake wouldn't notice the sheen of tears in her eyes.

Squatting on his haunches in front of the wheelchair, he gently put his hand under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Honey, I'm only doing what I think is best. Can we go home now?"

Startled at the unexpected endearment, Debbie didn't know what to say. She was the one who'd snapped at Jake, but he was treating her tenderly. All she could do was nod her head.

Both were quiet throughout the trip home. Debbie usually walked into the house, but she didn't protest when Jake unloaded the wheelchair and rolled her inside. He pushed her straight to the kitchen, slid away a chair, and parked her at the table.

The silence was finally broken when he said, "I'll have a cold meal on the table in no time. Then would you like to go to bed or is there something else you'd rather do?"

Chagrined, Debbie found she still couldn't speak. Taking a deep breath, she finally whispered, "Bed." She hardly tasted what she was eating, and Jake wheeled her to the bedroom as soon as she took the last bite.

"Debbie, do you want me to help you get into a nightgown? I know you can do it yourself and I know you usually don't put on night clothes to rest, but you might be more comfortable." Jake spoke diffidently as though he feared her reaction.

With her affirmative nod, he quickly helped her out of the jogging outfit and into a nightgown. He closed the blinds and set her filled water bottle on the nightstand. At the door, he turned back before turning out the light and said, "Sleep tight, okay?"

The next thing Debbie knew, Jake was standing over the bed, singing to the tune of Happy Birthday. "Good morning to you. Good morning to you. Good morning, dear Debbie. Good morning to you."

"Morning? Wasn't it about noon when I came to bed?"

"Yes, indeed, Ms. Rip Van Winkle. You have slept for eighteen solid hours. I figured it's about time to feed you."

"You're kidding."

"No kidding. How do you feel?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"Wonderful. I guess I've been pushing myself too much, huh?" As Jake nodded in response, she continued, "Jake, about yesterday . . . "

"Not now, Debbie. Breakfast's on the table, and since you haven't eaten in so long, your blood sugar's bound to be low. Ready?" He held out his hands to pull her up.

Jake kept the conversation light over breakfast. He had her smiling and laughing in no time, but the incident at the gym yesterday still bothered her. Every time she opened her mouth to say something about it, Jake stalled her with another anecdote, another joke, another story.

After the dishes were done and the kitchen pristine, Jake asked whether she'd prefer the den or the deck. She immediately chose the deck. After the weeks she'd spent in the hospital, she always chose the freedom of the outdoors whenever possible.

Jake made a few casual comments about the progress of their garden, but then his usually smiling face sobered. "Debbie, we need to talk about my job, what you expect of me. Yesterday-"

Debbie interrupted. "Jake, can we just forget yesterday? I was so tired, and therapy had been a fiasco, and I was discouraged and upset and-"

This time it was Jake who interrupted. "I understand that, Deb. I'm trying to make your life easier. But you seem to think I'm just some macho jerk who wants to control you or something. Like I'm telling you what to do because I'm power hungry or something."

Debbie stared. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. It has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with me and my so-called 'deficits'. That's doctor talk for not being able to function like a normal human being. How would you feel if you had all my 'deficits'"?

He leaned forward in his chair. "I can't answer that, Debbie. I guess none of us really knows how we'd act in any given situation. But I'll tell you one thing-I hope I'd handle it as well as you do."

Debbie ducked her head. "Yeah, sure. Like I handled it yesterday, taking it out on you because I had a bad day."

"And didn't I give as good as I got? What's my excuse? We're both human. You're one of the strongest people I know, but we both get tired and frustrated and upset and grouchy and-."

"And irritated and mad and angry and on and on and on," continued Debbie. "I'm sorry, Jake. Let's just forget yesterday. Are we friends again?"

"We never stopped being friends, Deb. And you don't have to apologize. You're going through a tough time now, and I'm supposed to be helping you, not flying off the handle because you have a bad day. I just don't want you to think I'm trying to boss you around. Take it with a grain of salt if I get too bossy, okay?"

"Okay." Debbie smiled, her heart suddenly lighter.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, then Jake moved his chair to face Debbie, close enough for their knees to touch. He took both of her hands in his and looked her straight in the eyes. "You're a very special lady, Debbie, and I'm proud and happy to be a small part of your recovery. Now, what would you like to do this weekend? Still want to visit your parents?"

"I want to, but I don't know if I should. Maybe I should discuss it with Beth when she calls today. If she thinks it's a good idea, we can go tomorrow. I'd really like to stay home today and maybe work in the garden a little."

Beth called every Saturday, usually shortly before noon. They tried to keep the conversations brief, but Beth tended to get long-winded talking about her family. And Debbie kept her sister informed of each step of her recovery and the recovery of her business.

Jake answered the phone and chatted with Beth before bringing Debbie the cordless phone.

When Debbie suggested she visit their parents, Beth agreed. "I think it's a good idea. They're probably imagining you in worse shape than you are. They might feel better about it if they could actually see you."

"If I'm rested when we go and we don't stay long, they'll see me at my best."

Listening to Debbie's end of the conversation, Jake mouthed, "Can I get on the extension?" At Debbie's nod, he went into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

"Beth, it's Jake again. I'm on the extension with a suggestion. I want to see what you and Debbie think about it. Debbie needs the wheelchair, but we can tell your parents it's a convenience. It's a long way from the parking lot to their room. Deb, I'll push you most of the way, but when we get close to your folks, you can push yourself."

"That's a good plan if you can do it," Beth said.

"Debbie can introduce me as a good friend. No need to tell your folks you need help at home. Between your business and Beth's family, you can find plenty to talk about. How does that sound?"

Before Debbie could answer, Beth said, "Perfect. I know they worry when they don't see Debbie regularly, but it would worry them even more to know how serious the stroke really was. I've been downplaying it every time I talk to them. And if Jake is a good enough friend for you to take to meet them, maybe they'll figure you've been spending a lot of time together instead of visiting them."

"I don't know," Debbie vacillated. "I don't want to worry them, but I don't want them to get the wrong idea about Jake either."

"What wrong idea? We are good friends, aren't we? And we have been spending a lot of time together, haven't we?"

Debbie's imagination went into overdrive. What would it be like to spend a lot of time with Jake if she weren't incapacitated? What if they really were just good friends instead of employer and employee? What if...

Her romantic daydreams were cut short as she realized Beth was asking her a question. From her impatient tone Debbie realized she'd probably already asked more than once. "Well, what about it, Debbie? Are you going to go or not?"

"Okay, let's do it. Tomorrow's the big day."

"I'm getting off the phone so you can finish your conversation in private," said Jake. "Goodbye for now, Beth."

"I'll let you know next week how things went," Debbie told Beth. "I'm anxious to see Mom and Dad."

Beth was more interested in discussing Jake. "Are you sure there's nothing going on between the two of you?" she asked. "I mean, how many guys in his position would do the things he's done-helping you with your garden, making your home office happen. Now this with Mom and Dad. Doesn't sound like a normal employee to me."

Debbie changed the subject. "This call is costing you a fortune. I'll talk to you next week. Say hi to Jim and the kids for me, Okay?"

Beth tried again. "Jake-."

"'Bye, Beth. I'll tell Mom and Dad you and your family are doing great."

"Okay, so you're not going to answer me. That's even more intriguing. Okay, okay. I'm going. Give the folks my love."

As soon as Debbie punched the button to hang up the cordless phone, Jake took it from her and set it back in the cradle. He announced, "Lunchtime," and held out his hands to help her up.

Over lunch, he said, "You never answered my question, you know. We are good friends, aren't we, Deb?" He looked at her so intently she blushed and lowered her eyes.

"Yes, Jake, we're good friends."

Alas, that's all we can ever be, she thought. Why did she have to meet someone like Jake now when she'd be a burden to any man who cared for her? No one, least of all someone as witty and intelligent as Jake, would be attracted to her now. She couldn't even take care of herself. A plain woman, she looked like a pirate with a black eye patch, and she could only feel the touch of his hand if he touched her on the right side. All this would be enough to drive away any man. And if it didn't drive him away, Debbie had already vowed to herself that she wouldn't be a burden to anyone she loved.

"So, do you want a little nap before these good friends do some gardening?" he asked.

"I think I've had enough sleep for a while. Maybe I'll listen to my book until it's cool enough to work outside.

Jake started for the bedroom to get the tape recorder, but Debbie stopped him with a question. "Can you put the stuff on the serving cart somewhere else? If I keep it handy, I'll be able to get the recorder myself."

"Great idea, Deb. I'll put these things in the cabinet right away, and it's all yours."

As simple a task as it was, Debbie enjoyed moving the recorder from the bedroom to the den. She carried her own water bottle and even a glass of soda.

Once they were settled side by side in the den, Debbie said ruefully, "You know I used to think I'd like being waited on and having a driver. Don't get me wrong-I'm not complaining about you. But being waited on and being driven aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Jake grinned. "It'd probably be different if it were by choice. I suspect it's not the being waited on you don't like, but the fact you can't do it yourself. You're a mighty independent lady."

"You're probably right," Debbie admitted as she turned on the recorder.

Jake read while Debbie listened to her tape. Late in the evening, as the temperature cooled, they worked in the garden. It didn't take long because the garden was so small, but they enjoyed the outdoor activity.

Debbie tried to push the visit to her parents to the back of her mind, but she couldn't help being nervous.

Jake reached over at the dinner table and smoothed out the furrows between her brows. "Don't worry, honey. Your folks are going to be so glad to see you they won't have a chance to worry about you."

"I've been responsible for them for several years now. Dad has a weak heart. He's had a couple of bad heart attacks. Mom's in better health generally, but she's got high blood pressure, and she's in pain with arthritis. I just don't want to worry them."

"Deb, they'll be so intrigued by the suave, handsome, charming man with you they won't think about anything else," Jake teased with a laugh.

Debbie smiled as he intended. "You forgot to mention extremely humble and self-effacing."

"Absolutely. Modesty is my most endearing quality."

It seemed natural on Sunday morning to sit in the den together to watch the church service on TV.

"Let me know whenever you're ready to go to church in person, Deb. Right now I suspect you can worship better in private without the stress of being in a crowd, but I'll be ready to take you when you're ready to go."

Debbie agreed with Jake she wasn't ready yet, but his offer touched her. After lunch she rested so she would be at her best for the visit to the nursing home.

"Do you want to dress up or wear one of your sweat suits?" Jake asked when he woke her from her nap.

"I think I'll dress up. I used to go see Mom and Dad after church on Sunday. It'll be more normal in church type clothes."

"Then how about wearing my favorite outfit?" Jake suggested. He held up pants and an unstructured jacket featuring large hot pink flowers in the soft fabric.

"Don't you think it's kind of loud? Well, not loud exactly. I'm a designer and this is a fabulous design. But for me?"

"Yes, Deb, for you. How many times do I have to tell you? Bright colors and bold patterns are perfect for you. You're the designer. I'm just a regular guy, but even I can see what looks right. And Carol at Carol's Boutique agreed with me, remember?"

Debbie gave in gracefully. She loved the outfit even if it wasn't her normal style. Well, if normal meant how she used to be, then she hadn't been normal since the stroke. So why should her choice of clothes be normal?

Jake's constant stream of light chatter helped her relax. Her eagerness to see her parents had overcome her nervousness by the time they arrived at the nursing home. Jake helped her into the wheelchair and pushed her through the lobby and down the long hall toward her parents' room. A few doors from their destination, he turned the chair over to Debbie to maneuver with her feet.

The faces of her parents lit up as Debbie wheeled into the room. "Debbie, honey! Look, Jeff, it's Debbie. Sweetheart, we've been worried about you. How are you? I know you keep telling us on the phone you're okay, but we've been dying to see for ourselves-"

Debbie had to interrupt the excited flow of words that showed no sign of abating. "Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Jake Dover, a very good friend of mine. Jake, these are my parents, Jeff and Annabelle Hunt."

Jake stood behind Debbie and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Mr. and Mrs. Hunt, I'm so pleased to meet you at last. I hope you'll forgive me for monopolizing Debbie. I've been very selfish in spending so much time with her. We should have come to visit you sooner."

Debbie's parents succumbed to Jake's charm, just as everyone else did. Her mother tittered and giggled like a girl, and her father said gruffly, "Can't say as I blame you. Debbie's pretty special. Annabelle and I could never have children. We'd just about given up when we finally were able to adopt Debbie and Beth. Best thing that ever happened to us." He sniffed, as if trying to keep from crying. "She's gonna be okay, isn't she?"

"She's not only going to be okay, she's already great," answered Jake. "She's using this wheelchair because it's a mighty long way from the car, and she still needs to build up her strength. But she's really busy with her business. Debbie, tell them about that big contract you just landed."

After Debbie told her parents about the Anson project, Jake answered enough questions about himself to satisfy her parents' curiosity. "I recently got out of the Army. I'm taking a little vacation before I look for a job." Then he quickly steered the conversation toward the topic of Beth and her family.

"Debbie, Mr. and Mrs. Hunt. I hate to cut this short, but we really need to leave. I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

"We'll be back to see you soon," Debbie told her parents as they left.

Somehow Jake always knew when Debbie's strength began to wane. He let her maneuver herself until he saw the door to her parents' room close, then he quickly pushed her the rest of the way to the car.

"I like your folks, but I guess it's not surprising since they raised someone I like very much," Jake told her on the way home.

"I like your folks, too," said Debbie. She thought the rest of the sentence but left it unsaid.

The next day, Jake answered the phone, spoke briefly, and handed it to Debbie. When she hadn't said anything several minutes after she hung up the phone, he asked, "Aren't you going to tell me about that call?"

"It wasn't anything important."

"Yes, it was. She talked to me before she asked for you."

"Why would she talk to you? Do you know each other?" Debbie knew she was being argumentative, but she didn't want to face her own reaction to the phone call.

"No, we don't know each other. But she knew who I was. She'd called the office first, and Tammy told her to call here. So are you going to tell me about it?"

"There's not much to tell. That was Sandra Barclay, who's the president of Women in Business. It's an organization of women business owners. They're having a tenth anniversary celebration, and she just called to invite me."

"She called to invite you to be honored as one of the past presidents. Your end of the conversation didn't sound like an acceptance to me."

"Of course, it wasn't an acceptance, Jake. For heaven's sake, how would I get to something like that?"

