Zachary Roberson glanced toward the front of the plane and saw the pretty blonde and handsome redhead frowning at him with concern. Sure, his progress up the aisle wasn't graceful, but he managed. A wheelchair. For fuck's sake, what next? But hard-learned manners pressed him to offer a milder answer. "No, ma'am, I'm fine." He continued his halting progress between the seats toward the airplane's forward exit, despite the doubtful looks of the cabin attendants. They had a right to be concerned, he reminded himself. Lawyers and lawsuits populated this world, unlike the one he'd left behind. Here, conflicts were handled with suits instead of sidearms. "Issues" they were called, not problems. Things were "challenged," not busted. Welcome home, Marine. The attendants looked uncomfortable under his regard. He'd probably looked at them too long or too aggressively, thereby violating some unspoken social rule. Damn it! He shoved away the urge to snarl and forced a smile onto his face.
