Chapter Eight

Gingerly, Jordan guided Woody out of the elevators and to her apartment door. "Stay right there," she warned, "Don't move."

"I'm not a three year-old, Jordan."

She sighed. No, he definitely wasn't a three year-old boy, but he sure as hell was acting like one. She remembered some of her married friends' comments that sick men were nothing but big babies. She had shrugged it off at the time. Now she fervently believed it.

"I know... I just don't want you to hurt yourself."

Woody leaned back against the wall as he heard her fumble for her keys, his hands still clutching the white cane with the red tip that the therapist had given him. He hated it. It marked him as different...disabled. The words were bitter in his mouth. He hadn't wanted to go home with Jordan. Not a bit

The problem was he didn't have much of a choice. It was either that or call his parents. He picked the lesser of two evils.

Not that a doting Jordan wasn't a keen fantasy. He imagined she would make sure he had the best of everything. He just hated her seeing him this way...weak...dependent. In the past, she had always depended on him...a relationship he was comfortable with.

He wasn't comfortable with this. He hated depending on anyone. Most of all, someone that depended on him, whether she would ever admit it or not.

"There we go," she said, finally opening the door and guiding him inside. "Let me get your stuff put in the bedroom and then we'll get you settled." She smiled at him, realizing that he couldn't see it, but could probably hear it in her voice. She was glad he was here, so she could take care of him. Despite his grumblings otherwise, he really was better off with her. After their discussions with the doctor yesterday, she had made a precursory examination of his body...something she could easily do without him noticing now. And she had observed a couple of things that concerned her. First, he had lost weight...something that would not normally be a problem with his six-foot-plus frame, but to her it was an indication he either wasn't eating, or wasn't being fed. His full lunch-tray had bore witness to that fact. The second thing she saw that bothered her was on his back. Woody had a few bedsores that weren't being attended to. He wasn't being turned over in the bed properly or as frequently as he needed to be. She had cursed herself for not returning to the hospital...not looking after him like he needed to be looked after.

Coming back into her living room, she saw that he had found his way to the couch and was stretched out on it. She walked over and sat down beside him. "Hey, feel like lunch?"

He shook his head. "Not hungry."

Jordan held her breath and counted to ten. "You need to eat, Woody. You've lost weight. You can't get better without proper nutrition."

"I know that Dr. Cavanaugh. I just don't feel like eating right now."

Then it hit Jordan. The reason he didn't want to eat was that she would have to feed him. He wasn't going to let himself be seen as weak in anyway...even if it meant he was hurting himself. She grinned. She could beat him at this game.

"Well, I'm going to fix some soup and a sandwich. I'll make you some, just in case."

"Jordan..."

"I'll be in the kitchen. If you need me, call me. Don't try to get up without me. Here's the remote for the TV. Find yourself something interesting to listen to."

Woody heard her rummaging around in her kitchen, humming to herself. Desolately, he switched on the TV, clicking the channels until he got to ESPN. He was listening to the spring baseball stats when he heard Jordan re-appear in the living room. "Here," she said, sitting something down on the coffee table, then helping him sit up.

"I told you I didn't want anything..."

"And I told you that you needed proper nutrition." She thrust a mug of tomato soup in his hand. "Eat it...and be happy."

He was hungry...and the soup smelt wonderful...and it was in a mug. Greedily he downed it and turned to her with a sheepish grin. "More?"

She smiled. "Sure. Meanwhile, work on the BLT." She placed a half a sandwich in his hand and went back into the kitchen. She knew, instinctively, while it was important that she take care of Woody, make sure he was okay...that she do nothing to strip away what dignity he had left. And whatever she did, she would have to leave his manhood intact. He needed both of those things in order to survive. If she did anything to denigrate either one, she would loose him forever. Feeding himself was the first step to restoring both.

Twenty minutes, three mugs of tomato soup and two BLTs later, Woody was full. He stretched back out on the couch. "Wait a minute, Farm Boy," she said. She put a napkin in his hand. "Wipe your mouth." He grinned up at where her voice was coming from and nodded.

"You're enjoying this too much Cavanaugh."

"Sure...sure. Now take a nap and be good."

He heard her return to the kitchen and clean up after lunch. He felt better with a full stomach. That was for sure. And she would never know how grateful he was that she arranged everything so that he could feed himself. Whether she had known, guessed, or it was just a shot in his dark world, he was thankful.

She was humming again. He had no idea she hummed to herself as she did housework. Did she always do that? He couldn't remember. It was good to be back in her apartment, he had to admit. It had been a long time...and he never expected to return under conditions such as these, if ever.

She had surprised him when she offered to let him stay with her. It blew him away. But she had been sincere. And insistent. "You've done so much for me in the past, Woody...you've taken care of me. Let me take care of you for just a little while...return the favor...please?" She made it sound like he was doing her the favor...instead of the other way around.

He had reluctantly agreed. He had no other choice. When she came to pick him up today, he had been ready – until he discovered what she had on. Jeans, for sure. She always wore jeans. But it was the soft, satiny shirt that had nearly been his undoing. He knew that she probably didn't think twice before putting it on, but now for him, with his sight taken and his other senses heightened, the feel of the fabric under his fingers, between them and her skin did a number on him. He had nearly backed out right then. It had felt too good...she had felt too good. Drifting off to sleep, he remembered just how good the bare skin on her arms felt.

Later, Jordan had woke him up to eat dinner. Pizza. Another finger food. They had laughed and she had given him a beer. "One...maybe two, if you're a good boy," she warned. "I don't need you so tipsy I can't get you to bed."

Bed. He swallowed hard. He hadn't thought about where he'd be sleeping. Here? On the couch? Or the bedroom?

Would she be with him? She'd have to be nearby. He still couldn't manage getting up at night by himself. He wouldn't let her sleep on the floor beside him. She needed her rest, too.

She caught the agitation on his face, and wondered what was wrong, as she absent-mindedly pulled the black olives off her pizza. She ordered them for him...she didn't like them. While he had been asleep, she had called Garrett and told him what she had decided. She had already talked with Mike Beechler, explaining most of the situation to him. "That's fine," he had replied. "I understand...when this guy is better, on his own, if you still want to come, give me a call. The position is still yours then, if you want it." She was grateful. She still may need to take him up on it.

Garrett was a little more hesitant. "Are you sure, Jordan?" he had asked.

"I've really thought about it. I have to try to do this...as much for me as it is for him, Garrett."

"Okay...if that's what you think."

"One more thing, though, boss..."

"I know....all five years of that personal time you've been building up...you want it now?"

"Is it too much trouble?"

"I can give you a couple of weeks, if Nigel and Bug don't mutiny. Sydney is doing well, and the loaner ME is doing okay, too. Anything more is doubtful...think you can work something out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay... be careful Jordan."

"I will...and thanks Garrett."

He had grown quiet. "Through with your pizza?" she asked.

He nodded. She was glad to see he had eaten over half of the it. She had been right. He had been hungry and wouldn't lower his pride to let someone feed him. Hungry, he had been hungry. The thought of him being hungry and blind cut her to the quick. She felt the tears well up in her eyes and she quickly willed them away. If he heard them or felt them, he would take it as pity and he'd be out the door as quickly as his feet and cane would take him.

"Ready for bed?"

"Where will I be sleeping, Jordan?" he asked quietly

She hesitated on this one. This was the one area she expected the biggest fight on.

"With me, Woody."