Jake face looked stern, and he sounded impatient. "How do you get anywhere? I thought it was my job to take you anywhere you want or need to go. Is there some law prohibiting men from the meeting?"

"Of course not. We even have a few male members, mostly men who're business partners with their wives or other women." Her voice rose and she frowned. "But I don't know if I'm ready for something like this. There could be forty or fifty people there. I don't know if I can handle it."

Jake spoke softly. "Deb, this is going to sound strange coming from me. But I think you should consider going to this."

She gave him a disgusted look. "This is a switch. You're always telling me I push myself too much and I need to rest. Now all of a sudden I decide not to do something, and you try to change my mind. That doesn't make sense."

"Yes, it does. Look at it this way. I don't think you said 'no' because you're worried about getting too tired. I think you said 'no' because you're afraid to face this group. Am I right?"

Debbie thought about it before answering. "Not exactly afraid. But I've never seen a disabled person at any business organization. When I was president, the members of the club looked up to me. I'm not the same person anymore. I don't want to be pitied."

Jake pulled a chair over and sat in front of Debbie. He reached up to her face, smoothed away the worry lines on her forehead, and then turned up the ends of her frowning lips into a smile. He smiled one of his thousand watt smiles and said, "Deb, you're the same person. Haven't your employees and clients treated you just the same?"

Debbie admitted they had.

"Are these women different? Are they so shallow they'd let externals like a wheelchair and an eye patch change their opinion of you?"

"Heavens, no, Jake. They're a great group."

"Well, instead of indicting them for crimes they haven't committed, why don't you call Susan Barclay back and tell her you'll be there for the celebration?"

She started to protest again, but he handed her the phone.

"All right. But I'll tell her I won't stay the whole time. Even if I get extra rest that day, I'm not sure I can hold up to the entire meeting."

"Good idea," Jake agreed.

On the first of the month, Jake handed Debbie a huge stack of mail. Most of envelopes bore the return addresses of doctors, hospitals, and other medical facilities. Her expression became more worried with each bill she opened.

"Oh my gosh. What am I going to do?" she exclaimed after opening several. "I thought I had good medical insurance. Look at all these bills." She threw them on the desk. "The insurance company's already paid its part. I'll never be able to pay these."

He looked at a few of the bills she'd tossed down. "These can't be right." How could she still owe thousands of dollars after insurance?

"I thought we were fortunate to have this medical coverage. I spent months researching health insurance for small business before I decided on this one." He could see the despair in her face and hear it in her voice. "But I never imagined my part of the bills would add up to so much. I owe more money than I make in a year!"

Jake flipped through the bills one by one. "Debbie, don't you think the person who's responsible for your stroke is responsible for these bills?"

"Sure, I can see that. I'll just put these in an envelope and send them to Dr. Smith. I'm sure he'll write a check today."

"I doubt it'll be that easy. But maybe you should talk to an attorney. Chiropractors must have malpractice insurance just like doctors do. From everything I've learned about your stroke, it surely looks to me like it was malpractice by Dr. Smith that caused it." The anger that he felt at that thought surprised Jake. "He can't undo the damage he did, but he should certainly pay for it."

Debbie rolled back from the desk. "I don't know, Jake. I'm a member of Citizens Against Lawsuit Abuse because I've seen the damage frivolous lawsuits can cause a small business. My company was even a victim of a phony 'slip and fall' claim a couple of years ago. We won the case, but it was an expensive nuisance to fight it. It seems kind of hypocritical for me to sue someone now."

He couldn't see any connection between the frivolous lawsuit against her company and a valid claim against an incompetent doctor. "Your case certainly isn't phony or frivolous. After all, there doesn't seem to be any doubt Dr. Smith caused the stroke. And there's no doubt you've been damaged, both physically and financially."

She looked down at herself in the wheelchair and then over at the stack of mail on the desk. "All you have to do is look at me and all these bills to see that."

"What about your business? Hasn't the income gone down a lot because you weren't there? That makes the financial damage even worse."

"That's true, but I'm a firm believer that each of us has to take responsibility for ourselves. I'm responsible for taking care of myself."

"You have to have someone with you constantly. You had to modify your house and your office. What about all the little things like the jeweler's loupe? They all add up to a big financial drain." When he realized he was shouting, he lowered his voice and squatted down in front of Debbie's chair. "You're making remarkable progress, but you have to admit it's going to be a long time before you're able to rebuild your business."

"You don't have to remind me of all that." She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. "Even if I can't take care of myself, I still believe it's my responsibility. I realize what I a burden I am. I hate being a burden as much as I'd hate to be involved in a lawsuit." She ended the sentence with a sniff.

"Deb, I didn't say anything about your being a burden. You're not a burden, but you have suffered because of this guy's negligence. I believe in individual responsibility, too, and I believe Dr. Smith should accept the responsibility for what he did to you. Maybe you should just talk to your attorney and see what he thinks."

Debbie shook her head. "I appreciate what you're saying, but I can't in good conscience get involved in a malpractice case. You should hear some of the abuses we hear about in Citizens Against Lawsuit Abuse."

He clenched his fists. "We're not talking about lawsuit abuse. We're talking about a legitimate case."

She ignored his comment, and continued; "One man was awarded millions of dollars for the loss of one finger in a piece of equipment when he was on a tour of an industrial plant. The machine didn't have a certain guard that would have made it safer, but as a visitor the man had no business getting that close to the equipment. He was injured, but he was more at fault than the company. But that didn't matter. He became a millionaire for the loss of one finger that was ninety percent his own fault."

Jake took both her hands in his. "That sounds like a distortion of justice-you're right, it's lawsuit abuse. But not every lawsuit is abusive. What that chiropractor did to you was abuse. It would be justice for him to pay for it. As far as I'm concerned, you're entitled to millions. You should be paid enough to take care of you for the rest of your life."

She pulled her hands back. "I'm sorry, Jake. I just can't agree with that."

Although nothing more was said then, he brought it up almost every day. Sometimes it was only a brief comment in passing. Other times it developed into a lengthy disagreement between them.

"Why do you care whether or not I sue Dr. Smith?" Debbie asked during one such conversation. "You don't plan to work for me more than three months anyway, so you wouldn't see any benefit even if I went through with it."

Jake gritted his teeth and let out a sigh before he answered. He wouldn't let her know how much that comment hurt him. "I'm concerned about you, Deb. You've had a horrible experience, and I'd like to see something positive come out of it. Don't you realize how much I care for you?"

"We're good friends, Jake. I know you want the best for me. But I'll soon be able to take care of myself."

"Don't be so dense." How could such an intelligent woman be so naive? "I know you'll be able to take care of yourself. I'm aware you don't need me. Right now you need somebody, but anybody would do. You're way out of my league-we both know that. I can't take care of you, but at least I can do everything I can to make your life easier."

Thank goodness, she was so wrapped up in thoughts of the lawsuit she apparently hadn't picked up on his slip. He wanted to help her, not add his growing feelings to her load.

Day after day the argument continued. Debbie's emotions were raw. She couldn't bear to argue with Jake. After all, she'd only have three months with him. Why spoil those days with a silly disagreement? Probably her attorney would discourage her from the lawsuit, anyway, so what harm would it do to talk to him?

"Okay, Jake, I'll make an appointment with my attorney," she finally conceded.

The simple act of scheduling the appointment demonstrated how much her life had been changed by the chiropractor's mistake. She could handle only one major activity a day, and three days a week were taken up with therapy. Tammy had already scheduled her with a client for Tuesday, so she scheduled with Ray Fagan on Thursday by default. Debbie didn't know which appointment she worried more about-the one on Tuesday with Candy Starnes of Telecom International or the one on Thursday with her attorney.

At least the Anson project was on schedule. Jake asked to sit in on the meeting in which Debbie reviewed and revised Tammy's tentative schedule for the project. He asked questions and made comments that showed both a strong interest and an unusual grasp of the process.

"Is it okay if I spend some time with Tammy working on this while you rest?" he asked as Debbie prepared to lie down in her office.

Stifling a small pang of-what? Surely not jealousy-she hesitated. She didn't care if he wanted to spend time with Tammy. It was just that it was his job to take care of her, not Tammy. Not that she needed him to take care of her while she was resting, of course. But what if she needed him for something? Not that she ever had, but . . .

Jake must have seen something in her face. "It's all right, Deb. I realize it's none of my concern. I was just curious. I like learning about your business. But I didn't mean to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong. Forget it."

Chagrined Jake would think she didn't want him to learn about her business and unable to explain her hesitation, Debbie insisted that he observe and ask Tammy any questions he had. As they drove home, Jake excitedly told Debbie about the afternoon.

"I had a great time with Tammy today. There's so much more involved in scheduling and ordering than I ever imagined. She must have made twenty or thirty calls just to get information, and she hasn't started placing orders yet."

Debbie felt both relief and surprise to realize he really was focusing on the business. He only mentioned Tammy in relation to the phone calls she made and the actions she took.

"What do you think of Tammy?" she asked as Jake paused.

"You've done a great job of training her. She told me she had no experience at all when she came to work for you, and she really impressed me today."

"She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"A little flashy for my taste, but to each his own I guess." He grinned. "You know, it's really strange. Tammy looks flashy, lots of glamorous makeup and sophisticated clothes that show off a great face and figure. She's outgoing and fun; but when it comes to her talents, she's strictly nuts and bolts. She's organized and methodical and is obviously great at planning and carrying out the details. I saw that today." He turned his head to check traffic for a left turn.

"Those skills are exactly what makes her such a good assistant," Debbie said.

"On the other hand, you're more of a wallflower in looks, but you've got the creative flair. You create the design, the vision, and Tammy follows through with the details. The two of you make a great team, don't you?"

So, he thought she was a wallflower. Well, she wouldn't let that hurt her. It was the truth, wasn't it? Why should she care if that's what he thought? She was used to men ignoring her as soon as they got a glimpse of Tammy. It didn't bother her in the least.

Jake was looking at her, awaiting her response. What had he asked? Oh yes. "Yeah, we do make a good team."

"That's just another example of what a strong lady you are, Deb. Many women would look at Tammy and avoid her because they feared competing with those looks. Instead, you recognized how complementary your talents are, hired her, and trained her well. Only someone who has an incredibly strong sense of her own worth could handle that."

"You're giving me too much credit. I know I can't compete with Tammy socially, but when it comes to Debbie's Designs, business comes first."

"I didn't say you couldn't compete with her socially. There are always immature, shallow people who look first and foremost at the surface. But to many people, your strong character-your personality-is much more attractive than glamour and looks. And," he concluded with a grin, "you're not bad-looking either."

Debbie felt her face heat as she blushed. She didn't know what to think about being called "not bad-looking," but Jake's other compliments pleased her so much she let it pass.

With a sudden change of subject so characteristic of him, Jake began talking about her Tuesday appointment with Telecom International. Debbie gave him an overview of the company and previous work she'd done for them at another location.

"I've never been to this location, and I've never met Candy Starnes. I read an article in San Antonio Business about her recent promotion." As she answered his questions, Debbie realized the conversation with Jake helped focus her thoughts and ideas.

"Even if you haven't worked with Candy Starnes before, you have a good track record with the company. There's no reason to expect this project to be anything but successful."

Jake showed sincere interest in everything she said. Was it to learn more about business or simply to give her encouragement? Or both?

Debbie was glad Jake had insisted on leaving early Tuesday. When they arrived at the Telecom International offices, a delivery truck occupied the single handicapped parking space. The nearest empty space was at the far end of the lot. Debbie had to balance the catalogues and sample books on her lap as Jake wheeled her across the asphalt.

The delivery truck also blocked the ramp, so Jake had to lift the chair up over the curb. The resulting jolt knocked some books to the ground, and it took several minutes to reassemble the stack. By this time, frustration and jangled nerves had almost overwhelmed her.

Jake pushed her to a shady spot outside the front door and sat on a bench beside her. He placed his hands on top of hers on the stack of books and smiled. "Debbie, you're going to do great. Just think how well everything is going with the project for Anson Enterprises. And remember all the projects you've done for these people. We have plenty of time. Do you want to sit out here for a few minutes?"

The short break along with Jake's reassuring words and gentle touch had already calmed her nerves. "Thanks, Jake, but I'm ready. Let's go."

Here again, the high counter hid the receptionist from her view, and Jake had to announce her. The reception area was so crowded with chairs there was no place for Debbie to park her chair except directly in front of the reception counter, blocking access for anyone else.

She leaned over and whispered to Jake, "Thank goodness, I didn't have anything to do with the design of this room. I'd be really embarrassed if it were my fault there's no place for a wheelchair."

Jake sat beside her and rose when a secretary appeared to escort them through a maze of narrow, circuitous hallways. Finally, the secretary tapped lightly on an open door bearing a small brass nameplate reading "Candace Starnes, Vice President/Facilities."

"Ms. Starnes, this is Debbie Hunt of Debbie's Designs, and her assistant, Jake Dover," the secretary announced.

Ms. Starnes looked at them with a shocked expression on her face. Obviously she hadn't expected to see a designer in a wheelchair.

Jake stepped forward, holding out his right hand and saying, "Ms. Starnes, a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on that article in San Antonio Business. Debbie and I were very impressed you have the distinction of being both the youngest and the first female vice president of Telecom International."

"Thank you, Mr. Dover," acknowledged Candy. She shook his hand, warming, as everyone did, to his charm.

"Please, call me Jake. Is it okay if I move this chair so Debbie can get closer to your desk?" he asked, even as he moved the chair and pushed Debbie into position. He waved Candy Starnes into her seat and took the chair next to Debbie.

"Of course, and please call me Candy. Lonnie Archer, my counterpart at the West Side branch, highly recommended Debbie, but he didn't tell me about you, Jake. Just how long have you been with Debbie's Designs, and what part do you play in the design process?"

"I guess you could say I'm a general go-fer, and I haven't been around nearly as long as I'm going to be. I just do what I can to make things easier for Debbie and give her more time for her design work. She's really talented, and I'm proud to help her. Why don't you tell her what you have in mind?"

Although Candy addressed her comments to Jake, she did provide the information Debbie needed and even answered the occasional questions Debbie interjected. The project was much larger than she'd expected, but she knew she could do it. The anticipated completion date was far enough in the future to make it feasible. Success on this job would go a long way toward compensating losses suffered by the business while Debbie had been unable to work.

