Michael's Discovery - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,2

few encounters with her on the phone and discovered she masked an iron will with sweet talk.

Sean, however, was a recently married firefighter, an active man who would have chafed at the restrictions on his life, just as Michael did. Maybe that was the reason that Sean couldn’t seem to hide his sympathy each time he saw Michael in this damnable wheelchair. They probably needed to talk about it, but neither one of them had gotten up the nerve. Besides, what was there to say?

“I still don’t know how I let you all talk me into moving back to Boston,” Michael grumbled as he waved off Ryan’s offer of help and struggled to move from the wheelchair to the sofa on his own. “There must be a foot of snow out there. In San Diego, I could be basking in the sunshine beside a pool.”

“But you wouldn’t be,” Ryan said wryly. “The way I hear it, you hadn’t set foot outside since you left the hospital.”

Michael scowled. His brother clearly had too much information about his habits. There were only a handful of people who could have given it to him, most of them men Michael could have sworn were totally loyal to him.

“Who ratted me out?” he inquired testily.

Ryan held up his hands. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Your men seem to think you have a particularly nasty temper when crossed.”

At least he could still intimidate somebody, Michael thought with satisfaction. It was a consolation. He certainly hadn’t been able to intimidate Ryan’s wife, Maggie, though.

Maggie was the one who’d called every single, blessed day pestering him to come East. She’d ignored his cranky responses, talked right over his blistering tirades and pretty much won him over with her silky sweet threats. He wondered if Ryan knew what a weapon he had living with him. Michael was convinced that Maggie Devaney could take over a small country if she was of a mind to. Michael could hardly wait to meet her in person, though he’d prefer to be in top-notch form when he did.

“Why didn’t your wife come to the airport with you?” he asked his brother.

“She thought you might like a little time to yourself to get used to things,” Ryan said. “She did send along a list of therapists for you to consider. She said you’d been discussing it, but hadn’t agreed to hire one yet.”

Michael frowned at the understatement. “Actually, what I told her was that I wasn’t interested. I could have sworn I’d made that clear.”

“You’re content to spend the rest of your life in that wheelchair?” Ryan asked mildly.

“The doctors are the ones who consigned me to a wheelchair,” Michael responded bitterly. The shattered bone in his thigh had taken two additional surgeries, and the doctors still weren’t convinced it would ever heal properly. His knee was artificial. He felt like the Bionic Man, only one who’d gotten faulty parts.

Even if everything healed and worked, he’d never have the agility to return to the kind of work he loved. His navy career was definitely over. He’d declined the offer to push papers behind some desk at the Pentagon. Michael shuddered at the very thought—he’d rather eat raw squid. So he was twenty-seven and out of work and out of hope. He’d learn to live with it…eventually.

Ryan leveled an uncompromising look straight at him. “Is that so? You’re blaming this on the doctors? The way I hear it—”

“You apparently hear too damned much,” Michael retorted. “Has it occurred to you that I was doing just fine before you and Sean—and your wives—came busting back into my life? I don’t need you meddling now. If I decide to stay in Boston, I won’t have all of you making me some sort of project.” He leveled a daunting look of his own. “Are we clear on that?”

“No project,” Ryan echoed dutifully.

Michael studied his brother with a narrowed gaze. That had gone a little too easily, he thought just as the doorbell rang. He scowled at Ryan. “You invite somebody else over?”

Ryan looked just the teensiest bit guilty. “It could be Maggie.”

“I thought you said she was giving me some space.”

Ryan shrugged. “Well, that’s the thing with Maggie. She has her own ideas about how much space a man should have.”

“Great. That’s just great.” Michael eyed his wheelchair with frustration. No way in hell could he haul himself back into the thing and get out of the room before Ryan opened the door. As curious as he was