LILY LAY FLAT on her back, her physical therapist pushing her leg up over her head as though she were a pretzel, telling her to "work it, Lily, stop whining and work it," while pain seared a fiery line from her ass to the very tip of her hair.

Lily would like to work him, all right — right into a bloody pulp.

Instead she gritted her teeth and told herself that this was the price she paid for stupidity.

No self-pity, she decided as she began to sweat like a stuck pig, her tank top sticking to her skin, her leg quivering wildly as she stretched her abused, injured muscles... Damn, she hurt.

Maybe retiring wasn't so bad. It wasn't as if it was the first time. From high school, she'd gone into expedition guiding, which she'd retired from to become a paramedic. And when she'd burned out scooping stab victims off the streets of Los Angeles, she'd retired again to become a wildland firefighter.

And she'd loved it. Thrived on it, actually, moving from fire to fire, exploring Montana, the Dakotas, Idaho, Wyoming...a perfect fit for her restless spirit.

Until she'd screwed up and nearly gotten herself killed. Nope, there was no sugarcoating this retirement; she was no longer a firefighter — because of injuries, not by choice. She felt weak and insignificant, and at the age of twenty-nine-and-three-quarters, she wasn't ready for either. She wanted to be back out there, damn it, doing her thing, going where she wished, doing something she loved and was good at.

But she couldn't have passed an agility test to save her life. Hell, she couldn't even touch her toes at the moment.

"Harder, Lily."

She squeezed he