As she listened and observed the conversation and its undercurrents, Debbie realized her prospective client was ignoring her. Candy's words appeared to be aimed at impressing Jake with the prestige of the company, the size of the job and Candy's own importance. Debbie had a sinking feeling that Ms. Candace Starnes was not going to trust this job to her. Whether it because she was female, young, or handicapped, or a combination of all three, Debbie didn't know. But she did know the odds of getting this contract were slim to none.

Mentally, she squared her shoulders. She wouldn't go down without a fight. She'd do her best to get the contract, and if she got it, she'd do such a fabulous job the uppity Ms. Starnes would be forever grateful to her for making the new vice-president look so good. Stop daydreaming and get to work, she chided herself and continued taking copious notes as Ms. Starnes described the project in great detail.

Jake paid close attention as well, nodding his head, smiling appreciatively, and asking an occasional question. "Obviously, the whole project will be under your direct supervision," he commented. "But I'm sure you're much too busy to handle all the details on a daily basis. Am I right to assume you're going to make the major decisions and delegate routine matters to someone in your department?"

She's eating up Jake's charm so much she'll probably agree to anything he says, thought Debbie sarcastically. And agree Candy Starnes did.

"Of course. Chris Larson will deal with the minutiae. I'll only deal with the big picture."

"Do we need to schedule another meeting? You can give an overview of the big picture to Chris and anyone else involved at the same time you go over it with us," he suggested as if he were stating the obvious.

Whatever Candy's original plans had been, she concurred with Jake's suggestion, and a meeting was set for the following week. Candy seemed to hold Jake's hand just a little longer than customary as they took their leave.

"See you next week," Jake said.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Of course she was, thought Debbie. She probably wished Debbie wasn't going to be there. Well, too bad because Debbie happened to be the designer. A lot of good it would do for Candy to meet with Jake. No, scratch that thought. It might do Candy Starnes a lot of good to meet with Jake. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself as much as uppity Ms. Starnes was.

Debbie fumed to herself as they left the building. This was a business meeting, not a rendezvous in a bar, she thought. Jake and Candy Starnes seemed to think they were in a singles bar, looking for a pickup. Not that Debbie had ever been in a singles bar looking for a pickup, but she did have an imagination.

The delivery truck was gone and the ramp was clear. No jolt this time at least.

They were in the van and driving away when Jake finally spoke, "You're mad at me, Debbie, and for the life of me I don't know why. What did I do now?"

Debbie didn't answer-she just turned and looked at him in surprise.

"I can understand if you're mad at that narrow-minded witch. So am I. I practically chewed my tongue in half trying to be civil to her. But I did everything I could to salvage the situation, and now you're glaring daggers at me."

"You didn't look like you were biting your tongue. You looked and sounded like you were flirting with an attractive woman who interested you." Debbie wished she could take the words back before she even finished saying them.

"For an extremely intelligent woman, you can be mighty dumb sometimes."

"Dumb. You're calling me dumb. You're the dumb male who was so impressed with Ms. Candy Starnes he practically drooled. Now that's dumb."

Suddenly Jake was laughing; laughing so hard he pulled into a nearby parking lot and stopped the van. "Good grief, Deb. I knock myself out trying to get you one of the biggest jobs you've ever done, and you sound like a jealous wife."

Humiliated, Debbie couldn't respond. She wouldn't admit, even to herself, that she was jealous and that she liked the sound of the word wife, even a jealous one.

"Okay, so I flirted a little. Big deal. A smile and a few nice words, that's all it was. Then when she was feeling good, I got her to delegate the project to somebody else. Somebody who may be a lot easier to work with." He rolled his eyes. "And what thanks do I get?"

Still Debbie didn't answer.

"Okay, if you won't talk, I'll answer for you. I'm called a 'dumb male'," he mimicked. "No 'thank you for your help, Jake'. No 'you really handled her well'. I get called a dumb male. Well, maybe that's what I am. I don't have any degrees or any business experience. I know I'm not in your league, but I was doing my best to help you. Damn it, can't you give me any credit?" He glared at her, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Jake, I'm so sorry. I just felt so inadequate. She ignored me completely. How can I make it in business if my customers act like I'm not even there?" Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, and she blinked back tears.

Jake reached across the seat of the van and pulled Debbie into his arms. He held her against his broad chest and patted her hair gently. "Deb, I wanted to protect you from her, but there wasn't anything I could do. So I just tried to salvage the contract for you. I hated every minute of that meeting, but she's the client. I couldn't say what I wanted to."

"It was like I didn't exist, like I wasn't even there."

"Deb, it's over." He dried the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. Then he took a deep breath. "But you're going to have face her again."

Debbie nodded.

He grinned. "And I'll flirt with her again if that's what it takes to get the job. Okay?"

Reluctantly, Debbie nodded again.

Thursday morning, Jake wheeled Debbie into her attorney's office and announced he'd be in the reception area when she was ready to go.

"Jake, this was your idea. I'd like you to stay."

"I'll be glad to, if it's all right with Mr. Fagan." At the nod of the lawyer's head, Jake sat next to Debbie.

"Before we discuss why you're here, I want a complete report on your health," insisted Ray Fagan. "You look great."

"Thanks, Ray. And thanks again for the flowers you sent me in the hospital. I'm doing fine, but it seems awfully slow." She shook her head. "The doctors say it might take several years to recover as much as I ever will, and they won't predict how much recovery I'll eventually make. But I've come a long way." Debbie described her continuing therapy and her partial return to work.

"I never doubted you'd work wonders. You're one determined girl. You've got enough willpower and good old-fashioned grit to handle just about anything fate throws at you." Ray smiled at her fondly. "Remember, I've known you practically all your life. I even represented your parents when they adopted you and Beth. How are they, by the way?"

After a brief conversation about the Hunt family, Mr. Fagan said, "Now, let's get down to business. You've told me the chiropractor caused the stroke. How certain is this? Definite, a strong possibility, maybe . . .?"

Debbie explained how all the doctors she'd seen, and there had been a multitude of them, were convinced that the chiropractic manipulation was the sole cause of the stroke.

Jake added, "I've tried to find out everything I could about Debbie's condition so I would know how to take care of her. I've talked to her doctors and therapists often. They all told me the same thing. In fact, the reason I suggested Debbie talk to you is that several have said something like, 'I hope the quack that caused this is paying for it.' I know there's no love lost between most doctors, especially neurologists, and chiropractors, but there doesn't seem to be any doubt in this case."

Debbie's attorney continued to probe the subject, asking questions about her financial losses as well as her medical condition. Finally he said, "I agree you seem to have a strong case. You need an attorney who specializes in medical malpractice cases, however, and I recommend Al Cane. He's the best in the field."

Debbie was surprised she'd never heard of him. Newspapers and television seemed to be inundated with legal advertising, particularly personal injury and malpractice. When she said as much to Ray, he chuckled and said, "No wonder you had qualms about this, Debbie. Unfortunately, the legal profession, like any other, has its share of black sheep. Most reputable attorneys have little respect for those lawyers who advertise for personal injury cases. Before legal advertising was permitted, they haunted accident scenes looking for clients. We used to call them ambulance-chasers."

"How apt. I really hate to hear some lawyer come on TV and try to get everyone who's ever tripped over their own feet to sue somebody."

"Al Cane and his staff will thoroughly research your claim before accepting the case. They won't take it unless they're convinced you have a valid and serious claim," Ray explained. Then he called his colleague's office and scheduled an appointment.

Next week would be hectic. Debbie shook her head to think that a busy week was made up of three therapy sessions, a meeting with a client, and a meeting with a lawyer. Of course, she was also working at home on the Anson project. But before that fateful visit to Dr. Smith, Debbie had often faced a week of back-to-back appointments during business hours and several hours of creative work after the office closed. Would she ever be able to do that again?

She admitted to herself that she was enjoying her weekends now. Before the stroke, she'd frequently spent time catching up at the office. She'd also dated casually, entertained or gone out with friends, and visited her parents after church. Yet she'd spent much of her time alone at home, working in her garden, reading, or pursuing other solitary activities. She'd always enjoyed her own company and hadn't felt lonely, but now she couldn't imagine spending all that time without Jake nearby. Even if they were both sitting quietly, he reading, she listening to her tape, she felt a companionship she'd never felt with anyone else.

Saturday they sat on the deck drinking a second cup of coffee after breakfast. Jake read the newspaper while Debbie enjoyed the birds and the garden. From time to time, Jake would share an item in the paper.

"Listen to this from the crime reports. This guy called the police to report a burglary. When the officer came out to take the report, the victim mentioned several things that were taken-TV, VCR, things like that.

"Then he took the policeman into the bedroom and opened a closet. 'And they took five thousand dollars from here,' he said. Unfortunately for him, several bags of drugs and drug paraphernalia were sitting in plain view on the closet shelf. So the officer arrested him for possession of drugs and drug paraphernalia. Smart guy, huh?"

"How do you find so many funny items in the news? I'd given up reading the paper because it was so depressing, but you find more humor in the crime reports than I used to find in the funny papers."

Jake smiled, shrugged, and read her another human-interest story. When he finished the paper, he reached over to place his hand on Debbie's left arm. She felt a warm tingle, but she always felt a warm tingle when Jake touched her. But wait a minute! This was her left side. She didn't feel anything on her left side. Did she? Was this her imagination or did she really feel something?

She didn't think she'd visibly reacted, but Jake immediately recognized something had happened. "What is it, Deb?" he asked. "You have a funny look on your face."

"I think I felt your hand." The words came out hesitantly, but there was no hesitation in Jake's response.

He immediately began sliding his hand up and down her arm, and a huge grin split his face when she flinched. "You did feel it. What does it feel like?"

"It doesn't feel like anything. Just like something. Oh, I don't know how to describe it."

Although Jake questioned her thoroughly, the only description Debbie could give was that she felt something like a little shock or a tingle. At Jake's insistence, they went into the kitchen.

"Close your eyes and hold out your left hand." He placed something in her hand. "What do you feel?"

"A little shock."

"Okay, let's try something else. Now, what do you feel?"

"Same thing."

Then she felt a shock without having anything in her hand.

When she opened her eyes, Jake explained, "First I put a cube of ice in your hand. Then I gave you a glass of hot water. You must feel the temperature extremes as a small shock."

"What about at the end? I felt a shock when I wasn't holding anything."

"I pricked your finger with a pin. It looks like anything you feel is like a shock. This is great. Now maybe we don't have to worry so much about your getting hurt. You'll get a little shock when there's danger, like heat or something sharp."

Debbie knew this was an encouraging sign. She'd been told returning sensation would be the slowest part of recovery.

"I can't wait to tell Dr. Anderson."

"You have an appointment with him on Wednesday right after therapy. You can tell him then. This is cause for celebration, Debbie," he continued. "How about going out for dinner tonight, my treat?"

"But, uh . . . " She was normally intelligent and articulate. Why did she get tongue-tied around Jake? She shook her head and tried to give a firmly negative answer, but he cut her off.

"No buts. I know every excuse you're going to give me. First, you're going to say you're on a special diet, right?"

When Debbie just nodded, he continued, "The place I have in mind has a good selection of broiled seafood and fresh vegetables, so that excuse is no good. Then you're going to tell me you don't like to eat in public, right?"

Debbie nodded again, and Jake kept right on talking. "So you drop something every now and then. Everybody does it sometimes, and besides the other people have better things to do than sit around and watch you eat. Now, you're going to tell me I shouldn't be spending my money on you, right?"

He didn't even wait for her nod this time. "Well, it's my money, and I'll spend it anyway I want, and it so happens I want to spend a little on you tonight, okay?"

Debbie still couldn't think of anything to say, so she just nodded again.

"Okay, no more excuses. This is when you say, 'Thank you, Jake. I'd love to go to dinner with you.'"

When Debbie didn't respond, Jake grinned. "Repeat after me: 'Thank you, Jake. I'd love to go to dinner with you.'"

Debbie smiled and repeated, "Thank you, Jake. I'd love to go to dinner with you."

They spent a quiet day, and Debbie napped in the afternoon to conserve her energy for their dinner date. Not that it was a real date, she reminded herself. Jake was probably just tired of cooking and serving every meal. He couldn't go anywhere without her, so if he wanted to have a meal out, he had to take her along.

As often as she told herself they didn't have a date, Debbie couldn't help but feel an excitement she'd never felt before any of her "real" dates. Regardless of his motives, Jake was offering her an opportunity most men would not. Many people, male or female, would be embarrassed to be seen in a nice restaurant pushing the wheelchair of someone as klutzy as she was. And she knew Jake would treat her like a special friend, not like a job.

The evening sparkled with enchantment from the moment Debbie came out of the bedroom to find Jake waiting for her in the hallway. A burgundy tie and handkerchief accented his charcoal gray suit. She'd never before seen him in a suit, and he looked more adult than she'd ever seen him. Even at his most adult, though, he still sported that huge grin.

"You look wonderful, Deb," he said softly as she approached. "I'm glad you wore my favorite outfit."

Debbie ducked her head in embarrassment. Then she forced herself to raise her head and respond. "Thanks. You look pretty wonderful yourself."

Although Jake escorted Debbie to and from the van every day, it felt different-special-tonight. It wasn't part of his job to take her out to dinner on Saturday night. He helped her ever so gently into the seat, and his hand lingered for a moment on her arm before he closed the door. When they arrived at the restaurant, he bypassed the handicapped parking spaces and opted for valet parking instead. He was at her side with the wheelchair as soon as the parking attendant opened her door. Jake helped her into the chair and pushed it toward the building.

Debbie wasn't surprised to see a waiting line. The Seafood Inn was always busy, especially on the weekends. She'd resigned herself to a lengthy wait when Jake introduced himself to the hostess and was told their table was ready. Jake pushed the wheelchair into the empty space at the table and laid his hands on Debbie's shoulders briefly before taking his own seat.

He discreetly waved away the wine list and ordered iced tea for them both. When the waiter handed them menus, Jake made recommendations, which she recognized were chosen for their compatibility with her diet. The food and atmosphere were wonderful, but as far as Debbie was concerned they could have been in a barn eating sawdust, and it would have been just as wonderful. Just being with Jake under these circumstances was enough.

From time to time he reached over to take her hands in his. Debbie found herself gazing into his eyes, and felt warmth steal through her body as her gaze met Jake's. He seemed to enjoy himself as much as she did, and when he reluctantly said it was time to go, she was amazed to realize dinner had lasted over two hours.

