“What if I can’t do this anymore? If I can’t handle the tools? It takes me longer to think, and these headaches about drop me.”

She wanted to hold him, hug him, nuzzle him into comfort. And instead flicked at him with mild annoyance. “Steve, it’s your first day out of the hospital. What did you think, you’d walk out swinging a hammer?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re on your feet. You’re talking to me. The doctor said it’s going to take time. Just as he said you’ve already made an amazing recovery, and there’s every reason to believe you’ll get it all back.”

“Could take months. Even years. And I can’t remember.” A trace of fear eked through frustration. “Goddamn it, I can’t remember anything that happened that night after I left here. Can’t remember going to the bar, or hanging out, trailing Shanna home like she says I did. It’s blank. I can remember getting on the bike. I can remember thinking I might just score with Shanna of the big brown eyes and amazing rack. Next thing I remember is you yelling at me, and your face leaning down over mine. Everything between is gone. Just gone.”

She shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “If you’re going to forget something, that would be the night.”

He smiled a little. “Fricking ray of sunshine, aren’t you? I’m going to crash awhile, take some drugs and crash.”

“Good idea.”

He let her take his weight to lead him to the guest room. Then stopped at the doorway. The walls were painted a soft and restful blue, as was the beadboard wainscoting. The original walnut trim, stripped and restored by her own hands, framed the windows. The floor gleamed, deep, rich and glossy. The iron headboard and footboard in dignified pewter suited the simple white and blue quilt, the star-patterned rug with its blue border. White daisies sprang up out of a cobalt vase on a table in front of the window.

“What the hell’s this?”

“Surprise. I think it’s marginally more appealing than a hospital room.”

“It’s a great room.” Even as he jabbed a finger at her, pleasure shone on his face. “What are you thinking, getting the floors refinished in one room?”

“I’m thinking it’s nice to see one room finished-or nearly. Need some art for the walls, and I have to finish the rest of the trim, but otherwise. And check it out.” She opened an old wardrobe, revealed a flat-screen TV. "Got cable.” She grinned at him. “Digital, at Ford’s insistence. The bath’s finished, too. And looks great if I say so myself.”

Steve sat on the side of the bed. “Going at rehab this way screws up the schedule.”

“I’m not in a hurry.” She poured a glass from the pitcher she’d placed on the nightstand, then got out the pill bottle. “Bottoms up, then we’ll get you undressed and into bed.”

The faintest twinkle winked in his eyes. “Time was you’d’ve gotten in with me, doll.”

“Time was.” She crouched down to take off his shoes.

“I want those subs back here tomorrow.”

“Who made you job manager?” Rising, she gestured so he lifted his arms. But she smiled as she drew off his shirt. “They’ll be back. They wanted to have a welcome-back party. Beer and subs. I scotched that. I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to party.” He lay back so she could take off his jeans. “The day I can have a woman strip me down and not want to return the favor’s not a day for partying.”

“I give you a week.” Now, no longer able to resist, she stroked his cheek. “I heard how you hit on all the nurses.”

“It’s expected. I skipped Mike.” He gave her a wan smile. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

She turned down the bed, eased him into it, slipped off his shades, took the cap off his shaved head. The smooth dome marred by the line of stitches hurt her in every cell of her body. “I’m going to be downstairs doing some paperwork. You need anything, just call. If you want the TV, there’s the remote. If you want anything, Steve, I’m right here.”

“Just a few z’s for right now.”

“Okay.” She kissed his forehead, then slipped out.

Alone, he stared up at the ceiling. And, sighing, closed his eyes.

Cilla took her laptop outside to work. Though she snuck up to check on Steve twice in the first hour, she made headway with bills and cost projections. When she heard the crunch of feet on gravel, she glanced up to see Ford and Spock.

“Hi, neighbor,” he called out. “I figured if you were out here, the returning hero’s doing all right.”

“Sleeping.” She looked at her watch. “God, how did it get to be five o’clock?”

“The earth orbits around the sun as it turns on its axis, thereby-”

“Smart-ass.”

“Present. And speaking of.” He shook the bag in his hand. “I’ve got something for Steve. Some DVDs, since you’ve got the set up in his room.”

Cilla cocked her head. "DVDs? Porn?”

Ford’s eyebrows drew together. “Porn’s such a hard word. Just hear how it comes out of the mouth. That short, hard syllable. Spider-Man, the three-movie box set. It seemed appropriate. And a couple of others that involve naked women and motorcycles, which I’d call adult entertainment. Spock picked those out.”

She slid her glance down to the dog, who cocked his head and looked innocent. “I’m sure Steve will appreciate them.”

“Spock believes Sleazy Rider was very underrated.”

“I’ll take his word.” She heard the footsteps first, sprang to her feet. She pulled open the screen door as Steve reached for it from the inside. “You’re up. Why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t take the steps by yourself.”

“I’m fine. I’m good. Ford.”

“Good to see you out.”

“Good to be. Hey, Spock. Hey, boy.” He sat on one of the white plastic chairs, stroking the dog, who laid his front legs on Steve’s knee.

“You look better,” Cilla decided.

“Magic pills and sleep. I nap like a three-year-old these days, but it does the job.”

“You’re probably hungry. Why don’t I fix you some food? Something to drink? Get you-”

“Cill.” He started to tell her not to bother, changed his mind. “Yeah, I could use a sandwich or something. Not hospital food or smuggled-in goods. Maybe you could throw something together for all of us.”

“Sure. Give me a few minutes.”

When she dashed inside, Steve shook his head. “She’s hovering, man.”

“I talked her out of the little bedside john.”

“I owe you. What’s in the bag?”

Ford passed it over, and after a quick look, Steve broke out in a grin. “Now we’re talking. Thanks. Listen, I need to get the exercise in. You spot me on a walk around?”

“Okay.”

Ford waited until Steve handled the stairs, then walked with him away from the house. “Something on your mind?”

“Lots of shit, man. It still gets a little bogged coming through the channels. Cops don’t have dick, right?”

“That’d be about it.”

“It looks like a one-time thing. Just bad luck. I mean, nothing’s happened since.”

“No.”

Steve stared at Ford’s profile. “You’d tell me straight?”

Ford thought of Cilla’s car door, but set it aside. “Nobody’s broken into the barn, bothered the house.”

“You were bunking here while I was in the hospital. I got word on that.”

“Hey. My sleeping bag.”

“So you and Cilla aren’t in the sack?”

“Not quite yet.”

“But you’re into her. Look, that’s your business, her business and all that bullcrap, but I’m asking because I need to know if you’re going to look out for her when I’m gone.”

Ford paused as Steve did. “Going somewhere?”

“I haven’t said anything to her yet. I was going to when we got back, but Jesus, she fixed up the room for me. Down to flowers, you know. Oh, and thanks for the push on the cable.”

“It’s only right.”

With a nod, Steve began to walk again. “The thing is, I should’ve headed back last week, latest. Plans changed on account of brain surgery. I’d stay if I thought she needed me to watch out for her, or I could help out. She can take care of herself, that’s Christ’s truth, but… Hell, maybe it’s the near-death experience. Whatever. I want to get home. I want to sit on the beach, soak up the rays. But I need to know somebody’s got her back.”