After that, he recalled the coffin-like confinement of the MRI and later, the young Indian doctor coming into the room to talk to him. The concussion was moderate and should heal with time and rest. His spine was another, more frightening matter.

The accident had shattered two vertebrae in his lower back. The fractures needed to be stabilized with a metal cage as soon as possible to prevent nerve damage to his legs as well as incontinence and impotence—words that Burke couldn’t say even to himself. He’d scrawled his consent on the form. They’d wheeled him into surgery; and that was the last thing he remembered until now.

Bracing against fear, he willed his legs to move. They stirred beneath the sheet—feet flexing just enough to reassure him, thank God. But right now there was no way to know about the other critical parts. Would he be in diapers for the rest of his life? Would he ever make love to his wife again?

As if the thought could summon her, he heard Allison’s voice from the hall outside his room. “But will he be all right, Doctor?” she was asking.

“The surgery went as well as could be expected.” The doctor spoke with a slight accent. “But the recovery’s going to take time. He’ll need rest and care.”

“And the end prognosis?”

“All we can do is hope for the best, Mrs. Caldwell. You can go in now, but he’s still under sedation for the pain. He might not be quite himself yet.”

Not quite myself? What the hell is that supposed to mean? My body might be broken, and my head hurts, but my mind is fine!

“Thank you.” Burke heard the familiar cadence of Allison’s footsteps coming closer. Then she was leaning over the bed, a lock of her honey-blond hair tumbling over her stunning violet eyes. Lord, he loved her so much. But she didn’t deserve any of this. Why couldn’t she just walk away with whatever she could take and let him deal with this new hellishness like a man?

“Hello, Burke.” She brushed her lips with a fingertip and touched his mouth in a semblance of a kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he growled. “What are you doing here? Did you get hold of a good lawyer?”

“The doctor warned me that you might not be yourself yet.” She pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. Dressed in jeans, a black sweater, and a tan raincoat, she looked as if she hadn’t slept since the accident. Her face was bare of makeup and there were shadows under her eyes. This experience had to be hell on her. All his fault. If he hadn’t gone storming off after putting her down, then driving like a maniac on that road in the rain . . .

“The lawyer?” he demanded, pressing the question.