"Thanks for a lovely evening, Jake. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it."

"I only hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did. We'll have to do it again soon."

Jake escorted her into the house and all the way to her bedroom. "Are you ready to go to bed now? Or do you want to come out to the den after you get changed?"

"I'm not at all tired. I'll be out in a few minutes."

She should have been accustomed to spending the evening with Jake dressed in her nightclothes by now since she did it regularly. But somehow it seemed even more intimate than usual after their special evening. Her body tingled in a way different from, and much more exciting, than the tingle on her left side.

However, it didn't take long for Debbie to realize she really was tired. She'd just been too excited to recognize it. Jake noticed her eyes drifting shut as she listened to her tape, and he switched off the recorder, removed the headphone, and said firmly, "Off to bed with you."

A few minutes later, after a trip to the kitchen to refill her water bottle and a stop in the bathroom, Debbie turned off the light and crawled into bed. She was almost asleep when she felt the gentlest sensation on her lips-it felt like a tender kiss.

And she thought she heard Jake's voice saying, "Good night, Debbie. Thanks for a very special evening with a very special lady-I only wish you weren't so far out of my league."

But, of course, she must have already been asleep and dreaming.

On the way home from the meeting with Al Cane, Debbie thought of all the information she'd been asked to gather. The attorney had made a preliminary contact with Dr. Smith to learn the chiropractor was unwilling to negotiate. A lawsuit was the only remedy. Mr. Cane wanted to review all the facts before he decided to take the case.

When Jake's voice interrupted her thoughts, his comments were a reflection of her own thinking. "If you give me a signed release, I can see about getting your medical records from the rehab center while you're in therapy tomorrow."

"I thought you were going grocery shopping."

"I can do both. Remember you have an appointment with Dr. Anderson after therapy. That will give me extra time."

They continued discussing the most efficient ways of obtaining all the necessary information.

"My bookkeeper, Betty Sue, can provide the financial information showing the decline in business and personal income. We can request the rest of the medical records by mail."

"I can mail the requests this afternoon," Jake volunteered.

"I feel better about getting involved in a malpractice lawsuit. I didn't expect Al Cane to review the medical and financial information so thoroughly before accepting the case. I thought a lawyer would just jump at a chance to sue a doctor."

Jake looked at her with a smug look on his face. "I won't say I told you so."

"Good." She flashed him a brief smile. "The fact that Dr. Smith didn't try to get me help is more evidence of negligence. Tammy and Bob had to call the ambulance. Dr. Smith just called them to drive me home. And now he won't even acknowledge that he might have made a mistake."

"Mr. Cane seemed to think you had a good case."

"All I want is enough to become independent again. I'm not out to get rich off this."

"No, all you want to do is get even." After he stopped at a stoplight, Jake turned to grin at her. "When I said get even, I meant to get back to where you were financially before this quack did his damage. But I'd really like to get even-make him suffer the way you've suffered."

That afternoon, Debbie took Jake up on his offer to prepare the requests for medical records. She'd signed a release form in the attorney's office, and he'd made enough copies to send one to every doctor and medical facility that had been involved in her rehabilitation.

"There are pen and paper in my desk. I'll call out the names to you, and you can make a list. I hope I can remember them all," Debbie said with a small frown.

"Why don't I just go through that stack of bills you've been accumulating? I can get the names and addresses from the statements. I could even sort the bills into files, so they'll be easier to find," Jake suggested.

She grimaced. "I'm not sure I want them easier to find, but I guess it's a good idea."

Jake sat in a dining room chair at the desk and carefully separated bills into neatly labeled file folders. From time to time, he made a comment or asked a question about a specific bill.

How cozy this was, working side-by-side, Debbie thought as she worked at her drafting table. Strange how comfortable it felt to work beside Jake when she'd always been such a loner. Comfortable except for that exciting tingle of awareness Debbie always felt when she was near Jake.

"I have everything filed alphabetically. Now all I have to do is address and stuff the envelopes. Are you ready for a nap?"

Debbie hadn't realized how long she'd been working and how much progress she'd made. "I'm not that tired," she said with surprise. "Maybe I'll take a break, but I don't think I'll lie down today."

Jake alternated between excitement that Debbie didn't feel the need for a nap and concern that she'd get overtired later in the day if she didn't rest. She'd stubbornly refused to rest when she wanted to do something special, but she always regretted her obstinacy later. Today, though, she really didn't seem to need to rest. He felt a strange emptiness to realize that she wouldn't need him much longer.

"Quit fussing," she said after he asked her for the third time if she was sure she didn't want to go to bed. "I think I have enough sense to know if I'm tired or not."

Finally he served her a diet soda and an apple. After a short break, she returned to work at her drafting table. He finished addressing the envelopes, sealed and stamped them, and wrapped the stack with a rubber band.

Stepping up behind Debbie, Jake placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned around her to look at the fabric swatches stacked on the right side of the worktable. "Why did you choose this fabric, Deb? The furniture's traditional, but these colors certainly aren't."

Debbie explained that Anson Enterprises was a well established companies with an excellent reputation, hence the traditionally conservative style. But they were branching into very creative and innovative fields with their new division, therefore the stylish fabrics.

"You see, while strength and tradition are very important components of their corporate image, it's equally important they project an image that's innovative and up-to-date."

"I didn't realize there's so much involved in interior design."

"Oh, that's just the beginning. Space planning is just as important as image. Every company has to get the most out of every inch of space they have. Interior designers have to make the most efficient use of space, too. And then . . . "

Jake walked to the end of the table so he could watch her. She looked so alive when she talked about design. Her eyes sparkled, and she waved her hands for emphasis. The glow on her face made him forget she sat in a wheelchair. Her enthusiasm must be contagious. He enjoyed working with Debbie more than anything he'd done before.

She looked up. "Sorry, guess I'm on my soapbox. I didn't mean to lecture you."

"Keep talking. I like to hear you talk about your work. It's obvious you really love it. You're fortunate."

"Yeah, I love it, but that doesn't mean you have to. I didn't mean to bore you."

"You're not boring me, Deb."

When he continued to ask questions, she apparently realized his interest was genuine. She described her design and explained her choices.

"This is fun, Deb, but I've got to get dinner started if we plan to eat tonight. Come in the kitchen and finish telling me about the modular furniture for the back offices."

"I'll just finish what I'm working on. I'll be there soon."

Even though he'd seemed interested, Debbie told herself Jake was just being polite. He probably wasn't interested hearing about modular furniture. She waited several minutes before she joined him in the kitchen so he wouldn't feel obligated to continue the conversation.

But when she reached the kitchen, he questioned her again, and she had to believe in his sincerity. She felt a warm glow at Jake's effusive praise of her work.

"I really admire you, Deb. It's amazing that you chose your career while still in high school. You've accomplished so much at such a young age." He frowned. "It makes me realize how little I've accomplished in my own life. My folks wanted me to go to college, but I was ready for freedom after high school. I've never done anything worthwhile."

"That's not true, Jake. Besides your success in the Army, you do a wonderful job of taking care of me. I've really come to depend on you. I don't know . . . " Her voice trailed off as she realized she was about to voice her fears about Jake's leaving.

As always after his brief revelation of self-doubt, Jake changed the subject and began talking about Debbie's business again.

That afternoon was the first of many they spent together in Debbie's small office working side by side. Later in the week, after their second meeting with Candy Starnes at Telecom International, Debbie and Jake spent the rest of the day discussing the project.

Although Debbie had again felt pangs of jealousy at the flirtatious bantering between Jake and Candy, she hoped she hid her reaction well. After all, she had no claims on Jake's attention, and if he wanted to flirt with Candy Starnes or anybody else for that matter, what business was it of hers? But even more important, regardless of whether or not Jake enjoyed the flirtation, it did seem to make Candy more amenable to Debbie's Designs.

"I think today went really well," Jake said. "I'm sure you'll get along great with Chris Logan."

"We haven't got the job yet," Debbie reminded him. "I still have to prepare a proposal and present it."

"But you'll get the job," said Jake with confidence. "It's just a matter of time and effort."

"And maybe a little bit of you sweet-talking Candy." She looked down at the desk rather than at him.

"Let's not get into that again." He moved closer to her and lifted her chin with his knuckles. "I thought we settled that last time. I'm your assistant, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Then on this project, I'll help by stroking Ms. Starnes' ego while you and Chris Logan do the real work. All right?"

When Debbie nodded, Jake asked, "What's involved in preparing a proposal for a project of this magnitude? Have you done anything this large before?"

"If we get this job, it'll be the largest we've ever done. But we have enough experience with similar jobs for me to be confident we can do it."

She launched into an explanation of the research and work that would be required. Jake asked questions that helped her clarify the plans in her own mind and made suggestions that expanded on her own ideas. As they continued the discussion far into the afternoon, she realized she and Jake were planning this proposal as if they were partners.

And that's how she felt. She didn't think of Jake as an employee. She didn't think of him as a friend. She thought of him as her partner. Smiling inwardly, she thought, wouldn't it be wonderful if Jake were truly my partner in business and life?

Stop it, Debbie, she commanded herself. She couldn't afford to think like this. Jake was an employee who has agreed to stay for three months. Half of that time was already gone. She needed to prepare for the end, not dream of an impossible future.

"Dr. Anderson was really pleased I'm beginning to have feeling on my left side. He said it's a very good sign. That means I'll probably be able to be on my own when it's time for you to leave."

"Don't try to get rid of me so soon, Deb. I promised you three months, and we're a long way from the time to think about me leaving." His hazel eyes seemed to bore into her heart. "Besides, who knows what will happen by then?"

"Who knows?" agreed Debbie, shrugging her shoulders.

The day of the Women in Business meeting arrived. Jake insisted she stay home all day to be well rested for the evening event. As usual, he recognized Debbie's tension. Every minute she was awake, he entertained her with his seemingly endless repertoire of anecdotes. Debbie realized he wouldn't give her any time to be nervous.

On the way to the meeting, he explained the plan. "Sandra Barclay told me how much mingling takes place before the meeting. If you went through that, you wouldn't be at your best for the ceremony."

"That's for sure."

"She's going to have the business meeting first, and it should be time for the anniversary ceremony when we get there. It's going to be very short. Each past president will be introduced. You can say a few words if you like, but it's not required. After the meeting, you can socialize as much or as little as you want."

They arrived at the hotel where the meeting was being held. After helping her into the wheelchair, Jake pushed her through the lobby toward the banquet facilities. He pushed the wheelchair into a small alcove, stepped in front of Debbie, and took both her hands in his.

"You look great, Deb. You know how much I like to see you in that outfit. I'm glad you decided to come. Everything will be fine." He squeezed her hands before laying them back in her lap.

Jake continued toward their destination, opened the door and pushed her into a room filled with professionally attired women. He was the lone male in the large crowd. Women turned and smiled. Were they smiling at her or at Jake?

A gavel sounded. "The business meeting is adjourned." The woman standing at the podium waved Debbie forward and continued, "Now we're ready for the fun. We're celebrating ten years of success for Women in Business, thanks to the contributions of each and every one of you. But tonight we want to recognize the ten women who have provided vitally important leadership as they served as president during those years."

By this time, Jake had pushed Debbie to the vacant space at the front table with the other past presidents. Sandra Barclay continued the program by introducing each honoree, briefly summarizing the accomplishments of her term of office, and presenting her a bouquet of roses. Each past president stood and spoke a few words as she was recognized.

When Debbie's turn arrived, Susan introduced her as the president from two years ago. "Women in Business began our scholarship program during Debbie's presidency and the membership grew by fifty percent. As most of you know, Debbie has been ill. We're all pleased to have you back, Debbie. We've missed you."

Jake pushed her away from the table slightly, so the members could see her better.

"Thank you, Susan. It's great to be here," she said. "I want to thank everyone who has remembered me with cards, letters, gifts, and your prayers. My recovery is slow but steady. I hope to be back full time soon."

Her comments were met with applause. After all the presidents had been recognized, the members were invited to enjoy the refreshments, including a birthday cake. Jake wheeled Debbie into a corner far away from the food and positioned two chairs facing her.

"I know it's uncomfortable for you to look up to people to talk. This arrangement should encourage people to sit to talk to you."

"Thanks, Jake."

"I'm going to stay right here and play gatekeeper. I won't let you be mobbed by a lot of people at once or monopolized by only one or two. Okay?"

"Okay. You'd better start gatekeeping. Here come the hordes."

Debbie chatted in small groups with twenty or thirty women she'd known and liked for years. Just as Jake had predicted, they didn't treat her any differently than they ever had.

Karen Smith told Debbie, "I tried to see you when you were in Memorial General, but you were out of your room. The nurse told me you were having an MRI."

"Gosh, I wish I had been visiting with you instead. That MRI was an awful experience."

"What was so bad about it?"

"The test itself is very unpleasant. But that wasn't the worst part. It's a very expensive piece of equipment, and Memorial General doesn't have their own unit. There's a mobile unit that travels from hospital to hospital."

"You mean like a bookmobile?" asked Karen.

"Something like that, I guess," Debbie said and chuckled. "It's funny now, but it was really scary at the time."

"What happened?"

"Two aides came to my room with a stretcher and told me they were taking me for an MRI. At that time, I was totally helpless, so it took several people to get me from the bed to the stretcher. After I was on the stretcher, they discovered it didn't have any rails or a safety belt."

"Stretchers have safety belts?" Jake interjected from behind Karen.

"Well, they're supposed to have some kind of safety device. Most have either rails or straps that can be secured. This one was just a flat stretcher. They debated whether it was safe or not. See, the mobile MRI unit was in a parking lot across the street from the hospital. One of the aides said to the other, 'this isn't safe. We'll be in trouble if she falls off in the parking lot.'"

Jake scowled. "Was she joking or was she serious?"

"I think she was serious. They debated back and forth before they finally decided they were more apt to get in trouble if they took the time to transfer me. They would have to find another stretcher and reassemble a crew of people to help. Apparently the MRI appointments are scheduled pretty tightly since the unit was only at the hospital one or two days a week, so they didn't want me to be late."

"You mean they were more worried about the schedule than about your safety?" asked Karen indignantly.

"I guess they didn't really think it was too big a risk then. But when we were actually in the street, they hit a couple of potholes and bounced me around a little. They were both holding me, and I probably wasn't in any real danger. But it was pretty scary."

