When I pulled the curtain aside, Kane was waiting with a wheelchair. “Aw, come on, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I complained. “I’ll walk. Never mind the wheelchair.” “You have two choices,” Kane said severely. “You can sit in the wheelchair like a good little patient, or I can carry you out. Which would you prefer?” “Now you’re just showing off,” I ribbed him. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “If that’s the way you want it.” “No, I’ll behave.” I sat in the wheelchair, feeling foolish while he wheeled me to the hospital doors. On the sidewalk, he deftly manoeuvred the chair into a shady spot and locked the brakes. “I’ll go and get the Expedition,” he said. “I’ll pick you up from here.” “I can walk to the parking lot,” I protested. “Or I could carry you.” “All right, all right,” I grumbled as he strode away, grinning. The warm fresh breeze wrapped gently around me and I let my eyes drift closed. I eased back in the chair, moving carefully against the painful bruise.
