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you
out on the dance floor!” Tommy’s massive chest shook with a sob.
“Damn it, Christi, how the hell can I ever be the husband you
deserve? How can I give you what you need, in bed or out? How can I
take care of you and this ranch? How can I do any of it from a
God-damned wheelchair?”
    “Oh, Tommy,” Christi breathed. She slipped
from the rocking chair and into his lap. She put her arms around
him and held him tightly as huge sobs wracked his body. Tears
poured down her face as she cradled the heartbroken man she loved
so much and let him pour out his anguish, and for long minutes she
just held him and let him cry.
    When the storm had mostly passed, she cradled
his head against her chest. “Feel any better?” she asked.
    Tommy sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I don’t
feel like hitting anybody anymore, but I hardly feel like dancing.
Not that I could anyway.”
    “I’ve seen other paraplegics dancing with
their ladies on their laps,” Christi suggested quietly. “The girls
seemed to like it.”
    Tommy shrugged. “Bet they weren’t doing the
two-step.”
    “It was a waltz.” Christi sat up but didn’t
move off his lap. “Tommy, not one thing you’ve said to me tonight
is a surprise. I figured you were worried about these things; you
would have to be. But in all honesty, Tommy, has either one of us
done a damn thing to address any of these concerns of yours? Has
either of us looked for any solutions?”
    “How the hell are we supposed to ‘address my
concerns’?” Tommy asked almost angrily. “How are we supposed to
come up with solutions for any of it? It
didn’t sound like that support group was doing a very good job
handling their problems, and they’ve at it longer than I have.”
    “One problem at a time. We look at each
concern and see what can be done about it. Then, for each issue, we
do something—whatever it takes, whatever we can—to make things
right…or at least better. And we do this over and over until all
our issues are dealt with. It may take us the better part of a
lifetime, Tommy, but nothing’s going to get resolved until we at
least start trying. Sound like a plan?”
    “If you say so,” Tommy grunted.
    “Okay, let’s start with the biggest elephant
on the couch. You got pissed tonight when all your blowhard friends
were bragging about their sexual escapades. You’re afraid you can’t
do it anymore. So, why don’t we know the answer to that by now?
You’ve been home almost a month. Why haven’t we gotten in that bed
together and found out?”
    Tommy didn’t speak for a moment. “Because
we’re both scared of the answer. I don’t want to find out my
equipment doesn’t work, and you don’t want to have to cope with the
fallout if it doesn’t.”
    “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Christi
said. “But you’re right that we’ve both been afraid. Tommy, what
did the doctors tell you when they talked to you about your sex
life?”
    “That I most likely could but they weren’t
sure. They’re never sure until the guy gets in bed and tries. Is
that what you want to do tonight? I mean, I guess we could…we
can…oh, hell, Christi, what if we try and it doesn’t happen? What
if I have trouble? What will we do then?”
    Christi eyed him with a mixture of love and
exasperation. “Then we find some pills and toys and we try again.”
She leaned down and placed her lips gently against his, pulling his
T-shirt loose from his pants and sliding her fingers up his chest,
tangling them in the thick thatch of dark red chest hair that had
always turned her on. “Besides, cowboy, the last time I checked,
those creative fingers and incredible lips and intensely talented
tongue of yours were working just fine. You can use those until we
get the other worked out. Or are they paralyzed too these
days?”
    Tommy choked on a bark of laughter. “I guess
those are working fine. So, you mean it? You really want to give it
a whirl and see what happens?”
    Christi held his