"That's terrible." By this time, several other people were standing in a circle behind the chairs. A lady Debbie didn't recognize commented, "Maybe they did it on purpose to make the test itself easier. How was it?"

"It wasn't exactly frightening, but it was unpleasant. They put me inside a large metal cylinder. It's a very confined space, and I felt claustrophobic. Then I heard and felt all these reverberations. It was like they were pounding on the metal next to my head. MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging, and I don't understand much about it, except I really felt the resonance."

Becca Anderson spoke from the circle of onlookers. "How long did it last?"

"I don't know exactly, but I think it was about an hour or an hour and a half. It seemed like it would never end, but it finally did."

"Was the trip back to your room as eventful as the trip there?" another voice asked.

"That's when it really became hilarious. At least it's hilarious now. It surely wasn't at the time."

"Well, don't stop now. Tell us what happened," encouraged Karen.

"By that time it was raining. Not hard, thank goodness, but enough to be uncomfortable. Remember, I was wearing only a skimpy hospital gown and a sheet. So these same aides carried on their conversation about the dangers of this unsafe stretcher. But now it was even more dangerous because the pavement was wet and slippery. I guess they thought because I couldn't move or talk, I couldn't hear or think either. Otherwise they wouldn't have said the things they did about danger."

Jake spoke impatiently. "You said this was hilarious. I don't see anything the least bit funny about it."

"Here comes the funny part. Suddenly one of the aides looked down and realized it was raining on my face. So she pulled the sheet up over my head to protect me from the rain. A short time later, the other one said, 'we better hurry up and get her inside. All these people think she's dead.'"

There was a round of laughter from the onlookers, but when Jake looked over at her, his face was grim. Suddenly, his expression cleared and a smile lit his face as he turned to the women gathered around him. Everyone's attention was focused on Jake.

"Ladies, this is a real treat." He turned to an attractive young woman smiling up at him. "Please pinch me so I can be sure I'm not dreaming. I must have died and gone to heaven to be surrounded by so many beautiful women."

Several of the women giggled as they introduced themselves to Jake. He teased and flirted with them all.

Look at him, thought Debbie as she glared at him in disgust. He was only here to help her. No wonder he was so eager for her to come to this. It gave him a chance to have some fun. He probably deserved some female attention after being stuck with her all the time. But did he have to be so blatant about it? After all . . .

Suddenly, he looked at Debbie and gave her a deliberate wink. He excused himself with the words, "It's been wonderful, but I think it's time Debbie and I headed home." He made his way through the throng to her side. He gave her very little time to take her leave before rushing her to the van.

"What's the hurry?" Debbie demanded.

"Your slowing speech and clumsy hand. I know you'll never admit it, but you've reached your limit for today."

"How did you manage to notice? You were so busy with all the beautiful ladies you thought you'd died and gone to heaven. Too bad you had to come back to earth." Debbie knew she was being sarcastic, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

Jake's face was harsh as he opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it and took a deep breath. His face softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was soft as well. "Deb, I know how important tonight was for you. You almost didn't come because you were afraid you would appear weak. Isn't that right?"

Although she didn't speak, Debbie nodded in agreement.

"You did great, and to tell you the truth, you held up better than I expected. Do you realize you talked for an hour after the meeting?"

"That long? No wonder I'm tired."

"I just tried to draw the attention away from you so your friends wouldn't notice you were about to collapse. Then I made the move to leave, so maybe they wouldn't notice you'd reached your limit. What should I have done?"

"As usual, you're right. I'm sorry. It seems I'm always saying that to you. You'd think someday I'd learn."

"You don't need to apologize. Let's just get you home and into bed."

After a quiet trip home, Debbie didn't resist when Jake helped her into her nightgown and into bed. She was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, but not before she felt the gentle caress of Jake's lips on hers. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and return the kiss.

But he was just being kind, and even if he really felt something for her, she wouldn't start a relationship with him or anyone else. She'd have to give up her dream of a loving relationship, a family. She wouldn't allow herself to be a burden to anyone. If that meant she had to be alone for the rest of her life, well, that's just the way it would be.

Their lives settled into a pattern over the next weeks. Debbie had made enough progress to reduce her therapy sessions to twice a week, on Tuesday and Thursday. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings were occupied with client appointments or meetings with the attorney.

Al Cane had agreed to accept Debbie's case, based on the medical and financial records showing a serious loss caused by the negligence of the chiropractor. But the old adage "the wheels of justice grind exceedingly slow" proved more than a cliché. In the meantime, the medical bills continued to mount with Debbie's ongoing therapy.

"Maybe I should quit going to therapy or at least cut it down to once a week," Debbie mused, as she added unpaid bills to the files. She and Jake were working together in her home office as they did every afternoon.

"You can't do that. I know it seems like progress is slow, but I can tell you're getting stronger every day."

"Am I making enough progress to justify going deeper and deeper in debt? I'll work the rest of my life and never pay off all these bills."

"Deb, you can't base decisions about your rehabilitation on money." He scooted his chair next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. "We'll manage somehow. I know the lawsuit's moving very slowly, but I'm sure you'll win."

"It's not fair to make everybody wait so long for their money. I didn't have to wait when I needed treatment."

"We've sent a letter to everyone you owe. They all know the situation, and nobody's harassing you."

"It's not just the medical bills, Jake. Now, I've got big balances on all my credit cards, and I can just barely make the minimum payment every month."

"Deb, why don't you defer my wages for a while? I know it wouldn't solve all your problems, but you could use that money to pay off some of your credit card balances. I can do without my pay for a little while."

"No, Jake, I will not make you or any of my employees suffer."

"Is that what I am, Deb? Just one of your employees?" He withdrew his arm and moved his chair away.

"You are one of my employees, and I will not let any of my employees suffer." She turned to face him. "But you know you're much more than that. You're very special to me, Jake. But I won't be any more of a burden to you than I already am."

When Jake started to protest, Debbie continued, "As soon as we get the first payments from Telecom International, the financial crisis will be over."

At the mention of Telecom International, Jake began to discuss their last meeting. As he'd predicted, Chris Logan was much easier to work with than Candy Starnes.

"I don't know why I assumed Chris was a guy, probably because of all the publicity about Candy being the first female vice-president. I guess I should've realized while the company may be mostly male at the top, the people who really do the work are mostly female." He flashed her his killer grin. "And I was expecting you to have to charm Chris while I flirted with Candy. Thank goodness, Chris sticks to business. I don't think I could handle another Candy."

"Oh, you could probably handle a dozen Candys," Debbie retorted. "And I don't know how to charm anybody."

"Not true, Deb," said Jake, shaking a finger at her. "You do a pretty good job of charming me. I think I fell under your spell the first time I saw you."

Debbie's mouth dropped open, but she couldn't say anything. Her charm Jake? Hardly. How could an ordinary woman whose body no longer worked right charm anyone, much less a man like Jake?

When Debbie didn't respond, Jake took both her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "Deb, I know I'm just an Army bum, and you're an educated and successful businesswoman. But just because I'm not in your league doesn't mean I can't fall under your spell. Don't worry. I'm not planning to do anything about it." Then he quickly changed the subject to their Saturday night dinner date.

"How about something different this weekend?" Jake asked. "Were you serious when you invited Aunt Molly and Uncle John to dinner?"

"I'd love to have them. But you're the one who would have to do all the work."

"It'd be fun. Would you mind if we invited my parents, too?"

"I'd love it. I can't remember the last time I've had anyone here for dinner."

"Why don't you call them now? If I call, they'll probably think I talked you into it. Let them know you really want them."

Saturday nights had become very special to Debbie. After their first celebration dinner, Jake had developed the habit of taking Debbie out every weekend. Debbie treasured those evenings, and she stored up the memories for the inevitable day when Jake would leave. He managed to choose fine restaurants that specialized in foods compatible with her diet. He always made reservations for a quiet table with a chair removed to create a space for her wheelchair.

The food, service, and ambiance were always wonderful, but what Debbie loved most about those evenings was just being with Jake in a way unrelated to his job. He always seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his, and they always shared a lively conversation.

Jake never ran out of anecdotes about his childhood and family or his military adventures, and Debbie found herself telling him more about herself and her background than she had ever told anyone else. She shared the loneliness she and her sister experienced as the only children in a neighborhood of older adults.

"One time Beth and I were trying to read the Sears catalog. Finally, we took it into the kitchen and asked Mom to help us order. 'What do you want to order?' she asked. 'We want a baby brother and a baby sister,' we insisted."

Although she disliked giving up her precious Saturday night date with Jake, Debbie was eager to spend time with his family again. She agreed to phone the invitations, and they moved on to talking about Sunday.

"I'm excited, but a little nervous, about going to church. I've missed church, but I don't know how it will feel to worship from a wheelchair."

As usual, Jake helped set her mind at ease, and her nervousness turned to anticipation. After church, they'd visit Debbie's parents. They'd developed the habit of visiting Debbie's family one week and Jake's family the following week. Jake was always demonstrative and affectionate during their visits to her parents, who never suspected he was anything other than Debbie's young man. And during those visits, Debbie dreamed their pretense was reality. She wanted Jake to be her young man.

Sometimes she felt Jake wanted to be her young man. He touched her frequently and tenderly. Debbie often felt his gaze on her when they were sitting quietly pursuing their own activities. But if Debbie looked up at him, he immediately looked away. It was almost as if he wanted a relationship with her, but refused to allow himself. Of course, Debbie had already decided a relationship was out of the question for her, so why should she care if Jake didn't want a relationship with her?

On Friday afternoon, Jake drove Debbie to the beauty salon. He went inside with her and joked and laughed with Kathie and her assistant while they shampooed and cut Debbie's hair. He left for a few minutes to walk next door to buy sodas for everyone.

"Wow!" exclaimed Kathie. "If you had to have something like this happen to you, it was a stroke of luck to find somebody like Jake."

"Well, I'd hardly call my stroke luck, but I'm lucky Jake was available to work for me when I needed someone. He's doing a great job," Debbie answered primly.

"Yeah, sure. A great job. There's more to it than that. It's not just a job anymore, is it?"

Debbie didn't realize she'd let her feelings show. "Is it so obvious?" she asked, wondering if Jake knew how she felt.

"Debbie, the guy can't take his eyes off you."

"You've got it all wrong, Kathie. If Jake's looking at me, it's because he's watching me to be sure I'm all right. It was you and the other girls here he was teasing, not me."

"He may have been talking to us, but he had eyes only for you. And I saw him helping you in and out of the wheelchair. Don't tell me he has to touch you so much to do his job."

Debbie didn't have a chance to respond because Jake was coming through the door with a handful of drinks, which he passed around to everyone in the salon. When someone else reached for Debbie's favorite diet soda, Jake smiled apologetically and said, "Sorry, this one's for Debbie. You can have anything else."

Kathie looked at Debbie with a self-satisfied smile. He's just doing his job, thought Debbie. He worked for her-of course, he's going to see that she got her favorite. But she noticed his hand seemed to linger just a little longer than usual as he handed her the can.

After he'd wheeled her outside and helped her into the van, he reached up and ran a hand lingeringly over her hair. "You look great, Deb. Your hair feels so good. I'm glad you keep your hairstyle simple and you face natural."

Jake drew this forefinger down her cheek. "Your skin is so soft. When I first met you, you were pale, but now you have a radiant glow. The natural look is perfect for you."

Debbie started to remind him she didn't wear makeup because her poor hand control made it too difficult to apply. But if Jake liked the natural look, maybe she'd never learn to apply makeup again.

On Saturday night, Molly and John arrived with Jake's parents, Ben and Katherine.

"You have a lovely home," exclaimed Molly. "Are all these fresh flowers in honor of our visit, or do you have flowers all the time?"

"Of course, they're for you," Jake answered. "But we have flowers a lot. They're from Debbie's garden. Come look at it."

Everyone admired the garden, and Jake proudly shared the credit for its success.

"Jake did a great job of raising the beds. But you should have seen how dirty he got," teased Debbie.

"Katherine, remember that summer he decided the little plastic wading pool wasn't big enough? He was staying with us during the day while you were at work." Molly smiled at the memory.

"How could I forget? I came by at the end of the day to pick him up, and you said he was in the wading pool with your kids."

"But all five of them were digging a huge hole in the ground. They were going to build a swimming pool. My kids were filthy, but Jake had more mud on him than the other four combined."

Katherine shook her head. "He had more mud on him than could possibly have come from that one hole. I never figured out how he got so dirty. I had to cover the seat of the car with old towels so he wouldn't ruin it."

"He was just about that bad when we were working in the garden," Debbie said with a laugh. "But so was I."

"And you enjoyed it just as much as I did," he said.

Jake led his family on a grand tour of the house. They were impressed with the home office arrangement and complimented Jake on his domestic skills.

As they sat down to dinner, Katherine turned to Ben. "This looks good. Maybe all those burned dinners we suffered through when he was learning to cook paid off."

"Actually, I got used to the scorched taste. Maybe that's why I started ordering my steaks well done instead of medium. But I'll never forget the pimento cheese fiasco." Ben smiled at Jake.

"What fiasco?" asked Jake. "It was just a little runny. It worked fine if you ate a spoonful of pimento cheese and then took a bite of bread. Instant pimento cheese sandwich."

Everyone laughed, but the conversation turned more serious as they started to eat.

John paused briefly to comment, "This really is great."

Molly agreed. "These vegetables are so fresh. You must have been waiting at the supermarket when they unloaded the truck."

Debbie shared a smile with Jake. "Better than that. Jake and I picked them from our garden this afternoon."

Jake was as smug and self-satisfied over the favorable reviews from his family as Debbie was.

Everyone enjoyed the meal and the short visit afterward. Debbie and Jake stood at the door waving to Jake's family as they drove away. He was clasping her tightly around the waist and holding her closely to his side. It felt so good to be this close even though Debbie knew he was only holding her to support her as she stood. As they turned back into the house, Jake squeezed her to him before releasing her waist.

Several hours later she awoke with a violent coughing spell. It had been weeks since this had happened, but she experienced anew the fear that came with the choking sensation and the wave of faintness that overcame her. One minute she was terrified, and the next she felt herself being cradled in strong arms and held against a muscular chest. Jake stroked her head and murmured soothing words into her ear. Although it took several minutes for the attack to subside, her fear eased as soon as she felt Jake's comforting presence.

