The Street Where She Lives - Jill Shalvis

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love of control from her overly controlled, overly authoritative, overly guarded childhood. That she would need someone to help dress her, help her move around, help her in every way, was extremely…frightening.

      What she really needed right now was a powerful, virile husband.

      Ha!

      To get a husband, she’d have to seriously date someone. To do that she’d actually have to let that someone into her life. And to let someone into her life, especially a male someone, she’d have to… Well, she’d have to do a whole hell of a lot, including honing up on the social skills she’d let get so rusty.

      Since that wasn’t about to happen, Rachel had no choice, no choice at all. A nurse. A temporary nurse. Either a huge, beefy woman or a male, it didn’t really matter at this point. She had so little pride left.

      Just as long as she and Emily got to be at home, together, nothing else truly mattered.

      Which brought to the surface her greatest worry. How was she going to manage without being a burden on her teenage alien—er, daughter?

      Her hospital room door opened again, and she heard the voice of Sandy, coming back with Dr. Thompson.

      Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep. It was unlike her to pretend anything, but in this case, where everyone persisted in talking to her as if she’d suffered permanent brain damage, eavesdropping had become a necessity.

      She wanted to know their plans for her, because no way was she accepting anything but release papers. No convalescent care, no way. Forcing her taut muscles to relax wasn’t easy. Over a month after the accident she couldn’t yet quite remember, and every inch of her still ached.

      Even her hair.

      And she itched. Beneath the cast on her arm and lower leg. Beneath the multitude of healing lacerations. Beneath the stubbly hair growing back after the buzz cut she’d required for surgery to ease the swelling of her brain.

      If it didn’t hurt to smile, she might have let out a wry one. All her life she’d cultivated her long, blond tresses—only to lose them in one twist of fate.

      At least she still had her…what? She didn’t have her health, she didn’t have her life as she knew it, she couldn’t draw, couldn’t even hug Emily—as if her daughter even wanted to be hugged.

      “If she doesn’t hire help, Sandy, she’s not going to heal properly.” This from her doctor.

      “Well…her daughter was talking to Outpatient Services earlier,” Sandy told him. “She signed up for home care, I believe.”

      Rachel stopped breathing. Emily had already arranged for an at-home nurse? Melanie had obviously helped, but that seemed completely out of character, because though Rachel’s sister had come through for her after the accident, it wasn’t Mel’s usual habit to think ahead for herself, much less someone else.

      For years Mel had complained that Rachel didn’t need her enough, but the truth was, when Rachel did need Mel, when she tried to confide something that was really bothering her, Mel often shrugged it off as not important. That, or she went overboard in her response.

      A perfect example had been when Rachel and Ben had split. Feeling like a basket case, she had attempted to talk to Mel about him. But in her exuberant need to protect her baby sister, Mel had taken it as an opening to talk bad about Ben every single time the subject came up. Thirteen years later she was still doing it.

      Rachel had learned to keep her problems to herself.

      Besides, Mel had already gone above the call of duty, using vacation time from her job in order to take care of Emily while Rachel had been in the hospital, handling the house and all the responsibilities that went with that. Handling everything.

      Rachel knew how much Melanie needed to get back to her own life, especially her independence. She and Emily would manage. With—oh, joy—a hired nurse. Having someone in their home, living with them, would make her terribly uncomfortable, but—and this was the good part—she was going home.

      After a distressingly nomadic childhood, and after being woken at all hours of the day and night to be poked and prodded at for a month, her own bed would be heaven. Quiet, calm, tranquil heaven.

      EMILY BOUNCED into Rachel’s hospital room, a barely contained bundle of energy. She wore a tank top, baggy jeans too loose on her hips and clunky sandals. Her face was completely void of makeup, as she hadn’t yet found that particular vice, but she had two silver hoops in each ear. Her bright-green eyes were shining through her too-long blond bangs.

      Her ever present laptop was tucked beneath her arm.

      In spite of her exhaustion from a brutal physical therapy session, Rachel’s heart swelled at the sight of her greatest joy. In having a child, Rachel had learned to share herself, to receive love as well as give it. It was because of Emily that she felt whole.

      Whole being relative at the moment.

      Given the shift of the shadows on the walls from the gently dancing pines outside, hours had passed since Dr. Thompson had removed some of the bandages. She was now a new person. Granted, a new person with little to no hair, fresh new air casts on one arm and leg, and a healing broken pelvis. A new person who still hurt…but she felt marginally better nevertheless.

      Or at least lighter. The bandages on her multitude of abrasions—which had covered part of her face, her torso and good arm—were gone. Because she could, she bent her right arm, watching with relief when the still-scabbed limb did what it should. And if she ignored the wild trembling that indicated it was weak as a baby’s—something her physical therapist promised to fix “in no time”—things were good. “Emily…look at me go.”

      Emily looked suitably impressed. “Nice. Before you know it, you’ll be drawing again.”

      At the moment, she couldn’t even lift a pencil, much less think with the wit required for Gracie,—a character who was brave, brassy and bold, everything Rachel wasn’t—but she’d get there.

      God, please, let me get there.

      To hide the fear from the girl who saw everything, she forced a smile. “Did you come with Aunt Mel?”

      “Yeah.” Emily plopped into the bedside chair, her pixie-blond hair once again swinging into her expressive eyes. She set down her laptop. “She’s busy flirting with your doctor again, but as my supposedly mature aunt, she didn’t want me to know, so she sent me in here.”

      Melanie had a long history with men. Very long.

      “She thinks I don’t know about the birds and the bees.” A quick cheeky grin flashed, reminding Rachel that before the accident, she and Emily had been on shaky ground due to Emily’s certainty she knew everything, which naturally meant Rachel knew nothing.

      “I bet I know more than she does,” Emily added.

      A sexually aware preteen—every parent’s nightmare. “Emily—”

      “Oh, Mom, I’m just kidding.”

      Uh-huh. But no way was she going to start a grudge match today. “You really doing okay?” She wished she could reach up and touch Emily’s face, her hair. She missed their closeness, missed everything. “Tell me the truth.”

      “Well, I’m better than you. The nurse told me they took out all your stitches. And most of the bandages, too.” Leaning in, Emily scrutinized every inch of her face until Rachel wanted to squirm. She could only imagine how she must look. The bruises had to be fading along with the swelling, but they were probably still putrid yellow and puke green. And her hair, her glorious hair… “They haven’t brought me a mirror, so…” She managed a weak laugh, but Emily leaned even closer, still serious, still inspecting.

      Rachel turned away and fought the burning behind her eyes. “I probably look fit for Halloween, even though that’s months off yet.”

      “Oh, Mom.” At the soft, choked-up

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