He wondered if his marriage would survive an entire week of getting along just fine.
Rylie caught his eye and gave him a wink, and he returned a grateful smile. He’d been so worried about introducing her to his family, expecting she would lose her cool. But if she could hold her own against his mother, she’d be able to handle his sisters, too. It seemed he’d completely underestimated Rylie. What else would she do to surprise him?
Rylie pushed hard, attempting to stay ahead of Jarrett. What had she been thinking suggesting they go running together? It was pure torture to watch his muscles flexing under his thin running shirt. Her only option was to stay ahead of him, if possible, but she didn’t know how long she could keep it up. He was in a lot better condition than she was, though she refused to admit it. Twenty minutes into their run, they veered off the paved path onto a dirt trail.
“We could slow the pace a little,” he suggested from behind her.
She made the mistake of glancing over her shoulder, and the toe of her shoe caught on something. Her hands flailed as she stumbled, desperately trying to catch her footing.
His hand grasped her arm, preventing her fall.
“Thanks.” She bent over to catch her breath.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she panted. “I just took my eyes off the trail for a second. I guess my foot caught a rock.”
“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to slow down. This trail is rough,” he said. “But also, I haven’t run in over a week. I have to be careful, or I’ll get inflammation in this hip.”
He indicated the leg fitted with his running prosthesis, a piece of metal curved in a C-shape, with a sole on the bottom.
She didn’t know whether he was being honest or simply feeling sorry for her, but her aching lungs screamed at her to go along with him.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I’m fine. I can keep up.”
“I forgot how competitive you are.” His melt-your-socks-off dimples appeared as he shook his head. “I promise I’m being honest. But when I get back in the groove, we’ll have a race, if that’s what you want.”
They started running again, side by side as they reached the wider part of the path.
“I don’t want to race until I’ve had time to get in better shape,” she said. “That way I can beat you.”
He gasped in mock horror. “You’d try to beat a man running with only one leg?”
“Nice try, but I don’t feel sorry for you. I can tell you haven’t even broken a sweat, and I’m already dying.”
“I am too sweating.”
She dared a quick glance. “Barely. I’m dripping.”
He sprinted ahead of her and spun, standing directly in her path. She barely stopped herself before colliding with him.
“Hey! What are you—”
His arms encircled her, squashing her against his sopping wet shirt.
“Gross!” she shouted, though part of her was enjoying being pressed against him, wrapped in arms with to-die-for biceps. She added a half-hearted, “Let me go.”
Sadly, he complied. “Told you I was sweating.”
“Yuck! I believe you now. But you didn’t look like you were putting out much effort.”
“It actually takes a lot more energy to run with a prosthesis.”
“I thought it might be easier, with that springy thing on the bottom.”
“This helps absorb the shock, but it doesn’t help me swing my leg forward. Also, I have to run with a forefoot strike on my natural leg.”
“Like a barefoot runner?”
“Exactly. You should try running that way. It’s better for your joints.”
“I would, but it might slow me down, and you’re already faster than me.”
“Everything isn’t a competition, Rylie.”
She gave him her best what-planet-are-you-from look. “Yeah, it is.”
“In that case, I think I just won the sweating contest.”
She looked down at his wet imprint on her t-shirt.
“Yeah, you did.”
Back from their run in time for Gabe’s nightly routine, Jarrett gave Gabe a bath and then listened as Rylie read him a book. Then came prayer time, which Gabe seemed to thoroughly enjoy, though he didn’t comprehend most of their words. At the hospital, they would sit on his bed with him in the middle, each holding one of his hands. But tonight, Gabe insisted the two of them hold hands as well, physically forcing their hands together. Jarrett didn’t mind holding Rylie’s hand, admiring the velvety texture of her skin, but her fingers were stiff in his. Perhaps even hand-holding violated her version of a platonic relationship.