After she finally stopped coughing and choking, Jake continued to hold her and rock her gently. Finally, as she drifted back to sleep, he laid her gently on the bed. She felt a gentle brush of lips across her forehead and on the tip of her nose. The tender kiss lingered a little longer on her lips.

As soon as Debbie started to return the kiss, Jake gently set her away from him. "Deb, we can't start anything. You're just feeling grateful to me right now, and I don't have anything to offer you. You have an education and a successful business. I don't even know what I want to be when I grow up. I won't take advantage of you. I care about you too much."

When Debbie started to protest, he laid her gently on the bed and brushed his lips against her forehead. "Now go back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

Getting into the church on Sunday proved to be more of a challenge than Debbie expected.

"I never realized there's no place for wheelchairs in the sanctuary. If I park in the aisle, I'll be in the way. Any ideas?" Debbie looked at Jake expectantly. There was no doubt in her mind he could solve any problem.

"Let me help you into the last pew, then I'll fold up the chair and find a place to store it during the service."

Jake's followed his words with action. He returned a few minutes later to say her wheelchair was stored in a coat closet. When the service ended, he waited until most of the congregation had left before he reclaimed the wheelchair, loaded Debbie into it, and pushed her forward to speak with the minister.

"We're so pleased to have you back in church, Debbie." Pastor Tremain's beaming face reinforced his words of welcome.

She introduced Jake and continued, "I've watched services on television every week, but nothing compares to being here. I know I wouldn't have come as far as I have without my faith."

"You know you've been in our prayers, and we're thankful our prayers have been answered and you're back with us."

"We'll be back, Pastor Tremain, as often as Debbie is able," Jake promised.

Several members of the congregation approached and welcomed both their fellow parishioner and her friend. Debbie enjoyed a brief visit with each group before Jake firmly but politely excused them and continued on their way to the van.

"I know you're enjoying this, honey. But you have to keep the visits short, or you'll get too tired to visit your parents, and they're expecting us."

"You're right. We'd better leave now before someone else comes up. I don't to want to give my folks any reason to worry."

After they were in the van and ready to pull out of the parking lot, Jake asked, "Do you feel up to going out for lunch instead of going home? The Piedmont Hotel has a fabulous Sunday brunch, and it's on the way to the nursing home."

"I don't know. They're famous for their waffles with sinfully rich toppings. Will you let me indulge?" she asked with a smile.

"Absolutely not. At least not in waffles and sinful toppings. Will you settle for eggs and bagels and fresh fruit?"

"If that's all my keeper allows, I guess I'll have to, won't I? Unless there's something I can do to change your mind . . ." Debbie couldn't believe she was flirting with him. What if he laughed at her?

Jake didn't laugh, but he did grin from ear to ear. "Well, now that you mention it, I might come up with something." He leaned toward her, then paused and shook his head. "On second thought, maybe not. We're still in the church parking lot."

Her face burned with embarrassment. She lowered her head and gazed into her lap, but Jake reached over and lifted her chin with his finger.

"You're blushing," he exclaimed. "You know I'm attracted to you, but I have no intention of acting on it. Besides, I kid around all the time, and no one ever blushes. You're red as a beet."

She ignored his comments and answered his earlier question. "Brunch at the Piedmont sounds great."

Two hours later, the idea didn't sound so great anymore. They'd finally finished their meal and started toward the nursing home. Jake didn't know whether to be angrier with the rude people at the hotel or at himself for taking her there.

"I can't believe what we've just been through. It's bad enough a large hotel has only one small ramp at their main entrance. Then they have to block it with their own limo. The first clue should have been the shortage of handicapped parking. Obviously, a large hotel needs more than a couple of handicapped spaces. When we saw they had only two spaces and both were full, I should have just kept on driving." He pounded his fist on the steering wheel.

Debbie reached across and touched his hand. "You offered, Jake. I'm the one who agreed to let you wheel me from the far corners of the lot. We should have left when we reached the driveway and the hotel limo was blocking the ramp."

"Yeah, but what did I do? I had to play Mr. Macho and go inside and insist they move the limo so you could get in. Then I practically threw you out of the chair when I hit that big bump at the threshold to the dining room. Are you sure I didn't hurt you?" She looked fine, but she might have bruises hidden under her clothes.

"I told you-I'm fine. Don't blame yourself. By that time, I was out to prove a point. At first each obstacle frustrated me. By the time we got to the dining room and discovered there was no wheelchair access to the buffet line, I was just plain angry."

She couldn't be any angrier than he was. "I'm still furious. If they'd been halfway nice about it, I might've been able to forgive them. But they acted like we had no business being there. They treated you like dirt, and I can't forgive that."

"It wasn't quite that bad. The waiter offered to serve my plate."

"That defeats the purpose of a buffet. You're supposed to go through and look at everything, then pick out what you want. I thought the Americans with Disabilities Act was supposed to put a stop to things like this."

Debbie shook her head. "Technically, they're probably in compliance. After all, I had access to the food on the buffet. All I had to do was tell the waiter what I wanted."

"Well, they could have been a little nicer about it."

"I guess I've been very fortunate. Generally people are nice to me. I get frustrated when people ignore me and talk to you about me as if I'm stupid. But I don't ever remember being treated quite this rudely before."

The quiver in her voice pierced his heart. "They said all the right words, but the message came through loud and clear that we weren't welcome."

"They obviously thought I wasn't good enough to enter their doors. I guess that limo blocking the handicap access meant 'cripples keep out.'"

"I'm sorry, Deb. I should never have suggested it."

"Oh, Jake. It's not your fault. We both thought brunch was a great idea. We had no way of knowing how it would turn out. We've been to other places with less than ideal handicap accommodations, but the people were helpful and friendly. There's always going to be jerks in the world."

"Look. There's a couple more." By this time, they were at the nursing home. He pointed to the two designated handicapped parking spaces, both occupied by cars without handicap permits. "Don't they realize how difficult it is for someone in a wheelchair to travel across the parking lot?"

"They probably don't. If they'd ever been closely associated with a disabled person, they'd think twice about it." Debbie shrugged. "They were probably tired or in a hurry, or maybe they had to carry something inside."

He couldn't be as forgiving as she was. "Delivery vehicles are some of the biggest offenders. Either they park in a designated spot or block a parking space or a ramp. I guess they just don't think. I confess I'd never realized what challenges a handicapped person faces. Most people probably don't."

"Things are getting better, though. Access is a lot better than it used to be, and I think more people are paying attention."

"You deserve nothing but the best." He emphasized his point with a fist to the car seat. "I don't ever want to see you suffer. And I'm going to do all I can to see you never do again."

Debbie seemed to enjoy the short visit with her parents, but she didn't argue when he sent her to bed as soon as they reached home.

Several days later, Jake looked up from the newspaper. "I have a suggestion if our disastrous experience Sunday hasn't scared you off from any more excursions."

"It was bad, but I hope it's not going to be typical. What's your idea?"

"The Texas Folklife Festival is coming up this weekend. I haven't been in years. What about you?"

"I went with Beth and her family about three or four years ago. It's a lot of fun. But half the fun is all the different kinds of food. If we went, would my keeper let me eat?"

"I think you deserve a treat. One day off your diet shouldn't be disastrous if you don't get too carried away. Let's plan on it, okay?"

Saturday dawned clear and bright. "There's handicapped parking in the Convention Center garage. That'll be the closest, but we need to get there early to be sure we get a space." Jake climbed into the van, and headed toward downtown San Antonio.

They parked in the garage and joined the throngs headed toward the Festival grounds.

"The gates open in thirty minutes. Debbie, you sit here in the shade. I'll get in line for tickets."

In spite of the south Texas August heat, a gentle breeze and the shade created a comfortable place to wait. Debbie enjoyed watching the other visitors. One couple took turns pulling their two small children in a little red wagon. People were friendly and patient as they waited.

Jake returned with the tickets and a program. "Look at this. It lists all the food booths and all the scheduled entertainment. Why don't you pick out what you want?"

"There's a few foods I know I want-Scotch eggs, German sausage on a stick, and Polish potato pancakes. And I want to see some folk dancers. I don't really care whether they're Lebanese or Filipino or Czech. Let's just wander around first and then decide."

"Sounds good to me. I don't want to miss the demonstration area. There's everything from sauerkraut making to stone cutting to whittlin' to quilting."

Debbie sighed. "It's just too much. There are over thirty ethnic groups represented and forty or more food booths. I want to try every one."

"Let's buy only one of each food we want to try and share it," Jake suggested. "We can skip the Mexican food, chicken fried steak, and barbecue."

"Why? Those are some of my favorites."

"Mine, too. But we can have them any time at lots of great restaurants here in San Antonio. That's something I really missed while I was gone. There's no place in the world that has the great food you can get here-Tex-Mex, barbecue, chicken fried steak . . . "

"I've lived here all my life, so I've never thought about it. Not only do we have some great food year-round, but also we have Fiesta San Antonio in April and the Folklife Festival in August. Fiesta has some great food, too."

Jake smiled. "By the time Fiesta comes around next April, you'll be able to do it all. Let's go to all the parades, Night in Old San Antonio, and all the other events. It's been a long time since I've been here for Fiesta."

"I haven't been in a long time, either. I'll look forward to it." Sure, thought Debbie. She knew Jake would be long gone by then, but she could daydream.

They wandered through the grounds of the Institute of Texan Cultures, excitedly pointing out favorite foods and displays. They sipped lemonade as they listened to Gospel singers. They nibbled on turcos, meat pies from the Canary Islands, while they watched the Corn-Shuckin' Contest. They sampled Irish stew as they listened to Tejano music. They tried Greek souvlaki while they enjoyed the Cajun band.

As they headed to the van several hours later, Jake patted Debbie on the shoulder. "I can tell you're tired. Was it worth it? This was a little more successful than our last adventure, wasn't it?"

She reached back and placed her hand on his. "It was wonderful, Jake. Folklife Festival is always fun, but I don't ever remember having this much fun. Even the armadillo races."

"Don't forget the watermelon seed spitting contest. You didn't know I was a champion watermelon seed spitter."

"No, I didn't know your claim to fame. You out-spit people from Pearsall, Luling, Devine, Houston, Nacogdoches, and who knows where else."

"Everything was fun, Deb, and I especially enjoyed sharing it with you. The Institute's open year round. We need to come back again and tour it. Everything outside was so much fun we didn't even go inside the building."

"You made it a wonderful day, Jake. I have to admit I was nervous about being in such a crowd, but it was so much fun I didn't even notice it."

"Deb, this is the last of the audio books at the library. But I found out we can rent them at the video store, so we don't have to buy them." He paused. "I'd still like to keep going to the library to get books for myself if that's okay."

"Of course, you can go to the library, Jake. You should have some free time, anyway. You haven't had a break from me in all this time."

"I don't need a break from you, Deb. I just want to make a trip to the library."

Debbie decided to bring up the subject she'd carefully avoided. "Jake, it's been almost three months now. I don't want to pressure you, but I'm going to need to know soon when you plan to leave. I have to make some other arrangements."

He stood with hands on his hips. "And just who says I have any plans to leave?"

"Well, nobody's said anything." She fought to keep from sounding defensive. "That's why I'm asking. You only promised me three months."

"No, I promised you at least three months." He sat opposite her. "I don't have any plans to leave. I'm happy right where I am. Do you want me to leave, Deb?" he asked softly.

"Of course not, Jake. But if you want to stay, I think we need to schedule you some time off. I'm sure you have other friends you'd like to be with sometimes."

He frowned. "It's nice to know you're so sure of what I want. Have I given you any reason to believe I'd rather be somewhere other than with you?"

"No." Debbie shook her head.

"Have I given you any reason to believe I can't speak my own mind?" His voice rose.

Again, Debbie shook her head.

"Didn't I just tell you I wanted to go to the library?"

When Debbie nodded, he continued, "Then why do you think I wouldn't tell you if I wanted to do something else?"

"I just don't want to take advantage of your kindness."

"Kindness has nothing to do with it. Damn it. I like living here with you. It feels like home. I love working with you at Debbie's Designs." He paused for a second, then said more softly, "In fact, there's nothing I'd like better than to be your partner."

Debbie's head jerked up. Did Jake realize she already almost thought of him as a partner? What was he talking about?

"Don't look so shocked, Deb. I wasn't suggesting anything. I know it's impossible. It was just a momentary dream."

For a few seconds, Debbie allowed herself to imagine it. Jake already knew a great deal about her business, and she had to admit he'd made several suggestions that had proven to be very helpful. She'd always preferred design work rather than managing the business, and since her stroke, it was more difficult to handle it all. In fact, when she thought about it, she realized how much she'd come to depend on Jake.

Jake was still talking. "I know this business is your baby, and I don't have anything to offer it or you. I just wish I could help you."

"Jake, you're already a big help. Thinking about it just now, I realize how much you've become involved in business and how much you've helped me. Actually, I'd love to have you as a partner. But there's just not enough income to support two people."

"Deb, honey, your business has been supporting both of us for the last three months."

"Only because you're getting paid minimum wage. And I'm not even earning enough to keep up with expenses. That's why I've had to use my credit cards so much lately. There's just not enough cash flow for me to draw a living wage."

"You know that's a temporary situation. The money will start to come in from Telecom International soon. And you're going to be selling more jobs as you get your strength back. I was just imagining what it would be like if somebody else took over some of the management responsibilities. You could handle more jobs if you could concentrate on sales and design."

"I'd like that a lot better too. Are you serious about this?"

Jake rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm not serious."

"Well, why did you bring it up then? Why would you even mention such a thing if you weren't serious about it?"

Jake paced the floor as he responded. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I don't know why I did. It's just something I've thought about, but, of course, I know it would never work."

"Why?" Debbie looked up at Jake with questioning eyes.

"Why? Because I don't have anything to offer. Damn it. We both know that. Why are we even talking about it? We both know it's a ridiculous idea." The look on Jake's face showed disgust with the entire conversation.

"I don't know it's a ridiculous idea."

Jake's eyes drilled into Debbie's. "If you think about it, you'll realize it. I'm an Army bum, with barely a high school education. You've got a degree, with honors no less, and you've spent six years of your life building this business. You don't need anybody else. Even if you did, it certainly wouldn't be me."

Debbie spoke softly. "Jake, I do need you. You know how much I depend on you. I can't even take care of myself without your help."

