Serving the Soldier - Part 1 (An Alpha Military Romance) Read Free

grasp it; shook gently, retrieved his hand and then backed up.
    “Jackson Andrews. Call me Jax.”
    He closed the door and stood unmoving. I glanced up at him again, again lifting an eyebrow, a nervous habit of mine, I’m afraid. Normally, I didn’t feel so awkward. Normally, I was familiar with taking charge, ensuring the client that I knew what I was doing, and was able to provide solid and firm direction as to what they should expect from me.
    For some reason, maybe because of his age and his looks, I felt a little off balance and unsure. I attempted to break the silence, gesturing toward my car on the other side of the door. “I have a few things…”
    His dark brown eyes continued to stare down at me as if assessing me and whether I was right for this job. For a second, I felt a brief surge of alarm that he would tell me I wasn’t going to work out. Maybe I wasn’t what he had expected. I had no way of knowing what that was, but perhaps after I got settled in we could sit down and get acquainted.
    “Let me show you where you’ll be staying, and then we’ll deal with your luggage.”
    With that, he turned and walked slowly down the hallway that branched off from the marble tiled foyer. I glanced at his back, my eyes widening with alarm when I saw the scars. When Nancy said he had a back injury, she wasn’t kidding. A five-by-five gauze pad covered what I assumed was the surgical incision over his lumbar spine at the base of his back, a portion of it disappearing beneath the waistband of his swimming trunks, which he wore low on his hips. He walked with a straight back, although his steps were slow, almost as if he was testing his weight with each step before moving forward.
    I was distracted from admiring the surroundings of the home as I studied his back. One sickle-shaped and jagged scar ran from the mid part of his back down toward the base of his spine. Several additional three- to four-inch scars were visible near the curved scar on one side of his back. A couple of shorter yet ridged and angry-looking purple scars stood out on his left side, while another fresh looking scar ran from beneath his trunks and down his right thigh, curving toward the back of the knee.
    In addition to the newer scar tissue, I also saw signs of older scar tissue; one on the back of his shoulder, the others on his arms and legs. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering his background, but still. He was anxious to get back to duty?
    I knew he’d been assigned a mobility device, two actually; a walker and a cane. I would have to bring this up when we had our first sit-down chat. Nancy was right. He was noncompliant. I had gotten a more complete history of his injuries and his plan of care from Nancy and his therapist yesterday afternoon.
    The therapist made no bones about the fact that Mister Andrews — Jax — was noncompliant, impatient with the slow pace of her proposed plan of therapy, and pretty much did as he pleased. She said she had warned him several times that his determination to start walking and engaging in otherwise normal activities sooner than recommended could result in permanent injury. He had shrugged off her concerns. I also knew that she had warned Jax that if he continued to be noncompliant, there would be no point in her continuing her restorative efforts with him.
    I followed Jax as he slowly took the gently curving staircase up to the second floor. He took his time, placing one foot carefully on each step before attempting another. I followed patiently behind. After we reached the landing he offhandedly commented about the rooms we passed. Library in here, his office in there, master bedroom down at the end of the hall. My room, the guest bedroom, was situated across the hall from his and a few steps further down. He opened the door and stepped back, allowing me to look inside. My eyes widened in amazement although I schooled my features so as not to express my awe.
    The room was gorgeous,