Jake shrugged his shoulders. "Anybody could do what I do. I cook your meals and wash your clothes and drive your van. Big deal."

"It is a big deal, Jake. And that's not all you do. You take care of me as if you want to do it. You never make me feel like the burden I must be. You make me believe in myself again. I'm not sure I'd have had the courage to face Candy Starnes without you."

Jake stopped pacing and stopped in front Debbie. "Of course you would have, honey. You're the strongest person I know. I hope I make your life easier, but you certainly don't need me. Especially in your business."

Why did Jake insist on comparing his education unfavorably to hers? Was it just typical male ego? What could she say to make him realize she didn't care whether or not he had a college education or business experience? He was already an asset to her business, and he could be so much more.

"You're right when you say this business is my baby. I've never shared it with anyone else. But my entire life's changed. Why shouldn't my business change? Can we talk about this objectively? You've obviously thought about this. Tell me what you've thought."

Jake hesitated so long Debbie was afraid he wouldn't answer.

Finally he crouched down in front of her wheelchair and said, "I really have enjoyed working with you the last few months. I never knew anything about interior design or business, but I find both fascinating. It just seems to me you could be much more productive if someone else supervised the employees, reviewed the financial statements, dealt with suppliers, all those things... "

"It would be easier for me. I'd rather just sell and design. Are you saying you're interested in the other things?"

Again Jake was slow to respond. He stood and walked to look out the window before he answered. "Yeah, I guess I am. I've learned a lot working with you and Tammy. Tammy has taken on a lot more responsibility since you've been sick, but she told me she'd rather work with you on proposals and logistics and let someone else handle the other tasks."

"We know you'll be a good boss. You've been bossing me around for three months." Debbie smiled, and said, "Jake, I'd like to have you for a partner."

He shook his head. "But I still don't have anything to offer. I do have some savings, but not enough to buy into the business. And I don't have enough experience or training. It's just a dream . . . " Jake's voice trailed off, and he immediately started to talk about something else.

For once, Debbie didn't let him get by with changing the subject. Thinking back to all his questions, his reading, and other demonstrations of interest, she should've realized how involved Jake was getting in her business. This shouldn't have come as a surprise to her, and when she realized the extent of his interest she relentlessly pursued the conversation.

Finally, Jake recognized she was as interested in the idea as he was. "I'll put all my savings into the business, and I'll give one hundred and ten percent to make it a success. I'll be a minority partner. Just say 'yes', Deb. You won't regret it. You'd always have the upper hand," he assured her.

Debbie wondered if it were possible for anyone, least of all her, to ever have the upper hand with Jake. No matter what outrageous suggestion he came up with she always went along with it. She had to admit, as he always promised, she'd never regretted it.

Two weeks later they left Ray Fagan's office with a signed partnership agreement and headed for the bank to transfer Jake's investment into a business account.

That evening Jake drove to the restaurant where he had planned a private party. "I hope the employees approve," he said, his brow puckered in a frown.

"Of course, they will, Jake." She touched his hand. "They all like you, and it's bound to make them feel more secure in their jobs to have an able-bodied man as one of the owners."

"I hope so, but they're very loyal to you. They might think of me as an unwelcome intruder."

Debbie tried to reassure him. His vulnerability touched her. She smiled to herself at his self-doubts. She was certain the employees would be thrilled with the news.

And they were. The mood was festive as the employees and their families enjoyed the meal. They'd been invited to a party to celebrate the signing of the Telecom International contract, and they were excited to be involved in such a large and prestigious project.

But the real excitement came when Jake stood and tapped on a glass with a spoon to get everyone's attention.

"You know we're here to celebrate the Telecom contract. But Debbie has another announcement I hope is equally as exciting. It surely is for me."

He helped Debbie as she rose from the wheelchair and leaned against the podium for support. "This is a very special night for all of us. I'd like to introduce my new partner and your new boss." She pointed to Jake. "As of today, Jake is a co-owner of Debbie's Designs, and he'll manage the business end of the company. All I'm going to do is design and sell while Jake and the rest of you take care of everything else."

Jake breathed an audible sign of relief when the room burst into applause. Soon everyone was milling around, talking, laughing, shaking hands, and congratulating both Jake and Debbie.

"I told you they'd all be glad," announced Debbie with a satisfied smile.

"It did go well, didn't it? I promise, Deb, we're going to make a great team. You'll never regret this."

That night Jake came into Debbie's bedroom before she fell asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over her, with his arms braced on either side of her. "I'm proud to be your partner, Deb. Please be patient with me while I'm learning. I promise I'll do everything I can to help you continue your success. I promise, you'll never regret this." Then he leaned over and kissed her quickly but tenderly. He pulled away before Debbie could respond.

It was inevitable that Jake's first official act as co-owner of Debbie's Designs involved Candy Starnes and Telecom International. Debbie had a meeting with Chris Logan a few days after the signing of the partnership agreement. Even though she didn't participate in the meetings, Candy always managed to spend a few minutes chatting with Jake whenever he was in the building.

She usually cornered him alone while Debbie was talking to Chris. Debbie told herself to ignore them, but somehow she always seemed to be aware of their flirtatious banter.

Before she and Chris started their conversation their business discussion, Debbie said, "If Candy has a minute sometime while we're here, Jake and I would like to speak to the two of you together. If it's not convenient today, there's no rush." Debbie was half hoping to get the ordeal over with and half hoping to avoid it this trip.

"I've got time right now." Candy stepped into the office. All three occupants of the room looked at her as if wondering why she was there at that precise moment. She said, "I just happened to be passing, and I was going to stick my head in the door and say 'hi'. What's this all about?" she asked as she sat on the small love seat next to Jake.

"Well, Candy, the first time we met, you asked me what I did for Debbie's Designs. As of day before yesterday, Debbie and I are partners." He patted Candy's hand and grinned at her. "And you're the very first person we've told except for our employees."

"How exciting. I'm so thrilled for you," Candy gushed. "I insist on taking you to lunch to celebrate." She'd taken Jake's hand when he started to pull it back after his quick pat. "I knew it was a wise decision to do business with you."

Look at her. Holding onto Jake's hand for dear life and batting those false eyelashes. It'd serve her right if they fell off. Debbie wondered where she fit into this celebration? Suddenly she remembered Chris Logan, who was being ignored as effectively as she was. She and Chris exchanged glances.

"Lunch would be delightful. But it's my treat. After all, you're my client now." When Candy looked as if she might protest, Jake grinned and continued, "I want you to save your money. You're going to need it all to pay our bill." He chuckled, and Candy laughed along with him.

"I'm looking forward to it. I can't think of a better place to spend my money than with you," she purred. "Well, I guess you'd better get back to earning that money. I can't wait for lunch. Oh," she paused dramatically, "I can be v-e-r-y expensive." Her voice was low and sultry.

Jake gave her cocky grin and arranged for them all to meet in an hour. Candy had given no indication she intended to include anyone but Jake in the invitation, but he volunteered to drive her car and let Chris drive the van with Debbie and the wheelchair. Debbie didn't know whether to be indignant at being passed around to someone else so Candy and Jake could be alone in the car, or grateful to be included in any way.

The only pleasant part of the ordeal was the drive to the restaurant. It was the first time Debbie and Chris Logan had spent time together outside the office.

"I'm glad to have a chance to get to know you better," Chris said.

"Me, too. I've enjoyed our chat about gardening."

Chris and Debbie found they enjoyed each other's company as much as they respected each other's work. At least, Debbie thought, she'd made a new friend.

Candy Starnes would certainly never be her friend. Throughout lunch, she ignored Chris and Debbie to concentrate solely on Jake. She made a production of moving her chair to allow more room for the wheelchair. Was it merely coincidental the movement placed her almost in Jake's lap? She looked at him in adoration and found it necessary to place her hand on his arm every time she said something.

For his part, Jake appeared to love it. He smiled and laughed and flirted. He joked and teased. He looked at Candy as if she were the most exciting creature he had ever seen. Well, maybe she was for all Debbie knew.

She admitted Jake hadn't ignored her, in spite of all the attention he paid Candy. He kept an eye on her water glass and signaled the waiter any time it was low. From time to time, he asked Chris or Debbie a question or directed a remark to one or both of them. But there was no doubt most of his attention was focused on Candy.

If it weren't for Chris, Debbie probably would've been close to tears. Fortunately, she was able to maintain an interesting conversation even as she unobtrusively watched Candy and Jake in action.

She didn't think anyone was aware of her observation. Candy was too absorbed in Jake to remember there was anyone else at the table, and Chris didn't seem to notice anything out of ordinary. But in a brief interlude when Candy turned to speak to the waiter, Jake caught Debbie's eye, winked slowly and deliberately, and mouthed silently, "Remember, we're partners."

Suddenly her weak attempt at a smile broadened, and she winked back.

Two months after Jake had officially become Debbie's partner, she reflected on how well everything was going. At first, Jake had asked her advice before making routine decisions, but he gradually quit discussing daily operations with her after it became apparent they agreed most of the time. They continued to discuss major decisions. Debbie enjoyed playing devil's advocate, and Jake said it helped him see all sides of the situation before making his decision. But he liked the management responsibility, and Debbie relished the opportunity to focus on her designs.

Debbie's balance had improved to the point it was safe for her to be alone for long periods of time now. She frequently worked in her home office while Jake was at the main office dealing with employees, suppliers, and the endless details involved in the daily management of the business. Jake was still protective, though. If he wasn't with Debbie, he called her often throughout the day.

Otherwise pleased with her progress, she still found it a nuisance to have to depend on Jake to drive her everywhere she went.

"My vision's getting better. I should be able to start driving soon," she said one evening over dinner.

Jake insisted on scheduling an appointment with an ophthalmologist, and they were both excited when Debbie was told she could drive wearing her eye patch.

"But I still can't handle the wheelchair by myself," she complained. "If I could get around better, you wouldn't have to take me everywhere."

"You know I like to go with you, Deb. But as independent as you are, I understand you want to do it yourself. And we could get more done if I could work in the office while you are at an appointment."

"Jake, do you think I'll ever be able to be independent again?"

"Of course you will, and I think I know just the way to do it."

She felt a surge of hope. "How's that?"

"We need to buy you one of those battery operated three wheel scooters instead of a wheelchair. You could get up even the steepest ramp by yourself then."

"I can't lift a wheelchair. How would I manage a scooter?"

He crinkled his brow. "We'd have to get you a lift. You know, you really need a new van, maybe a little minivan."

"That'd be very expensive. Should I invest that much in something I might not need much longer?"

Jake stepped closer and leaned down. "Deb, I admire your determination, and I'm not trying to discourage you. But, realistically, you may always need some help, especially for long distances or long periods of time. Even if you walk a lot of the time, you probably will need something for backup." He grinned. "Like when we go to Fiesta Texas or Fiesta San Antonio."

"I keep thinking someday I'll be back to normal. But realistically, you're probably right. Even if I need the scooter, I still can't afford it."

"We have an appointment with Al Cane on the status of your lawsuit next week. If we can get that settled, you could get the scooter and the van with the lift."

After dinner, they continued the discussion as they cleaned up the kitchen together. As Debbie became stronger and had more control of her body, she did more. Jake handed her plastic storage dishes, and she dished up the leftovers as he loaded the dishwasher. They made such a good team at everything. Debbie wondered what she'd do when Jake left.

After putting the leftovers in the refrigerator, Jake took Debbie's elbow to help her to the den. By now, she was capable of getting there on her own, but Jake automatically helped her and, as independent as she normally was, she never refused his help. It felt so good to feel his hands on her elbow, and he always touched her on the right side. He knew even a light touch on her left side gave her a small shocking sensation, but he couldn't know the warm tingle she felt whenever he touched her anywhere else.

A quiet evening at home was always a treat. They discussed business or their families or simply pursued solitary activities such as reading side by side, occasionally sharing an interesting item or an amusing thought.

"You can imagine what it was like at Aunt Molly's house when her kids were teenagers. The oldest daughter, my cousin Nadine, must have been about sixteen, and she was bringing a boy to meet the family. Paul and I were about twelve, and, of course, teased her mercilessly about having a boyfriend."

Debbie smiled. "I can't imagine you teasing anybody."

"Poor Nadine was so nervous. Paul and I were the first to arrive, and she left us sitting with the boy while she tried to round everybody up. Naturally, we gave him a hard time, and he was getting more and more nervous. As usual, the family was scattered to the four winds, and Paul and I harassed the poor guy so much he took off before Nadine got everybody into the living room." Jake chuckled. "When she met the guy she finally married, she refused to let Paul and me meet him for ages."

After dragging on for what seemed like ages, it came as a surprise to both Debbie and Jake when her attorney said Dr. Smith's insurance company was willing to settle on the malpractice claim.

"The problem is, his coverage is nowhere near enough to cover the amount of your legitimate claim. You have medical bills, lost income, and pain and suffering. A jury would probably award you many times the amount of insurance he has. However, anything more than the amount of his insurance would have to come from him, and he'd just declare bankruptcy. So you wouldn't be any better off." Al Cane scowled. "However, I don't think this amount is adequate for what you've gone through."

Jake leaned forward in his chair, his hands clenched into tight fists. "No amount of money could ever compensate Debbie for what she's been through," he said. "But she has to have enough to pay the rest of the medical bills, and she needs a scooter and a van with a lift so she can be independent again. Is there enough for that?"

"There's one more fact you may not know," answered the attorney. "Debbie's medical insurance company plans to subrogate on any settlement you get. There's fine print in the policy that states they must be reimbursed for their medical payments if you collect from a third party. There won't be enough for all that as it stands now. But I'm willing to negotiate my percentage, and I'll negotiate with your medical insurance carrier if you like."

"What about all these lawsuits you hear about where the victim collects millions of dollars? Debbie's only asking to get to a position where she can get out of debt and earn her living again. Damn it. That idiot did this to her. He should have to pay," shouted Jake.

"Jake, calm down." Debbie laid her hand on his arm. "It's not Mr. Cane's fault. He's doing everything he can. I'm the one who made the stupid mistake of going to a quack."

Jake pushed his chair against her wheelchair so he could put his arm around Debbie's shoulders and hug her against his side. "Oh, Deb, honey, it's not your fault. You had no reason in the world to doubt this guy's credentials. You're the victim. I just don't want you to be the victim of the legal system as well."

"Let me talk to the health insurance company. Let's set up an appointment for us to meet again the same time next week. I know you're anxious to get this settled," soothed Mr. Cane.

Debbie thought the week would never end. She went through the motions of working on the Telecom design, visiting her parents, and participating in therapy, but she was preoccupied.

They went to the Steak Barn, which had become their favorite spot for their Saturday nights out.

"Earth to Debbie. Earth to Debbie." Jake waved a hand in front of her face.

She looked up and started to apologize for her distraction.

"It's okay. I'm thinking about it too. I know you'll get enough money to pay those bills and get the scooter and van. Now listen to this music. They're playing one of our favorite songs. I want to see a smile on that pretty face," he said as he lifted her chin so she was facing him.

Soon he was relating a silly incident that happened at the grocery store. "I was figuring out how much fruit to get to last till the next trip to the store. So I was counting on my fingers and mumbling-five fruit servings a day for three days. Then I remembered half of a banana counts as a fruit serving on your diet, so I reminded myself 'half a banana equals one fruit.' The lady next to me looked at me, started to say something, then took off. I guess she thought I was a real nut case."

When Debbie smiled, Jake's grin lit up his face, and he said, "Now that's better. That's the Debbie I know and love."

Love? Oh no! It hit Debbie like a bolt of lightning. Jake was using a common expression, but suddenly she realized it was love she felt for Jake. It wasn't gratitude or hero worship or friendship or chemistry or any of those things she'd been telling herself it was. All of them were part of it, of course, but what she felt was love. She'd already wondered how she would manage when he left. Now what would she do?

Fortunately, Jake had looked away to ask the waiter for the check. He didn't see the shock on her face when she recognized her love. But he did see the look of discouragement and depression that came with the thought of Jake's leaving.

"Honey, I know you're worried. But I promise, you'll get enough money out of the lawsuit to pay those bills and buy that van." He took her hand. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure of that."

At the end of the week, Debbie should have been happy. Her attorney had successfully negotiated with her health insurance company, and he'd reduced his own fee. She'd receive enough from the malpractice insurance settlement to do everything she wanted. She'd be able to pay off the balances on her credit cards, as well as all her medical bills. She could buy the scooter and a minivan with a lift. She'd be independent again.

And that thought depressed her. She'd be able to get around on her own, and although her doctors recommended she not live alone, they conceded she was capable of doing so. There'd no longer be any reason for Jake to stay. He'd stayed twice as long as his initial promise of three months. And he'd still be her partner in Debbie's Designs. But Debbie expected him to announce his imminent departure from her home any time.

They went to the dealership to select a van.

"I just don't understand you, Debbie. You should be thrilled to be picking out your van. Instead, you're moping around like you've lost your last friend. What's wrong?"

"Let's go home, Jake. I just don't feel up to deciding on a purchase this large right now. You know I don't know anything about cars."

Jake walked over to the edge of the showroom floor, where the salesman was waiting for their reaction to the van they were viewing. Jake thanked the man for his help and said they'd be back later to complete the deal. "You know women," Jake said with a laugh. "She can't decide on the color."

Debbie didn't even have enough spirit left to react to his sexist remark.

As they drove off the lot, Jake said, "Now I know something's really wrong. If I can't get a rise out of you with a comment like that, it's time to worry." Getting no reaction from Debbie, he concluded, "We'll talk about it when we get home."

They rode in silence. When they got home, Jake guided Debbie into the living room instead of the den. He seated her on the sofa and sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

"Debbie, please tell me what's wrong. Are you unhappy with the settlement?"

Debbie responded with a negative shake of her head.

"Do you want the scooter and the van?"

This time she nodded.

"Then is it something I did?"

"No, it's something you're going to do," exclaimed Debbie as she burst into tears.

"Debbie, sweetheart, please don't cry," he begged. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt you." Looking completely baffled, he asked, "What do you think I'm going to do?"

Debbie's only response was to sob harder and louder.

"Please, Deb, tell me what's wrong. I can't stand to see you cry."

This time, her sobs nearly drowned out her muffled words. It took several attempts before the words could be deciphered. "You're going to leave me."

"Whatever gave you that idea? I'm not going anywhere," Jake denied.

"You're trying to keep me from needing you," Debbie sobbed.

"Deb . . . sweetheart . . . please don't cry . . . I can't stand it when you cry . . . " Jake's voice was pleading, cajoling.

"I don't want you to go." Debbie sobbed louder. "I don't want to be a burden, but I don't want you to go."

Jake sat beside her and took her in his arms. "Deb, honey, you could never be a burden."

"Of course, I'm a burden. It's not fair that you have to take care of me." She burrowed her face into his shoulder and continued to sob.

"You're not a burden. I love taking care of you. I love you. You could never be a burden. I want nothing more than to take care of you the rest of our lives."

"You deserve someone who can take care of you."

Jake lifted her head from his shoulder and held it so she faced him. "I don't deserve you, Deb, but you're the only one I want."

"Oh, Jake, I love you so much. But I couldn't stand to be a burden to you."

Continuing to hold her face gently in his palms, he said, "Why would you think you're a burden to me? You're smarter than I am, and you're the strongest, most courageous person I know. It's a privilege and a labor of love to do anything I can to make your life easier."

Debbie wrapped her arms around Jake's neck and kissed him soundly on the lips. When the kiss ended, she said, "The strength and courage I have come from you."

"It works both ways, sweetheart. If it weren't for you sharing your business with me, I'd still be wondering what I wanted to do when I grow up. You've helped me grow up." After more kisses and caresses, Jake asked, "Debbie, the love of my life, will you marry me?"

"Of course, I'll marry you." Debbie smiling face suddenly sobered. "Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Sweetheart, I've been sure for a long time."

"The thing is, Jake, you know the left side of my body has been numb. And now every touch feels like a little shock . . . "

"I know that, Deb. Go on. What's your point?"

"Well, uh, it's every part of my body. I mean I'm not sure about having sex . . ."

"Debbie, sweetheart, we aren't going to 'have sex.' We are going to make love. If you love me half as much as I love you, we'll find ways to share our love."

"Are you sure, Jake? I mean . . . "

"I'm very sure, Deb. I love your body, and I can't wait to hold you in my arms and make love to you. But if it's uncomfortable for you, we'll figure something else out."

"I'm not very experienced, Jake . . . "

"Do you love me, Debbie?"

"More than life itself."

"That's how I feel about you. I love you-your heart, and your mind, and your soul-just as much as your body. We'll find ways of expressing our love, starting right now."

And he proceeded to kiss her and caress her. He was ever so careful to concentrate on the right side. He occasionally touched the left side accidentally, causing a slight shock, but Debbie's love was stronger than the minor discomfort. Maybe this would work after all.

Debbie felt the heat radiating from Jake's skin as he overwhelmed her with passionate kisses and tender caresses. She trembled in his arms, exulting in their shared passion. The physical sensations she felt now were as powerful as anything she had experienced with the stroke, but oh what a difference! These sensations were wonderful.

Suddenly the shocks weren't all on her left side. Debbie felt Jake's caresses with a jolt of sensation all the way to her toes. Her eyes widened when she felt the evidence of Jake's physical response to her intimate contact with his lap.

"Jake, I've dreamed of this for so long. Is it really happening?"

"It's really happening, my love. Thank God. It's been torture being so close to you and yet so far apart."

"Why didn't you say something? All this time without a hint."

"There were a lot of hints, Deb. But I was afraid to do more than hint. I didn't want you to marry me out of gratitude for my care, and I sure didn't want you to feel dependent on me. I wanted you to choose me freely, even if you no longer need me to take care of you."

"I'll always need you and I'll always love you."

He hugged her more tightly to him. "And I'll always need you, and I'll always love you."

"When did you know you loved me?"

Jake ran his hands up and down her arms. "When I met you, I felt great respect for your strength and your character. As I got to know you better, I discovered how much I liked you. I'd rather be with you than anyone else. You're fun-you're smart- you're understanding." He grinned his cocky grin. "Who else laughs at all my jokes?" Then, more seriously, he continued, "And last, but definitely not least, you can feel how much I want you."

Debbie blushed. "I feel the same way about you. But when I look in the mirror, I see a flawed body."

"You're wrong, Deb. When I look at you, I see a lovely, sexy, and charming woman. And when you look at me like you're looking at me now, . . . it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Debbie looked into his eyes and the love shining from them reflected the adoration gleaming in hers. "This is even better than I've dreamed."

He hugged her even tighter and said, "I was afraid you were too smart for me, but now I realize we complement each other. We're two halves of one whole."

"Oh, Jake, I've never felt the way you're making me feel right now. I was afraid I never would. But in my heart, you've been my partner for a long time."

"Debbie, my love, you're my partner, my soul mate, my other half. I love you, and I promise to tell you how much every day for the rest of our lives. But can we please stop telling and start showing? I've waited way too long already. Oh, Deb, I promise, you're not going to regret it."

"I've never regretted anything you've ever suggested, Jake." She answered him kiss for kiss, caress for caress, desire for desire.

Finally, Debbie said, "Several months ago, when you took me to get my hair cut, Kathie told me it was a real 'stroke' of luck that I found you. It was more than a 'stroke' of luck. I think there was some divine intervention in there somewhere."

Jake's smile lit up the darkness. He reached for her again, and said, "I feel lucky-very lucky."

"I'll go on to the car," Debbie said.

Jake locked the front door and hurried to catch up with her. "Hey, we're going out to celebrate. Let's go in my car."

Debbie continued toward the van. "I'd like to have the scooter just in case. I'm a little tired tonight."

He put his hand on her arm. "Would you rather stay home tonight and go out Friday or Saturday?"

"Of course not. Today is our first anniversary, and tonight is the night to celebrate." She opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Her movements were smooth, almost graceful. Why would she think she might need her scooter?

He stood beside the open door. "Are you sure you're okay?" He couldn't remember the last time she'd used the scooter. After progressing to a cane several months ago, she usually avoided any assistance other than his arm when they went out.

"I'm fine." She leaned over to kiss him. Before the kiss became passionate, she pulled away. "We have a lot to celebrate. Let's go."

As they drove to the Steak Barn, Jake glanced over at Debbie every time he stopped at a traffic light. She didn't look tired. In fact, she looked radiant, and she wore an excited smile.

Well, they both had reason to be excited. Three reasons actually. Today was their first anniversary; they had just completed the Telecom International job and received the large final payment installment; and they had just signed another, even larger contract.

He tried not to frown when Debbie asked him to unload the scooter at the restaurant. The fact that she used it at all worried him, but the fact that she asked him to get it distressed him. As soon as she had learned how to operate the hydraulic lift, she'd become completely independent. As soon as they'd been able to afford it, they'd bought him a small car so Debbie could have the van to drive herself to appointments.

He missed going with her to meet with clients, but he loved managing the business. Just a few hours ago, he'd been thinking that life couldn't get any more perfect.

Now he wondered what was wrong with Debbie. They had both worked long hours putting together the proposal for Telecom's next project. Maybe she'd pushed herself too much. Maybe he'd pushed her too much. He'd encouraged her to finish the designs ahead of schedule. What if-

"Earth to Jake. Earth to Jake."

Debbie parked the scooter in the corner and walked to the table pointed out by the hostess. "I'm here, Deb honey. Sorry."

Her smile widened. "Don't be sorry, sweetheart. You just brought back a memory of the moment I realized I loved you. We were right here in the Steak Barn, as a matter of fact. I was worrying that you'd leave me soon. You got my attention by saying 'Earth to Debbie.' Then you joked around and made me smile. When you said, 'That's the Debbie I know and love,' even though it was just a figure of speech, I realized I loved you." She reached across the table to take his hand. "And I love you even more today."

His chest tightened and emotion clogged his throat. "It wasn't a figure of speech. I'd known for a long time that I loved you. But what I felt then was only a shadow of what I feel now."

"A year and a half ago, I thought I had a good life. I thought I was happy." Her smile faded. "Then I had the stroke, and I wondered if I could ever be happy again. But you've made me happier than I ever could have imagined."

He squeezed her hand. "I can't take credit for anything except loving you more than life itself. And look what you've done for me. You've turned a bum into a successful businessman."

She shook her head. "You never were a bum, and you turned yourself into a successful businessman. You're doing a great job with the employees and the business. And that new contract with Telecom proves you're becoming a good-no-great-negotiator."

"That contract came about because you're such a great designer." He let go of Debbie's hand to take the menu from the waitress. "Let's put this mutual admiration society on hold for a minute and order our drinks. How about champagne?"

"None for me. I'll just have an iced tea."

"Two iced teas, then," he said. As soon as the waitress left, he took Debbie's hand again. She gazed at their linked hands on the table. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She jerked her head up to look into his eyes. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You're using the scooter for the first time in ages. We're celebrating our anniversary and two huge business successes, and you won't even have a glass of champagne." He leaned forward. "Deb honey, have I done something to upset you or has something happened to your physical condition?"

Debbie laughed. "No, sweetheart, you haven't done anything to upset me. In fact, you've done something very, very good. And I guess something has happened to my physical condition, but it's also very, very good." Her smile spread even wider.

"What are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

"Well, soon-to-be-Dad, mothers-to-be tire easily, and sometimes they don't make much sense. Must be the hormones."

He heard the words. They were words he knew. They should make sense. But-"Did you just say what I think you said."

"If you think I said I'm pregnant, I did." A small frown crossed her face. "You did agree for me to get off the pill. Jake, say something!"

He jumped up and took the few steps to her side of the table, his arms wide. She rose to step into his arms. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. He didn't care that people all over the restaurant were twisting in their seats to watch.

He stopped kissing her, but he continued to hold her. "We're going to have a baby?"

She nodded, tears running down her cheeks, that Mona Lisa smile lighting her face. "Does this mean you're as happy as I am?"

"It means I'm the happiest man in the world." He loosened his hold on her to turn toward the room of gawking strangers. "We're going to have a baby!"

Debbie glanced around the room. Her face flushed a bright pink, and she sat down. "I wanted to be sure before I told you. The doctor said everything is fine, and we should have a healthy, normal baby. It's a blessing I wasn't sure we'd ever have."

The waitress returned with their iced tea in champagne glasses. "Congratulations. Enjoy your celebration." Several of the gawkers were smiling.

Jake squeezed Debbie's shoulder before he returned to his seat. "Deb honey, let's celebrate another stroke of luck."

"Okay. Maybe we should also be thankful for more divine intervention."